Lana!

Chapter One : Good Luck Babe !

The smell of raw meat and bleach clung to Blue Bell’s skin no matter how many times she scrubbed. It seeped into her curls, into the fabric of her dresses, into the soft places between her fingers. By day, she smiled politely behind the butcher counter, her hands steady with the cleaver, her apron spotted red. She had learned long ago that blood came out easier if you caught it quick with cold water.

By night, though, she was something else entirely—pressed up against Jax Teller, heart hammering like it wanted out of her chest.

The backroom at Teller-Morrow was dark, lit only by the dim amber glow of a desk lamp. Tools glinted on the workbench, the smell of motor oil heavy in the air. Jax leaned back against the desk, cigarette hanging loose from his lips, smoke curling around his sharp jawline. His blue eyes glinted with a kind of wild amusement as she stood between his knees, his rough palms sliding under the hem of her dress, fingers resting warm on her thighs.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice lazy and teasing, “you keep sneakin’ over here, people might start thinkin’ you’re my old lady.”

Blue Bell flushed, lowering her gaze, lips curving into a shy smile. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind that.”

Jax grinned, slow and wolfish, the kind of smile that could cut or comfort depending on how he meant it. He tipped the cigarette into a tray, then caught her chin in his hand and kissed her. First slow, then deeper, tugging her closer until she was perched half on his lap. His hands roamed her sides, her hips, her back, but never pushed too far. She thought it was patience. He knew it was restraint.

Her breath caught when he trailed kisses down the slope of her neck, his stubble rough against her skin. “Jax…”

“Mhm?” His voice was gravel, lips brushing the hollow of her collarbone.

“You… you really like me, right? I’m not just…” Her words trailed, fragile, uncertain.

“Not just what?” he asked, pulling back just enough to study her face.

“Something to pass the time.”

The words hit heavier than she knew. Jax went still, cigarette smoke curling around him as he searched her wide eyes. Blue Bell was twenty-four, but her guarded life—her sheltered days under Randy’s watch, Dougie’s constant shadow—left her untouched by the kind of ruin that had shaped him. She was naïve. Pure. The opposite of the chaos he swam in daily.

Instead of answering, he kissed her again, slow and certain, and she melted against him, convincing herself that was proof enough.

The sharp buzz of his phone cut through the moment. Jax stiffened, glancing at the cracked screen. His smirk faded, jaw tightening as reality clawed its way back in.

“Club?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. Gotta handle somethin’.” He eased her off his lap, careful, then grabbed his kutte from the back of the chair.

Blue Bell hugged herself, lips downturned. “You’re always runnin’ off lately. You don’t even tell me why.”

He pulled on his helmet, voice clipped with the lie. “Club business, darlin’. That’s all.”

The bike roared to life outside, shaking the walls. The sound faded into the night, leaving her alone in the dim backroom, staring at the grease-stained floorboards, wondering what part of him she still wasn’t allowed to touch.

Hours later, the buzz of cicadas filled the summer air as Blue Bell lay restless in bed. She peeked through the curtain when she heard Uncle Randy’s old truck grumble up the drive. He and Dougie climbed out, their voices low. Together they hefted something heavy out of the flatbed, wrapped in black plastic that sagged with its own weight. The porch light caught on sweat running down Randy’s temple, Dougie’s face pale as he dragged the bundle toward the shed.

Her stomach twisted. She told herself not to ask. She always told herself that.

Jax sat in the hospital, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the world sterile and suffocating. Abel’s tiny body lay inside the incubator, machines beeping steadily, plastic tubes snaking into his fragile skin. Wendy was unconscious in the next room, her arms mapped with fresh track marks, the chemical stink of detox clinging to her.

Gemma stood at Jax’s side, hand tight on his shoulder, her face set like stone. Her eyes didn’t waver from the glass.

“This boy’s all that matters now,” she whispered, voice steady, dangerous in its conviction.

Jax’s phone buzzed again, the vibration loud in the quiet room. He glanced down at the screen. A text from Blue Bell lit up the display: You okay? I miss you.

you could barely recognize your own voice as his hand ghosted over the soft skin of your thigh.

“of course,” you giggled breathlessly at the response.

“and what is that?” you asked, pulling away from the handsome man.

“it’s me ma,” you rolled your pretty eyes and pushed his shoulder softly.

you let your eyes trail over him before you bit your lip. he sat there like he expected you to cave in. pink tongue darting out of his mouth to run over his full lips.

“you are so ridiculous,” you said with a shake of your head.

“i’m just being honest,” he said smiling, the tip of his fingers brushed your inner thigh.

you two weren't even supposed to get here. your "hang out" had just been ony complaining to you about your recent hiatus. you hadn't meant to disappear on him, but you really liked this guy and wanted it to work. and that meant ridding yourself of all distractions.

but, as always, ony was different. he wanted you and was so adamant and shameless about it. and he was always there. whenever you needed him, wherever you were, whatever the case, he was there. he hung around your friends, he took you places, he bought you things. but, he was perfectly fine with being friends. he started off your situation making sure you knew that he was "not a relationship typa nigga." to his surprise, you had been so cool about it.

yet, all that cool shit was over with today. earlier he found himself with a sour attitude, speeding to pick you up once you finally responded to a text he sent you two weeks ago.

you had been let him know you wouldn't be around him as much cause you were working on building something serious with this guy from your econ class. the text was you doubling down on your decision, letting him know you wouldn't need him to do anything for you for a minute. all that went out the window when he said he was on his was over.

“how do you even know what i need, hm mr. honest?” you asked and he shook his head.

“because baby, i've talked to you and ya lil friends. i know what you had. i know what you need. i’m that. it’s that simple,” you turned your head towards the window as you took in his words.

your face felt hot and heat started to stir in your stomach. you flipped your freshly pressed hair over your shoulder, trying to find anything to distract you from the growing tension.

“that simple huh?” you murmured, mocking him as you picked at the charms on your nails.

the hand on your thigh felt hot now, thick fingers pressing into the skin of your leg. “why you not looking at me ma?”

“I don’t know, my nails are pretty cute,” you mumbled and his hand grabbed your jaw.

you pouted slightly as you were pulled back to his face. his chocolate brown orbs traced over you slowly as he studied your face.

“i don’t like when you don’t look at me,” he said and your eyes dropped to his mouth.

“i can’t always look at you,” you sassed and his grip tightened.

“well isn’t that obvious, sassy? i mean when i’m talking to you,” he said, tilting your head up to look into your eyes.

“well make that clear then,” the ghost of a smile sat on your lips as you spoke. it threatened to reappear as you watched him clench his jaw.

“watch ya mouth,” he said and you smiled, the fat of your cheeks bunching in his hand.

“or what?” you asked quietly, eyes unwavering from his gaze.

“or i’m gon’ fuck it,” he responded lowly and your smile faltered.

“that shut you up huh?” he asked and you shook your head.

“i been through it before, it’s nothing threatening baby,” you teased as he brought you closer to him.

“alright bet,” his lips were on yours as soon as his words ended.

his tongue knocked into yours, wet and moving feverishly to explore your pretty mouth. you moaned against his lips, nibbling on his bottom lip as you pulled it into your mouth. you giggled into this kiss as his hand ran down your side. you pulled away from him, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to catch your breath.

the reasonable part of you felt terrible. you were awful. throwing away all that time spent with poor jay, or jean, or what was his name again?

“ony i shouldn’t-" you started and he laughed.

"you just did," you glared at his statement as he rubbed his face.

"cut the bullshit mama, you know you mine," he said and it was you who laughed this time.

"last time i checked, we was just friends that fucked a little," you said and he nodded.

"you right,"

"so now that i want something real with someone else, i'm yours? you're funny nigga," you rolled your eyes, scoffing at his audacity.

"don't forget what the fuck we got just cause that nigga been gassin' your head up. you been mine since the first time i fucked you."

the statement hung in the air. you both knew it was the truth. no matter how much you tried to lie to yourself, you knew ony would be the one person who clouded your mind.

"fuck you," the words came out softer than you had intended them to.

he pulled you into his lap as you pouted. his lip jutted out mockingly, one hand reaching to cup your jaw.

"you wanna fuck me mama?" he asked and you huffed.

"ony-" your words were cut short as he pulled you into another kiss.

you moaned as his hand settled on your throat, pulling you closer to him. your lips parted, his tongue finding yours again as the two of you fell against his bed. he rolled the two of you over, hips pushing into yours as he laid you against the bed.

he stood up and pulled his shirt from his body before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips again. his hands grabbed onto your thighs, hiking your legs on his hips.

"you mine baby, you gone let me have you?" he asked, voice soft despite his heavy touch.

you were getting dizzy. he was too much.

"let me have you baby," he kissed at your jaw softly.

"please," the word sounded foreign coming from his mouth.

"i'm yours baby,"

it was like your words activated something in him. he pulled the shorts off of your body, dropping to his knees in front of you. you took a deep breath, watching as he toyed with the scrap of fabric covering you.

"coming over to chill my ass," he murmured, hands pushing the back of your thighs.

"i was asshole," you shot back at him.

his fingers slapped against your clothed cunt making you jump. "watch that mouth."

“oou fuck,” your back arched as his tongue went flat against your panties.

your hands found his head, nails scratching at his waves as he pulled the soaked cotton from your center. he let out a grunt as he eyed your pussy.

"pretty ass pussy," his voice cut through the thick air.

he pulled your lips apart and his tongue rolled around your clit like that was his job. his lips closing around the button in a harsh suck. you grabbed at the sheets, moaning as he shook his head and tongue against you. he lapped at you like he didn't wanna miss a drop, moaning at the taste of you.

“please, fuck. want more, please?” you asked breathlessly as his tongue ran up and down your lips.

“you want more?” he asked, pulling your ass to the edge of the bed.

you giggled at the quick movement, nodding as he opened your thighs again.

“yes please,” he pulled one leg over his shoulder, thick tongue diving into you once more.

“shit,” you dragged out the word as his tongue flicked back and forth inside of you.

“you so sweet baby,” he smacked against your pussy, two fingers slipping into your hole.

the noise you let out was guttural and shameless as he curled his fingers inside of you. loud and wet sounds filled the air as he french kissed your cunt. his nose nudged your clit as his tongue slipped around your entrance. your legs went to close, stopping around his broad shoulders.

“this motherfucker dangerous,” his fingers came down against your pussy in a nasty splat.

he swirled them around your clit, standing over you.

“you pretty as shit,” he rasped out before claiming your lips in a bruising kiss.

“mm, thank you,” your words were soft between the pecks he gave you.

“uh huh, prettiest girl i’ve ever fucking seen,” he said as he stepped back from between your legs.

he pulled his sweats down, your back arching as you watched his dick hit his stomach.

“you want it?” he spit in his hand, palm slipping over his angry, thick tip as he gripped himself.

“i wanna give it to you mama,” you nodded softly as you let your legs fall open.

“i want it papa,” you murmured, your hand trailing down your stomach and between your legs.

“aht,” you stopped yourself before you got in any more trouble.

you watched as he stroked himself twice, leaned forward, and spit on your pussy. he smirked before rubbing it in.

“you're gross,” you whined, hiding your face in your hands while he laughed.

“what that make you?” he asked as he brushed your entrance.

“please put it in ony,” you pouted slightly, pretty lips on display as you spread yourself.

“come here baby.”

both of you gasped as he eased himself into you. your body shook slightly, toes curling at the way he slipped up against your warm walls.

"fuck," you breathed out, throwing your head back against the bed.

he growled pulling his hips back, both of you watching as he pulled out to leave just the tip in. he pushed back in, thick and heavy inside of you.

"ony,"

"i know baby," his hands found yours as he pressed against you.

you couldn't believe you let so much time go by without him. your legs fell limp as he began to find a familiar rhythm between you two. your eyes danced across his face, bliss in his eyes and a smirk on his face as he watched you. his fingers unraveled from yours, eyebrows furrowing as his hand braced itself on your neck.

"ony-"

your voice came out like a warning. you watched as he straightened up, wrapping a strong arm around your legs and holding them against his chest.

“uh uh, ain’t no running now,” the smile on his face felt like nothing but pure evil as he fed you deep, harsh strokes.

each stroke pushing his pretty tip against your special spot. and he knew what he was doing. of course he did, he was ony. your ony. the man that came to understand your body more than anyone else did.

he was fucking you differently. like he had something to prove to you, to him, to everyone. he was feral, gripping on to you like you were an anchor. he bucked into you like this was his last time fucking you ever.

“‘s too much,” you whined, tears falling against your cheeks.

“you asked for it right?”

“right?” the question was accompanied by a harsh thrust.

“yes,” you gasped and he chuckled.

“so stop allat fucking running and take it ma,” he said, smiling as his hips kicked up their pace.

"m'sorry papa," your head fell back, arms wrapping around his neck to ground you as he fucked you deeper.

“sensitive,” you whined and he licked his teeth.

“yeah? it’s too much?” he mocked your words from earlier, hips slowing down.

“too-too fast right now,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you shuttered.

“just a little slower please?” you asked, watching as his face softened.

“yeah baby, i’ve got you,” he said as his hips moved in a slow wave.

you couldn’t help but let out a broken moan, eyes closing in bliss at the sweet newfound pace. you cried out as he pressed against your spot repeatedly. your hips moved up against his in a pathetic attempt at fucking him back. he smirked at your movements, hands grabbing your hips and helping you.

“fuck i’m cumming, i’m cumming, i’m cumming,” you squealed before a gasp silenced you.

your mouth dropped in pleasure, eyes rolling back as his pace never wavered. heat filled your body and your toes curled. your nails dug into your palm as you came. your eyes fluttered open as you peered down your body.

he looked so good fucking you. his chest and muscles sheen with sweat, the shine making the ink that covered him pop off of his skin. his pretty brow furrowed as he focused on getting you to come again. you were his. you bit your lip at the thought as your stomach pulled tight again.

“wait, wait,” your voice was frantic as your hands slid to his chest.

“ain’t no fucking wait girl,” you whimpered at the depth of his voice.

you pushed against his pecs as you felt a shiver run through you.

“i’m, you, i’m gonna-” you stuttered as you felt pleasure wash over you again.

you watched as a small stream of release hit the lower bit of his abdomen. you giggled, drunk off the pleasure, and too happy to currently care about the slight embarrassment of your release.

“shit mama hollon, I'm-” a moan swallowed ony’s words as he pulled out of you.

“cumming,” the moaned startled you both as ony’s release painted your inner thighs.

you let out a soft oh, fingers falling to where it sat. you swiped your fingers through it, lifting them to your lips and moaning as he filled your tastebuds.

your body was jello. complete and utter putty under his hands. you hadn’t even registered him flipping you onto your side, much less him throwing your leg over the other.

you looked up at him, eyes wide as he spread you open once more. he ran his tip up against your lips, smiling at the way you shuddered when it caught your clit. he pressed forward, a tired gasp falling from your lips as he slid back in. your hands reached for the bedsheets, cheeks wet with tears as your nails dug into the soft cotton.

his hips were lazy, swinging gently into a soft grind against you. his hand dragged up your leg and against your ass. you let out a whimper as his palm spread against one of your ass cheeks. you bit your lip as he gripped the supple flesh, pulling it apart from the other. he mirrored your expression as he looked to where the two of you were connected. your flesh was wet from your previous orgasms, skin glistening as it shook gently with every thrust he gave.

“you’re fucking me so good,” you breathed out, moans loud as his fingers moved against your clit.

he leaned down on his forearm, hard chest brushing against your pert nipples as his fingers quickened.

“i know, baby. you’re taking it so good,” he said against your lips.

“i can feel it in my stomach,” you whined against his plush lips and he licked into your mouth.

you sucked on his tongue and moaned at the taste, pulling back slightly to kiss him properly again. a deep sound rumbled in his chest as you kissed him hungrily. your tongue flicked against his, sliding over it before you pulled away. you pecked his lips and licked your own.

“i’m in your stomach huh?” he asked, his voice laced with need.

“mhm,” you hummed as he adjusted himself on the bed.

you pouted as he removed his fingers. the complaint on the tip of your tongue died as he rose onto his knees. his hand lifted from beside your head and went to your hip, the other did the same. he held your hips up as he fed you slow strokes. your mouth fell open, silent moans escaping as you felt him plunge into you and press against that spongey spot.

his hand rose to your face, fingers gripping your jaw. your eyes met his, a grin covering his face as he stared at you. the two of you held eye contact as he leaned over you. his eyes flicker to your mouth, glued to the blush of your bruised lips.

“stick ya tongue out,” you followed the command immediately, a chuckle falling from his lips as he realized just how dumb you had gotten.

spit hit the center of your tongue, warm and wet as you eagerly swallowed it up. you moaned lewdly before sticking your tongue out to show him. he smirked at you, patting your face before his hand slipped down your chest.

your eyes closed as he cupped your breast and thumbed your nipple. his hand went further down your torso, stopping at your lower abdomen.

“I’m right here huh baby?” he asked, palm pressing into his tip through your stomach.

a moan flew from your lips, a scream brewing in your chest as he pressed harder. your eyes shot open, legs stiffening as you felt yourself cum again.

you gasped for air. everything was muffled and blurry now. your body was so light and yet so, so heavy. your limbs ached. you were so overstimulated you thought you would lose your mind.

“no more,” you cried, weakly slapping at his chest.

“one more,” he corrected, kissing your cheek as his hips moved in a shallow thrust.

“no more,” you whined, pouting as he grabbed your hands.

he pressed kisses to them, staring into your eyes and his hips never lost their soft pace.

“wanna see your pretty ass do it again,” his voice was as soft as snow and you smiled sleepily.

you squeezed around him, pussy leaking as he stroked you just right.

“want you to do it first, o,” you whispered, arms limp in his grip as he kissed around your hands.

“fuck,” he grunted as his hips faltered.

“where baby?” the question had hints of desperation.

you watched as his arms trembled slightly and smiled. “inside.”

“nasty ass girl. you want my cum inside you huh?” he asked, voice hoarse as his hips sped up.

“please ony, please cum inside me baby,” you begged and he moaned.

his hips slammed against yours twice and he gave a slow grind, making you lose your breath. you never caught it as you felt spurts of him inside you, pressing against your walls and spilling out. you scratched his chest as your own release streamed out of you, covering his torso and thighs.

the two of you sat there catching your breath for a while. a giggle burst from your lips as he fell onto your chest. he rolled off of you, brushing your hair from your face before staring at you.

"so you want a proper proposal or you know you my girl for real now?" he asked and you gasped.

you reached for a pillow, throwing it at his face. "onyankopon!"

"chill, chill, i'm ordering the flowers now ma damn,"

Five months wasn't very long. And anyway, it wasn't like you exchanged anything serious or sappy. It was cleaner this way. Cutting it off before he could cheat, while all your bills were still separate and you were both living on your own. Clearing your conscious of him. He could go fuck the waitress in the parking lot for all you cared.

It definitely wouldn't hurt at all. And you certainly wouldn't go back to curl up in your bed and cry.

(You would.)

Nanami dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, blinking long and slow before slowly placing it down and folding his hands across the table.

"No," he repeated.

Your lips had already parted, ready to say you were glad he could be amicable about it before you paused and processed what he actually said. "I'm sorry, no?"

"I don't think we should break up," he casually said, flagging the waitress over with a veiny hand up in the air. All the tendons and muscles twitching as he effortlessly caught her attention. His jaw was locked, holding his tongue until she scampered over. "I need the check."

"Is it separate?" She asked, all faux innocence and long lashes.

You started to say yes, figuring fifteen bucks for lunch would be worth not fighting with him. You could call a cab or a friend to give you a ride back home. But he glared - shot a cold enough look that she phsycially recoiled.

"Together," he curtly corrected her. She took out the check from her book, sliding it too close, pretty nails clicking against the table as she recovered her composure.

"What a good friend you are," she purred, and Nanami scowled.

"Boyfriend," he clarified, and you were tempted to say not anymore. To let her know he could be all hers.

She frowned. Turning on her heels and walking away as he took his wallet out of his pockets to take out enough cash to cover the bill and toss it on top.

You wondered what kind of tip he left.

"I'm just going to call someone to get me," you muttered, hooking your purse over your shoulder and starting to stand.

You didn't make it four steps before he was following, his hand on the small of your back following you towards the double doors. The pressure of his palm was supposed to be reassuring, but you wanted to slip away. Shrug off his affection and shove it towards someone who wouldn't be bothered by every smile he received.

"I don't want to fuck the waitress," he murmured under his breath once you were past the threshold and out on the sidewalk.

"So who do you want to fuck?" You snapped at him. You couldn't help it. A list of names had already popped up in your head. The sales associate whose hands lingered on his shoulder? The girl at his gym who asked if he'd be her personal trainer? His coworker who always ended her messages to him with Xs and Os?

"You," he huffed.

It wasn't his fault he was so fucking attractive.

But it wasn't yours that you were uncomfortable fighting a million other women (and sometimes men) for an ounce of his affection.

"Sure," you dryly said.

You kept your head forward, walking just ahead of him and starting to pull your phone out of your purse before you bumped into someone and nearly dropped both.

Nanami caught them, the weight of his hand disappearing on your back just for a new set of fingers to grab your forearm and steady you.

"Sorry about that," a warm voice apologized, and you recognized it. You'd seen enough videos that Nanami had been tagged in to know who it was, glancing up at one of his coworkers. Gojo. You half-wished you met him first. He was the kind of pretty boy that'd buy you breakfast the morning after and block your number two days later. None of the messy emotional entanglement Nanami came with. "You must be Nanamin's girlfriend."

"Actually, we just-"

"She is," Nanami interrupted, sliding your purse up on his elbow over his rolled-up sleeves and putting his arm around your waist.

You grinded your molars, throwing an annoyed look over at the blond man by your side, the spot he occupied that you shouldn't have let him.

That he, for some fucking reason, wouldn't leave.

"I heard a lot about you, sweetheart," Gojo purred, and your pulse spiked.

"Bad things?"

He laughed, thinking you were joking, oblivious to just how serious you were. You frowned at him, eyes narrowed as you tried to assess if that was a yes or a no.

"He didn't mention how hot you were," he chuckled, whistling and giving you a long look over.

"Shut up, Gojo," Nanami gritted his teeth. "My girlfriend and I were just leaving."

"What? It's not like I asked for her number," Gojo defensively groaned, but then he winked at you not at all discreetly and Nanami was pulling you away before you could ask for his.

"So I'm not hot?" You grumbled under your breath.

"I never said that. I just don't discuss my private life with him," Nanami brusquely replied, clearly bristling. From you breaking up with him? Or from someone else showing the slightest interest in you?

You laughed. It slipped out. A guy you dated a couple years ago had said almost the same thing. That he didn't tell his friends about you because he didn't want your relationship to be public.

That secrets made everything more special.

You were sick of it. Sick of feeling that you had no right to stand next to him or that he'd stuck himself to a sinking ship.

"You think he's still back there? Maybe I could ask him for a ride," you dryly teased him, about to glance over your shoulder to check before he made a disgusted sound.

"Don't make me hit him."

He made it to his car, opening up the passenger side door like he was waiting for you to get in.

"Nanami," you started, but he held up his other hand to stop you from saying his last name like that.

"I'm not letting you break up with me just because a waitress can't respect boundaries," he spoke firmly, enunciating each word clearly like it would change anything.

"It's not just that," you muttered, glancing down the busy street. People were still glancing at him. They always did.

"Let's talk about it at home," he requested, his voice softening, just enough to make you melt, to second-guess your resolve when he reached out and placed a warm hand over your own.

"Yours or mine?" You begrudgingly asked, hating yourself for leaning in when he bent down to press a kiss on your forehead.

Loathing the fact that fifteen minutes later, you were awkwardly standing a foot away from him on the elevator ride up to his apartment. Five minutes after that, he was hanging up your purse for you, setting your heels neatly on his shoe rack and leaving a casual peck on your shoulder as he stood back up.

"I'm not leaving you," he murmured, brushing his fingers over the spot his lips had just been. "So stop trying to leave me."

"You say that but-"

"I'm not like the boys you've been with before," he retorted. You were tempted to scoff. Any asshole could say that. It didn't make it true.

He couldn't predict the future any more than you could. How could he say he wouldn't cheat?

You'd confided in him once. Wished you hadn't the next morning. But the moment had been comfy you guessed, sleepy and cozy in his sheets, your head resting on his warm chest and your bare bodies connected, still damp with slick and sweat as you came back down.

Traced your fingers over his muscles and murmured a thank you that hung in the air. He asked. He always did - pressed the questions you avoided. You were just tired enough to tell him about the disaster you called a love life. All the boys who broke your heart and buried themselves in other women the second you let your shields down.

That was why you couldn't stay. He'd seen too much of you. If he was the one you caught with his cock out, you didn't think there would be enough super glue to piece your shattered heart back together.

You didn't say anything, staring at the ground like it'd speak for you.

Nanami tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. They were warm. Heavy-lidded and hazel, seeing through you without you having to state the obvious.

You were scared.

"Suppose you're gonna make me show you," he murmured.

His bedroom was only a handful of steps away after all.

But he made it feel like a mile, dragging out every kiss he delivered to your lips. He still tasted like tea. Comforting and clean, washing away all the words you said with his tongue past your teeth.

Murmuring mine between breaths on the outside of your mouth, as if kissing you was the only thing that mattered.

His hands worked fast, groping and squeezing and tracing your outline as if you were worthy of his worship. Twisting you around so he could slip off your dress, discarding your bra before you could suck in a breath at the chill of his air conditioning. His sturdy fingers sank into your soft tits, squeezing as his mouth latched onto your throat, teeth nipping at your skin so hard you wondered if he'd leave little indents there. Cock pressed against your back, throbbing and ready to watch you unravel.

He pushed your face down against the cool blankets. A hand on the back of your neck. Another on your ass, rubbing it softly before bringing down a rough smack!

"Think you're not mine? That this isn't all I need?" He haughtily asked, letting out a sharp exhale before his hand came back down for another spank.

You gasped, already panting as he flipped you around to the front. Missionary or a mating press, you supposed, whatever would satisfy the intimacy he was searching for in you.

Maybe if he met you a few years ago - maybe if you weren't the kind of pessimist who pouted at every compliment and convinced yourself it was all pretend.

He only slowed down to peel off your panties, spreading your thighs apart just to see how damp you were for him.

"Pretty girl," he muttered. "All this for me."

Nanami hummed, approving your small nod of agreement. He didn't hurry to take off his own clothes, enjoying you splayed out and staring while he stripped. Carefully laying out his clothes on the armchair by his bookshelf, dropping his belt with a clink on top before he was on top again.

His fingers wrapped around your throat while his other hand guided his cock against your entrance.

His cock drove in fast and deep, the lewd squelch of him bottoming out in one harsh thrust, claiming you as his in case your body had forgotten it too. You could feel every ridge, no condom to separate you from him, to offer any kind of protection or barrier between you. Just raw need.

Nanami's grip on your throat got tighter, squeezing just enough to make your head fuzzy, the heat in your stomach turn from a flickering flame into a fire.

Hungry kisses and bruising hickies, muscles trembling as your thighs wrapped around his sturdy waist. Nails scratching down his shoulder blades, digging into his skin to leave scratches. But you were still thinking of that stupid waitress with her perfect manicure, imagining what kind of marks she would've left down his back.

"No," he scoffed into your mouth, picking up on some little tell, maybe your nose scrunching or some frown line, interrupting your spiraling. "Stop thinking."

"H-How do you know-"

"I know you," he grunted, grinding against that soft little spongy spot in the back that he made you squirm and shift under his weight. "And I love you anyway."

No. He didn't. There was no-

His hips slammed back down into you hard enough to cut off your protest.

Was this love?

You used to think you knew what the word meant. But you were always wrong.

"Look at me," he murmured, fingers squeezing as you dragged your eyes from the firm clench of his jaw up to his intense stare. It burned with promises you were scared he'd break and even more terrified he'd keep.

"Say you don't mean it," you swallowed hard, lashes fluttering as his free thumb slipped between your bodies to roll over your clit.

He was drawing letters there. Ones you felt in your heart and on your skin.

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.

"You know I do."

The worst part was you did.

He left a kiss on the corner of your lips, like you could feel anything except for the pressure building in your core and his cock between your thighs.

Nanami fucked you faster. Not sloppy, never sloppy. But his typical restraint had disappeared, drowning in you the way you were drowning in him. Clenching around the thick ridges and throbbing veins of his cock with each swipe of his finger over your swollen bud, practically feeling him in your guts with each thrust.

"Come on, you can let go," he murmured, soft when his hips were so fucking hard against your skin. Quiet where the filthy sounds of his cock making a mess in your cunt were loud.

His thumb rubbed back over your clit, and you were coming undone, moaning his name while he reassured you through it. You clung to his shoulders, clinging to him even though you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't this time.

But the truth was you wanted him just as bad as everyone else.

He finished inside you with a low grunt, the kind that reverberated through your body and burned its way into your brain. Cum leaking it's way down even with his cock plugging you up.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he groaned, half-collapsing on top of you with a tired sigh.

"You like it," you dreamily exhaled back, another accusation instead of an apology.

He chuckled, the tension finally dropping from his shoulders.

Chest squishing your cheek while you tried to wiggle away, but his hands moved to catch your wrists, holding them firm above your head. Like he was just a really heavy weighted blanket soothing your stress away.

"Ken," You whined, breathless as he grunted, cock still twitching inside you.

"Still want to break up with me, baby?" Baby used to sound condescending when it came from him. But it was kind of comforting now, as if it really did carry his adoration in two simple syllables.

You hesitated, pouting as you shelved the idea.

"No," you begrudgingly admitted.

He exhaled, relieved or reassured. He released you, shifting so you were looking up in his eyes. And maybe there was just the slightest bit of love there you could detect.

"Promise you don't want to fuck Gojo either?"

Your hips sink down slowly, closing in on his face until your horny pussy settles warm and dripping against his lips. A soft sigh of content slips from your parted lips as you feel him. His mouth is warm. His breath catches slightly and you smile sleepily, your hazy mind not noticing how stiff his whole body goes beneath you.

Megumi knows it’s you. There’s no one else it could be—no one else with a pussy lives here. The second you step into the room, the second he catches a glimpse of the soft curve of your thighs, the way your voice hums so softly through the quiet as you make your way to the couch—he knows. And he should’ve said something. Should’ve stopped you.

But what he didn’t expect was for you to casually tug your panties to the side and settle yourself right on his face without saying a single thing.

But he can’t. His mouth is already full of the intoxicating scent of your sweet pussy, the press of your swollen folds slicked up against his lips.

Your asshole flutters right in front of his nose as you shift forward, your hips beginning to glide over his mouth in slow, stuttering motions—like you’re already impatient he hasn’t started anything yet. Like you’re used to being worshipped in this way without having to ask. And maybe you were—Megumi wouldn’t question it. His dad always made sure you were a happy and content girl, after all.

His hands clench into fists at his sides. He tries not to move. He tries to hold his breath. But then he hears your whining little plea, “C’mon baby… lick me already, please…”

It’s instinct. Need. Hunger. He doesn’t mean to do it—his tongue just pushes out, tentative at first, barely flicking over your slit. You immediately moan and your head tilts back. High and soft and needy, so sweet he aches from it. Your hips rock forward, rubbing your clit over his mouth and that’s all it takes to egg him on. He licks you again. Longer this time. He presses the flat of his tongue right against your folds and drags it slowly upwards until your plushy thighs tense around his head.

His cock throbs beneath his sweats, hard and aching, and shame claws at the edge of his mind but it doesn’t matter. Not when you grind down again, sighing like you always do, chasing more of what you think is his father’s tongue.

You start to move more deliberately. Slow little humps against his mouth, back-and-forth glides of your cunt that smear slick across his lips and nose. Your panties are still tugged to the side, your skin warm and flushed, the curve of your ass so full and soft in his hands that he doesn’t even realize he’s gripping you.

Your fingers tangle in the couch cushions as your moans grow breathier and needier, your hips rolling with that sleepy rhythm you get when you’re right on the edge. “There you goooo,” you whispered with a hum, voice soft and dazed. “Just like that, daddy…” Megumi flinches at the name, the sound of it dragging him straight back to those sleepless nights—nights spent staring at the ceiling while your moans bled through the thin walls, breathy and sweet as you cried out that name to his father. His eyes squeeze shut, jaw tight, trying to shake the memory and focus on his very first pussy.

He wants to disappear. He wants to die. But he also wants to keep licking you until you cum on his tongue.

He eats you like he’s been waiting his whole life for it. His tongue dips into your leaking entrance, then back up to flick your clit. His mouth is open, wet, messy, and greedy, sucking softly at the parts of you that pulse and twitch the most. You don’t even know what you’re grinding on anymore—you’re too far gone, too needy, too clouded to care. His jaw aches. His face is soaked. His cock is straining so hard it’s painful. And when your thighs start to tremble, when your breath starts to hitch, when you whimper a soft, “I’m gonna cum!”—he forgets everything.

That’s when the door opens.

A shadow falls across the room. Megumi’s eyes go wide and his heart skips a beat.

You don’t even turn your head.

“…The fuck is going on in here?”

Toji’s voice is rough and dangerous. The tone makes it clear that he wasn’t in a good mood to begin with.

Your hips freeze then your whole body stiffens. And slowly—so slowly—you look down to see a pair of glassy purple eyes staring right back at you. Megumi’s mouth is still in your pussy. Still wet and frozen.

Your face drains of color.

You scramble back, panties snapping into place, eyes full of horror as the realization hits you like a truck.

“…You’re not Toji”.

Megumi doesn’t move during the confrontation. He can’t. He still tastes you on his tongue.

His entire body is locked, his face still sticky with your arousal, and his lips are parted like he might say something—anything but nothing comes out. Just shallow, panicked breaths as his throat bobs, frozen beneath the weight of what he’s done.

You’re curled in on yourself now, shaking on your feet. You look so small and terrified. Your hand clutches the hem of Toji’s shirt like it’s armor, like it could possibly hide what just happened, but your thighs are still glistening, twitching slightly from overstimulation. And Toji hasn’t taken a step. He just stands there in the doorway, keys still in his hand, jaw clenched so tightly it ticks.

The silence lasts a beat too long.

And then—

“Out,” Toji mutters—quietly and flat, no room for argument. It’s not a suggestion. It’s aimed straight at his son.

Megumi’s mouth opens, but no sound comes. He’s still breathless, still hard, still—

“I said get the fuck out”.

That time it’s louder, sharper and Final. Megumi finally scrambles off the couch, his head bowing down in embarrassment, avoiding both of your eyes. The second he stands, his sweats do nothing to hide how hard he is, and you flinch when you see the huge tent, one hand flying up to cover your mouth like it’ll undo the last ten minutes.

Toji watches it all with a look that doesn’t waver. Doesn’t blink. Just tracks Megumi’s every move as he silently walks past him like a ghost. Like a criminal. His footsteps vanish down the hall, and then his bedroom door shuts.

You don’t know what to say. Your lips tremble but your voice won’t work. Your heart is hammering. You can still feel Megumi’s mouth on you. You still taste sleep in the back of your throat, and you still don’t fully understand what you’ve done.

Toji stalks towards you like a predator slowly closing in on its prey. The weight of his heavy boots echoes across the floor. Your eyes dart up to him, swimming with fear—maybe even shame but he doesn’t stop.

He pauses right in front of you. His massive towering frame casts a shadow as he stares down. You look wrecked—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips damp. There’s a glint of your arousal still glistening at the edge of your thigh and his eyes catch on it, lingering.

“That…” he grits out, voice rough like gravel. “That’s what you look like when you think it’s me?”

His gaze doesn’t waver, it’s locked on your ruined expression like he’s daring you to answer.

You nod—numb, frightened, and barely breathing. But you can’t lie. Not to him. Not when the truth is still slick between your thighs.

He laughs. Just once with absolutely no humor in it.

“I leave for an hour… and you plant your soaked little pussy all over my kid’s mouth like it’s a goddamn habit?” he mutters, more to himself than to you. Then he slowly leans down to your height like an animal stalking prey and his fingers curl around your jaw. Not gentle, but not cruel either. Just firm enough that you can’t look away.

“Tell me the truth, baby,” he muttered terrifyingly calm. “You knew it wasn’t me the second he didn’t touch you back, didn’t you?”. His grip tightens just a little, coaxing the confession from your trembling lips.

You shake your head weakly and desperately—but his grip tightens enough to still you, thumb pressing against your cheek and he squishes it harder so your lips slightly pucker.

“You knew,” he repeats like he’s already decided. “You just didn’t wanna stop. Not with how sweet his mouth was. Right?”

Your breath hitches.

“You gonna cum for anyone who lets you sit on their face now? Or just anyone with my last name?”

Your face crumples like you might cry but you don’t. You just stare at him like you’ve finally woken up from whatever haze had you crawling onto the wrong face.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No baby. You did—you just didn’t care”.

And when he finally lets go of your jaw, you sag in place like all the heat has been drained from your bones but he’s not done.

He kneels in front of you.

His eyes stay locked on yours as his hand moves between your thighs, fingers dragging your panties to the side—again. You gasp, instinctively trying to close your legs, but he stops you with a harsh look.

“Toji—”

“Don’t,” he snaps harshly. “You didn’t want him to stop. You’re not stopping me either”.

Two fingers slide through the slick that Megumi’s tongue left behind. He hums, almost thoughtfully. “Still soaked,” he murmurs. “Cunt’s still throbbing. You’re so fucking messy it’s like you’re begging me to clean up after him”.

His thumb presses right against your clit and you jerk, your breath catching into a sob.

“You better pray I don’t make you finish right here,” he mutters, voice low and threatening but laced with certainty, like that’s exactly what he intends. “Loudly too. Let him hear what it sounds like when the real man does it properly”.

And you don’t know what’s worse: the guilt churning in your stomach…

He hums and slides his tongue against yours, pulling back with a lewd pop, “I can’t help myself around you, you know that?” he rasps against your neck, licking across your skin, and you tremble, your legs crossing over his waist in an attempt to bring him closer.

“Good. I can’t either.” you confess softly, your fingers still running through his black locks.

He groans, pressing another slow kiss on your lips, hand untying your bikini from your neck and pulling the cups down to reveal your pretty tits.

He pulls back to gaze down at your chest, and you expect his eyes to darken, but Bruce looks at your chest and barks out a laugh.

You still, jaw dropping “Excuse you-”

“I’m sorry baby, there’s some seaweed on you. Here let me-” 

You look down, and sure enough, your tits are covered in sand, with small pieces of seaweed clinging to your skin. You bury your face in your hands and groan. “Oh my God. How does it get everywhere?” you hear Bruce laugh as you feel him slowly peel the pieces of seaweed off you before flicking them off to the side.

You peek between your fingers to look at him. He’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the sides in the way you love, but he’s still fully concentrated on the task at hand. Biting back a lovesick smile, you wiggle your hips a bit, “And my bottoms are still on. Wanna bet on what else I'm going to find down there once I get in the shower?”

“Probably my cum dripping down your thighs.” Bruce deadpans, and your eyes widen.

He had such a way with words.

“Don’t look at me like that. You said it like I’m going to let you go anywhere before fucking you at least once.”

“Bruce!” you laugh, “I’m all salty and gross. I have sand everywhere and apparently- I’m growing a fucking kelp forest on my tits so-” you dust your chest with your hands, palms feeling prickly from the sand on your skin, and it flies around you, falling on clean sheets. You blink up at Bruce, half expecting him to be mad about the mess, but he’s too entranced by the soft bounce of your tits to care.

He licks his lips and shrugs, “Already told you,” he bends down to press his mouth over your nipple, and you gasp, arching your back and digging your nails in his arms. “Salty’s good.” he mumbles, giving you a wink before diving on to your other nipple.

You gasp, pulling at his hair softly, but you still find enough snark in you to mess with him some more, “So is that your final answer?”

He looks up at you, quirking an eyebrow in question, nipple still in his mouth.

“The bet.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, yet his lips tug up, “It is. Actually, I'm already sure that I'll win it.”

You scoff, smiling down at him, “Oh, really. How sure?”

Bruce pulls away from your chest with a lewd pop, and his eyes trace over your features, noting the glazed look in your eyes, the way you bite your lip right then, just from him looking at you.

He tongues at his cheek and grins, “Pretty sure.”

With that, he resumes pressing kisses all over your chest, moving down to your belly, “You’re so fucking beautiful, even with sand all over you. I’ve been dying to fuck you ever since we stepped foot outside this hotel room this morning, you know that? With that flimsy little swimsuit, how could I not?”

“Fuck.” you whimper, your eyes rolling back when he thumbs at your clit over your bikini bottoms, “Is that why you were scowling at me at the beach? Did you want to fuck me then too, baby?”

He groans, nodding along, “So much.” he plants a slow kiss on your lips before pulling back and sitting back on his heels. His eyes were half-lidded, as he stared at the outline of your pussy over your bikini. He kept teasing your clit with his thumb, rubbing up and down, then suddenly pressing in on it just a liittle too hard before rubbing again. It had you circling your hips back against him.

“Fucking look at you.”

Bruce lays a soft slap on the side of your thigh, and you moan softly, “Jus’ put it in baby, c’mon. Need it so bad.”

Bruce hums, pulling his briefs down and rubbing his palm over the head of his cock, before sliding it down to the base to hold it. He shimmies just a tad closer to you and presses the head against your pussy over your bikini.

You whine, feeling him press against you, and he hisses, pushing the head deeper and seeing the material dip only slightly, refusing him entry.

“Don’t tease.” you mumble,

He chuckles lowly, pushing his cock just a tad higher, nudging at your clit, and you whine “Bruuce,”

“Could play with this pussy forever, baby.” he murmurs and bites his lip, eyebrows furrowing as he grabs your bottoms and pulls them to the side. He groans low in his throat when he sees that you're dripping for him. “God- damn. You’re-”

“Soaked? ‘S cause I was thinking about you too. Wanted to see if you’d snap, drag me further down the beach just to fuck me right there, where anyone could see.” 

Bruce’s eyes flash and his gaze snaps up to yours, jaw popping. He snarls, grabbing your jaw, his thumb and pointer finger digging into your cheeks as he leans closer, “Maybe I should just fill this smart fucking mouth instead of fucking you, huh? Bet you’d still get off on that.” he grits out, and you whimper, rolling your hips so that the head of his cock now bumps against your bare pussy.

“No, no, please. Need you in my pussy.” your voice is tantalizing, borderline sinful, and his eyes flutter, a shiver running down his back, “No one sees you like this, except for me.” he says against the side of your mouth, and you pant, nodding multiple times.

He snakes his hand down your body, rubbing two fingers over your pussy lips, before slowly pushing them inside your cunt. “Yess..” you hiss, throwing your head back, and Bruce leans down to press various kisses along the shape of your throat. The thumb that was rubbing against your cheek, now tugs at your bottom lip softly.

He pushes his fingers in your cunt two, three times, before curling them and biting softly at the skin just above your collarbone, “Say it.”

You whimper, “No one. No one, only you-!”

Bruce pulls his fingers out and pushes his cock in you without warning. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as he fills you completely, his hand letting go of your jaw just to hold your throat, not tight though, never too tight.

He moans, feeling your warm, tight little pussy hug his cock immediately. His hips push forward even though he’s already filled you to the brim, and you whine, “Too much-”

“You can take it.” He huffs, pulling back just for a second to take his shirt off, before latching on you again, hands around your throat and tits, “You always do,” he mutters, before starting his unrelenting pace.

He wasn’t fast this time, no. He went slow, and hard, making sure you felt every fucking inch, every vein of his cock inside your pussy,  every time you felt like he’d bottomed out, he’d push just a liiittle more, his balls slapping against your ass, and you’d moan brokenly, your nails digging into his shoulders and making him hiss with every thrust.

Your hands clutch at the sheets on your sides when he leans back, using the string of your bikini top still around your middle as an anchor, holding it tightly in his fist, hips rolling against yours repeatedly. He stares at you hungrily, mouth open and panting as his eyes roam up and down your body.

He was so fucking good to you, but you needed more, you needed it harder, so you slap a hand against his ass, your nails digging in his skin as you pull him closer against you, pushing your hips back to meet his own.

His dark chuckle turns into a filthy moan, his head dropping back at the feel of your pussy tightening up around him, “Greedy fucking cunt. Look how she’s sucking me in honey, can barely pull out.” You lean up against your elbows, wanting to watch how your pussy takes him in, how it chases him when he pulls out.

You nod, entranced by the way your pussy stretches around his thick cock, “It’s cause you’re so good to me.” you mumble, “So fucking good, Bruce.”

You look up at him just in time to watch his Adam’s apple bob, and he looks down at you as well, half-lidded eyes dancing across your own. “Yeah?” he moans lowly, and it’s borderline pornographic.

And just when you thought you could cum just like this, just from seeing him so disheveled because of you, he drops his hand flat on your lower belly, thumb dropping on your clit to rub over it, and you tense immediately, hand dropping to claw at his forearm “Bruce-”

He snarls out your name, “Fucking cum for me.” his eyes drink in the way your hips jump, body twisting as you heave, and yet you still roll your hips against him, still push back when he pulls out.

Bruce picks up the pace, chasing after your orgasm like a man starved, and he leans down to press a sloppy kiss against your mouth. You thought you were kissing him back, but you were just panting and moaning against him while he soaked every sound up.

He pinches your clit suddenly, timing a hard thrust perfectly, and he stays there, pushing impossibly closer to you yet again. Your body goes taut immediately, and then the shaking begins. Your thighs tremble around his waist, your vision goes white, ears start to ring, and you can just about hear Bruce moaning and spitting out praises above you.

Pretty fucking girl. So fucking hot for me, shit. Cum for me, you can do it, I know you can. Thaaat’s it, that’s fucking it. Soaking my cock so well, baby. 

<3

“-etheart, you with me?”

Your eyelashes flutter, as you blink, letting out a satisfied whimper. You feel Bruce's hand pat your cheek softly, and you open your eyes to find him staring down at you, sweat dripping down his temple. He smiles, a dimple showing “Hey.”

You smile too, can't really help yourself, “Mm. You almost fucked me to death.” you mumble out, and he lets out a strained chuckle. “Wouldn't want that.”

It doesn't take you long to realize that he's still inside of you, still hard as a rock.

You mewl, instantly clumping down on him, and he grits his teeth, “Baby. You don't have to, you're tired-”

With a newfound strength, you prop yourself against the palm of your hands, and push Bruce back so that you're the one above him, straddling his thick thighs, his cock still snug inside you.

His hands immediately find purchase on your hips, and he squeezes your flesh in his hands appreciatively.

“I want it, I want you.” you mumble against his temple, after licking the sweat dripping down, and you can feel Bruce shiver under you, muttering a small “Fuck.”

Bruce doesn’t swear often, his patience keeping him from losing his cool, and seeing him lose it with you, gave you an extreme sense of satisfaction.

You wrap your hands around his neck, your tits getting squished against his pecs, when you tug him closer, and Bruce rubs his nose against yours, closing the gap between you.

You hum against his mouth, slowly starting to lift and lower your hips on his cock, and Bruce’s hands run up and down your back, later coming down to squeeze your ass to help guide you against him.

“You look so beautiful.” he pants against you, and one hand comes up to grab at your neck from behind, bracing you as he steals another kiss from your lips, this one deeper, more sensual. “As do you.” You whisper against spit-covered lips, your fingers threading through his hair. 

The rolling of your hips turns more aggressive, and after a while you’re practically bouncing on his cock, both you and Bruce moaning in harmony, both of you looking at where you’re joined, your cunt practically milking his cock, and the lewd squelching sound of you coming down on his cock spurs you on.

“Sweetheart go harder-”  Bruce trails off, his eyes rolling back when you reach down to cup his balls in your palm, squeezing softly.

“Like this? You ask breathlessly, your own eyes almost closing, but you force yourself to keep them open, to watch him fall apart beneath you, because of you.

“Yesss..” he grits through his teeth, pushing his hips upwards to meet your relentless pace eagerly. He grabs at your ass to lift you even higher, and now has to practically chase your pussy each time he thrusts up, but at least he successfully managed to shove his face against your tits. 

His groans and grunts, all while trailing open-mouthed kisses all over your chest.

The moment Bruce buries his head against your neck and lets out a whimper low in his throat, you know that he’s just about to go over the edge.

You can't keep control of your voice now either, moaning every time the head of his cock nudges deeper and deeper inside you “Cum for me, baby, please. Want it inside, dripping out of me like you promised.”

 “Will you do that for me, Bruce?”

He pants harshly, his breath hot against your collarbone as he grabs your hip and pushes you down, keeping your leg up with a hand on the back of your thigh, pushing it against your chest. He braces his right leg up and resumes the pace you’d set with bruising thrusts against your pretty cunt. “Anything. Fu- fuck. I’ll do anything you want.”

You almost sob, as this angle allows him to reach deeper inside you, and Bruce notices, “You’re gonna cum again.” he declares breathlessly, and you shake your head, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks “I can’t, I can’tttt-”

“You can.” he grits out, “Pussy’s pulsing around me like crazy, baby. You will.”

“Please.. Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Fuck- sweetheart, you're gonna make me cum. Gonna cum for you, gonna give you everything.”

“Yes, yes fffucking cum inside me, need it so bad, I need it sooo badd.” you’re a blabbering mess, your voice cracking every time Bruce thrusts back inside you, and he’s no better. 

He’s groaning, his eyebrows pinched together and his hand clutching your waist like his life depends on it, and he only lets you go to rub tight circles on your swollen little clit, watching you writhe and twitch against him once more. 

You scream, throwing your head back over the edge of the bed, and Bruce follows right behind, thrusting two-three more times before pushing his hips taut against you and staying there, all while letting out the hottest moans you’ve ever heard in your life as he cums inside of you “Take it, take every single drop.” he mutters, his eyes dropping to watch your cunt take everything he’s got, his finger still drawing lazy circles on your clit, making you whine.

“S too much-”

There’s a white ring decorating the base of his cock when Bruce pulls out slowly, and it makes his jaw tick, makes him want to bend you over and give you more of him.

You mewl when you feel him slip out, and mumble something that Bruce can’t make out. 

When you open your eyes after what feels like hours, Bruce is looking at you with pure adoration in his face, a sheepish pussy-drunk grin to match his gaze, and you make a mental note right then and there to force him to go on vacations more often.

(also yeah, he won that 'bet')

Lex asks you to care for Ultraman. 

“At least make him think you do,” he says dismissively. 

He takes another cursory look over the file in hand before he slides it to you, uncaring of how some of the papers spill out. A photo loosens from the paperclip, and you catch a glimpse of the masked figure that is now slated to be Superman’s rival. Marketing must’ve had a hand in this given the white background and his stiff demeanor. You wonder if he’s smiling behind the mask—if he knows how to smile—then shrug off the thought.

You take the file, straightening the paperwork inside by tapping against his desk obnoxiously. Lex’s left eye twitches, but he says nothing as you shuffle through the admittedly sparse file. It has little past his basic information. 

“You want me to be his friend?” 

Lex chews over this for a moment. And then he gives you a half-nodding, half-shrugging gesture. “Essentially.” 

It is only the two of you in his office. You’re sure that goes against HR protocols, but Lex has never been the sort of boss to give a fuck about proper channels and all that. 

“For how long?”

Lex lets out a heavy breath. “For however long it takes,” he emphasizes, glaring at you. “It’s not that hard of a task.”

Years of working underneath and now alongside Lex has taught you how to pull off the illusion of patience. A smile will gain you sharper vitriol whereas any visible dissatisfaction will earn you an increased workload. You press your lips into a line, not because you care to give Lex the impression you are overlooking the venom coating his tongue but because disappointment haunts Lex’s every step, and you love to give him a reminder. 

“My apologies for wanting a deadline, Mr. Luthor,” you say flatly.

From how Lex explains it, your new role sounds much simpler than the current one he has you doing. But you’re not sure of the ethics involved in befriending a creation of his and taking a paycheck for it. Nor are you sure you can pull this off. 

He presses his fingers on either side of his nose. “Don’t call me that.” It takes concentrated effort for him to loosen his shoulders and unclench his jaw. “I’m sorry. Things have been a little…stressful on the social media front.” 

You relax your own defensive stance. Lex is an asshole, but he’s never been unreasonable with you. The history you two share is too storied for him to treat you so carelessly. He’s consumed with not only getting rid of Superman but tanking his reputation, so that all that’s left is a tarnished legacy and a vacuum of power Lex can take advantage of. You’ll cut him some minor slack. You get paid more than enough to do so. 

“The monkeys aren’t ragebaiting properly or what?” 

His eyes close for a moment and then reopen with a sigh. “They are. But public opinion is still quite high,” he admits. 

The dark circles under his eyes are pronounced, and his cuticles have been torn to shreds. The red of his eyes is from days-old exhaustion, but you would not be surprised to find out he cried right before calling you into his office. 

“And you think giving Ultraman a friend will help because…?”

“Because he’s a fucking idiot,” he finishes, throwing a pen at the door. 

You glance back down at the picture now peeking from the top of the file. No, he doesn’t know how to smile, you decide. With Lex as his creator, there is nothing to smile about. 

-

“This is Ultraman.”

It’s strange to say you are impressed Lex has provided him an apartment. It’s within the LuthorCorp campus, and you assume his freedoms are severely limited, but it’s much better than those pocket dimension prisons Lex is entirely too fond of. For as rancorous as Lex has been about Ultraman in the short time you’ve learned of him, he must hold some derivative of fondness for him if he’s willing to also include furnishings to Ultraman’s home.

“Hi,” you greet with a wave. 

The man looks to Lex. 

“You see what I’m saying?” Lex says out of the corner of his mouth. He clicks his tongue, motioning towards you. “Say hello.”

“Hello,” the man says robotically. 

A slight chill touches the base of your spine, sending threads of unease reverberating up your back. His instant obedience is nothing to marvel at, your stomach twisting uncomfortably at the sight. 

Lex waits a beat then snaps his fingers. “Be polite. Take off your mask.”

Immediately, he goes to unclasp whatever mechanism connects his mask to the suit. There’s a brief moment where his fingers spasm as if reluctant, but it’s gone before Lex notices. 

The file had informed you he is a clone, but you are still not prepared for how much he looks like Superman. His hair is longer and greasier with eyes not quite as bright, but other than these minor differences, he’s an exact copy of Earth’s strongest defender. 

“Impressive, right?” Lex says. He’s watching you with rapt interest. 

The knot in your stomach begins to crawl up your throat. You thought you’d be able to think of Ultraman as an identical twin of sorts but seeing him in front of you like this is more horrifying than you could have imagined. 

Memories are not stored in DNA, so you know without a doubt Ultraman does not hold a single connection to Superman outside of appearance and physicality. Did he wonder what he was rather than who he was when he opened his eyes for the first time? Did he inherently know he was different? Or was that shown to him through whatever cruelty Lex deemed satisfactory as a teaching tool? 

“Don’t let Mr. Handsome hear you say that,” you say instead. 

Lex scoffs at that, but his lack of argument is telling. 

It doesn’t take him long to deem other matters more important and he leaves you with Ultraman, muttering about how he’ll leave a few PlanetWatch members to stand guard outside. His gaze lingers on Ultraman, a frown pinching his brows before he heads back. 

You’re left standing in the middle of Ultraman’s living room. You gesture towards the couch, a question in your eyes. He nods, taking a seat on the ottoman opposite of you. 

Sweat slicks your hands and you wipe them off, forcing a smile when he continues to sit there. He steals a glance at you. His bottom lip is chewed raw and the hair on the back of his neck sticks to his skin, dampened by sweat. 

What do you even talk about with a man whose entire live revolves around Lex’s next order? 

“How has your day been so far?” you ask, infusing cheer into your voice.

He turns to look at you fully. His expression is completely slack, and his hands sit in front of him. He looks neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. 

“Okay,” he says. 

The corner of your mouth cramps. “That’s good! Have you been to training yet?” 

He’s not due back to the lab until lunch, but it won’t hurt to ask. From what you can tell, it is one of the few things he does, so maybe he finds some enjoyment when he is able to go. 

His face remains placid. “No.” 

Well, you concede, it hurts a little to ask. 

“Is there anything else you do other than train?” 

And be Lex’s punching bag? 

Immediately, you exorcise that train of thought. It’s a right of passage at LuthorCorp. If Lex hasn’t used you to vent out his frustrations, it does not bode well for your tenure at the company. 

It takes Ultraman longer to answer this. The silence stretches between you two until it snaps, and you’re shifting on the cushion of the couch. The threads of your cardigan fray further underneath your twitchy fingers, unraveling a seam or two in the process. 

“I sit,” he says finally.

You smile freezes in place. Lex is going to hell. He has to be. 

“That’s” —you swallow, biting your bottom lip—“that’s definitely something you can do.” 

The silence makes an appearance once more, and you desperately scavenge your limited small talk topics. He doesn’t go out often, so you don’t think bringing up the weather will spark any conversation other than a blank stare. You do not want to talk current events with him, and you’ve seen his schedule. He doesn’t do much at all. And you have never been that talented in making conversations out of nothing. 

“Do you like being called Ultraman?” you ask without thinking.

You immediately bite your tongue. That is not the question you should’ve asked, but it’s the question that’s been at the forefront of your mind since Lex informed you of your new task. 

You close your eyes and reopen them to find Ultraman’s head tilted as he takes in your question.

“I’m sorry. You do not have to answer that. I don’t know what came over me,” you say, holding a hand up. You wrack your brain for some common ground between you guys, but the file Lex gave you was fairly bare. “Um, I heard you—“

“I don’t like it,” he answers quietly. 

“It’s a pretty shit name,” you agree heedlessly. For as smart as Lex is, he lacks creativity. And humanity. A correlation exists between the two but finding it won’t mean much in changing Lex. He likes who he is. 

“What’s his name?” Ultraman asks suddenly. 

You blink. There is no one else inside this apartment other than the cameras as far as you know. “Who?” 

He points behind you. 

You don’t want to turn around. From his expression, or lack thereof, whatever is behind you should be harmless, but in your line of work, anything can happen. If mutants are real, who’s to say ghosts aren’t? But you are being paid to follow Lex, and subsequently, Lex’s creations so you turn around slowly, eyes half-closed as if to stave off any fear that will close your throat. 

Behind you is a picture. It takes up nearly the expanse of the narrow wall and if you were to guess, it’s at eye level with Ultraman. The photo is protected by a sheet of glass with a plain black frame surrounding it. It’s much simpler than you’d think it to be for being the only wall decoration in the apartment. 

Superman stares back at you, eyes crinkled and teeth gleaming as he stands amongst the rubble. His hands are on his hips. Small tears rip at his suit, but the ’S’ is untouched, a hint of blood smearing the sharp corners. In the background stand cheering citizens, the sun shining brightly down upon them. 

Your stomach churns, queasiness unspooling in your gut. There is too much to unpack here, so you decide to look away. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“Superman?” you clarify, jerking your thumb behind you as you turn back to Ultraman. 

He nods. 

“It’s Kal-El. Supposedly.” 

For all you know, the naming conventions of Krypton are more complex and Superman keeps it simple for the sake of it being an easy name on most tongues. It’s not a name used often anyway in regards to Superman. Lex has searched for every anagram iteration of Kal-El to see if it would yield any hints as to Superman’s alternate identity if such one exists. So far, his search has led him nowhere. 

“Kal-El,” he repeats slowly. He thinks for a long time. “Can I be called Kal-El?”

This is above your pay grade. 

“Do you want to be called Kal-El?” you ask hesitantly. 

He studies you, searching you for an answer you cannot provide. Then he shakes his head. 

“Is there something you’d like to be called?”

“I don’t know.” 

His honesty splits you at your fault lines. There is no weight to his words. He has no opinion which is natural given what Lex has done to him but unnatural to his humanity. And despite how Lex portrays him, Ultraman is as human as you are. 

“Would something similar to Kal-El work?” you offer. “We can always change it later. It’ll be like a placeholder until you find a name you like.” 

He thinks this over. He looks ridiculous without his mask on in this suit, and the sight touches something tender in you. 

“Okay,” he agrees, quicker this time. 

Off the top of your head, you cannot think of any names similar to Kal-El. Kal seems too on the nose. Kyle does not suit him whatsoever along with any other K name that crosses your mind. 

You settle on one after a few minutes. 

“Does Kol sound okay?” 

He brightens. 

You smile, relieved. 

“Kol it is then.” 

-

It gets easier the more time you spend with Kol. 

He’s not talkative by any means, but he no longer blinks as a response. Getting him to voice an opinion, however, is akin to pulling teeth. 

“Do you want to watch one of my favorite movies then?” you ask after waiting a full five minutes for him to speak. 

Seeing how regimented Kol’s life is, you opt to give him choices whenever possible. The first few days were incredibly boring given Kol doesn’t have many likes or dislikes and seems disinterested in finding out what those things could be for him. The only interest he has is watching you work, carefully placing himself behind you so he can watch over your shoulder. 

He nods, a careful tuck of his chin, and hands the remote to you. You hold you hand out, palm flat and fingers relaxed. Sometimes, when your patience runs thin and you breathe in deeply and repeat your question for what feels like the nth time, Kol’s attention will involuntarily flick to whatever object is nearest to you. His shoulders will straighten slightly, and his jaw will jut out as he bears down on his teeth. 

You take to quiet breaths and neutrally asked questions. 

“I don’t think I’ve shown you a romcom yet, huh?” you say, more to fill the air than get an answer. 

Predictably, he says nothing, but he watches intently as you scroll through the options before settling on a tried and true. You haven’t heard Kol laugh in the few weeks you’ve known him, so you’ll be pleasantly surprised if this movie earns a chuckle from him. 

The first ten minutes are slow as the story finds its footing, but Kol’s attention is fully on the TV. At the beginning, Kol expected you to quiz him after each and everything you guys watched together. He’d sit at the dining table with his back stiff and straight against the uncomfortable wood, hands placed in front of him. It was unnerving to look up and find him in that position after throwing all of your things onto your couch. 

It took seventeen times before he broke the habit. 

Your stomach grumbles, and you place your hand over it. Kol tears his eyes away from the screen. 

“Are you hungry too?” you ask sheepishly. 

He considers this for a moment and then nods. It takes two minutes for you to order at the Thai restaurant down the strip that he likes so much, and then another two minutes to order some ramen for yourself. Once that’s done, you turn the movie back on and resist the urge to check your phone mindlessly. 

The first time you saw Kol’s meal prep in his fridge, you thought he had provoked Lex to punishment. The food was bland, and it was rows of the same thing in his shelves. It took more questions than you expected for Kol to confirm this was how he always ate. 

You took it upon yourself to order from every restaurant in a mile radius, curating each dish chosen to what you knew you and your friends enjoyed. 

He had been overwhelmed by both the amount of food showing up at his door and the smell of it. It took some coaxing for Kol to eat the food, most of it given to him by your hand, but he seemed surprised by how much he enjoyed it. 

It’s easy enough for you to get his meals changed, but he still vastly prefers the food prepared by a restaurant than whoever his personal chef is.

It will take fifteen minutes for the food to be dropped off, and he opts to wait to restart the movie until it does come. His fingers tap against his thighs as you guys wait, eyes flicking to the preview the movie has taken to play. He answers whatever questions you throw his way, but it takes him longer to come up with a response whenever the preview replays the moment when the main leads kiss in front of the male lead’s apartment. The scene cuts right before the male lead drags the female lead into his apartment, hiking her dress up her thigh and slipping his tongue into her mouth. 

Kol watches as you unpack the food when you come back after grabbing the delivery from Langdon—your very own PlanetWatch bodyguard. His eyes trail after you, darting to your mouth for a too long second before dropping down to the food you place in front of him. 

You don’t want to share your ramen, so you take a seat far from him. 

“Ready?” 

With his approval, you press play. 

As the movie moves into the second act, Kol becomes more invested. He all but abandons the last of his food, leaning in closer as the two leads argue on screen. Worry furrows his brow when it seems the argument is spilling into territory that should be unexplored until the male lead swoops the female lead into a kiss. The fight leaves her all at once, hands going up to pull him closer. 

Kol’s eyes widen as their breathing gets heavier. The male lead breaks the kiss just enough for his lips to brush against hers as he whispers something adoring. She smiles, nearly teeth to teeth with him as she teases him. 

Having watched this movie more times than you can count, you know this scene is the calm before the storm. It never gets old, but you are finding Kol’s rapture far more interesting. 

He doesn’t move until the movie finishes, eyes flitting all over the screen as the credits roll. The couch creaks underneath his weight as he turns to you, wonder making the blues of his eyes especially bright. 

You grin smugly. “I have good taste, huh?” 

The wonder quickly bleeds into anticipation, and he shifts closer to you. His lips part as if to speak but he remains quiet. Instead, he stares at you, waiting. 

You frown, unsure why he has such an expectant look on his face. 

“Do you want to watch another one?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. 

You turn back to the TV and begin scrolling the available titles. 

And if his shoulders slouch, you pay it no mind. 

-

Kol begins to look to you for approval.

It’s a subtle change, one you don’t even notice until Lex invites you to observe his training. Kol’s intense training schedule usually left you with two to three hours to yourself during the work day, and you long to tell Lex no, but Lex isn’t asking. 

Kol completes the sequence of moves flawlessly under Lex’s orders and immediately looks up to your viewing station. Lex is an arm’s length away from you, fingers curled over the railing until the skin over his knuckles are a bloodless white. He waves his hand towards The Engineer and a new sequence commences. 

The kick thrown to Kol’s is dodged once he drags his attention from you which is only done when you nod at him encouragingly. 

He reminds you of a dog, you think.

“He’s only good for following orders,” Lex mutters, hand pressed to his lips. He barks out a random assortment of numbers, growing increasingly frustrated as Kol does all of them. “Why can’t he think to do these himself?” 

“Because no one is as smart as you, Lex,” you say dutifully. 

Your answer doesn’t impress him. 

Kol throws a truck at The Engineer. The metal crumples as it flattens her against the wall. A spare part—a broken part from the transmission perhaps—spears into her gut, pinning her to the wall. She spits something out, nanotechnology crawling across her skin to staunch the wound, but Kol’s not paying attention to her. He’s turned back to you. Even with his mask obstructing his face, you get the feeling he wants praise. 

You suppose you’d find it impressive if he wasn’t a literal meta human. You count yourself lucky for not having to witness him crush a man’s skull between his hands as Lex had bragged about. Nonetheless, you give him a smile. He turns back, satisfied. 

Lex is scowling when you look at him. One of his orderlies takes initiative and begins calling out numbers, but Lex brushes them off. 

“What was that.”

The phone in your hand buzzes at that same moment. Helena from HR needs your help drafting an email to Lex about one of his preferred data engineers resigning for an opportunity at InfiTech. 

Please, please, please!!!!

I’m scared he’ll throw a stapler at me again

The skin on the back of your neck prickles. Did Lex have undiagnosed phone telepathy? 

“What was what?” you repeat tentatively. Is it less suspicious to keep your phone screen unlocked but with your palm covering the bottom half of the screen or lock your phone? 

“Why did he do that?” Lex says. Each syllable sticks to the roof of his mouth. 

It’s very rare for a competing firm to offer a salary higher than LuthorCorp or a benefits package as comprehensive, but you doubt either of those contributed to him leaving. Working for LuthorCorp as a whole is like any other large corporation: long hours, pay that sounds good on paper until they make you work for every cent, catered lunch, bullshit performance reviews, and the like. Working directly under Lex poses a different challenge and while many believe they welcome it, the reality of it is much worse. 

Platitudes skitter around in your mind, too slippery for you grab onto one and hope for the best. Fuck, his nostrils are flaring. 

“Why was Ultraman looking at you like that?” 

“He wasn’t looking at me,” you deny reflexively. Then you process his question and its implications and amend with, “Maybe a little bit.” 

“What did you do to him?” Lex snarls. He takes five fast and sharp steps towards you, chin tipped upwards and lips curled. 

“What you asked of me,” you say evenly. 

Your chest aches with how quickly your heart races. Luckily, he ignores your shaking fingers, entirely too focused on seeing if you’ll cower. 

“I did not ask you to make him even more useless,” he says excruciatingly slow. His hand lashes out quicker than you can react, and he has your face between his boney fingers, turning your head to look down. He pushes your cheeks in harshly, forcing the soft flesh into the grooves of your teeth. “You are to be a companion. Nothing more.” 

You meet his stare, trying not to blink too much. You’re hyperaware of your breathing and slow your breaths to match every second beat of your heart. 

Lex tilts your head slightly and then seemingly appeased, he lets you go. 

“He’s not human,” Lex says, stretching his fingers. He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, bordering on dismissive. “Don’t think that you can make him one.” 

-

“You won’t be needed today.” 

Langdon holds his hand out to bar you from the entrance. His mouth twists uncomfortably as he relays to you Lex’s latest order.

“Mr. Luthor needs you to go over some videos of Superman.” 

“Does he now?” you ask, intrigued. 

You touch your tongue against the roughened imprint of your teeth on your cheek, mentally rolling your eyes. Yesterday must’ve done a number on his pride.

“He’d prefer if you worked from home today as well,” Langdon carries on, adjusting his watch. “As a precaution, of course.” 

“Of course,” you parrot back, a disbelieving amusement weaving itself through you. He won’t even risk the chance of seeing you. All because Kol wanted some encouragement while he was working. Unbelievable. “I’ll see you later then Langdon.”

He rearranges his stance so his helmet obstructs his mouth from the cameras. “Good luck with Lex.” 

A wry smile curls the corners of your mouth. “Don’t I need it.” 

-

“You want to try a matcha?”

Kol rolls the syllables on his tongue, raising his eyebrows at you when you say nothing else. He’s been attached to your hip since you were allowed back. He follows you around the apartment like a duckling as if fearing you’ll disappear the moment his eyes aren’t on you.

Your stomach swoops uncomfortably when you catch the moments of relief that cross his face when you are exactly where he expects you to be. As the only person who he sees outside of his mandated training and missions, the last few days must’ve been gut-wrenching. But perhaps it was a good thing. Codependence is good for no one. 

“It’s a drink,” you explain. 

You don’t think he’ll like it, but you’ve learned to not inject your beliefs into what you say even accidentally. Kol will act accordingly because he thinks it’s what you want rather than go along with his own tastes. 

“Okay.” 

You go to grab a hat and face mask for him. He spends so much of his time suited up, and you loathe to add to it, but his face is too recognizable to risk for an outing. You hand him the mask, laughing when he goes to tuck the strap behind his ear and gets confused when there is no hair to keep it from chafing against the thin skin. 

You offered to trim his hair when you came back, having spent your unexpected week off watching videos on men’s haircuts. He had acquiesced, sitting motionlessly on the edge of his bathtub as you took careful snips of his hair. When you trimmed off the front pieces, he stared unapologetically at you to the point where you were beginning to feel shy.

You did a decent job considering your inexperience. Now that it has been a couple of days and his hair has grown out, the haircut is looking a lot better. 

Not that Kol cares. 

It’s a ten minute walk to one of your favorite cafes, and you talk his ear off the entire way. He’s unfamiliar with the area and will likely continue to be, so you try to give him a glimpse of the world outside of the small one Lex has provided him. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps himself angled towards you as he walks. It’s nice. You’re almost tempted to tell him about how much Metropolis Generals are pissing you off and genuinely ruining your day by killing their chances at the playoffs but keep it to yourself. Just because he’s a willing participant doesn't mean you should take advantage. 

You leave Kol to loiter outside, unsure of what sort of reaction a small and crowded space will cause for him. When you turn to check on him after ordering, he’s nearly pressed up against the glass window staring at you, face shadowed by his hat. You make a subtle motion for him to back up, a quick flick of your fingers, but he remains where he is. Two passersby slow their gaits and exchange looks with one another as if trying to decide if something should be done.

Luckily your name is called and with two drinks in hand, you meet Kol outside. The passersby wait for a moment longer and you meet their curious stares over Kol’s shoulders with a small nod.

You hand Kol the matcha, amused by the gleam of distrust in his eyes when he lifts the drink up. 

“It’s green,” he says.

“Pretty, right?” 

He flattens his mouth into a line and then takes a long drink from the cup. When he finishes swallowing, he immediately hands it to you and takes the pineapple juice from your other hand. You’ve taken one sip but not nearly as a large of a one as Kol. 

“That bad?” you laugh, accepting the trade. 

He wrinkles his nose. “Grassy,” he grumbles, sticking the straw in his mouth. 

“It can be an acquired taste,” you admit. “But I’m glad you tried it. Maybe we’ll try a papaya next.” 

You lead him towards the park and sit yourselves on a bench. It’s a pleasant day with clear skies and no monsters in sight. For once, Superman is taking a break, so Kol hasn’t had to work at a breakneck speed. It might be nice for him to feel the sun on his skin and the breeze through his hair. 

Kol sits close to you, ignoring the other side of the bench. His thigh is flush against yours. You move an inch over, and he follows you. You don’t know how to feel about it, so you choose to ignore it. It doesn’t work quite as well as you hope. 

Moving again so you can brace your hand in the space you’ve forced, you lean back on the bench. “Being stubborn won’t get you what you want with Lex,” you say, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. The matcha goes down easy. 

He sips the juice, lips wrapped around the straw. When he releases it, there’s the tiniest smattering of your lipgloss in the center of his lips. It’s so out of place, you can’t help but stare. You quickly look away from his mouth when he looks down at you, confused. 

“He won’t bring me back to training just because you don’t want to impress him anymore,” you clarify. “He doesn’t believe in rewards.”

Charles, Langdon’s replacement after a sudden transfer, had let you know Kol threw his version of a tantrum the first day you were absent. He was less obedient than usual, and it sent Lex into such a rage Eve had begged you to let her crash at your place. You obliged, obviously, and lent her your phone, so she could spend the night with that Jimmy guy she’s been talking to.  

Charles was reluctant to let you know of anything else no matter how much you pestered him. You can only assume Kol was difficult enough to warrant Lex giving you a thoughtful look when you dropped by his office. He had said nothing inflammatory nor insulting. His ‘welcome back’ hadn’t even been sarcastic. 

Kol reaches out, brushing a knuckle against the phantom bruise Lex has left behind on your face. He’s gentle, exceedingly so, but you flinch before you can stop yourself. His mouth twists, eyes downcast as he keeps his hand still. 

“He shouldn’t have done that,” he says. His voice is barely more than a breath. 

“Lex shouldn’t do a lot of things, and yet he does them anyway,” you shrug. 

It’s a tale as old as time. 

Nothing will be done to change it. 

-

You wake up to an arm around your waist. 

It’s early, so your brain is foggy and unable to process the strangeness of your situation with the urgency it necessitates. The weight around your waist is a chain, pinning you to the mattress when you try to shake it off. 

Fear skitters throughout you immediately, your heart rate rising into something you almost can’t feel with how quick your heart flutters in your chest. You twist to try and loosen yourself from their grasp but find yourself in the same predicament no matter how you move. 

They allow you only enough space to turn around. 

“Kol?”

Your heart pounds heavier when you realize who it is in your bed. Something tight curls around your throat, preventing you from getting a full breath in. 

He mumbles in his sleep, wrapping his arm tighter around you and dragging you to his chest. His bare chest. Which you do not have enough bandwidth to be thinking about, so you focus on what you can. His breaths are even, but you aren’t fooled. 

“Kol, what are you doing here?” 

In my bed. 

He cracks open an eye, gauging how serious you are before committing to waking up. “I missed you,” he says, tender and terrible all at once. 

“Kol,” you groan, bringing a hand up to press the inner corners of your eyes with your knuckles. It somewhat alleviates the pressure accumulating in your head. “That doesn’t mean you sneak into my bed.” 

“I’m not in your bed,” he says plainly. “I took you home.” 

“What.” 

He adjusts you, so you are on top of him. There is a red crease line on his cheek and his hair is messy having grown out significantly in the past two weeks. His skin is hot, branding you where your shirt has ridden up. And alarmingly, he looks happy. 

“Your bed is too small,” he explains. “I thought you’d be more comfortable at home.” 

You sit up. He allows this but moves his hands upwards so they rest on your hips. You try to slide off of him, keeping the movements contained, but Kol catches on quickly and adds pressure until you are flush against his stomach. His expression hasn’t changed, but his fingers dig into you warningly. 

“I was home,” you say slowly. “And I would like to go back home.” 

“But you’ve already been away for three days,” he says, almost whining. “Charles said you’d be gone for another two.” 

“Because I am on vacation, Kol,” you say, fighting to keep yourself calm. You are trying to keep your breaths measured but failing spectacularly at it. The room feels hot, your vision narrowing in until all you can see is Kol. Everything else is blurry and smudged. 

“I missed you,” he says, disregarding what has just come out of your mouth. He tilts his head, eyes rounded out innocently. “Didn’t you miss me?” 

“Okay, we need to talk about boundaries,” you say lightly. You blink away the spots dotting your vision and take a deep breath. It resets you just enough to focus. “You can’t just kidnap me, because you missed me.” 

“I didn’t. I took you home,” he repeats. He loses some of that innocence, eyes hardening. “Didn’t you miss me?”

“My home is my apartment. This is your home,” you say. Bringing your hands down to one of his, you try to pry his fingers off of you. 

“No. Your home is here,” Kol states firmly. He traces his name against your hipbone. “With me.” 

Your breath does not seem to fill your lungs. You struggle to swallow over the lump in your throat as your fear swells. A shuddery breath is all you can manage as Kol stares at you, unyielding. 

“Lex gave you to me,” he continues.

Bile burns at the back of your throat. As awful as Lex is, you do not think he would tell Kol as such. It goes against his plan to humanize Ultraman. 

Right?

You shake your head, hand tightening on top of his, but Kol doesn’t stop. 

“His gift to me for being good, for listening,” he stresses. “Superman will never have you.” 

“Kol, I’m not—you can’t just—” Your tongue twists uselessly in your mouth. The thoughts scrambling in your brain are incoherent, and you can’t grasp at a single one to drag to the front. They fracture even further when Kol adjusts his hips slightly, and you feel how hard he is. 

His hands then move, trailing up your body, reveling in all the places he has not yet written into memory. His touch steadily grows more bold as you still. 

“Lex does whatever he wants,” he reminds you, his fingers tracing the underside of your chest. There is nothing human left in his eyes when he looks up at you. 

“Why can’t I?”