okay guys i finally caved and made one, there's a lot and I'm always looking to expand! send any req my way <3 Also this will be updated everytime I make a new post!!
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things I wonât let ai take away from human writers
em dash
ânot x, not y, but zâ
short sentence stacking as a stylistic choice
none of these belong to ai. these are all what human writers have been writing since day one, way before ai was invented. ai was trained to mimic how human writers write â so em dash, not x not y but z and short sentence stacking would never have been used by ai at all if ai hadnât learned and mimicked them from human writers.
no, you are not âfighting against aiâ by accusing every work that has em dash, not x not y but z or short sentence stacking in it as ai-generated, you are helping ai harm the writing community by engaging in witch hunt and scaring human writers away from creating/sharing their works for fear of being wrongly accused of using ai.
speculations, accusations and ai witch hunt harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
Summary: You go on a âblindâ date with your past fling Clark Kent.
Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral f&m recieving, p in v
a/n: This one is a short more romantic oneshot lol but as always I hope you enjoy and send any requests you might have my way!
The soft murmur of polite conversations and the clinking of silverware against fine china filled the elegant dining room of the Metropolis Grand, the city's most prestigious restaurant. You sat at a table draped in crisp white linen, surrounded by candlelight and the subtle aroma of gourmet cuisine.Â
Heart racing with anticipation as you check your watch for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. Your parents had insisted on this blind date, setting it up with a certain Clark Kent, a young and ambitious reporter from the Daily Planet, who was supposed to arrive promptly at seven.Â
You had agreed with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, but now, as you took in the grandeur of the room and the expectant glances from other well-dressed patrons, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement.Â
The aroma of exquisite cuisine wafted from the kitchen, reminding you of your growling stomach, which only added to your impatience. A grandiose chandelier above twinkled like a thousand stars, reflecting off the gleaming surfaces, and you couldn't help but wonder if this dinner was destined to be as enchanting as the atmosphere suggested.
Finally, at 7:07 pm, the doors open, and you see Clark enter the restaurant. He seems a bit out of place in this fancy restaurant, dressed in a buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks around, his blue eyes darting from table to table.Â
Even from far away, you could see how attractive he was - a sharp jawline, curly black hair, dark eyes, and muscular arms, as evidenced by the way the rolled-up sleeves hugged his biceps. He eventually spots you and makes his way across the room.
"You're late," You smile, standing up and offering your hand for him to shake.Â
"Sorry about that," he smiles back, taking your hand. His grip is warm and firm, his palm calloused from years of working with his hands.
"Metropolis traffic, it's the worst," he says apologetically as he takes a seat across from you. He runs a hand through his messy hair, the action only making it look even more tousled.
"That's okay, I'm only teasing." You giggle softly, the air feeling awkward.Â
Clark chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. The atmosphere is thick with awkward tension, neither of you sure what to say next. Eventually, though, he finally breaks the silence.
"I have to admit, I was surprised when my parents asked if I'd be willing to go on a date with you," he says, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Not that I wouldn't have said yes otherwise," he adds quickly, his cheeks flushing slightly.
"Ah, yes, Ma Kent." Your grin grows, "She always has tried to push us together." Memories of your laughter-filled summers and the warmth of shared childhood comforts began to weave themselves into the fabric of their conversation.Â
Clarkâs eyes light up in recognition, his sheepish grin widening. Â
"Waitâyou're Y/N? Maâs âlittle sunshineâ from the farm summers?" He leans forward, voice softening with warmth.Â
He laughs quietly, shaking his head. "Guess she didnât mention *that* part of the setup." His gaze lingers warmly on yoursâlike he's seeing not just the woman across the table now⊠but all those golden memories too.
"Seems she only told one of us who we were meeting up with." Your soft laughter only makes him smile more.Â
Clark chuckles, running a hand through his curls againânervous habit. Â
"Classic Ma," he says, eyes twinkling. "Always playing 4D chess with other peopleâs love lives." He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a playful hush. "Between you and me? I think she still blames herself for us not kissing under the porch light that one summer."Â Â
A soft blush tints his cheeksâbut he holds your gaze, grinning like itâs a secret theyâve both been keeping too long.
The evening had stretched into a warm, starlit night as the two of you ambled through the quiet streets of the city, the distant murmur of life serving as a gentle backdrop to your intimate conversation. Each step felt lighter as you retraced the path of your shared history, reviving moments long ago buried by the sands of time.Â
The air grew thick with a mix of nostalgia and burgeoning hope as you shared laughter that echoed through the alleyways, bouncing off the brick walls that had silently witnessed countless similar exchanges over the years. The streetlights cast a soft, golden glow on your faces, painting a picture of two souls finding their way back to one another.
As you approached the quaint, ivy-covered apartment building that housed your cozy abode, the atmosphere shifted, and the anticipation was palpable. You paused at the foot of the stairs leading to your door, the weight of the evening's revelations hanging in the air between you.Â
Your eyes searching his, a silent question lingering as your heartbeats grew louder than the whispers of the night. "Clark," You murmur, hand pressing to his chest.
His breath catches as your hand meets his chestâwarmth spreading under your palm, steady and strong, like a drumbeat beneath flannel and skin.
"Y/NâŠ" he whispers, voice low and tender, his hands hovering at your waist like heâs asking permission without words.
The city hums softly around you, but all he sees is the way the moonlight catches in your eyesâjust like it did years ago on that porch back in Kansas. He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away⊠but when you donâtâhe closes the gap with a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, full of promise. Â
Your arms move to his neck, pulling him closer. Clark lets out a quiet, breathless hum as you pull him closer, his restraint melting like snow in spring.Â
His hands slide firmly around your waist, lifting you just slightly like heâs savoring every inch of the momentâlike heâs waited years to do this. The kiss deepens, heated and hungry now, charged with all the words never said and all the summers spent pretending they didnât want this.Â
A streetlamp flickers above you; somewhere down the block, music plays faintly from an open window. When he finally pulls backâjust an inchâhis forehead rests against yours, breathing unsteady.
"Best blind date I never agreed to," he murmurs with a dazed smile.
"You could say that again." You giggle, hands moving to hold his face lovingly. Clark laughs softly, eyes still closed as he leans into your touch, basking in the warmth of your palms against his cheeks.
"Best. Blind date. Ever," he repeats slowly, grinning like a man who just won the lotteryâ*twice*. Then his voice drops to a tender whisper: "Though I think we both know this wasn't blind at all."Â Â
His hands gently squeeze your waist before one brushes a strand of hair from your faceâfingers lingering like heâs relearning you by heart. Turning in his arms, you unlock the door, taking his hand in yours and pulling him in with you.Â
"The first date of many, I hope." Clark steps inside, letting the door click shut behind him. The soft glow from the hallway light outlines you both, shadows dancing on the wall like they're alive with anticipation.
He tugs you back gently against his chest, arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His breath brushes your ear. "Many," he murmursâlow and certainâlike itâs already written in the stars.
Then he turns you slowly in his arms, one hand cradling your face. "But letâs make sure this one really counts." His lips find yours againâslower this time, deeperâlike he's memorizing every second.
You respond eagerly, eyes fluttering shut as you stand on your tippy toes, desperate to be closer to him. Clark smiles into the kiss, feeling you rise against him, and without breaking the moment, he gently lifts youâjust enough so you donât have to stretch.Â
One arm cradles your back, strong and sure, like holding you is the most natural thing in the world. âDonât hurt yourself reaching up there,â he teases softly between kisses, voice warm with humor and affection. âI am kinda tall.â
âThough something tells me weâll figure out the heights⊠just like we figured out everything else.â his tone drops, tender and low. His lips brush yours againâslow, sweet, full of promiseâas if time has finally caught up to two hearts that were always one step behind.
âDonât tease,â Your legs wrap around his waist, hands holding his face, and thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.Â
He lets out a soft, breathy laughâsurprised, thrilled, completely undone by you. "Okay... *wow.* You're full of surprises," he murmurs against your lips, voice rough with emotion and desire.
His hands tighten around your back, holding you like you're preciousâlike he'll never let go. The kiss deepens again, hungry and sweet all at once, as he takes a careful step forward, pressing you gently against the wall.
"You know," he says between slow, tender kisses down your jawline, "I used to think about this. Back on the farm. Late summer nights. Just... wondering what it'd feel like."
His eyes meet yoursâhonest, warm, blazing with something deeper than attraction. "And now?" you whisper.
"Now?" He smiles. "Turns out realityâs way better than daydreams."
"You're such a sweet talker, Clark." He moves to sit on the couch, settling you in his lap. "Always knowing just how to make my heart race..." Your lips press to his jawline, leaving soft, loving kisses before your teeth dig into his skin.Â
He lets out a quiet, shaky breath as your teeth graze his skinâjust enough to make his grip on your waist tighten, pulse jumping beneath the surface. "Sweet talker?" he murmurs, voice lower now, rough at the edges. "You started this war, Y/N. Teeth and all."
His hands slide up your back, warm and sure, before tilting your face down to meet his. His kiss is slowâdeep and deliberateâlike heâs savoring every second of finally having you here, in his arms.
Then he pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips. "And for the record? You're the one making my heart race."Â Â
You nibble on his bottom lip, fingers running down his chest and unbuttoning the fabric, preventing you from feeling his skin against yours. "Am I?" You tease, lips moving to his collarbone.
As you reveal more skin, you move further down, sliding off his lap and between his legs.Â
"Mmhm," he breathes, head tipping back as your lips trail down his neck, hands fisting slightly in the couch cushions when your fingers finally push his shirt open.
"Definitely⊠*definitely* you," he says, voice thick with want.
His breathing hitches as you slide down between his legsâwarmth flooding his chest at the sight of you looking up at him like that, eyes dark with desire and a playful smirk on your lips. Clarkâs fingers twitch like he's resisting the urge to reach for youâto pull you back up just so he can feel you closerâbut he lets you lead, jaw clenching softly as your hands glide over his abs.
Your kisses move lower, along with your hands, fumbling with his belt buckle as you suck slight hickeys into his stomach. He sucks in a sharp breath as your mouth drags across his stomachâwarm, wet, *maddening*.
"Y/NâŠ" His voice is ragged now, hands gripping the edge of the couch like heâs trying to stay grounded. "Youâre gonna be the end of me."
His hips twitch slightly under your touch, muscles tightening as your fingers work at his belt. When you look up at him through your lashes, heâs watching you with darkened blue eyes full of awe and hunger.
"Still think Iâm the sweet talker?" he murmurs breathlessly. "Because what you're doing right now? That's⊠that's criminal."
"I'm not doing any talking, Clark." Pulling his belt away, you finish pulling his trousers down, teeth grazing across his tanned muscles. "But it's nice to see the effect I have on you," Your eyes fall to the bulge heâs sporting. He lets out a shaky breathâhalf laugh, half groanâas your tongue drags across your lip and his boxers tighten in response.
"Effect?" His voice is rough, strained with need. "Youâre not seeing an effect. Youâre feeling it."
His hands flex against the couch, resisting the urge to grab you, to pull you up into another deep kiss. But he stays still letting you explore, lets you take whatâs yours. A low hum escapes him as your teeth brush his hip. Â
You press hot and wet kisses to his growing erection, feeling the heat in your stomach grow. "I am, aren't I?"Â
He chokes out a breathâhalf groan, half laughâas your lips press against him through the fabric, hot and teasing.
"God, yes," he rasps, head tipping back, throat exposed like heâs baring his soul. "All of you⊠every damn inch."
You slide his underwear away, letting his cock spring out, the sight of the veiny length in front of you nearly making you drool. âFuck,â Leaning forward you brush your tongue against the pulsing tip, tasting his sweet and salty precum.Â
"Y/N!" His hips jerk involuntarily, one hand flying to the back of your head, not pushing, just trembling there, like heâs holding on for dear life.
His breath comes faster now, ragged and warm as you swirl your tongue over the tip, teasing him with slow, deliberate licks. The low groan that rumbles from his chest vibrates through the room.
A smirk finds itâs way on your face, âYou taste so goodâŠâ finally, you give him what heâs been craving. You wrap your lips around his aching cock, tongue flattening against the side as you slowly push it deeper, down your throat.Â
"Fuck." His back arches slightly, hand finally tangling gently in your hair as you take him deeper, the warmth of your mouth sending sparks up his spine.
His breath hitchesâuneven, shaky like he's trying to remember how to speak, how to think. But all that exists is the slow, sweet pressure of your lips and the velvet heat of your throat.
"Y/N⊠you donât have toâŠ" he startsâsome last thread of chivalry clinging onâbut it dissolves into a groan as you pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head again before sinking down once more. He lets out a low, shuddering moan.
With each stroke of your tongue and the tightening of your lips around his swollen cock, Clark's breaths become more labored. His hand in your hair guides you, not pushing but urging, as if every movement you make is pure ecstasy for him.Â
You feel the power you have over him, and it only makes your desire to please him grow stronger. You increase your pace, taking him deeper into your mouth, feeling the muscles in his thighs tense beneath your palms.Â
His eyes are closed tight, and his hips begin to rock slightly, matching the rhythm of your bobbing head.
As you feel him getting closer, the veins in his cock bulge and his grip on your hair tightens just enough to let you know he's on the edge. You maintain your rhythm, your mouth a wet, warm heaven for him to lose himself in.Â
He lets out a guttural groan, his body tensing like a bow drawn back ready to release.
"Y/N...I'm...I'm gonna..." His warning is barely audible, but you understand, sucking harder and swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip.
Then it happens. With a shudder that seems to claim every part of him, Clark cums, filling your mouth with his hot, thick release. You swallow every drop, savoring the taste of him as he gasps for air, his eyes flying open to meet yoursâa mix of shock and pleasure etched into his features.
"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes, his hand sliding out of your hair to gently cup the back of your head. His eyes are glazed with lust and a hint of vulnerability, his chest heaving as he tries to compose himself.
You pull away slowly, licking your lips and smiling up at him. "Good?" you ask, your voice teasing and sweet.
He nods, still trying to catch his breath. "Better than good," he whispers, leaning in to kiss you, his taste still lingering on you.Â
Clark pulls you up onto the couch, his movements swift and sure. He kisses you hard, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same hunger you felt in his eyes as you pleasured him. His hands slide up your body, feeling every curve and contour, until they find the zipper of your dress.Â
With one smooth motion, he pulls it down, exposing the delicate fabric of your underwear beneath. You gasp as he tugs at the straps of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours as the garment pools around your waist, revealing your bare, creamy skin.Â
His gaze lingers on your breasts, his breath hot against your neck as he traces his thumbs over the lace of your bra. He gently cups them, his rough skin a stark contrast to the softness of your flesh, and you moan into his mouth.
With a soft growl, he pulls away, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with lust.Â
You blush at the compliment, feeling a thrill run down your spine as he pushes the dress down further, exposing your matching panties. Clark hooks his fingers into the waistband, tugging them down until they too fall to the floor.Â
You're now standing before him in nothing but your bra, feeling both vulnerable and incredibly powerful. He kisses your stomach, his breath warm and tickling, making you squirm.
He gently guides you onto the couch, pushing you down so that you're on all fours, your ass in the air. The leather is cool against your skin as he moves in behind you, his hands caressing your thighs, moving up to your hips.Â
You feel the heat of his body against yours, his hard cock pressing against your lower back.
Clark takes a moment to appreciate the view, his breath hitching as he sees how wet you are for him. He slides his hand between your legs, teasing your cunt before pressing a finger inside you, making you gasp.
"So wet," he murmurs, his voice deep and gravelly. "So fucking wet for me."
You push back against his hand, eager for more, and he obliges, adding another finger, pumping them in and out of your pussy as you moan. His thumb circles your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you as he works his digits deep.
As he continues to play with you, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Ready for me, baby?"
You nod eagerly, your voice a needy whine. He withdraws his hand and you feel a brief pang of loss before he replaces it with his mouth.Â
His tongue licks up the length of your labia, making you tremble. He starts slow, tasting and teasing, before plunging deep inside, making you cry out.
The sensation is overwhelming as he licks and kisses, exploring every inch of your pussy with a hunger that matches your own.
His hands hold you in place as he devours you, his tongue swirling and dipping, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
Clark's grip tightens on your hips as he feels you getting ready to cum, his tongue flicking against your clit with the precision of a maestro playing an instrument. The pressure builds, your muscles tightening around his fingers, and with a final, desperate push, you're flying over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave.
You collapse onto the couch, panting and trembling, your legs shaking uncontrollably. He kisses along your spine, his cock nudging against your ass as he moves over you, his chest pressing against your back.
"Back on your knees," he commands softly, his voice a gentle rumble in your ear. You obey, eager to give him what he needs. He stands behind you, his hands moving to your hips again, positioning his cock at your entrance.
With a gentle push, he slides into you, filling you completely. You let out a deep moan as he starts to move, his strokes slow and steady.Â
He takes his time, savoring the feel of you around him, your pussy tight and wet from your climax.
He pulls out almost all the way before pushing back in, his hands moving to your breasts, squeezing and playing with your nipples as he fucks you. His breath is hot against your neck, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers sweet nothings and dirty promises.
The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your moans mixing with his grunts of pleasure. You can feel him growing inside you, his cock swelling, and you know he's close.Â
You push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
He reaches around, his hand finding your clit again, rubbing it in slow circles as he picks up the pace. You can feel another orgasm building, the heat coiling low in your stomach.
"Cum for me, Y/N," he breathes into your ear, his voice urgent. "Let me feel you cum again."
And just like that, you do. Your pussy clamps down on his cock as waves of pleasure crash through you, your body shaking with the force of your release.Â
Clark's grip on you tightens as he pulls out of, hand pumping his cock, his warm cum spilling onto your back, marking you as his.
You collapse onto the couch, his weight pressing you down into the plush cushions. He kisses the side of your neck, his breathing ragged in your ear.
"That was... amazing," he murmurs, his cock still twitching against you.
You nod, unable to form coherent words. You've never felt so alive, so connected to someone. You know that this night is only the beginning of something incredible.
He quickly shifts, turning you onto your side and pulling you into his arms. You snuggle into his chest, your breathing slowing as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you. You smile against his skin, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.
Summary: Youâre mavs daughter in a secret relationship with Jake.Â
a/n: I thought it would be nice to see a softer side of this character! I hope yâall enjoy <3
Youâve been seeing Jake for a little bit now, but have made sure to keep everything quiet as you know that your relationship will cause quite the outrage with your dad and Rooster.Â
Mav and Bradley are the most overprotective men, always wanting to look into your boyfriends or âmake sure theyâre good enoughâ. So the second you got involved with Hangman, you *knew* they would try to forbid you from seeing him or something along those lines.Â
They mean well but it can get exhausting having them constantly trying to get in the middle of any relationship you have. Rooster acting as your adoptive big brother essentially meant that you spent the entirety of your middle and high school years being off limits to any boy since Brad was ready to throw punches without question.
Mav being the overprotective father who made sure he was cleaning his rifle whenever a guy came to get you for your date. The combination is just awful.Â
You met your boyfriend while you were out for drinks with Bradley, he had just gotten back into town and was practically itching to see you. Since he was running late, you dared to entertain Jake, enjoying his cocky attitude.Â
Thankfully you got his number before Bradley showed up because youâve never seen him that pissed over a guy before. He warned you to stay away, that Jake was bad, bad news. The type of man needing a warning sign hanging from his neck.Â
All of this talk, trying to turn you off of the blond, only piqued your curiosity more. So of course you had to entertain his date request.Â
Honestly you were beyond shocked that he didnât try to get into your pants at all that night. You figured, with all the ranting of Bradley, that you wouldnât make it 30 minutes into the date before he would be bursting at the seams with desire.Â
But the way he touched you, brushed your hair from your face, insisted that he sit next to you while you ate so that he could cut your steak and have more intimate conversation. Jake was nothing like Brad tried to convince you he was. In fact, he sent you a boquete of roses the next morning to ask you on a date the following day.Â
I mean obviously at first you figured he was trying to undo all the blabbering he would assume Rooster had done. Yet his sweetheart act never faltered, it took *you* initiating intimacy on the third date before he even touched you in a sexual manner.Â
Heâs the perfect boyfriend, someone you can depend on, and would want to. Jake is a totally sweetie who just pretends to be this cocky aviator. God does he drive you wild with his attentiveness.Â
Your mind is stuck on him as you mindlessly scroll through Netflix suggestions, sinking on the couch as you wait for Jake to arrive. You havenât been able to see him for days as Maverick upped the training, fully exhausting him and the rest of the team. So tonight, you were extra prepared.Â
Restless even, you tried dressing up sexy for him. In a lingerie set matching the color of your eyes, a color which has now become his favorite, but it feels slightly embarrassing sitting there in barely anything. Even if it is your home.Â
You finally decide on a random romcom, sprawling across the couch as it begins. Before you know it youâve already fallen asleep, being awoken by Jakeâs delicate touch on your skin.Â
You felt a pair of soft hands run over your skin. Rubbing you, waking you from your peaceful sleep. âHey pretty girlâŠâ a soft, familiar voice whispered. His arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his chest.
Jakeâs muscular frame, towering over your small and vulnerable self, pressing up against your body, holding you close. âYou look beautiful tonight love.â He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss against your exposed shoulder.
âMm baby,â you wrap your arms around him, pulling him tight against your chest. âYou took so long and Iâve missed you so much.â You murmur into his ear.
âIâve missed you too darlinââŠâ he whispered back, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Inhaling your scent. His body pressing up against yours more, practically laying on top of you.
Jakeâs hands wander all over your body now. Running all along your curves and down your bare thighs. âDamn I missed youâŠâ
âJake,â you whisper into his ear, leaning into his touch.Â
âMmm yes sweetheart?â He murmured back. His hands slowly, softly, working their way up under what little clothing you were wearing.
His full attention was on you now, his focus on your body, your voice, his hands exploring every inch of you. Wanting to memorize every part of you. âYouâre so goddamn perfectâŠ.â He mumbled
âYou stink,â a soft giggle escapes your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist, the mesh fabric around you giving way and exposing your naval.Â
âHey, that's not very nice doll,â he smirked against your skin. His lips trailing down your neck and to your chest, peppering soft kisses against your skin.
Jake looked down, noticing the soft mesh clothing hugging your body, the color complimenting your eyes. âWell damnâŠâ he mumbled. Taking a few moments to admire the way your body looks right now. âIs this for me baby?â
âDo you like it?â Your fingers grasp at the hem, pulling the fabric away, exposing more of your abdomen.Â
âOh I love it.â He breathed, watching your body as you pulled away more of the fabric. His eyes run up and down your body, taking in your every curve and inch. âYou look absolutely stunning love. This is all for me?âÂ
He leaned in a bit. His lips hovering just above your hip, but not touching your skin yet. Jake was dying to touch you, but enjoying the tease.
âMhm, all for you,â you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face to yours. âThough, I hope it doesnât stay on for too much longer.â
âOh thatâs definitely not staying on for much longer sweetheart.â He chuckled. Pressing a few kisses along your jaw and cheek, stopping just millimeters away from your lips.Â
His nose grazed against yours, breathing in your scent. Jakeâs hands roamed along your body, still admiring just how beautiful you looked all dressed up, just for him. âIâve been thinking about this for days nowâŠ.â You arch into his touch, pressing a delicate yet desperate kiss to his lips.
âThen show me,â you let go of him, laying under his frame with a smirk. âShow me what youâve been dreaming of doing to me..â
âOh I will darlinâ. Iâve got a few ideas, just for you.â He smirked, sitting up a bit to look down at you. Jakeâs eyes locked with yours, burning with desire.
His hands gripped your waist, holding your body firmly. He slowly started trailing kisses down your body. His lips running all along your neck, down between your breasts, and stopping right above your hip again.Â
âMmm youâre so beautiful like this doll. Iâm gonna ruin you..â you shiver in anticipation.Â
With a predatory grin, Jake's eyes darkened as he took in your willingness. He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth in a passionate dance that left you breathless.Â
His strong hands gripped the flimsy fabric of your lingerie, tearing it away from your body with an urgent growl. Your heart raced in anticipation as you felt his warmth and weight pressing you into the couch, his kisses growing more intense, claiming you as his own.Â
His rough fingers traced your curves, his thumbs brushing against the lace of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. You gasped into his mouth, your hips instinctively moving to meet his touch, eager for the pleasure he promised. The anticipation was unbearable, a delicious ache building within you, and you knew that tonight was going to be one to remember.
With a groan of appreciation, Jake gently peeled away your panties, revealing your bare, wet sex. His eyes widened with lust at the sight of your swollen folds, begging for his touch. He kissed a trail down your stomach, his breath hot and teasing against your skin. When his mouth reached your center, he didn't waste a moment, eagerly lapping at your arousal.Â
You gasped and arched your back, feeling your core pulse with need. His tongue danced around your clit, flicking and circling with expert precision, making you squirm and whimper under his touch. Jake's hands slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, giving him full access to taste and explore you. The feeling of his mouth on you was heavenly, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge with every stroke.
With a feral grin, Jake looked up at you, his eyes smoldering with desire as he stripped away his clothes. His pants hit the floor, revealing the hardened length of his cock, standing proud and thick with need. He positioned himself over you, his muscular body a stark contrast to your soft curves.Â
His hand guided his erection to your wet entrance, the tip teasing you as he lined up to enter. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice gruff with passion, and without further warning, he pushed into you, filling you completely. Your eyes rolled back as he began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that had you panting for more.Â
Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. His teeth grazed your earlobe as he whispered sweet nothings and dirty promises, his breath sending shivers down your spine. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, as the intensity grew, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.
With a wild surge of passion, Jake's hips slammed into yours with desperation, his movements becoming more primal and demanding. The couch beneath you creaked with the force of his thrusts, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, urging him deeper with every stroke. His grip on your hips tightened, his eyes never leaving yours as he claimed you, his powerful body moving in a rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core.Â
Each time he filled you, you could feel yourself inching closer to the edge, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Your fingernails dug into his back, leaving marks as you held on for dear life, your body a canvas for the overwhelming sensations he painted with his skilled touch.Â
His teeth sunk into your lower lip, holding you in a possessive bite that made you moan into his mouth, the pain only heightening the pleasure. The room was filled with the sounds of your muffled cries and the slick sound of your bodies moving together, a testament to the desire that had been simmering between you for so long.
With a feral growl, Jake felt your body tighten around his, the intense contractions of your orgasm milking him, pushing him closer to his own climax. His strokes grew faster, deeper, as he chased his own release, his eyes never leaving yours. Your nails digging into his back, leaving a trail of fire that only added to the symphony of sensations coursing through him.Â
He could feel the warmth of your pleasure coating him, the wetness of your desire smearing against his skin, and it was all too much. With a final, powerful thrust, he let go, filling you with his hot seed, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.Â
For a moment, he remained still, buried deep inside you, savoring the feeling of your body clenching around him in the aftermath of ecstasy. Then, with a sigh of contentment, he collapsed onto the couch beside you, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. "Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice still thick with lust. "That was..." Words failed him as he tried to express the depth of satisfaction he felt, his heart pounding in his chest.Â
You giggled, snuggling closer, your cheek pressing against his chest as you felt his heartbeat slow. "Yeah," you agreed, still panting. "It definitely was."
You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, âNow come on, letâs get you washed up pretty boy.â Your thumbs brush over his cheeks as you gaze at him lovingly.Â
His face was a picture of contentment, a soft smile playing across his lips. Jake's chest rose and fell with each deep breath, the rhythm of his heart beginning to return to normal.Â
He chuckled softly at your suggestion, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "Mm...I think I like the sound of that," he mumbled lazily, his voice tinged with exhaustion.Â
He let out a soft sigh, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Are you trying to tell me I stink darlinâ?"
âDidnât I already mention that?â You smile sweetly, pulling him closer to you.Â
He chuckled again, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Alright, alright," he mumbled, reluctantly sitting up, his body still heavy with exhaustion.Â
Jake runs a hand through his messy hair, taking a moment to stretch his arms above his head. He let out a tired groan, his back popping softly.Â
"Ugh...I swear I need a nice hot shower right about now," he grumbled as he stood up, holding a hand out to you.
âAnd Iâll wash you up,â you move to massage his shoulders, âget you nice and clean.âÂ
His smile widened slightly as he felt your hands massaging his shoulders. "MmmâŠnow thatâs what I like to hear,â he said, leaning into your touch.Â
Jake leaned back against you, letting out a soft sigh of relief as you worked the knots out of his muscles. "Damn darlinâ...I could get used to this,â he mumbled.
You push him toward the bathroom, your hands moving on his tight muscles. âYou like me that much?â You hum, pressing a kiss to his back.
He chuckled warmly, letting you guide him to the bathroom. The feeling of your hands on his back, rubbing and massaging his muscles, felt incredibly relaxing.Â
Jake glanced over his shoulder at you, a lazy smile on his face. "MmâŠyou have no idea. I like you a whole lot, sweetheart," he responded, his voice low and soft.Â
As soon as they made it to the bathroom, Jake turned to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.
âI like you a whole lot more,â your lips connect with his. âHow about we take a warm bubble bath? That way I can pamper you some more.âÂ
Jake's smile widened under your touch, his hands roaming over your waist as he returned the kiss. "A warm bubble bath, huh? Well, who am I to say no to thatâŠespecially if you're doing the pampering," he teased.Â
He gently tugged you closer, his body pressing up against yours. "You gonna wash my hair too darlinâ?"
âMm, anything you want.â You wiggle out of his grasp, starting the bath water, âYou deserve all the pampering after all your hard work,â
As you worked on getting the bath ready, Jake took the opportunity to admire you from behind. Despite his exhaustion, seeing you move around the bathroom with confidence and care fueled his desire for you all over again.Â
He approached you from behind, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and leaning down to press a soft kiss against your shoulder. "You spoil me, you know that?" he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.
âWhat can I say?â You move your hands to his arms, caressing his skin delicately, âyou have me hooked on you.âÂ
Jake's heart skipped a beat as he felt your gentle touch on his skin, the feeling of your fingers running along his arms sending a shiver down his spine.Â
He let out a soft chuckle, pulling you closer and pressing himself against your back. "Oh yeah? Youâre hooked on me, huh?" he murmured, his voice low and possessive.Â
He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his lips finding your skin and leaving a trail of soft kisses.
âCome on handsome,â you pull his arms away, âget in the bathtub.âÂ
He chuckled softly at your forwardness but obeyed, stepping into the tub and settling down into the warm bubbles.Â
Jake let out a content sigh, sinking lower into the water and letting the heat soothe his sore muscles. "Damn, that feels good," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
You slide in the water behind him, your legs pressed against his sides as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his back against your breasts.Â
The feeling of your body pressed against his back was comforting and exciting all at once. Jake leaned back into your embrace, letting out a soft moan of contentment as he relaxed into your touch.Â
He tilted his head slightly, giving you access to his neck as he closed his eyes and surrendered to your gentle touch.Â
"MmmâŠyou know just how to treat a guy, donât ya darlinâ?" he mumbled, his voice dripping with desire. He let out a deep sigh of pleasure, his body relaxing once again under your touch.Â
You continue to bathe him, making sure *every* inch of him gets clean. Intoxicated by the soft groans of pleasure coming from his lips, his body pressing into yours.Â
Your hands move to his shoulders, giving him a massage, working on his tight muscles. âYouâre so handsome,â you murmur in appreciation.Â
You notice his erection standing in the water, loving the effect you have on him. Your hand trails down his abs, fingers wrapping around his length.Â
Jake's breathing hitched as he felt your hand on him, your touch sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. His shoulders tensed for a moment before he forced himself to relax, letting himself give in to your caresses.Â
He let out a soft moan, his head falling forward as his eyes flicked open to look down at your hand. "DamnâŠyou-you canât just do that darlinââŠ" he mumbled, his voice strained with arousal.Â
âIâm pampering you tonight, remember.â You kiss his temple, your hands working at his hardness.Â
"Let me take care of you," you murmur, your hands stroking him faster, feeling him throb in your grip. The warm water swirling around you only added to the intimate atmosphere as you teased the tip of his cock with your thumb, smearing the precum that had beaded there.
Jake's breath grew ragged, his hips subtly rocking against your touch. "Yeah, baby...just like that," he breathed, his voice thick with need. You kiss his temple again, smiling against his skin as you feel his body tense. The sensation driving him wild, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he was begging for release.
As you stroke him with increasing fervor, you feel Jake's body begin to tremble beneath your fingertips. His breaths become shallower, his hips rising slightly to meet the rhythm of your hand. The water laps against the sides of the tub as he moves closer to the edge of ecstasy.Â
His muscles tighten, and a deep groan rumbles from his chest. "Fuck, baby," he whispers, his voice a desperate plea. The tension in his body reaches a peak, and with a final stroke, he comes undone in your grasp, his hot release filling your palm as he surrenders to the intense pleasure coursing through him.Â
His body goes limp, leaning heavily against you as the aftershocks of his orgasm pulse through him. "Damn, darlin'," he gasps, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction. You pepper his cheeks with gentle kisses, shaking your hand in the water to clean his cum from it.Â
Jake's body trembled against yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he tried to come down from the intense wave of pleasure you had just given him. His eyes were dark with desire, and his voice was soft and rough as he spoke.Â
"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned back against you, his body completely relaxed in your arms.
You run your hand over his pecks, kissing down his neck as you press your body closer to his. âHoney, itâs getting late. Are you tired?â You hum into his ear, noticing the water around you cooling with the surrounding air.
Jake let out a soft moan as your lips brushed across his skin, his body still buzzing from the pleasure you had gifted him. He leaned into your touch, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.Â
"Mm, yeah...I guess I am," he admitted softly, his voice tinged with a hint of fatigue. "Time sure flies when you're having fun, darlinâ," he added with a weary chuckle.
âLetâs get dried off baby,â you pat his chest softy, motioning for him to get out of the tub.Â
Jake nodded in agreement, his body still heavy with exhaustion as he slowly rose from the tub, the water dripping from his skin.
He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of your naked body before him, his gaze darkening with desire. "You're quite the sight, you know that darlinâ...?" he murmured, his voice laced with tiredness.
Your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you cover up with a towel, drying your body as you hand him one. âYouâre full of compliments tonight.â
Jake chuckled softly, accepting the towel from you and drying himself off. He couldnât help but let his eyes roam over your body as you covered up, his thoughts no doubt lingering on the intimate moment you had just shared in the bath.
âLets go to bed, flirt.â You press a chaste kiss to his lips, walking toward your room. You throw on one of Jakeâs shirts heâs left behind for you, basking in the scent of his cologne seeped into the fabric.
Jake followed you into the room, his gaze never leaving your form as you slipped into one of his shirts. A warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he took in the sight of you, his scent enveloping you like a gentle caress.
He closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind and pulling you close to him. "You look damn good in my shirt, darlinâ..." he murmured, his voice filled with affection.
âYouâre so warm,â you sigh softly while relaxing into his arms. He pulls you with him to the bed, arms wrapped around you tightly as you press your cheek into his chest.Â
Adrian was, unsurprisingly, not doing very much of his actual job. He had been sitting slumped over the counter, chin resting in one hand, scrolling on his phone with the other. His busboy apron was half-assed, one of the strings untied and swinging around his ankles with every move.Â
He was in one of his usual moods too; a bit moody, a lot sarcastic, and completely uninterested in doing any *actual* work if he could help it. And God it was starting to worry you.Â
And despite the fact that he'd worked this shift a hundred times, and could probably do it in his sleep, he was being uncharacteristically clumsy tonight. "Dammitâ!" The plates clattered, but he caught them at the last second, fingers slipping on the greasy edges.Â
He let out a sharp breath through his nose and muttered under his breath, "Stupid... fragile... *civilian* dishware."Â Â
He shot a quick glance over at you, flashing that usual goofy half-smileâthe kind that didnât quite reach his eyes tonight. âDonât worry,â he said too quickly, âIâve got this. Iâm *great* at my job. Top performer. Employee of the month⊠every month⊠in my head.â Â
Then he wincedânot from dropping anything this timeâbut from something deeper. His hand pressed briefly to his side again beneath the apron, hidden like it was nothing.
You knew better.
But Adrian? Adrian pretended everything was fine.
Because if thereâs one thing Vigilante hated more than bad guys who survived their own deaths⊠It was people worrying about him.
âAdrian?â You step behind him, the diner empty aside from the two of you and a few other employees. âDo you want any help?âÂ
"Help?" He let out a short, awkward laugh, still facing away from you as he fumbled with the coffee pot like it personally offended him. "Help with what? Busboy stuff? Please. I practically invented cleaning tables. Invented mopping. Might've even invented *diners*, if we're being honest."Â Â
He turned slightly, flashing that same lopsided grinâbut his posture was stiff, one hand still subtly braced against his side under the apron. His breath hitched just a fraction when he moved too fast.
Thenâbecause Adrian Chase absolutely cannot admit weakness without deflectingâhis tone dropped into mock-seriousness:Â Â
"Unless you wanna help me hide a body later⊠then yeah, maybe we can talk." Â
Another beat. He winked. "Just kidding! âŠMostly."
You narrow your eyes at him, not wanting to deal with his sarcasm when you're this worried about him. "Cut it out, it's not gonna kill you to admit you're having an off day." You huff, arms crossing defensively under your breasts.Â
The irritation from your long shift mixing with the annoyance of the realization he doesn't rely on you the same way you lean on him. "We're coworkers, it's my job to help if you need. And clearly you need some."
Adrian's eyes narrowed in return, a familiar spark of defiance lighting up his gaze. He bristled slightly at your words, defensive in the way he always got when someoneâwhen *you*âpushed too hard.
"I don't need any damn help," he countered, voice a low snarl. "Especially not from you. I can handle myself, alright? I always do. I'm just having aâŠ"
He trailed off, struggling for a moment with the word he wanted to say. Â
He finally spat it out like a curse. "Bad day."
"Fine." You bite back, turning on your heels and practically stomping away from him.Â
Adrian's stomach twisted with a mixture of irritation and a hint of regret, but his stubborn pride just wouldn't let him apologize. He watched you stomp away, feeling the distance between you grow like a physical ache.
The shift is passing in a strained silence, with Adrian focusing intently on his workâtrying a little too hard to look like he was unaffected, like he really didnât care that you were mad at him.
The more distance you put between the two of you the more your other coworker, Justin, slides in next to you. Making small talk and joking the way you usually do with Adrian.
Adrian noticed it immediatelyâthe way Justin slid in beside you like he wasnât a walking nuisance in an ill-fitting apron, cracking jokes that you usually saved for him.Â
His grip tightened around the rag he was using to wipe down tables. Too tight. The knuckles went white.
He didnât look over. Not at first.
But when Justin laughedâtoo loud, too obnoxiousâand you actually *smiled*, something short and sharp flickered behind Adrianâs eyes.
"Wow," he muttered under his breath, voice low enough that only the counter could hear, "*Real* original. Guy shows up with zero personality and suddenly heâs the fun one?"Â Â
Then, because self-sabotage was his love language: He dropped a tray of clean silverware, *on purpose*, just to make noise. Just to disrupt it.
And when everyone turned? He blinked innocently behind his glasses and said: "Oops."
But his distraction worked, you come to his side immediately. "Are you okay?" You're already squatting, picking up the discarded utensils.Â
He didnât look at you.
Not right away.
Adrian kept his eyes on the scattered silverware, jaw tight, breathing slowâlike he was trying to pretend the little outburst didnât happen. Like he wasnât just a second ago stewing in jealousy over *Justin*, of all people.
Then you touch one of the forks near his foot, and he finally snaps. "I said oops," he muttered, voice quieter now. "Not 'please mother me.'"
But then, he exhaled sharply through his nose and added, softer: "...I'm fine. Just clumsy tonight."
He reached down to grab a spoon but winced mid-motion, hand flying back to his side instinctively.
Too late.
You saw it. Again.
And this time... he didn't have a joke ready.
"Adrian, don't pretend like you didn't drop all this shit just to get my attention." You glare up at him, picking up the last of the silverware and gently shoving them into his hands.Â
He flinchedâjust slightlyâat your words. Not from anger. From being caught.
For a second, Adrian just stood there, silverware shoved into his chest like a punishment, mouth opening and closing like he was about to lie anyway.
"...Okay," he muttered, voice low and grudging. "Maybe I did. Maybe Iâm petty. Maybe I *hate* seeing you laugh at that guyâs knock-knock joke like itâs the funniest thing since world peace."Â Â
He adjusted his glasses with one hand, avoiding your eyes againâbecause admitting weakness? Fine. Being vulnerable? Nope.
But jealousy? That heâd own.
He finally looked down at you, expression stubbornâbut softer around the edges now. "...You were supposed to be my person."
Your eyebrows furrow, confusion written all over your features as you stand, arms crossed. âAdrian, what do you mean?âÂ
Adrian was caught off balance by the genuine puzzlement in your tone. He was expecting annoyance, not honest incomprehension.
It made his stomach twistâthe defensiveness faltering a little as he shifted his weight, the silverware still clutched to his chest like a shield.
"I..." He starts, then stops. *How the hell to explain it without sounding like a possessive weirdo?*
"You and me," he finally said. "We work together. We talk crap about... everything. This place, the customers, the other morons we work with." He gestured vaguely at Justin.
âSo youâre salty with me,â You begin, taking a slight step toward him. âBecause I was talking to Justin? And he was laughing like a clown at some dumb joke I made?â A smile of genuine disbelief plants itself on your lips.Â
"I'm not salty," Adrian hisses, then immediately deflates. "Okay. Fine. I'm salty."Â Â
He shoved the tray onto the counter with a clatter and adjusted his glasses: his tell when he was flustered.
"But not because you talked to him! I don't care about that! I care that you were... smiling at him likeâlike heâs some charming little hero instead of a guy who wears socks with sandals and calls it 'a fashion statement'!"Â Â
His voice dropped, quieter now, almost vulnerable:Â "You never smile at *me* like that."
And there it was.
The real problem.
Not Justin.
Not the jokes.
It was the way your laugh had lit up for someone else tonightâthe way Adrian had spent all shift hurting in silence just so you wouldn't worryâand still, still you turned to someone else with warmth⊠while he bled through his damn bandages alone. Â
He looked away fast, pretending to wipe down a clean counter. Â
"Anyway," he mumbled. "Forget it."
âHey, that's not fair.â Your tone is gentle as you grab his arm. Leading him into the back storage room, away from everyone else, quiet and intimate. âAdrian.â
As he stumbles into the storage room, tryingâand failingâto keep weight off his side, he didn't meet your eyes at first. When he finally did, he looked like a kicked puppy caught in the rain.
âI was being polite.â You emphasize the word, eyes full of concern as you stare up at him, eyebrows furrowed. He practically flinches at your statement.Â
"Polite," he echos sarcastically, voice strained as he leans into the cold metal shelving, wincing. "Yeah. You were being polite. *I know*. You're always polite. To everyone."
You just sigh, not wanting to fight with him, you never do. "Let me see." Stepping closer your hand moves to his upper arm, gently holding onto him.
Adrian hesitates. Every instinct in him was screaming to stay defensive, push you away, avoid showing any sign of weakness. That was how he'd always been, the way he'd survived.
So he let out a breath and nodded stiffly, slowly shifting his position against the shelving. This way he was propped up, still standing, but not putting as much weight on his side.
"It's not that bad," he grumbled.
You lift the hem of his shirt, hands ghosting over the poorly bandaged wound. "Oh, baby..." The nickname rolls off your tongue casually, as you look up at him with worried eyes.Â
Adrian flinchedânot from the touch, but from the nickname. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?"Â
"*Baby?*" he echoed weakly, voice cracking like a teenager. His face flushed hot under his glasses, and for a split second, all the pain seemed to fade beneath sheer panic. "*You can't justâ say stuff like that and expect me to function."
He swallowed hard, eyes darting anywhere but your face.
"...I didnât say anything," he muttered after a beat, jaw tightening again, "because I knew youâd do this. Worry. Get mad. Look at me like Iâm some stray dog you found in a ditch."Â Â
His voice dropped. "...Iâm not fragile."
"You're not." You agree, one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back while the other gently lifts the bandage. "But you deserve to feel good, be taken care of... Not suffer alone."
Adrian leaned into the touch despite himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment. He let out a shuddering exhale, tension slowly easing as the gentleness of your touch sunk past all his defenses like a wave.
And for a second, he just... *melted.*
Until his eyes flicked open again and he remembered how to be stubborn.
"I don't need to be coddled like a goddamn child," he grumbled. "...I'm fine. You're overreacting."
"If you don't stop complaining, I'll go be this soft and caring with Justin." It's a tease, but also a threat. You pull out the staff first aid kit, grabbing some gauze to put over his wound.Â
Adrian's eyes snapped open wide, the words hitting him with a jolt of alarm that went straight to his core.
"Don't," he said, too quickly. There was a hint of warning there, possessive. "Don't go back out there and be... friendly with that guy."
He grunted a little as you worked on his wound, shifting to give you better access.
"You could do so much better than Justin," he muttered.
"Like you?" You press the bandage to his side, the wound isn't big enough to require stitches so you just cover it again.
Adrian grunted at the pressure, fingers gripping the cool metal shelving. He clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply, cursing under his breath.
Then your question registered, and he let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Yeah, sure," he said, sarcasm thick as he tried to brush it off, "because I'm a *catch*, aren't I? Covered in scars and bruises, bleeding from my side, can barely stand right now... real dream guy material. You can have your pick of the lot. Justin, with his perfect teeth and squeaky clean smile."
"Adrian," You cup his cheek, fingers brushing over his cheekbone. "Don't make me beg."
He froze for a heartbeat, like your touch had short-circuited every defense, every snarky remark, every twisted joke he used to hide behind.
Then, slowly⊠he leaned into your hand.
His glasses slip slightly down his nose as his head tilts toward your palm like heâd been starving for it without knowing.
And then, quietly and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you just an inch closer. Not demanding. Not aggressive. Just⊠holding on.
His voice came out rougher than before, almost fragile. "...Iâm tired," he admitted, no sarcasm, no defiance. "I'm *so* tired."
For the first time that nightâŠ
He didnât try to hide it.
"You should stay at my place tonight..." Adrian's breathing hitched as you stroked his head, his eyes sliding shut again. "Let me take care of you, baby."
His shoulders droop, the weight of everythingâhis injury, his pride, his stubbornnessâjust... falling away as your nails raked across his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. Â
For a moment, he almost forgot how to talk, like every thought in his brain had been replaced by static.
Then after a beat of trying to collect his scattered focus, he mutters, voice barely above a whisper:Â "Can I... have one condition?"
"Of course," Adrian's arms tightened around your waist, a low, relieved sigh escaping his lips as he buried his face against the crook of your neck.Â
It was like he was a different person, the sharp edges filed down to something raw and vulnerable under your touch.
His next words were murmured directly into your skin, quiet and almost pleading: "Keep calling me 'baby.' "
Before you can even reply, Justin opens the door, his eyes widening as he scratches the back of his neck. Obviously bothered by the position you're in. âUh, weâre headinâ out. Itâs time to lock up.â
Adrian's reaction was instantaneous: the vulnerability vanished, replaced with a sharp scowl as his arms dropped from your waist, and he whirled to face Justin.
"Great," he snapped, still leaning against the storage shelf but shifting his position to hide his bandaged side. "Took you long enough. I thought we might be stuck here till morning."
Justin shrugged, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long, making Adrian's jaw clench. "Sorry," Justin said, though he didn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "You two good here?"
âYeah, all good.â You smile awkwardly, feeling the tension between the men.Â
Adrian rolled his eyes at your overly-cheery tone, clearly annoyed by Justin's presence in general and the way he kept looking at you in particular. He leaned back against the shelf, arms crossing, and shot Justin a glare that was half annoyance and half challenge.
"Yeah," he drawled sarcastically, voice dripping with disdain. "We're peachy. Just finished having a heart-to-heart about our feelings, actually. Really a bonding moment."
You link your fingers with his, practically dragging Adrian out of the room, "We should get going then."Â
Adrian lets you pull him along, limping slightly but refusing to complain â especially now that he had something to prove.
He shot one last look over his shoulder at Justin, smug and possessive all at once, and gave a slow, deliberate squeeze of your hand as if to say: *Mine.*
"Yep," he said brightly â too brightly. "Gotta go. Big night. Important stuff. None of your business."
And just before the door swung shut behind them?
"...Don't forget to lock the freezer."Â Â
Because even when being dragged out by his maybe-girlfriend after nearly bleeding out in a supply closetâŠÂ Â
Adrian Chase *still* had time for petty power moves.
Luckily you live less than five minutes away from the restaurant, you guide him in the direction of your apartment. "Are you okay to walk a bit?" You donât wanna push his injuries yet you know that he'll take offense to the question.
Adrian grunted as he took a few slow, measured steps, wincing slightly at the pain in his side. He still looked stubborn and defensive, though he was quieter now â- clearly focusing on keeping up the facade of being fine. Â
His hand gripped your arm a little tighter as he limped along, and he nodded stiffly at your question.
"I'm good," he said, too quickly, like he was trying to convince himself as much as convince you. "Just peachy." No way in hell would he admit the walking was making his side throb.
"Almost there, baby." You murmur softly, grinning up at him as he follows along.
Adrian gritted his teeth at the pet name, fighting down a strange mixture of embarrassment, frustration, and âto his mortification â a pang of genuine affection.
He knew he should argue, keep up his usual act of indifference, but he was in pain and exhausted and... well, secretly kind of into the way the word "baby" sounded on your tongue.
His grip on your arm tightened a fraction more, and he let out a gruff, reluctant sigh.
"Hurry up, then. I'm dying here."
Once you make it to the door, you unlock it as you help him in, leading him to your overly pink bedroom. Adrian stumbled in behind you, blinking at the explosion of pink like heâd accidentally walked into a unicornâs fever dream. His nose wrinkled slightly at the Hello Kitty army staring at him from every shelf.
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "It's like a pastel warzone in here."
But when you moved to help him sit on the bed, he didnât argueâjust let out a quiet grunt as his leg gave slightly, catching himself on your shoulder.
He sat down heavily on the edge of your bed, wincing as pain flared in his side again.
"...You know," he said after a beat, leaning forward just enough to meet your eyes despite being clearly drained and trying way too hard to sound casual. "If I die surrounded by plush cats and glittery throw pillows... I *will* come back to haunt this apartment."Â Â
Then â because Adrian can't stay soft for more than five seconds without deflecting â Â
"...But if I do? Make sure my ghost wears sunglasses. And kills Justin first."
"Just relax," You peel his glasses off his face, then his hat and apron, slowly removing his work uniform. "And as much as you hate on the room, it's the most comfortable bed you'll ever lay in."Â
You giggle, amused by his contrast to the room around him. Before long, you're reaching for the zipper of his slacksânot even realizing the implications at first.
Adrian went still as a statue as you began to undress him, all the breath leaving his lungs at once. His hands gripped the edge of the bed, jaw clenching as his eyes flickered between your hands and your face, trying to stay casual even as his heart rate kicked up a notch.
Then you reached for the zipper of his *pants* and he almost choked. Â
His hand snapped down, grabbing yours before you could keep going.
"Whoa, whoa. Slow down," he said fast, eyes going wide. "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting you comfortable..." Your lips pout slightly, as you pull your hand back slightly. "And ready for bed."
Adrian's brain was suddenly short-circuiting, every other rational thought replaced by a panicked loop of: *Pants. Off. Bed. With you. With you. In your room. In your bed.*Â Â Â
He stared at you for a beat, then forced the tiniest bit of sarcasm into his voice.
"You gonna... undress me all the way for this little sleepover?" he shot back, trying to cover for how flustered he suddenly was. "Because I have some standards, you know. I don't just let people strip me naked for free."
"Good thing you won't be fully nude." You grin, sliding his shirt over his head, then kneeling to untie his shoes, sliding them off and placing them off to the side.Â
Adrian swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress even tighter as the shirt came off and you knelt between his legs. He was trying *real* hard to keep his cool to keep himself from showing just how goddamn overwhelmed he felt by this whole situation.
He was hyper-aware of everything: the sound of his own breath, the feeling of your touch against his skin, the way his pants suddenly felt too-tight.
He cursed silently, gritting his teeth.
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Am I?" You reach for his zipper again, hands hovering over his clothed groin.Â
"Y-yeah," he grumbled, trying to sound like he was still in control even though he was pretty sure he'd just forgotten his own name. The moment your hands landed even *near* where the zipper was â
He cursed again under his breath, hands twitching with the effort of not just grabbing you and throwing you into bed.
"You know exactly what you're doing. And it's torture. You're a goddamn sadist."
"Don't pretend you're not enjoying *every* second of it, baby." Your fingers brush over his crotch as you unzip the pants, slowly working to slide them down his hips and legs.Â
Adrian had to stifle a *whine* as you touched him, his head tipping back and exposing his throat as every muscle in his body went tense. It felt like he was on fire, his heart pounding like a drum and his breathing getting even faster.Â
"Jesus Christ," he rasped. "You're killing me." Then he was only wearing boxers, and the tent in them was already starting to be *super obvious.* Dammit.
âLay back,â You demand softly, fingers trailing over his thigh softly.Â
Adrian obeyed before he even thought about it, his entire body reacting like he was hardwired to act at your command. He let out a slow huff of breath as he leaned back onto the bed, propping himself up with his elbows as he stared up at you, eyes wide and dark.
His heart was slamming in his chest, and his voice sounded downright *raw* when he spoke again.
"You're really not being fair right now."
"I know," You turn your back to him, teasingly pulling your shirt over your head, exposing your lacey bra, then slipping out of your shoes. "It's a whole lot of fun."Â
You unbutton your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs, your ass on full display for him.Â
Adrian's brain stuttered at the sight of you, his breath catching in his chest as his eyes went wide and he practically *ached* with how much he wanted you. His fingers clenching in the sheets, his voice coming out rough and urgent.Â
"Ffffâ You're a goddamn tease, you know that, right?"
He swallows hard, every bit of self-control he had left focusing entirely on not just lunging forward and pouncing on you.
His fingers trembling.
"I sleep naked, you know." You grin, listening to his rapid breathing, back still turned to him.Â
Adrian *whimpered* this time, the sound slipping out before he could stop it as the image you planted in his head. God, he was weak.
Weak, and desperately trying not to lose control.Â
He took a shuddering breath, his voice getting even more strained as the mental image of you - alone, naked, in that damn bed he was lying in -
"Jesus Christ," he murmured, his fists clenching even tighter. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"
Adrian had to bite his lip to stop another sound from slipping out as the fabric hit the floor, his imagination running wild. He was trying so hard not to just reach out, to grab you and drag you into his lap and -
He could almost taste his own control breaking. His eyes darkened even further, his voice a low growl.
"I have *plenty* of self-control," he insisted, his eyes roaming over every inch of you hungrily. "Trust me."
"Good," Fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties, teasingly revealing more and more skin. "That means this is light work for you then." And with that, you slide them down, slowly stepping out of each leg and giving him the perfect view.Â
"You're going to be the death of me," he breathed, his voice low and ragged as he stared at you, completely bare, standing just inches from the bed.
His fingers were white-knuckling the sheets now. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Every inch of him *screamed* to reach out, but he stayed frozen â not because he didnât want to, but because part of him still couldn't believe this was real.
"You win," he finally admitted, voice hoarse with desire and surrender. "I don't have control. Not around you."
He swallowed hard.
"Just... don't stop."
Finally, you face him, bare body on full display for his hungry gaze. "I win?" You settle back between his thighs, fingernails brushing over his skin. "Oh come on, you barely put up a fight."
"I fought like a *warrior,*" Adrian croaked, voice cracking as your nails dragged up his inner thigh. His back arched slightly off the bed, hips twitching with every feather-light touch.
"You're just... built different. A lethal weapon. A distraction with legs."Â Â
He panted, eyes blown wide and glassy with want â still in his boxers, still painfully half-dressed while you were gloriously nude.
"And for the record," he gritted out between clenched teeth, "this isn't losing... this is surrendering to a superior force."Â Â
Thenâweakly:Â Â
  "...Please just touch me already."
You don't make him wait. In one fluid motion, you swing a leg over his hips, settling your weight carefully against him. Your palms slide up his chestâover the ridges of old scars, the bandage hiding his new cutâand come to rest on either side of his face.Â
His skin feels feverish beneath your touch, breath ragged against your lips. Adrian lets out a choked groan, hips lifting instinctively to meet yours.Â
His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, not pulling, just gripping like heâs afraid youâll vanish. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and desperate. Â
âYouââ he rasps, voice breaking. âYou win. You always win.â Â
Then he drags you down, crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that tastes like surrender and salt and every unsaid thing between you. Â
You melt into the kiss, fingers tangling in his sweat-damp hair as you deepen itâslow, deliberate, savoring the way he trembles beneath you. His groan vibrates against your lips, desperate and raw.Â
When you finally pull back, breathless, your thumb brushes the corner of his swollen mouth. Â
âTell me what you want,â you whisper, shifting just enough to feel the hard length of him straining against your thigh through thin cotton. âExactly.â Â
Adrianâs eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, jaw clenched. When they open again, the defiance is gone, replaced by pure, aching need. Â
âYou,â he grits out, fingers digging into your hips. âLike this. Naked. On me. Justââ He swallows hard. âNow.â Â
His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him as he grinds upârough, impatient. The friction draws another ragged gasp from him, eyes squeezing shut. Â
âFuckâplease,â he breathes, voice cracking on the edge of desperation. âDonât make me beg.â But the way his hips arch, the way his fingers tremble against your skinâhe already is. Â
You lean down, nipping at his earlobe before whispering, âThen donât.â Â
You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug them down just enough, freeing him. His cock springs hot and heavy against your stomach, and Adrian lets out a shuddering groan, head falling back against the pillows. Â
âFinally,â he rasps, hips lifting to help you strip him completely bare. His hands roam your back, down to your ass, guiding you as you rise up, positioning yourself above him. Â
His gaze locks onto yours, pupils blown wide. âDo it,â he commands, voice rough but stripped of sarcasm, pure, raw want. âBefore I lose my goddamn mind.â Â
His fingers dig into your thighs, bracing himself as you sink downâslow, deliberateâtaking every inch of him. Â
The breath punches out of him in a sharp cry. âFuck-â Â
You pause, fully seated, letting him feel the tight, wet heat of youâletting him feel the tremors running through your own body. His groan echoes yours, low and guttural. Â
âMove,â he pleads, hips bucking upward instinctively. âPlease-â Â
You do: rolling your hips in a slow, grinding circle that makes him curse, head thrashing against the pillow. Â
His hands slide up to grip your waist, fingers digging in as he matches your rhythmâthrusting up in short, sharp jerks. Every movement pulls a gasp from him, sweat beading on his forehead.Â
âLook at you,â he rasps, eyes dark with awe and hunger. âRiding me like you own me.â His thumb brushes your clitârough, unskilled, but desperateâand you cry out, arching against him. Â
âYeah,â he breathes, voice wrecked. âJust like that.â You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you quicken your pace, riding him harder, deeper.Â
Each thrust punches a groan from his lips, his fingers scrambling for purchase on your skin. âClose-â he chokes out, hips stuttering beneath you. âSo fucking close-â Â
You slide off him with slick heat, your hand wrapping around his cock before he can protestâjerking him fast and tight, thumb smearing the wetness leaking from his tip.
Adrian cries out, back arching off the bed, fingers clawing at the sheets as he spills hot and thick over your fist and his own stomach in shuddering pulses. His release leaves him gasping, trembling, eyes squeezed shut, utterly wrecked against your pink pillows.
He lies there, trembling and boneless, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes were still closed, hands fisted in the sheets, completely undone.
 Then your voice cuts through the haze. "Youâre so pretty, Baby." His eyes snap open.
His face flushed *impossibly* redâhalf from exhaustion, half from sheer mortification that someone had just not only seen him come apart like that⊠but *licked their hand after.*
"Jesusâ" He coughed violently into his elbow like that somehow fixed anything. "Don't say stuff like that right after- I mean-"
He looked at you with wide eyes. "Did you justâtaste it?"Â Â
âMaybe..â You grab tissues to clean off his abs, eyes still full of desire.Â
Adrian closed his eyes, his face going impossibly hotter as you started cleaning up his stomach and he couldn't help but squirm a little, completely vulnerable and over-sensitive.
"You're seriously insane," he muttered, voice still ragged. "You know that, right?"
He cracked an eye open to glare at you, trying for annoyance but mostly succeeding at looking like a scolded puppy.
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"Take it all, my pretty little slut. Show me how much you need it."
Pairing: Adrian Chase x fem! ReaderÂ
Genre: Smut
Word count: 3.3kÂ
Summary: Youâre Vigilante's fuck buddy, but something is different this time around, and he finally lets a secret slip.Â
Warnings: possessive vigilante, aggressive throat fucking, cum swallowing, degradation & praise kinks, blindfolding, unprotected sex, face riding, not proof read
a/n: requests are always open! Hope you enjoyÂ
You're leaving your stupid waitressing job, blouse unbuttoned slightly at the top, eyes tired and feeling weak. As you walk you hear the faint noise of boots behind you, causing the hairs on your skin to stand up.Â
Your pace quickens, heart pounding rapidly as you fumble in your purse reaching for something to defend yourself with.Â
The pepper spray clatters to the ground as a gloved hand closes over your wrist â firm, but not bruising. A familiar voice, low and slightly muffled by the mask, hums right behind your ear.
"Tsk tsk. Running from me? After I saved your pretty little neck *twice* now?" Vigilante tilts his head, helmet glinting under the dim streetlight. One hand still holds your wrist; the other brushes a loose strand of hair from your shoulder with mocking gentleness. "You look exhausted. Long night flirting with creeps at that diner?"
âJust a long dayâŠâ You murmur, eyes scanning the mask.Â
He steps closer, crowding you against the brick wall, his breath warm through the fabric of his mask. "I hate when you do that⊠walk alone like you're begging trouble to take you." His voice drops â rougher now, edged with something dangerous and playful all at once. "But⊠maybe I like knowing Iâm always just one scream away."
A beat.
Then he releases you , too suddenly, only to adjust his gloves with exaggerated nonchalance. "So? Apartmentâs this way⊠or are we doing it in the alley again?"
âWhy not both?â Your hand lands on his shoulder as you take a step closer, the thrill of being in his presence making your cunt ache.Â
His smirk is hidden by the mask, but it's there all the same; it's always there.
"Greedy little thing. You know how the game goes, princess. You're gonna have to beg to get what you want." His hand curls around your hip, tugging you even closer until you're nearly flush against him. His voice is a rough purr, a deadly whisper in the night.
Your hands slide down his body, touching every inch of his clothed muscles.Â
Lowering down to your knees you feel his hands tangle in your hair, gripping the length into a makeshift ponytail. The cold cement digging into your skin as you lean forward, nose nuzzling his clothed groin.Â
"*Mmm,* eager tonight, aren't we?" he growls, hips twitching forward instinctively as your nose brushes against him. His grip in your hair tightensâjust shy of painâangling your head up even though the mask keeps his eyes unreadable.
A low, almost purring sound resonates from his chest as your hands explore his body. His fingers tighten slightly on your hair, and he leans back against the wall with a sharp exhale when you brush against his core once again.
His hand cups your chin, tilting your head up until you meet his gaze, even if he's still shielded by the mask. His thumb grazes your lower lip, smearing your lipstick, grip slightly firm on your face.
His voice carries a hint of huskiness when he speaks. "Go ahead, pretty thing. Beg for me." Vigilante's free hand drops to unbuckle his belt with slow, deliberate tease, one eye still scanning the shadows of the alley behind you.
Your lips brush against the thick fabric covering his groin, pressing a soft, lingering kiss where you feel the heat of him beneath. A low groan rumbles from his chest, and you feel the hardening ridge of his cock swell against your cheek through the tactical gear.Â
"Please," you whisper, the word trembling in the cold air. Your eyes lock onto the dark visor of his helmet, wide and pleading like a doe caught in headlights, impossible to see him, yet pouring every ounce of desperation into that unseen gaze. "Please, I need it... need *you*."
His gloved hand fists tighter in your hair, pulling just enough to sting. "Louder," he commands, voice thick and ragged. "Let the whole damn alley know who you belong to."
âVigilante," you gasp, the name a ragged plea muffled against the straining fabric of his pants. Your lips part, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the thick ridge of his erection, tracing its length through the fabric.Â
Each kiss leaves a damp patch, a visible claim in the dim light. "Please... please fuck my mouth," you beg, the words trembling with raw need.Â
"I need to taste you... need you to use me." Your tongue flicks against the heated cloth where the head of his cock presses insistently, a silent promise of the worship to come.
The buckle gives way with a sharp *click*. Vigilante shoves his pants and tactical gear down just enough, freeing his thick, flushed cock. It springs out, heavy and already leaking, slapping against your cheekbone with a wet smack that echoes in the alley.Â
"Open," he rasps, the command leaving no room for hesitation. His gloved thumb presses hard against your bottom teeth, forcing your jaw wider.Â
You taste leather and salt as he slides the swollen tip past your lips, stretching them taut. "Wider," he growls, pushing deeper until your throat flutters helplessly around the intrusion.
The thick head bumps against the back of your throat, triggering an involuntary gag reflex that you choke back, tears springing to your eyes as your jaw strains wide. Vigilanteâs grip on your hair tightens, yanking your head forward onto his cock with brutal precision.Â
"That's it," he grunts, hips pistoning shallowly at first, then deeper, each thrust forcing more of his length down your constricting throat. Your vision blurs, mascara streaking down your cheeks in inky rivers as you struggle to breathe through your nose, saliva dripping thickly onto the pavement.Â
Your hands scramble against his thighs, fingers digging into the thick muscle beneath the tactical fabric, desperate for purchase. The rough texture scrapes your palms as you brace yourself, choking violently around the brutal intrusion.Â
Tears stream freely now, mixing with spit and smeared lipstick. Your throat convulses, squeezing him tight, forcing a ragged groan from Vigilante. He pauses, hips frozen mid-thrust, the swollen head of his cock lodged deep.Â
The grip in your hair loosens fractionally. "Look at you," he rasps, voice thick with dark approval. "Taking it like a perfect little cocksleeve. Gagging so pretty on me."Â
His thumb swipes roughly across your wet cheek, smearing tears. "Fuck, that tight throat⊠made for this, werenât you? For taking whatever I give you." You nod in response, desperate to give him exactly what he wants.Â
Then, without warning, he slams forward again, harder, faster. His hips snap against your face, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the alley walls. Each brutal thrust forces your nose into the coarse fabric of his lower abdomen, stealing your breath.Â
"Thatâs it, choke on it," he grunts, the praise laced with venomous delight. "Take it all, my pretty little slut. Show me how much you need it."
His thrusts turn punishing, relentlessâeach deep, brutal shove forcing your throat to stretch obscenely around him. You gag violently, tears and spit slicking your chin, but he doesnât relent.Â
Vigilantes hips piston faster, the slap of skin against skin echoing like a drumbeat in the alleyâs silence. A guttural groan tears from him, raw and primal, as he buries himself to the hilt one last time.Â
You feel the hot, thick pulse of his release flooding your throat, filling you until you swallow convulsively around him, shuddering.
Then, abruptly, he pulls out. Before you can gasp for air, his gloved hand covers your eyes, plunging you into complete darkness. You hear the faint *hiss* of his helmetâs seal breaking.Â
A heartbeat later, his mouth crashes against yoursâhot, demanding, and startlingly bare. The kiss is savage, possessive, a silent claim in the shadows before the helmet seals back with a soft click. His thumb brushes your swollen lower lip. "Mine," he rasps against your ear, voice raw.
Youâre dazed, unable to even respond with your words, just a soft hum in agreement, body leaning into his.Â
Vigilante tucks himself back into his tactical pants with one efficient, gloved hand, the other brushing away your tear-streaked cheeks with unexpected softness. His thumb lingers on your damp skin, wiping away the mess of mascara and spit with a tenderness that clashes violently with the brutality of moments before.Â
The cruel edge in his voice melts into something low and warm, almost soothing. "Shh... look at you," he murmurs, tilting your chin up gently. "Took it so fucking perfectly. Made me feel so good, princess. Did so good for me." His praise is a rough caress against your frayed nerves, the possessive grip on your chin now a steadying anchor.
You hold onto his waist, leaning into his touch, taking in each word he rasps. The alleyâs chill clung to your skin as Vigilante guided you firmly by the elbow, his presence a solid wall of heat at your back.Â
He walks you the three blocks to your apartment building without a word, his gloved hand never leaving your arm, scanning every shadowed doorway and flickering streetlamp with predatory stillness. Inside your cramped studio, he locked the deadbolt behind you with a decisive *click*.Â
He steered you toward the bathroom sink, the harsh fluorescent light making you wince. With practiced care, he dampened a washcloth under warm water, the steam rising as he gently wiped away the streaks of mascara, the dried spit, the smudged lipstick from your chin and cheeks.Â
His touch was methodical, almost clinical, yet the roughness of his gloves against your sensitive skin sent shivers down your spine.Â
"There," he murmured, tossing the soiled cloth aside. From a pocket inside his armored vest, he produced a soft black silk blindfold. His voice dropped to a low, velvet rasp as he smoothed your hair back.Â
"Keep those pretty eyes closed for me now, princess. Weâre trying something⊠different tonight." The silk whispered against your temples as he tied it securely, plunging you into warm, velvety darkness. "Trust me?"
âYes, I trust you..â Your tone is soft and full of anticipation.Â
The silk blindfold blocks all light, heightening every sensation. Vigilanteâs gloved hands slide beneath your blouse, fingers tracing the curve of your waist as he guides you backwards toward the bedroom.Â
Each button pops open slowly, deliberately, the fabric whispering apart to expose your skin to the cool apartment air. His knuckles brush your collarbone, then your shoulders, easing the blouse down your arms until it pools at your feet.Â
The skirt follows, unzipping with a hushed rasp, his palms smoothing over your hips as it slides down your legs. You stood trembling in just your bra and panties, the blindfold making his every breath sound amplified, intimate.Â
A soft pressure on your shoulders urging you down onto the edge of the mattress. You hear the rustle of tactical gear, the clink of buckles, the heavy thud of armored plating hitting the floor. Then, silence.Â
A sharp intake of breathâhisâcuts through the stillness. The helmetâs seal hissing open.Â
Warmth envelops your left breast as his mouth closes over the lace of your bra, tongue swirling the stiffening peak beneath the fabric. Earning a sharp gasp from your lips at the unexpected tenderness.Â
At the same time, his bare hand, *bare*, cups your other breast, thumb rubbing slowly, maddening circles over your nipple through the lace. The gentleness was jarring, exquisite.Â
A whimper escapes you as shivers tear down your spine. His lips trail upward, teeth grazing the swell before he murmurs against your skin, voice stripped of the maskâs distortionâraw, deep, and devastatingly close. "So soft... all mine."
âFuck,â You moan, hands reaching out to touch him, to touch any part of him.
Your fingers brush against his jaw, the stubble rough against your fingertips, then higher, tracing the sharp ridge of his cheekbone. Warm, living skin. Real. You gasp, the sensation electric and forbidden.Â
His hands slide behind your back, deftly unhooking your bra. The lace falls away, and his groan vibrates against your throatâlow, hungry, reverent. His palms, cup the weight of your bare breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples into stiff peaks.Â
"Christ," he rasps, breath hot on your collarbone.
His mouth descends, tongue swirling around one taut peak while his fingers pinch the other, gentle, then sharp, drawing a shattered cry from your lips.
Your fingers brush up the corded muscles of his shoulders, tracing the hard ridges and valleys beneath smooth, heated skin. Then they tangle in thick, slightly damp hairâshort at the nape, longer on topâas he pushes you firmly backward onto the plush mattress.Â
The blindfold heightens every sensation: the rasp of his calloused palms skimming down your ribs, the possessive grip of his thighs straddling yours, the low groan vibrating against your breastbone as you rake your nails lightly over his scalp.Â
"Fuck, yes," His needy tone ignites a desperate hunger inside you. "Touch me everywhere." Your movements become feverish, fingers tracing over the hard planes of his abdomen, outlining every ridge and dip you've only ever felt through layers of cloth.Â
With a low growl, Vigilante flips you both in one fluid motion. Suddenly, you're straddling his hips, palms landing flat on the solid warmth of his bare chest.Â
"Vigilante," you gasp, the name a ragged plea as your hips grind down instinctively against his, wetness soaking through your panties onto the skin beneath. "Pleaseâ"
"Ah-ah," he rasps, hands clamping your hips still. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, possessive.Â
"Not yet." With a sharp tug, he pulls you forwardâforcing you to straddle his face instead. His hot breath ghosts over your soaked panties.Â
"Sit," he orders, voice muffled against your cunt. "Show me how bad you need it."
You whine, high and desperate, settling your weight fully onto his mouth. Your hips grind in small, frantic circles against his lips and nose, seeking friction.Â
A violent shiver rips through you as his nose brushes firmly over your clit through the soaked lace. "Again," you gasp, thighs trembling wildly as she leans back, palms splayed flat against the hard planes of his chest for balance.Â
"Please, againâ" Your plea cuts off into a choked moan when he does it: a slow, deliberate drag of his nose right over that aching bud, followed by the hot, open-mouthed press of his lips against your panties, sucking the damp fabric tight against your core.
A guttural groan vibrated against your core. Vigilanteâs fingers hook into the soaked lace of your panties, yanking them harshly to the side, exposing your swollen, dripping cunt to the cool airâand his waiting mouth.Â
His tongue, hot and broad, lashed out in a single, desperate swipe from your aching entrance all the way up to your clit. The taste of youâmusky and sweet,âunleashing something feral.Â
With a sharp, tearing *rip*, he shreds the panties completely off without lifting you an inch, the ruined fabric discarded. His hands clamp like steel bands on your trembling thighs, forcing them brutally wide apart, pinning you open to his gaze.Â
Then he dives in, tongue plunging deep, lapping hungrily at your slick cunt before sucking your clit hard between his lips, feasting like a starved man.
You ride his face with need, grinding your slick cunt against his mouth in desperate circles. His tongue plunges deep, fucking your pulsing hole with rough, rhythmic strokes that make your thighs shake.Â
Between thrusts, his nose grinds against your swollen clit, a relentless pressure that steals your breath. Her moans echo off the cramped walls, raw and unfiltered: "Fuckâ*yes*âright thereâ"Â
Each word breaks as he sucks your clit hard between his lips, vibrating a groan against you that rattles your bones. Your fingers claw into his sweat-slicked shoulders, anchoring yourself as pleasure coils tighter, threatening to snap.
The tension finally snapsâa violent shudder rips through you as you arche sharply, thighs clamping around his head. Warmth gushes over his chin, his mouth, soaking the sheets beneath them.Â
Vigilante groans, low and possessive, against your trembling core, lapping up every pulse of your release. "That's it," he rasps, voice thick with your taste. "Drench me." Before you can gasp, his hands grip your hips, lifting your slick body effortlessly.Â
He guides your trembling form over him, hovering your dripping entrance directly over the swollen head of his cock. "Now," he growls, eyes dark beneath the blindfold.Â
"Ride me. Make yourself feel good." Slowly, he lowers youâinch by agonizing inchâonto his tip.
The stretch burns deliciously. Your wetness eases the way as he sinks you deeper. "Work for it," Vigilante commands, releasing your hips completely. "Show me how bad you want it."Â
Your thighs tremble as you sink lower, taking more of his thickness. A ragged cry tears from your throat. "Vigilanteâ"Â
"Beg harder," he rasps, hands flat on the mattress, watching your struggle. "Take all of me." You grind down, forcing herself deeper.Â
"Pleaseâneed youâ"
 "Louder."Â
Your nails rake his chest. "Fuck me!" you scream.Â
He smirksâa cruel, satisfied curve you feel against your skin. "That's my girl."
Your thighs burn, slick with sweat and your own release, as you work yourself down his thick length. Vigilante watched through half-lidded eyesâthe lewd, rhythmic clench of your cunt around him, the bounce of your breasts, the desperate arch of your spineâlike you were fucking yourself on some obscene toy.Â
The sight punches the air from his lungs. He couldnât just watch anymore. With a guttural snarl, he surges forward, hands locking onto your waist like vices.Â
His mouth crashed against yours in a bruising kiss, tongue plunging deep as his hips piston upwardâhard, fast, relentlessâeach brutal thrust drilling directly into that sweet, swollen spot deep inside you.Â
Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shattering. You scream against his lips, arms locking around his neck, breasts crushed against his chest as your cunt flutters wildly around him, clamping down again and again.
His hips stutter, losing their brutal rhythm. A ragged moan tears from his throat, raw and desperate, hot breath scalding your ear. "Fuck... mine," he gasps, arms crushing you impossibly tighter against his sweat-slicked chest, muscles trembling.Â
His thrusts turned frantic, shallow, erraticâdriving into you with bruising force, chasing his own peak. You whimper, shivering violently at the heat of his breath and the sudden, possessive fear in his grip.Â
"Don't... go," he chokes out against your skin, each word a broken plea muffled in your hair.
His hips slam upward one final time, burying himself to the hilt inside your trembling heat. You gasp, pinned in his arms, every inch of his thick cock throbbing violently against your deepest walls.Â
A raw, guttural groan tears from Vigilanteâs throatâhalf agony, half ecstasyâas his release surges, hot and thick, flooding your core in pulsing waves.Â
He collapses back, pulling you against him, shuddering, his breath ragged gasps against your neck.
âVigilante?â You breathe out against his chest, the intimacy of this hookup a stark contrast to any of the previous ones. Heâs never even been naked or without the helmet when youâre together.Â
His breathing is still ragged, uneven, as your words float through the silence. For a momentâjust a flickerâhe doesnât answer. Just holds you tighter, one arm locked around your back like heâs afraid youâll vanish.
Then, soft as smoke:
"Adrian."Â Â
It slips out before he can stop it, a raw, unguarded whisper against your temple. The name hangs in the air between you like something sacred and stolen all at once.
His body stiffens almost immediately after saying it, as if realizing what just happenedâa breach in protocol, in armor thicker than his damn helmet.
âAdrianâŠâ You murmur, nuzzling against his chest but making no movement to sneak a glance at his face, to fully reveal him to you, rather just enjoying the comfort of him.Â
A sharp inhale sucks through his teeth at the sound of his nameâso damn *intimate* coming from your mouth. His heart hammers behind his ribs, the steady thump speeding up until the frantic rhythm is almost painful.
He holds still for a moment, body coiled taut as the air crackles with tension. Then, slowly... cautiously... his hand slides from your back to your hair, fingers tangling in the locks.Â
A ragged exhale shudders between his teeth. And then he answers your murmur with a gruff, throaty word: "Goddammit."Â Â Â
"I'll always be angry that you left." "But I'll always love you more.â
Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! ReaderÂ
Genre: Angst and smut
Word count: 14k
Summary: After years of being with Scott things just werenât working out. But when you left? You were more lost without him. Then by chance you wind up working with stormpar.Â
a/n: Iâve been wanting to make lengthier stories recently, so I cooked this one up! I didnât proofread it though⊠so I hope it turns out good, as always, my requests are open!
The air inside Scott's beat-up Ford Ranger tasted like stale coffee and impending thunderstorms, thick enough to choke on. Outside, Logan Airportâs terminal lights bled neon streaks across the windshield as rain began to needle the glass. Scott drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, humming some half-remembered country tuneâsomething about highways and heartacheâlike he hadnât noticed the silence between them had teeth.Â
You watched his profile, the way his jaw tightened when he shifted gears, the faded scar above his eyebrow from that time heâd tried to jump his bike over Tannerâs Creek back in Oklahoma. The years of shared textbooks under oak trees, of his hand finding yours in crowded hallways, of following him here to Massachusetts because MIT was his holy grail. Youâd memorized the constellations of freckles on his shoulders, the exact pitch of his laugh when he was tired.Â
The terminal doors slid open with a hiss, swallowing you into the chaotic hum of people wandering. Scott gripped your suitcase handle tighter, knuckles white against the worn leather. His other hand held yours like he was anchoring a kite in a storm. "You packed extra batteries for your camera, right?" he asked, voice straining over the announcement blaring overhead. "New York winters kill electronics." Your fingers loosen around his.Â
He knew. He always knew these practical things â the tensile strength of storm shelter doors, the optimal angle for hail photography, the exact wattage needed to keep your vintage Nikon alive.
âScott,â You sigh, turning to him, hand dropping from his as you look up at him.Â
Scott glanced over at you, taking in the frustration etched into your features. His grip loosened on your suitcase, and he ran a hand through his hair, the tension seeping from him in waves. "I'm just making sure," he said gruffly, avoiding your gaze. "Can't have your camera shorting out right when you hit Times Square."
"We need to talk, not about cameras or new adventures..." You chew on your bottom lip, eyes wide and beginning to tear up.Â
Scott's shoulders slumped, his expression a mix of wariness and resignation. He knew this was coming â the conversation you'd both been avoiding for weeks. Taking a few steps away from the hustle of the airport, he leaned heavily against an empty airline counter.
"Yeah. I know," he said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He finally met your gaze, his eyes darker in the fluorescent lighting. "So talk."
"I love you, you know I do..." You reach for his arms, craving his touch one last time.Â
Scott hesitated for a moment before he finally allowed you to touch him. The roughness of his flannel shirt against your fingers, the familiar warmth of his skin, it took everything in him not to wrap himself around you and never let go. He let out a small scoff. "But�"
"But we can't keep doing this..." You sigh, breathing speeding up as your heart clenches in your chest. "We've been fighting and making up non stop for months again. Going to New York isn't just to be with my friends, Scott, it's because I need a new start."Â
Scott's grip tightened reflexively, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his expression neutral. He'd seen this coming, felt it in the tension that had been building between you like a thunderhead. But hearing the words out loud still hit him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his voice low when he finally spoke.
"Is that what you really want, sweetheart? After everything we've been through?"
"I love you," You whisper, mind reeling as you try to process what to say, you've been thinking about this for months. It's been a long time coming.Â
"Then *why*?" Scott snapped, the word cracking like a live wire. He caught himself, forcing his grip to loosenâjust a fraction. His voice dropped, rough at the edges. "We fight? Yeah. So what? That doesnât mean we quit." He looked away, jaw ticking. "You donât get to love me and leave me in the same breath."
"It's more complicated than that! I donât have the fight left in me anymore." You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling away from him. "I just, I can't spend the rest of my life waiting to be the most important thing to you. I can't keep telling you the same things over and over with no change. I love you, I love you so much it hurts, but I'm young, *you're* young. I don't want to waste my youth with a man who is too focused on everything but building a future with me."Â
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Scott shot back, anger flaring in his eyes. He took a step closer, towering over you like a storm about to break. "You think I don't want a future with you? I'm busting my ass in school, working night shifts at the diner, all to give us a chance." He shook his head, scoffing.Â
"Scott." You hold back your tears, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. "All of that is for *you* and *your* dreams. I moved with you so you could go to MIT, I moved to a new state where I knew no one just to be with you and when we lay in bed at the end of every day? I've never felt more alone in my damn life."
"You think this is easy for me?" Scott's voice cracked, low and raw. He turned away, running a hand through his hair like he could tear the frustration out by the roots. "I'm not... I don't *know* how to do this! You want me to be soft? Poetic? Bring you flowers and say the right damn thing every time?"Â Â
He faced you again, eyes blazingânot with anger now, but something worse. Fear. Â
"I build things. I fix problems. But you... you're not a problem I can solve with equations or duct tape." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And yeahâmaybe Iâve been chasing my own damn shadow this whole time and forgot to look back at you."Â Â
A beat passed, thick with everything unsaid.
"...Doesnât mean I donât love you too."
"I know," You reach up, hands cupping his cheeks, brushing over his skin. "I know that you love me but I think this is for the best... I don't think we can work this out anymore, we canât keep fighting.."
Scott's expression shattered like glass, his defenses crumbling faster than he could build them up again. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his hands coming up to cover yours. The fight had washed out of him, leaving nothing but weary acceptance etched across his features.
"Guess you've made up your mind, then." It wasn't a question. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut just for a moment as the reality of it all crashed over him like a tidal wave.
Standing on your tippy toes, you press a soft kiss to his forehead.Â
Scott's eyes closed at the brush of your lips against his forehead, a shudder running through him like an electrical current. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his grip tight and desperate. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent he'd learned to recognize in the middle of a crowd.Â
"Promise me something," he murmured against your skin. "Just one thing."
"What is it?" Your hands cradle the back of his head, the love you share still so obvious and entirely consuming.Â
"I could never forget you," Taking a step back, your eyes lock one last time as you lean forward, lips meeting his gently.
You pulled back slowly, your fingers trailing down his skin until they slipped from his grasp. Scott stood frozen, eyes wide and wounded, watching you turn away. Your shoulders squared against the weight of his gaze, the airport's fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows on your face.Â
"Goodbye, Scott," you whispered, the words barely audible over the terminal's roar. You didn't look back. Not when your footsteps echoed on the polished floor, not when the sliding doors hissed shut behind you, severing the last thread. Ahead, the gate beckonedâa threshold to a world where storms didnât bear his name.
The Greyhound bus shuddered to a stop on Main Street, kicking up Oklahoma dust that settled like old regrets on your skin. Outside the window, the familiar squat buildings of Elkwood seemed smaller, bleached by years awayâor maybe just by the fluorescent glare of the laundromat sign where Mom used to drag you every Sunday.Â
The marketing degree you worked so hard for was a folded piece of paper in your bag, as useful here as a snow shovel in July. Waitressing gigs in Boston, then Cleveland, then St. Louisâeach city blurring into the next until the savings ran dry and pride cracked. Back to the clapboard house on Sycamore Street, back to your old room smelling of mothballs and teenage desperation. Your parentsâ hopeful smiles at the door felt like salt in a wound you thought had scarred over.
Failure tasted like cheap grease and bus station coffee. Youâd packed dreams in that suitcase onceâNew York galleries, cityscapes framed through your Nikon lens. Now it held resignation, and a one-way ticket back to your childhood bedroom.
Youâd spent the first two weeks back home, buried under your covers. The room felt like a museum of what-could-have-been.Â
Sunlight bled through the blinds, stripping faded concert tickets pinned to corkboard and the dried corsage from junior promâbrittle petals crumbling at the edges. Scottâs MIT hoodie still hung on the back of your desk chair, smelling faintly of engine grease and that cheap pine-scented soap he used.Â
Youâd burrow under the quilt, listening to the muffled sounds of your parents moving through the house downstairs, their careful whispers a stark contrast to the silent scream of all these relics.Â
Every stuffed animal on the shelf, every candid Polaroid taped to the mirrorâyou caught in a diner booth, laughing with ketchup on your chin; Scott grinning under his graduation capâfelt like a shard of glass pressed against raw skin.Â
The past wasnât just present; it was suffocating.
âMy love,â Your mom knocks on the door, the sound ricocheting around the silent walls. âIâm coming in!â You just groan, cuddling deeper into your sheets.Â
âYour Pa and I found this cushy job, you know how you used to go chasinâ tornados?â Her hand rubs your shoulder from under the thick floral fabric.Â
âYeah Ma, I remember.â Your mother's voice faded into the static hum of memoryâScott's laughter echoing through the Ranger's cab as hail pounded the roof, his hand warm over yours on the gearshift while lightning split the Kansas sky. Those summers felt infinite, the open road promising everything.Â
Now, five years later, the only storm was the quiet one inside your chestâa hollowed-out ache where adventure used to live. You traced a crack in the bedroom ceiling, wondering when the world shrank to these four walls and the ghost of him that lingered in every dusty corner.
âWell anyway, itâs a marketing position!â Her words finally register and shake you out of your trance. The covers fall around you as you shoot up, eyes bright and hopeful.
The application was a blur of keystrokes fueled by desperation and your motherâs unwavering optimism. Days bled into anxious silence, broken only by the chirp of your phone. "You start Monday," the clipped voice on the other end declared. "Be at the National Weather Service office in Norman by eight. Ask for Javier Rivera."
Monday dawned brittle and bright. The sleek, modern NWS building felt alien after Elkwoodâs dusty storefronts. Inside, fluorescent lights hummed over bustling meteorologists tracking swirling masses of green and red on massive screens. You clutched your worn portfolio, nerves tightening your throat.
Javi hummed a tune to himself as he sorted through a stack of documents in his office, his attention flickering to the door frame when he saw you approaching through his open doorway. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, swept your figure, taking in your nervous demeanor and the portfolio clutched in your hands.
"You must be the newbie," he remarked, setting the documents aside and gesturing for you to take a seat across from him.
'Uh, yeah! I'm Y/N," You grin awkwardly, shifting your weight slightly as you sit. "The marketing hire..."Â
"Y/N." Javi repeats, voice low like he's testing the shape of your name. His pen taps once against the deskâsharp, precise. Then he leans back, eyes narrowing just slightly. "So you're the one Maureen from Elkwood swore would 'breathe new life into storm outreach.'"Â Â
Javiâs gaze didnât soften as he slid a laminated map across the desk. "Forget cubicles," he said, tapping Oklahoma with the tip of his pen. "Youâre embedded with the chase team starting next Tuesday. Mainly riding with me and my partner." He paused, watching your reaction. "Pack light. And waterproof."
The week dissolved into a frantic blur of dust motes dancing in afternoon light and the scent of cardboard boxes pulled from the garage rafters. You attacked your childhood bedroom with a grim determination, peeling faded band posters from the walls, their corners brittle with age.Â
Each drawer in the dresser yielded ghosts: ticket stubs from concerts you had dragged Scott to, a dried corsage from prom, a stack of letters tied with fraying ribbon. Scott's hoodie, the faded concert tickets, the brittle corsage â each relic was handled with a trembling ache before being carefully folded or tucked away into a sturdy cardboard box labeled "College & Boston" in your mother's looping script.Â
You couldn't throw them out, not yet. They were chapters, painful but yours. Downstairs, the comforting rhythm of your parents' routines became an anchor â shared meals filled with Dad's farm reports and Mom's gentle prodding about the "act of God" lawsuits.
Midweek, Mom whisked you into Elkwood's singular department store. "You can't chase storms in Boston threads, honey!" she declared, steering you towards racks of sturdy cargo pants and moisture-wicking shirts. She insisted on practicality: "Dark colors, Y/N! Dust won't show as much." You emerged laden with bags holding khakis, thick-soled hiking boots that felt alien after city flats, thermal layers, and a surprisingly sleek, waterproof windbreaker.Â
Evenings were spent at the worn kitchen table, your father recounting tales of chasing supercells back in the 80s, his eyes alight with remembered adrenaline, while your mother piled your plate high with comforting casseroles, her quiet pride in your new venture a warm counterpoint to the ghosts youâd boxed away. The days bled together, filled with the mundane rituals of packing toiletries, charging camera batteries, and trying to quiet the nervous flutter in your stomach about the storm-lashed unknown awaiting you Tuesday morning.
Tuesday morning arrived with a brittle Oklahoma dawn. You pulled on faded jeans shorts and a thin striped shirt, tugging a worn NYU baseball cap low over tired eyes. The NWS parking lot was already buzzing when Javiâs battered chase van rumbled to a stop beside you. He slid the side door open with a grunt, effortlessly hoisting your gear bag inside beside stacks of radar equipment.Â
âHop in, rookie,â he said, nodding toward the passenger seat. âMy partnerâs meeting us at the first gas stopâguyâs got a sixth sense for coffee and convergence zones.â The van smelled of stale rain and ozone as you buckled in, the engineâs growl vibrating deep in your bones.
The van shuddered along the highway, the desolate landscape of Oklahoma blurring past the windows like a sepia-toned dream. Javi remained mostly silent, his expression fixed on the road as he tapped two fingers against the faded steering wheel in time with whatever tune hummed through his head. You tried to steal glances at him, to gauge his thoughts, but his gaze stayed locked on the ribbon of tarmac unfurling before you.
At the first gas station, a sleek white Humvee was parked next to the pumps, its tinted windows mirroring the overcast sky. A familiar silhouette leaned against the hood.
You suddenly feel a chill in your bones as the van comes to a stop, Javi gives you a gentle smile. âLetâs get to introductions!â You nod even though the dread is already coursing through your veins. It was Scott, because, of course it was.Â
âHey team, this is our marketing director: Y/N!â His words fade into the background at you just awkwardly smile at the people he introduces you to, eyes avoiding a certain figure while your heartbeat fills your eardrums.Â
Scott's sharp eyes caught your expression as he introduced you to the team, his easy smile faltering for just a moment. For a brief second, he looked lost, like he wanted to reach out, but he caught himself, clearing his throat. "Glad to have you aboard, Y/N. Should be an interesting season." His tone was carefully neutral, not betraying any of the emotions he must be feeling.
"Yeah, for sure!" You scratch the back of your neck, shirt riding up ever so slightly. "I think it'll be a ton of fun to work with you all."Â
Scott's eyes inadvertently dart to the exposed patch of skin on your midriff, fingers involuntarily twitching at his side. He was always a tactile personâalways needing to physically touch things to ground himâand now his fingers itched to touch you, to trace the familiar expanse of your skin.Â
He clears his throat, forcing himself to look away, his usual casual mask firmly back in place. "Yeah, well, just don't get spooked the first time we chase a tornado." He smirks, the expression strained at the edges.
"I have enough experience chasing storms," You reply, gaze still avoiding him, the tension between you two slightly cold. He was the one who took you on chases to begin with. And god it fucking sucks that heâs pretending not to know you.Â
"Okay team! Let's run analytics and get our days started." Javi claps causing everyone to scatter. Leaving just you and Scott.Â
He leans against the Humvee, arms crossed, jaw tight like he was grinding glass. The others had scattered, voices fading into the hum of engines and distant thunder. Just you and him now. The air between you crackled with everything unsaid â every goodbye, every lie that love couldnât fix.
He didnât look at you right away. Just kicked at a loose stone with his boot, watching it skitter across the asphalt.
Then, voice low â sharp as shattered windshield glass:
âYou really thought no one would see you running? That I wouldnât *know*?â He scoffed, finally turning those storm-gray eyes on you. âAll that ânew startâ bullshit. Yeah. Cute.â His lip curled slightly. âYou didnât want a fresh startâyou wanted to *erase* me.â
He stepped closerâjust enough to make your breath hitchâand shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like he was holding back more than words.
"You have some nerve showing up here," he grits out, his gaze hardening. "Like you didn't rip my goddamn heart out."
Your jaw clenches, fists following suit. "Scott don't pretend like *I'm* the one who ruined things." Turning on your heel, you begin to walk back to Javi before pausing. "And for the record? I had no idea you'd be here or I wouldn't have taken this damn job."Â
His hand whips out with surprising speed, latching onto your wrist before you can get too far.
"Wait." His voice has that edge now. The one that meant he wasn't backing down. Not this time.
He was *furious* â not just at you, but at the whole screwed up situation. That familiar anger you knew all too well, like a simmering wildfire.Â
"Don't walk away," he growled, dragging you back toward him. "Don't act like you're the goddamn victim here."
"That's the fucking problem with you, Scott." You pull his hand off of you, as if his touch was a hot iron. "You're always focused on who was right, who's the winner. That's fucking bullshit."Â
He glares at you, his jaw clenching. You'd struck a nerve, hit the mark, and he hated it, hated you for saying what he didn't want to hear.Â
"Bullshit? No, the bullshit is that you *left*," he retorts. "I was fighting for us. I was *fighting* for *you*. But all you could see was some new, shiny thing instead of something that was working."
He takes a step closer, eyes blazing. "You were afraid. You were always afraid to commit."
"It was working for *you*, you never stopped to consider my fucking feelings. I didn't give up on us, I chose my sanity." Your eyes hold a surprising softness â a familiar sadness. "But what does it matter anyway? I'm only working here until I can find something better, so why not just keep pretending we don't know each other, hm?"
His gaze softens just a fraction, a crack in his defenses â a hint of the old Scott, the one who looked at you like you hung the stars. He hesitates, but then the steel masks his expression again and he shakes his head almost like he's clearing his thoughts.
"Pretend we don't know each other," he repeats, scoffing. "How very mature."
He takes another step, closing the distance between you with a stride, his face inches from yours. "I'll tell you one thing: I'm damn good at pretending."
"You're the one who pretended to not know me, to not know I've been on chases before, the ones *you* took me on." In the distance Javi calls out for you, you glance at him before glaring back at Scott. "So be good, pretend we had nothing."Â
He flinchesâjust once, barely noticeableâlike youâd finally landed a punch he couldnât dodge. His jaw works, eyes flicking down for a split second, betraying that yeah, he remembers every damn chase he ever pulled you into. The ones where you clung to his arm as the sky turned green. The ones where he laughed and said *"You're fearless."*Â Â
Then Javi calls again, louder.
Scott straightens like nothing happened. Cold. Smooth. Back in control.
"Right," he says flatly, voice stripped of everything but sarcasm now. "Wouldnât want to *complicate* your fresh start by acknowledging I taught you how to read storm cells while we were half-dead from heat and adrenaline." He smirksâbut it doesn't reach his eyes.*"Pretend all you want, sweetheart.* Just donât expect me to be nice about it."Â Â
He turns away with a shove of his hands into his pockets and mutters under his breath just loud enough for you to hear: "Because I sure as hell didnât spend five years missing you."
âFuck,â You whisper, ripping the cap off to run a hand through your hair, biting back your tears. He had every right to be mad, you did leave, then you came back into his life, infiltrated his jobâŠÂ
But you just try to brush it off and focus on the job you just got.Â
The Oklahoma sky bruised purple-black by mid-afternoon, the air thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the promise of violence. Javi barked coordinates over the radio, his voice tight with focus as the van bounced violently along a dirt access road, kicking up plumes of red dust that coated the windshield.Â
You clung to the dashboard handle, knuckles white, your forgotten marketing binder sliding across the floorboards. Outside, the landscape flattened into a terrifying expanse, the horizon dominated by a monstrous supercell boiling upwards â a vast, churning anvil blotting out the sun.Â
Lightning spiderwebbed inside its dark belly, illuminating the eerie greenish glow beneath its base.
"Wall cloud rotating!" Scottâs voice crackled over the radio from the Humvee ahead, detached, professional. "Deploying probes at marker Delta." You watched through the dust-streaked window as the Humvee slewed to a stop, Scott and another tech scrambling out, hauling heavy instrument pods towards the edge of a newly forming mesocyclone.Â
Wind whipped their jackets, snapping like sails. A sudden downdraft hammered the van, rocking it violently. Hailstones, small at first, then marble-sized, began pelting the roof like frantic drumming. Javi cursed, wrestling the wheel as visibility dropped to near-zero in the swirling dirt and ice.
"Get that camera rolling, rookie!" Javi yelled, not taking his eyes off the roiling sky visible through a momentary break in the hail curtain. "This is textbook!" Fumbling, you grabbed your camera, heart hammering against your ribs. Peering through the viewfinder, you framed the terrifying beauty: the lowering wall cloud, the frantic techs, Scottâs silhouette momentarily illuminated by a blinding flash of lightning, his face etched with fierce concentration, utterly ignoring you.Â
The sheer power was humbling, terrifying, exhilarating â a brutal baptism by storm. Hours blurred into adrenaline-fueled tracking, data collection, near-misses with wind-sheared debris, and the constant, low thrum of tension radiating from Scott whenever your paths crossed during brief equipment checks.Â
By dusk, as the storm dissipated into ragged rain shafts, exhaustion settled like lead weights. You helped silently pack rain-slick gear back into the van, the unspoken words between you and Scott hanging heavier than the humid Oklahoma air.
The vanâs headlights cut through the gloom as Javi pulled into the gravel lot of a roadside motel, its neon sign flickering *VACANCY*. Rain lashed the windshield, washing away the dayâs dust and adrenaline.Â
Javi killed the engine, turning in his seat with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Hell of a first day, rookie. Keep your cool when that hail curtain droppedâimpressive."Â
He glanced toward Scott, who was already shoving open the passenger door of the Humvee parked beside them. "Scott? Whatâd you think? She handle it alright?"
Scott didnât turn. His shoulders stiffened beneath his soaked jacket as he hauled a probe case from the backseat. "Didnât freeze," he muttered, the words clipped and hollow, like stones dropped into a well.Â
He slammed the door shut, the sound sharp in the wet silence, and stalked toward the motel office without a backward glance.
Javi chuckled, shaking his head. "That's Scott for you. Takes time to defrost." He glanced back at you, noting the way you watched Scott's retreating form in the rain. It was hard to miss the tension buzzing between you both.
He cleared his throat, redirecting your attention. "Look, rookie, you did good today. But this ain't gonna be a walk in the park. Be prepared for long hours, little sleep, and a whole lot of Scott." He smirked.
"That sounds like a plan!" You grin back at him, "Other than dealing with Scott."Â
Javi raised an eyebrow at your candidness but couldn't suppress a smirk. "Yeah, Scott's...a force, alright. You'll either learn to love him or want to strangle him by the end of this stint." His expression softened a bit.Â
"He's a good guy, Y/N. Tough, sure, but he's one of the best in the field. Just...cut him some slack, alright? I know it's not easy, the way he is."
"Yeah of course," The two of you finally exit out of the van, dufflebags in hand, walking side by side. When you enter the office, Scott sends a tense look your way, his jaw clenching at your closeness.Â
"By the way, do you know anywhere close by to get a drink?"
Javi chuckled, sensing the undercurrents between you and Scott. He leaned against the motel's worn counter and looked at you with a knowing smile. "Yeah, there's a dive bar about a mile up the road. Nothing fancy, but the beer's cold and cheap."
Scott, standing behind you, bristled at the conversation. His knuckles were white as he gripped his bag too tightly.
"I might have to check it out!" Your eyes twinkle behind the sleepiness. "But I think it'd be nice to get settled in first." Javi hands you your room key, a soft grin on his face.
"No harm in relaxing after the day we had." Javi nodded, handing you the key. "Room 216. It's nothing fancy, but there's a bed and a hot shower. And it's dry, which is a luxury these days."
Scott hovered near the office door, watching the exchange with a guarded expression, his shoulders tense.
âPerfect!â Taking the key, you walk past Scott, heading to the elevator.Â
Scott's gaze followed you, his jaw clenching as you disappeared into the elevator. The doors slid shut, leaving him alone with Javi, whose expression was a bit too knowing for Scott's liking.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "Javi, can I speak to you for a minute?"
Javi turned, raising an eyebrow at Scott's tone. Sensing the weight of the conversation, he nodded. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"
Scott's jaw clenched and unclenched, his eyes flickering to the now-closed elevator door before settling back on Javi. "It's about Y/N," he ground out, his voice a few degrees colder than usual.
Javi nodded slowly, folding his arms across his chest. "I figured as much," he replied, his tone neutral. "What about her?"
Scott's hands curled into fists at his sides, the tension in the lobby thick enough to suffocate. "I don't think it's a good idea for her to be part of this team," he said bluntly, his gaze locked with Javi's. "She's not cut out for it."
Javi's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. "Why? She did just fine today. Held her own better than some seasoned chasers I know."
Scott scoffed, the sound sharp in the quiet lobby. "She was shaky. Nervous. You saw her in that chase. She almost got hit by falling hail, for Christ's sake."
Javi's gaze darkened, his patience fraying at the edges. "Everyone gets jittery on their first day. Doesn't mean she's not cut out for this. She's got potential."
Scott let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Potential for what? Getting herself killed?" He took a step closer, his tone scathing. "She's a liability, Javi. We need focus, not deadweight."
Javi bristled, a muscle working in his jaw. "Deadweight? Is that what you think of her?"
Scott's eyes flashed, his voice rising with anger. "That's not what Iâ"
But Javi cut him off, his own anger finally snapping. "You've been treating her like she doesn't exist, Scott! What is your problem?"
âNothing.â He throws his bag over his shoulder. âForget it, see you in the morning.â Scott walks to the elevator, only to find you standing by the staircase, eyes wide and watery.Â
The sight of you, standing there with tears brimming in your eyes, made his gut twist. "Y/N, how long have you been standing there?" He cursed under his breath, cursing whatever deity decided to have you witness that whole conversation.
"It doesn't matter," Your arms cross as you turn away, pressing the button. When the doors open you slip inside, eyes trained on the floor. "Just cause I broke up with you, that doesn't mean you get to fuck around with my career."Â
Scott's jaw clenches as the words hit him like a punch in the gut. He followed you into the elevator, the doors closing behind him with a soft click, sealing you both in a charged silence. "That's not what I was doing," he retorted, his voice low. The tension in the cramped space was tangible â a storm waiting to explode.
"No? Youâre not seeking revenge for me *wronging you*?" Your hand tightens around the strap of your duffle bag as the ride comes to a stop at your floor and you quickly push past him. Leaving him with his thoughts.Â
The motel lobby smelled faintly of stale coffee and industrial cleaner. Morning light streamed through smudged windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Javi leaned against the worn counter, holding out a steaming paper cup. "Figured you might need this after yesterday," he said, his grin wide and easy. "Double shot. Black."
You blinked at him, your eyes puffy and shadowed from a night spent tangled in damp sheetsâhalf-sobbing into the thin pillow, half-dozing fitfully. The cheerful offer felt jarring against the raw ache behind your ribs. You took the coffee, the heat seeping into your chilled fingers. "Thanks," you mumbled, the word thick.
Javiâs smile softened. He didnât ask. Just nudged your shoulder gently with his own, a solid, warm presence. "Rough first night on the road, huh? Happens. C'mon, let's grab some greasy eggs before Scott finishes sulking over the Humvee's tire pressure."Â
He gestured toward the diner door, leaving space for you to lean in or pull away. The simple kindness, the lack of probing questions, loosened something tight in your chest. You took a shaky breath, the bitter coffee suddenly tasting like a lifeline.
You smile at him, a real one, even though it comes with slightly flushed cheeks and swollen eyebags. âThank you, Javi.âÂ
Javi nodded, understanding in his eyes. "No need to thank me, rookie. Just doing my part to keep you functional." He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pushing open the diner door, holding it for you to step through.
Inside, the diner was bustling, the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation creating a comforting lull. Scott was already there, perched on a worn booth at the back. His gaze flicked up as you and Javi approached, then back down at the newspaper spread out in front of him.
"So, where's the wind taking us today?" You try to fake a cheerful expression as you slide into the booth across from Scott and Javi, eyes only focusing on the latter.Â
Javi shrugged, eyeing the diner's laminated menu. "We've got a string of nasty storms moving through central Oklahoma. We'll be following the radar closely and moving southward, depending on the wind direction."Â
Scott grunted, still engrossed in his newspaper. His eyes flicked a glance your way before returning to the sports section.Â
Javi shot him a look, exasperated. "Scott, you gonna join us or just grunt all morning?"
"That sounds like a plan!" You fumble with the coffee mug in front of you.Â
You took a sip of scalding coffee, the burn grounding you. "Also, Javi," you added, leaning forward slightly. "I was thinking... it would be a really good idea if I snapped a photo of you outside during the storm, setting up the equipment." You gestured vaguely towards the window, where grey clouds were already gathering in the distance. "Showcasing the actual fieldwork? Itâd give people a real perspective on what you guys *do* out there."
Javiâs eyes lit up. "Hell yeah! Show 'em we're not just staring at screens." He grinned, nudging Scottâs boot under the table. "What dâyou think, Scott? Good promo material?"
Scott didnât look up from his newspaper. His knuckles whitened around his coffee mug. "Do whatever you want," he muttered, the words clipped and cold. He flipped the page with a sharp snap, the sound cutting through the dinerâs chatter.
The silence at the booth thickened, broken only by the scrape of forks on plates and Javiâs easy banter with the waitress refilling coffees. You pushed scrambled eggs around your plate, acutely aware of Scottâs presence across from youâthe rigid set of his shoulders, the deliberate rustle of his newspaper.Â
Every glance you risked in his direction met the impenetrable wall of newsprint he held up like a shield. The air crackled with unspoken words, heavy and suffocating, making each bite of toast feel like dust in your throat.
The waitress refilled Javiâs mug, her cheerful chatter grating against the silence radiating from you and Scott. You stabbed a piece of sausage, the fork scraping loudly on the cheap ceramic plate. Across the booth, Scott flipped another page of his newspaper, the sharp crackle of paper echoing like gunfire in the cramped space.Â
You kept your gaze fixed on the condensation sliding down your water glass, tracing the path of a single droplet while Scott stared resolutely at an article about soybean futures, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack a walnut. The air between you hung thick and stagnant, charged with five years of hurt neither of you dared exhale.
 âUh, guys?â Javi clears his throat, hand dropping to the table, causing the both of you to glance up at him. âCare to tell me what' s goinâ on?âÂ
You freeze, eyes darting from Javi's questioning frown to Scott's stony expression, his gaze still buried behind the newspaper.
The silence stretches awkwardly, punctuated only by the clink of utensils and the hum of voices from the other diners. Javi glances between you and Scott, a growing understanding dawning in his eyes.
Finally, Scott lowers the newspaper, folding it with crisp precision, still avoiding your gaze. "Nothing," he mutters, his voice tight. "Can we just eat?"
"I think I've had enough," You push the plate, standing up awkwardly. "I'll wait for you guys outside." You give Javi a sweet smile, refusing to even glance toward Scott.Â
Javi's eyes flicker with something like concern as you stand up, but his smile stays steady.
"Sure thing," he says, watching you leave. His attention then turns to Scott, who's still got his gaze locked on the table. "You gonna tell me what's going on with you two?"
Scott shrugs, pretending to be engrossed in the newspaper's sports section. "Don't know what you're talking about."
You leaned against the cold metal flank of the âStorm Parâ van, arms crossed tight against the Oklahoma dawn chill. The air was sharp, cleanâdamp pavement and wet grass filling your lungs. It smelled like dew and quiet roads, like mornings before Scott ever kissed you under an oak tree.Â
The sky was bruised blue and grey, the sun still hidden below the horizon. For a moment, the knot in your chest loosened. Just the hum of distant trucks, the scent of home, and the promise of a storm chasing day ahead.Â
The voice, smooth as Oklahoma whiskey and utterly unfamiliar, cut through the quiet dawn. You startled, arms dropping to your sides as you turned. Leaning against the hood of a nearby truck, bathed in the motel's weak porch light, was a man you hadn't seen before.Â
Blond hair tousled, green eyes crinkled with slight amusement, and a grin that seemed permanently etched onto his face. He nodded towards the diner window where Scott and Javi were still visible. "What's got you all worked up so early, doll?"
âOh, nothinâ...â You breathe out, watching as he steps closer to you, hands in his pockets.Â
The stranger's gaze traveled to the van and the "Storm Par" logo emblazoned on its side. He raised his eyebrows in approval, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Storm Par, huh?" he drawled, nodding towards the van. "You one of Javi's crew? Or just a fan of chasing tornadoes and getting into trouble?"
"Somewhat part of the crew," You laugh softly. "You look familiar, have we met before?"Â
The stranger tilted his head, studying your face intently. A brief flash of recognition flickered across his features before it vanished. He leaned back against the van, casually kicking a foot up against its bumper.
"Can't say we have," he shrugged, that crooked grin returning. "But if we had, I'm certain I wouldn't forget a pretty face like yours."
âOh! I know!â Your posture straightens, eyes glistening from under your worn out cap. âYouâre that one guy, Tyler somethinâ. Isnât your catch phrase: âif you feel it, chase it.â?âÂ
But before the conversation can go further, Scott and Javi are at your side, Javi greeting him with a small smile whereas Scott gives him a dark glare.Â
"Tyler," Javi said, clapping the newcomer on the shoulder. "Didn't know you were in town."
Tyler grinned, pushing off the van and straightening to his full heightâalmost matching Scott's. "Just passing through. Heard there was a supercell brewing and thought I'd check in on my favorite storm chasers." His gaze flicked to you, playful. "And maybe make a new friend or two."
Scott stepped forward, his expression darkening as he positioned himself slightly between you and Tyler. "She's not part of your 'chase' quota," he said coldly.
Tyler raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Scott's hostility. "Relax, Miller. Just making conversation." He turned back to you with that easy grin. "'If you feel it, chase it'âbest advice I ever gave."
"Are you suggesting I chase you?" The words are a soft tease that earns a bright grin from him.
Tyler chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Maybe if you're fast enough," he replies, a playful smirk on his lips. "See ya 'round, doll."
As he saunters away, a cool breeze rustles through the parking lot. Scott watches him go with a scowl, his fingers curled into tight fists. He turns to you, his gaze intense, like he wants to say something but holds back.
Javi chuckles as he unlocks the van door, sliding into the driver's seat and leaving you alone with Scott.Â
Scott's eyes are still locked on Tyler, a muscle in his jaw working furiously. It's a long moment before he finally turns to you, his expression guarded and distant.
"Get in the car," he says, his voice gruff. "We're losing daylight."
âScott,â You begin, eyes finally glancing up and meeting his. âWe were justââ
"I don't care what you were *just* doing," Scott cuts in, voice low and rough, eyes blazing with something dangerously close to jealousy. "He's a damn vulture. Smells drama and dives in."
He steps closer, just enough that the air between you crackles. "You think I didn't see how he looked at you? Like you're some new game?" His voice drops to a whisper. "After everythingâafter *us*âyou really gonna play that?"
Your breath catches.
Then he turns away sharply, yanking the van door open. "*Get in.*"
You slide into the seat, arms crossing over your chest once youâre buckled in. Your jaw clenches, eyes hardening as you stare at the road ahead of you.Â
The van roared to life, vibrating beneath you like a caged beast. Outside, the Oklahoma sky turned a sickening purple and greenâan angry swirl promising violence. Javi cranked up the radio, chatter about hook echoes and wall clouds filling the cab, but the real storm sat in front of you.Â
Scott gripped the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white, his jaw set in a rigid line that screamed *donât talk to me*. Every bump in the road jolted through the seat, a physical echo of the tension crackling between you.Â
Five years. Five years of silence, of pretending the fracture didnât exist, and now he acted like Tylerâs easy smile was a personal invasion. Like he still had any claim. The memory of his accusationâ*play that?*âburned acid in your throat.Â
You stared straight ahead, fingers digging into your thighs. The horizon swallowed the road whole, a vast, churning maw.Â
The vehicle slammed into a pothole hard enough to rattle teeth, sending your shoulder crashing against the door frame. Outside, the world dissolved into chaos. Debrisâshingles, branches, the mangled carcass of a stop signâspun past the windshield like shrapnel.Â
Rain hammered the roof in relentless, deafening waves, blurring the view into a swirling grey-green nightmare. Javi shouted coordinates over the radio static, his voice tight with adrenaline, while Scott wrestled the steering wheel, muscles straining against the violent gusts trying to tear the van sideways.Â
Ahead, the stormâs core loomedâa monstrous, churning wall of black cloud, lit from within by vicious, strobing lightning. It pulsed like a living heart, swallowing the horizon whole. You braced against the dashboard, knuckles white, tasting ozone and dust and raw terror.Â
This wasnât chasing anymore.Â
This was driving straight into the mouth of oblivion.
The van lurched to a stop, shuddering against the gale-force winds. Scott and Javi exploded from the doors like shrapnel, heads down against the horizontal rain. They moved in practiced tandem, a silent ballet against the roaring chaosâJavi wrestling a bulky radar unit from the back, Scott anchoring tripods into the mud-slicked earth, shouting swallowed by the stormâs roar.Â
You stumbled out behind them, camera raised, the Nikon a cold, familiar weight in your hands.Â
Wind tore at your jacket, plastering soaked hair across your face as you framed the shot: Scottâs silhouette, backlit by a jagged lightning strike, muscles corded as he heaved against the equipment, Javi crouched low beside him, hands flying over dials.Â
The shutter clickedâa tiny defiance against the worldâs furious howl.
The storm raged around you, a churning, screaming monster. But through the camera's viewfinder, everything slowed, the world narrowing to a series of precise moments. Scott and Javi's forms framed against the churning grey-green sky, their movements practiced, controlled.Â
The camera shutter clicked with each shot, a soft, mechanical noise swallowed by the roar.Â
Scott's back was a study in lean, corded muscle as he fought the wind to set the equipment, every line and sinew taut with concentration.
Scott's head snaps up from the radar unit, eyes searching the chaos. He can barely see through the rain, but he spots you, still out there, camera glued to your eye.Â
He shouts something, but the words are lost in the thundering wind. Cursing, he waves furiously, trying to catch your attention.Â
"Get in the van!" He yells. "The rotation speed is reaching critical. It's getting too intense!"
"Let me work!" You yell back, eyes narrowed and focused at the task at hand. The wind rips your NYU cap off your head, sweeping you backward ever so slightly.Â
Scott's jaw sets in a hard line, frustration and worry warring in his gaze.Â
"Damn it, I'm not playing around!" He yells over the storm. "This isn't a minor twister anymore! Get in the goddamn van!"Â
He fights through the wind, closing the distance between you in a few powerful strides. His arm shoots out, catching your wrist in a viselike grip. "You're being stubborn as hell."
"Let go of me Scott!" You rip your arm out of his grasp, eyes narrowed and full of irritation.
Scott grits his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes.Â
"Stop being so goddamn difficult!" He bellows, grabbing you again, trying to pull you toward the van. "You're going to get yourself killed, you stubborn idiot!"
"And if I do it's not your fucking responsibility." You know that now is not the time to argue, but honestly? You just can't fucking help it. Not when he's acting like he's still accountable for you.
"I don't care what you think!" he roars, rain slashing down his face, eyes blazing. "You're not dying on my watch, not todayâ"
He lunges forward as a piece of debris whips through the air toward you. In one brutal motion, he shoves you back and takes the impact full across his shoulder.
A sharp grunt tears from his throatâhe stumblesâbut stays between you and the storm like a wall.
Blood blooms dark against his torn jacket sleeve.
And in that split second, with wind screaming and lightning splitting the sky above⊠he looks at you.
"*Get in the van,*" he says againâvoice breakingâand itâs not an order anymore. Itâs a plea.
"Fine." You finally give in, sliding into the backseat, shivering slightly in your rain soaked clothes. You stare at your hands, eyes teary. âFuck,â You drop your head forward, burrying your face in your palms, eyes shutting as you try to forget the pain in his face.Â
Scott slides into the van next to you, slamming the door shut behind him. The wind dies to a low whisper, leaving an aching silence. He peels his jacket off, grimacing as he gingerly prods the fresh wound on his shoulder. His gaze roams to your shivering form, noticing your shoulders bowed.
He sighs, the sound weary and heavy. Without thinking, he leans back and grabs a wool blanket from one of the equipment boxes, draping it gingerly around your shoulders.
Javi gets into the driver's seat, putting the vehicle into gear, and quickly driving away from the storm. "Fuck. Scott, you're bleeding."Â
You take a deep breath before reaching out to him, hand finding his shoulder, pressing a torn piece of fabric against the wound to soak up the blood. Your touch is light, careful, and warm.Â
Scott's breath hitches as your fingers touch his shoulder. The unexpected gentleness almost makes him flinch. He fights against the shiver that wants to work down his spine, steeling himself against the unwelcome warmth spreading through his body from your touch.
"I'm fine..." he mutters, but it's a weak protest. His gaze flicks down, watching your hand press against the wound, your fingers stained with his blood.
"When we're parked I can take a closer look and get it cleaned up with the first aid kit." You murmur, more towards Javi rather than Scott. "It doesn't seem like he'll need stitches. Which is pretty lucky."
Scott grunts in agreement, wincing slightly as the van jolts over a pothole.
"I've had worse," he mutters, trying to sound indifferent. But there's a note of vulnerability beneath the words, a crack in the tough exterior he's trying so hard to maintain.
Javi glances in the rearview mirror at you both, eyebrow raised. He can sense the tension crackling between you like static electricity, but wisely stays silent.
The van rumbled down the rain-slicked highway, the storm's fury fading behind them into a bruised twilight. Silence stretched thick and suffocating between you and Scott, broken only by the rhythmic slap of windshield wipers and Javiâs occasional muttered updates over the radio.Â
You kept your hand pressed firmly against Scottâs shoulder, the wool blanket draped around you both now, trapping an unwanted intimacy in the cramped space. His skin felt fever-hot beneath your fingertips, the ragged hitch in his breath whenever the van jolted the only sign of his pain.
After five miles of taut silence, Javi abruptly signaled and pulled the van onto a wide gravel shoulder beneath a skeletal billboard advertising a long-gone truck stop. He killed the engine. "Radar's acting squirrelly," he announced, not turning around.Â
"Gonna check the connections on the roof unit. Don't move." He shoved his door open, vanishing into the drizzle without another word, leaving the cab steeped in sudden, heavy quiet. The only sound was the ticking of the cooling engine and Scottâs shallow breathing beside you.
âTake off your jacket,â You unbuckle the seatbelt, moving to grab the first aid kit before sliding between his legs. âI gotta get this cleaned up.â
Scott's eyes widen ever so slightly as you kneel between his legs, his breath catching in his throat. The proximity is overwhelming, stirring up memories he's spent years trying to bury. He's hyper-aware of the heat radiating from your body, the faint scent of rain and damp cotton.
He hesitates for a moment, muscles flexing as he tries to compose himself. Then, with a low curse, he shrugs off the denim jacket, exposing his shoulder. The torn shirt beneath is matted with blood, sticking to his skin.
You help him out of his shirt, your touch gentle and familiar. "Okay, I'm gonna put some alcohol on it."
The words send a shiver down Scott's spine, his muscles tensing involuntarily at the memory of the burn. "God, I hate that crap," he grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he's secretly enjoying the familiar banter.
As you dab the wound with the wet cloth, he hisses under his breath, his fingers clenching around his thigh. The pain is sharp and hot, but so is the nearness of youâit's dizzying.
Before long you have him all patched up and your eyes begin to wander taking in every inch of exposed skin.Â
Scott swallows hard as your gaze roves over his exposed torso. He can feel your eyes on him, making his skin burn hotter than the alcohol ever did.
He shifts uncomfortably, his muscles rippling under your stare, the tension between you crackling with an electric intensity he's trying to ignore and failing miserably.
"Eyes up here," he mutters, voice gruff.
Scott's breath hitches instinctively as your fingertips graze his cheek. His eyes flutter shut, a wave of something he hasn't let himself feel in ages washing over him.
His hand snaps up to catch your wrist, fingers wrapping around it gently but firmly. He opens his eyes, gaze locking with yours. His expression is raw, vulnerable, torn between the ache in his shoulder and the ache in his chest.
"Don't... don't apologize," he murmurs, his grip on your wrist tightening almost imperceptibly.
"I miss you." The words slip out before you can even really think about it.
Scott's heart clenches, his breath caught in his chest. His grip on your wrist tightens instinctively as your words echo through him. There's a war of emotions warring behind his eyes: anger, hurt, and, perhaps the most dangerous of all, a deep, aching longing.
"Don't...say that," he rasps, his voice hoarse. "Don't say you miss me."
"I know," Your fingers brush across his cheekbones, eyes soft and intimate. Javi opens the door, sliding back in, his seatbelt buckle clicking.Â
"Get him all patched up?" His voice cuts through the tension.Â
Scott's gaze breaks from yours, his shoulders tensing as Javi climbs back in. The moment is shattered, the connection between you snapped like a brittle thread.
Scott nods tersely, pulling away from your touch with a jerky movement. "Yeah. Yeah, she took care of it."
Javi glances between the two of you, curiosity flitting across his face. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Scott cuts him off. "Can we just get moving again? We've wasted enough time."
You find your way back into your seat, gulping as you stare out the main window.Â
The motel room smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap lemon cleaner, thick enough to coat your tongue. You sprawled across the scratchy floral comforter, limbs heavy as lead weights. Outside, the neon vacancy sign buzzed like a trapped wasp, painting fractured red stripes across the peeling wallpaper.Â
Javi had insisted Scott stay behind todayâ"Shoulder needs rest, Scott."âand the guilt was a physical thing, coiled tight and acidic in your gut.Â
You replayed it again: Scottâs sharp intake of breath when Javi delivered the news, the way his knuckles whitened around his coffee mug, the flat, "Fine," that cut deeper than any argument.Â
He hadnât looked at you. Not once.Â
The chase had been textbookâa photogenic supercell near Amarillo, lightning fracturing the bruised sky. Youâd captured stunning shots: mammatus clouds boiling like dark pearls, hail shattering on barren earth.Â
But every click of the shutter felt hollow. Empty.Â
Your mind kept drifting back to Scottâs silent fury in the motel parking lot, the rigid set of his shoulders as he watched the van pull away without him.Â
Now, alone in the dim room, the silence pressed in. You kicked off the thin sheet, the air conditioning unit rattling like loose bones in the wall. The pillowcase felt damp beneath your cheekâwhether from sweat or the slow, hot tears you hadnât realized were falling, you werenât sure.Â
You traced the frayed seam of the comforter, imagining Scottâs restless pacing in his room. Was he icing his shoulder? Was he replaying that moment in the vanâyour fingers on his cheek, the choked confession?Â
A sudden, sharp rap on the door made you flinch. Your breath froze.Â
Silence stretched, thick and expectant.
You stand, wiping your tears away, and heading to the door. You open it, shocked to find a flushed and drunk Scott standing with his arms crossed. âBaby? Are you okay?âÂ
Scott's eyes roam over you, taking in the tear tracks on your cheeks, the tension in your shoulders, the way you're clutching the door like a lifeline. His jaw clenches at the sight of you so unraveled, his defenses crumbling with each beat of his heart.Â
He reeks of whiskey and bar smoke, his eyes glassy. A muscle in his jaw works as he fights the instinct to reach out, to pull you into his arms, to press you against the wall andâ
He rubs a hand over his face, cursing under his breath.Â
"You've been crying."
"I'm just tired," You protest, eyes falling to the floor as you wipe your face again.Â
Scott's gaze softens ever so slightly, his heart clenching at the vulnerability in your voice. His fingers flex, itching to touch youâto soothe youâbut he forces himself to keep his distance.Â
"Look at you. You look like a damn mess. And I know for a fact you're not 'tired.' So, tell me what's going on." he mutters, his voice hoarse.Â
"I'm wondering why you're drunk and standing outside my door, wanting to talk about my feelings." You sigh, hand reaching up to brush his shoulder.Â
Scott's body tenses under your touch, but he doesn't move away. In fact, for one small moment, he seems to lean into itâa silent plea for the comfort only your touch can give.
"Maybe I just wanted to check on you, smartass," he grumbles, the insult lacking its usual bite.Â
His gaze finally finds yours in the dim light, his expression pained. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah, okay." You widen the door, allowing for him to slip in before shutting and locking itâout of habit. "What's really the matter? How can I help you?"
Scott slinks into the room, the door closing behind him with a decisive click. His eyes rake over you again, lingering on your tear-streaked cheeks.Â
The whiskey in his veins makes his thoughts hazy, his defenses weak. He wants to tell you everythingâhow much it kills him to keep you at arm's distance, how he can't stand seeing you with anyone else, how he still loves you with a passion that borders on obsession.
But instead, he just leans against the wall and shrugs.
"I just needed to see you."
You sit on the edge of your bed and with a sigh, you open your arms. "Come here."
Scott's breath catches in his chest, his resolve crumbling at the sight of your open armsâan invitation he can't refuse.Â
He crosses the room in three long strides, collapsing into your embrace like a man starved. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his arms wrapping tightly around your frame as if afraid you might disappear.Â
"God, I missed you," he breathes, the words half-muffled against your skin. "I missed you so goddamn much."
"I'm sorry," Your hands run along his back, fingers rubbing circles into his skin ever so slightly.Â
Scott shivers at the touch, his body responding to you like a finely tuned instrument under your hands. He tries to fight the need to cling to you, to keep himself from succumbing to the comfort only you can give him.Â
But it's a losing battle, and he knows it. He pulls you closer, his hands on your hips, his body pressed against you, desperate for contact.
"Don't apologize," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Just let me hold you."
"For as long as you'd like." You tangle your fingers in his hair, nails scratching his scalp softly. "I'm here, not going anywhere baby."
Scott lets out a broken breath, your touch unraveling him completely. He nuzzles against your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin there without thoughtâjust instinct.
His hands slide up your back, pulling you impossibly closer as he sinks deeper into your warmth.
And then, barely a whisper against your skin: âDonât make promises you wonât keep.â
You sigh, eyes squeezing tight as tears threaten to spill. "I know, I know."Â
Scott's heart clenches in his chest, his grip on you growing tighter. He knows he shouldn't push, knows he should just let you be, but the words spill from his lips before he can stop them.
"Promise me you're not going anywhere. That you're staying with meâthat you're *mine*." His voice breaks slightly, a desperate edge creeping in. His eyes search yours, seeking reassurance in your gaze.Â
"Scott," You brush your thumbs over his cheeks. "You're drunk. Let's not do this right now, okay?"
Scott blinks, the words hitting him like a bucket of ice water. His grip loosens slightly, the raw vulnerability in his eyes quickly masked by a familiar wall of pride.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, jaw tightening as the weight of your words sinks in. He starts to stand, but stumbles just slightly, betrayed by both the whiskey and the ache in his chest.
"I'm not drunk *enough* for this," he says quietly, more to himself than to you.
"I'm sorry, Scott. I really am," You reach out for him again.Â
Scott stumbles back as you reach for him, his pride rearing up with a vengeance. He shrugs off your hand, eyes flashing a warning.
 "Don't," he growls, his voice taut with the effort to remain in control. "Don't do that. Don't act like you care."
He turns away, running a hand through his hair, muscles rippling beneath his shirt. His shoulders rise and fall with quick, ragged breaths, the pain of your words cutting deep.
You wrap your arms around his waist, face burying against his back. "Scott, I don't want to talk about this when you're drunk. I don't want you to regret it in the morning, wake up resenting me..."
Scott goes rigid under your touch, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. His body craves your touchâlongs for itâbut his pride won't allow him to give in so easily.Â
"Stop it," he grits out, his voice thick with both hurt and desire. "You don't get to dictate when and how I talk about us."
His hands clench into fists, knuckles white from the effort to resist turning, wrapping his arms around you, and crushing you against him.
"Goddammit, stop making this *harder."*
"Scott, please. Lets just lay down, you get sleepy when you drink. I can hold you, I'll be right by your side I promise." You wrap your arms around his waist, palms flat against his chest.
Scott's resolve wavers, the ache in his chest growing unbearable. The whiskey in his veins loosens his tongue, his defenses crumbling.
"You'll stay?" He murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper. "All night?"
He tries to hide the pleading in his tone, but the raw desperation slips out in the hitch of his breath and the subtle shift of his body leaning into yours.
"All night," You press your face into his back, arms tightening around him. "And in the morning, we can talk. If you still want this, if you still want to try again, we can talk when you're more like yourself."
Scott's body trembles, the last of his willpower crumbling at your words. He wants to resist, to fight for some measure of control, but the alcohol in his veins and the warm press of your body against his back are too much to handle.
He lets out a defeated breath, the tension slowly bleeding out of his muscles.
"Fine," he murmurs, reluctantly allowing himself to lean into your embrace. "We'll talk in the morning. But you'd better not leaveânot for a goddamn second, you hear me?"
"I won't, now let's lay down. Okay?" You guide him back to the bed, letting go just long enough to pull back the covers. "Do you still sleep naked?" You tease while moving to help him out of his shirt.
Scott lets out a low, humorless chuckle, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Some things never change," he murmurs, voice rough. He lifts his arms just enough to let you slide the shirt over his headâyour fingers brushing bare skin sending a shiver down his spine.Â
He kicks off his boots and peels off his jeans with a quiet groan, then sinks onto the bed with a tired sigh. The mattress dips as he shifts under the covers, making spaceâ*for you.*
He doesnât look at you as he settles in. Just pats the empty spot beside him once. "Get in before I change my mind."
You slide out of your jeans, slipping in next to him, arms wrapping around his body. You pull him on top of you, his face against your chest. "Relax baby. You need to get some rest."
Scott grumbles something incoherent against your chest, his body instinctively resisting the vulnerability of being held so close. But the whiskey, the exhaustion, and *you*âyour scent, your warmth, the steady beat of your heart beneath his earâpull him under like a riptide.
His arms slowly wrap around your waist again as he relaxes fully into you.
"You always did know how to ruin me," he mutters drowsily.Â
And just before sleep claims him completelyâhis voice barely a whisper: "I love you... still."
"I never stopped loving you either," you whisper into the dark, fingers threading gently through his hair. Â
Tears slip free, quiet, unchecked, and catching in the corners of your eyes as you stare at the cracked ceiling, heart aching with a kind of fragile hope.
The neon sign outside flickers, painting red streaks across his faceâthe hard lines softened now in sleepâand for the first time in years, it feels like coming home.
You press a kiss to his temple.
"Sleep well, baby."
Sunlight sliced through the cheap motel blinds, landing like a branding iron directly on Scottâs closed eyelids. He groaned, low and guttural, the throb behind his temples a brutal reminder of last nightâs whiskey.Â
Every muscle protested as he shifted, the scratchy sheets rasping against his bare skin. *Christ.* He squeezed his eyes shut tighter against the assaulting light, the pounding in his skull syncing with the distant rumble of a semi-truck on the highway.
Then, movement. The warm weight against his side registered. He froze. Slowly, carefully, he cracked one eye open, wincing against the glare.
There you were. Curled towards him, one hand tucked under your cheek, the other resting lightly on his chest. Your breathing was deep and even, eyelashes casting faint shadows on your cheeks. Peaceful. Utterly serene.Â
The frantic energy, the guarded tension heâd grown accustomed to seeing etched around your eyes and mouth â it was gone. Softened. Replaced by a vulnerability that stole his breath.
The jackhammer in his skull didnât vanish, but it⊠muted. Became background noise. The harsh sunlight felt less like an attack and more like a spotlight illuminating something precious heâd forgotten existed.Â
He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath the thin sheet, the way a stray strand of hair lay across your forehead. Five years of distance, of bitterness, of pretending he didnât care, dissolved in that quiet moment.
Without conscious thought, his arms tightened around you. Not possessively, not desperately like last night, but protectively. Reverently. He pulled you closer, burying his nose in the crown of your head, inhaling the familiar scent beneath the motelâs lemon cleaner.Â
The ache in his head was still there, the sour taste of whiskey lingered, but holding you⊠it was an anchor. Solid. Real. A silent vow formed in the stillness: *This. This is what I fought for. This is what I almost lost.*Â
He pressed his lips softly against your hairline, the thrumming pain fading further into insignificance against the warmth flooding his chest.
âMmm,â You nuzzle into him, eyelashes fluttering against his skin. âGoodmorning, howâs your head?â
"Could've been worse," he mutters, voice rough with sleep and emotion. His fingers trail lightly down your back, savoring the warmth between you.
He hesitates for a moment before meeting your eyes, vulnerability flickering across his face.
"Still want to talk?"
"That depends," You yawn, stretching as you sit up, moving for the waterbottle on the night stand. You reach over him into the drawer, grabbing some painkillers and handing them to them.Â
"Do you still... Feel like you did last night?" Your eyes barely raise up enough to look at him.Â
Scott stares at the pills in his hand for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallows the pills dry. His gaze drifts from the pills to your face, his expression guarded.
"Which part? The part where I told you how much I miss you, or the part where I told you I still love you?"
He sits up as well, leaning back against the headboard. The light streams in through the half-open blinds, casting shadows over his bare shoulders.
"Both, I guess." You chuckle dryly, hands moving across his bare thighs, massaging the muscles.Â
"Both," he says, voice low, rough with sleep and something deeper. "Yeah. I meant every damn word."
His hand catches yours on his thigh, holding it thereâwarm, solid. His thumb traces slow circles over your knuckles.
"I'm not drunk anymore," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours now, stripped bare of defenses. "And I still don't wanna let you go."
"Can you forgive me?" You move closer, settling on his lap, straddling his hips. "For leaving you?"
Scott's hands settle on your thighs, fingers flexing lightly as he pulls you closerâa silent, greedy reflex. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
He looks up at you, eyes searching your face for a lingering moment before answering. "I'm still angry," he admits quietly. "I'll always be angry that you left."
His grip on you tightens, a muscle in his jaw working as he continues. "But I'll always love you more."
You lean in, eyes scanning his. "I'm sorry I left, I just thought that..." You sigh, hands cupping his face. "It doesn't matter, not now. But I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You press your lips to his, gentle yet hungry and desperate.
All the tensionâthe pent up emotion, the pain, the years of missing you like a phantom limbârushes to the surface as you kiss him.
He returns the kiss with fervor, every ounce of his need for you pouring into it. His hands slide up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer.
"God, I missed you," he breathes between kisses. "Missed you so damn much."
"I missed you," You press your lips to his again, rougher more needy this time, your hips slowly beginning to grind against his.
Scott grunts, hips automatically bucking up against you, his body responding instantly to your touchâa familiar rhythm that hasn't faded in the slightest.
He presses his lips to your throat, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive flesh, his hands roaming over your body with a desperate hunger.
"Can't get enough of you," he murmurs, voice rough with need. "Been needing you forâ"
His words are cut off by a sharp knock on the door.
"Fuck, stay put." You slide off his lap, hair messy and eyes tired as you crack it open slightly. "Hello? Javi?"
Javi stands in the doorway looking every bit as tired as you feel. His eyes flick over you, taking in your disheveled appearance and Scott's shirtless form behind you, then he cracks a smirk.
"You two finally done ripping each other to pieces?" He drawls, a sly glint in his eyes.
"It's, uh, not like that!" You shyly scratch the back of your neck. "But do you think I can stay here? With Scott, just for today of course..."
Javi cocks an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he eyes Scott over your shoulder.
"Sure sure," he drawls, feigning innocence. "I'm sure Scott won't mind, will he?"
Scott grumbles something unintelligible, running a hand through his messy hair as he leans back against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his bare waist.
"Well, then I hope the chase goes well today. Uh, good luck and everything!" You laugh awkwardly, shooting a glance at Scott, who now has a pillow over his lap.Â
Javi chuckles low, a knowing smile plastered across his face. He glances over your shoulder again at Scott, eyes flickering with barely concealed amusement at the sight of the pillow over his lap.
"Yeah. I'm sure we'll be fine," he says, voice dripping with innuendo. "You two... uh, have fun."
Your cheeks flush as he walks away, you shut the door, turning to face Scott with a shy grin. "That was,"
Scott sits up, the pillow still strategically placed across his lap, and lets out a low chuckle.
"He knows damn well what we'll be doing," he mutters, eyes roaming over your flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. "You're a terrible liar, by the way."
"Ugh," You walk back over to him, pushing the pillow away and settling on his lap again. "Don't remind me." Your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks.
Scott hums in appreciation as you settle back onto his lap, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your thighs. He leans into your touch, his gaze roaming over your face with a mix of desire and affection.
"Youâre always easy to read," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "Your poker face is non-existent."
"Shut it," The words come out as more of a groan, your eyes twinkling before you kiss him again, a soft peck. "Now, where were we?" Your fingers slide up his neck, tangling in the roots of his hair, tugging slightly.
Scott lets out a low moan as you tug at his hair, sending a jolt of heat coursing through him. He growls lowly, his hands gripping your thighs with possessive desperation.
He captures your lips in a deep, hungry kiss, tongue delving into your mouth hungrily. He nips at your bottom lip, a subtle reminderâa claim.
"Right... here," he murmurs against your mouth, his hands roaming up to the hem of your shirt, his fingers teasing the bare skin beneath.
"Mm, baby..." Your hips move against his once again, lips rough and hungry over his.Â
Scott's breath hitches as you press against him, his hips bucking up against yours almost involuntarily. His hands slide up your thighs, fingers digging into the curves of your hips as he pulls you closer, the heat radiating between you growing more intense by the second.
He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh.
"I need you," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "Now."
"Then take me, however you need." Your fingers tug on his hair.
Those words is all the invitation Scott needs.
With a low growl, he pushes you backward on the bed, his body pressing you into the mattress. His lips trail down your neck, his fingers finding the edge of your shirt and slowly lifting it up, exposing more and more of your skin to his touch.
He hovers for a moment, eyes drinking in the sight of you beneath himâflushed and breathless and *wanting him*âand the hunger in his gaze is almost primal.
His gaze raked over youâthe flush spreading down your chest, the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his lips, the way your breath hitched when his thumb brushed the swell of your breast. Five years of aching emptiness evaporated in the heat of this moment. He didnât tease. He didnât savor. This was claiming.Â
With a ragged groan, Scott ripped your shirt over your head, the fabric catching briefly on your wrists before he tossed it aside. His mouth crashed back onto yours, all teeth and desperation, while his calloused hands shoved your sleep shorts down your hips.Â
You kicked them off, arching against him, skin meeting skin in a shock of heat.Â
He broke the kiss only to trail scorching, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum, over the curve of your breast, his tongue swirling around a hardened peak before sucking hard enough to make you cry out.Â
His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding you slick and readyâno hesitation, just two thick fingers plunging deep, curling in a way that had your hips jerking off the mattress.Â
âScottâ!â His name tore from your throat, raw and pleading.Â
He looked up, eyes black with need. âMine,â he rasped, the word a vow against your damp skin. His fingers withdrew, glistening, and he fumbled with his own shorts, shoving them down just enough.Â
Then he was surging forward, his weight pinning you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. A ragged breath escaped him. âLook at me.âÂ
You forced your eyes open, drowning in the intensity of his stareâthe raw, unguarded hunger, the years of longing laid bare. He pushed in slowly, agonizingly, stretching you wide, filling you completely.Â
A choked sob escaped youânot pain, but overwhelming relief, the visceral rightness of him buried deep inside you again after so long. He stilled, trembling, forehead pressed to yours, breathing your air.Â
âNever leaving you again,â you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.Â
A guttural sound ripped from his chest. He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, driving rhythm that shook the cheap motel bedframe. Each thrust was a punctuation mark to every unsaid word, every lonely night, every furious argument left behind.Â
You met him stroke for stroke, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper, claiming him just as fiercely. The air filled with the slap of skin, your mingled cries, and the relentless, primal need to erase every second of those lost years.
The rhythm was relentless, a furious piston-drive fueled by years of pent-up ache. Scott braced himself on his forearms, muscles corded tight, sweat slicking his skin as he drove into you again and again.Â
Each deep, claiming thrust scraped a raw, perfect friction against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Your cries weren't words anymore, just shattered gasps and his name ripped from your throat on a ragged sob.Â
He watched you unravel beneath him, eyes locked on yours, dark and possessive, drinking in every tremor, every desperate clutch of your fingers on his back. "Feel it," he growled, voice thick and wrecked, hips snapping harder, deeper. "Feel how much I fucking missed you."Â
His hand slid between your sweat-slicked bodies, thumb finding your clit, pressing hard circles against the swollen bud. The dual assaultâthe relentless fullness inside, the sharp, electric friction outsideâcoiled the tension in your belly impossibly tight.Â
You arched off the mattress, a silent scream tearing through you as the climax detonated, white-hot and shattering, flooding your veins with liquid fire.Â
Scott felt your inner muscles clamp down around him in fierce, pulsing waves, and with a guttural moan that echoed yours, he buried himself to the hilt, his own release erupting in hot, shuddering pulses deep inside you, sealing the desperate promise written in sweat and shared breath.
The aftershocks pulsed through you both, bodies locked in a trembling embrace slick with sweat and release. Scott collapsed onto his forearms, forehead pressed to yours, his ragged breaths mingling with yours in the charged silence.Â
He didn't pull out, staying buried deep within you, a possessive anchor against the tremors still coursing through your limbs. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held yoursâno words needed. The years of separation, the arguments, the aching loneliness dissolved in the primal heat still radiating between your joined bodies.Â
His thumb traced your swollen lower lip, a reverence replacing the earlier frenzy. "Still mine," he rasped, the words a raw, guttural vow against your skin, echoing the desperate claiming that still throbbed inside you.Â
His hips shifted minutely, a subtle, possessive grind that drew a sharp gasp from you, the embers instantly flaring back to life. The sheer *rightness* of him filling you, the visceral proof of his need after so long, was more potent than any declaration.Â
He kissed you then, deep and slow and devastatingly thorough, tasting the salt on your lips, sealing the unspoken promise written in the frantic rhythm of your shared heartbeat and the lingering, possessive heat where your bodies fused.
âScotty, I think we could use a damn shower.â You grin up at him, holding his face gently as you press soft kisses to his face.Â
ââScott chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating through your chests where you were still pressed together. "Shower?" His thumb traced the curve of your hipbone, a possessive glide over damp skin.
 "Later." His hips rolled again, deliberate and slow this time, dragging his still-hard length against your oversensitive walls, coaxing a sharp gasp from your throat.Â
The friction was exquisite torture, a reminder of the desperate claiming just moments before. He kissed the pulse hammering in your neck, his lips trailing fire. "Still got years to make up for," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with renewed hunger.Â
âFuck,â you whine as his hand slides down your belly, fingers slipping through the slick mess between your thighs, gathering your shared wetness before circling your clit with agonizing, deliberate pressure.Â
"Gonna feel you come again," he growled, the command rough and absolute, his gaze locked on yours, dark with a need that hadn't dimmed, only deepened.Â
"Right here. Like this." He pushed deeper, filling you completely, the stretch achingly familiar and utterly consuming, erasing every second of the lonely years with the relentless, possessive heat of his body claiming yours again.
His fingers tightened on your hip, pinning you beneath him as he dragged his cock out almost completelyâan excruciating inch at a timeâbefore slamming back to the hilt. A ragged cry tore from your throat, nails scoring his shoulders as he filled you, stretched you, *owned* you with every brutal thrust.Â
Sweat dripped from his jaw onto your collarbone, each drop scalding as his gaze burned into yoursâraw, unflinching hunger stripped bare. "Look at me," he demanded, voice shredded. "See what you do to me?" His hips pistoned harder, deeper, the slap of skin echoing the frantic drum of your heart.Â
You arched, meeting him stroke for stroke, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him impossibly deeper as the coil in your belly tightened to breaking. His thumb found your clit, pressing ruthless circles just as his cock hit that spot inside you that sparked white behind your eyelids.Â
"Cum for me," he growled against your mouth, the command a dark promise. "Now." The dual assault shattered youâbody convulsing around him, inner walls clamping down in pulsing waves as you screamed his name, the sound swallowed by his crushing kiss.Â
He followed instantly, a guttural roar ripped from his chest as he buried himself to the root, flooding you with hot, claiming pulses that sealed every fractured piece back together.
âNow we can shower.â He murmurs, lips pressing to your forehead.Â
The motel bathroom was small, steam curling thick and humid around them as Scott guided you under the spray. His touch was reverent nowâsoap-slicked hands gliding over your shoulders, down your spine, lingering on the curve of your hip.Â
He washed you like something precious, fingertips tracing old scars, the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, as if memorizing every inch anew. Water sluiced between your bodies, washing away sweat and the scent of sex, but not the heat. Not the hunger.Â
His thumb brushed your nipple, drawing a soft gasp from you, and his eyes darkened. "Turn around," he murmured, voice rough against the drumming water. You obeyed, bracing your hands against the slick tile.Â
His hands slid down your belly, fingers spreading you open beneath the spray. He washed you there too, slow, intimate circles that made your knees tremble. Then his body pressed flush against your back, hard and demanding. One hand gripped your hip, the other guiding himself to your entrance.Â
"Need you again," he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder as he pushed in, deep and claiming, the hot water cascading over your joined bodies as he moved, relentless and possessive, sealing every promise with every thrust.
The steam thickened, wrapping around you both like a second skin as Scott pressed you against the cool tile, his body a furnace against your back. His cock slid deeper with agonizing slowness, stretching you wide, filling you completelyâa possessive reclamation that drew a ragged moan from your throat.Â
Water sluiced over his shoulders, down the hard planes of his chest, mingling with the slick heat where your bodies joined. His hand slid up your belly, fingers splaying possessively over your ribs before cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple with deliberate, maddening pressure.Â
"Feel how deep you take me," he growled against your ear, teeth grazing the lobe as his hips rolled in a slow, grinding rhythm that dragged his length against every sensitive ridge inside you. His other hand slid lower, fingers parting your folds to find your clit, already swollen and throbbing.Â
He pressed down hard, circling in tight, relentless spirals just as he angled his thrusts to hit that spot that made your vision blur. "Thatâs it, baby," he rasped, voice raw with need, "let go for me. Scream how much you missed this." The pleasureâthe deep, claiming fullness and the sharp, electric frictionâcoiled your muscles taut.Â
You arched back against him, nails scraping tile as pleasure detonated, a white-hot wave that ripped through you, clenching around him in pulsing waves. Scott groaned, low and guttural, his fingers digging into your hip as he drove into you harder, faster, chasing his own release.Â
"Mine," he snarled, biting your shoulder as his climax tore through him, filling you with hot, possessive pulses that sealed the raw, primal truth of his words. He stayed buried deep, breath ragged against your neck, his body trembling as aftershocks racked you bothâa trembling, sweat-slicked tangle beneath the relentless spray.
"I'll be goodâI'll be so goodâjust... please."
Pairing:Â Adrian Chase x fem! Reader
Genre: Smut
Word count: 3.3k
Summary: Youâre just his type and heâs exactly yours: whiny, needy, and desperate.
Warnings: Slightly dominante reader, begging, needy/whiny Adrian, slight praise kink, boob fucking, not proof-read and defo a messÂ
a/n: This is just a little drabble and very hornyÂ
Adrian has a type.Â
Massive boobs.Â
And god youâre just his fucking type. He canât fucking concentrate, the way your blouse is barely able to stay buttoned when you breathe, the fabric straining with each breath.Â
Chris sends him a bemused glance, the rest of the team focused on the task at hand while Adrian? Heâs lost in the fucking sauce.Â
Peacemaker nudges Adrian hard and rolls his eyes. Chris could tell exactly what the hell his friend was gazing at with his wide-eyed expression, and frankly it was getting on his nerves.Â
Adrian jolts when he feels the nudge and snaps out of his daze. He clears his throat awkwardly and quickly averts his gaze from you, praying to God that he hadnât been that obvious.Â
It was hard to keep his eyes off of you though. Your figure was driving him insane.
You were more than just oblivious, fingers typing away aggressively as you narrowed your eyes at the screen in front of you. âJesus,â You groan, spinning around in your chair.
âJohn if *you* canât hack into this, how the hell do you expect me to?â Vigilante and Peacemaker crowding your side, as you just cross your arms under your breasts.Â
Making Adrian audibly groan.Â
Adrian immediately crosses his arms behind his back, stiffening like a soldier at attentionâanything to *not* look. His face burns red beneath the mask. Â
"Focus, Adrian," he mutters to himself, eyes darting to the ceiling, then the floor, then abruptly back to the monitor with intense, almost *painful* concentration. "Hacking. Right. Critical mission parameters. National security."Â Â
Chris side-eyes him again and snorts. "*Sure*, man. Keep telling yourself that."Â Â
Adrian shoots him a panicked glare and then you shift in your chair again.
His eye twitches.
This was worse than facing down armed mercenaries.
Way worse.
You donât work with this team, in fact youâre basically ânot basically, literallyâ forbidden a specific instruction from Waller. But when Economos and Harcourt showed up out of the blue, not really giving you a choice, well of course you agreed to help.Â
And thatâs how you ended up with this group of vigilantes standing in your living room discussing their mission and how to go forward.Â
Adrian can barely hear the conversation going on around him, his brain focused on the fact that you are literally within arm's reach, and he has to act normal.
Chris continues to throw knowing glances at him, and Adrian's face grows hotter each time. He's starting to sweat beneath his mask. This is a brand-new level of torture. Â
Chris smirks and whispers in his ear. "You good, man? You look a little⊠tense."
âAlright,â You return back to the code, trying to get past the security precautions. âI think I know how to get it.â John moves to your side, eyeing the screen as you work, the two of you in a separate world than the horny Vigilante and amused Peacemaker.Â
It had been days, nearly a week, but Adrian could not get you out of his mind â
well your huge honkers and sweet smile of course. Their mission has been a success, thanks to your help.Â
Adrian's fingers drummed nervously against his thigh as he stared at his burner phone's blank screen. The mission debrief had ended hours ago, but the memory of your focused frown and the way your hair fell across your forehead as you typed lingered.Â
*Just friends,* he chanted internally, *ask about the code. Itâs professional.* He punched in the number Economos had grudgingly provided, his thumb hovering over the call button.Â
"Hey," he blurted the moment you answered, voice cracking slightly. "It's Vigilante. Adrian. I, uh⊠had a question about that firewall bypass you used? For⊠research." He winced, hearing Chrisâs muffled snort of laughter in his mind.
âOh, hi!â Your tone is cheery through the speaker, âItâs easier to show you the steps, rather than just walking you through it. So if you want, Iâm free tonight?âÂ
"T-Tonight?" Adrian stammers, eyes widening behind his mask. He quickly shakes his head, as if that'll compose him. "I meanâ yeah. Yes. I can do tonight. That's... that's great."Â Â
He paces in a small circle, suddenly very aware of how messy his apartment is. Posters of Christopher Smith plastered on the walls, stacks of old crime reports piled on the coffee table, half-eaten burrito from three days ago sitting next to a vigilante action figure he sometimes talks to.
âThat sounds perfect!â Youâre grinning behind your phone, twirling your hair around your finger.Â
"Uh," he blurts again, "Should I bring⊠uh⊠tools? Orâ or not bring tools? Do you like tacos? Not that I'm bringing tacos! Unless you want tacos!" Â
He slaps a hand over his mouth mid-sentence.
*Shut up shut up shut up.*Â Â
"...I'll just... be there," he finishes weakly.
[Later]
Adrian shows up *exactly* seven minutes early wearing slacks and a tucked-in t-shirt that says *"I Fight for Justice (and Snacks)."* Heâs holding two lukewarm burritos in one hand and a flash drive labeled *"FIREWALL STUFF ????"* in the other.
He knocks five times in rapid succession.
Shit
You hadnât planned things right and were currently in just a towel after your shower. But not wanting to be rude â âUh, Adrian, come in.â You give him a sheepish smile while hiding behind your door.Â
Adrian freezes as he steps through the threshold, his brain immediately processing two very important things:
1. You are half-naked. Half. Naked. He's not sure any amount of vigilantism training could have prepared him for this.
2. You smell amazing. His eyes dart up and down your mostly-naked form, his mouth suddenly and painfully dry.Â
He swallows. Hard.Â
His hands grip the takeout bag and flash drive like a lifeline.
âSorry,â You giggle softly, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear, breasts practically popping out from the top of the fabric hiding your naked form from his gaze. âI took a bit too long in the showerâŠâ
Adrian tries to say something. Anything. Words? Sounds? Hell, even just *words* would be a start. Â
But his brain has short-circuited completely. Â
He's stuck, gawking like a deer in headlights. Every muscle in his body is tensed, like he's bracing himself for something. His eyes keep darting between your face and your body, unable to decide where to focus.
Finally, he manages to sputter out a weak, "Uh."
His fingers tremble.
"You can take a seat?" You try to ignore the way his eyes are glued to your damp chest. "Or I could show you around." You half joke, trying to ease the tension.
Adrian nods vigorously, perhaps a little *too* vigorously. He moves on autopilot, setting the food on the coffee table and settling himself awkwardly on the couch. His fingers tap a nonsensical rhythm on his knee. Â
A part of him wants you to go put on clothes.Â
But another, much more urgent part really, really doesn't want you to. He's trying to focus on literally anything other than your wet hair and the curve of your body and Jesus Christ he's so screwed.
The other, louder partâthe part currently winningâwants to stare forever. Â
He forces his gaze to the flash drive clutched in his sweaty palm. "Firewall," he croaks, holding it up like a shield. "Important... hacking... stuff." His voice cracks again.Â
He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the couch cushion. The towel slips slightly lower on your chest, revealing a hint of your areola, and Adrianâs knuckles turn white around the plastic casing. Â
"Right!" You beam, oblivious to his internal meltdown. "Just give me two minutes to throw something on." You turn, heading toward your bedroom.Â
Adrianâs eyes snap shut, too late. The sway of your hips beneath the terrycloth towel is already seared into his retinas. He hears your bedroom door click shut and lets out a shaky breath he didnât realize he was holding. Â
*Get it together, Chase,* he silently commands himself. *Professional. Friendly. Normal.*Â Â
He glances around your cozy living room, soft lighting, shelves overflowing with books and tech manuals, a framed photo of you laughing with friends. Itâs warm. Inviting. Nothing like his sterile apartment plastered with posters. Â
His eyes land on the lukewarm burritos he brought. He picks one up, stares at it blankly, then sets it back down. His stomach churns.Â
He can still smell your shampooâsomething floral and cleanâmixed with the faint scent of steam from your shower. Itâs intoxicating. Dangerous. Â
He hears your door creak open. Adrian snaps his head forward, fixing his gaze rigidly on a random spot on the opposite wall. *Ceiling. Floor. Wall. Not you. Not you.*Â Â
"Okay!" you chirp, padding back into the room. "Much better."Â Â
Adrian risks a glance. Â
Big mistake. Â
Youâre wearing shorts and an oversized tee. It should be safe. Casual. Friendly. Â
Except the shirt's neckline is wide, slipping down one shoulder. And the fabric drapes loosely over your chest, somehow making the outline of your curves *more* noticeable, not less.Â
Adrianâs breath hitches. His fingers dig into the couch cushion. Â
Professional. Friendly. Normal. Â
He fails spectacularly on all counts. His mouth opens, but only a strangled, unintelligible sound escapes. His eyes are wide, pupils blown wide behind his mask. He looks like heâs been flash-banged. Â
You tilt your head, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. "You okay there, Vigilante?"Â Â
Adrian Chase, trained killer, expert marksman, and unwavering patriot, feels the distinct sensation of his brain leaking out of his ears. Â
"Yeah," he rasps, voice barely audible. "Peachy."
"So uh, is there actually a firewall?" You scratch the back of your neck, the fabric of your shirt rising enough to expose your stomach ever so slightly. "Or was it just an excuse to call?"
Adrian's throat is painfully dry, but he swallows anyway, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left. Â
"Of course there's a firewall!" he insists, more forceful than necessary. He clears his throat, forcing his gaze to lock onto the flash drive he's still holding, *anywhere* but your body. "It's... it's a really complex firewall. Totally secure."
He can feel his cheeks burning, and he hopes fervently that you chalk it up to *anything* but... this.
"Okay, then let's see it." You settle on the couch next to him, reaching for your laptop, breasts brushing over his crotch as you lean over him. Youâve noticed his reactions and you're relishing in the teasing.Â
Adrian jolts like he's been electrocuted.
His entire body seizesâspine straight, breath trapped in his chestâas the soft weight of your breasts presses against his thigh for one fleeting, *earth-shattering* moment.
The flash drive slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor.
He makes a sound. Not words. Not even close. A high-pitched, strangled noise that comes from deep in his soul.
"Sorry!" you giggle, pulling back and completely unaware of the emotional damage you've just inflicted. "Didn't mean to squash you."
Adrian stares blankly ahead, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly open. His hands rest limply on his lap as if someone turned off the power to his brain.
Inside? Total systemic failure.
Outside?
A trembling man who canât remember how breathing works anymore. One thought echoes through whatâs left of Adrian Chaseâs consciousness: *Iâm going straight to Hell.*
His mind wanders to how his cock would feel squished between your breasts, thrusting up into them until he finally releases into your pretty little-Â
âAdrian? Can I see the drive?â You wave a hand in front of his eyes, effectively bringing him back to reality.Â
Adrian blinks, his brain finally rebooting after that unexpected mental detour. He shakes his head and quickly stoops to pick the USB off the floor, his heart still pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. Â
He straightens and hands it to you carefully, making sure their fingers don't touch. His brain is still overloaded with thoughts he absolutely *cannot* be having in his current position.
"Right," he mumbles, trying to sound cool and not at all like he's about to lose his mind. "The drive. Yep."
You pop the flash drive into your laptop, leaning close enough that Adrian catches another whiff of your shampooâfloral and clean, mixed with the faint scent of your skin. He stares rigidly at the screen, trying to focus on the code window booting up. Â
But his gaze keeps drifting. The loose neckline of your shirt dips as you shift, revealing the soft swell of your cleavage. Adrianâs knuckles whiten where he grips the edge of the couch cushion. Sweat beads beneath his collar. Â
"See?" you murmur, pointing at the screen. "The encryptionâs layered, but..."Â Â
Your finger traces a line of code, and Adrian doesnât hear a word. All he sees is the curve of your lips, the way your hair brushes your shoulder, the subtle bounce of your chest as you breathe. Â
He shifts, crossing his legs tightly. *Professional. Professional. Professional.*Â Â
The flash driveâs contents loadâa single text file titled "README.txt". You click it open. Â
Inside, one line:Â Â
> **ADRIAN CHASE IS A HORNY LIAR.**Â Â
You burst out laughing. Â
Adrian makes a choked noise, face burning crimson beneath his mask. He scrambles for an excuseâChris mustâve tampered with it!âbut the words die in his throat as you turn to him, eyes sparkling with mischief. Â
"You," you tease softly, "are terrible at this."Â Â
Adrian sputters and splutters like a fish on land, every inch of him burning with embarrassment. He can't lie, and he knows it. Chris definitely did this, the bastard. He's probably laughing hysterically right now, watching this whole scene unfold from some hidden camera.
"It's, uh- Chris's doing," he manages to strangle out, his voice cracking. "He must've-"
He trails off when he meets your gaze. He's expecting anger, annoyance, maybe even disgust. Â
But all he sees is amusement.
"So, horny bastard... Need anything else?" You cock your head to the side slightly, a small smirk spreading on your lips.Â
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Nothing comes out but a weak, defeated whimper.
Adrian stares at you, utterly paralyzed. The mask hides his flushed face, but the tremor in his hands gives him away. He swallows hard, throat clicking.Â
"I... uh..." His gaze darts helplessly between your amused eyes and the dangerous curve of your breasts beneath the thin fabric. Heâs drowning.Â
Finally, in a voice thick with desperation, he whispers, "Can... can I just... look? For a minute?" His knuckles are bone-white where he grips the couch cushion.
âLook?â You question, feigning innocence as you scoot closer to him.
Adrianâs breath catches as you slide closer.
His eyes widen, heart pounding in his ears like a war drum. This is a terrible, terrible idea. Everything about this is wrong.
But he can't help it. He can't help staring, can't help the way his body responds to you. His fingers twitch, desperate to touch, to feel the smoothness of your skin, the softness of your curves.Â
He nods, a quick jerk of his head. "Please."
âSince youâve asked so nicely,â Your fingers pinch the hem of your shirt as you slowly, torturously expose your skin to him, nipples hardening under the cool air.Â
Every nerve in Adrian's body is on fire. His eyes drink you in like a man dying of thirst. The sight of your body, bared just for him...it's nearly too much to handle.
He doesn't move. He doesn't even breathe. He just stares, his gaze roaming over every dip and curve. His body aches with unfulfilled need.
"God..." he whispers, voice rough and unsteady.
"You... you're perfect.
Adrianâs hand flies instinctively to his crotch, pressing hard against the painful bulge straining against his slacks. He groans, fingers digging into the fabric, trying desperately to push the erection down, to hide it, to *control* it.Â
But the ache only intensifies, a throbbing pulse that screams for release. His knuckles whiten as he fights the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch youâto feel the soft weight of your breasts in his palms, to trace the hardened peaks with trembling fingers.Â
Instead, heâs trapped, palming himself through the rough fabric, eyes locked helplessly on your exposed skin, every ragged breath a torment. âClose your eyes,â You whisper, mischievous glint in your eyes.Â
Adrian's breathing is ragged, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. He nods, shutting his eyes obediently. Darkness washes over him, leaving only his heightened senses as guidance.Â
He can *feel* your presence: the heat radiating off your body, the subtle movement of air as you move closer. His heart thumps wildly in his chest.
"What...what are you doing?" he asks, his voice hoarse.
âJust stay still,â You whisper against his ear, teeth grazing the lobe gently as your fingers move to his beltâunbuckling it, working his button undone, unzipping his pants. Once you get his pants and boxers down, around his ankles, you drop to your knees between his thighs.Â
You pull your shirt off and throw it to the side, your fingers digging into his thighs ever so slightly, your mouth drooling at his girth and length. âOkay, you can open them now.â You press a kiss to his inner thigh, mouth moving closer and closer to his aching cock. Â
Adrianâs eyes snap open and the sight hits him like a freight train: you kneeling between his thighs, shirtless, lips hovering inches from his throbbing cock, your breasts spilling forward in a devastating display. Â
A ragged gasp tears from his throat. His hips jerk violently upward, desperate for contact, as a strangled cry escapes him. "F-Fuckâ!" His knuckles turn bone-white where he grips the couch cushions, his entire body trembling on the precipice.Â
Pre-cum beads at his tip, slick and urgent. Heâs seconds away from unraveling, just from the sight alone.
Adrianâs voice cracks, high and desperate, as his hips buck helplessly. "Please, please- let me touch them," he whimpers, fingers trembling inches from your chest but too terrified to close the distance without permission. His needy pleas sending a shiver down your spine, cunt wet and aching.Â
"Just... just let me hold them? Squeeze 'em? Fuck, I needâI need to feel 'em against my cock, please, *please*, lemme fuck 'emâ" His words dissolve into a choked whine, eyes wide and pleading, every muscle coiled with frantic, shaking need. "I'll be goodâI'll be so goodâjust... please."
A shaky, desperate moan escapes Adrian as you lean forward, pressing your soft breasts together around his aching cock. The slick heat envelops him instantly, your nipples brushing against his shaft as you squeeze tight.Â
"Like this, pretty baby?" you murmur, voice dripping with sweet, teasing venom. Your tongue darts out, catching a bead of pre-cum from his tip before swirling around the head.Â
Adrian chokes out a broken sob, hips jerking uncontrollably against the velvet prison of your cleavage. "Y-Yeah, fuck -just like that.." His fingers claw into the couch cushions, knuckles white, as he stares down at you with utter, trembling worship.Â
âAre you gonna be good for me baby?â You kiss his tip, eyes raising to meet his wide ones, pupils huge. âAre you gonna fuck my boobs until you make a mess all over me?âÂ
Adrianâs restraint snaps. A guttural groan rips from his throat as his hips buck violently upward, driving his cock deep between the soft, pillowy heat of your breasts. His hands fly to cup them instantly, fingers digging greedily into the yielding flesh, squeezing them tighter around his throbbing length.Â
"Fuck- yes-" he chokes out, eyes wild and unfocused behind the mask, hips already pistoning in frantic, shallow thrusts, desperate to bury himself deeper into that impossible softness. Pre-cum smears slick paths across your skin with every jerky movement.
Adrianâs entire body locks rigid, muscles straining like coiled steel as he forces his hips to still, trembling with the effort. A choked whimper escapes himâedging himself, savoring the slick heat trapped between your breasts, the desperate ache building unbearable pressure.Â
Then, with a ragged gasp, he surrenders, hips snapping forward again in frantic, shallow pumps. His swollen tip flares, pulsing violently against your skin as he drives himself deeper into that intoxicating softness.
"That's it, baby," you murmur, voice thick with approval, your hand sliding down to cradle his heavy balls, fingers gently squeezing. "So good for me..."Â
The sudden pressureâwarm and claimingâis Adrian's undoing. A ragged cry tears from his throat as his hips slam forward one final time. Thick ropes of cum erupt violently, painting hot stripes across your collarbone, splattering your chin and cheek in pearly streaks.Â
He shudders violently, gasping your name like a prayer, hips jerking helplessly through each pulse as he empties himself onto your skin.
"I have a feeling there's a lot more you can give me."
Pairing: Fili Durin x fem! ReaderÂ
Genre: Smut
Word count: 3.5k
a/n: Not really much to say here, but as usual, let me know if you have any requests!
Bard had successfully brought the dwarves into his home. But something none of them had planned on was a beautiful maiden slipping in his home with a sweet grin.
Your eyes widen as you see the company in front of your, your head cocking to the side in confusion.
âBard?â You question, taking a few swift steps towards them. âWhat is going on here?â
Fili's eyes immediately turn to yours as soon as you speak. He can't help but be captivated by your appearance, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink in your presence.
The other dwarves and Bard also turn their attention to you, their eyes settling on your form as they take you in. There's a moment of silence as they all ponder what to do.
Finally, Bard steps forward, his voice warm yet slightly strained as he speaks. "Ah, Y/N.... I'm afraid there's a bit of a situation here..."
âI can see that.â Your reply is curt, eyes narrowed at Bard as you set your basket down. âExplain yourself, quickly.â
Bard lets out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping forward as he begins.
"Well, it's quite the tale, Y/N... These dwarves are on a mission."
He glances over his shoulder at the company of dwarves, some of them looking mildly sheepish.
"They're trying to reclaim their ancestral home... The mountain. From a dragon."
You glance over his shoulder, taking in the faces of each dwarf. âI see..âÂ
âThen you all must be very hungry.â You give them a sweet smile, stepping into the kitchen while pulling your long hair back.
Bard lets out a small sigh of relief, his tense expression softening at your kind words. The dwarves give each other a bewildered look, their bellies rumbling in agreement.
Fili is the first to speak, clearing his throat awkwardly as he steps forward. "Well... We certainly wouldn't say no to a bit of food..."
You quickly make a meal out of whatever is left in Bard's kitchen, bringing it to the table of starving dwarves. The dwarves eye the food hungrily as you place it in front of them. Their rumbling stomachs are only strengthened by the aroma of the stew, making their mouths water with anticipation.
Fili is the first to take a spoonful of the stew, his stomach practically growling as he tastes. The other dwarves follow suit, their faces lighting up at the first bite.
"This is delicious!" Kili exclaims, his mouth full of bread
The dwarves begin to eat greedily, their hunger overcoming any manners they might have.
You grin at Bard who responds by gently placing his hand on your waist, his fingers digging into your soft skin.
Fili notices the interaction between you and Bard immediately. His eyes follow Bard's hand as it moves to rest on your waist, a pang of jealousy stirring within him.Â
He looks away quickly, his gaze falling on the food in front of him, but the image of you and Bard is burned into his mind, leaving him feeling strangely envious.
âShall you introduce me to your friends?â You prompt the man at your side, eyes wandering over the faces of the dwarves.
Bard nods, realizing heâs neglected to introduce you to the dwarves. He begins to gesture to each one as he says their name.
"This is Thorin Oakensheild, leader of this company." Thorin nods curtly in acknowledgment, his stern gaze not wavering. "This is his nephews, Kili and Fili."
The two dwarves smile politely, their gazes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.
As he finishes the introductions you give the company a gentle smile, âI am Y/N, very delighted to meet your acquaintances.âÂ
You take a seat next to Fili, shoulder brushing against his arm lightly. Listening to the stories shared between the dwarves.Â
Fili can feel your shoulder brush against him, sending a jolt through his body. He swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure. His hand rests on his lap, clenched tightly in a fist. Your thigh presses against Filiâs as you scoot forward, resting your chin on your hands.
Bard interrupts âY/N, itâs about time for you to be heading out, the sun is setting.â You groan at his warning, moving closer to Fili subconsciously.
Your movement closer to Fili doesn't escape his attention. He can feel the warmth of your body press against his, sending a shiver down his spine.
Kili, observant as ever, notices this interaction between you and Fili. He grins widely at the sight, a knowing look in his eyes.
âPerhaps let me stay a bit longer..â you plead, giving him saddened eyes.
Bard sighs, unable to resist your begging eyes. He gives in to your request, raising his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright. You can stay a bit longer."
Kili laughs aloud, clearly amused by your ability to get your way. He gives Bard a sly grin, knowing the man couldn't resist your pleading eyes.
Fili, on the other hand, can feel his heart racing as he takes in your proximity to him. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, and the urge to reach out and touch you grows stronger by the second.
Time seems to fly by as the dwarves tell their tales, their voices growing louder and more animated with each passing minute.
Fili, who has been sitting beside you for most of the night, finds his gaze drawn to you more and more. Your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes light up as you listen to the dwarves' stories - he finds himself completely captivated by you.
Kili, meanwhile, keeps glancing between you and Fili, a sly smile playing on his lips. He can sense the tension between you two and finds it incredibly entertaining.
Your hand falls onto Filiâs thigh, a motion that goes unnoticed by the rest of the group. He glances down at your hand, his breath catching in his throat.
Fili looks at you, his eyes widening a bit in surprise. He can feel his heart racing, his body tensing under your touch. Unable to resist the urge to feel more of your touch, he gently places his hand on top of yours, guiding it slightly further up his thigh.
His breath hitches as he feels your hand move under his guidance, his body responding eagerly to your touch. You turn, glancing at the dwarf beside you, your eyes full of curiosity and surprise.
Thorin finally interrupts the storytelling, insisting that the dwarves rest now. The day they have to face tomorrow will require a night full of rest.Â
Thorin's words break the spell that has seemed to fall over you and Fili. The other dwarves begin to make themselves comfortable, preparing for sleep.
Fili, his hand still resting on yours, reluctantly pulls it off his thigh. He glances at you, his eyes holding a mix of desire and confusion. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat.
âY/N,â Bard calls for you, quickly you stand and walk to the man leaving Fili behind to situate himself. âYou shall stay here tonight, you mustnât be caught walking with a man this late in the evening.â His stern tone makes your stomach flip.
Fili, who overheard the exchange, can feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of you not being beside him. He had hoped to spend more time with you, to feel your touch once more.
He lies down, trying to ignore the ache in his chest as he watches you follow Bard upstairs. The thought of you sleeping just one floor above him both comforts and tortures him.
You lie awake in the bed, tossing and turning as your mind wanders to the touch of the dwarf. Quietly you slip out of the room, silently tiptoeing down the stairs. You make your way into the kitchen, noticing Filiâs lone figure on the floor, cuddled into his bedding.
Fili's eyes remain closed as he hears footsteps on the stairs, his senses on high alert. He can tell itâs you approaching, the sound of your soft footsteps sending a thrill through his body.
He keeps his breathing even, pretending to be asleep, as your presence draws closer and closer. You pause at his side, biting on your lower lip as you admire the dwarf. âFili..â you whisper his name.
Fili's heart skips a beat as he hears you whisper his name. He can feel your presence above him, your voice sending shivers down his spine.
He keeps his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, yet he's keenly aware of your every movement. He can practically feel your gaze on him, and it takes all his willpower not to open his eyes and look at you.
You slowly lower yourself on him, straddling his hips as your hand rests on his chest to steady yourself. Your other hand cups his cheek, thumb running over his beard as you admire his sleeping figure.
A wave of desire washes over him as you touch him, his body responding to your touch despite himself. His eyes open, hand clenching at his side, resisting the urge to reach up and pull you even closer to him.
You lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Your eyes flutter shut as warmth pools in your stomach, the small gesture a testament to your attraction.Â
Fili's breath catches in his throat as he feels your lips press against his. His mind goes blank for a moment, overwhelmed by the sensation of your mouth against his.
He can't help but respond to your kiss, his lips moving softly against yours. Fili takes advantage of your surprise, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his body reacting to your touch.
He loses himself in the kiss, all pretense of being asleep forgotten. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting and caressing you, as his hands slide up your body, tangling in your hair.
You let out a soft moan against his mouth as you feel his hips buck into yours. The hardness of him pressed against your sensitive areas makes your head spin.
Fili can feel the heat building between you, the sensation driving him wild. He continues to kiss you fiercely, his hands roaming over your body, mapping out your curves and angles. He breaks the kiss, panting, his eyes dark with desire.
âFiliâŠâ you gasp his name, eyes full of desire, cheeks flushed a bright pink.
Fili lets out a low growl as he hears his name fall from your lips. His eyes roam over your flushed cheeks, taking in your expression full of desire.
He tightens his grip on you, pulling you closer to him, his hips grinding against yours once more. "Y/N," he responds, his voice hoarse, "I want you. I need you."
You nod, hands sliding over your covered chest before you slip the fabric of your shirt up, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. âFili, make me feel good.. please.â
Fili's eyes darken as you expose your breasts to him, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of your bare skin sends a wave of desire coursing through his body, igniting a fire that can only be extinguished by you.
His hands caress your skin, cupping your breasts in his large palms. "I'll make you feel good, my sweet. I'll make you feel things you've never felt before."
Your eyes flutter shut, your face contorting with pleasure as his warm hands tease you. A soft moan leaves your parted lips, your hips moving against his desperate for friction.
Fili watches as your head falls back, your face twisting with pleasure at his touch. He grins, feeling a sense of satisfaction knowing that he's the one causing you to react this way.
He moves his hands, teasing your skin, tracing patterns across your body. Your movements, your silent moans, they all drive him wild. He feels your hips move against his, desperate for friction, and his mind goes blank, consumed by the desire to give you what you need.
With a mischievous grin, Fili nods in understanding, his eyes gleaming with desire. He gently guides your hips over his mouth, his warm breath teasing against your sensitive flesh. You bite your lower lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatens to escape as he licks a slow, deliberate line up your center, savoring the sweetness of your arousal.
Your body tenses in anticipation as he finally presses his mouth firmly against you, his tongue flicking and curling with a practiced finesse that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your core.Â
You lean back, bracing yourself against the kitchen counter, as he begins to suck and nibble at your clit, the vibrations of his beard adding an extra layer of sensation. The room is filled with the sounds of your soft gasps and his eager slurps, muffled only by your hand that you quickly press over your mouth to keep your voice down.Â
The intensity builds each stroke of his tongue bringing you closer to the brink of ecstasy. Your hips rock against his face, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he's providing. Fili's eyes never leave you, the passion and hunger in them making it clear that he's as lost in this moment as you are.Â
The sensation of Fili's beard against your sensitive flesh is like nothing you've ever felt before, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your throat as he continues to pleasure you with such fervor. Your body tightens, muscles coiling as the pressure builds, and suddenly you're falling over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you like a tempest.Â
You lean forward, burying your face in your hands, trying to muffle the cries of pleasure that threaten to shake the very walls of the house. His mouth doesn't stop, though, drinking in every drop of your release as your hips jerk in response to his skilled ministrations.Â
The intensity of the climax leaves you trembling, legs threatening to give out as waves of pleasure continue to crash over you, leaving you a boneless mess in his arms.
You slide off of his mouth, your legs trembling slightly as you stand before him. Your eyes are full of desire as you gaze at Fili with wonder, his lips glistening with your arousal. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, the sight of you in the throes of pleasure clearly driving him wild.Â
Without a word, you reach down and begin to unbuckle his belt, eager to return the favor. Fili watches as you expose his erection, his chest heaving with anticipation.Â
You drop to your knees, taking him in your hands, stroking him gently before taking the tip into your mouth. His gasp echoes through the quiet kitchen, his eyes rolling back in his head as you begin to take him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length with a passion that matches his own.Â
The intimate act feels natural as if the two of you had been lovers for centuries rather than minutes. The tension between you grow as your hands work in unison with your mouth, each stroke bringing him closer to his peak.
You work Fili's length with renewed vigor, feeling him swell and pulse in your mouth. His hands are tangled in your hair, guiding you as he loses control. With a final, guttural groan, he reaches his climax, his body tensing beneath your touch.Â
You swallow every drop, savoring the salty taste of his release, feeling a sense of power and satisfaction at bringing him to such heights of pleasure.Â
As he relaxes, his grip loosens, allowing you to pull away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You look up at him, his eyes glazed over with lust.
Fili's eyes never leave yours as he reaches up to pull you back down to his level, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that belies his size. He kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your lips, the intimacy of the act sending a fresh wave of desire crashing through him. His hands roam over your body, relearning every curve and contour as if it's the first time he's ever touched you.Â
Your own hands find his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you melt into the kiss. The scent of your arousal fills the air, driving him wild with desire. He breaks the kiss, panting, and whispers, "I need to be inside you, Y/N. Now."
With a nod, you give Fili the consent he desperately needs, your eyes fluttering shut as he lifts you up and gently lowers you onto his hardened shaft. You both let out a simultaneous moan as he fills you, the feeling of him stretching you and sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through your body.Â
You take a moment to adjust to his size, your muscles tightening around him as he holds himself still, giving you time to get used to the feeling of being so full. His hands are strong and steady on your hips, guiding you as you begin to move, rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic dance that feels as natural as breathing.Â
The heat between you builds, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you find a rhythm that has you both gasping for air. The kitchen around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in the warm cocoon of your passion, each thrust and kiss bringing you closer to the edge of oblivion.
Fili's strong arms wrap around you as he flips you over, his powerful legs spreading yours apart, and he slides back into you with a gentle yet firm motion. His control over your body is undeniable as he kisses you deeply, his tongue muffling the moans that spill from your lips.Â
Each slow, deliberate thrust hits every sensitive spot within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. His beard brushes against your neck, sending tingles down your spine as his kisses become more urgent, his teeth grazing your earlobes. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, feeling him fill you completely with each movement.Â
His pace begins to quicken, driven by the desperate need to claim you fully, to hear your sweet cries of pleasure. Your fingernails dig into his back as you arch your own, your breath hitching with every powerful stroke.Â
His rhythm becomes relentless, pushing you towards the edge of a second climax, his own desire evident in every groan that vibrates against your skin. The kitchen air grows thick with passion as you move as one, lost in the throes of an intimate dance that speaks of a connection that goes beyond words.
With a fierce determination, you tighten your inner muscles around Fili, feeling him throb deep within you. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine, his eyes snapping open to meet yours. His movements become more erratic, driven by the intensity of his climax, and you feel yourself rising to meet him. Your hips buck in response, eager for your own release.
Fili's grip tightens on your waist, his movements growing more forceful as he strives to prolong your shared ecstasy. Your breaths mingle, panting and desperate, as you both chase the elusive peak of pleasure. His eyes never leave yours, the connection between you palpable as you push him further. With a final, powerful thrust, you feel his release fill you, and that's all it takes to send you spiraling over the edge.Â
Your body tenses, muscles contracting around him as your orgasm crashes over you. Your nails dig into his back, leaving little half-moons on his skin as you cry out, the sound muffled by his mouth claiming yours once more. As the waves of pleasure recede, you both collapse against each other, panting heavily, hearts racing in sync with the aftershocks that linger between your bodies. The kitchen is silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths, the only evidence of the passionate storm that has just passed through.
He looked at you, a mixture of disbelief and desire in his eyes. "By Mahal, woman... that was amazing," he panted, his voice hoarse with need. "I've never felt anything like that before."
He pulled you closer to him, his arms wrapping around you possessively. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. "I need more of you," he whispered, his words almost desperate. "I can't get enough."
You cuddle into his body, face pressing against his chest. âI donât believe I have much more to give you, my darling.â you breathe out.
Fili laughed softly, his chest rumbling beneath your head. "You underestimate yourself, my sweet," he said, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. "I have a feeling there's a lot more you can give me."
He pulled you even closer, his arms encircling you firmly. "But for now, I'm happy just to hold you like this," he murmured, nuzzling your hair. "Just feeling your skin against mine, I know there's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you."
âYouâre quite the sweet talker Fili.â You murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairy chest.
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ââŠYouâre cooking me breakfast? Like⊠domestic breakfast? For me?â
Pairing: Adrian Chase x fem! ReaderÂ
Genre: Fluff? With smutÂ
Word count: 3.8k
Summary: You go to complain to your annoying next-door neighbor about the noise for the second night in a row. But Adrian isnât in the mood for another fight.Â
Warnings: blood, sewing up a wound, hand job + slight edgingÂ
a/n: This is my first time writing for Adrian but I hope I do his character justice! There will be more in the future so let me know if anyone wants to be tagged!!
You're his neighbor and have definitely caught his attention - unbeknownst to you though.Â
With a groan you roll over, the music next door overwhelming and never ending. When you moved back into your parents old home in Evergreen, you didn't expect to live next to anyone your age. Nor did you anticipate his excessive partying.Â
You squeeze a pillow over your ears, a soft whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. âFor fucks sake.âÂ
Five minutes pass. Then ten, and twenty, and thirty. Before long it's 2 am and you still can't fall back asleep.Â
âOh my GOD!â You finally slip out of bed, eyes tired and puffy, slipping on a shirt and some slippers you head out of the house. Practically stomping over to the house next door.Â
Your fist pounds against the wood, irritation painted across your normally soft features, your arms crossing under your breasts, wrapped around tightly as the cool air sends chills down your spine.Â
The door creaks open just a sliverâblood smeared near the knob, a hand pressed against it for balance. Adrian stares out at you, half-collapsed in his ridiculous full-body *Vigilante* suit (still zipped up, helmet under his arm like itâs a grocery bag), eyes wide with pain and surprise.
â...Oh. *You're* not Peacemaker.â He coughs once, sways slightly. âShit. I think I lost more blood than I thoughtââ
He tries to stand straighter, fails spectacularly.
âI was gonna knock on your door for help but then I remembered we hate each other because you yelled at me last week about⊠noise? Was that you? Because *technically*, my walls are soundproofâI canât hear *anything*. So if you're hearing thisâ" he gestures vaguely behind him where loud death metal still blares "âthen honestly, your house is defective.â
Another groanânot from the wound this time, but genuine dramatic offense.
âAnd for the record,â he adds weakly, âI wasn't partying. That's my healing playlist.â
Your expression turns blank, the frustration fading into concern as you take a step toward him. âAdrian?â Your eyes sparkle with worry, eyebrows furrowed as you look up at his bruised cheek. âDo you need help? Can I do anything?âÂ
Adrian blinks, then blinks again. His head tilts a bit to one side, trying to process a tone too soft and concerned for someone he only ever exchanged insults with.Â
âYou just...went from yelling at me to worrying? That's some serious mood swings. How do I know this isn't a trap or somethin'?â He takes a step back and raises a suspicious eyebrow, only to immediately wince from the movement.
"I'm not evil, you know." You bite back, eyes going cold once more as you place a hand on his side, steadying his swaying body. "You're annoying, yes, but that doesn't mean I can't care if you're hurt." You step inside, pushing him back slightly while closing. the door behind you.Â
"Where's the first aid kit?" You're right at his side, closer than you've ever been before.
The contact is more unexpected than anything else. You're *touching* him, your fingertips digging in lightly to help steady his body so he doesn't crash into a wall.Â
He doesn't pull away.
Adrian tries to focus on what you say but is too fixated on the warmth of your hand on his side. He stares at you, a bit dumbfounded, before he realizes what you asked.Â
"Huh? Oh. First aid." He motions vaguely towards the kitchen, still half-leaning into your side. "Under the sink, back left cupboard."
You glance over his shoulder, looking into the dark kitchen barely noticing the way he's staring down at you or the flush on his cheeks. "And the bedroom? I think you desperately need to lay down."Â Â
Adrian swallows dryly. He's still staring at you like a confused puppy, torn between the warm touch of your hand and the sharp pain that's starting to radiate from his side.Â
The mention of the bedroom snaps him out of the trance, though, and his face immediately lights up in a rosy blush. The idea of you in his bedroomâthat's a thought he's had a few times, just from catching glimpses of you through the window.Â
"I, uh..." he stutters, struggling for words. "Yeah. Down the hall. Last door on the right."
You guide him down the hall, barely able to hold his weight up as he leans against your side, then you help him sit down. "Okay, stay put." Your eyes scan his face, taking in the extent of his injuries.Â
"I'm gonna go grab the first aid kit, okay?" Your hand stays on his side, a beat longer than necessary before you pull back.Â
"Okay..." he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically small.
He watches you go like a kicked dog who just got shown kindness for the first time: confused, touched, and utterly disarmed. The second you turn the corner toward the kitchen, he slumps back onto the bed with a groan, one hand pressing against his wound.
"Damn it... why'd she have to be nice?" he mutters to himself. "This is worse than getting stabbed."
Because honestly? Getting patched up by you, soft hands, softer eyes, itâs messing with his head more than any torture ever did.
Your footsteps returnâsteady, concernedâand he immediately forces himself upright again, trying (and failing) to look casual as if getting stabbed is just part of his nightly routine. Â
The helmetâs still under his leg like it didnât matter at all.
"So what's the damage?" You turned his loud ass music off on the way back, finally feeling like you can concentrate on how to help him now. You place the kit next to him on the bed, eyes raking over his tense frame.Â
"Just a flesh wound, really," he says with a forced nonchalance, even as his side is *throbbing* and he's trying to fight back a grimace.
He looks anywhere but at you, suddenly unable to maintain his cocky facade. The sight of you, looking all concerned and caring, is doing something he really doesn't need to be thinking about right now.
"I've had worse," he adds, shifting awkwardly on the bed. "This is nothing."
"Yeah? Nothing too bad at all." Your eyes roll with your sarcastic response, hands moving around his shoulders, looking for some sort of zipper. Â
"How can I get your... suit..? Off?" Eyebrows furrowing as you try to find out how he even gets it on in the first place.Â
Adrian's eyes widen as your hands start roaming his shoulders, a shiver involuntarily tracing down his spine. The idea of getting undressed in front of youâhe's had dreams like this before, but the reality is far more nerve-wracking. Especially with the whole "getting stabbed" thing.
He reluctantly starts pointing out various seams and hidden zippers, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fact that your touch is really distracting him.
"There, there, and...there," he mutters, indicating different parts of the suit. "Should all come apart."
"Huh.." You carefully undo the zipper, fingers ghosting over his body before you're finally able to peel it away from his skin. "Very thorough, but a tad complicated if you ask me."Â
Dropping to your knees in front of him, which is something that he's dreamt of a few too many times, you settle between his legs. "Stay still, I need to get a better look."Â
Your fingers press the swollen skin around the wound, elbow resting on his thigh as you move even closer. Despite the pain he's in and the situation that has his mind whirling, the sight of you between his legs is making it increasingly harder to think straight.
He lets out a strangled little hiss as your fingers press against the wound, his thigh tensing instinctively under your elbow. It's embarrassing just how affected he is by your proximity, and he's doing everything he can to hide it.
"Just...be gentle, okay?" he mutters, the words catching in his throat. "It hurts like hell."
"I'm surprised you're admitting it hurts," You glance up at him, big eyes full of concern. "You must really be in a lot of pain." Settling back for just a second, you pull your hair back into a ponytail, not noticing the way he audibly groans in response to the sight.Â
Oh, god, the ponytail.
Adrian's gaze is glued to you, the way you tug your hair up to keep it out of your face. It's cute, sweet, innocent...and absolutely *killing* him. He swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably on the bed as his trousers start to feel a bit tighter.Â
"Y-yeah," he manages to croak out, trying to stay focused on the pain and not the heat coiling in his gut. "Yeah, it hurts. Pretty bad."
You open up the first aid kit, grabbing the necessary tools to sew him up, along with an alcohol swab to clean the needle. Adrian's hands clutch the fabric of the bed sheets, fingers twisting into the material as he watches you work.Â
The sight of the needle and thread make him wince involuntarily, but it's the way you're so close, gently touching and prodding at him, that has his stomach flipping.Â
A low hiss escapes his lips as you clean the wound, his thighs pressing together involuntarily. The combination of pain and the feel of your hands is almost too much. He just hopes you don't notice the bulge in his trousers, barely concealed by the fabric.
But of course youâve noticed it, youâre unbelievably close to his crotch and it would be absolutely impossible not to notice. âOkay, take some deep breaths.â Your touch is delicate even though youâre literally stabbing a needle through his skin.Â
He does his best to obey, taking in shuddering breaths as you begin to stitch up his wound. The pain is sharp but nowhere near as intense as the way his body is reacting to the situation.
Every time your fingers graze his skin, every time your head dips a little closer to his lap, it sends another thrill through him. He's practically vibrating with tension, trying to stay still despite the way his body is screaming for more.
"God, you have no *idea* what you're doing to me," he mutters through gritted teeth.
"I'm almost done..." The needle pricks out of his skin again, your eyes narrow as you move impossibly closer.Â
"Just a few more," You're too focused on the task at hand to think about exactly what your chest is pressing against, but it's all that *he* can think about.Â
Adrian is practically biting a hole through his own lip, desperately trying to hold back any sounds of frustration or pleasure. The feel of your chest against him is pure torture, every light brush of your body making his muscles tense and his breaths come shallow.
He's certain you can't be *that* unaware. Not when you're this close, this focuses on what you're doing. But somehow you're completely oblivious, and he's left there, squirming and desperate.Â
"Hurry up..." he grits out, his body coiled like a spring.
And just like that you're done, placing cotton over the newly sewn up wound you're finally able to realize the position you're in. Breasts pressed against his strained erection, hand gripping his side ever so slightly, and lips parted from your concentration.Â
You gulp slightly, eyes finally meeting his once again. "Uh... Sorry, Adrian." But you don't make any effort to move away.Â
He's frozen, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He'd almost forgotten how to breathe as you pressed against him, but the sound of you saying his name brings him back to reality.
His gaze locks onto yours, eyes dark with desire. He's still coiled tight, every muscle taut with tension, and the feel of your body pressed against him is sending shockwaves through him.
"Don't... don't be sorry,"Â he mutters, his voice low and rough. "Don't... don't move."
You don't listen though, your fingers move to his zipper, eyes searching his face to look for any sign of discomfort. "I should at least help you get into bed for the night..."
His breath hitches as your fingers brush against the zipper, his body tense with anticipation. He wants to say somethingâsomething clever or sarcasticâbut all he can manage is a soft, almost inaudible whimper.
"Y-yeah... okay," he mutters, eyes never leaving yours. "But if you're gonna do that... maybe go a little slower?"
"Anything you need," You slowly unzip the pants, helping him slip them off, one leg at a time until he's sitting in front of you in just his boxers. "This okay?"Â
He lets out a shaky breath, trying to keep his composure as you help him undress. The way you're looking at him, so soft and so caring, it's almost too much.
"Yeah... yeah, this is good," he whispers, voice rough with emotion. "Just... don't leave yet."
"I can't leave you like this," Your eyes light up mischievously, hands roaming his soft thighs, tracing his bruises and scars. "All worked up... so needy."Â
Adrian groans, his head falling back at the feel of your hands on his skin. He's so unbelievably touch-starvedâhe can hardly restrain himself from begging for more.
"God, don't say it like that," he mumbles, a shiver running through him as you touch his thighs. His body is thrumming with need, every nerve ending alive with sensation. "You have no *idea* how bad I want you right now."
"I think I have a slight idea," You finally touch him where his body is most desperate for it, gentle and barely there. "Lay back and relax."Â
He practically melts under your touch, all resistance gone as he obeys your command. He sinks back on the bed, head propped up on his pillows, and tries to fight back a moan as his body reacts to your touch.
His thighs part involuntarily, opening up for you as he looks up at you with wide, desperate eyes. "Please... don't tease me," he whispers, voice filled with raw need.
He lets out a broken gasp, hips jerking at the first real contactâyour hand warm and firm, your lips *right there*, your breath ghosting over his skin.Â
"Y/N- fuck-" he stammers, voice cracking between arousal and something dangerously close to affection.
His fingers twist into the sheets again, back arching slightly as you stroke him with slow, torturous precision. The fact that heâs completely exposed, physically *and* emotionally, isn't lost on him.
"Donât stop... please donât stop," he whimpers, eyes half-lidded and dark with lust. "Iâve thought about this too damn much."
Your thumb circles the tip, spreading slickness as you watch him unravelâevery gasp, every twitch of his abdomen, the way his hips stutter upward seeking more friction.
âEasy baby, let me take care of you.â You press your free hand to his stomach, lightly brushing your fingertips over his skin.
Your touch remains deliberate, unhurried, a slow glide from base to tip that has Adrian trembling beneath you. You feel the tension coiling tighter with each stroke, his hips lifting in silent pleading.Â
His eyes are squeezed shut, soft whines escaping his plush lips. When his breathing hitches, you ease off, thumb tracing the swollen vein along his shaft while your other hand drifts lower to cup him gently, applying just enough pressure to make him groan.Â
"I want you to feel every second of this." you murmur, watching the desperate flutter of his lashes.Â
âF-fuck, Y/N. Please.â Adrian breathes out, eyes opening just enough to look up at you dazed.Â
You build him up againâfirm, rhythmic pulls that draw ragged gasps from his lipsâonly to slow once more when his thighs tense, edging him ruthlessly toward release without letting him tip over. Precum beads at his slit, slicking your movements as you tease the sensitive underside with featherlight circles.Â
"Almost," you promise, voice low and soothing, though your own pulse thrums in time with his choked whimpers. His knuckles are white where he grips the sheets, every muscle straining as you deny him again, prolonging the sweet torment until sweat glistens on his collarbone and his whispered pleas dissolve into wordless need.
When his breathing turns ragged and his hips lift off the mattress in a silent plea, you finally relent; stroking faster, tighter, thumb pressing firmly against his frenulum.Â
Adrianâs back arches violently off the bed, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his throat as release crashes through him. His hips jerk uncontrollably against your hand, spilling hot streaks across his abdomen in thick pulses.
He let out a lot, much more than you anticipated, some of his cum even reaching your cheek. For a heartbeat; heâs utterly still, eyes wide and unseeing, lips parted on a silent gasp, before collapsing back onto the mattress with a shuddering exhale.Â
Sweat-damp hair clings to his forehead as he stares up at you, dazed and breathless, the tension finally unraveling into limp, trembling satisfaction. "Holy... shit," he rasps, chest heaving.
âFeel better?â You brush a strand of his hair out of his eyes.
He blinks up at you, dazed and still breathing hard, his body utterly wrecked in the best way possible. There's a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, and heâs still twitching slightly from the aftershocks.
"Feel... better?" He lets out a shaky laugh, voice raw. "I think you just reset my entire nervous system."
He reaches up weakly to touch your cheekâ*the one with his cum on it*âand smears it slightly with his thumb before pulling his hand back like he's suddenly remembering manners.
"I." He hesitates. For once, Adrian Chase has nothing sarcastic or cocky to say. Just quiet awe in wide eyes. "...Stay? Please?"
âOf course,â You smile, as if the answer was obvious. âBut let me clean up this mess before we hit the hay.âÂ
Heading into the bathroom you look for something to wipe him up with, as well as your cheek.Â
He watches you go, still trying to come down from the high you rode him to. His body feels heavy and boneless, and he sinks blissfully into the mattress with a low groan.
"Take your time," he murmurs, a smile tugging up the corner of his lips. "I'm not going anywhere." He *can't* go anywhere, even if he wanted to. He's not sure he could currently move at all.
By the time you come back with a cloth and a small towel, he's almost dozed off, but his eyes flutter half-open at the sound of your footsteps. Sitting next to him you carefully begin to wipe the mess, with gentle movements as if youâre afraid heâll start bleeding again.Â
Once the both of you are fully cleaned up you help him settle under the covers, guiding his head up while you fix the pillows below him. âThere you go, all ready for bed now.âÂ
He's too tired to protest or feel indignant, despite his usual pride. He just lets you move him around, his body utterly lax with exhaustion and contentment.
"Mm... thanks..." he murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he sinks into the pillows. He wants to say more, to tell you how amazing that was, or ask if you're sure about staying, or express some other mushy, affectionate, vulnerable thought that's been lurking in his brain.Â
But he can barely stay awake, so he mumbles, "Stay close?" instead.
"I'm not going anywhere," You reply warmly, slipping under the covers next to him, arms moving to cradle his head against your chest.Â
He lets out a soft, contented sigh as your arms wrap around him, his head resting against your chest. The steady beat of your heart is almost hypnotic, lulling him into a sense of safety he's never known before.
"Y/N..." he murmurs sleepily, voice barely above a whisper. "You're... kind of perfect."
And with that, his breathing slows, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion. He's out coldâsnoring softly against you like a man who just fought off death and got rewarded with heaven.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across tangled limbs. You stirred, blinking against the unfamiliar weight pinning you to the mattress: Adrianâs entire body draped possessively over yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breath warm and steady against your skin.Â
His arms, even in sleep, were locked around your waist like iron bands, pulling you flush against him. Every shift you made only tightened his grip, a low murmur escaping his lips as he nuzzled deeper into your hair.Â
âAdrian?â You brush your fingers over his shoulders, attempting to wiggle free. He doesnât respond to your voice, rather just lets out a soft snore instead.Â
After a bit of shifting you manage to slip out from his grasp, tucking the blanket back over him and grabbing a shirt from his dresser drawer to change into. You enter the bathroom, yawning as you slide his shirt over your head.Â
Youâre practically creeping around his home, trying not to wake him by making too much noise. Shuffling through his fridge and cabinets you find some supplies to cook him breakfast, youâre quietly whipping up the food when he finally stirs.Â
The bed is cold.
Thatâs the first thing Adrian notices as consciousness claws its way back. No soft breathing, no warmth pressed against him, just empty space and a dent in the pillow where your head had been.
His eyes snap open, heart lurching into his throat. âY/N?â
Silence.
He sits up too fast, wincing at the sharp pull in his stitched sideâbut he doesnât care. He throws off the covers, scanning the room wildly like maybe youâd vanished into thin air. Then he hears it: *clinking* from the kitchen. Soft humming.
Relief crashes over him so hard it nearly knocks him back down.
He stumbles out of bed, dragging himself toward the kitchen doorway to lean there like a sleep-addled ghost of a man with commitment issues and zero dignity this morning.
You're standing at the stoveâwearing *his* shirtâhair messy from sleep and hands working gently over pancakes that smell like maple syrup dreams, and for a second, he just... freezes.
ââŠYouâre cooking me breakfast?â His voice is gravelly with sleep and disbelief. âLike⊠domestic breakfast? For me?â
âHey, you were supposed to stay asleep in there.â You pout slightly, turning to face him with a plate full of food.Â
His heart skips a beat when you turn to look at himâthe sight of you in his shirt, hair tousled from sleep, and holding a plate of homemade breakfast like it's no big deal. How the hell are you this cute without even trying?
He just stands there for a moment, taking you in, his sleep-heavy mind refusing to cooperate.Â
"Uh..." he stammers, trying to sound casual despite the fact that he looks like a lovesick puppy right now. "Sorry. But I woke up and you were gone and... you're wearing my shirt."
"Do you mind? I sweat in my sleep, I wanted something to change into." You grin, walking toward him.Â
"N-No, I don't mind," he says quicklyâ*too* quickly.Â
He shifts slightly, trying (and failing) to hide the growing tent in his boxers as you step closer, plate in hand but all he can focus on is you: the way your bare legs peek out from under his shirt, how your hair falls over one shoulder like some kind of post-sex magazine spread.
Warnings: not proof-read, unprotected sex, blindfolding, reader being tied up, oral fem receiving, p in v sex, anal (unprotected), praise, multiple orgasms, overstimulation
Youâve been with Clark for the majority of your adult lives (since senior year of highschool) and heâs great! Of course he is. Heâs the perfect gentleman; he shows up with flowers and lunch at your work randomly, he cooks you breakfast in bed on the weekends, and he gets along with everyone in your life.Â
Heâs beyond perfect. But youâre harboring a deep dark secret: youâre perverted.Â
Itâs nothing too extreme, just more than vanilla. There are so many things youâve been dreaming to try and with this being your first relationship⊠well it's hard to figure out how to tell *him* about your desires.Â
The more you try to push it down and away the more stressed Clark becomes.Â
Youâve been putting distance between the two of you, something thatâs difficult considering the fact that you live together but anytime you get youâre out of the house.Â
Today you weren't even in bed when he woke up, which *never* happens. It never happens, he makes sure of it. Now you werenât even texting him back. His brows are stuck furrowed together as he lets out yet another sigh, checking his notifications and finding nothing from you.Â
âWhat has you so worked up, Kent?â Lois taps the side of his desk.Â
Clark looks up at Lois, his fingers fidgeting with a pen. âOh, hey, Lois. Itâs nothing,â he says, but the hint of worry in his voice is evident.
Lois rolls her eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. âCome on, Clark, I know you better than that. Whatâs going on with you? Youâve been distracted all day.â
"It's... Y/N," he admits quietly, spinning the pen between his fingers. "She's been distant latelyâlike, really distant. We haven't even had breakfast together in days and you *know* I live for that." He lets out a soft, nervous laugh. "I keep bringing her little thingsâsoup when she said she wasn't feeling well, her favorite cookiesâbut she just smiles and thanks me like I'm a coworker who held the elevator."
He lowers his voice. "I donât know what Iâm doing wrong. She hasnât been home much⊠and when she is, itâs like she canât wait to leave again." His brow furrows deeper. "I just wish I knew how to fix it."
âWell, youâve never had issues like this in the past and I doubt you did anything bad enough that she wouldn't communicate it to you. So⊠Iâm at a loss too.â She ponders on it for a second, arms crossing before she speaks once again.Â
âBut I think that you need to just jump on her about it. Treat it like an interview. Youâre both reasonable people and Iâm sure a conversation is just what you need to solve things.âÂ
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You're right. I just...I don't want to push too hard and make things worse. But it's killing me. I miss her, you know?"
He fiddles with the pen again, his eyes scanning the Daily Planet bullpen. "I just don't get it. We've been together for so long and then all of a sudden, this? It's like she's avoiding me."
While Clarkâs thoughts are running a million miles a minute, yours are nearly blank. You donât mean to be like this, itâs just. Itâs just him.
Heâs perfect and youâve never been desperate for anything more, itâs almost shameful that youâre thinking about it *now*.Â
Relationships change and the norm becomes a calm bore. But youâve never felt like your needs aren't being met, even now itâs not *that* itâs just a craving for more⊠But you know you can't keep this up, you shouldnât be running away from him or your feelings.Â
You enter the apartment with a groan, dropping your purse next to the door by your shoes. Clark wonât be home for at least an hour, which gives you the needed time to ponder your thoughts before seeing him again.Â
âFuck.â You sigh, throwing your body into the plush mattress and before long, your breathing slows, eyes shutting as you drift off to sleep.Â
Hours pass and evening descends upon Metropolis. You're still sleeping in the bedroom, oblivious to the passage of time until the sound of the door softly opening and closing rouses you.Â
Soft footsteps echo through the apartment, followed by the faint sound of cabinets in the kitchen shuffling around. Clark is home. And in no time at all heâs by your side, fingers gently brushing over your shoulder, his touch ghost-like and familiar.Â
âMm, ClarkâŠâ You breathe out, taking in the scent of his cologne and basking in his warmth.Â
Clark smiles gently as you stir awake, his hand continuing to brush over your shoulder.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he says, his voice soft. "Looks like you needed that nap." He takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to you, studying your weary expression with a hint of concern.
âYeahâŠâ You sit up, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you refuse to meet his eyes. âIâm sorry Clark, I know Iâve been distant lately.â
His gaze remains fixed on you as you sit up, the concern in his eyes deepening. "I've noticed," he says quietly. "I've been worried."
He reaches out, his hand gently tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "Can you tell me what's going on, please? You don't have to apologize. I just want to understand."
âI know.. I know.â You let out a groan. His expression softens, his thumb gently rubbing soothing circles on your cheek.Â
"Then talk to me," he encourages softly. "Tell me what's been going on in your head." He moves his hand from your chin to rest gently on your knee, giving it a light squeeze.
You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly. âItâs just⊠I feel so stupid even saying it out loud.â Â
Clark stays quiet, patient, his hand moving to your back, slow and steady between your shoulder blades. He doesnât push. He never does.
You take a shaky breath. âIâve been⊠wanting things. *More* things.â Your voice drops, barely above a whisper. âAnd I didnât know how to tell you becauseâGodâyouâre so perfect and sweet and I donât want you to think that Iâm unhappy...â
His eyebrows furrow slightly as you reveal your thoughts. He listens intently, his hand still rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back.
"You're never stupid for feeling something, Y/N," he says softly. "And you don't have to worry about me thinking you're unhappy. I just want to understand what these 'more things' are."
He shifts a bit closer to you, his eyes filled with patience and understanding. Your cheeks flush a deep crimson, lips pursing together as you try to figure out what to say.Â
âClark-â Your voice breaks slightly, embarrassment creeping in. âItâs just⊠Iâve been wanting to try new things, *kinky* things.âÂ
Clark's eyes widen slightly, a hint of surprise in his expression. He wasn't expecting that. But his hand doesn't still on your back, the gentle rubbing motion continuing.
"New things... a, um, like what?" he questions, his voice lowering to match yours. There's a hint of shyness in his eyes, but also curiosityâa desire to understand and please you, even if the territory is new to him.
"I mean, nothing super crazy of course..." You awkwardly reply, a bit faster than necessary. "Just maybe we could try blindfolding or being tied up..." Your eyes refuse to meet his once again, teeth digging into your lip.Â
"I know you like being gentle with me... Especially since you're different, genetically and all." You move closer to him, knees brushing his thigh. "I love that you're so sweet, but it would be thrilling, to not see exactly what you're doing, or being able to reach out and feel you."
His breath visibly hitches at the words, and the hand on your back stills for a moment as his eyes flicker with something newâa mix of bashfulness and arousal.
"I... I never thought about it that way," he admits softly, his cheeks flushing slightly. "With the way I am, it's always been easier to hold back." He takes in a deep breath. "But if it's something you want, I'm open to trying it."
"I'd like to try it." You cautiously look up, eyes meeting his yet unable to read the thoughts behind them. "And I might have the necessary equipment for it too..."Â
He swallows, the thought of you being bound, unable to see anything, at his mercy... sending a shiver down his spine.
"You... you do?" He questions, his eyes flicking over your face, searching for any signs of hesitation. His hands itch to touch you, to run over your body and explore, but he waits, holding himself back.
Slipping off the bed you reach under, grabbing a shopping bag that's been hiding the pink silk ropes and matching blindfold. âI, uh, I bought it a couple days ago. In case we ever needed them.â you grin sheepishly, on your knees in front of him as he holds the bag in his lap.
Clark's eyes widen as you reveal the pink silk ropes and blindfold from the shopping bag. He gingerly takes the items into his lap, the soft, luxurious silk slipping through his fingers.
He looks down at you with a mixture of surprise and growing arousal. "You... you planned this, didn't you?" he asks softly, his voice slightly huskier than normal.
You place your palms on his thighs, moving closer. "I'm always prepared, Clark." His fingers tremble slightly as he pulls the soft pink silk blindfold from the bag.Â
Clarkâs gaze locks with yours, that familiar shyness warring with something darker, more deliberate, in his eyes. "Okay," he breathes, the word thick with promise. "Trust me?"Â
You nod, tilting your head up instinctively. His touch is feather-light as he positions the blindfold, tying it securely but gently at the back of your head. The world vanishes into velvety darkness. "Can't see a thing," you whisper, a thrill shooting through you.Â
Clark's hands slide under your arms, guiding you back onto the mattress. His movements are unhurried, deliberateâthe soft rasp of your zipper, the brush of fabric as he peels away your clothes layer by layer.Â
Each pause hangs thick with an invitation for protest that never comes. Only your quickened breath answers him. When you're bare, his knuckles graze your inner wrist as he lifts your arm above your head.Â
The first silk loop tightens snug around your wrist, not painful but inescapable. "Still good?" His murmur ghosts across your collarbone. You arch into the vibration, nodding wordlessly as he secures the knot to the bedpost.Â
The other wrist follows, stretched taut beside its twin. His exhale shakes against your stomachâhalf restraint, half hunger. Yet seeing you naked, spread out in front of him like this, itâs thrilling.Â
Clark's fingers trail down your calf, the silk rope cool against your heated skin. He wraps it snugly around your ankle, the restraint firm but not bitingâhis signature gentleness warring with the delicious helplessness he created.Â
You shivered violently, thighs trembling as anticipation coiled tight in your belly. Your cunt throbbed, slick and aching, every nerve screaming for his touch. The second ankle joins the first, secured to the opposite bedpost, leaving you utterly open, utterly his.Â
His breath hitches above you, a low sound that vibrated through the darkness. Heâs salivating at the sight of you, your scent filling his senses, his body eagerly reacting to yours.Â
Clark slides between your thighs, his nose brushing the sensitive skin of your inner leg. Soft, deliberate kisses trail upward, each press of his lips igniting goosebumps that race across your flesh.Â
You twitch beneath him, a gasp catching in your throat as his mouth hovers over your pulsing clit. Then, a slow, torturous lickâdeliberate, deviousâdragging through your slick heat. Your hips jerk against the silk restraints, a whimper tearing free.
He does it again, the tip of his tongue finding a slow rhythm against the sensitive and needy bud. His eyes are glued to your face that's filled with nothing but pleasure. The more you moan and whine the harder it is for him to hold back.
Clarkâs restraint snaps. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he buries his face between your thighs, tongue lashing against your clit with desperate, hungry strokes. No more teasing, just raw, consuming need.Â
His hands grip your hips, pinning you down as he devours you, each flick and suck deliberate, relentless. You writhe against the silk bonds, gasping his name, the wet sounds of his fervor filling the room. He feasts like a man starved, driving you towards the edge with single-minded intensity.
Youâre over the edge, overwhelmed by the pleasure as he seemingly sucks down your juices. Itâs too much, all too much. Your legs are trembling as you try to pull away, yet you're stuck open for his every touch.Â
âFuck, fuck, fuck.â You cry out, squirting all over his face, but he doesn't stop. Not now, not yet, not when he knows heâs pushing in just the right way. His mouth only seals tighter, sucking hard as your body moves wildly against the restraints.
Clark doesn't relent. His tongue flattens against your oversensitive clit, pressing down hard as you thrash against the restraints. "Too.. ah! Sâtoo much!" you whine, hips aching to move away only to be held in place by his iron grip on your thighs and the ropes around your ankles.Â
Every nerve screams, electric and raw as he laps at your pulsing entrance, drinking down your desperate whimpers.Â
"Please," you choke out, trembling uncontrollably, "Clarkâneed your cockânow!"Â
He pulls back instantly, chest heaving. The wet sound of his lips parting from your flesh hangs in the air. Wiping his mouth his eyes scan your face, hand brushing over your stomach before cupping your breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the hard nipple gently.Â
He slides his slacks down, revealing his soaked boxers, filled with his cum. âJust pleasing you like this was enough to get me off, my love.â You shiver at the thought, imagining just how hot he is in front of you.Â
âGod, Clark. Fuck me, fuck me so hard.â You whine, hands aching to touch him, to pull him close.Â
âYouâre so sexy like thisâŠâ He smirks, sliding down his boxers and freeing his pulsing cock. He presses the tip to your sensitive clit, circling it. You shiver in response, overstimulated and simultaneously desperate for more.Â
He slides his dick up and down between your pussy lips, getting it slick with your cum before slowly and nearly torturously sinking himself into your cunt before pulling out. Clark sinks into you once again with agonizing slowness, the thick head stretching you wide before the rest of him follows, inch by devastating inch.Â
He bottoms out with a groan that vibrates through your joined bodies, his hips flush against yours. "God, you feel perfect," he rasps, his voice strained. He pulls back almost entirely, leaving just the tip inside, then thrusts forward again, deep and deliberate.Â
The angle is exquisite â each powerful stroke grinds directly against that spongy, sensitive spot deep inside you.
A desperate cry tears from your throat. Your cunt clenches violently around him, pulsing in time with the relentless pressure. "There! Right there, Clark! Oh god, don't stop!" You're arching against the silk ropes, trying to meet his thrusts, but he pins your hips firmly to the mattress.Â
He sets a deep, rhythmic pace, each plunge hitting that sweet spot with unerring accuracy, drawing ragged moans and whimpers from you with every inward stroke. Your inner muscles flutter and tighten desperately around his cock, trying to pull him deeper still.
The wet, slick sounds of his thrusts fill the room, mingling with your gasps and his low grunts. He watches your face intently, mesmerized by the blindfolded ecstasy twisting your features. His own need builds rapidly, a tight coil in his gut.Â
The pace quickens subtly, still deep, still hitting that spot, but harder, faster. His breathing grows harsh, his thrusts becoming more urgent, chasing his own release while focused entirely on driving you over the edge again.Â
"Cum for me," he commands, his voice thick and rough. "Let me feel you cum around me, Y/N." His fingers dig into your hips as he pistons into you, the bedframe creaking softly beneath the force.
Your cunt aches and squeezes around him, edging him closer as your orgasm teeters right on the edge, his hips stutter pushing deep and hard into your g-spot.Â
He buries himself impossibly deeper, causing you to cum around him, squeezing his cock just enough to push him over the edge without needing to move at all. His seed fills you as he lets out a shaky moan, forehead pressed to yours as his body shakes with his pleasure.Â
The next morning the two of you feel closer than ever, pushing the morning later and later, cuddled up comfortably under the sheets. Your fingers toy with his curls as you admire him.Â
âMy love,â his deep sleepy voice breaks the calm silence. âWeâre going to be late for work.âÂ
You just groan in response, cuddling further into his side. âFive more?âÂ
He laughs softly at the sound of your groan, his arm tightening around you as he feels your head press further into his side, your fingers trailing through his hair.
"Five more, huh?" he muses, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a fond smile. He turns his head to press a kiss to the top of your head, relishing in the comfort of your embrace.
"As tempting as that sounds... I think we're already pushing our luck." Despite his words, he doesn't make any move to untangle himself from you just yet.
âMm..â You sigh, slightly pulling away from your personal heater aka Clark. âI know what else we should try tonightâŠâ you give him a mischievous grin as you slide out of bed. Naked body on full display to him while you look through the closet to find something to wear for the day.Â
His eyes follow your every move, his gaze devouring your bare form with a mixture of desire and familiarity. When you turn around and give him that mischievous grin, he can't help but let out a low whistle.
"You're making it hard to leave this bed, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice rough with arousal, as you sift through the closet. He leans back on the pillows, his gaze roaming over your body, savoring the sight while he has the chance to.
âOh trust me, I know exactly what Iâm doing.â You giggle, bending over to slide your panties on, then your stockings, and skirt.Â
âBut youâre the one who insisted on getting up,â your lips curve into a sweet smile, turning to face him you show him two blouse options.Â
His gaze flicks between the two blouses in your hands, but his eyes struggle to stay focused on the clothing rather than the sight of you getting dressed. He can't help but let out a low sigh as you bend over again, his desire growing with every moment.Â
"I know, I know..." he groans out, his eyes dark with arousal. "But if you keep teasing me like this, I might just say screw the office and stay here with you all day."
âIf we call out sickâŠâ licking your bottom lip you step closer to him, âWe could have a long weekend.â Your hand finds purchase in his hair again, tangling with the soft locks.Â
Your lips press a gentle kiss to his forehead. His hands immediately find your hips, his fingers gently squeezing as you step in between his legs. The feel of you, so close yet still dressed, drives him wilder with every passing second.
A low growl rumbles in his chest as you speak, the thought of having you all to himself for a long weekend sparking a possessive hunger within him.
"I like the way you think," he murmurs, his eyes darkening further. "Calling out sick it is." He grins mischievously, tugging you closer, until you're straddling his lap.
Moving your hands to cup his face you press a heated kiss against his lips, body already starting to move against his. Your hard nipples pressing into his warm chest as his hands work to undress your lower half.Â
He moans against your lips, his tongue immediately slipping into your mouth as he kisses you back with a growing urgency. His hands, large and possessive, glide up your thighs, under your skirt, and start to slide your panties down.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to say, in a voice hoarse with want, "God, you're driving me crazy... If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were trying to put me in an early grave, baby."
âMaybe thatâs the goalâŠâ You practically moan out, his touch causing shivers to run down your spine.Â
Your favorite thing about being with Clark is that he can keep up with your high libido. Even after being together for so long, you have sex nearly every day and god does he make you feel great.Â
He laughs huskily as you moan, the sound causing his fingers to dig into the soft flesh of your thighs. "You little minx..."
He nuzzles your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin just below your ear before whispering, his breath hot against your ear. "Is that your plan? To take me out completely? Leave me spent and useless for anything else?"
âMy current planâŠâ you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging the strands lightly.Â
âIs to try another new thing,â your body arches into him, his lips moving to your collarbone, then your breasts.Â
His breath hitches as you tug his hair, the sharp pull sending a jolt straight to his core. He groans against your skin, hands gripping your hips tighter as he looks up at you through dark lashes.
"Another new thing?" he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "You're full of surprises lately, aren't you?" He kisses a slow trail down your chest before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, teasing it gently with his tongue.Â
When he pulls back again, there's a spark of playful curiosity in his eyes. "Tell me what you want... I'll try anything for you."
âI want to try anal,â you breathe out, head falling back as your lips part. The scent of your arousal already filling his nostrils. âI think⊠I think weâd both enjoy it.â You grin, eyes half lidded when you glance at his features.
His eyes darken even more, the pupils blown wide with hunger and desire. He takes a shuddering breath, his mind already consumed with the image of you beneath him.
"God, you really are going to be the death of me," he growls, hands roaming over your hips, gripping possessively.Â
He leans in, his mouth grazing along the shell of your ear as he breathes, "You want that, baby? Want me like that?" his voice a deep low whisper, filled with filthy arousal.
You nod, a soft whine escaping your lips as his hands massage your ass. âI have lube.â His hands move closer and closer to where you want them, pointer finger slowly circling your asshole.
âAnd if we stretch it first-â You moan in surprise as the tip of his finger slightly prods into you. âIt- it wonât hurt that bad.âÂ
He groans as you whine, his fingers gripping you tighter at the sound. The knowledge of the lube nearby and your eagerness only heighten his arousal. Seeing you like this, all needy and wanting- it makes him dizzy.Â
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice shaking slightly as his finger circles your entrance, sending sparks of pleasure through you.
"And so eager," he adds, pressing kisses on your neck, his lips traveling across your skin.Â
You slip off his lap, stripping the little clothes you have left and reaching for the bottle of lube. âHow do you want me?â Biting down on your lip you hand it to him.Â
He takes the bottle from you, studying it for a moment before looking back up at you, eyes dark with hunger. He beckons you with a finger, gesturing to the bed.
"On your knees, baby." His voice is a low, commanding growl that sends a shiver down your spine. "I want you just like that."
You settle in doggy style, ass up and back arched for him, anticipation sending chills over your body. Goosebumps rising on your skin as you feel him shift behind you, hands cupping your ass as he kisses the soft skin gently.Â
He gently caresses your skin, his hands smoothing over the curves of your body, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he speaks. "You're so perfect," he whispers, his words a reverent prayer. "So soft..."
His hands grip your hips, guiding you into the position he has in mind. "Just... stay like that for me, okay?"
âOkayâŠâ you murmur, feeling his lips against your ass cheeks. He spreads them, eyes filled with lust as he admires your holes.Â
Clark sticks his tongue out, flattening it against your wet cunt and sliding it up to your asshole. Teasing you in just the right way, his hands keeping you spread wide open for him.Â
Pulling back slightly he groans, the sight of you so lewd in front of him is driving him mad. âTell me what you want, baby.â His voice is smooth yet full of desire.Â
âI want you to have your way with meâŠâ You choke out, holes pulsing with the desire to be teased and fucked.Â
He grins, pressing his mouth to your anus once again, his tongue lapping and teasing the hole. You grip the sheets, knuckles turning white as you whine, the unfamiliar pleasure leaving you desperate for more.Â
He slowly pushes the tip of his tongue into the tight tight hole, stretching it slightly as he holds your hips tight. A groan escapes his preoccupied mouth, eyes closing as he desperately tries to go slow, yet finding it so hard to keep himself in check.Â
Clarkâs tongue pressed deeper, the tight heat of you almost unbearable. A ragged groan vibrated against your skin as he fought the urge to surge forward, to bury himself completely. His knuckles whitened where he gripped your hips, holding himself back with his Superman-level restraint.Â
Every flick, every slow circle of his tongue was tortureâboth for the delicious stretch it gave you and the agony of denying his own desperate need to claim you fully. He wanted to plunge in, to feel you yield around him *now*, but the soft whimpers escaping you anchored him.Â
Patience. He had to be patient. Even as saliva slicked your skin and his own cock throbbed, aching and neglected, he forced himself to linger, savoring the tremors running through your body, the way your hole fluttered greedily against his tongue.Â
The struggle was written in every tense line of his shoulders, every harsh breath he dragged in through his nose.
âClarkâŠâ you whine, face buried in the bed. âMore.âÂ
Clark pulls away reluctantly, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He fumbles with the lube cap, slicking his fingers thickly. The first cool, slippery touch against your asshole makes you gasp.Â
"Easy," he murmurs, pressing a single fingertip against the tight ring of muscle, circling slowly. He applies steady, gentle pressure until your body yields, letting him sink just the tip inside. You whimper at the unfamiliar stretch, your hips instinctively pulling away from the intrusion.
"Good?" he rasps, his voice strained. "Just breathe..." His finger retreats slightly, then presses deeper, working in slow, patient thrusts. Your body shakes as you bite down on your lip, the feeling is good but painful.Â
His finger works deeper, stretching the tight ring with agonizing slowness. A second slick digit joins the first, pressing alongside it, the burn sharp enough to make you gasp into the sheets.Â
Yet beneath the sting blooms a deeper, molten pleasure. Clark murmurs soft praiseâ"So good for me, baby"âas his free hand smooths soothing circles over your lower back, his touch grounding you even as his fingers scissor gently inside, stretching you wider.Â
You whimper, a broken sound caught between pain and desperate want, your hips pushing back against his hand, seeking more of that torturous fullness. The slick sounds filled the room, mingling with your ragged breaths and his low groans.Â
Lost in the duality, the ache yielding to a deep, throbbing needâyou surrendered to the stretch, your body opening for him and desperate for more.Â
Clarkâs fingers move with agonizing patience, stretching you wider, three fingers now buried deep, scissoring gently. The sharp burn fades, replaced by a molten throb that radiates through your core.Â
A fourth finger presses alongside the others, slick and insistent. You gasp, arching deeper into the mattress as the stretch intensifies, but the pain dissolves like sugar in hot tea, leaving only a dizzying, intoxicating pleasure.Â
Your body clenches around his knuckles instinctively, then relaxes, yielding completely. "That's it," Clark murmurs, his voice rough with awe. "Taking me so well..." His fingers curl, brushing a spot inside that makes stars burst in your mind.Â
A ragged moan tears from your throatâpure, desperate want. He stills, letting you feel the exquisite fullness, the promise of what was coming. Your hips rock back against his hand, silently begging for more.
âClark⊠pleaseee.â You whine, begging him to use his throbbing cock.Â
Clark withdraws his fingers slowly, leaving you achingly empty. The thick head of his cock presses against your stretched, slick entranceâa burning pressure that steals your breath.Â
His hands clamp onto your hipbones, fingers digging in possessively as he leans forward, his weight pinning you.Â
"Breathe," he rasps, the command strained. He pushes forward with infinitesimal slowness, the thick ridge of his crown stretching you wider than his fingers ever could. Your cry is muffled against the sheets, a mix of sharp protest and desperate surrender.Â
He holds himself there, buried just past the widest part, letting your body shudder and adjust around the brutal invasion. Every muscle in his arms stands taut, trembling with the effort of holding back.
He pushes deeper, a relentless, burning invasion that forces a choked sob from your throat. Your body fought the impossible stretch, muscles clenching in reflexive panic around the thick intrusion.Â
Then, with a final, grinding thrust, his hips slam flush against your assâheâs buried to the hilt. The pain was a bright, sharp flare, stealing your breath, leaving you trembling and pinned beneath him.Â
Slowly, agonizingly, your body yields. The clenching panic easing, replaced by a throbbing, molten ache. You felt impossibly full, stretched taut around him.Â
His groan was guttural, primal, vibrating through your joined flesh. His hand slid forward, knuckles brushing your inner thigh before his thumb found your clitâa deliberate, bruising pressure against the swollen, hypersensitive bud.
âFuck,â You moan loud, hips pressing back against him, grinding the best you can to get more friction from him.Â
Clark holds himself rigid above you, every muscle straining against the instinct to pound into that tight, clenching heat. He starts moving with agonizing slowness, withdrawing inch by slick inch until only the swollen head remains inside, then driving back in with the same deliberate, grinding pace.Â
Each thrust punches a ragged gasp from your lungs, the stretch still bordering on pain but now laced with a deep, throbbing pleasure that radiated through your core.
"God, you feel... *unreal*," he groans, his voice thick and trembling. His thumb circled your clit with relentless, focused pressureânot gentle, but purposeful, demanding your release. "So tight around me... taking every inch like you were made for it."Â
His hips snap forward again, burying himself deep, and you cry out, arching back against him. "That's it, baby... let go for me. I want to make you cum..."
His rhythm remains torturously slow, each measured thrust designed to drag against every sensitive nerve inside you. Sweat beading on his brow, his jaw clenching tight as he fights his own climax, the tremors in his thighs betraying how close he was.Â
"Look at you," he rasps, his hand never leaving your clit, fingers slick with your arousal. "So fucking perfect... clenching around me... gonna milk me dry..." He leans down, his breath hot on your ear.Â
"Come on, sweetheart. *Now*." The command, coupled with a sharp flick of his thumb, sent you hurtling over the edge.
Clarkâs fingers plunge into your dripping cunt without warning, two thick digits curling deep, then a third stretching you wider, matching the brutal, grinding pace of his cock in your ass.Â
The dual invasion was overwhelming, a symphony of slick sounds filling the room: the wet slap of his hips against your skin, the squelch of his fingers pistoning inside your cunt, the ragged gasps torn from your throat.Â
He fucks you relentlessly, his thumb still grinding circles on your clit as his fingers crook upward, finding that sweet spot with unerring precision. Pleasure detonates through youâa white-hot cascade that has you screaming into the sheets, your body convulsing around his invading hands and cock.Â
The violent clenching of your cunt was his utter undoing. A guttural moan rips from Clarkâs throat as his hips stutter, then slam flush against you one final time.Â
His face pressing between your shoulder blades, teeth scraping skin as he came with a force that shook him; hot, thick pulses flooding your ass, spilling out around the base of his still-throbbing cock.Â
He groans, long and low, the sound vibrating against your spine, his entire body trembling as he empties himself inside you, the warmth spreading deep, impossibly intimate. âIâm sorry pretty girlâŠâÂ
Clark breathes out, lips pressing gently against your sweaty skin. âI didnât mean to cum so quicklyâŠâ
Summary: You call Clark after a fight with your ex-boyfriend, who got physical, and it was the first time youâve seen him snap.Â
Warnings: domestic violence, mentions of bruising from dv, p in v sex
Tears stain your cheeks, a silent testament to the tumultuous fight that had just occurred. Your relationship with your boyfriend, once a bastion of comfort and support, had crumbled into a harrowing scene of pain and betrayal.Â
The harsh reality of his fist had left you bruised and shaken, and now, alone in the quiet of the night, the gravity of the situation sets in. You've never had to call on Clark in such dire circumstances, but the fear coiling in your stomach tells you that this time is different.Â
This time, you need more than a listening ear or a comforting shoulder; you need a friend who can stand as a pillar of strength in the aftermath of your shattered world. Youâre currently waiting for Clark to arrive.Â
It wasnât like you to call in the middle of the night, and it wasnât like you to invite friends over spontaneously either. Youâve been friends for just a little over three years, Clark has always been there for you, and youâve always felt something more deeply for him than just friendship.Â
This boyfriend, it was barely anything, just 2 months, and he was over earlier that night when things got out of hand. He asked about Clark, he demanded to know more, to know everything, and when you wouldnât agree to stop being friends with him.Â
It turned messy and violent.Â
You hear a knock at the door and his soft voice from behind the wood. âY/N, itâs me.âÂ
The door swings open, and there he is, hair a little windblown, glasses slightly crooked, coat still half-on like he rushed here mid-zip. And then he sees you. The bruise along your jaw. The way your hands tremble.Â
"Hey... hey, it's okay," he whispers, stepping in fast but gently, kicking the door shut behind me. "You're safe now."
He doesnât ask questions yet. Instead, he pulls you into a hug, one arm steady around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head like youâre something precious.
"Clark..." You whisper against his chest, tears prickling at your eyes again.Â
"Shh, I've got you," he murmurs, voice low and warm against your hair. One hand slowly rubs your back in gentle circles, grounding you. "You donât have to talk yet. Just breathe."
He pulls back just enough to tilt your chin up, his eyes scanning the bruise with a quiet storm behind themâhurt, anger, but above all, care.
"Can I get you anything? Water? A blanket?" he asks softly. "Or do you just want me to stay right here?"
"Just stay with me..." Your voice breaks as you begin crying, and you take his hand, leading him to the couch.Â
"Always," he says simply, letting you lead, his hand warm and steady in yours.
He sits close on the couch, close enough that your shoulders touch, and when you lean into him, he wraps his arm around you without hesitation. One hand stays gently holding yours, thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles.
"I'm not going anywhere," Clark murmurs against your hair. "You're safe. You're not alone." His voice is so soft it feels like a promise, one he means to keep forever.
After a while you finally speak up again, "My boyfriend... My ex-boyfriend," you murmur, eyes focused on the floor.Â
He stays quiet for a beat, just listening, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "Hey," he says gently, turning toward you. "Look at me."
When you finally meet his eyes, his voice is steady but full of fire held in check. "Did he hurt you?" It's not pryingâit's concern wrapped in quiet strength, the kind that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.
You nod, tears falling down your cheeks. "He was just so angry..." Looking at Clark, you bite down on your lip, hands trembling. "He wanted me to stop seeing you, I just." You press your forehead against his shoulder, hiding your face.
His breath catches, just slightly, and when he speaks, his voice is low, steady, like heâs holding back a storm.
"He wanted you to stop seeing me?" Clark murmurs, arm tightening around you. "Because of me?" He leans his cheek against the top of your head, silent for a moment.Â
"He said we're too close," You sigh, wiping your tears on his shirt.
He doesnât flinch, doesnât pull away as you wipe your tears on his sleeve like heâs always been your safe place.
"Yeah,â he says softly, voice thick with something warm and sure. âWe are.â
A pause. Then he turns, gently tipping your chin up again, eyes searching yours behind his slightly crooked glasses.
âAnd thatâs not a bad thing, Y/N. Not ever. You *should* have someone closeâsomeone who shows up when you call at midnight⊠someone who knows you.â His thumb brushes your cheekbone. âIâm honored itâs me.â
His voice drops to a near whisper.
âBut no one gets to hurt you for it.â
"Clark..." You look up at him through half-lidded eyes, gaze falling to his lips. "I'm happy you came."
His breath hitches, just a little, and his eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, like he's fighting the urge to close the gap.
"Always," he whispers, voice rougher now. "I'll always come for you."
His hand cups your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of a fading tear. The room feels too quiet, too still, like even the air is holding its breath.
And for a heartbeat, neither of you move. Â
Then he leans in, slow, giving you time to pull away, and brushes his lips against yours once. Soft. Reverent. Like youâre something worth protecting, worth loving.
When he pulls back, his voice is barely above a whisper: "I've wanted to do that⊠for way too long."
Your hands move to his face, gently holding him steady as you press your lips against his again. The despair from the night falling away immediately in the warmth of his loving embrace. He melts into the kiss, one hand sliding into your hair, the other anchoring you close like heâs afraid youâll slip away.
Each breath is deeper now, less fear, more feeling. He kisses you like heâs promising something: safety and care, forever.
When you finally pull back just enough to rest your forehead against his, Clark lets out a shaky breath and chuckles softly, nervous, dazed in the best way.
"Wow," he murmurs behind his glasses. "And here I thought my big heroic moment tonight was just gonna be comforting my best friend."
He brushes a thumb over your smile. "Turns out⊠it was letting myself love her."
"Clark," You continue cupping his face, brushing your thumbs over his features. "Stay with me tonight, I don't want you to leave."
"Already decided on that," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Iâm not letting you out of my sight tonight."
He gently takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "But only if youâre sure. Iâm not going anywhere, but I want you to feel safe, every second."
His eyes flicker with that quiet warmth, the kind only Clark has, the man who could move mountains but chooses instead to sit here, holding your hand like itâs the most important thing in the world.
"You always make me feel safe." You return the smile, head falling back against his shoulder.Â
But just like that, just when the night finally felt peaceful, there was a banging at the door. Loud, angry, and mean. "Y/N, we need to talk." It was him, the last man you would ever want to see again.
Your whole body tenses up, the ridgedness of your posture a stark contrast to the moments before.Â
Clarkâs arm tightens around you instantly, protective, solid, like a shield made of warmth and calm.
"Stay behind me," he says, voice low but steady, already rising to stand. He doesnât move with panic, he moves like someone who knows what strength really means.
He steps toward the door just enough to block the view of you, hand hovering near the knob, but not turning it. Instead, he speaks through the wood, voice firm but controlled:
"It's over. She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want *you*."
A beat of silence.
Then louder banging.
Clark doesnât flinch.
"Walk away," he says coolly, like heâs giving a final headline for this story: "Asshole Leavesâor Gets Carried Out."
He turns his head slightly toward you, eyes soft for just a second. "I've got this."
The banging doesnât stop.
Youâre trembling, hands over your ears, trying to disappear into the couch. Clark takes a slow breath, then another. And then, with quiet finality, he turns the knob and pulls the door open just enough to fill the frame.
The guy barely has time to sneer before Clark moves one clean, controlled punch that lands hard but precise. Not lethal. Just enough. The man stumbles back with a grunt, crashing against the hallway wall.
Clark steps out just far enough to loom over him, glasses glinting in the hall light, voice deadly calm.
"You listen close," he says lowly. "She never wants to see you again. You come near her? You so much as *text* her name? Next time, it wonât be just one punch."
He leans in slightly. "And trust me⊠next time I wonât hold back."
Door slams shut. Lock clicks.
And just like that heâs back at your side, kneeling in front of you on the rug, cupping your face like nothing else exists.
"Heâs gone," Clark whispers. "And heâs not coming back."
Your eyes rise to meet his gaze, gentle and weary, full of unshed tears. "Clark, thank you."Â
He smiles, soft, a little shaky, like heâs finally letting himself feel it all. "Always," he says, brushing your hair back. "For you? Iâd do it a thousand times over."
He pulls you into his chest again, one hand cradling the back of your head as you melt into him. "Get some rest," he murmurs against your hair. "Iâll be right here. Just sleep."
And for the first time tonight, maybe in a long time, you actually believe itâll be okay. Because Clarkâs here.
And heâs not going anywhere.
"I..." You press your hand to his pec, "I don't want to sleep right now Clark," Straightening yourself up, you press a kiss to his temple, hands wandering down his chest.Â
He catches your hand gently, breath hitching as your lips brush his temple. His glasses are slightly fogged.
"Y/N..." he murmurs, voice thick with restraint. "Youâve been through a lot tonight. I donât want you doing anything youâll second-guess in the morning."
He turns to face you, cupping your cheek againâtender, steady.
"I care about you too much to rush this. Especially now." His thumb traces your lip. "When you're ready, really, ready, I'll be here. But not because youâre scared or hurting."
His smile is warm, a little lopsided behind those glasses. "I want it to be because you want me. And I really want it to be real."
"Clark, I do want you." You slide your hands under his t-shirt, fingers brushing over his muscles. "God, I've been dreaming about you. Now that you know how I feel..."Â
Your lips press to his jaw, "I don't want to wait anymore," pulling back you look in his eyes. "I won't regret you in the morning, Clark, I've been wanting you in my arms for years now."Â
His breath shudders out like heâs been holding it for years too. "Years?" he whispers, voice rough with emotion. "Try every day since you spilled coffee on my notes and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world."
He cups your face, eyes searching yoursâstill hesitant, but melting.
"You sure?" he murmurs. "No regrets⊠no second-guessing?" When you nod, something soft and fierce ignites in his gaze.
"Then let me love you," he says gently. "Slowly. Fully. Like you deserve."
He leans in, kissing you, deep but tender, as if writing a promise into every heartbeat between them.
And this time? Â
He doesnât hold back at all.
Clark's kiss is like a warm embrace that reaches down to your soul, setting a fire that burns away the last vestiges of fear and pain from the night. His lips move with purpose, with the same dedication that has fueled his friendship all these years, but now, they speak of passion and desire.Â
His hands, so gentle, begin to explore the curves of your body, tracing the line of your shoulders, the arch of your back, and the dip of your waist with a reverence that makes your skin tingle.Â
The air is thick with anticipation as you stand up, his arms supporting you, and he pulls your shirt over your head, revealing the bruises marring your skin. His eyes darken with anger for a moment, but then soften as he kisses each bruise, whispering apologies and promises of protection.
Your own hands arenât idle. They glide over his firm chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.Â
You unbutton his shirt, sliding it off his broad shoulders, revealing the muscles that have been hidden under layers of fabric. Your touch is feather-light, exploring the contours of his body as if for the first time, even though you've imagined this moment so often it feels like a memory.Â
His skin is warm, and it prickles with goosebumps under your fingertips as you trace the lines of his abdomen, feeling the tension coil within him.
He reaches behind you, unclipping your bra with a practiced ease that sends a shiver down your spine. The fabric falls away, and his eyes drink you in, the heat in his gaze leaving you feeling exposed, yet more powerful than ever before.Â
He kisses the tops of your breasts, the tender skin of your neck, and your breath hitches as his teeth graze your earlobe. Your nipples pebble under his touch, and you arch into him, desperate for more.
Clarkâs hands slide to the button of your jeans, unbuttoning them with trembling fingers. He pulls them down slowly, kissing the bruises on your thighs, your hips, your stomach.Â
Each touch is a silent declaration of love and protection, each kiss a promise to cherish and adore.Â
He stands, taking you in his arms again, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down, his gaze never leaving yours as he climbs in beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you reach for him, pulling him closer.Â
His hand skims your side, lighting a trail of fire along your skin until it reaches your hip, and then slides under the waistband of your panties. His touch is soft, but insistent, and you feel your body respond, your core tightening in anticipation.
Clarkâs fingers trace the line of your panties, teasing you, making you ache for more. And when he finally slides them aside, you gasp into his mouth as he touches you, exploring you with a tenderness that makes you feel like the most precious thing in the world.Â
His thumb circles your clit, and you moan, hips rising to meet his touch. His fingers slide lower, and you feel yourself open for him, wet and ready.
He breaks the kiss, moving down your body, kissing a trail down your neck, over your collarbone, to your breasts. He takes one in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the peak until youâre gasping.Â
His other hand continues to explore between your legs, his fingers dipping into you, filling you just enough to make you crave more. His mouth moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.
You feel your orgasm building, a pressure that coils in your belly. Clarkâs eyes are on your face, watching every reaction, reading your body like a map, and you know heâll take you there, gently, but with a fierce intensity that youâve never felt before.Â
His fingers speed up, his thumb pressing down, and just when you think you canât take anymore, he slides a finger inside you, and you come apart, crying out his name, the release a sweet agony that washes over you.
Clark watches you come undone, his eyes dark with need and love, and as your climax subsides, he slowly pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste you.Â
A low groan rumbles in his chest, his arousal clear. He leans in, kissing you again, and this time, thereâs a hunger in his touch that wasnât there before, like heâs been starved of you for too long.Â
You feel his cock, hard and demanding, pressing against your thigh through his jeans. Your hand moves to grip him, and he gasps, hips jerking. Heâs bigger than you expected, and the thought sends a thrill through you.
âClark, please...â you whisper, desperate for him to be inside you.
He nods, and with one swift movement, heâs peeling his own jeans off, revealing himself to you. Heâs thick and long, and your eyes widen, but instead of fear, you feel excitement. You want thisâyou want him.
He reaches over to the bedside table, pulling out a condom with a shaky hand. He looks at you, questioning, and you nod, eager for the connection. He rolls it on with a practiced ease that makes you wonder how many times heâs dreamed of this moment too.
Clark settles between your legs, his cock nudging at your entrance. Youâre still sensitive from your orgasm, but youâre ready for him.Â
He pushes in slow, inch by inch, until heâs fully seated. You both let out a sigh of relief, of pleasure.
He starts to move, his hips rolling in a gentle rhythm that you immediately match. His eyes never leave yours, and you can see the love and care there, the promise to keep you safe, to make you feel loved.
He reaches down, tweaking your nipple with one hand as the other grips your hip, pulling you closer, deeper. Each thrust fills you up, stirs that delicious pressure again. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him closer, deeper, needier.
âFuck, Y/N,â he whispers, his voice strained. âYou feel so good... so tight...â
You arch up to meet him, and he captures your mouth again, kissing you like heâs trying to claim your soul. His hand slides down to your clit, and he starts to rub, matching the tempo of his thrusts.Â
The pleasure builds again, and this time, itâs more intense, more all-consuming. You can feel his own need, his cock pulsing inside you, and it drives you higher.
He bites down on your lower lip, and you moan, your orgasm crashing over you, your body clenching around him. He groans into your mouth, and you can feel him thicken before he follows you over the edge, filling you with his release.
You both collapse onto the bed, panting, hearts racing. He holds you close, and you feel a tear slide down your cheek, a tear of happiness, of relief, of love.
âIâm sorry if it was too much,â he murmurs into your hair, his voice still shaky.
âNo,â you reply, turning your head to kiss his chest. âIt was perfect.â
And in the quiet of the night, you finally understand what it means to be truly loved, truly desired, and truly safe. With Clark, you know youâll never have to hide again.
a/n: taking a slight break from Superman to write this đ
The Company had just finished helping Beorn with his chores and was relaxing around the fire with food.
Fili was sitting near the fire, trying not to look at you. Nevertheless, he kept glancing your way every few seconds, trying to hide it from his companions, who hadnât yet noticed his sudden strange behavior.
You stretch your arms with a yawn, handing the leftovers from your meal to the hobbit at your left. Bilbo gratefully accepts the food, his eyes lighting up with his smile.
Fili watches as you hand the food to Bilbo, and his eyes narrow. He canât quite explain it, but he feels annoyed, watching you give your food to someone else.
He shifts on the log, trying to shake the strange feeling, but his irritation only grows. You pull the cloak closer around your body, cuddling into Bilboâs side as you rest your head on his shoulder.Â
Bilbo notices your movement and smiles, shifting closer to allow you to rest your head on him better, not knowing this just makes Fili even more annoyed.
Kili and some of the other dwarves exchange glances, noticing Filiâs irritated expression, and they try not to laugh at his reaction.
They had been watching Fili's behavior towards you, and they knew something was up.
Bofur, who was sitting next to Kili, spoke up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. âAh, Fili, lad, whatâs got you so worked up?â
Fili shot a glare at Bofur, silently telling him to shut up, but it only made Bofur's grin widen.
âIt's nothing,â he grumbled, his eyes flickering in your direction before quickly looking back to the fire.
You stand from the hobbitsâ side, noticing a familiar berry bush toward the edge of the camp.Â
âBilbo, look!â You quietly point it out, the two of you heading to pick some of the sweetened fruit.
The dwarves watch as you and Bilbo walk away from the fire, and Fili canât help but watch you closely. He sees you heading outside the camp, pointing at a berry bush.
His protective instincts kick in, and he starts to get up from the log, when Kili grabs his arm, stopping him.
âSheâll be fine, Fili. Theyâre just getting some berries,â Kili said, trying to keep his brother from getting up.
âYeah, well, what if she gets hurt? Sheâs too fragile, something could happen,â Fili retorted, his eyes still on you.
You bring a handful of berries back to the dwarves, a bright smile on your lips. âFili, Kili, here try some. Theyâre very sweet.â You murmur to the two, oblivious to the tension between them.
Both brothers look up as you return with the berries, and Kili quickly grabs a handful, popping some in his mouth.
âMmm, these are good!â he says through a mouthful of berries. Fili doesnât take any rather just letting his eyes narrow as he studies you.
You roll your eyes at Fili, irritated with him for not taking any. You bring a berry to his lips, fingers brushing over his chin lightly. âIt wonât kill you to try one.â
Fili is caught off guard by your action, feeling your fingers on his chin as you try to feed him a berry. His eyes widen, and he can feel his cheeks heat up slightly, though he tries to brush it off.Â
He takes the berry from your hand, popping it into his mouth and chewing it, though he keeps his expression neutral. âFine, it's good,â he mumbles, hoping you don't notice the redness on his cheeks.
You smile widely, happy to finally break through his gruffness. âI shall pick you some more!â Your reply is cheery as you turn back toward the path.
âHey, wait! No, you-â Fili tries to protest, but you are already gone, leaving him dumbfounded. The other dwarves begin to laugh, noticing the redness on his face and his struggle to put words together.
âLooks like the girl has you flustered,â Bofur teases, a smirk on his face. âYou've got it bad, Fili.â
âShut up,â Fili mutters, still red in the face.
âYeah, youâre head over heels,â GlĂłin chimes in, chuckling.Â
Fili glares at the others, but before he can speak, you return with more berries, your smile still bright.
âHere, take as many as youâd like.â You stand in front of him, cloak sliding down one of your shoulders.
Fili's focus shifts to your cloak slipping down your shoulder, and he unconsciously watches the fabric move. He can feel the redness returning to his cheeks, and he mentally scolds himself for thinking such things.
Kili notices the slip of fabric and your casual stance, and he grins widely, nudging his brother in the side. Fili's eyes snap back up to your face, and he tries to act normal as he reaches for some berries.
âUh... Thanks...â Fili mumbles as he takes some more berries, avoiding eye contact.
The other dwarves snicker and smirk amongst themselves, clearly enjoying Fili's awkward behavior.
Bofur clears his throat, catching your attention. âMind if I take some?â he asks, holding out his hand.
âOf course, thereâs plenty more.â You turn to him, smile still soft. You were secretly enjoying watching Fili devouring the berries, the sight sending warmth between your thighs. Bofur takes some berries from you, a sly smile on his lips.
âThank you, lass. Youâre a real sweetheart,â he says, his tone more than friendly, and he glances over at Fili, noticing the glare the young dwarf is giving him.
Your cheeks flush a soft pink as you adjust the cloak, your hands now empty. âThank you..â
The other dwarves exchanged glances, knowing very well what Fili was thinking right now.Â
Bofur grins and winks at the dwarf, clearly enjoying the situation. Fili grits his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check.
Finally, GlĂłin chimes in. âI think we should get some rest. We have a long journey tomorrow.â
The dwarves begin to settle down for the night, laying out their bedrolls and wrapping up in their cloaks.Â
Fili, still glaring at Bofur, chooses a place near the edge of the camp for himself. He lays down on his bedroll, pulling the cloak over him, and tries to ignore the others snickering at him.
Once the camp quiets down you find yourself restlessly tossing and turning in your bedroll, the cold prickling at your skin. You sit up with a huff, shivering as you gaze around at the sleeping forms of the rest of the company.
Fili is lying on his back, staring up at the stars when he hears the rustling of your bedroll. He turns his head to look in your direction, seeing you sitting up and rubbing your arms to keep warm.
He can see you shivering, and he debates whether he should do anything. You silently pick up your bedding, sneakily moving closer to Fili. As much as heâs been avoiding you, you find him comforting. You stand over the dwarf with a sheepish smile.
Fili looks up at you standing above him, his eyes wide. He is taken by surprise, and he just stares at you for a moment, unsure of what to say.
However, he cannot deny that he is relieved to have you nearby. He watches you with a guarded expression. âWhat do you want?â he asks quietly, trying to sound nonchalant.
âI cannot sleep..â you murmur, placing your bedroll next to him. âItâs far too cold.â Youâre using this opportunity to get closer to him, knowing that during the day he is less keen to your friendly behavior.Â
Fili's heart skips a beat as you place your bedroll next to his. He takes a moment to answer, still trying to maintain his composure.
âAnd you thought laying next to me would help with that?â he asks, raising an eyebrow.
âDwarves are much warmer than humansâŠâ you murmur, crawling into your makeshift bed.
Fili swallows hard as you settle down next to him. He's not used to being so close to you, and he can feel his heart racing in his chest.
He debates with himself for a split second before he finally speaks. âYou're going to freeze out here if you keep trying to sleep on your own. Move over.â
You do as he orders, scooting over to give him space next to you. Fili hesitates for a moment, but then slides into the now empty space in your bedroll, leaving just enough room between the two of you. He rolls onto his side, facing you.
âThank you Fili..â you breathe out, subconsciously moving closer to him.
âShh... Just shut up and go to sleep,â Fili mutters, trying to sound annoyed, but thereâs no real bite to his voice.
He is painfully aware of how close you are, and he can feel you move closer to him. He shifts a bit, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach.
You drift off to sleep, unknowingly leaving the dwarf next to you restless. Fili lies there next to you, trying to force himself to sleep.Â
But the proximity of you makes it impossible. Your soft breathing and the feeling of your body just inches away are all he can focus on.Â
He looks down at you, watching as you sleep peacefully, and he can feel his heart thump in his chest.
You push your backside against his crotch, moving closer to his warmth in your sleep.Â
Fili's eyes widen as you press up against him, and he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He tries not to react, but his body betrays him as he can feel a certain part of him responding to your touch.
His mind races, torn between wanting to move away from you to avoid further embarrassment, or to remain still and let you sleep comfortably. You let out a few soft moans in your sleep, grinding back against him slightly.
Fili's breath hitches as you grind against him, and his mind goes blank. He is frozen, unable to move as he feels you pressing against him. Every fiber if his being is screaming at him to move, to get away from you, but another part of him desperately wants to stay right where he is.
He bites his lip, trying to stifle a moan that threatens to escape. He can feel his self control slipping away.
âFili..â you murmur his name, hands reaching back to touch his warm skin. Fili's eyes widen at the sound of his name on your lips, and the feel of your hands on his skin nearly drives him mad. He can practically feel his heart pounding in his chest.
He can't resist any longer, and he gently places one hand on your hip, holding you against him.
âFili..â you repeat, your body moving back against his with nearly silent moans falling from your parted lips.
Fili's grip on your hip tightens as you grind against him, and he lets out a soft moan of his own. He can feel his control slipping further and further away, and he can't bring himself to care.
âY..yeah,â he whispers, his voice barely audible, âthat's it.. just like that..âÂ
Your eyes slowly flutter open, your hips still moving against his. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you realize your compromising position and the hardness poking into your backside.
He freezes for a moment, still holding onto your hip, unsure of whether to move away or not. However, he can't deny that the feeling of your body against him is something he doesn't want to lose.
"Uh... S...sorry," he stutters out, trying to sound unaffected, but his voice betrays him.
âFili..â you gasp his name, a familiar wetness pooling between your legs as his chest remains pressed to your back.
Fili can practically feel his resistance crumble as you say his name, and he lets out a low moan, his grip on your hip tightening. He can barely think straight, his mind clouded by the feel of you against him.
He can feel himself pressing against you, completely at the mercy of his own body. He leans in close to your ear, his breath hot as he whispers, âWhat.. what do you want me to do?â
âTouch me.â You chew on your bottom lip, guiding his hand from your hip to between your thighs. âTouch me here, please..â
Fili's eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat. He is both surprised and incredibly turned on by your request. He is frozen for a moment, debating whether he should listen to you, but the need in your voice is too strong to deny.
âYeah... yeah, I can do that,â he responds, his voice barely above a whisper. He moves his hand to your thigh, his touch gentle as he slowly inches his way up your leg.
Your legs squeeze together in anticipation, head falling back against his shoulder as you let out a strangled moan.
âEasy, love,â Fili murmurs as you press your head back against his shoulder. He lets out a soft moan of his own as you react to his touch, and he moves his hand higher, his breath catching in his throat.
âYou're so damn responsive, aren't you?â he mutters, his voice rough the more he feels you pressing against him.
â..Need you⊠pleaseâŠâ you sigh, eyes squeezed shut tightly.
âMaker..â Fili whispers, his own need growing as he listens to your pleading. He can't deny your request, not when he wants this as much as you do.
He slides his hand between your thighs, his fingers gently slipping under the fabric of your clothing. âIs this what you wanted?â he asks, his voice almost ragged. He presses his lips to your shoulder, muffling his own moan against your skin.
âYes.. gods yes.â You gasp, legs spreading for him as you bite back moans.
âGood girl,â he mutters, the hint of a growl in his voice. He slides his fingers against you, feeling how slick you are as he groans against your shoulder.
âI don't think I can be gentle with you, love..â he teases, his breath hot against your neck. He presses his hips against you, letting you feel how badly he wants you.
âThen donât be..â you reply, moving his hand against your wetness, craving more friction.Â
Fili's hand finds the soaking wetness of your core, and his eyes close in a mix of pleasure and surprise. His fingers dance against you, tracing circles around your clit before dipping into your heat.Â
His breathing becomes heavier as he feels your wetness coating his hand, and he knows you're just as lost in the moment as he is. He clamps his free hand over your lips, quieting your moans.
"Fuck..." he whispers against your neck, his hand moving with purpose as he tries to give you the release you so desperately crave.
You let out a muffled cry into his palm, your hips bucking back against his hand as he plays with your most sensitive spot. Your orgasm builds, and you can feel it threatening to consume you.
"Fili, please..." you whine, your voice muffled by his hand, your body trembling with the need for more.
He adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of you in a steady rhythm, his thumb still working on your clit. "I'm right here, love," he whispers, his voice thick with need. "Let it go, let me feel you come for me."
Your body responds to his command, your walls clenching around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you. You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to keep the sound contained, but a low moan still escapes.
Fili groans into your neck, feeling your body spasm against his hand, his own body begging for release. He's never felt anything so intense, so all-consuming.
The dwarf's mind is racing, trying to process what is happening. He's never felt this way before, never wanted someone so badly that it physically hurts.
You lay there, panting and trembling, your body still reeling from the aftershocks of your climax. Fili's hand remains on your hip, his own desire raging, but he's afraid to move, afraid to break the spell that's been cast over both of you.
For a moment, the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and the quiet breaths of the sleeping dwarves.
Fili's hand stills for a moment as you push down his pants, revealing his own desire. With trembling hands, you slide down your own garment's, you align him with your slick opening and gently push back, taking him inch by inch. His size fills you up, stretching you deliciously, and you let out a quiet whine of pleasure.
"Slowly," he whispers, his voice strained, "I don't want to hurt you." But you're already too far gone, eagerly taking him deeper with every push.
The feeling of you around him is overwhelming, and he has to bite his lip to keep from shouting out in pleasure. He starts to move his hips, his rhythm matching the needy movements of your own body.
You lean back into him, letting him fill you completely, his strong arms wrapping around you tightly. Your breaths become one, your hearts beating in sync as you move together in the quiet of the night, the warmth of the fire dancing across your skin.
The intensity of Fili's groan sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but let out a muffled moan of pleasure as he continues to fill you. His hand around your mouth is the only thing keeping the sound from echoing through the camp.
His grip tightens as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin lightly. The sensation sends a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you tighten around him even more. His movements become more urgent, his hips slamming into yours, and you know he's close to his own release.Â
The feel of his warm breath against your ear and the sound of his muffled curses are driving you wild. Your body starts to tense up again, and you know that another orgasm is just around the corner. You bite down on his palm to keep from screaming out as it hits you, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crash over you.Â
Fili's hand tightens even more, and then you feel him pulse inside you, his own release flooding into you as he lets out a final, muffled roar of pleasure. You both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to come back down from the height of your passion.Â
Fili lays there, his arm still wrapped around you tightly, his body still shaking the aftershocks of their shared release. He can hardly believe what just happened. He has never felt anything so intense, so all-consuming before. And all his life, all he has ever known is violence and death.
But in this moment, with you in his arms, he feels something else entirely. Something he can't quite name. "AmrĂąlimĂȘ..." he mutters.
âFili.â You reply, voice a breathless whisper as you lean impossibly closer to the dwarf.Â
He swallows hard, his eyes closing for a moment as you say his name. He can feel you moving against him, pressing your body close to his.
He runs his hand up and down your arm, gently caressing your skin. His touch is tender and gentle, a stark contrast to the urgency with which he had just embraced you.
He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he speaks. "Are you okay? Did I... Did I hurt you?"
Your eyes flutter shut as you relax into his warmth. âYou didnât hurt me, my love.â You whisper, kissing his palm where your teeth left marks.
His heart skips a beat at the sound of the affectionate term you use for him, and he can feel a strange sensation in his chest.
He lifts his free hand to your chin, gently tilting your face up to look at him. He can see the tiredness in your eyes, and he knows you're exhausted.
"Good," he replies, his voice still rough with emotion. "I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you."
You smile at him, eyes half lidded. âYou made me feel good.. very good..â your voice is a soft murmur as your thumb traces the side of his cheek.
A small, satisfied smile appears on his lips as he hears you say that. He can't help but be pleased that he was able to make you feel pleasured.
He turns his face into your touch, his eyes closing momentarily as he savors the feeling of your skin against his. His fingers continue to trace gentle patterns on your arm, his own exhaustion starting to catch up with him.
"Go to sleep, love." He mutters, his voice soft. "You need to rest."
You shift in his embrace, now facing him. âYouâre distracting me,â you protest, pressing a soft kiss to his warm lips.
He can feel a warmth spreading through him, and he realizes he doesn't want you to pull away. He tightens his arm around you, holding you flush against him.
"Me... distracting you?" he responds, his voice a rough whisper. "Says the one who was making suggestive noises in the middle of the night."
Your cheeks flush softly, âNoises meant only for you my love..â you press a kiss to his neck, nose brushing against the skin as you breathe in his scent.
Summary: Youâre an overworked intern, and your friend Clark Kent offers to take care of you for the night.Â
Warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, riding
Living in the city is damn tough, youâve been working two jobs just to afford living here, and well, sending your parents money. But itâs because your dad is out of work and your younger brother is still in high school.Â
What else are you to do?Â
Your dream has always been to work for a newspaper, and now that you have an internship at one, youâre getting to the point that you just might lose it.Â
Youâve become clumsy, and Clark Kent is always the victim of your mistakes. It started a couple of weeks ago, when you were almost late. Coming in with just two minutes to spare and a cup of hot coffee, that was when you crashed into Clark; the cup spilling onto his white shirt, seeping through the fabric, and burning his skin.
âOh my god! Iâm so sorry!!â Your eyes started tearing up, as you set your things down, you quickly tried to grab something to help him clean up his clothes.Â
He had quickly grabbed your wrist to stop your frantic movements, his grip gentle yet firm. He could see your eyes begin to water as the guilt sets in.Â
"Easy, it's alright. It was an accident." He gently let go of your wrist, his expression soft and comforting.
Clark was gentle, even when you had burned him and ruined his shirt. Honestly, it was hard to understand how he could be so forgiving. Especially since youâre always getting in his way, in particular. Lois and Jimmy have taken note of this and sort of take it into their hands to not let it go.Â
Theyâre not mean, not intentionally, you know that. Itâs just they care about him and you *are* always causing him trouble. Itâs been 8 months since you started at the Daily Planet and youâre getting tired.Â
Your work has been getting sloppy, rushed, and youâve been distracted these past couple of weeks. Small mistakes are starting to get on Loisâs nerves, and youâve been overhearing her complaining about how you *used* to be so good at your job.Â
The truth of the matter is: youâre not clumsy, youâre not slacking, youâre just exhausted. Youâve been working two jobs, barely sleeping some nights, yet still doing your best in both. Itâs a wonder you havenât lost either of them yet.Â
When you come in from lunch, you overhear Lois and Jimmy talking to Clark. âI mean, I just donât get it.â She says, âClark, Y/N is perpetually in your way. All sheâs been doing is causing you trouble.âÂ
It was Jimmyâs turn now, âI mean, it started, with her burning you with coffee, then she broke your mug, and almost deleted that article you were in the middle of while showing her how our software update works.âÂ
The guilt seeps into your skin, your bones. You feel sick to your stomach while tears poke at your eyes. Theyâre not wrong. You donât deserve his forgiveness or kindness, yet he always gives you it.Â
Clark has been your closest friend since you started here. Heâs always here for you, making sure you understand how things work in the building and being there to give advice. He sticks up for you, even when youâve been bugging him.Â
Kentâs eyes meet your watery ones as you swallow your pain and walk past the three of them. He watches your every move as you walk past the three of them, concern washing over his features.Â
He knew you were having trouble adapting to the fast-paced atmosphere of the newspaper, but he never once thought you did it intentionally. In fact, he found your clumsiness to be endearing. He stood there, conflicted, his thoughts a tangled mess.
The rest of the day passes by with you ignoring your coworkers, Jimmy attempts to apologize after Kentâs scolding, but you just shrug it off, pretending you donât know what he was talking about.Â
By the evening, you and Clark are the only two left; the office is filled with the sound of papers printing and his occasional typing. Grabbing the stack of pages in your hands, you take a deep breath, the weight of the day still heavy in your mind.Â
Kent had hoped to catch you after the day ended. He had a feeling you had overheard him talking with the others earlier, and he wanted to reassure you.Â
As he walks through the halls, he notices you exiting the printing room, lost in your own thoughts. He calls your name softly, causing you to jolt a bit as you turn to face him.Â
His eyes take in your tired appearance, the dark circles under your eyes, and the slumped shoulders. He knew the telltale signs of overworking and lack of rest.
âOh, hi, Clark!â You put on a smile, forcing your face to light up as you look at him. âYouâre here late tonight.â
Clark noticed the forced smile on your face, recognizing the facade. He stepped closer to you, concern etched on his features. "I could say the same thing about you," he replied, gently nudging your shoulder playfully. "You've been working yourself to the bone lately."
"I'm just trying to make a good impression." You pout your lips slightly as you look up at him, gulping at his closeness yet craving more of it. "Especially after all the trouble I've caused..."Â
Clark's expression softens as he hears your words, his hand instinctively reaching out to give your shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You don't have to overwork yourself to make a good impression." His gaze drifts to your eyes, noticing the exhaustion in them, and he sighs softly. "Besides, you haven't been causing trouble intentionally. We all have our fair share of accidents."
Your lip trembles slightly as you take a steadying breath, eyes beginning to water slightly. "Thank you, Clark,"Â
He takes notice of the tremble in your lip and the wetness in your eyes, his heart sinking at the sight. He had a feeling there was something deeper going on, but he didn't want to pressure you.Â
"Hey, hey." He steps even closer, his hand now gently on your shoulder, his voice soft. "Let me ask you something."
"Mhm, what's up?" Your eyebrows furrow as you try to regain your composure, eyes focused on his features. Â
Clark studies your expressive eyes, his concern growing as you try to hide your emotions. He takes a moment, choosing his words with care, before speaking. "You've been exhausted lately. And... well, to be frank, you don't look like you've been sleeping or eating properly."
His eyes roam your figure briefly, noting the fatigue etched on your face, before meeting your gaze again. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"
"Oh," You pause, turning away and heading back to the main floor to put the papers on your boss's desk. "I've just been busy, I guess..."
Clark follows closely behind, watching you avoid his gaze and offering a flimsy answer. He could sense there was more to it, the exhaustion in your demeanor speaking volumes.Â
As you place the papers on the desk, he steps closer, standing next to you. He gently takes the remaining papers from your hands and sets them down, his eyes not leaving your face. "You can be honest with me, you know." His voice is gentle, his touch tender.
"Clark..." Your voice nearly breaks as you speak, eyes trained on the floor while you lean against the wooden table.Â
Hearing your voice crack, Clark's concern deepens. He gently places a hand on your arm, his thumb gently stroking the skin. "Hey, look at me," he encourages softly, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul.
He knew there was something weighing heavily on you, something you couldn't or wouldn't share. And it was tearing him apart to see you so distraught.
You cautiously look up, eyes meeting his warm and comforting gaze. "I'm okay, really." Your lips part as you watch his expression. "I just haven't been sleeping well."
Clark sees through your attempt to brush off his concern with a half-truth. He takes a step closer, his hand sliding from your arm to your shoulder, gently massaging away the tension he finds there.Â
"You can't fool me, Y/N," he says quietly, his eyes searching yours. "It's more than just sleeplessness. I can tell. You're pushing yourself too hard, and it's taking a toll on you."
"I really want this job, genuinely." You sigh, hands gripping the edge of the desk. "I've always wanted to work for a paper. But as an intern, the pay... It's not great."Â
Your hand reaches up to touch his, fingers brushing over his knuckles. "I've been working two jobs, I never have a day off, and I'm barely getting five hours of sleep most nights." A relieved breath falls from your mouth as you finally admit your hardships to someone.Â
Clark's heart aches as he listens to your words, the weight of your struggles hitting him like a truck. Without hesitation, he steps closer to you, positioning himself between your legs.
With a gentle yet firm pull, he tugs you into a tight, comforting bear hug. His strong arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his embrace, providing a safe haven for the storm of emotions that you've been holding back.Â
He holds you close, his chin resting on the top of your head, as he whispers softly, "You should have told me sooner."
Your arms just wrap around his waist, face buried in his chest. Tears prickle in your eyes and finally fall this time, soft sobs causing your body to shake against his. The weight of the situation feels like it's been lifted from your shoulders as he holds you.Â
When you're done, you feel utterly exhausted, tiredness creeping through your whole body. "Clark," you mumble, voice muffled by his tear-stained button-down.Â
Clark's heart aches as he feels you go limp in his arms, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. He pulls back slightly, placing a gentle hand under your chin to lift your face to meet his gaze.
His eyes soften with concern, his thumb lightly wiping away the tear tracks on your cheeks. "Yeah, sweetheart?" he asks softly, his voice filled with tender worry.
"Why are you so nice to me..." Your face is red, eyes puffy and swollen as you look at him through heavy lashes.Â
Clark's heart swells at your question, his touch tender as he wipes away your tears. He studies your features, the exhaustion etched on your face stirring something within him.
There's a reason he's always been more patient with you, more forgiving of your 'mistakes'. It's not just because you're an eager learner, or because you genuinely seem to care about doing well here.Â
No, it's because Clark has developed a secret crush on you.
You reach up, hand holding onto his wrist, eyebrows furrowed while you wait for his response. Kentâs heart skips a beat as your fingers wrap around his wrist, your touch sending a shiver down his spine.Â
He knew he had to tread carefully, his secret feelings for you hidden beneath a layer of concern and friendship. Taking a moment, his gaze drops to where your hand rests on his wrist, before lifting to meet your eyes. "Because I care about you, Y/N."
His voice is soft, tinged with an underlying depth that he hoped you wouldn't detect. "You're not just a coworker to me."
"Can I stay with you tonight?" The question is out of the blue, but you find yourself not wanting to be away from him. "I know it's a strange ask but..."
Clark's eyes widen at your unexpected request, his heart leaping in his chest. He wasn't expecting such an intimate request, but hearing the vulnerability in your voice, he knew he couldn't say no.
"Yeah, yeah, of course you can," he responds, his voice soft and reassuring. "It's not strange at all." He takes a moment, his gaze roaming over your features, noticing the exhaustion more acutely now. "I just have one condition."
"Yes?" You straighten up, fully standing in front of him now, your hands wiping at your cheeks. "What's your condition?"
Clark watches you wipe at your cheeks, a tender expression on his face as he notices the exhaustion evident in your movements. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze steady as he speaks.
"The condition is this: tonight, you're not allowed to worry about anything. No work, no stress, no overthinking."
His hand gently cups your chin, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "Tonight, you're just going to rest and let me take care of you, alright?"
"Okay," You nod, wrapping your arms around him for another hug. "Okay."
âGood,â He cradles your head against his chest, taking a deep breath before letting go. âLetâs get back to my apartment and get you to bed.â Clark smiles, brushing your shoulder with his hand.Â
"I'll grab my things," You smile up at him, before turning away and gathering your stuff.Â
Kent watches you gather your things, a tender smile on his face. He can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness towards you, knowing full well how exhausted you are. He notices the way your shoulders slump and how your movements are slower than usual, a result of your constant overwork.
Once you're ready, he steps closer, reaching out to take your bag from your hands. "Here, let me carry that."
"You're quite the gentleman." You hand him your bag.
Once you arrive at his apartment, he guides you inside, having you change into one of his old shirts while he heats up some food for you. As you come back out, Clark can't help but steal glances at you in his clothing.Â
The sight of you in his shirt ignites something within him, but he quickly shakes it away, reminding himself that tonight is about taking care of you. When you step into the kitchen, he sets a plate of food in front of you, gesturing for you to sit. "Here you go," he says, smiling softly. "Eat up, you need the sustenance."
"Thank you." You take the plate from him, admiring the suite he lives in. "This is a beautiful place, Clark." The two of you eat dinner together in silence. Itâs a Friday evening, and tomorrow is your only day off from work.Â
He turns on a movie as both of you relax on the couch, your eyes fluttering shut here and there. Clark notices as your eyes flutter closed occasionally, the exhaustion is catching up with you. He gently adjusts his position on the couch, his arm moving around your shoulders to pull you closer.Â
The warmth of your body against his side feels comforting, and he can't help but steal glances at you, admiring your peaceful expression.
The movie plays on in the background, but he finds himself paying less attention to the screen and more attention to the way you relax against him. His thumb gently rubs soothing circles on your shoulder, the touch soft and caring.
You wake up the next morning, nuzzled in his bed, his sheets smelling of his musk and cologne. Looking to your side, you notice that it doesnât appear he slept in the bed last night, you stretch your arms out and yawn.Â
âClark?â You call out, feet hovering over the cool wooden floor.Â
The sound of your voice, still groggy with sleep, drifts through the apartment, and almost instantly, Clark emerges from the kitchen.Â
His hair is ruffled, and he's in a white tee and plaid pajama pants, a stark contrast from his normally prim appearance. He looks a bit tired himself, but when his eyes land on you, a small smile curves his lips.
"Hey there, sleepyhead." He makes his way toward the bed, sitting down on the edge next to you. "You slept well?"
"Perfectly," You grin, scooting closer to him before continuing. "Where did you sleep?" Clark notices your closeness and can't help but feel a flutter in his chest. He shifts slightly so that he's facing you, his eyes roaming over your sleepy face.
"I slept on the couch," he replies, his tone casual, yet his gaze is filled with a hint of affection. "Didn't want to disturb your much-needed beauty sleep."
"Clark," You chew on your bottom lip, settling on your knees as you lift your hands to cup his face. "I need to tell you something."Â
Clark stiffens slightly at your touch, his heart rate picking up a bit. He's not sure what to expect, but he does know that the sudden seriousness in your voice makes him both nervous and hopeful.
He meets your gaze, his expression a mix of anticipation and slight concern. "Yeah? What is it?" He places his hands on top of yours, gently squeezing them.
You adjust yourself, taking a deep breath before straddling his lap. "I..." you begin, sighing as the words get caught in your throat.Â
Clark's breath hitches as you move to his lap, his hands instinctively going to your hips, holding you steady. The action is intimate, and it sends a jolt of heat through him.Â
He watches you closely, his eyes trying to read your expression, his fingers gently gripping your hips tighter. "Go on," he urges softly, his voice gravelly. "You can tell me anything, sweetheart."
"Fuck," You whine, finding it annoyingly hard to get the words out. Instead you just press your lips against his, fingers tangling in his hair.Â
Clark is taken aback momentarily by your kiss, but his surprise quickly melts away as he returns the sentiment, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer. He gasps as your fingers tug on his hair, his lips moving against yours in a heated fervor.
His tongue lightly teases at the seam of your mouth, seeking entrance, his mind and body suddenly consumed with desire. His fingers dig into your hips, desperate to pull you even closer, to feel more of you against him.
Your hips grind against his, your body aching and desperate for more of him. Your tongues dance together as you push him back against the mattress.
As you push him back onto the bed, Clark moans into the kiss, his body responding urgently to the press of your hips against his. He can feel the desperation in your touch, mirroring the growing desire within him.
His hands slide beneath your borrowed shirt, roaming over your curves, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He breaks the kiss, his lips finding your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, lost in a haze of desire.
Breaking away from the kiss, your eyes lock onto Clark's, filled with an intense hunger that matches his own. Your hands trace the contours of his chest, pulling the fabric over his head. His breath hitches as your palms glide over his abs, feeling the muscles contract beneath your touch.
Leaning in, you press feather-light kisses along his jawline, down his neck, and across his chest, teasing the sensitive peaks of his nipples with your teeth before continuing your journey south.Â
His hands are in your hair now, guiding you, urging you to explore further. You slide his pajama pants down, then his underwear, exposing his aching erection to your hungry gaze.Â
You take his length in your hand, stroking it gently, watching the pleasure flicker in his eyes. He groans, arching up into your touch, his hips bucking in silent demand.Â
With a knowing smile, you position yourself above him, sliding him inside you with a slow, deliberate motion that has him trembling beneath you. Once fully seated, you begin to move, setting a rhythm that's both torturously slow and incredibly intimate.Â
You grind down on him, rolling your hips in a way that makes him moan your name. His hands move to your waist, helping to guide you, increasing the pace.
You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, the friction of your bodies causing sparks to fly. He reaches up pulling away his shirt, his hand cups one of your breasts while he sucks the nipple of the other.Â
Your breath mingles with his, your every exhale hot against his skin as you ride him. Your movements become more urgent, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure builds.
Clark's eyes are on yours, watching the passion play out in the depths of your gaze. He can feel you getting closer, your muscles tightening around him, your breaths growing more ragged.Â
He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice low and gruff, urging you on.
With one hand, you reach back to grip the bedpost, using it for leverage as you increase your pace, your body moving in a symphony of desire. The other hand finds his, our fingers entwining as the world around you narrows to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the quiet apartment.
You lean back, giving him an unobstructed view of your breasts bouncing with each thrust. His eyes devour the sight, his hips rising to meet yours, matching your rhythm. His hands slide up to cup them, thumbs flicking at the peaks until you're gasping his name.
The tension coils tighter, your movements becoming erratic as you chase your climax. Clark can feel it building within you, his own need reaching a fever pitch.Â
The sight of you, lost in pleasure, sends him over the edge, his own climax following closely after yours. You collapse onto him, breathless, your heart hammering against his chest.Â
The room is filled with the sound of your panting, your bodies slick with sweat, but there's no denying the intimate bond that's just been forged between the two of you.
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a/n: Short and sweet I hope! As always send any requests you might have my way <3
Clark Kent was destined for good things, great things. You knew it, and all of Smallville knew it.Â
But thatâs why when your friends teased you about being the one thing holding him back, you snapped. Breaking his heart was never your intention, yet you knew it was the only way to push him away.Â
âFuck Clark, youâre too clingy, youâre too much.â You screamed at him, eyes filled with unshed tears. He looked at you like you just killed his dog, his hand reaching out to touch your face, but you slapped it away.Â
His breath hitched, hand stinging from the slap he didnât block, didnât even think to block. âY/N⊠IâŠâ His voice had cracked, raw and quiet. âI just love you. I thought that was enough.â
He took a shaky step back, eyes glistening under the soft light of your living room. âI donâtâI donât know how to be less me.â
âItâs not.â You had hissed, growing angrier at yourself for the hurt in his gaze. âI donât want to waste my life with you, I donât want to wake up next to you and spend the rest of my life pretending that youâre not too much for me.âÂ
The words were calculated, aimed to finally push him just far enough away that he wouldnât fight back or try to.Â
Clark moved to Metropolis soon after your breakup, leaving you where you belonged, going where he could thrive and do more.Â
That was six years ago, yet it plagued your mind day after day; no matter what you do, you can't get it out of your mind. Especially now that you're in Metropolis for an interview with one Lois Lane.Â
Sheâs doing a story on small-town heroes, and apparently that includes you.Â
âSo, Y/N, Smallvilleâs favorite daughter turned community heroâimpressive. Iâll admit, when I heard the town nominated you for âMost Likely to Save a Cow and Still Make It to Morning Meeting,â I was skeptical. But then I saw the numbers: three after-school programs, that literacy drive last winter⊠even got the mayor to fix that pothole on Elm Street no one dared complain about since â09.âÂ
She leans forward with a half-smile, pen tapping against her notepad, âYouâve got grit. I like that. Most small-town do-gooders want their names on plaques or bake sales named after them. But you? You keep your head down and actually *do* the work.âÂ
âNow spillâwhatâs your secret? Guilt? Ambition? Or did you just get really tired of watching kids trip over that pothole? And donât give me some humble nonsense, I can smell it from a mile away. Believe me, Iâve interviewed enough farm boys turned firefighters to know the type.âÂ
Your eyes light up with amusement as she questions you, her tactics strong. As the interview concludes, you hear a familiar voice from behind you. âHey, Lois.â Clarkâs tone is soft and kind, same as always.Â
Clark freezes mid-step, coffee cup hovering near his lips, eyes locking onto yours like time just snapped backward. "...Y/N?"Â Â
His voice is quieter now, barely above a whisper, all the calm professionalism melting into something raw, surprised, unguarded. He lowers the cup slowly, as if he moves too fast, you might vanish.
"I didnât know you were in town." He glances at Lois, then back to you, that familiar sheepish half-smile tugging at his mouthâbut it doesnât quite reach his eyes. Not yet.
"Clark," You breathe, standing from your seat, eyes searching his face; memorizing the changes to his features.Â
"You look good,â he says softly, almost involuntarily, then immediately winces like he forgot how to edit himself. He clears his throat, shifts on his feet, still towering, still somehow awkward in the best way. Â
âSorry. That was⊠not very professional.â He offers a lopsided grin, fingers tapping once against his coffee cup. âI mean, welcome to Metropolis. Youâre here for the story? Smallvilleâs hero returns?â Â
His eyes hold that same warmth, the kind that used to wrap around you like sunlight, but there's distance now, careful and quiet, like heâs standing just outside the door of a room he used to live in.
âClark, we should talkâŠâ Your eyebrows knit together, and Lois quietly steps out, not wanting to get in the middle of something for the first time in her life.Â
He nods, just once, like heâs been bracing for this moment since the day he left. âYeah,â he says quietly, voice thick with something unspoken. âWe probably should.â
He glances toward the window, where sunlight spills across the newsroom floor like a memory. Then back at you, jaw softening. âWalk with me?â
Without waiting for an answerâbecause some things between you were always automaticâhe starts toward the elevator, trusting youâll follow.
And you do.
The silence between you isnât empty; itâs full of six years of almosts and what ifs, of words too heavy to carry but too loud to ignore. When the elevator doors close behind you both, he finally exhales.
âI kept every letter I didnât send,â he admits, staring at the glowing numbers above the door. âFigured if I wrote them⊠I wouldnât have to say them.âÂ
"Clark," You reach out to him, hands holding his sides. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." Your voice is barely even a whisper, eyes teary and full of regret.
His breath hitches the second you touch him, like your hands are electricity and his body forgot how to resist. For a heartbeat, he leans into you, eyes closing like heâs savoring the warmth of your palms through his shirt.
Then he pulls back, just an inch, but just enough to look at you, really look. His own eyes glisten, but there's no anger there. Just sadness. And care. Always care.
âDonât,â he whispers, voice rough around the edges. âDonât say it like itâs too late.â He covers one of your hands with his own, big, warm, steady, and turns slightly so your touch lingers on his side instead of falling away completely.
âI never stopped missing you,â he admits quietly, almost embarrassed by the truth of it.Â
"Just when Chloe said that I was holding you back." You step closer, chest pressing into his body. "I felt like you would never get anywhere if you were stuck with me all the time..."Â
Your lip trembles as you gaze up at him, the man you've loved your whole life and stupidly thought you could run away from. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in his soothing musk, the scent that kept you steady for so long in the past.Â
He doesnât hesitate this time.
His arms wrap around youâstrong, sure, like coming homeâand he rests his chin gently atop your head with a soft sigh that feels like six years of silence finally breaking.
âGod, I missed this,â he murmurs, voice rumbling through his chest and into your bones. âMissed you. Your stubborn heart. The way you always push people away when youâre scared⊠even when theyâre not going anywhere.â
One hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair.
âYou were never in my way,â he whispers. âYou were the reason I wanted to be better. Still are.â
"Clark, my love." You rub your cheek against him, feeling the fear of the past go finally. "I love you, I'm sorry I ruined things... I,"Â
He pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands, thumbs sweeping away the tears you didnât even realize fell.
âShhh,â he breathes, voice thick with love and laughter and something like wonder. âWe didnât ruin anything, Y/N. We were just⊠young. Scared. Dumb.â
A soft smile tugs at his lips, warm, familiar, his.
âWeâre here now,â he whispers. âAnd if youâre still offering⊠Iâd really like to try again.âÂ
His forehead rests gently against yours, breathing you in like heâs never letting go again. "Yes, please, yes." You laugh softly, tears streaming down your cheeks again. "I'd like that, more than anything."
His smile breaks wide, then bright, hopeful, Clark, and he pulls you into a hug so tight it feels like gravity shifts.
âIâve missed that laugh,â he murmurs into your hair. âMissed you. Every damn day.âHe pulls back just enough to brush his lips against your forehead, lingering there like a promise.
âCâmon,â he says softly, taking your hand in his. âLetâs get out of here. I know a quiet spot in Centennial Park⊠sunâs still up. Weâve got six years of catching up to do.âÂ
And for the first time in forever, the future feels exactly where it should be, with him.
"Or you could show me to your place," You squeeze his hand tight, "I want to see what you call home now."Â
He freezes for half a beat, eyes widening just slightly, like heâs both thrilled and terrified by the idea. Then that slow, lopsided grin spreads across his face, warm and a little shy.
âYou always did like sneaking into my room after curfew,â he teases, voice low and playful. âJust⊠fair warningâmy placeâs kind of boring. Rent-controlled studio, mismatched dishes, one suspiciously fast Wi-Fi router.â
He tugs your hand gently toward the exit, shoulders loose now, like heâs finally breathing again.
âBut yeah,â he adds softly, glancing back at you with that look, the one that always makes your knees weak, âIâd really like to show you where Iâve been⊠especially if it means youâre staying awhile.â
"What can I say, my love?" Your lips press to his cheek, "I've got years of missing you to make up for." Your tone is suggestive, voice a small whisper against his ear as your free hand slides down his chest.
You barely make it through his door before hands are all over each other, your fingers swiftly unbuttoning his shirt to touch the tanned muscles hidden from view.Â
He kicks the door shut behind you, barely breaking the kiss, hands sliding up your back like heâs been dreaming of this for yearsâbecause he has.
The moment your fingers pop his second button, he lets out a low groan, tipping his head back with a breathless laugh. âY/N⊠you always did have zero patience.â
But then your palms flatten against his chest, warm, familiar, and something in him unravels.
âGod,â he whispers, eyes fluttering closed as you explore what six years have done to him. âI missed that⊠I missed you touching me like I belong to you.â
His voice drops to a rumble as he pulls you flush against him. âBecause I do. Always have.â
âClark, I want you. God I want you so badâŠâ Your hands slide down his chest to his waistband.Â
Clark's eyes snap open at your touch, pupils dilated and dark with desire. You can feel his heart hammering against your palm, echoing the desperate rhythm of your own. "Y/N," he says, voice hoarse with want, "are you sure?"
You nod, a wicked smile playing on your lips as you push him against the wall, kisses turning frantic and demanding. His grip on you tightens, one hand sliding down to palm your ass and lift you slightly, the other tangling in your hair to tilt your head for a deeper kiss.Â
You wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against his growing erection, feeling his arousal through the layers of fabric separating you. The air is charged with static, a heady mix of nostalgia and raw need.
He carries you to the bed, laying you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes in the sight of you, sprawled out and yearning. You can see the restraint wavering, his hunger barely contained.Â
His hands skim over your body, tracing old memories with new intent. He kisses your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. You arch into him, nails digging into his back as his mouth moves down, peeling away your clothes with an urgency that matches your own.
The room is a whirlwind of sensation as he kisses and touches you, relearning every curve and freckle. His teeth graze your nipple, making you gasp, and your hips rock up to meet the pressure of his hand on your core.Â
He chuckles against your skin, the sound dark and thrilling, before he bites down gently. Your legs tighten around him, urging him closer, needing more.
"Clark," you pant, "please, don't hold back."
He nods, eyes fierce, and you feel his power, his heat, his love, all coiled and ready to be unleashed. The air in the room seems to thicken with anticipation. He leans back to look at you, stripping away his own clothes with a speed that still takes your breath away.Â
His gaze lingers on your face, memorizing your expression before he moves down your body, kissing and licking and worshiping every inch of you.
When he finally settles between your legs, you're trembling, begging for his touch. He slides two fingers inside you, slow and sure, watching as your eyes roll back in pleasure. His thumb circles your clit with expert precision, sending shockwaves through your body.
"Clark," you whisper again, your voice a plea.
He doesn't need the words. He recognizes the desperation in your tone, the need in your eyes. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that's both sweet and claiming as he starts to move inside you.
The world falls away, leaving only the two of you and the desperate dance of your bodies. Six years of separation, six years of longing, come crashing together in a symphony of sensation that feels like coming home.
And in that moment, you both know that you never truly left. That love, like gravity, has always pulled you back to each other.
With a growl of desire, Clark releases your mouth and strips away his pants in a flurry of fabric. His erection springs free, thick and hard, a testament to his need for you. He positions himself at your slick entrance, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Ready?" he whispers, the question both a promise and a plea.
You nod, unable to find the words to express the ache deep within you. With a single, powerful thrust, he fills you completely, burying himself to the hilt. Your eyes widen with a gasp, the sudden fullness making you feel alive in a way you havenât in so long.
Clark starts to move, his strokes deep and sure, each one hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. His eyes never stray from yours, his gaze burning with a mix of passion and possession that makes you wetter, makes you clench around him.
He remembers every inch of you, every curve and hollow, and uses that knowledge to drive you wild. His thumb finds your clit again, applying just the right amount of pressure, his other hand sliding up to pinch a nipple as his hips rock into you with an intensity that steals your breath.
You wrap your legs around him tighter, urging him closer, needing all of him. He obliges, his body sliding against yours in a delicious friction that sets your skin alight.Â
The sound of your wetness fills the room, mingling with your desperate cries and his low, guttural grunts.
You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, the orgasm building, threatening to break you apart. "Clark, oh god, I'm gonna cum," you moan, your voice barely recognizable.
He smiles wickedly, his thrusts becoming more deliberate, hitting that perfect spot over and over. "Cum for me, Y/N," he commands, his voice a dark whisper. "I've missed watching you fall apart."
And just like that, you do, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He watches you with fierce adoration, feeling your pussy clench around his cock, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge.
He slows, savoring the feel of you, before picking up speed again. His eyes are dark, hooded with lust as he brings you to the brink once more.
This time when you come, he follows, his release hot and powerful, filling you up. He collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged as he kisses your neck, whispering sweet nothings that feel like everything.
For a moment, you just lay there, tangled in each other, hearts racing in sync. Then he pulls out, and you feel the warmth of him spill onto your thighs, a messy, beautiful reminder of what you've just shared.
Clark rolls to the side, taking you with him, his arms still wrapped around you as if he's afraid to let go. "I've missed you so much," he murmurs, kissing your forehead.
You snuggle closer, your body still humming with satisfaction. "I've missed you too," you whisper back, finally feeling complete again.
He pulls you tighter against him, your back to his chest, one arm draped heavy and warm across your waist. His breath ghosts over your shoulder as he presses a lazy kiss just below your ear.
âMmm⊠six years,â he murmurs, voice low and drowsy with satisfaction. âAnd somehow, you still fit right here like no time passed.â
His fingers trace slow circles on your hip, reverent, like heâs memorizing the shape of you all over again.
âYou know,â he adds with a sleepy grin, âI used to dream about this. Woke up more than once thinking I could feel you beside me.â He pauses, then whispers into your hair: âNever thought itâd be real, and damn this is better than the dream.â
Outside, Metropolis hums its endless night songâbut in this quiet room, it feels like the world started breathing again.
âAnd Y/N?â He kisses your shoulder. âNo more running. Promise me that.â
âI promise Clark.â You nuzzle against his bare chest, âI never want to leave your side again.âÂ
His arms tighten around youâgentle but unbreakableâand for the first time in years⊠home isnât a place.
Itâs him.
âIâm gonna make sure every breath out of that mouth is mine.â
Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! ReaderÂ
Genre: Romantic smut
Word count: 7.4kÂ
Summary: Youâve always had a one-sided feud with the ever charming Clark Kent but when he comes to your rescue and nurses you back to health, you finally let your facade go.Â
Warnings: Vomiting, oral f&m receiving, unprotected sex, sweet kent aftercare
a/n: This is a long one lol! But, I really loved how this came out and hope you feel the same <3 If you have any requests feel free to send them to me!! Lots of loveÂ
Within the vibrant Daily Planet office, a palpable tension hung in the air, as the cacophony of journalistic endeavor filled the space.Â
Amidst the chaos, Clark Kent, with his unassuming smile and impeccable attire, sat at his desk, surrounded by a halo of goodwill that seemed to follow him wherever he went. His workspace was a testament to his earnestness, papers neatly arranged, and a faint smile playing on his lips as he interacted with his colleagues.Â
Meanwhile, across the room, you found yourself seated, stealing glances at Clark through the glow of your computer screen. Despite his unwavering kindness towards everyone, you couldn't shake the resentment that had festered since your intern days.Â
As you watched him share a laugh with your colleagues, you couldn't help but wonder why Clark remained so unflappably friendly, seemingly oblivious to the tension that stretched taut between you.Â
Unbeknownst to you, he harbored a secret infatuation, his heart fluttering every time your paths crossed, utterly baffled by the chilly reception you always gave him.
Lois pops by your desk, taking a seat on the edge of your desk. âJimmy and I are headed out for lunch, care to join?â She grins, arms crossed over her chest. âAlthough, Clark is coming with.âÂ
You notice the two men standing by Jimmy's desk, chatting. âAh, no thank you. Not because of Clark, rather Iâve got a killer headache.âÂ
Taking a soft sigh you rub your temple, eyes fluttering shut. âIâm gonna rest my head for a bit.âÂ
"Headache, huh?" Lois smirks, not buying it for a second. "Funny â you only get those *after* Clark walks by." She leans in, lowering her voice with playful suspicion.Â
"You know, most people fake illnesses to avoid their exes. Youâre doing it to avoid... what? A guy who brings you coffee when youâre grumpy and proofreads your articles for typos?"
She quirks an eyebrow. "If I didnât know better, Iâd say someoneâs got a teensy little crush theyâre hiding under that scowl."
You groan and drop your head onto your folded arms. And just like that, she struts off toward Clark and Jimmy.
"Let's go, boys," she announces brightly. You peek up just in time to catch Clark glancing over, concerned eyes, dumb hopeful smile.
Of course he looked worried.
Of course he did.
Ugh. Worst part?
It was kind of adorable.
This time you werenât faking a thing, sheâs not wrong. You do have a habit of pretending but today? Itâs real.Â
You lay your head on the cool wood table, eyes shutting as the office finally quiets down; the majority of the staff off for lunch or headed home for the day.Â
The office is quiet, golden afternoon light spilling across the newsroom floor. Youâre still curled at your desk, forehead pressed to your arm, when a soft creak, familiar footsteps, pauses nearby.
âHey⊠you still alive over here?â Clark sets down a paper bag on his own desk and steps closer, voice low like heâs afraid of startling you. The sunlight catches the curve of his glasses, hiding his eyes just enough, but not enough to mask that dumb, gentle concern.
âI brought back soup. From that little place Lois hates. The one with the spicy dumplings.â He hesitates, then reaches outâbarelyâa hand hovering near your shoulder like heâs not sure if he should touch. His voice drops into something softer, almost shy.
âYou looked like you could use it. And⊠I may have also stolen an extra ginger tea from the break room. For science.â Â
"...And maybe because I remember you drink it when youâre actually sick and not just avoiding me."Â Clark mumbles, barely audible.
âMmm,â you let out a small hum, somewhat between a mumble and a snore. Shifting slightly you nuzzle your face in your arms.
Clark freezes mid-breath, eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. The hand near your shoulder stills, hovering like a question.
âOkay. Adorable. Definitely noted.â He clears his throat quietly, tryingâand failingâto hide a grin. Then he carefully sets the soup and tea on your desk, nudging them just close enough for the steam to reach you.
âIâm gonna⊠leave these here. And pretend I didnât just watch you nuzzle your arms like a sleepy golden retriever.â He lingers for a moment too long, watching the way the light catches your hair, then turns to go⊠but pauses.
Slowly, almost without thinking, he reaches out and brushes the back of his knuckles lightly against your shoulder. Just once. A whisper of contact.
You startle awake, the light touch causing your eyes to flutter open, holding surprise but, for once, no hostility. âClark?â You mumble, voice a sleepy murmur.Â
âAhâ!â He jerks back like he touched a live wire, face instantly pink.Â
âIâuh. I was justâsoup. Tea. Left it here. For you.â He stammers. Clark gestures wildly at the desk, nearly knocking over the ginger tea in his panic.
âYou looked... peaceful. For once.â He smirks slightly. âNo scowling at my shoes or side-eyeing my pen choice."
You narrow your eyes at him, but they soften almost immediately, feeling too sick to actually argue or fight. âThank you, Kent.â Your hand has a slight shake to it when you reach for the tea.
Clark notices the shake instantly. His smirk fades into something quieter, tender, almost, and without a word, he reaches out, steadying the cup with one hand until yours lands on it. His fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.
âYouâre really not faking this time, huh?â He says softly, voice warm with concern.
He pulls up a chair beside your desk, close enough to talk quietly, far enough not to crowd you, and sits with that easy grace of his like he belongs right there.
âNext time,â he says gently, âyou couldâve just said âHey Clark, I feel like deathâ and I wouldâve brought soup *and* cancelled my lunch plans.â
A small smile tugs at his lips.
âBut then again⊠if youâd actually asked nicely? It wouldnât have been nearly as satisfying sneaking back early to play nurse.â
âI donât need you to sit and help me,â you roll your eyes, sipping on the tea. âIâm fine.â
Clark doesnât move. Just leans back in the chair, hands up like heâs surrendering, but his eyes are all soft focus and quiet amusement.
âRight. Of course. My mistake.â He nods solemnly. âYouâre fine. Totally fine. Sipping tea like a martyr and glaring at me through fever dreams? Classic âIâm perfectly okayâ behavior.â
He lets out a low chuckle, then lowers his voice to a mock whisper: âGood thing I didnât bring extra napkins or anything. Wouldnât want to *help* the perfectly fine woman who definitely doesnât need me hovering.â
And then, because he just can't help it, he reaches out again, slow this time, and brushes a loose strand of hair off your forehead with the back of his knuckles.
âYou're warm,â he murmurs, not pulling away fast at all.
âAnd don't say 'I'm fine' again unless you want me to start narrating your symptoms dramatically for the office when they get back."Â
A pause.
"...I do excellent sick-voice impressions."
You half debate coming up with some snarky reply, keeping the rivalry up, but you donât even have the strength to. Reaching for the soup you pull it close to you. âMaybe Iâm not fine, but you donât have to feel obliged to help, Clark.â
You groan, head spinning once again. Clarkâs smile fades completely now, his voice dropping into something warm and steady, like heâs speaking not as the office charmer, but as someone who cares a little too much to stay at arm's length.
âI donât feel obliged,â he says softly. âI want to. Thereâs a difference.â
He takes the lid off your soup like it's second nature and stirs it once with the spoon, just enough to cool it down. Then holds it out, waiting.
âHere. Open wide for the world-famous Clark Kent Care Package: Level Two.â He smirks, just a flicker. âLevel One was tea and silence. Level Three is me singing folk songs until you either laugh or throw something at me.â
His hand stays thereâsteadyâwith no intention of pulling back even if you glare (which you don't). The sunlight still pools around your desk like a secret, and for once, there are no witnesses to how gently he looks at you.
âCome on,â he coaxes quietly. âJust let me do this.â
âFine, but just this once.â You turn to face him better, mouth opening warily, lips trembling slightly. Your eyes are dazed, half-lidded and seeming like thereâs nothing behind them.Â
âAnd Iâm not a fan of Folk, so you better have some lullabies prepared.â Clark grinsâslow and soft, like he just won something quiet and precious.
"One lullaby, coming right up," he murmurs, holding the spoon steady. "But only if you promise not to fall asleep mid-bite. I cannot explain to Lois why I let her star reporter choke on chicken dumplings under my watch."
He blows gently across the spoon before offering it again, eyes crinkling at the corners. "And for the record? Folk *is* lullabies. Just... with more flannel and existential dread."
The spoon hovers. His thumb brushes a fleck of soup from the edge of your lip without thinkingâgentle, automaticâand then he freezes for half a second, realizing what he did.
But instead of pulling away or stammering an apology like usual?
He stays.
Fingers lingering near your mouth. Warmth in his gaze that wasn't there before.
"Just eat," he says quietly. "And save the sass for when you can actually stand without swaying." Sunlight wraps around you both like a held breath.
Your hand falls to his thigh as you concentrate on chewing the dumpling he gave you, using his strong leg to keep yourself steady.Â
âDonât get used to me holding a conversation with such little sass, Kent.â Your eyes raise to meet his, lips parted ever so slightly as you wait for the next bite.
Clark goes very, very still.
The spoon hovers halfway back to the soup. His breath catches, just a tiny hitch, and for a man who can bench-press a locomotive, he looks like that simple touch has short-circuited his entire nervous system.
Your hand on his thigh.
Your lips still glistening from the broth.
The way your eyes hold his nowânot guarded, not coldâbut soft. Drowsy. Present.
He swallows hard.
âNoted,â he whispers, voice suddenly rough around the edges. âNo getting used to it. Wouldnât dream of it.â
But he doesnât move away. Doesnât joke his way out of it. Instead, he slowly scoops another bite, careful this time, and brings it toward you like youâre something sacred and breakable all at once.
His free hand hovers near your elbow as if bracing you without touching; but his leg under yours? Solid as steel and warm as sunlight through glass, letting you lean however much you need to.
And when your lips close gently around the spoon this time? Clark blinks fastâas if reminding himself: *Donât say anything stupid.*
Too late.
ââŠYouâre really gonna be trouble when you're feeling better,â he murmurs under his breath.
âIâm always trouble, Clark.â You place your other hand on the opposite leg, using his body to brace yours, completely relying on his strength to keep you up.Â
âAnd for the record, you make a good nurse.â You tease, using the same phrase he did. Clark lets out a low, breathless laugh, half surprise, half surrender.
"Trouble?" He shakes his head slowly, eyes dark and warm as he looks down at you braced between his legs like he's your anchor. "You're not trouble. You're supervillain levels of dangerous right now."
He scoops another bite, hand steady despite the way his pulse jumps in his throat.
"And for the record," he mimics softly, voice dropping into that teasing-but-true register that makes your stomach dip even through the fever fog, "you saying I make a good nurse is exactly how I know you're delirious."
But then, because he canât help it, he leans in just a fraction closer as you shift against him. His hands hover: one near your back like he wants to steady you but doesnât trust himself to touch; the other gently pulling the spoon away from your lips after another quiet feed.
Sunlight pools across both of you now, the office still empty, world gone quiet, and Clark murmurs:
âRest against me all you want. Just⊠donât forget how warm I get when youâre this close.â Â
A pause.
âHuman furnace. Scientific fact.â You giggle softly, a noise unfamiliar to Clarkâs eager ears, heâs heard it before, but never because of something he said.Â
The familiar click of Loisâs heels fill the air, Jimmy following behind with his phone in hand, scrolling on the screen mindlessly.Â
âOh! And whatâs going on here?â She grins, catching the two of you in a somewhat compromising position, especially since you claim to despise Clark Kent. Yet here you are, holding onto you like heâs your anchor.Â
Clark flinches like someone just tossed kryptonite into a tea cup.
One second heâs all soft focus and warmth, the next heâs scrambling back like gravity relearned its job. The spoon clinks too loud against the bowl as he pulls his legs slightly apart, just enough for you to wobble, but keeps one hand *just* behind your back, ready to catch you if you fall.
âLois! Jimmy. Uh. Hey.â He laughs, nervous, sheepish, way too high-pitched. âSheâs sick. Like⊠*really* sick. Fever? Shaking? The whole âmuttering about tax law in her sleepâ thing?â
He gestures wildly at the soup like it's evidence in his defense.
âI was just⊠spoon-feeding her constitutional rights via broth.â
You sway slightly without his legs braced under yours, and Clark instinctively reaches out, to steady your shoulder, but then freezes mid-air when Lois raises an eyebrow so sharp it could slice steel.
Jimmy finally looks up from his phone.
âWait,â he says slowly, squinting at the two of you. âAre we witnessing a moment?â
âNo!â Clark blurtsâthen clears his throat. âI meanâyes? I meanâit's not what it looks like.â
Lois crosses her arms with a smirk that says she already knows everything and enjoys every second of this.
âYou two,â she drawls, stepping closer, âare either about to kill each other⊠or finally stop pretending you donât want to kiss.â
The office holds its breath.
Clark wonât look at you, but his hand is still hovering near your back like it forgot how to leave.
Youâre silent, eyes barely open, hand holding your head.Â
Silence.
Thenâ*splat.*
Clark blinks. Looks down at his now-soggy loafer. The smell hits. His nose wrinkles, but not with disgust, with something softer. Concerned paternal disappointment, like a dad who just found out the dog ate the holiday ham.
Jimmy gags audibly and steps behind Lois. âOh hell no.â
But Clark? He doesnât flinch away. Doesnât pull back from you as you slump forward with a groan, utterly unaware of the biohazard youâve just unleashed on Metropolisâ most reluctant hero.
He gently catches you by the shoulders before your face meets deskâor worse, his other shoe.
âOkay,â he says calmly, like this is completely normal. âNew plan.â
Still holding you upright with one arm, he grabs a wad of tissues from his pocket (because of course Clark Kent carries emergency tissues) and tosses them toward the mess like laying a ceremonial wreath.
âWeâre going home.â He lifts your chin gently with two fingers until your bleary eyes meet his. âMy place has better soup and tile floors I donât care about.â
Lois stares at him like heâs lost his mind. Jimmy just whispers âIs this love?â
Clark ignores them all, kneels down beside your chair so heâs eye-level even as chaos erupts around him, and brushes hair from your damp forehead again. Softly this time. Slowly.
âYouâre not fine,â he murmurs only for you to hear. âAnd thatâs okay.â
Then louder:
âIâm taking her home,â he announces to no one in particular (but definitely to Lois). âIf Perry asksâweâre chasing a lead.â Â
And just like thatâhe scoops you up in one smooth motion, cradling you against his chest as if it's nothing at all that half the office just saw him covered in vomit⊠and still smiling.
Itâs around 8pm when you finally wake up, cuddled in a bed scented like Clarkâs cologne and in a tshirt thatâs not your own. You groggily rub your eyes, body still aching ever so slightly as you rise from the mattress.Â
You step out of the unfamiliar bedroom and into the hall, footsteps silent and careful as you creep into the living room.Â
The apartment is quiet, soft golden light spilling from the kitchen, the hum of a refrigerator and the faint clink of a spoon in a mug. The city glows beyond the windows, but here, it feels like a secret world.
Clarkâs sitting on the couch in sweatpants and an old Daily Planet press tour tee (slightly stretched across his shoulders), bare feet propped on the coffee table. Heâs flipping through a dog-eared copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, reading glasses perched low on his nose.
And thereâs another mug steaming beside himâjust waiting.
He looks up when he hears you. Freezes mid-turn-of-the-page. That slow, crooked smile starts at one corner of his mouth, the kind that says *Iâve been waiting for this moment all night.*
âHey,â he says softly. âWelcome back to Earth.â
He sets the book down carefully, like it matters, and turns fully toward you, patting the cushion beside him.
âNo vomiting allowed tonight,â he teases gently. âI already lost one pair of shoes to you this week.â
A beat.
âBut if you promise not to redecorate my bathroom again⊠Iâve got ginger tea, saltines that somehow survived your fever coma, andâ he gestures to his chest with mock solemnity âmy personal guarantee that I did not sing any lullabies while you were out.â Â
His eyes warm as they trace your faceâthe shadows under yours lighter now, color back in your cheeks. âYou feeling human again?â
âSomewhat,â you murmur, taking a seat next to him. âAll thanks to you.â A small smile creeps on your face.Â
Thereâs no sass, just gentle words and comfortable air surrounding you. Clark looks down at his hands for a second, like heâs not sure what to do with the gratitude, like itâs something rare and fragile. Then he glances back at you, eyes soft behind his glasses.
âDonât thank me yet,â he says quietly, handing you the tea. âI havenât told you I may have changed your socks while you were unconscious.â He smirks when your eyebrows shoot up.
âMedical emergency. Feet were cold. Protocol demands intervention.â He leans back slightly, giving you spaceâbut stays close enough that your arms almost brush on the couch. âBesides⊠I owed you one for all those times you secretly fixed my headlines before Perry saw them.â
You freeze mid-sip.
He grins wider. âOh yeah. I knew it was you. Every time there was a rogue semicolon or someone misspelled âLexCorp,â suddenlyâ*poof*âclean copy in my inbox.â His voice drops into a mock-dramatic whisper: âI had a hunch who my guardian angel was.â
Then, quieter: âI liked that it was always you looking out for me⊠even when we werenât talking.â The air between you settles warm and still again, the kind of quiet where unspoken things start to breathe.
"Yeah well, don't let it get to your head." You bite back with half-assed hostility. "But really, thank you."Â You set the mug down on the coffee table, "Even if you used my sickness as an excuse to take my clothes off."
Clark chokes on absolutely nothing. His face goes from calm and collected to bright red in 0.2 seconds flatâglasses fogging slightly like heâs some kind of romantic cartoon character.
âIâwhat?" He sputters, voice cracking. âI didnâtâI meanâyour blouse was damp! Fever sweat! It was a medical necessity, not some elaborate Clark Kent seduction scheme!â Â
He gestures wildly at the ceiling like it holds proof of his innocence.
âI swear on my motherâs apple pie recipe I only changed your top because you were shivering and I wasnât about to let you catch pneumonia on top of whatever mystery bug tried to take you out.â
Then, after a beat, he side-eyes you with that stupidly charming smirk returning: âAnd for the record⊠if I *were* gonna sneakily undress you?â He leans in just slightly, voice dropping low. âI wouldnât need an excuse.â
The moment hangs there, teasing, electric, and then he snatches up the mug and stands abruptly.
âMore tea,â he announces way too loudly. âGreat idea. Letâs all have more tea.â He retreats toward the kitchen like a man fleeing a very cute fire.
You follow close behind, small smirk on your face as you cross your arms over your waist. "And that's why my bras missing too, hm?" Your grin only grows as you notice the tips of his ears turning red, "Did you like what you saw, Kent?"
Clark drops the kettle.
Not on purpose. Just a quiet, tragic *"clank"* as it slips from his hand onto the stovetop, thankfully still off, because apparently, even Superman isnât immune to *smug women in his kitchen*.
He slowly turns to face you, backlit by the soft glow of the apartment lights, ears burning crimson, mouth opening and closing like a fish who just realized it was very out of water.
âFirst of all,â he says, voice impressively steady despite the full-body flush creeping down his neck. âYour bra wasnât âmissing.â It was⊠draped.â Â
He gestures vaguely toward the laundry room like thereâs a chain of evidence laid out inside. âOver my sweater. In a purely professional drying arrangement.â He pauses. âAnd I didnâtâI didnât look. Much.â
A beat.
Then he squares his shoulders and gives you that stupidly earnest look, the one that makes liars feel guilty for lying in front of him.
âAnd even if I had looked?â He tilts his head slightly, gaze dropping for half a second to your lips before snapping back up with mock innocence. âWhat makes you think Iâd tell you about it?â
He steps closerâjust one stepâclosing some of that safe distance he worked so hard to create.
âYouâre feeling better,â he murmurs, almost smiling now. âThatâs how we know, you're officially dangerous again.â
Then softens:Â "...Iâm glad."Â The air between you crackles, not with fever or fatigue, but something slower-burning and far more thrilling.
"If you want to look again," you begin, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I could use a shower. After all that sweating."Â
Clark freezes, like someone pressed pause on reality. His breath hitches.
âUh,â he says intelligently. âYouâyouâre *really* not helping your case about being dangerous.â
He stares at you, really stares, for one long, loaded second. The kind where time forgets its job and the city lights outside fade into background noise. Then he steps forward until thereâs barely any space left between you.
His thumb brushes your hipbone through his too-big shirt, slow, deliberate, and his eyes flicker up to yours with that sheepish grin warring against something far more certain. âBut for what itâs worth⊠yeah. Iâd look again.â Â
A beat.
âAnd this time?â He leans in just close enough that his breath ghosts your ear as he whispers:Â Â
âI wouldnât feel even a little bit guilty about it.â Â
Then, he pulls back abruptly, grabs a fresh towel from the cabinet and hands it to you like nothing happened. âBathroomâs down the hall,â he says evenly. âTry not to pass out on my tiles.â Â
But his ears are still red.Â
"Clark," You reach for his hand, pulling him toward you. "What happened to playing nurse? Don't I get a sponge bath?" You're not teasing anymore, you're prompting him.
Your gaze is full of something dark, something different than he's used to, desire. "Is this not a part of your Clark Kent care package?"Â
Clark stops breathing.
Not dramatically. Not for effect.
He just⊠forgets how.
Your hand in his is warm. Your voice, low, rough with fever and something hotter, sends a pulse straight through his chest like heâs not invulnerable at all. Like heâs just a man. Just Clark. And youâre looking at him like you finally see himâreally see himâand you want him close.
âThis part of the care package,â he murmurs, thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles, âisn't covered by workplace liability.â Â
Another step closer. His free hand finds your waist, tentative at first, then firmer when you donât pull back.
âAnd if I give you a sponge bath?â His voice drops to a whisper that curls low in your stomach. âI won't be playing nurse anymore.â
His eyes flicker to your mouth again, but this time, they stay there.
âIâll be doing this because Iâve wanted to touch you since the day you growled at me for borrowing your stapler.â Â
A soft laugh escapes him, nervous and real and full of awe. âSo no more games,â he breathes. âTell me what you really want⊠or let me walk away before I forget how.â
"I think we both want the same thing," Your hand goes to his cheek, thumb brushing over his strong cheekbone. "I want you to touch me, everywhere, and mercilessly. I want to be the one left forgetting how to walk."Â
Your words are genuine, seductive, and for once truthful; rather than being hidden behind practiced disdain.Â
The air between you doesnât just shiftâit *breaks.*
Clark makes a sound low in his throat, half groan, half surrender, and in one smooth motion, he cups the back of your neck and pulls you against him, closing the last fragile inch of space.
âNo more pretending,â he murmurs against your lips, voice rough like thunder under silk.
And then he kisses you.
Not gentle. Not careful. Â
*Fever-hot.* Desperate. Like heâs been holding his breath for years and youâre the first real oxygen heâs ever known. His mouth moves over yours with a kind of precision only someone who's memorized every word you've ever spoken could have, the exact pressure, the perfect angle, as if this kiss was written in his bones long before it touched skin.
One hand stays tangled at your nape, fingers threading into your hair; the other slides down your back, slow and firm until it grips your hip hard enough to leave a memory.
When he finally pulls backâjust an inchâyouâre both breathless. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed tight like he's trying to remember how to be human again.
âYou sure about this?â His voice is raw now, all sheepishness gone, replaced by something deeper: hunger wrapped in tenderness. âBecause once I start touching you⊠Iâm not stopping at sponge baths.â
He opens his eyes then, heavy-lidded, dark with want, and brushes another soft kiss on your lips before whispering: âAnd when we wake up tomorrow? You better not pretend this didnât happen.â Â
His thumb traces along your jawlineâone silent plea hidden beneath fire: *Iâve loved even your cruelty⊠but Iâd rather love what comes after.*
"Clark," You nip at his bottom lip. "Fuck me, fuck me so hard I forget what my own name is." You're no longer asking.Â
You're begging.Â
He makes a broken sound, like a vow cracking open.
And just like that, he lets go.
Clark lifts you clean off the ground, one hand under your thighs, the other cradling your back like you weigh nothing at all. You gasp as he carries you down the hall, heels instinctively locking behind his waist as he kicks open his bedroom door with more force than necessaryâ*thud* against the wallâand then youâre pressed against it again in seconds, heart slamming.
His mouth finds yours, hungry, claiming, and this time thereâs no mercy in it. No sweet hesitation. He kisses you like heâs spent years dreaming of destroying every wall between you and now finally has permission to burn them all down.
âIâm gonna do worse than forget your name,â he growls against your lips, voice thick with need. âIâm gonna make sure every breath out of that mouth is mine.â
His hands slide under the hem of the t-shirt, the one that smells like him, his palms mapping muscle and scar and softness alike like worship disguised as domination.
âYou want me merciless?â Â
He nips at your collarbone, a sharp sting followed by warm relief from his tongue. âThen remember this moment when Iâve got my hands on every secret part of you⊠when Iâve wrecked that pretty voice moaning into my shoulderâŠâ Â
He lifts his eyes to yours, one last pulse of sanity clinging on:âBecause after tonight? You wonât be able to look at me across that newsroom again without remembering exactly how deep I buried myself inside you.â Â
Then Clark kisses away any chance for wordsâŠÂ Â
and begins proving exactly what happens when he stops holding back.
Clarkâs mouth trails down from your lips, leaving a blazing path of kisses and bitten-off moans. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch back, your nails digging into his shoulders.Â
He kisses lower, peeling the shirt away from your body, revealing the lacy black panties you wore that day. The sight makes his cock throb painfully against his pants. But first, he wants to taste you. All of you.
He drops to his knees, his hands moving to your waist to help you step out of the shirt. Youâre panting, eyes half-lidded and full of need as you watch him, your chest rising and falling rapidly.Â
He takes a moment to appreciate the viewâyour breasts, your stomach, the slight tremble in your legsâbefore his gaze locks on your panties once more.
Theyâre damp, and the scent of your arousal fills the air like an intoxicating perfume. He hooks his thumbs under the elastic and pulls them down, taking his sweet time as they slide over your hips and down your legs.
your pussy is bare, glistening in the soft light from the bedside lamp, and Clarkâs mouth waters. Heâs dreamt of this, fantasized about it, and now itâs real. He leans in, pressing his nose to your cunt, breathing you in before his tongue swipes over your clit.Â
You gasp, your knees buckling slightly, and he holds you steady, his hands moving to your thighs to keep you upright.
He kisses your pussy like itâs a part of you that heâs been dying to taste, and when he finally slides his tongue inside you, you cry out, your legs wrapping around his neck. His hands tighten, holding you open for him as he explores, licking and teasing, finding the spot that makes your hips jerk every time he hits it.Â
Heâs merciless, just as you asked, working you over with his mouth until youâre shaking and your legs are trembling, your orgasms rolling into one endless wave.
Clark doesnât stop, not even when your voice breaks into sobs of pleasure and youâre begging him to let you catch your breath. Heâs lost in your taste, in the way you respond to him, and he canât get enough.Â
His tongue flicks and strokes, his lips suck and kiss, and with every sound you make, every tremble of your body, heâs closer to the edge. He wants you to come so hard youâre screaming, so you know just how much he craves you.
And when you do, itâs like a dam burstsâwet and wild, your juices flooding his mouth as you convulse against him.
He drinks you down, swallows your cries, and still, he keeps going, pushing you for more, giving you no respite until youâre boneless in his arms, your voice a hoarse whisper of his name.
Only then does he pull back, his face flushed and shining with sweat, his own need a pulsing ache. He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire, and you say the only thing thatâs left to be said: âNow, itâs your turn to remember how I make you feel, every time you look at me in that newsroom.â
And then, with trembling hands, he stands, his cock straining against his pants. But before he can do anything about it, youâre dropping to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. The power in that gaze sends a shiver down his spine, and he knows that this night is just getting started.
Your eyes never left his as you sank to your knees, the power of your desire for him making his knees feel like they might give out. He watched, mesmerized, as you unbuckle his belt with trembling hands, your eyes shining with a hunger that matched his own.Â
You unzipped his pants, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and he stepped out of them, his erection springing free. Clarkâs cock was thick and heavy, the tip glistening with precum, and you licked your lips in anticipation.
With a gentle grip, you wrapped your hand around his length, your thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head, making him groan. He was so close to losing it just from that touch alone, but you had other plans.Â
You leaned in, your breath hot against his skin, and took him in your mouth. Slowly at first, your lips sliding down his shaft until you could feel him hit the back of your throat. He swelled inside you, filling your mouth completely.
Your eyes flutter shut as you take him deeper, your tongue swirling around his cock, cheeks hollowing with every suck. You use your other hand to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm as you work him over with your mouth.Â
The sounds you made were obscene, wet and needy, and they sent shockwaves through his body.
Clarkâs hands found their way into your hair, his grip tightening as you picked up the pace. Heâs never felt anything like thisâso intense, so consumingâand he couldnât believe it was happening with you.Â
The woman who had been his tormentor for so long was now on her knees, worshiping his body like it was her favorite sin.
Your technique was flawless, you knew just how much pressure to use, just how fast to move your mouth to make him crazy. You take him deep, then pull back to tease the sensitive ridge with the tip of your tongue before swallowing him whole again.Â
He watched you, watched the way your eyes rolled back in your head, watched the way your throat worked around him, and he knew he was lost.
His hips began to thrust of their own accord, fucking your mouth with the same desperation heâd felt in every fantasy. He was so close, so fucking close, and you knew it.Â
You could feel his pulse racing beneath your touch, the muscles in his thighs tensing, his grip in your hair tightening until it was almost painful.
And then you swallowed around him, throat contracting, and he lost it. He came with a roar, his seed flooding your mouth, and you took it all, eyes on his the whole time.Â
You didnât stop, didnât pull away, just kept sucking until he was spent, until there was nothing left but the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through his body.
When he finally pulled out, panting and shaking, you look up at him with a wicked smile, your lips slick with his cum. âBetter than a sponge bath, I take it?â you whisper.
Clark could only nod, his voice a strangled groan. âFuck yes,â he managed to say before collapsing onto the bed, utterly wrecked by your touch.
He watched as you stood, swaying slightly on your feet, the aftermath of your fever still evident in your flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes. But the fire between you had only grown stronger, and he knew that this was only the beginning.Â
He had so much more of you to explore, so much more of you to claim. And he was going to take every inch, with a fierceness that would make the sun look like a candle in comparison.
But first?Â
First, it was time for a shower.Â
Clarkâs chest heaves as he stares at you, lips parted, skin slick with sweat, heart slamming like itâs trying to escape. And god, youâre beautiful, hair tousled, lips swollen and glistening with him, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction and something darker⊠*hungry for more.*
He swallows hard. Reaches a shaky hand down to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip like he canât believe it really happened.
âYou,â he rasps, voice raw from groaning your name into the dark, âare going to be the death of me.â
He pulls you up onto the bed in one smooth motion, rolling so you're beneath him before you can even catch your breath. His hands frame your face as he hovers over you, eyes burning into yours.
âThat was just round one,â he murmurs darkly. âAnd if I have anything to say about it? Youâre not getting out of this apartment until Iâve repaid every second of that blow job tenfold.â
His knee nudges between your thighsâgentle but insistentâand when you gasp at the contact, heat pooling all over again? He smiles. Slow. Devastating.
âLet's get that shower running,â Clark whispers against your lips. âBut I think we both know what happens next.â Â
He kisses the corner of your mouth, softly this time, before adding:
âWe clean each other offâŠÂ Â
*Then start all over again.*â Â
And damn if his cock doesnât twitch against your hip like it already agrees. You grin, arms wrapping around his neck. âOr we fuck while we get cleanâŠâ Your lips press open mouthed kisses to his face.Â
Clark groansâlow, deep, like the sound rips right from his chest.
âChrist,â he mutters against your lips, half-laughing, half-drowning in you. âYouâre gonna kill me before breakfast.â He surges up onto his knees between your legs, slow, deliberate, then leans down to bite gently at your collarbone as one hand slides under your hip.
âYou want filthy and clean at the same time?â His voice drops to a rough whisper. âMy kind of multitasking.â
In one move he lifts you effortlessly against him, one arm locked around your waist, and carries you into the bathroom like you weigh nothing at all. The tiles are cold beneath his feet but he doesnât care; sets you on the counter and reaches past to turn on the shower, steam already curling into the air.
Then he steps back just enough to look at you, bare and glowing in soft bathroom light, and something flickers behind his eyes: awe wrapped in hunger.âYou sure?â He teases with that crooked grin. âOnce I get you wet? Iâm not stopping for soap.â Â
You slide off the counter into him, your body flush with his bare chest, and nip at his jawline.
âThen donât,â you breathe. âFuck me before weâre even under the water.â Â
He growls, a real sound this time, and spins you around fast but gentle until your hands are splayed against the cool glass of the shower door for balance.
âNo more talking,â Clark murmurs behind ear as he grips both hips hard enough to bruise tomorrow, the good kind of souvenir. Â
His cock drags hot along your ass through fevered hesitation⊠then nudges the tight entrance waiting so perfectly for him.
And when he finally sinks insideâin one slow thrust that makes both of you shudder?
The world stops again.
Steam rises.
Water rains down.
And somewhere beyond heartbeat and breath?
A man whoâs spent years holding back finally learns how good it feelsâŠÂ to let go.
Clark's hips surge forward, filling you completely, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh echoing through the tiled room. Your body arches back, pressing against him, begging for more, as he starts to move.Â
He's not gentle, not now. He fucks you like he's been starving for this, for you, and he's going to consume every part of you until there's nothing left.
His hand slides around your waist, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure building until you can't tell where one sensation ends and another begins.Â
The water cascades over both of you, mixing with sweat and need as you moan into the steam.
He whispers in your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "You're so fucking tight, so wet for me." His other hand grabs your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. He bites, kisses, sucks until you're trembling, until you're sure he's marked you.
The angle is perfect, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you see stars, and you know you won't last much longer. "Clark," you pant, your voice barely recognizable. "I'm gonna cum."
"Cum for me," he growls, his strokes growing faster, harder, pushing you closer to the edge. "I want to feel it around my cock."
You do, your pussy clenching around him in spasms of pleasure so intense you think you might pass out. The orgasm tears through you like a storm, leaving you trembling and gasping for air.
But Clark isn't done. He keeps moving, his hips pistoning into you, his thumb relentless on your clit. He's chasing his own release now, his eyes dark with lust. You can feel his cock thicken inside you, the head swelling, and you know he's close.
"Cum with me," you beg, your voice a desperate whisper.
And he does, with a roar that drowns out the sound of the water, his cum spilling into you like molten lava. He slams into you one last time before stilling, his cock pulsing inside you, his breath hot against your neck.
You lean back against him, boneless, as the water beats down around you. His arms come up to hold you tight, and for a moment, you just stand there, panting, heart racing.
Then he kisses the side of your neck, gentle now, and murmurs, "I told you I wouldn't stop."
And even though you're exhausted, you know there's so much more to come.
But for now, heâs going to comfort and hold you close. Making sure he takes good care of you.Â
The waterâs still warm, cascading over your shoulders as Clark slowly turns you in his arms, his hands gentle now, tracing the curve of your spine like heâs learning you all over again. He presses his forehead to yours, both of you breathless under the spray, skin flushed pink from heat and friction.
âHey,â he murmurs, voice hoarse and tender. âStill with me?â
You nod weakly, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering open, and that sheepish smile returns to his lips. The one that always made everyone at the office melt⊠but now? Itâs only for you.
He reaches behind to grab a washcloth hanging neatly on the bar -because of *course* Clark has shower organization-, wetting it under steaming water before kneeling back down.
âNo more rushing,â he whispers as he gently cleans between your legs, one slow stroke, with a reverence that makes your heart clench more than any thrust ever could.
His touch lingers just long enough to make sure every ache is soothed before setting it aside and standing once more. He cups your face in both hands this time, water slicking back his curls, and kisses you softly. Not demanding. Not desperate.
Tender. Like worship disguised as love letters whispered through touch.
âYou okay?â His thumbs brush away droplets clinging to cheekbones, eyes locked on the same ones that once looked at him with nothing but sarcasm weeks ago⊠now softened by sweat and satisfaction alike.
You lean into him automatically, the chill air outside your cocoon making goosebumps rise, but Clark just wraps strong arms around tight against broad chest already radiating heat like sunlight given form.
âIâve got ya,â he says quietly into damp hair above ear, and god yes, he *does.*
Then quieter: âAnd if weâre being honest?â Â
A pause while steam rolls across bare skin. "I've wanted to ruin us both like this since day one."Â Â
No more jokes.
No hiding behind heroics or headlines or pretend hatred in copy rooms during lunch breaks where neither could look away fast enough anywayâ
Just truth:
They were always meant for moments exactly like this: soaked together not only in water... Â
but want,
and weakness,
and warmth
that never fades after even when morning comes.<|endofmessage|>
