#admirxation

That was the saying, anyway. Weddings were celebrations of love so radiant that it spilt over into everyone present, an infectious sort of happiness that made even strangers feel like family. You sat among the guests with the familiar, bubbly ache swelling in your chest, clapping, smiling, watching Bob and Helen make their vows. However, as much as you wanted just to soak it in, a treacherous thought whispered in your mind: what if it were you up there in the white dress, promising to share your life with another? 

You pushed that notion down into the depths of an unconscious psyche, the way you always did. Commitment wasn’t your thing; that was what you told everyone: friends, flings, and even family when they continuously asked when you were going to settle down with a lovely man and start a family. It wasn’t like you were totally against the idea of settling down, or disliked people who chose that path; it just felt unfeasible sometimes. You had no issue getting a date, it was just making them stay and trying to mould them into the partner you wanted that was the issue; no matter how many times you had a therapy session where your therapist always said you couldn’t change people, it still always stung how you’d see people become better versions of themselves for a partner, and no one ever did the same for you. So, you just wore the label of ‘noncommittal’ like a badge of honour, at least you wouldn’t get hurt or feel embarrassed if things only remained as a fling—just rolling with the punches, you always told yourself. After all, it wasn’t like you had time to settle down and think about a love life, not when your career as a superhero was taking priority in your life. A role of wife in the suburbs probably wouldn’t happen, and you were okay with that, right? 

The ceremony was beautiful, despite Bob arriving ridiculously late. You had the chance to watch their vows, witness how they toasted to their happiness, and then retreat to the reception’s edge. Your eyes continues to watch how they fed each other a slice of cake, both of them being gentle and holding their hands in a cupping motion underneath the fork as they partaked in a tradition; on the other hand, you were sitting at the corner of the room, at a table alone with amber liquid in your hand, your two left feet firmly keeping you off the dance floor. Couples spun across the room, laughing, swaying, their movements full of ease and warmth. Husbands twirled their wives, boyfriends dipped their girlfriends, and arms wrapped securely around someone who mattered. 

Must be nice, you thought as you continued to swirl your glass. 

You couldn’t help but think about your plans—or shall we say your lack of—when you would come home. Like any other day, you would go home to emptiness, maybe have another drink and convince yourself that it was never an issue and that even heroes need a bit of pick-me-up now and again, and fall asleep, alone, as per usual. It seemed everyone had someone, and you were left with silence. 

“Now,” came a smooth voice at your shoulder, interrupting your sombre thoughts. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone?”

Of course. Jack. 

You smirked without looking at him, your vision remaining on the glass. “Oh, you came, I didn’t expect you to be here. Weddings never struck me as… your kind of celebration,” you answered back. 

“Bob’s my friend,” he replies easily, settling into the seat beside you with confidence radiating off him with every word and movement. “Had to show up. Besides, Helen doesn’t exactly hurt the view.” 

You rolled your eyes, teasing. “I’ve yet to meet a girl in this room you haven’t ogled.” 

He grinned, unbothered. “What can I say? I appreciate variety. Diversity of taste isn’t a crime.” His smile curled into something sharper, more deliberate, his movements creeping closer to your personal space as the pad of his finger ran up your arm. “And for the record, you’re definitely the one I’ve ogled at most.” 

Of course, classic Jack. It was well known to everyone that Jack was a ladies' man, a womaniser to be exact. Still, at least he never tried to be something he wasn’t. He was honest about enjoying a roll in the hay and appreciating the aesthetic of a woman—friend or foe. With both of you having the ‘noncommital’ aspect of your public personality, it was no wonder that you two had conversations that were rich in tension and flirtation. But it wasn’t like you were complaining; it felt nice to be wanted, even if it was for one thing. 

You arched your brow, lips quirking in return as your gaze finally met his. “Oh, really?” 

“Really. When do I ever lie?” 

Of course, you did want to be cheeky and announce the times he did lie, perhaps trying to get away with something he or his friends did that was mischievous or how he let yet another pretty villain out because she gave him the eyes. But, you weren’t going to go into detail. If all things went to plan, maybe you wouldn’t have to be alone with your thoughts tonight. You would take anything if it meant a change from your miserable routine. 

“Hm,” he could audibly hear you biting back a response, watching as you sipped your drink to mask your growing smirk, “but you do get a little… much sometimes.” 

He chuckled, leaning closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. “What can I say? I get ahead of myself. But… tonight’s about celebration,” his finger started to trace slow circles on your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, “and you look lonely… I’m feeling kinda lonely… I wanna fix that, don’t you, doll?”

You kept your voice and demeanour smooth, matching his game; it wouldn’t be fun if he didn’t have to put even the slightest bit of work in. “What happened to being here to support a friend?” 

“C’mon, doll,” he murmured, closing the space between you as his muscular arm started to wrap around you, feeling the quality of his shirt as it pressed against your skin. “You know there’s always been something between us. We just never gave it a chance… Besides, you’ve always been on my radar… I say we take a chance.” 

It was bold. Too bold. And yet, with the warmth spreading in your chest and the image of another quiet night in your empty apartment awaiting you, well, that choice wasn’t difficult. 

~~~

After the celebrations, it wasn’t long before you found yourself in Jack’s apartment. Neither of you wasted time; the champagne glasses were abandoned on the coffee table, and a trail of discarded clothes marked the path to his bedroom. The place looked every bit the bachelor pad you imagined it to be: sleek, dark tones that practically screamed red flag. Maybe it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the gnawing loneliness you’d be fighting all night, but you didn’t care. Tonight, you were content to be his flavour, and he knew exactly how to make you forget about the ills of anxiety festering in your mind. 

“F-fuck, Jack,” you cried out, toes curling as his fingers worked mercifully between your thighs. The slick slide of them inside you had your body arching off the bed, needy whimpers spilling from your lips. “Mm, I can’t handle—fuck… I can’t take any more.”

“Oh, I think you want more, don’t you, dollface?” he drawled, eyes glinting with amusement as he slid a third finger in your arching hole, stretching you deliciously. A shudder tore through you when he curled them just right, brushing that spot that made your vision spark white. “Look at that… you’re so tight, grabbing onto me like such a good girl… I think you can take a lot more.”

“Please—Jack, I can’t—” your voice cracked, hips bucking helplessly against his hand, you were practically obsessed with how he was making you feel, slowly pushing your body weight down to fuck his fingers into wild oblivion as your chest rose and fell rapidly with each labouring breath of desperation you made just for him. 

He chuckled low in his chest, leaning close enough that his lips brushed your ear. “You think you’re reading for my cock, sweet thing?” 

“y-yeah,” you gasped, clutching the sheets in a death grip, your eyes starting to roll back into your head as you felt the pad of his thumb trace sensual circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves; your lip quivering as he matched the overwhelming feeling with a long, wet, stripe licking along your pebbled nipple. 

“Oh, I think you can ask better than that, sweetheart,” he gave you a dangerous smirk, “come on, ask properly.” 

“Please… Jack… I want—I need to feel you, please, please, please,” you mewled out pathetically. To think you were dealing a good stack of cards at the reception earlier, now you’re left to be a shuddering mess of a person. 

“Mm, that’s better, much better,” he finished his words off with a playful nibble of your erect bud, leaving you to release another gasp into the atmosphere. He finally withdrew his fingers, starting to line his body up with yours. “Besides, how could I deny a lady when she begs so sweetly?” 

He was so annoying, so infuriating, yet felt so good. Jack had you wrapped around his little finger. As much as you knew he had far too much practice in moments like this, you didn’t care, you only cared about the pleasure he had you chasing; how he ignited that coil within you to start to tighten into a knot, tension rising as you were chasing for the coil to snap back into a releasing straightness. 

He pressed the thick head of his cock against your soaking entrance, teasing you as he slid it up and down sensually and painfully slow, making you whimper every time it caught at your entrance, waiting for when he’d finally press himself in. 

“Jack,” you whined, half-lidded eyes looking up at his, a pleading look painted over your features. 

“You look so fucking good like this,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “Why haven’t we done this sooner? Seems like such a waste.” 

“I—I-I don’t know—just shut up, and—aahhh!” Your words cut off into a scream, your eyes widening and fluttering into a blissful look as he buried his thick, hard length inside you with one rough, claiming thrust. Your legs automatically locked around his waist, dragging him impossibly closer as your walls clenched around him like a vice. 

“H—holy shit,” he moaned as a shaky breath escaped as he felt your tight walls flutter around his throbbing cock, “tight little thing, aren’t you?” His groan was guttural, almost reverent, as he began to pound into you, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing filthy and raw. He shifted, hauling one of your legs over his shoulder to drill himself deeper, and you shattered, moans tumbling out in incoherent strings as your thighs started to shake and finger nails pressing into the skin of his back. 

He was good, no wonder he was a favourite of the ladies. 

Your vision blurred, breath ragged, until the coil inside you snapped, your release crashing over you with violent force. You cried out, gushing around him, and Jack soon followed suit with shuddering curses, spilling hot ropes inside your fluttering walls. As both of you kept releasing laboured breaths, he slowly continued to rock his hips inside your heat, milking every last pulse and stroke before finally pulling out, leaving you achingly empty. 

Your legs collapsed on the bed, your body flat as your chest continued to heave, eyes fixed on the ceiling as you tried to catch your breath. 

Beside you, Jack laughed softly, running a hand through his sweat-damped hair. “You know,” he murmured, his voice still thick with satisfaction, “it’d be a real shame to leave this as a one-time thing. Seems like a waste of a… really good connection.