pairing(s) ༺๑ˊ- robert robertson x z-team!female!reader (gender-neutral)
cws ༺๑ˊ- established relationship, reader is a former villain with small mentions of a bad past, reader is embarrassed/shy-ish, looots of sweet robert, fingering, just soft stuff
requested? ༺๑ˊ- yes/no
where you grew up, love was condemned.
it was a weakness, a sickness. something that always fucked you over.
hate was much more comfortable. much more safe.
that's why when you met robert, he confused you.
at first, you couldn't figure out why you didn't hate him. why you didn't despise your new bossy-ass dispatcher.
then, you really couldn't figure out why you didn't want to kill him when he revealed himself to be mecha man.
the one who turned you in those years ago.
you just guessed it wasn't in your blood to hate robert.
but, unfortunately, your guess was a little... far off. a little underestimated, maybe.
especially with how you're laying here, on the cheap mattress of his apartment, your breathing unsteady as his lips trail up the side of your neck.
fuck, you loved him. you couldn't deny that. but accepting that love? that was the second struggle.
you simply weren't used to this. affection, gentleness, it was all a blinding contrast to how your brain was wired due to the life you lived for so long.
it was setting your nerves on fire. he was setting your nerves on fire.
"you're alright, honey," he purred in your ear, kissing the delicate skin beneath. his hand held your waist, a gentle caress meant to comfort you. to reassure you that he had you.
robert chuckled as you subconsciously arched up into his touch, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
you were so sensitive, robert noted.
“y’gonna let me love on you tonight?” he murmured into your skin, peppering sweet kisses down your neck to your shoulder.
you wanted to protest. you shouldn’t be accepting any form of love.
but robert was like your drug.
a simper pulled at his lips as you nodded, avoiding looking at him. “yeah. thought so.”
he nosed into the crook of your neck, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt, palms flattening against the sides of your stomach.
it’s been months since you two started dating, and his touch still has you nervous.
“relax, honey.” his voice was low. like he wasn’t trying to scare you. “wanna take this off f’me?”
he played with the end of your shirt, those big brown eyes staring up at you. you couldn’t resist.
you tugged up your shirt, a shaky breath leaving you as the cool air of his apartment danced across your skin.
“so pretty,” robert muttered, more to himself than you.
you avoided his gaze, letting out a shaky breath you felt your cheeks grow hotter.
he watched you avert your eyes, his thumb brushing over your cheek.
your body felt it was on a haywire, gasping and twitching anytime he touched you. you almost felt ridiculous.
almost. but you couldn’t with the way robert was praising you.
“shhh,” he shushed your whine as his hands teased the skin on your hips. “so good for me.”
he leaned back down to kiss down your chest, leading down to your stomach, then tracing his lips over the waistband of your pants.
“lift your hips,” robert whispered, smiling softly to himself as your hips moved like clockwork. “just like that.”
you huffed at the praise, trying so hard to act nonchalant. but with the way you were biting your lip, visually putting extra effort into trying to keep yourself quiet. it drove him crazy.
you were just so cute. and only he got to see it.
robert peeled your pants down, catching your underwear under his fingers, treating you like porcelain. acting as if you didn’t throw yourself into whatever danger you can outside.
that makes this so much more precious to robert—that you let your guard down with him. that you let him love you.
“need you.” he muttered against the skin of your lower stomach. “can i have you tonight?”
you could only nod.
“wanna hear you.”
fuck him. actually fuck him. (you wanted to fuck him.)
“shit, please. ugh.” you groaned in embarrassment. then you heard that low tone again in your ear.
“please what?”
please shut the fuck up.
he smiled as you grumbled, hiding your face into the pillows right next to your head. “c’mon, baby,” he coaxed, kissing up your neck.
“just—fuck me, you asshole!”
robert giggled into your skin. he thumbed at your hips, looking up at you. “woah, woah, play nice.”
he smiled as you just let out another huff, rolling your eyes. he was awful.
he kissed above your navel, his hands drifting down to your thighs, rubbing them reassuringly.
“spread them a little more,” he coaxed, watching your breath hitch.
“yeah, that’s my baby.” robert whispered as he stared at you, gaze focused on the building mess between your thighs.
he slid his thumb up your slit, lips pulling up in satisfaction. “this wet just f’me?” he hummed, his thumb gently pressing down on your clit.
he groaned as you whined, your hips jutting up. “relax, c’mon. you know i got you.” robert’s voice was low, slightly raspy. it was clear the effect you had on the man.
his other hand moved from where it was rested on your knee, fingers pushing insistently against your entrance.
you let out a sharp gasp as you felt two fingers breach you, head throwing back as he hooked them up.
you felt moans trying to bubble up reluctantly, grabbing at the pillows to shove one over your face.
robert chuckled, but let you hide for now. he knew how hard this love thing was for you sometimes. how you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
“robert—sh- shit…”
robert groaned. “sounding like that, gonna get yourself in serious trouble, baby.” he smiled as he leaned back over you, head leaning down to kiss the side of your neck.
he nosed under your jaw, his two fingers curling up against that spongy spot inside of you.
your body reeled, legs stretching out and back arching as the pads of his fingertips rubbed against it.
“right there, huh?” his low whisper made your spine tingle, subconsciously clenching around the intrusion.
“so perfect.” his voice has a slight shake. you were making his thoughts stammer.
robert heard you whining under your breath, trying so hard to stay quiet. he could only shake his head.
his fingers were stupidly stubborn, not leaving that stupid spot alone. you were a goner.
“taking me so well, always do.” robert had his face buried into your shoulder, breath warm as he groaned into your skin.
“i— can’t…” a shaky moan left you, a grin immediately forming over robert’s features.
he laughed. he knew you didn’t know what you were talking about. you babbled about nothing when you were close to cumming.
“yeah? poor baby,” he teased, kissing the corner of your mouth as you whined, his thumb slipping up to massage at your clit again.
his fingers kept pushing into you, keeping that steady, delicious rhythm that had your toes curling.
“c’mon, honey. let go.”
and only a few seconds later, you were spilling into his hand.
your body spasmed under him, panting softly as soft sounds emitted from your mouth.
“let it all out, there you go,” robert coaxed, kissing your temple as he kept curling his fingers up into that sweet spot.
જ⁀➴ synopsis: messy makeouts are the cure to your boyfriends jaded soul.
જ⁀➴ contents: established relationship, suggestive, the suit stays on, slight nipple play, clothed sex, kinda sweet, my smut is rusty, sorta short, I need him oml, 18+
જ⁀➴ idk man he’s turned me feral ig. hope you enjoy my loves!
“Babe- fuck- if you’re gonna grind on me fucking do it, stop with the teasing.” His words come out all gruff and muffled against your jaw as his gloved hands squeeze at your ass, pressing you down against him with a choked noise that catches pathetically in his throat.
“I don’t wanna ruin your suit,” you reply sweetly, as if you hadn't imagined this exact scenario the first time you had seen him in it. he chuckles faintly at your words, knowing damn well how dirty your mind is despite the cute little innocent act you had going on.
Robert reaches a hand up to curl his fingers around your jaw, pulling you closer to him until his lips press against yours— grinning against your mouth as you wiggle a little on his lap, hands grasping at his shoulders.
“You think I care about the damn suit right now?”
You go to answer, but he only kisses you deeper, tongue pushing past your lips, fingers slipping into your hair before murmuring: “rhetorical question, sweetheart. I don’t care, just keep moving your hips.”
And you do, grinding your clothed cunt down against his hard-on with a broken little moan that makes his head spin. your arms curl around his shoulders as his hands drop back down to your hips to guide you a little harder against him.
“There you go, just- fuck- just like that, baby.” He grunts, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the side of your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him more space, whispering out his name breathily when he sucks at the underside of your jaw.
He needed this after today’s shit show, just a little TLC from you— and god knows he could spend hours like this with you all around him smelling like vanilla and so incredibly warm, he needed to feel you, your bare skin, so he quickly tugs his gloves off, throwing them onto the floor to run his hands all over your curves, rough palms tracing over your waist and up along your back.
“You’re so soft, so pretty.” He whispers against your mouth before pulling back just to lift your shirt— his shirt— over your head. His lidded gaze drinks you all in with a boyish grin, like he was proud of himself. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he drawls out, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbing over your nipples.
“Ah!- Robert-" you gasp when he pinches the hardened peaks, and you arch into his calloused palms with a broken whimper— giving a lazy roll of your hips that makes him writhe needily beneath you.
“wanna see you- need to-”
Your fingertips clumsily brush along his stubbled jaw, slipping under his mask and pushing it off his head. his freckled cheeks are slightly flushed, and his hair is all tussled, even more so when you run your fingers through it, coaxing a sigh from him.
“Missed you.” your words instantly soften something inside him, then your peppering warm kisses against his cheeks, and he just melts completely— arms wrapping around you like you’re the only thing grounding him… and in some way, yeah, you were.
“m’here now, baby, not going anywhere,” he promises, breath fanning over your collarbones, sloppily kissing back up your neck to your mouth— his lips slick with a mixture of your spit and his, all red and kiss-bitten. “I’m here.”
You clench around nothing as you rock down against his hard cock that is strained against his suit, the rough texture of it rubbing perfectly against your clothed clit— the cotton fabric of your panties completely drenched, leaving a filthy wet patch where you’re grinding desperately. your fingers tug at his hair, which only makes him jolt and buck under you making all sorts of needy moans that only encourages you to move.
The kiss is hot, wet, with his tongue licking into your mouth and his teeth nipping at your bottom lip— swallowing back all your whines whilst his hands grope at you, fingers sinking into the fat on your hips almost bruisingly.
“Gonna make a mess on me, huh?— come on baby, c’mon.” you can tell by the strain in his gruff voice that he was close, the way he tucks his face into the warm crook of your neck, panting hotly.
He mouths lazily at your collarbones as you practically soak his lap with a whiny: “Yeah— Robbie, coming— fuck, m’coming.” and he follows embarrassingly quick after you, coming in his underwear and ruining his suit even more than it already was— a very warm and sticky mess pooling wetly between you.
Your thighs twitch at either side of his own, and you collapse against his chest with a shuddering breath whilst his fingers run soothingly through your hair, trailing along your spine.
“You alright?” he asks breathlessly. you respond with a nod, and he grins against your shoulder, “bed?”
→ Plot: when running late for a physics lab results in meeting the two stoner bffs that just so happen to get you into smoking with them
→ Genre: SMUT, 3some, kinda almost mxm?, spit play, a LOT of saliva, shotgunning, finger sucking, squirting, overall just filthy
→ Warnings: smoking, mentions of food
→ Word Count: 9,319
-> Notes: I’ve been edging yall for too long with this I’m so sorry 😭 crazy how this was supposed to be a 4/20 special and it’s August… proofread but im sure theres still some mistakes
→ Here's a link to all my other masterlists!
-> Tagging: @notwonnie @coriihanniee @pooppoooo because y'all interected with my previous posts mentioning this fic and i feel like i needed to let you know that I posted it :3
༄ ༄ ༄
You were huffing and puffing, cursing at yourself as you booked it up four flights of stairs, figuring it would be faster than waiting for the elevator in the physics building. You smile as you see the door to your lab, still open.
Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself before walking in, wiping away the sweat that had collected on your forehead. You look around to see that everyone was seated, you were the last person to arrive. Scanning the room for any empty seats, you sigh when the only one is at a table with two other guys. You sheepishly walk over, embarrassed at your late arrival, and take a seat.
“Ran from the other side of campus?”
The slightly taller male with a blonde streak across the back of his hair says, quirking an eyebrow at you. You nod, still a little out of breath.
“Not to mention that this class is 20 minutes away from my other class, and I only have 15 minutes to get here.”
The other boy with brown hair chuckles, amused at your disheveled state, but sympathetic nonetheless.
“At least you got here, right?”
You laugh a little with him, taking out your lab manual and a pencil.
“I’m Leehan, and this is Taesan. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you guys, I’m Y/N.”
You do the lab with the two boys, getting to know them a little better as this first one was easy. You exchanged numbers with the boys, creating a group chat before leaving.
༄ ༄ ༄
As the weeks slowly tick by, you’re assigned with your first group project for physics. Not knowing anyone else, you text Leehan and Taesan if you could work with them, already knowing that they would be working together. You were happy that they agreed, really not wanting to work with strangers, and you knew they were reliable based on how much they helped during your lab. You agreed to meet with them at the library later that week to work on it.
You made sure to ask them both what their favorite drink orders were, figuring that you’d need it to survive the almost 4 hour study session you’d booked out a room in the school’s library for. You got there first, putting the drinks on the table and getting your laptop out, settling in before preparing the project. Taesan arrived first, having just gotten out of class.
“Hey, you been here long? I’m sorry I just got out of class.”
He says, putting his stuff down on the seat across from you. He runs a hand through his hair, bouncing back to its original state.
“No worries. I got here like 15 minutes ago but it’s fine. Do you know where Leehan is?”
“Yeah, he texted me that he’d be running a bit late. He had a fish club meeting.”
“Fish club?”
The boy nods his head, laughing to himself as he gets his laptop out as well. You sit and chat for a bit until Leehan shows up, hair sticking to his forehead, presumably from sweating on his way over.
“I’m sorry I’m late! My meeting ran overtime.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure fish club required thorough discussion.”
You say to which Taesan bursts out laughing, not expecting you to make a joke about it, leaving Leehan flabbergasted.
“Hey! Fish are important! And it’s not ‘fish club’ it’s Aqua Life! How many times do I have to tell you that, Taesan?”
“I know it’s Aqua Life but fish club is funnier! Makes it more bearable to hear you talking about it all the time.”
He scoffs as he rolls his eyes, setting his stuff down and glaring at Taesan whose hand is clutching his stomach, laughter continuing to erupt from his mouth. You giggle as you watch them bicker, finding it amusing. They reach for their drinks at the same time, thanking you for bringing them.
༄ ༄ ༄
About 2 hours into working, Leehan decides to take a break, announcing that he would be stepping out of the room. You nod to him, assuring him it’s okay before going back to work, but you note the smirk that plays on Taesan’s face as they exchange knowing looks. You brush it off for now, trying to focus on your work. The room is silent save for a few clicks here and there when one of you would start typing. You were so focused on your work that you almost missed when Leehan slipped back into the room 20 minutes later.
“That was a long break. Are you alright?”
You ask, looking up at him, tilting your head a bit when you see that his eyes are very slightly red. He looks at you straight, nodding slowly before moving his eyes back to his laptop screen.
“Are you sure? Your eyes are red…”
Taesan stifles a laugh, catching both of your attention as Leehan sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, like he was caught doing something bad.
“Ah, really? I didn’t know that…”
He pulls out his phone camera, looking at himself to see that his eyes are, in fact, a little red. He didn’t think this would happen so quickly. He takes a sip of his drink, feeling his mouth get a little dry, letting out a small cough as the cold drink soothes the burn in his throat.
“It got you that bad?”
You snap your head towards Taesan, confused by his statement. Leehan, who's still trying his best to suppress his cough, waves his hand, trying to signal a ‘no,’ but he knows it was more than he could handle.
“What’s going on? I’m so confused…”
They giggle, Leehan looking down as Taesan starts to explain.
“He took a smoke break. That’s why he’s coughing and his eyes are red. His mouth is dry, hence why he’s chugging his drink.”
“You smoke cigarettes? That’s not good for you, you know that, right?”
He chokes on his drink a little, holding his hand up to his mouth as he starts laughing uncontrollably. Taesan in turn, starts laughing just as hard though you can’t tell if it’s because Leehan started laughing or because of your confusion.
“It’s not cigarettes, it's weed.”
Your eyes almost bug out of your head. You weren’t a goodie two shoes per se, but you didn’t know anyone who smoked, let alone smoked weed. You couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone leaving a study group for a weed break.
“Weed!?”
You whisper-shout, eyes locked on the boy that can’t seem to stop laughing and coughing all at once.
“Were you rolling outside? Is that why it took you so long? You know you can’t smoke on campus right? And how did no one see you smoking a blunt, wouldn’t it be obvious? Also, you don't smell like weed, how did you do that?”
You felt bad but you couldn’t stop the word vomit of questions that were flying out of your mouth, completely breaking your focus on your work. You were more intrigued than anything else. He doesn’t say anything, just shaking his head and pulling out a device from his hoodie pocket. He watches as you tilt your head.
“I know what you're thinking, and no, it's not a vape. It’s a weed pen. No smell, just smoke. Well, not too much of a smell anyways. Sorry. We should’ve told you beforehand. We didn’t mean for you to be upset or uncomfortable by this.”
Taesan apologizes on behalf of both of them, but you shake your head.
“No, it's okay. I don’t mind that you guys smoke and you didn’t do it in the room so that's fine. I just– can you focus while you’re high? I guess I’m intrigued more than anything. I thought smoking weed was supposed to relax you so you don’t have to focus? How did you get into it… and is it fun?”
They take turns telling the story, explaining that they started smoking last semester after their friend introduced them to it. After a while, they both started smoking on their own, getting their own supplies and realizing that they just enjoyed being high. Leehan explained that he can focus more when he’s high than Taesan can, hence why he decided to smoke now, when he was losing interest in the work. You sat back, looking at your reflection in your laptop, whose screen was black after being idle for so long.
“But to answer your question, yes, it is very fun being high. If you ever want to try it, let us know.”
Leehan says, adorning a lazy smile on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off for the entire duration of your conversation. You had never given it much thought before, smoking weed or being high, but this definitely piqued your interest. Concluding that none of you were going to get any more work done tonight, you called it a day.
“It’s a little late and it’s dark out. Do you want us to walk back with you?”
Taesan asked. You had figured out during random bouts of conversation that you lived in the same area. You agreed, thanking them for offering before walking out first. The walk back wasn’t too long, only about 10 minutes from the library. You were standing in line with them, watching as Leehan pulled the pen out of his pocket to hand it over to Taesan. You watched as he brought the pen up to his lips, taking a hit, the pen letting out a little hiss as he hands it back over to Leehan, inhaling slowly before looking up, blowing the cloud of smoke up into the sky. You watch the way his adam's apple bobs up and down during the motion, his jawline looking exceptionally tempting when he blows the smoke out. Leehan catches you watching, smirking to himself as you continue to watch him now, repeating the same steps as Taesan, inhaling and blowing the smoke up into the sky.
You had never realized how attractive they both were until now, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you try to calm the heat rising to your face. Surely you were sick if you found watching two men destroy their lungs and brain cells hot, right?
“Wanna hit?”
He offers. You shake your head profusely, saying no as your cheeks burn. You didn’t want your first time being high to be unplanned and knowing you’d be by yourself later. He shrugs, laughing it off.
“I always offer, but no pressure.”
You thank him anyways, mind distracted by the thought of them smoking and how it would feel to smoke with them. How attractive they both looked while smoking. Maybe it was something you’d have to consider. When you make it back to your dorm, you thank them one more time for walking back with you, telling them that you’d text them when to meet up again. They waited until you went inside, walking outside a little bit longer to continue smoking.
“Dude, she totally finds you attractive. She wouldn’t stop staring at you when you were hitting the pen,”
Leehan laughs, watching the pen light up, taking a fat hit, the cloud of smoke dark and prominent against the night sky. Taesan takes the pen from him, already buzzed as he nods.
“She was looking at you too, maybe she thinks we look cool while smoking or something? Or maybe she’s just interested after seeing us do it?”
His reasons make sense, but Leehan can’t shake the thought that you find them attractive. They both drop it, ending their walk when they make it back to their dorm hall.
༄ ༄ ༄
The next time you saw them during lab, you guys decided to meet up for the project the next day. It was a Friday night but none of you had plans to go home that weekend, and decided it would be a good use of time to work on the project instead. You decided to work in the study room of your building this time since you already lived there and Taesan and Leehan lived nearby. You let them into your building, smiling as you lead them to the study room. They got comfortable, opening their laptops and getting to work right away. It was a little later than you’d normally start working, around 6:30 pm, but you figured it’d be fine since you didn’t have classes the next day.
You were really focused, this session being more successful than the last when you guys actually managed to complete the rest of the project. You checked the time to see that it had already hit 9 o’clock. You laugh to yourself, knowing that it was the random conversation you’d all had during the periods of mental block you experienced doing this project that led this to take longer than it should have.
“You guys were so locked in too! You didn’t even take a smoke break!”
You laughed, looking at Leehan who had that signature lazy smile on his face.
“Well actually… I smoked before we came here. Plus I hit the pen again when I went to the bathroom. I’ve been high this whole time.”
“I’m a little high too.”
Taesan perks up, the two of them giggling to each other. You look between them, watching as they continue to laugh at your cluelessness. You just shake your head, giggling yourself.
“So you guys are just always high then?”
“Only when we don’t have much to do or the work is easy. Usually we don’t get high if there’s a big test or something coming up and we really have to focus and remember things.”
Leehan says, closing his laptop and shoving it into his bag. Taesan looks for your reaction while also packing his stuff up.
“Does it hurt? Like when you smoke?”
You ask. The way they looked and laughed so carefree, it made you want to experience it, but of course you had your doubts. You were nervous about how you’d act, what you’d say and how you’d feel. But you didn’t know anyone else who did it and they seemed like pretty good guys. An amused look settles on Taesan’s face.
“Maybe the first time your throat will hurt but you get used to it. Wanna try?”
You don’t say no, slowly nodding your head as the boys exchange knowing glances.
“Alright, let’s go outside. The pen has enough charge.”
Leehan pulls out the pen, placing it on the table. You look down, realizing that you’re not in the right attire to be outside, only on a short sleeve shirt and sleep shorts. You’d be too cold.
“Can we do it here? I’m not really dressed to go outside nor do I want to…”
“Sure, if you don’t mind cracking your window and us smoking in your room? We can’t really do it down here, people will see us.”
You bite your lip, thinking over whether or not you actually want to do this right now. You reason with yourself that tomorrow is a free day and that you should reward yourself after finishing your project. You nod, watching as they smile and grab their bags. You pack your things up as well, leading them to your room.
Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were very nervous to say the least. As much as you felt like you could trust them and knew them well, at the end of the day, they were two strangers who you met in a physics lab. But you pushed away the thoughts, trying to relax so that you didn’t carry these feelings of anxiety with you into being high. They could sense the tension radiating off of you, trying to ease the situation a little.
“Your room is very cute.”
Leehan says, his distraction working as you start talking about the decorations you have up on your walls. They could still hear the shakiness in your voice though.
“Y/N, if you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. We don’t want to force you into anything. We can leave if you want.”
Taesan says, motioning to Leehan to follow him out. But you stop them.
“No, wait! I’m sorry, I’m just nervous because I’ve never had two guys in my room before, ones that I don’t really know that much no offense, and also because I’ve never smoked before so I’m worried about how I’ll be…”
You felt a little lighter after explaining your concerns, like a weight was lifted off of you to allow for open communication.
“We can walk you through it. We don’t bite, I promise. If you let yourself relax, it can feel very good. You might get a little tingly, but your mind will feel light, and if you’re anything like us, you’re gonna laugh your ass off the whole time.”
Leehan explained. You felt a lot better now, kind of knowing what to expect.
“We can teach you how to do it too, in a way that won’t make your throat hurt too much.”
Taesan walks up to you, pen in hand as he sits on the bay window. He holds the button down on the pen, inhaling for about 3 seconds before pulling away. You watch as he holds his breath, keeping the smoke in before blowing it out.
“See? Not so bad. Just take it easy. You’re definitely gonna feel something in your throat, but try your best not to cough. It’s hard, but it’ll make it less painful overall.”
He clicks the button twice before handing it to you, putting it on the lowest setting. The same feeling you had the other day erupts in your stomach, finding the way he looks taking a hit so sexy.
“Can I watch you do it too, Leehan? You know, another example?”
Another excuse. You really just can’t help how hot you found them, especially when they were smoking. You wanted to see the way he inhales the smoke, knowing he likes to hold it. He chuckles, grabbing the pen from your hand and switching places with Taesan, hand coming up to brush his hair back and out of his face. He inhales longer than Taesan did, for about 5 seconds before doing the same, holding the smoke in. But he doesn’t blow it out, he turns to face you for a second.
“Good enough example?”
You watch as some smoke escapes his mouth, wondering how he’s holding it in. He hands it to you before turning to look out the window, blowing the smoke out fully. Your face is hot, but not out of nerves, but from the way the feeling of watching him smoke travels lower down your body than you would care to admit.
“You’ll know that you’ve inhaled a good amount when you feel it in your throat. Don’t do any more than that. Hold it in for a second and then blow it out. Hold down the button while you’re inhaling and let it go when you feel it.”
You nod, hands a little sweaty from your nerves being worked up before you switch places with Leehan. The boys look at you in anticipation, waiting for you to take your first hit. You relax yourself, exhaling before wrapping your lips around the pen. Your finger goes to click the button, holding it as you count to three in your head. You barely inhale, already feeling a weird, almost grainy feeling in your throat. You quickly release the button, moving the pen away from your mouth and trying to hold the smoke in. You face the window, watching as the tiniest smoke cloud leaves your lips.
You sink your head in defeat, sighing as you hold out the pen for someone else to take after your pathetic cloud. The boys just laugh, pushing the pen back towards you to have you try again.
“You inhaled too lightly. Apply a little more pressure. You’ll be okay, promise.”
Taesan says. You nod, trying again with his advice in mind. This time, you feel it stronger, the feeling reaching into your throat, the urge to cough coming up. You try to hold it, but not for long before you blow it out, loud coughs following after. Leehan is quick on his feet, handing you your water bottle to try and get you to stop coughing.
“Nice! You did good! The cough does get you a little though,”
He laughs as you take a sip of water.
“That wasn’t so bad actually. Thanks guys.”
They nod, taking turns smoking amongst themselves to let you acclimate to the feeling in your throat. They watch you carefully, making sure you don’t get paranoid or worried about anything.
“I feel alright. Is it okay if I get another hit?”
Your sweetness has them both melting. Your attitude this entire night has gotten them both to become softies for you. And you still couldn't lie about how attractive you found them both. The way they smoke was so enticing, like a siren luring in their prey. Taesan hands you the pen.
“All yours, baby.”
You blush at the nickname, trying not to think too much of it as you take another hit. This one was bigger than the last, the cloud of smoke really thick and not something either of them had expected to see from you just yet. That one hit you almost instantly, eyes immediately starting to feel heavy as you turn around, bursting out laughing at the way they’re both looking at you.
They look at each other before laughing with you, knowing that you were in trouble now. You spent the next thirty minutes taking turns hitting the pen, the more time went by the higher you got and the higher they got.
“Here’s a crazy story! One time Dongmin got really high and he was complaining that he was really hungry so we ordered food and he fell asleep mid-bite!”
Leehan roars, laughing so loud you were afraid the people next door would hear.
“Wait, your real name is Dongmin?”
You turn to face Taesan, laugh never ceasing as you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you didn’t know his real name this entire time.
“Yeah. Leehan isn’t his real name either, it’s Donghyun!”
“Really?!”
You couldn’t believe your ears, looking between the two over and over again.
“Why do you guys go by fake names? You think you’re cool or something?”
You were so relaxed, just saying things you wouldn’t normally say and getting really comfortable, but feeling good as you all laughed and bonded over your straightforwardness and jokes, together.
“No! It’s just nicknames for us so people don’t get confused. Sometimes they can’t remember whose Donghyun and whose Dongmin, it can get annoying actually.”
Leehan laughs, taking another rip. You watch, mesmerized by how elegant he manages to look. He watches as your eyes linger on him a little too long, smirking at you as he pulls the pen away from his lips, eyes never leaving yours as he turns his head slightly, blowing the smoke up more towards the ceiling than out the window.
“What? I got something on my face?”
His tone is cocky but you know he’s teasing. You shake your head frantically, feeling hot all over. The smug smirk resting on his face lets you know he’s on to you.
“So then you just like the way I look then, right? Since you keep staring at me?”
His eyes are just as droopy as yours, looking at Taesan before laughing out loud. He gets up, placing a hand on your bare thigh, giving it a little squeeze before handing the pen to you. Your breath hitches, the sensation of his warm hand going straight to your core as you squeeze your legs together.
“Here you go, baby,”
He knew the effect it had on you when Taesan said it, repeating it again now. You gulp hard, palms sweaty in anticipation as you go to grab the pen from his hands. The way your fingers brush his has you looking away, trying your best not to laugh out of sheer embarrassment. Taesan watches with a smirk on his face. You’re clutching the pen, not really doing anything with it, thinking about anything other than the two boys in the room to calm your nerves.
“What’s wrong Y/N? You done smoking?”
You shake your head ‘no.’
“My throat hurts from all the inhaling, I’m waiting a second.”
Taesan nods, understanding your predicament but not commenting on it right now. He checks the time on his phone. 11 pm.
“We should probably get going soon. It’s getting kind of late.”
He gets up from his spot near the window, stretching out his body as Leehan follows.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait a little until she starts coming down? It's her first time.”
“No, it’s fine! It is getting pretty late! I think I’m just going to go to sleep now anyway…”
Your quickened pace when speaking and the slight slur of your words leave them a little worried, but relieved nonetheless that you’ll be going to sleep soon.
“Cute. Text us if anything’s wrong. We’ll be up for a bit.”
The compliment has you basically shoving the two boys out of your room, getting even more embarrassed when you can hear their laughs from outside of the door. Your head felt light and your eyes felt heavy, the tingly sensation working its way through your body like a constant flow of currents. Thighs pressed together, you were surprised at yourself for having been turned on the whole time. What if they noticed? What if they think you’re a sick, weird, pervert?
Your mind continues to race with these thoughts as you absentmindedly push your thighs together to feel a little friction, any sort of relief. You bite your lip, contemplating for a second before locking the door. You head towards your dresser, shoving panties around as you look for a specific item.
Your head feels tingly as you pull out the black toy, heading to the bathroom to give it a quick rinse before settling onto your bed. You didn’t need a video or anything, pulling your shorts down and placing the little vibrator right onto your bare clit.
Even the lowest setting sent jolts straight up your spine, the pleasure more than anything you had ever felt before. Little moans and whimpers to no one in particular flowed out of your mouth the harder you pressed the vibrator into yourself, turning up the setting. Your other hand circled around your hole, coating your fingers in your own arousal before pushing them past your folds, a long and drawn out sigh leaving your lips once you feel them press against the spot that has you seeing stars.
“Leehan… Taesan…”
You catch yourself moaning out for the two boys, finding it hard to keep your legs spread enough to push your fingers in while fighting the urge to clamp them shut around the vibrator. This feeling is much greater, much stronger than any orgasm you’ve had before. You didn’t last much longer, body convulsing as your orgasm crashes over you, vision going white and mind going completely blank.
Once your body stops shaking and you finally come to, you’re red out of pure bliss and embarrassment. Did you really just cum to the thought of Taesan and Leehan? You shook your head, calming down from your orgasm before deciding to take a shower. The feeling of being high slowly went away, being replaced by sleepiness. You finished up quickly, drying yourself off before hopping into bed.
The act of masturbating and thinking about them made you shift in your position. It felt weird being alone after spending the last almost 6 hours with them, wondering if you would hang out with them outside of lab now that the project was over. You brush the thoughts off, trying your best to fall asleep, but your mind didn’t cooperate, keeping you up for a while anyways.
༄ ༄ ༄
“Hey, Y/N, wanna smoke some real weed?”
You tilt your head in curiosity. What a question to ask someone immediately after a physics lab. You look up at Leehan who is equally as confused. You both watch as Taesan pulls a tube out of his bag.
“You’re kidding,”
Leehan says, laughing and smiling bigger. In Taesan’s hands was a tube containing a blunt.
“You think pulling that out right outside of the physics building is a good idea?”
You deadpan, hiding your shock and excitement at how bold he could be.
“No one’s even looking, and besides, they don't know what’s in here.”
You roll your eyes, walking with them to get some food. You were a little surprised that they invited you out for lunch today, as you normally went your separate ways after class. But you were relieved regardless, happy that they thought you were fun enough to hang out with even outside of class.
You settled to eat at the closest dining hall, expecting nothing but disappointment. But you got your food, sitting at a 4-top table in the corner.
“I got a blunt from my plug, so we can trust it. Y/N, will you smoke with us? It would be so fun for you to smoke a real blunt with us!”
Taesan asked like an excited little kid. You laughed, rolling your eyes at his dramatics but agreeing nonetheless.
“Hell yeah! This is gonna be so fun. Are you free Friday night?”
Leehan asks, equally as excited as Taesan. You nod, taking a bite of your food as you silently think about smoking a blunt with them. You were nervous, worried even since the last time you got high resulted in moaning their names to yourself. You were scared it would feel different, or make you even hornier than last time. But you could tell by the looks on their faces that they really did want you to join and were really excited for you to be there, so who were you to turn them down?
༄ ༄ ༄
The week came and went, Friday night coming by quickly. You headed back from your little hangout with your other friends, going back to your room first to put your stuff down. You had to physically and mentally prepare yourself, showering before slipping into something comfy enough to be outside in and stay warm. You made sure to bring extra water bottles, knowing how dry your mouth got last time and bringing them for the boys as well.
You headed out first, walking to their residence hall as you didn’t know where the smoke spot was. They came down quickly, smiling from ear to ear.
“You guys are stoners.”
You say, their smiles growing even bigger.
“We're not stoners per se. We just like having a good time!”
Leehan chuckles, Taesan double checking his pockets, making sure he has both the blunt and a lighter on him.
“Let’s go! I’m ready to have some fun!”
You walk with them to the spot, shivering a little as it was colder than you had expected. It was a little area of steps that led to a now run-down building that was no longer in use. You didn’t even know this building existed as it was a little ways from the areas where you were usually in.
“It’s a little creepy but almost no one comes here, so it’s the perfect smoke spot to not get caught.”
Leehan comments while Taesan pulls out the materials. He waits for the wind to calm down a bit before bringing the blunt up to his lips, lighting the other end and letting it burn for a second. The smell instantly hits you, unlike the pen the blunt had a strong smell. It was a little overwhelming, but nothing you couldn’t handle.
You both watch as he takes the first hit, his eyes closing as he takes in the taste and holds the smoke in his mouth. He looks so blissful, sharp eyes closed, making his face look soft as he exhales a small cloud.
“It tastes different, not bad.”
He says, passing the blunt over to Leehan who nearly jumps to grab it.
“Addict.”
Taesan comments, but Leehan doesn’t care as he impatiently brings the blunt to his lips. He takes a bigger inhale than Taesan, letting the taste and feeling on his tongue settle before pulling it away, exhaling a bigger cloud with a satisfied smirk.
“I like the taste.”
“Of course you would. Go ahead Y/N, you’re next. Only if you want to, of course.”
Leehan hands you the blunt, winking at you. You thank him, hesitantly bringing it up to your lips, face cringing at the smell. You calm yourself down, relaxing before inhaling. You try for a couple of seconds, the taste horrendous before pulling away from it, exhaling with a slight cough.
“It tastes like shit!”
They both laugh as you pass the blunt to Taesan.
“I have the pen if you’d like to smoke that instead.”
He says, blowing the smoke into the air before passing it back to Leehan. You nod, wanting to get high and replace the taste in your mouth, drinking some water beforehand. He hands you the pen, turning it on for you before you take a hit, exhaling at the same time as Leehan.
“Thank you, this is much better.”
You all continue to talk, gradually getting more high until you’re all droopy-eyed and giggly, sharing crazy stories and laughing loud. You’re about to take another hit of the pen as Taesan hands the almost dead blunt back to Leehan.
“Wait, Y/N, you said you didn’t like the taste of it right? I have an idea, don’t use the pen yet.”
You watch in confusion as he takes a hit, Taesan also confused but still looking at the two of you with a permanent smile plastered on his face.
“Open your mouth.”
You look at him shocked, but do as he says. He grabs your shoulder with one hand, using the other to tilt your chin up to him. You’re nervous as your breath gets caught in your throat, the same warm feeling you got from them being in your room blooming in your stomach as he gets closer. He leans down, lips just barely brushing yours as he carefully blows the smoke from his mouth into yours.
“Close your mouth and breathe it in. Now you don’t have to taste the weed and get all the effects.”
He smiles, face still close to yours. He looks so good, you almost forget to inhale.
“Don’t blow the smoke out yet. Taesan, come here.”
He motions to the other boy, who follows his command.
“Blow it back into Taesan’s mouth.”
The older boy smirks, getting into the same position that Leehan was just in, a hand on your shoulder and another on your chin as he brings his mouth close to yours, parting his lips for you to blow the smoke into his mouth now. You can barely comprehend what’s going on before you do as he says, leaning in a little more to blow the smoke into Taesan’s mouth without letting too much escape.
You’re sure you’re a blushing mess right now, hoping that they can’t see how red your face is. Another wave hits you, suddenly laughing as Taesan pulls away and blows the smoke out into the air.
“I liked that.”
The simple phrase was enough to have the boys lighting another blunt, just to continue taking turns blowing smoke into each other’s mouths.
“Did you? We can keep doing it if you’d like, you know, to save you from having to hit the pen over and over again.”
Taesan smirks, sending a knowing look to Leehan. They both nod, knowing that you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. You nod, liking the idea better than having to abuse your lungs.
“Alright cutie, open up.”
Leehan says, doing the same motion as before, but bringing his lips closer to you than before. You’re shocked yet again, but do as you’re supposed to before taking his smoke in, inhaling it and waiting for Taesan to come over to you. He brings his lips close, waiting for you to blow the smoke into his mouth. You do it, feeling light and dizzy as the recycled smoke and the close proximity of their lips leave you burning hot, no longer shivering like you once were just 30 minutes ago.
You look around, trying to find the waters you packed only to realize that they’re all empty, pouting as a result.
“What’s wrong baby? You look lost.”
Leehan asks, stopping himself from taking another hit just yet.
“My mouth is so dry. We have no water left though…”
“I mean… we still have half a blunt left… tell you what, I have an idea. Do you trust me?”
You were confused on why you needed to trust him but you nodded anyway. They’ve never given you a reason not to trust them so you agreed. He handed the blunt to Taesan who was idly watching, amused knowing what his friend was going to do next.
Leehan held your shoulder yet again, but this time he put his hand on the back of your head. He pulled you in, lips settling on yours as you yelped. Your open mouth was the perfect invitation for him to glide his tongue into your dry mouth, slicking up his tongue with his own saliva and giving it to you. Your hands instinctively wrap into his hair, allowing him to fill your mouth with his tongue.
You don’t realize that you’re chasing his lips when he pulls away, the visible string of saliva still connecting you two as you try to recapture his lips.
“You’re so cute, baby.”
Taesan says, slightly pushing his friend out of the way to take his place.
“Your mouth is still dry, right? That’s why you were chasing his lips? Don’t worry, I have more for you.”
You don’t waste a second connecting your lips with his, needing the relief of someone’s tongue to help the dryness in your mouth and now, the wetness spreading between your legs. You press them together, trying to create any sort of friction to please yourself.
You’re still kissing Taesan, limp against his hold as he explores your mouth like Leehan was, producing as much saliva to push into your mouth as he can, when Leehan walks up behind you.
“I don’t mean to interrupt but it looks like our cutie can’t hold herself back anymore,”
He says, tapping your thighs.
“She’s closing her legs so tight just to feel something. We shouldn’t keep her waiting, should we?”
Taesan pulls away to marvel at the sight of your flushed out face and parted lips, legs pressed tightly together. You’re slightly out of breath, still dizzy from the high and the feeling of both of their saliva mixed in your mouth.
“Save the blunt, we’re going back to the room.”
Taesan says and Leehan nods, putting the blunt back into its container to conceal the smell. You’re nervous yet excited, looking between the both of them smiling, and they smile back.
“Can we go back to my room?”
You ask, giggling as they change route to go to your dorm instead.
“Of course sweetheart, anything to keep you comfortable.”
Taesan says, walking slowly behind you to cup the plush of your ass. You jump at the action, Leehan laughing at your yelp.
“You couldn’t even wait to get inside could you?”
You shake your head no as you fiddle with your ID, having trouble taking it out of your pocket and feeling like you’re moving very slowly. Taesan helps, grabbing your ID and moving it up to the scanner, pushing the door open for all of you to walk in. He still has your keys in his hand as he walks through the halls, remembering where your room was even though he’d only been there once. Leehan holds your hand, guiding you through the halls as you continue to feel your head spin.
“We’re here.”
He says, unlocking the door and allowing you both to enter first before closing it behind him, locking it. You look back at them, biting your lip as you stand there awkwardly. You’re hot, sweating a little as the events from just a few minutes ago replay in your mind. They look at each other again before looking at you.
“Are you nervous? You have no reason to be.”
Leehan runs a hand through your hair, stopping at your cheek and cupping it. He runs a finger along your lip, your dazed stare locking in on his eyes and then his lips. He smirks again, leaning down. Your mouths mold together, Taesan walking up behind you and feeling you up through your shirt. He gropes your breasts, lips attaching themselves to your neck as you let a gasp escape into Leehan’s mouth.
You feel like you’re in heaven right now with how they’ve stuck themselves to you. You hold one of Taesan’s hands that are on your chest, squeezing it before guiding it down into your pants. You can’t hold back any longer, needing some relief from the ache between your legs.
“Fuck you’re so hot.”
He nearly growls into your ear, cupping your heat through your panties before moving a finger along your clothed folds. You grind down on his fingers, shoving your tongue into Leehan’s mouth. Your high makes you more sensitive, whimpering into Leehan’s mouth. You can feel both of their hard-on’s poking your front and back side respectively, rocking yourself back and forth onto them. Your other hand reaches down to palm Leehan through his jeans, shocked by how big it feels already. He takes control of the kiss, biting your bottom lip and sucking on it before pulling away to move to your jaw.
Taesan pulls away from your neck, circling your clit with his finger as you throw your head back into his chest. Leehan watches as your head rests on Taesan’s chest. He dips his head down to your ear, fanning the skin with his breath.
“Relax baby girl, focus on the feeling. On how good we’re making you feel.”
Taesan’s free hand goes up to your neck, applying a little pressure to keep you in place as his fingers work your clit, more moans fizzling out into his mouth. Leehan takes the opportunity to lift up your shirt, admiring your chest before pulling your bra down, lips wrapping around your hardened nipples. You squirm, more sensitive than usual. Your hand is still palming Leehan, moving to unbutton it when you remember something. You pull away from Taesan, panting and out of breath.
“Don’t we still have half a blunt?”
The boys look at each other, the biggest grins adorning their faces. Taesan fishes into his pocket, grabbing both the container with the blunt and the lighter. Your window was already open, allowing him to light it freely without worrying about setting off the fire alarm.
“Aren’t you just a little genius?”
Leehan coos, going back to marking up your chest. Taesan inhales, ascending at the feeling of the smoke taking over his lungs. He takes another hit, smirking as you look up at him expectedly and taps Leehan’s shoulder. The boy rises from your chest, watching as Taesan pulls him closer.
He opens his mouth, Taesan tilting his head to get a better angle. Their lips don’t quite touch, the older boy carefully blowing the smoke into the younger boy’s mouth, your mouth salivating at the scene. Leehan smirks, making sure none of the smoke escapes past his lips before sticking a finger into your mouth. He pushes down on your tongue, prying your mouth open as he inhales the smoke a little before blowing it into your mouth.
You feel euphoric, the sensation of the smoke clouding your lungs enough to make your eyes roll back. He smirks as he watches you relax into the older male, releasing the smoke with a tilt of your head towards the window. Leehan grabs the hem of your pants, looking up with the same goofy smile he’s had for the last hour, teeth catching the light as you nod your head eagerly. Your mind is fuzzy, the tingles from your high only amplifying the feeling of the boys’ touches.
He grabs the blunt from Taesan’s hands, taking a big hit. He holds it for a while as he pulls your pants and panties down, pupils dilated as he takes in the scene in front of him. His face is close when you involuntarily shut your thighs, his nose just barely brushing your clit as you moan out loud. Getting impatient at this point, Taesan takes a hit himself, holding it in for you.
“Go ahead, give the smoke to her.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice before grabbing your chin again, tilting your head towards him as he dips his head down to catch your lips, pushing his tongue past your lips yet again. Leehan pries your legs open, holding his hand between them as he blows the smoke he had in his mouth directly onto your clit. Taesan holds onto tight as your body convulses, the pleasure combined with how sensitive you are almost enough to make you cum on the spot.
“Oh fuck me…”
You moan out against his lips, gripping onto Taesan’s arm hard as Leehan attaches his lips to your clit, sucking lightly. You fully remove your shirt and bra, slipping it over your shoulders and throwing one arm behind Taesan’s neck, your other hand going down to grip Leehan’s hair, pulling on it. You’re panting heavily, breath shaky as you feel Taesan’s fingers circling your entrance.
“Do you need this love? Do you need my fingers in you that badly?”
His fingers tease your hole, thighs clenching around both Taesan’s hand and Leehan’s head at his dirty words, but to no avail. He pushes in a finger, smirking into your neck as your back arches away from him and into Leehan’s mouth. His tongue makes quick work of you, flattening against your clit just right, saliva spilling down your folds and onto Taesan’s finger. He takes the opportunity to collect the brunette’s saliva, pushing it back into you. You squirm at the hot fluid, feeling a little gush of liquid leak out of you.
Taesan’s quick to pull his finger out, taking your liquids combined with Leehan’s saliva into his mouth.
“Fuck, you both taste delicious, here, have a taste for yourself.”
He shoves his finger into your mouth, bucking his hips up into your ass when your tongue swirls around it. You can barely produce sounds with how cloudy your head was, just relishing in the feeling of being taken care of.
“Hey, no fair! I want a taste!”
Leehan pouts, licking a big stripe up from your juices to your clit, leaving his mouth open, tongue out for the older boy to stick his finger in. Taesan obliges, taking his mixed-saliva drenched finger and placing it onto his mouth. Leehan all but reciprocates your previous actions, swirling his tongue around Taesan’s finger, seemingly turning him on even more as he continues to rut into your ass.
“Shit… I don't know how much longer I can wait…”
He removes his finger from the boy’s mouth, Leehan smiling with mischief as he watches Taesan pull his pants down, freeing his angry hard-on. You look down, gasping at the sheer length of it. He takes another hit of the blunt, passing it back to Leehan as they switch positions. You watch as they bend you at their will. You somehow end up on the bed on all fours, face beet red at the position, but more so because of the way Leehan is looking down on you.
“Can you undo my jeans, babygirl? I’m a little busy right now,”
He caresses your cheek as he looks away, taking another hit. You fiddle with his zipper, sighing in relief when you finally get it down. Smiling victoriously, you pull both his pants and boxers down, letting them fall to his ankles. Taesan exhales the smoke in his mouth, rubbing his cock along your soaking folds.
“Fuck, I’m sorry… I can’t hold back anymore.”
He tries to go slow at first, getting the head in. But your hole has other plans, sucking him in faster than either of you can register, both moaning out loud as he immediately bottoms out in you.
“Mhmmm Taesannie… feels so good…”
If he didn’t almost lose it at your moans, the nickname was definitely getting to him. He pulls out slowly before pushing in at the same speed, trying not to go too fast and cum almost instantly. Leehan watches for a second as your mouth hangs open in pure bliss.
“Let’s put that open mouth to use, cutie,”
You look up at him, eyes watering as he taps his cock on the side of your face.
“You’re gonna need to open up a little more.”
He drags the head along your lips, collecting the drool spilling out of them before sliding his hard cock past your lips. You try your best to accommodate his size, tongue swirling along the tip. But the more you tried, the harder it was. Your mouth was still dry and the constant moans being pulled from you by Taesan didn’t help at all either. But Leehan noticed, leaning down and pulling his cock out of your mouth for a second. He connected his mouth to yours, pushing as much saliva into your mouth as he could. He pulls away, gathering a big glob of spit into his mouth, leaning down and letting it drip past his lips and onto his cock.
“That should be good, right?”
He tilts his head all cocky, but you’re still dizzy from the kiss. You nod your head anyway, wrapping your lips around his cock as best as you can to try and contain his saliva between your lips. One hand grips your hair, sliding himself back and forth into your mouth, head thrown back as he gets deeper and deeper into your throat. The vibrations from your moans and the way Taesan is roughly rocking you forward, essentially sliding Leehan’s cock further down your throat has him hissing in pleasure.
“Fuckkkkk… Taesan, c’mere,”
He signals to the boy to lean forward, taking what little is left of the blunt, and taking a final hit, holding it between his teeth for a second, letting it settle in his throat before grabbing the boy’s hair. He leans into him as close as he can to release the smoke into his mouth. Taesan doesn’t stop pounding into you, continuing his relentless thrusts as your eyes slowly roll to the back of your head, both from the pleasure from Taesan and your airflow gradually diminishing from Leehan pushing his cock impossibly further down your throat. Taesan throws his head back, already so high, the sensation of the boy blowing the smoke into his mouth and the feeling of your walls clenching around him so euphoric that he doesn’t realize that his cum is spilling out of you.
“Fuck! Shit, I’m so sorry Y/N… I didn’t mean to cum inside!”
It takes you a while to register that he’s cum in you, but you’re too faded to care, continuing to push yourself back onto him. But Leehan stops your movements, pulling himself off of you once again to switch places with Taesan.
“It’s my turn now.”
He smirks, having waited for this all night. He lays you down so you’re on your back, looking up at him, eyes droopy but pupils blown out, a dreamy look spread across your face that nearly has him pushing in without warning.
“You ready for round 2?”
You absentmindedly nod your head, whimpering at the loss of contact. Taesan hovers over you, caressing your hair sweetly as he attaches his mouth to your neck. His sensation of his plush lips along with the soft bites is almost relaxing until you feel Leehan dragging himself across your folds. He wasn’t as long as Taesan, but he was definitely thicker, more intimidating.
“Beg for it. Beg for my cock, Y/N,”
You whimper at the command, tears pricking your eyes at the feeling of being empty. You try your best, slurring out little pleas and begs, too high to produce anything more than incoherent babbles. Leehan chuckles at your attempts, caressing your body, squeezing at your waist as he slides in.You let out a scream at the intrusion. No warning, no prep, not that you needed it, but the sheer weight of his cock in you alone was enough to get you to squirt around him.
“Fuck baby that was so sexy… can you do it again?”
He bites his lip, trying to find the best angle he can to get you to squirt again. Taesan continues kissing up your neck, trailing them up to your jaw as he brushes your lips with his fingers, admiring how plump and red they’ve become.
“C’mom Y/N. I know you can do it. You’re already doing so well. Squirt again for us…”
His fingers slowly dance down your skin, stopping right at your clit before pressing down on them a little. Your body jerks forwards, back arching off the bed at the sudden sensation. He moves down to your chest, taking his time flicking his tongue against your hardened nipple. His fingers move in slow circles around your clit, occasionally dragging your slick up your folds. He pulls away from your nipple every now and again, sucking it before blowing on it and repeating the process.
Leehan uses his other hand to grope and play with your other tit, rolling your other nipple between his fingers, pinching them slightly. You’re fully relaxed and worked up at the same time, back arched off the bed and labored breathing caused by the moans that won’t stop leaving your lips. You’re sure your neighbors can hear all three of you, but you don’t care, not when you’re feeling this good.
“Taesan… Leehan… I’m…”
They only stare at you in awe, watching as your squirt drenches Leehan and the sheets below you. You can feel yourself clenching around him, your orgasm taking over you as your body calms down from the violent shaking.
“Holy shit,”
He pulls out just in time, leaning over you just enough to release the rest of his cum onto your chest, smiling to himself when some manages to catch on your bottom lip. Your body is still trembling, legs sore and hole dripping like you needed more. They boys exchange looks, coming to a wordless agreement that has you confused.
“You know this was just round one, right?”
Taesan smirks cheekily, his rough voice ringing in your ears as he bites back a laugh when your eyes almost blow out of your head.
“Did you really think this was it? We’re just getting started.”
Leehan’s voice was sinister in your ears but you couldn’t stop the way your hips bucked up into the air, hole clenching around nothing in anticipation.
“She doesn’t seem like she’s opposed, I think she wants it.”
Taesan giggles and Leehan follows suit. You sit up, heart hammering and wincing at the sore feeling between your legs. They almost look concerned for you, but your creeping smile gives you away.
“I’ve made it this far already, what’s a little more, right?”
+*:🌟:*﹤smut w plot, sub!leehan, edging, riding, exhib+voy themes, reader fem anat, piv sex, flawed characteristics, bit of a scent thing going on / wc: 4.7k / masterlist
✧･ﾟ: *
leehan wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. he knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. he's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.
you're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. he’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.
he’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. he wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom.
“don’t go to work. stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. you consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.
“i can’t, baby. gotta get this project done, then i’ll be all yours, m’kay?” he pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. within minutes, you’re out the door.
leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. it feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. it’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.
he’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. he thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.
his hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. he tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. it's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room.
you never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. he’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. he sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”
he chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. he knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. you wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.
he reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. he spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. when he feels close, he presses the “record a message” button beside the text bar.
at first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. the audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
the answer is absolutely nothing. you don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door.
he continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.
he knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games.
leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. he’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
you finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch.
you’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. when lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest.
“um, hi. are you busy?” a feminine voice says. the girl has to stand directly in leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. when he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“can i help you?”
“no! well, yes. i…was just wondering if i could have your phone number. i saw you standing alone earlier…” the girl’s voice fades out as leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.
“...alone again here in the food court, so i thought i should take the chance.”
leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.
he flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. she’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. he watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him.
“is that…alright?” she says, looking at leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. he pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.
he’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. he doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. the girl pulls her hand away from leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.
“what do you think you’re doing?” you ask. your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. his composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.
“this girl came up to me and…” he trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.
“and?” you ask impatiently, but leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. this girl came up to me and i pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? he has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. you turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.
“you’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. i’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” the girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. she accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off.
you shoot leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. he considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
to be honest, you scare leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. he’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. you don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.
you lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “sit.”
leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. he expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. he doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. at least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him.
“baby–”
“shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. you stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. he may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.
“why are you acting like this, leehan?” it takes leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.
“what do you mean?” that’s his intelligent response. you scoff and roll your eyes.
“don’t act dense with me. you were flirting with that girl just so i’d see. i know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.
“no? you didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.
“show me.”
leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “w-what?”
“you wanted my attention so bad. now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. he has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it.
“go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. he lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs.
you make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.
“your little cock is hard, hannie.” he knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”
leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.
he does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.
“stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. he would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. he tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.
“keep going.”
he continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. his tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close.
he strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. he has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.
“let go.”
leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. he’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.
“hm…i dunno. something’s not right.” you tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. he can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. if you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes leehan flush with shame. “what do you think, baby boy?”
he huffs out a laugh at the question. how is he supposed to know? but you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “i mean– usually i’m, like, in bed, i guess. thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” god, don’t get him started on smelling you.
you hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. in seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. you hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. he’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.
“is that right? you think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”
of course you’d know his weak spot. you’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. he squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.
“touch yourself, hannie,” you say sweetly.
he takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. he’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.
he knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. the way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you.
if he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. he wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.
“ha– ah, fuck–” slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.
“let go,” you whisper in his ear. his hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. it takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last.
he’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. he doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.
you pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. you smile at the sight and caress his cheek. he melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. you used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you.
“i do think you were louder that time. moaned just like you did in those recordings.” he opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap.
“fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched.
“stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. he struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. the action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.
you stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. he lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.
“c’mon, hannie. i’m not done with you yet. let me see.” you push his legs apart with your knee. he looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. he’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.
“w-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “how long are you gonna make me do this?”
you tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “however long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” leehan whines a little in protest.
“just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”
the look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “i missed you too, hannie. so. much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “it was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. but bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
by the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. he’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. you’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind.
“please– n/n, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. it’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. you’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment.
his hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. he’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. you know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness.
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” but you’re not looking at him. your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. he’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you.
“stop, pretty boy.”
his hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. he gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.
his head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. his mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt.
his eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. it comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.
you pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. he nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. it’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.
“aw, hannie. look at me. tell me what you want.”
“mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” you giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.
“wanna taste me?” you reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. you straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. you make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out.
you whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue.
leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. you always taste so good, so sweet to him.
his eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. you slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.
you wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.
he’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. he tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible.
“do you have a color for me, baby?”
“mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”
you interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. he’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. there’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.
“i think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” you ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. you pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as leehan longed for.
you cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. he knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway.
you wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. it feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.
your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy leehan has ever seen. you lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.
“i’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. you grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. he gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. his thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot.
“fuck yeah, hannie. that’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. on a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.
“look at me, n/n. please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. it’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.
“you fill me up so good, hannie. make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “gonna cum for me? gonna fill me up nicely?” and he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say.
you trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. the rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “cumming, ‘m, fu–”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
it takes leehan a while to come back to earth. he’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. after asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.
it’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “i really am sorry, y/n. i should’ve been more considerate. i respect your work so much, i just got so lonely…” you smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.
“i’m sorry you were so lonely, hannie. i should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. from now on, i’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. how’s that?”
“that’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.
✧･ﾟ: *
a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3
it’s possible i’ve begun to think about clark never wanting you to do anything during sex, not wanting you to have any work except coming. you try to fuck back onto him while you’re face down, ass up? no, he’s holding you tight and saying “tell me how you want it, baby, don’t need to work for it. just tell me. harder? faster?” you try to get your mouth on his cock? no, he’s guiding you back up to his lips with a hand on your jaw. you try to ride him? no, he’s thrusting up from under you, practically bouncing you on his hips from the force he puts behind his thrusts.
maybe, once, he’s got you in missionary and you lift your hips a little so he hits just the right place inside you that sends your head spinning. he notices that you’re using your tummy muscles to lift yourself, meaning you’re not completely relaxed. he huffs, kisses your mouth once, then sits up on his knees and pulls you close to him by your thighs, holding the weight of your lower body so he can hit that spot inside you with ease and so you can relax into it.
it probably even happens when he’s eating you out, you try to rock against his face so he can enjoy a little more and not be so focused on the rhythm, but he grips your hips to still your movements then immediately matches the pace and intensity you were just going at.
Summary: did you know live tweeting through a crisis is a great way to get laid
Warnings: reader has a job, hostage situation, dealing with customers omg scary, dry humping (the suit stays ON), oral (f receiving), lowkey awkward at first, piv sex, missionary, he’s a lil rough but a sweetheart for a moment, creampie
a/n: accidentally made this long asf whoops
Part 1
The ballroom hums with expensive laughter. The room is filled with crystal chandeliers fracturing light across the polished marble floor, gliding accents, and too many politicians congratulating themselves in the same breath they butter dinner rolls.
The champagne never stops flowing. Neither do the egos.
But here you are, on autopilot. Balancing a try of flutes, smile stretched cheek to cheek, weaving between mobs of suits that smell like entitlement and overpriced cologne. But every time there’s a moment, a break in the routine, every time you slip into the kitchen to refill your tray, your hand strays towards your pocket.
Your phone.
Your thumb swipes over the screen, instinctively, pulling up that tiny, obscure instagram handle. His handle. The one he gave you, that no one else seems to know exists,
@ supe.in.motion
His posts are mundane, it’s almost laughable. Metropolis skylines, sunrises from odd angles, a blurry shot of some pigeons on the Daily Planet. But you scroll through it like it’s scripture. Searching in every picture, reading and rereading the simple captions he left behind.
And it’s replaying in your mind. Especially tonight.
That low voice in your ear, fraying throughout the call. The way he called you sweetheart. Your little secret.
“—oooh, what’s this?”
You jolt, angling your phone away, but it’s too late. Your coworker, Jesse, leans in with a grin, balancing the plate of hors d’oeuvres on his arm away from you.
“You’re smiling at your phone, who’s the lucky guy?’
“Nobody,” you hiss, turning the phone from his view, and trying to will away the bright red creeping its way your cheeks.
Jesse peeks anyway, catching a glimpse of the profile. His eyes light up. “Oooh, is that his profile? Is he your sneaky link? Lemme see—“
“Nope.” You shove another tray into his prying hand, and sidestep out of reach.
“You wanna help me survive this shift? Keep moving, pass those out to someone else before Senator ‘Im-the-most-important-here’ throws a fit and starts yelling about the food service again.”
He laughs, tossing a “Heard!” over his shoulder as he heads back onto the floor.
You exhale, pressing the phone to your chest before forcing yourself to put it away. No more distractions. Not here.
But your fingers betray you one last time, pulling up twitter in a quick swipe, already flying across the keys:
Stuck at work on a Friday night surrounded by old men in suits
0/10 don’t recommend
You toss the phone into your apron pocket before grabbing another tray of champagne flutes, mind already swirling, and slip back onto the floor, back into routine.
Theres clusters of tuxedos and sequin gowns, the sound of champagne flutes clinking, and posh laughter. You balance the tray against your palm, passing carefully through the crowd, offering your practiced smile that never reaches your eyes to passersby.
From a distance, you probably look effortless. Gliding between the gaps of guests with your tray held steady. But up close, you’re starting to feel the strain in your shoulders, the ache in your wrists from the weight of glasses, the low hum of irritation at the way no one ever really spares you a second glance. Not as a person, just as part of the event.
Still, you wear the smile. Keep your head down. In and out. Its just easier that way.
“Champagne?” You murmur, smooth but neutral customer service voice coming forward.
A senator you vaguely recognize, now tie loosened, eyes glassy, and face flushed, snatches a flute from your tray a little too eagerly.
“Well, don’t you look serious,” he booms, sloshing the contents of the glass around dangerously close to the rim. “Whys a pretty girl like you working on a Friday night, huh? Should be over here, having fun with us?”
You blink, smile tightening. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you though.”
He doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he does, but the drink in his hand is more interesting. He claps a hand on another politicians back, launching into another story about golfing on Sundays. Your response is brushed off quicker than the laws they should be signing.
You hover for a moment, though. Tray balanced, waiting to see if he’s going to drop the glass. Then, when it’s clear you’ve been dismissed as quickly as interrupted, you slip away. Your shoulders tight but smile still plastered on for the next bunch of guests.
Back in motion. Back in autopilot.
And all the while, you can’t help but think. Maybe if you’d tweeted something like, “currently stuck serving champagne to drunk politicians, send help superman”
He might actually read it.
You keep your steps smooth, gaze forward as your mind drifts farther than the gala.
The senators voice fades into the background noise as you coast further into the party, drowned out by the echo of another mans. That low, velvety voice. Sweetheart. You can almost hear the way it escaped his lips. Heavy with hunger, like he was pressing the word into your skin.
Your tray wavers slightly as you step. In your head, he’s still there. Whispering what he’d do to you if he were with you instead of hovering god knows where in the city. His mouth on you, drawing sounds from your pressed lips like confessions. His quiet command, touch your clit for me.
Heat flares in your stomach at the memory, causing you swallow hard. Your pulse skips and you’re suddenly aware of the weight of your phone in your apron pocket. Tethered back to him if you dared to touch it.
“Hello?”
The voice cuts in, sharp and nasally, snapping you upright.
A woman in a bedazzled gown, rhinestones catching every bit of light, is staring at you like you’ve committed a personal offense. Her perfectly manicured nail jabs downward.
“Are you even listening?” She snaps
Your stomach drops.
On the marble floor at her feet, lie a champagne flute in ruin. Bubbly liquid spreading in a golden puddle around the jagged shards. The woman sniffs, tilting her chin high.
“I reached for one and it just slipped. Someone should really be more careful.”
Shit.
Before you can sputter a response, Jesse appears at your side like some blessed, tray bearing angel. His brow lifts in a silent, ‘you good?’ but he doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes your tray smoothly from your hands with a wink.
“Go,” he mutters only to you.
You exhale in relief, already digging for the folded towel tucked in your pocket. Dropping low, you press the cloth against the spill. Collecting bubbles and splinters of glass as quickly as possible.
The marble is cold under your knees, even through the dark work pants you adorn. The woman’s perfume is clouding above you, and it’s almost suffocating. Your heart still hasn’t settled from the memory of the voice that called you mine just days ago.
But right now? You couldn’t feel farther from it.
You’re still crouched low, blotting the fizz and sweeping shards into a neat little pile with the folded towel, when an empty appetizer plate catches your eye. Perfect. With careful hands, you scoop the broken glass onto the plate, balancing it against your palm as you rise to your feet.
Thats when the shouting starts.
At first, it sounds like some entitled donor being louder for attention, but then an unmistakable crack of glass breaking against stone rings through the ballroom. A sharp scream follows.
Your stomach drops.
The crowd shifts, waves of sequins and tuxedos pulling back as masked men in all black tactical gear storm the floor, their weapons glossy against the chandelier lights.
They begin barking orders. Money, artifacts, leverage. You can’t even track it all over the sudden roar of panic from the crowd.
“Everybody down!” One shouts, rifle waving high.
The senator from earlier drops to the floor, clutching his wife’s arm, the pair wide eyed. The woman who chastised you is sobbing behind her jeweled hands. Staff scatter instinctively, pressing themselves against the walls or frozen in place.
Your heart goes wild.
But even was your hands shake, your response is automatic. You’re reaching for your phone.
The first tweet is quick, almost detached.
Omg this night just got so much worse. Men w/ guns. Horrible way to end my shift
The second comes before you could second guess yourself.
Should’ve stayed home and thirsted over superman instead smh
Your heart hammers as you press your back against the wall, sliding low as your coworker shoots you a startled look. But you’re still typing a third with a shaky smirk, half a joke and half a plea.
@ Superman there’s a situation over here at halcyon. Kinda need ur help??? lol
The plate in your other hand feels oddly fragile compared to the chaos unfolding around you.
One of the gunmen is sweeping his gaze across the crowd, barking at servers to drop their trays, and forcing guests down into trembling groups. Your throat tightens, but in the confusion you spot a gap.
Clutching the plate, you weave quickly between the waves of horrified guests, keeping your head down to match the crowd to get to a service hallway. Jesse and two other coworkers are already there, faces pale, holding each other. When they spot you, Jesse reaches for your arm and pulls you into the huddle.
“What the fuck is happening…” One whispers, voice shaking.
You’re still holding the plate like it’s a lifeline as your chest heaves. Your phones still burning in your other hand.
And somewhere in the city, you pray someone saw your tweet.
But for now, the hallway is suffocatingly quiet. Jesse presses a finger to his lips every time someone even so much as shifts their weight. The others sit stiff against the wall. White knuckled and pale.
Your phone buzzes in your lap. Jesse shoots you a look.
You almost drop it, heart beating hard in your ears. Until you tilt the screen and see the notification.
Superman liked your tweet.
You clamp your lips shut to smother the laugh that threatens to come out, this is hysterical.
Jesse glares at you, are you seriously on twitter right now?
But you can’t look away from the little glowing heart.
The minutes stretch. Out in the ballroom, the masked men prowl. Voices sharp and ugly, shouting something about wire transfers, ‘make the call!’, ‘well bleed you pricks dry!’ Every shout ricochets off your ribs.
Then, your hair stands on end.
Theres a shift in the air.
At first, it’s subtle. A faint vibration you feel more than hear. A low thrum in your bones. The crystal chandeliers above the hallway give the faintest rattle. A shiver of wind licks at the cracks in the windows.
You know that sound. You know.
The room hushes all at once. Then, from beyond the door, a collective gasp rises in the ballroom.
The skylight above explodes inward, raining shards of glass onto the floor below.
He drops through like judgement itself. His cape blazing behind in a deep red against the glare of the lights. The impact of his boots on the marble reverberates through the floor beneath your knees. It’s steady, grounding, even as broken glass rains down around him.
“Superman,” someone breaths. It’s a sob, but also a prayer.
The masked men scramble, their careful demeanor quickly slipping into raw panic. One man swings his gun towards him, but the rifle is swiped away like a toy, quickly being bent into a useless twist of metal. Another makes a run for the side exit, but heat vision, burning red flashes, and the door hisses as the metal morphs. A third lunges at Superman, only to be shoved back with one hand to his chest, sent barreling into a catering table.
It’s over in minutes.
Police sirens wail outside as they get closer. Officers rush in, guns drawn as they sweep the building. Superman speaks briefly with them, his voice calm yet commanding. Directing people to safety and handing over the disarmed men as if it’s just another Tuesday.
You’re still clutching that plate of broken glass like an idiot when the police get to your group. They do a once over, and move on to the next bunch. You’re stuck watching him with your heart caught somewhere between your throat and your stomach, though. Because now you know him not just as a speck on the skyline, or the voice on the other end of the line. But as someone who came when you called.
And maybe, just maybe, because it was you that called.
The chaos finally sizzled out. The ballroom humming with the frantic relief of survivors as they file out into their private limos. You spot him standing off to the side, speaking to an officer as the cuffed men are led to cars outside.
Your legs carry you forward before you can stop and rationalize.
“Uh.. hi,” you manage, clutching the towel uselessly against your front.
His head turns, and it’s almost worse seeing him up close. His eyes are brighter, steadier than you imagined. They flicker across your features, thoughtful.
“You’re…” you swallow. “I mean— I just wanted to say thank you. Im—“ you give him your name, a bit awkward and rushed. Like you’re afraid your voice will betray you.
He tilts his head, gaze softening on you. “I know that voice.”
The words punch you in the chest.
Your throat goes dry. He knows.
“Oh…” you blink awkwardly, feeling the flush crawl up your throat. “Yeah.”
It comes out smaller than expected, like you’ve been caught. You instantly regret it, shoulders curling in as though you can physically tuck the memory of that late night phone call out of sight.
Superman, Superman, chuckles softly. The sound is warm, low, and far gentler than it has any right to be.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He says, cocking his head to the side slightly, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Im glad I remembered someone like you.”
Your heart does something complicated and stupid in your chest. He’s not even really flirting, but the way his gaze holds yours, as if you’re the only other person in the room. It makes it impossible to breathe like a normal human being.
You force a laugh, nerves turning it sharp around the edges. “Someone like me? Should I be flattered, or worried you keep tabs on all your twitter fans?”
His grin widens, playful and amused at the same time. “Maybe both”
You can’t help it. You laugh, genuinely this time, shoulders loosening for the first time tonight. For the briefest moment, you forget the wreckage of glass littering the ground. The chaos of the hostage situation. The fact that you’re still in your apron and probably smell like hors d’oeuvres. It’s just you and him, in this hazy ballroom. Standing close enough that you can see the faint glint of glass dust caught in his hair from his entrance.
Then a sharp voice cuts through the bubble around you two. “Superman!” An officer gestures him over, clipboard in hand. “We need a statement before transport.”
You jolt. “Oh! Yeah, of course, you’re busy—“
But he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he dips his head ever so slightly, voice soft enough that only you can hear. “Wait. Before you go… can I see you later?”
For a second, the words don’t register. Your mind blanks and catches on every syllable like a broken record.
“Uh,” Your face is burning so hot you’re shocked you don’t burst into flames on the spot. “Yes. Yeah. Definitely.”
His smile this time is unmistakable. Brilliant, pearly whites flashing with that kind of grin that sells news papers and saves worlds in the same breath. “Good.”
And then, as smoothly as if your entire universe hadn’t just tilted on its axis, he tuns and strides toward the waiting officer.
You’re left standing there alone. Gripping your apron like a lifeline, trying to remember how to walk properly.
When you finally do turn, Jesse’s staring at you from across the room, mouth hanging open so wide you’re pretty sure a fly could set up camp there.
“Holy shit,” He hisses the second you’re in earshot. “Was superman just flirting with you, girl?”
You nearly choke on your own laugh, smacking him lightly with the towel still balled up in your hand. “No! No, he wasn’t, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” He repeats, eyes bugging. “Ridiculous? He smiled at you like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket and asked if he could see you later. Babe, that man was ready to risk it all.”
“Stop, stop, my cheeks hurt” You cant stop laughing, cupping your face with your palms, cheeks aching as you brush past him. Your heart won’t stop going crazy. “You’re just imagining things now”
But Jesse keeps muttering to himself as you head back toward the hallway, something along the lines of ‘Holy fuck’ and ‘I saw that with my own eyes’
Before you get the chance to defend yourself again, your boss’s voice cuts through the chatter, sharply commanding, “Alright, everyone back in! Grab your things, stay together. We’re shutting down for the night.”
Just like that, the spell breaks. Staff shuffle into line, exhausted and shaken up. Collecting their coats and bags under your managers watchful gaze. You sling your bag over your shoulder, apron tucked inside, and fall into step with Jesse as the group filters toward the employee exit.
The adrenaline is still flowing through your system, leaving you buzzing. You tell yourself you’ll process it all later, but his smile, his words, are swirling around your head despite it all.
Can I see you later?
You hug your bag a bit tighter as you walk out into the crisp night.
The subway car is nearly empty when you step on, just the rattle of the tracks and fluorescent hum of lights overhead filling the space. You sink into corner sear, bag tucked to your chest, and let your head rest against the window. The night outside is a blur of tunnels and passing darkness, and your mind wont keep up as it keeps skipping back to everything.
His grin
His voice, low enough for you to hear, ‘can I see you later?’
The way your name sounded in his mouth, on his lips. Like he’d always known it.
You bite back a smile, pressing your lips to your knuckles like it’ll keep it contained.
Then your phone buzzes.
Not a text this time, not just a notification
A call.
You freeze when you see the name, his name, the one attached to the tiny instagram account.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” your voice is a whisper in the empty train, equal parts disbelief and hysteria. You hesitate for a moment, then swipe to answer before your nerves completely take over.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice is quiet in your ear, phone pressed close. And it’s him, no doubt in your mind. “I hope this isn’t too forward. I just… didn’t feel like waiting.”
Your stomach does a flip. “I wasn’t exactly expecting you to call,” you admit, a laugh coming out nervous and airy.
“Would you rather I hadn’t?”
“No,” you say too quickly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, though no one’s around to hear you trip over yourself. “No, I… I’m glad you did.”
There’s a pause from him, heavy yet warm. It’s filled with the sound of him breathing faintly on the other end. “Where are you?”
“On the train. Heading home from work.” You shift in your seat, glancing at the dim reflection of yourself in the window between passing lights. “Im a few stops away. Getting off at—“ you name the street. “It’s not too far from my place.”
“Good,” he says, something sure and almost relieved in his tone. “I’ll meet you there. Don’t hang up.”
Your mouth does dry. “You’re… what?”
“I’ll meet you when you get off the train.”
It’s ridiculous, you think. Impossible. And yet, when the train finally screeches to a stop, your heart starts hammering so hard it’s almost drowning out the scratchy announcement of the station name. You tuck your phone against your ear, throwing your bag over your shoulder, and climb the stairs two at a time.
The night air sweeps down the steps, against your flushed cheeks as you step out of the station. The city is quieter here, side streets half lit and sleepy at this time of night. Nothing like the chaos of the gala earlier.
Still, you spot him.
Leaning casually against the lamppost at the corner of the street, cape stirring gently in the night breeze, like this is the most natural thing on the planet. He straightens when you catch his eye, the faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
There’s an awkward pause between you two, before you inhale sharply.
“My place is that way,” you motion behind him.
“Right, right,” he nods, a bit too eager.
You begin to make the trek, and he falls into step beside you like he’s done it a million times before. The sight of superman, actual superman, walking casually through your quiet neighborhood is enough to make you short circuit. His cape barely whispers against the pavement, hands tucked loosely at his sides. You sneak a glance here and there, acting like this is totally normal. Like you didn’t sext him into oblivion a few nights ago.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a block, voice low but almost amused.
“Im… processing,” you admit, cheeks warming. “It’s not everyday Superman shows up to walk me home.”
His grin is quick, sharp against the dimples in his cheeks. “Guess I’ll have to make it a habit.”
You almost trip over a crack in the sidewalk.
By the time you both reach your building, your nerves are humming, buzzing so loudly you can barely hear yourself think. You fumble with your keys, trying not to drop them, and push the door open.
“Um. Come in?”
He nods, ducking slightly under the doorframe, stepping inside like he belongs here. Your apartment suddenly feels five times smaller, his presence filling every nook and cranny.
The air feels thick, a bit uncertain as you hang your jacket. You can’t help but blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Okay, so, uh… welcome to my humble abode! This is the living room-slash-kitchen. As you can see, very chic, very tiny apartment I’m overpaying for.” You smile sheepishly.
He chuckles, following your half dramatic wave as you point to the small couch, the little table with mismatched chairs, and sink piled with dishes you definitely should’ve done earlier.
“And over here,” you continue, leaning into the bit because if you don’t, you think you’ll explode. “Is my cat. The real owner of the apartment. Be nice, he’s the landlord.”
Your cat blinks up from his perch on the arm of the couch, tail flicking, and completely unimpressed. Superman crouches slightly, extending his hand toward him.
“Hi there,” he says softly, baby voicing your fur baby.
He sniffs for a long moment, then headbutts his knuckles.
“Wow,” you say, jokingly mocking him to cover up the fact that your chest is tight. “Even my cat likes you. Thats... annoying”
He looks up at you with a slow smile, making it even harder to breathe properly.
“Well he just has good taste,” and shrugs playfully.
You laugh, and it comes out more nervous than witty. But you keep moving, heart hammering, pointing vaguely toward the short hallway. “And, uh, the tour concludes with the world’s smallest bathroom. No need to see that. And, um, my bedroom.”
You nudge the door open, trying to make yourself sound as normal as possible, like of course I’m just casually inviting the most powerful man on earth into my bedroom, totally normal thing to do!
The room is dim and cozy, a little messy from your rushed morning. Books stacked on the nightstand, a half finished glass of watery ‘iced’ coffee, your fuzzy blanket draped carelessly over the edge of the bed. He steps inside, eyes scanning the space with quiet interest as you point out random objects.
You linger in the doorway, fiddling with your bag. “So yeah… thats, uh, pretty much it. End of the grand tour.” You pull out your apron, folded and still faintly smelling of alcohol and appetizers. You shove it into the hamper.
When you turn back, he’s by the bed.
His fingers ghost over the edge of the blanket, petting the soft fabric almost absentmindedly. His expressions unreadable for a moment, then, his mouth curves, and he glances over his shoulder at you.
“So…” his voice dips low, that velvety tone you know all too well. “This is the bedroom you were touching yourself to me in, right?”
The words hit you like lightning, straight through your core. Your breath stutters, body freezing mid step, closet door still in your grasp.
“…Oh my god,” you choke out, heat flooding your face. “You...you can’t just say that—“
“I can’t?” He turns fully toward you now. Hip pressed against the bedpost, and arms crossing over his chest in a way that makes his shoulders look unfairly broad. There’s that gleam in his eyes again, mischievous, teasing, and playful, but edged with something heavier.
“Because I remember every word you said on the phone. And now I can picture you, right here, making those pretty sounds for me.”
Your knees almost give out.
“Okay, wow.” You force a laugh, high pitched and quick. As if you’re trying to stop the room from tilting. “So you’re just gonna what? weaponize my horniness against me?”
His grin deepens. “Seems to be working.”
And it is. God, it is. Your whole body feels fuzzy. Heat brewing low in your stomach. You clutch the closet door like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded, every nerve ablaze with the fact that he’s here. In your bedroom, of all places. Giving you that look you’ve only ever imagined.
You can’t bring yourself to move from where you’re half perched against the closet door, hand twitching uselessly at your side as you pick at the wood with the other. The room feels heavier, air humming around you with need, and you’re hyperaware of every breath you take.
Your eyes keep flicking to the door, the wall, your blanket, anywhere but him.
“You keep staring at that door,” he says, tone light but lined with amusement. “Is it really that interesting?”
Your gaze snaps back to him. He’s still leaning on the bed frame, one hand tracing the fuzzy blanket like he’s not the least bit rattled. But his eyes, they’re steady, pinning you in place.
“It’s a nice door,” you mutter weakly, defensive heat crawling up the back of your neck. “Very reliable. Solid wood.”
He laughs again. That soft but low one, already knowing what game you’re playing at. “You’re nervous.”
“Im not nervous.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, the pet name curling through the air like smoke, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re holding onto that doorknob like it’s gonna save you.”
Your fingers instantly unclench from the metal. “Shut up.”
He pushes off the bedpost, taking a slow step towards you. The space shrinks. You don’t breathe. You can’t.
Another step, and then he’s close enough that the edge of his hand brushes yours, feather light, delicate.
The contact is nothing, barely there, and yet it sets your entire body alight.
You glance up at him, startled by the intensity of his gaze. There’s no smirk, no grin. Just a quiet hunger simmering under the surface, waiting for your permission to pounce.
Your pulse stutters
“See?” He murmurs, vibrations practically thrumming through your chest. “Not so scary up close.”
In a flash, he shifts. Already lowering himself to sit on the edge of your bed before you get a chance to reply. The mattress drips beneath his weight, grounding and dreamlike all at once. He settles easily, relaxed, but his gaze still makes your buckle.
Then, like gravity itself is pulling you, you find yourself stepping forward.
Closer.
Closer still, until you’re standing between his knees.
His cape drapes across your comforter, and his thighs are brushing against yours. He tilts his head back slightly, looking at you from this new angle. the corners of his mouth twitching as he’s fighting a smile.
You can feel the heat of him burning up through the gap between you, your nerves screaming with awareness. Knees brushing the edge of the wooden bedframe as you hover. The space is impossibly small, yet you can’t make yourself move any closer.
“Better than the door?” He asks softly.
Your laugh catches in your throat, shaking, “little bit.”
He notices. He always he does.
His big hands rest lazily on his thighs, but after a moment, one shifts. His fingers ghost upward, tracing the outside of your leg in a slow, absent minded path. Barely a touch. Just enough to make your skin prickle in its wake.
“You’re trembling,” he says, almost to himself.
“Im not,” you whisper, though your voice betrays you with an uneven crack.
That damn grin curls at the corner of his mouth. “You were braver on your phone.” His thumb presses just slightly into your thigh before retreating, teasing you with pressure and release. “Quicker with your words. But now?”
Your breath hitches.
“Now you’re shy.” He leans in, close enough that you can feel the faint brush of his breath against your wrist. “Cute.”
You can’t bring yourself to look at him. Your gaze fixes stubbornly on the ceiling fan, then the window, anywhere but his piercing blue eyes. But every time his fingers skim your leg, it drags you back down to him.
“Hey,” he says gently, pausing mid touch. “Look at me.”
It takes everything in you, but you finally oblige. And when your eyes lock, you see not sarcasm, but patience. Warmth. As if he’s daring you to believe he actually wants this, wants you.
Your heart lurches.
He tilts his head, eyes scanning your face, then lets out a soft laugh. “Thats better. There you are.” His hand resumes its slow pace, fingertips drawing lazy shapes along your thigh. “I like this view much better.”
Your insides do a twist, a storm of nerves and excitement washing over you. He’s too much. Too close. Too... him.
“You always this talkative?” You manage lowly.
“Only when someone makes me curious.” His smile deepens. One hand slides just a smidge higher, brushing the edge of your hip before retreating again. “And you make me very curious.”
You swallow hard, pulse pounding in your head. He makes you dizzy, so dizzy. His teasing is unraveling you piece by piece and he knows it. He’s enjoying it.
But within a second, something shifts inside you. A warmth spreads in your chest. A spark of courage flaring inside by the way he’s looking at you, knowing what he’s trying to play with you.
And you can’t help but think, two can play this game.
So you lean in, just enough that your knee presses firmer between his legs. Your lips twitch upward as you murmur, “what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue now?”
For the first time, he falters. His grin freezes, eyes widening slightly at your boldness.
“Oh?” He breaths, leaning back just a hair, as if he’s reassessing. “Thats new.”
You let your smirk linger, encouraged by his reaction. “What? Didn’t expect me to bite back?”
His tongue sweeps across his lower lip, and his hands flex on his thighs. His laugh is lower this time, rougher. He tilts his head like you’ve just rewritten the rules of this game.
“Careful,” he says, dark and promising. “You might like where that gets you.”
And all at once, the tension is stretched tight. The rope tugging you closer to him is seconds from snapping.
You arch a brow, playing braver than you feel, “maybe thats the point.”
His grin returns, slow, deliberate, almost dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart…”
His hand slides higher, warm against your hip now. Thumb peeking just under the hem of your shirt. “You really shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
Your inhale sharply, refusing to look away this time. “Who says I don’t?”
For a split second, he just stares at you, unblinking, like he’s weighing the truth of your words. And then he moves, swift but unhurried. A large hand cupping the back of your neck, tugging you closer until your forehead is brushing his.
His breath fans across your lips, but he doesn’t kiss you yet.
“You’re staring at me like you want something?” He teases, voice low and almost smug. “What do you want?”
“You know exactly what I want.”
Thats all it takes. His mouth claims yours in a sudden, hungry kiss. Lips firm and hot, drawing a muffled gasp out of you. The world tilts when he pulls you closer, guiding your hips forward until you find yourself straddling his thighs. Your knees braced against the edge of the bed.
He deepens it, tongue brushing yours with that measured patience he showed before. Tasting you, teasing you, pulling back just when you try to chase the feeling of him.
“God,” he murmurs against your lips. “You taste better than I imagined.”
You laugh a bit shaky, letting your fingers in his hair ground you. “You imagined it?”
“Constantly,” his hands grip your hips harder, holding you steady in his lap. His grin turns wicked. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been living in my head the past few days, sweetheart. Rent-fucking-free.”
Heat blooms across your chest, stomach flipping in return. You try to hide it with a smirk. “Guess I’m unforgettable then, huh?”
His lips brush against yours again, touch feather light. “More than unforgettable.” He nips at your lower lip, making you gasp. “Addictive.”
You shiver, trying to keep control. But your body betrays you. Pressing closer, thighs tightening around his hips.
“Mm.” he pulls back slightly, eyes half lidded, searching your features. “See. Told you you’d like where this gets you.”
“And you’re awfully smug about it,” you whisper, smile giving you away.
He laughs softly, the sound low in his chest, then tugs you closer until your noses brush again. “I can’t help it. Not when you’re finally where I want you.”
Your kisses turn messy fast, tongues tangling, teeth knocking against teeth. You can’t tell if you’re trying to kiss him or consume him. His hands are roaming your body greedily. One anchored on your ass, the other skimming up your back like he’s memorizing your curves.
Your fingers twitch where they clutch the front of his suit, tugging and tugging, until you finally dare to reach around the back, searching for a way to get him out of it. You find the zipper, fingertips wrapping around the cool metal and pulling slightly. Just enough to press your palm against warm skin and pull him closer. His mouth doesn’t dare tear away from yours in the process, groaning low against you, sending the feeling through your bones.
“Christ,” he mutters against your jaw, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re driving me insane.”
You giggle, fingers numb with nerves. “You’re one to talk”
Then he pulls back, eyes low, pinned to where your top gapes open slightly. He fiddles with the buttons gently as the curve of your bra shows, delicate lace against flushed skin.
“Baby…” his voice is rough. A warning, a prayer, its not quite clear.
“Don’t stop looking at me like that.”
Something in him snaps. He shrugs his broad shoulders and his hands release you, unclipping his crimson cape, letting it fall to the side in a heavy pool of fabric. The sight makes your throat dry.
Before you could start, he’s on you again. Mouth finding yours desperately, while his hands slide down to grip your thighs, pulling you flush against his pelvis. You gasp as the hard line of him presses perfectly where you’re aching, hips moving instinctively.
The friction sends jolts through you both. He groans into your mouth, the sound ragged, fighting to hold himself back.
“Fuck,” you whisper, grinding again, feeling bolder this time.
He tilts his head back, eyes shut and jaw clenched tight. “You don’t know what you do to me. How hard it is to hold back.”
“Oh” you gasp, fingers tying into his hair as you roll your hips. “I think I do.” You lean forward, taking advantage of his open neck, planting kisses along the tender spot. Sucking hard enough to leave deep purple marks in their place.
The air is thick, tension becoming unbearable. Your shirts bunching up as his hands fumble higher, body arching as his chest presses flush against you. Every moment is slow but desperate, like you’re both drawing it out just to savor how close you are to falling apart.
When his thumb drags over the edge of your bra, teasing the swell of your breast, you stifle a moan. He smirks against your lips, proud of how you’re wearing thin.
“Careful,” he whispers, breath mixing with yours as you whine. “You keep giving me that look. Im not stopping until there’s nothing left between us.”
Your blouse is hanging loose now, his fingers brushing against skin every time you move, dragging the pad of his thumb just under the band of your bra. He’s taking his time with it, unwrapping you like a gift he doesn’t want to tear the paper off too quickly.
“Relax, let me take my time with you.”
The words swirl in your head. Breath stuttering as you slide your palms down his chest, the press of textured fabric brushing against your skin. The ’S’ on his chest is close enough to kiss, but you hold back, savoring the way his eyes darken as you tease him.
You shift in his lap, sliding your knees out further until you’re as close as can be, core impossibly close to the bulge in his suit. The hardness beneath the fabric twitches, solid, sending sparks through you. A shaky laugh escapes you as you grind down, feeling the unyielding strength of him beneath your core.
He moans your name softly, a warning slipping out low and strangled, ruined by a groan that follows.
“What?” You murmur, breath feathering against his jaw. “Am I… distracting you?”
His hand tightens on your hips, but he doesn’t push you off. “I can’t wait much longer”
Your gaze flicks past his shoulder. The bright streak of red, his cape, has slipped halfway off the bed, pooling across the floor. You reach for it, tugging the heavy fabric up and around your shoulders, swirling it dramatically before hooking it into place on the shoulders of your open blouse.
You smirk, settling back down against him. “Huh. It fits better than I thought.”
For a moment, he just stares at you, lips parted. Then one dark brow lifts.
“You’re really going to wear my cape while grinding on me?” His voice is husky, threaded with both disbelief and amusement..
You shrug innocently, rolling your hips with calculated slowness. “What? You left it lying around. Finders keepers.”
He laughs, and its dangerous now. Reverberating through his chest. “Sweetheart, you don’t know what you just started.”
Before you can sass back, his arms hook under your thighs. The motion is so fast, so smooth, you gasp, clutching at his broad shoulders.
“Hey!”
“Hold on,” he says, eyes sparkling. He rises so effortlessly, lifting you as though you’re weightless, and carries you two short steps back to the bed. Your legs twitch as he plants you on your back, his body caging yours, the cape draping around you on the sheets.
Pinned beneath him, your chest rises and falls against the emblem on his suit, the golden mark scratching against your bust.
He smirks, pressing you into the mattress. “We’ll see how long you get to wear it before I take it back.”
His fingers skim up the inside of your thigh, slow but dedicated. He leans down, capturing your lips with a kiss. He’s steady, trying to burn the shape of your mouth into his memory. When he pulls back, his eyes linger, then dip down your body with hunger.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about since the other night?” His lips brush your jaw as he whispers. Moving down to your throat, sucking lightly until you gasp and squirm. His hands trail down, unfastening the final buttons on your shirt to expose more skin for his lips.
“the sounds you made on the phone. Sweet little noises… begging me to tell you what I’d do.”
Your heart races, face burning as need spreads across your skin. “And?” You whisper, already breathless.
“And now I get to show you.”
He kisses down your chest, pausing to nose against the lace edge of your bra, before moving lower. By the time his mouth traces your stomach, your hands are clumsy on your pants button, fumbling to undo it. He beats you to it, though. Fingers slipping past yours as he opens and drags the zipper down with a low rasp of metal.
You shiver as he eases your work pants down your hips, tugging until they’re off and forgotten. You’re left in your undergarments, sprawled beneath the man of steel, his cape half wrapped around you like his claim on you.
“Perfect,” he breathes, eyes darkly roaming you. He kisses the inside of your knee, then your thigh, and higher. It’s slow and driving you mad. His hands spread your legs open, fingertips leaving prints on your skin.
By the time his mouth hovers a breath away from the damp heat of your panties, you’re practically shaking.
“Please,” you whisper, more desperate than you meant to sound.
His grin is wicked, eyes peering up at you filled with sin. “Begging already?”
“Don’t… don’t tease”
But he does. He drags his mouth over the thin fabric, inhaling, groaning against like he’s the one coming undone. The he hooks a finger into the band and slides your panties aside, allowing the cool air to fan over before lowing his mouth to you.
The first touch of his tongue has your back arching, a choked cry escaping your throat. He moans into you like he’s been starved, feasting on you, flattening his tongue against your clit and lapping slow and thorough. Then fast enough to make you whine.
Your hands find his hair, tugging, guiding. “God, I can’t…”
“Thats it,” he mumbles against you.
“Yes, yes. Don’t stop—“
And then, at the very edge, right as your body trembles and tightens, he pulls back.
The sudden emptiness makes you gasp, your climax fizzing away before it hits. You blink down at him, dazed, chest still heaving. “Wh—what...?”
He smirks, chin glistening with you. His eyes dark as he peers up at you. “Not yet.”
You tremble as his hands brush up your sides, the ghost of your orgasm denied leaving you flushed and aching. His hands pause at your hips, pale bruises left from his prior grip on them. A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth as he drags one last teasing lick up your folds before pulling away entirely.
“Why would you stop…“
His thumb presses into a purple mark. “Because I want to hear it.” His voice drops, dark, commanding. “You want me to make you come? Say it.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the desperation burns hotter. “I… I want you to...”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Louder.”
Your pride cracks. “Please, please make me come.”
He flashes you a grin, “Thats my girl.”
He doesn’t waste another second. In one fluid motion, he’s climbing back over you. Tugging your panties down the rest of the way, tossing them aside like nothing. He frees himself from the suit, just enough to bear the length of him. Its thick, tip flushed a deeper shade as it strains in his hand, as he lines it up with you. The press of his cock at your entrance makes you inhale sharply, eyes going wide at his size.
Then he pushes in, inch my inch. Filling you until you’re stretched tight around him, nails clawing at his shoulders.
“Fuck!” You choke out, legs trembling as he bottoms out. This was more than you’d expected.
“God, you feel so good,” he groans, forehead knocking against yours, breath ragged against your cheek. “So damn tight.”
He doesn’t start slow. He pulls back and slams into you, hard enough that the headboard rattles against the wall. You gasp, throwing your arm up to brace the wood, shielding your head as the force rocks you.
You gasp as he scrambled your insides, “Slow— down!” You choke out.
He growls low in his throat, lowering himself, palm sliding protectively to cradle the back of your head as he thrusts harder, deeper, angling until sparks shoot up your spine. His other arm hooks your leg over his shoulder, pinning you open as he drives his cock into you mercilessly.
Each thrust punches sweet, helpless moans from your throat, his rhythm relentless. His mouth finds yours again, teeth knocking together, swallowing each sound you make like he can’t get enough.
When he pulls back, sweat dampens his hair, and his eyes are wild, blow with lust.
“you’re mine,” he rasps, fucking into you deeper.
You’re already unraveling once more, voice breaking as you whimper in between strokes. “Please—“
He grits his teeth, then suddenly shifts, wrapping both arms around your thighs. In one quick move, he drags you away from the headboard, hauling you back to the center of the bed. You gasp, dizzy, clutching at the sheets as he settles above you again.
This time, his thumb finds your clit. Pressing hard and circling the bud with precision as he slams into you.
“Come for me,” his voice is hoarse as he demands. “Come on my cock, sweetheart, I want to feel you.”
The coil inside you snaps. You crumble beneath him, back arching off the sheets as the orgasm courses through you, walls twitching around his cock. Your voice breaks with moans, body trembling as he fucks you through it, chasing his own.
“God, thats it,” he growls, thrusts growing sloppy. “So perfect— so fucking perfect”
Your orgasm grabs at him, walls pulsing tight and greedy around his cock and it nearly unravels him on the spot. His pace grow wilder, hips snapping forward in a punishing way that has you gasping for breath beneath him.
“I— I can’t—“ you whimper, nails raking down his arms.
His eyes squeeze shut, jaw tight, a deep noise vibrating in his chest.
“Fuck— ‘m so close” his thumb keeps working your clit even as his hips stutter, trying to drag every last tremor from your body before he lets himself go.
Your thighs shake, overstimulated but still clinging to him, urging him deeper.
“Please, baby, want you to let go”
Thats all it takes. His thrusts slow, stutter, then he buries himself to the hilt with a strangled groan. Heat flooding inside you as his release rips through him, cock twitching as he pumps you full. His forehead drops to your shoulder, breath fanning over your skin as he shudders.
For a long pause, there nothing but the sound of his ragged breathing, and your pulse pounding in your ears. He stays buried deep, holding onto you like you’ll vanish if he lets go.
Finally, with a low exhale, he eases back just enough to look at you. His hairs damp and shiny, curls plastered against his forehead. But his eyes, bright blue and blown wide, are nothing but soft. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness there, then presses a slow, tender kiss to your lips.
His thumb runs over your hip, easing the tension in your joints from the position you were in. But eventually his touch softens.
His chest rises with a deep breath, “I should go,” his voice is soft above you, low and reluctant.
You blink at him, still fuzzy from everything thats happened tonight. There’s a quick flash of disappointment that crosses your face before you can hide it. He notices, of course he does, and smiles, apologetic.
“Duty calls,” he adds, brushing a few wet strands of hair off your forehead.
You nod weakly, even though you wish the world could wait for him a little bit longer. “Right. Superman stuff…”
His chest puffs with a quiet laugh, leaning down to capture your lips once more. Slower than all the others, lingering a little longer that tells you everything he can’t put into words right now. When he pulls away, he presses one last peck to your forehead, then gently shifts you down against the sheets.
“Stay,” he mumbles, replacing his cape with your plush blanket. He wraps it snugly around your bare shoulders. “Get some sleep.”
You melt into the softness, a faint hum slipping past your lips as you watch him rise. He gathers his belongings, moving with the same demeanor as someone who’s lived here for years. The familiar click of his cape fastening back into place makes you smile, it’s the most surreal reminder of who he is beyond this room, beyond you.
At the window, he pauses. The city’s quiet below, but sirens wail in the distance. the warmth streetlights paint his silhouette in gold. He looks back at you over his shoulder, and flashes a grin, not the practiced one, the one for you. It makes your chest burn.
“Sweet dreams,” he says softly.
“Yeah, yeah, go save the world,” you whisper back, already drowsy.
Before you can blink he’s gone. The rush of cool night air comes in, the soft sound of glass shifting in its frame. You catch a glimpse of red and blue across the skyline, eyes dipping as they struggle to focus.
The sheets smell like him. Your skin tingles where he touched you. The last traces of adrenaline fade into fuzzy exhaustion. You find yourself rolling over, smiling into the pillow, phone long forgotten as he stays on your mind.
Summary: What happens when Superman responds to your 3AM thirst tweets
Warnings: sexting, flirting hehe, cybersex/phone sex, masturbation, descriptions of cunnilingus
a/n: I lowkey have midterms in a few weeks so i'm trying to post the few drafts that I have and get ready to kinktober lol. also I have a new series i'm working on but I gotta finish Super! first even tho I don't know how to end it lmaoo
It’s well past midnight when you realize your cheek has gone numb from pressing the phone to your ear for so long.
“…I’m just saying,” your best friend slurs on the other end, half asleep and completely unserious. “He has to know what he’s doing, wearing that suit.”
You grin, rolling back onto your bed. The only light in your room is the soft glow of your laptop and fairy lights strung across the ceiling. There’s zoomed in, paused footage from Superman’s last public appearance on your computer screen. He’s hovering over the smoking ruins of a half collapsed bridge, cape whipping behind him in the wind.
“I knew you were going to bring up the suit,” you giggle, picking at a stray thread on your comforter to keep your hands busy. “It does look… different”
“Tighter,” she sighs dramatically. “Like maybe his PR people or whoever fixed it up after that last big fight. Like, ‘Hey, while we’re reinforcing the heat resistance, let’s really accentuate the assets’.”
You press your lips together, trying not to laugh. “You think superman has a marketing department?”
“Babe, if I looked like that, id have a marketing department too.”
That breaks you both into quiet laughter. The kind thats muffled, but delirious gigging that only happens at ungodly hours. Hunched over and clutching your stomach when you’re too tired to be reasonable.
The two of you die down, then she yawns so loudly you flinch.
“God, okay, it’s like three. I need to sleep. We can thirst over supershit more tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay. Night,” you whisper, fending off your own yawn.
“Night, nerd.”
The line clicks, and the screen flashes with her profile picture. A photo you took when you both saw superman in public. Her eyes are wide as her hand is clasped over her mouth, while superman stands a couple feet behind her talking to a news reporter. It blinks a few times before fading black.
You lie there for a moment, staring at the slow swirl of your ceiling fan. Then, with a groan, you reach for your phone.
Your favorite social media app glows up at you. the familiar blue bird of twitter. Your notifications are flooded as usual. People tagging you in new fan art, retweeting your latest deep dive thread about kryptonian biology, arguing in your replied about whether superman is a good kisser. He would, obviously.
You scroll for a while, half zoned out, until an image of earlier pops back into your head. His broad chest, clearly outlined, that skintight blue fabric clinging to his carved muscles like it’s painted on.
And before you could stop and think about it, your thumbs are flying across the keys.
Do y’all think superman’s proportions are consistent?
asking for science
You hit post.
And then stare at in mild horror. Heart hammering as the likes begin to roll in
“God” you groan loudly, tossing the phone onto your pillow. “I need sleep.”
But you don’t.
You close your eyes and roll over, counting down in your head to at least try and fall asleep.
But a few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a new notification, sounding different this time.
You roll over and squint at the screen through the darkness.
And freeze.
@ Superman
Proportionate in all the ways that matter.
What the fuck?
You nearly flatline.
There’s barely a half second of pure silence in your head before the noise hits. Your brain screams at you, and your blood starts rushing. Your soul is attempting to leave your body.
Your hands fly to the sides of your phone, swiping up and panicking as Face ID struggles to work in the dark.
“FUCKING LOAD” you shout at the phone.
Then, just as quickly as it appeared, its gone.
Deleted.
Vanished like it was never there.
You blink, mouth open. Then, pure instinct, you start clicking every button and screenshot the notification
Your cat, who’s been asleep at the foot of the bed the whole time, lifts his head and looks over at you. Get a grip, loser.
You gasp and your throat goes dry and your hands start shaking. Your notifications are exploding as people notice something happened. A few of your follows are replying things like, “did anyone else see that??” And “did superman just reply to her??”
You clutch your phone to your chest and whisper, “there’s no fucking way. There’s no fucking way.”
And then it vibrated again.
And you squeal, tossing the phone away like it’s on fire.
It lands on the floor with a loud bang, screen lighting up at you.
@ Superman has sent you a message.
You sit up so fast your blankets tangle around your legs. You toss yourself off the side of the bed, crawling to your phone. Then your DMs are open, hands clammy, and your face burning.
Superman:
Sorry about that. I meant to reply privately
I probably shouldn’t be allowed near technology at 3AM
You stare at the screen. And blink. And blink again. Theres a tiny verification checkmark at the corner of his name, burning straight in your soul, like it knows you’re losing your mind.
You:
This isn’t real
Like ur pranking me rn right?
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Superman:
I promise its actually me
Do you want proof?
You’re already typing “YES” when a voice note pops up.
You gasp loudly and shakily press play. There’s a low hum of wind in the background, like he’s somewhere high up. Then his voice, warm and low in your speaker.
“Hi. This is… probably the weirdest way I’ve introduced myself to someone, but yes, it’s me. And yes, I really do read your posts.”
You let out a wheeze and fall back against your carpet, phone bouncing off your face and you just accept it as some sort of divine punishment.
You:
Oh my fucking god
Okay
Im screaming into my pillow rn
Superman:
Please don’t suffocate on my account.
Ive had way too many near death rescues this week
You bury your face in the carpet, feet kicking in the blanket still tangled around them as the full body waves of second hand embarrassment roll through you.
You:
You read my posts??????
Like
The serious ones orrr
Superman:
All of them.
The threads are impressive
The other ones are…
Flattering
You nearly short circuit, letting out a loud mix of a groan and laugh. The embarrassment is too much honestly.
Superman:
Im curious, actually
How did you get into all this?
You seem to know more about me than some of my coworkers
You:
I have a great wifi connection
And trauma
And a hyper fixation rn
He sends a laughing emoji, and that finally makes you laugh. Really laugh. Of course he uses emojis.
But there’s no way this is actually happening right now, right? The whole thing feels surreal, like you’re dreaming right now, but an ultra realistic lucid dream.
There’s no way one of the most famous men on earth is in your DMs right now
You:
This is not real
If 16 year old me knew superman wold be in my dms some day she’d die
Superman:
Well im glad I waited until now
And by the way
You still haven’t answered my question about my “proportions”
Oh this man is teasing you.
You stare at the screen before moving back onto your bed. “Holy shit I need to lock in.”
Your hands are slowly steadying, but your hearts still hammering.
You:
oh, that
You ever heard of scientific curiosity
For research purposes only I swear
He keeps responding almost instantly.
Superman:
Soo… “proportions”
Thats the word youre going with?
You:
It sounded more professional than “Is he big everywhere”
You toss your phone away, covering your face with a pillow and let out a strangled scream. Your cat meows in response.
“I know! I know! I am calm, gosh” you wiggle your toes at him and he swats at you, jumping off the bed and walking out of your room. you let out a small “Nooo…”, before your phone interrupts with a string of vibrations and you snatch it back.
Superman:
Careful…
Someone might think you’ve been imagining me.
Your mouth drops open and you blink hard, heart kicking into overdrive. Hes still teasing, but there something different now. Is it getting hotter in here?
You:
Maybe I have
Maybe thats part of my job description
Im am a professional superman enthusiast after all
You let out a squeal, kicking your feet slightly as you feel giddy. He doesn’t reply for a moment and your stomach tightens, but then the message comes.
Superman:
Im somewhere quiet tonight.
Just on standby
No alarms right now, just me and the wind.
And now apparently you.
Something in your chest skips. His words are simple, but you can practically hear his voice in your ear as you read them. Low and Husky, close enough to cause your hair to stand.
You:
You shouldn’t say stuff like that
Ill get the wrong idea
Superman:
Who says it would be the wrong one?
The world seemed to narrow down to the pale glow of your phone screen and the buzzing of your heart.
His next message quickly followed, though. Like he’s chasing something too.
Superman:
Ive been wondering…
What kind of person could make me blush just from words
Now I think I know
Your breath catches as a smile breaks across your face. The words hang in the air around you. You let your thumb hover over the buttons, then type:
You:
Maybe you’re just easy to fluster
Superman:
Not usually.
You might be an exception.
You let out a shallow laugh, the silence between each message you two sent getting thinner and tighter.
But you began to hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, before taking a small, reckless leap.
You:
If you think this I bad
You shouldn’t see my drafts
Superman:
Oh?
Is that a challenge
A laugh sputters out of you. It feels like youre standing at the edge of a cliff. High up, dizzying but exhilarating.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you send more
You:
This feels like something I shouldn’t be doing on my fan account
It’s too public, you know?
Superman:
Then give me somewhere else to find you
Your throat tightens, red creeping up your chest and neck.
You:
My personal instagrams safer
@ yn.unfiltered
You quickly add:
You:
If this isn’t actually you pls dont catfish me
He accepts your follow almost instantly, his coming right after. The page that loads is surprisingly simple. Less than a hundred followers, and private. It has only a few pictures, mostly the sky or buildings in Metropolis, with one candid picture of him in what looks like a connivence store dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie, his face half turned to the camera with a faint smile.
Before you could check his followers, your screen lit up:
Incoming call - @supe.in.motion
You freeze as your finger hovers, nerves shooting up into your stomach as the phone vibrates.
He’s actually calling you.
Your heartbeats in your throat, but before you could let yourself chicken out you swipe to answer and bring the phone to your ear.
There’s a quiet rush of air in the speaker first, then his voice:
“Hi.”
You swallow hard. “Hi.”
For a second, neither of you say anything. You just listen to the faint ruffle of wind around him, like he’s somewhere open, on top of a building like he mentioned before. And then you pull the phone away and stifle a laugh.
“Sorry, sorry”
He laughs in response. “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”
“I wasn’t sure you were real,” you smile so hard your cheeks begin to hurt, you try to keep your voice steady and light, although it comes out quieter than expected.
He lets out a low chuckle under his breath, and it runs through your veins as you hold the phone closer.
“Im real,” he says, “though I can’t lie, this feels… surreal. Talking to someone who’s been making me blush just from words.”
You blink, stunned and silent. “Blush?” You echo faintly
“Mhm.” His tone shifted slightly, slower than before, dipping below his normal tone. “Its been a while since anyones managed that.”
You start to feel fuzzy as your stomach tightens.
“Thats not fair,” you let out a soft huff. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
The quietness between you grows sharper, the air thinning. You hear yourself laugh softly, a bit nervous, but there’s no backing down now.
“Maybe you’re just easy to fluster.”
“Im really not,” he says simply. “I think you’re just an exception”
Your breath catches as you fight back a smile.
But you decide to test the water, careful and tentative, words draped with tease
“Do you always talk like this with people who tweet about your… proportions?”
A faint smile is heard in his voice. “Only the ones who make me wonder what else they think about”
Something sparks low in your belly, and your voice dips before you have the chance to stop it. “And what do you think I think about?”
There’s a pause at the end of the line. The wind softly rushing through the speaker, then, “I think,” his voices slow and deliberate, “that If I were there, you wouldn’t be thinking about much at all”
Your body floods with heat. A tingly sensation crawling up from down south as you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. You press your lips together to stop it, your pulse gone wild. “Thats a dangerous thing to say,” you whisper.
“Only if you want it to be.”
You’re the first one to break, soft voice flowing, “this… probably isn’t something I should be doing on speaker. God, if my neighbors hear.”
“Then dont.” His tone is pure velvet now. “I want it to be just for me.”
You switch to the app, your thumb trembling as it hovers. “You are impossible right now”
“I can’t stop picturing you,” he admits. Hes quiet, but certain. “It’s driving me mad.”
You hear soft rustling, the sound of feet against gravel before a short huff and what sounds like him lying down now.
Then something inside you finally gives. Before you can overthink, you switch apps, flicking to your camera and take a quick shot. Just of your legs curled up on the bed, your smooth skin and a glimpse of the hem of your sleep shirt riding high. Just barely suggestive.
You send it.
For a moment there’s only silence. Then his voice returns, rougher than before.
“God... youre beautiful.” A slow exhale. “I want my hands there. Sliding higher. Feeling how warm you are.”
Your breath hitches.
The next sound is a soft rustle, fabric shifting on his end.
“here, something for you.” He murmurs.
A photo appears.
Dark gray sweatpants outlined by the dark gravel he’s sitting on, the waistbands slung dangerously low on his hips, and a faint trail of dark hair disappearing even lower. His skin practically gleams. You can see the cut of muscle along his abdomen that looks like it’s carved in marble.
Your mouth goes dry.
“You’re unreal,” you whisper.
“I promise I’m not,” he starts, “I want you to know exactly how real I am.”
You end up going quiet.
Taking a moment to feel what’s happening, what’s unraveling.
It’s a heavy kind of quiet, thick with heat and possibility. Your breaths are shallow, and the phones warm against your cheek. You can hear him breathing slow and uneven now, holding himself in check by thinning patience.
Your hand drifts lower without thinking.
Fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your thin sleep shorts. Brushing the damp spot on your panties. You sigh softly, a shivering sound you didn’t mean to let slip.
His voice drops in your ear, “are you touching yourself?”
“Not yet,” you murmur.
“should I let you imagine it?” He’s just teasing you now, “or tell you what id do?”
Your eyes flutter shut. “Tell me.”
There’s a pause, as if he’s shifting his weight, grounding himself in this moment.
“Id start slow,” he purrs in your ear. “Lay you out on your back… spread your legs for me. Just look at you for a moment. Take my time.”
Your fingertips slip under the band, grazing your slick heat. You bite your lip.
“Id kiss your thighs,” he goes on, “over and over. So soft you’d start to squirm”
You let out a small, trembling sound.
“I wouldn’t let you close them,” he adds, gentle voice flowing through the line. “Ill hold your hips still and breath you in. All warm and wet and trembling for me. And then…”
He exhales, and it catches a little.
“Id put my mouth on you. Slow, deep, sticking my tongue inside and drinking you in. Over and over until you can’t stay quiet. Until you can’t even think.”
Your hips lift against your own fingers, breath catching as you stifle a moan.
“Id suck on your clit, like i’ve been starving for you.” He whispers, “id make a mess of you, wouldn’t stop til you’re shaking”
A faint rustle comes through the line, clothes shifting. His breath hitches, a soft groan breaking through, then steadies.
“Youre… so fucking wet, aren’t you,” he speaks softly
“Yes,” your voice comes out unsteady, “God, yes.”
There’s silence once more, but it’s not empty. You hear his voice catch again, hitching in his chest as another low groan curls through the speaker and into your ear, like he’s trying to hold it back.
“Are you…” heat floods to your cheeks, voice faltering. “Are you touching yourself too?”
A pause. Then, low and rough he breaks, “yeah.”
Sparks flood through your tummy.
“Im thinking ‘bout your mouth,” you mumble, “how you’d feel.”
Another rustle, sharper this time. And a shaky exhale, his composure fraying.
“I want you to keep touching yourself,” he says, voice tighter, “while I make you come just from my voice.”
Your fingers move in slow, aching circles. Picking up your slick as you swipe low, catching on the hood of your clit, and making your hips jerk with your own movements. The only sound is your uneven breathing and his, ragged, slipping through the speaker in cracks.
You squeeze your eyes shut, clutching the phone tighter as you imagine him: high up on some building, shirt hiked up beneath his chin as he grips the phone to his ear. Sweatpants yanked down haphazardly, and his hand moving in slow strokes as he jerks himself off to your voice.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and molten, flowing through your veins. “Just like that. Keep going… let me hear you”
You whimper, soft, helpless, and the sound draws a hiss from him, like you’ve punched the air from his lungs.
“God,” he mutters under his breath. You hear fabric shifting again, quicker this time, and the faint rhythmic drag of skin on skin beneath it. He’s not being careful anymore.
“Tell me,” you gasp, “what you’d do”
He pauses before speaking, lower now, rougher.
“Id get between your legs and pin your hips down.” He says. “Make you hold still while I eat you like I’ve been craving it. Tongue fucking you, tasting everything”
Your hips jerk up. Your fingers slide deeper, moaning softly against your palm.
“Suck on your clit,” he goes on, voice breaking on the word. “Slow, practically torturing you… Fuck. Id hold you open with my thumbs while you grind on my tongue. Until your thighs shake around my head.”
A choke sound slips out of you, your back arching off the mattress. You swear you hear him growl, followed by the quick, rough sound of his hand moving faster.
“Fuck—“ a groan tears through him “you’re so wet just thinking about it, aren’t you?”
“Yes—“ your voice cracks. “Id come so fast”
“I know you would,” a strained breath. “But I wouldn’t let you. Not yet.”
You bite back a cry.
“Id make you beg, make you say my name while she’s dripping all over my mouth. You’d be trembling for me.”
Your hand moves faster, wet sounds slick through the speaker. You hear his rhythm stutter, breath catching hard.
“Touch your clit for me” he rasps, “Do it now.”
You obey instantly, circling it with your fingers, breaths coming out fast and broken as your stomach starts to knot.
“God… there you go,” he moans. “Just like that, come for me”
Your thighs are trembling, every muscle tensing. you gasp as your head tips back against your pillow.
His breath shatters in your ear. “Sweetheart…” its barely a sound, just a rough exhale. “Fuck— come for me”
You break with a cry, pleasure ripping through you with a jolt, hips jerking against your hand. Your sounds drag a guttural groan from him, coming in his hand at the end of the line.
You hear him unravel, breath hitching in sharp gasps, turning deep and ragged until it draws into silence. Just his rough breathing and yours, tangled across the crackling air between the lines.
You’re smiling, dazed and still panting. Fingers wrapped around the phone pressed to your ear still. He laughs under his breath, like he can’t believe what just happened either.
“Wow,” he mumbled softly. “You’re gonna be the death of me”
You let out a small laugh, letting your chest rise and fall unevenly as you catch your breath. The phones still pressed against your cheek, burning hot. Your other hands limp, damp and pruning as you let it fall to your side.
“…you okay?” His voices low and warm now, still a little ragged. But softer with the hint of a smile through it.
“Yeah,” you whisper, breath finally catching up to you. “Better than okay.”
He chuckles, quietly, the kind of laugh that feels real in your chest. “Good. Because if you weren’t, id be flying straight over.”
You roll onto your side, tucking the phone closer. “So you do make house calls?”
He exhales through his nose sharply, then is straight back to teasing, “for you? Apparently”
You laugh, burying your face into your pillow all giddy. The air feels lighter now, not less intimate, but different. Just softer.
There’s a rustle on his end, like he’s shifting, settling back. You imagine him stretched out somewhere high up still. Clothes back in place, hair messed up, phone in one hand while the other rests on his chest. You shouldn’t be able to picture it so vividly, but you can now. And it makes you smile.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” He whispers
“Me?” You tease, “I wasn’t the one sexting from… where even are you right now?”
He hesitates, then admits with a laugh, “Rooftop. Empty one. Thought it’d be quiet enough.”
“Oh my god.” You bury your face again, half laughing, half horrified. “Superman, you had phone sex with me on a random roof?”
“Better than in the middle of Main Street,” he deadpans
That makes you snort, and he laughs with you. Both of you caught in the absurdity of the situation.
There’s a comfortable silence after you die down, broken only by his sigh. Gentle, but reluctant.
“I should… probably head home before someone realizes I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”
Your heart sinks a little, though you knew this was coming.
“Will I…” he stops, clearing his throat like the words aren’t easy. “Will I get to talk to you again sometime?
You grin, because the answer feels obvious. “Well, if I need to catch your attention…”
He lets out an amused hum. “Yeah?”
“I’ll just tweet about you again.”
That earns you a real laugh, slipping through the line just for you.
“Sweetheart, you’d get me in trouble,” he says, still laughing. “But I’ll be watching for it.”
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: all i can think about is val conserving energy to the tower to keep costs down, and slow, lazy sex in the heat with bob 😔😔😔
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bob reynolds x fem!reader. [3.2K words.]
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni, 18+), porn with little plot, established relationship, heavy making out, bob’s praise kink, hair pulling, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex, cockwarming, cum descriptions.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this one’s been sitting in the drafts for a hot minute so I decided to finish it & post it! ❤️ slowly getting my groove back with writing!
It’s sweltering in New York — too hot, too tepid, too scorching.
The heatwave that’s gripped the city has made headlines in the news, but it’s just as terrible at the Watchtower.
Valentina enjoyed inflicting punishment when it suited her, wielded it like a finely-honed weapon; and she shut the power off.
Under the guise of energy conservation, the Watchtower was now running on a backup generator that only afforded keeping certain systems online.
Defense systems and communications were primary — the air conditioning was sacrificed in the name of lowering maintenance costs.
Yelena had threatened to maim Valentina on multiple occasions in the wake of the power cuts, but the only thing you could do was grin and bear it.
Utilizing cold showers and ice packs became your best friend, sitting underneath an open window, or ditching layers to keep cool.
Perspiration beads along your brow, damp over your sternum, shirt haphazardly riding up along your ribs.
The windows in your bedroom were tilted open, allowing a very humid breeze to flutter through, offering little alleviation from the heat.
Peach-ripe sunlight poured in, glittering and devastating, prompting you to inch away from the slats of sun.
The light, billowing fabric of your shirt kissed the tops of your thighs, spine licking with sweat, body covered in a light sheen. A yawn floated through your mouth, followed by a greedy gulp of water.
A knock rattled your door, gentle raps that signaled familiarity.
“Hey,” Bob greeted, inching past the threshold with a light smile and perspiration shimmering on his throat. “How are you holding up?”
His hair seemed curlier than usual, brunette tresses warm like caramel. Blue eyes fluttered over your unclad frame appreciatively, lips parting to make room for a soft sigh.
Heat courses through his veins like liquid fire, body temperature already inhumanly hot. The heatwave doesn’t make anything better, but he appears relatively unphased.
“Warm,” A ragged sigh leaves you, head tilting in his direction as he slips inside. He’s still wearing long sleeves and pants despite the temperature. “I can’t imagine how you feel.”
Bob huffs a laugh, tugging at his sleeves as the door closes, left alone with you. “I’m used to it.” He muses, watching as you sit up.
Gawking, his gaze carefully follows the beads of sweat that blanket your throat, and he can smell the sweet perspiration from your skin. He marvels at the sight of you, mesmerized.
“Join me in melting,” You laugh, shuffling over on your bed, leaving a berth of space for him. “The shower doesn’t do much when you’re still sweating.”
It’s a new relationship for you, but it’s gentle, cleaner than anything you’ve had before. Bob treats you kindly; he treats you like you’re something worth loving.
Quietly, Bob steps closer to your bed, mattress sinking beneath his musculature as he lays next to you, brows furrowing together.
The cotton material of his shirt rides up along his midriff, exposing taut muscle and lines of veins that disappear beneath his waistband. You swallow at the sight, opting to look elsewhere.
“You okay?” Bob asks, cadence tender and soft, curling around your bones. He lays on his back, one arm looped underneath his head.
“Yeah, just hot,” A slow exhale escapes you, hand reaching to trace along his chest. “What about you? I’ve missed you.” You hum, peering in his direction.
Scarlet flourishes along his throat, creeping toward the light stubble forming against his jaw. The sensation of touch is electrifying, even though the sweltering heat.
“Fine,” He swallows, glancing over to meet your stare, dancing with affection. “You’ve missed me?” Bob mumbles in half-disbelief, tongue darting over his bottom lip.
“Mm-hm.” It’s murmured like an invitation, one that he gleefully accepts without prompting. He’s been preoccupied with training, and there's less time left for the two of you.
Despite the sting of humidity, he moves closer, kissing your shoulder. The gesture is affectionate, though it’s kept unusually brief.
There’s still a sliver of self-deprecation that burrows its way into his mind; thinking you don’t want him, don’t need him. It’s gotten better, but it isn’t enough to erase it completely.
Lashes kiss the warm skin beneath his eyes, gaze half-lidded, lips apart; he drinks you in, bathed in a golden glow.
Sweat bristles over his skin, shivering when your fingers drift near his abdomen. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough for goosebumps to crawl over his flesh in the wake of it.
“You’re beautiful,” He murmurs, doing little to conceal the want that permeates his voice. Emboldened, he moves closer, lips nestled against your jaw. “Perfect, you know that?”
Something low and heady sticks to his tone, and he’s gotten better with vocalizing what he wants and when he wants it.
Hot breath plumes beside your ear, and despite the tepid, sticky haze that clings to your bedroom, you care little for the overflowing body heat.
“Bob,” You mumble, feeling his hand twitch over your thigh as he adjusts, musculature relocating to be on top of you. The space is slim, alive with friction. “You’re sweet.”
A light smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, planting a kiss against the side of your face. A rosy flush blankets his features, partially due to the temperature, the other half desire.
Already slick with sweat, you don’t mind the closeness, even if you’re burning. It isn’t unbearable, and Bob’s antics prove to be a worthwhile distraction.
Twisted into a knot of limbs, you part your legs, letting him lay between, crooks of your knees squeezing near his hips.
The t-shirt you wear is cumbersome and damp, riding up around your waist. Bob’s gaze happens to wander over you, sweet and appreciative, simmering with something more.
Mouths tangle together before either of you can squeeze in a word. It’s anchoring; the gentle lull of your heartbeat, the saccharine haze of your smell, the way your lips taste.
A groan catches in the back of his throat, a borderline primal noise as he shifts against you. His hips ghost over yours, friction blossoming between bodies.
“We can if you want.” You whisper, unprompted. A hitch forms in his throat, propped up on his forearms, and he swallows excitedly.
“Yeah?” He nearly chokes, anticipation mounting within him as he kisses along your jaw, pulling a low sigh from your mouth.
Shuffling beneath him, you move closer, caring little for the muggy temperature that saturates your room. “Slowly, this time.” You croon, and he nods.
A raw need swells within him, something that surges with volatility, festering inside as he nods several times over. “I’ll be gentle,” Bob gasps, kissing your neck. “You smell so good.”
Whatever pheromones you emit seem to draw him right in like a magnet, and you shiver as his tongue laps at the sweat beading along your skin.
His nose grazes near your jugular, feeling your fingertips push matted strands of brunette away from his brow. One hand fists at the hem of his shirt, working in-tandem to peel it away.
Sweat-slick skin glitters above you, settling over the taut plane of his musculature, making your stomach twist with butterflies.
“You’re needy today,” Your sweetly-spoken observation makes him blush, brows pinching briefly before he nods. “I want you, Bob.” It’s all the coaxing he really needs.
As your hands travel over his abdomen, he ruts into your hips, the swell of his pants grinding into your core. The both of you shudder, and he’s moving to gently tug your shirt off.
Thin fabric leaves your body, exposing your chest to the warm air. His jaw sets, tighter than before as his hand shifts to brush over your nipple. You shiver, back arching into his touch.
Pressing you further, his fingertips roll over the sensitive bud, gently twisting and tugging, drawing a whimper from you.
Bob huffs, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he moves to place a string of kisses along your jaw. Each brush of skin is akin to a stab of fire, setting your body ablaze.
The New York heatwave burns outside the window, spilling into your room, gripping everything with a suffocating warmth.
He’s pretty like this; set in amber that curls around his skin, dancing across his crown until brunette turns to a dark caramel.
The blue of his eyes crests with a flicker of gold when you pull him in for a kiss, mouths joining in a slow, lackadaisical entanglement.
It doesn’t take much to rile him up; it’s all friction, bodies grinding together, hips flush, lips sluggishly connecting with strings of spit. Bob groans, and you feel the heat of his erection through his pants.
He kisses you feverishly, open-mouthed as a strained whine splits his diaphragm. The pleasure that pulses between your legs causes you to shudder, hips grinding over his.
“So pretty.” He mumbles, kissing your mouth again before he strings kisses over your jaw, climbing across your throat.
His hand snakes between your thighs, touching at your clothed cunt, shivering when he realizes how wet you’ve gotten for him.
Fire swirls within your belly, hips urging into his, thigh brushing at his growing bulge. “Bob,” You moan, lashes fluttering as you tug at his tresses. “Want you inside of me.”
“Can’t believe you’re mine,” Bob purrs, tone husked and lascivious as he mouths over your neck, finding his way to your collarbone. “I need you.” He huffs, shuffling out of his pants.
The front of his boxers reveal evidence of his arousal; a dark, wet patch blooming over the linen material. He looks razed, pupils black and ringed with gold, jaw slackening.
“Yeah?” Your tongue traces your bottom lip, fingers flexing against his crown. “God, Bob, I want you — please.” Tapering off into a desperate plea, you feel his hands hook into your panties.
Easing them off, Bob is panting, the swarming heat clouding your bedroom, thick and unyielding. Soft cotton slides down your thighs until he tosses them elsewhere, mouth hot on your breasts.
The burning scent of your arousal hits his senses like a tidal wave, scratching something raw within him. It only furthers his desire, like some feral animal caged inside.
Another whine splits your throat, rocking into him, feeling his weight sink down onto your body. His lips purse around your nipple, gently suckling at the sensitive flesh.
A low groan shakes his chest as you card your fingers through his hair, idly tugging at the soft, sweat-matted locks. Praise floats from your mouth, tender and affectionate.
The swell of his cock presses incessantly into your core, still covered by his boxers, oozing with precum. He grunts, moaning your name when your thigh teases his groin again.
Pulling your nipple into his maw, Bob lavishes your breast in a myriad of kisses, teeth grazing over the soft flesh. You shudder, hips crashing forward against him again.
The heat of your room fogs the windows, bodies layered in perspiration, tangled together despite the temperature. Despite the lack of air-conditioning, you’re holding onto him like a vice.
“Let me,” Bob pants against your sternum, kissing a sluggish trail toward your jaw, hand fisting into the waistband of his boxers. “Let me be inside of you, please.”
His throaty plea is met with enthusiasm as you feel bare flesh meet flesh, fabric tugging away from his thighs. He’s painfully hard, nearly tearing at the sheets.
The flushed, oozing head of his cock presses flush to your pussy, the sensation ripping through your body. Excitement mounts as you rock your hips a time or two.
“Being so good for me,” Muted praise warbles from your lips, and it’s enough to make Bob whimper. “You’re so pretty like this.”
Bob’s pupils nearly eclipse the gold-fringed irises, blown-out with desire as he rocks forward. His cock slides over your pussy, gathering the slick there, noises crass.
Deliberately, he nudges his cock into your cunt a time or two, splitting past your folds. The slow, heady stretch makes your mind buzz with static, chest tight with a low moan.
“Bob,” You sigh his name, limbs caged around him, feeling the tilt of his hips as he sinks inside of you. He goes slowly; it’s tender and lazy, lackadaisical as his weight blankets you. “S’perfect.”
The pleasant stretch of his cock pulls another moan from your mouth, filling you perfectly, as if he’s molded especially for you.
He’s always been one to yearn silently, wanting you in hushed gaps and longing glances, but this time, his desire is screaming.
A ragged groan escapes him, hips pushing forward in slow, rhythmic movements that never dissolve into anything rough. It’s idle and lazy, and each urge of his cock is mind-numbingly blissful.
Foreheads press together, bodies intertwined, chests flush and mouths agape. He makes sure that you feel all of him; and you do, every thrust making your cunt ripple around him.
The lullaby of your heartbeat placates him, pitched with excitement, and he twists one hand into the pillow beside your head.
Bob lets his fingers wander, cradling your jaw as you coax him in for a lingering kiss, tongues joining, a sluggish mess of spit and desire.
He moans, hips stuttering, cock nearly kissing your cervix. The amalgamation of sensations twists his nerves, lost between your mouth and your cunt.
As he draws his hips back and pushes forward, the pace he sets is passionate and unhurried; a glistening string of saliva connects his mouth to yours.
The slowness of it all is addicting; he’s savoring you, clinging to every twitch of your body, every pulse of your pussy around his cock.
“You feel so good.” Bob groans through another roll of his hips, and you’re dizzy from the pleasure, body tangled into a knot of bliss. It sits heavy in your belly, wanton and waiting.
It’s disgustingly hot in your room — so humid that it burns your cheeks, paints your skin like a fever.
A flush of pink crawls over his flesh, resonant beneath his cheeks, stretching over his throat. Still, he continues, lazily fucking you as if his strength has been siphoned away.
Instead, it’s exceedingly tender, marked by drawn-out thrusts of his hips.
His cock hits you deep each time, as if he’s trying to sink himself into you and stay there, buried within, and you’d let him if it were possible.
The air hangs heavy with the scent of sex and sunshine, the balmy breeze doing little to alleviate the perspiration that glitters across your flesh.
Bob’s breathing grounds you; warm, labored and desirous, panting lowly beside your ear. His lips press against your temples, dragging toward the dip of your jaw and beneath.
Wisps of brown stick to his forehead, damp with sweat, brows furrowed in a look of sheer ecstasy. His body bends to pleasure, hips rocking forward, slow and methodical.
Each kiss of his cock to your cervix sends you reeling, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your skull, nerves ablaze with pure bliss. You cling to him, nails digging crescents into his shoulders.
“Bob,” Another half-mewled moan splits your diaphragm, echoing through your bedroom, thick like honey. “Bob, please, you feel so good inside of me.” You pant, almost delirious.
Words have an effect on him, simmering through his veins like wildfire, arousal coiling tightly within his abdomen. Precum oozes into you, slick over his cock, still slowly dragging in and out of your cunt.
“So — Mm, so perfect,” Bob’s husky cadence tapers off into a moan, visage screwed up with a look of pleasure. “Need to keep going.”
Words become scrambled in his brain as he wades through ecstasy, groin flush to yours, flesh sticky from cum and sweat.
His pace ticks up with desperation, hips rolling forward yet methodically, hitting you deep; he fucks you like he wants to never leave.
Your mouth clamors for his in a flurry of passion, lips twining as you swallow another groan of his, hands raking over his biceps.
Red crescents pepper his skin like kisses, and he enjoys the little bites of pressure; it’s a reminder that this is all real.
Liquid heat burns brightly within the pit of your stomach, cunt tight and soaking wet, clenching around his cock. The sensation pulls another sharp moan from his mouth.
In the midst of tangled kisses, you make sure he tastes you, spit finding its way into his mouth, and he’s on cloud nine.
“Not gonna last, I — Please.” Bob pants, voice deliciously low as it scratches some depraved part of your brain.
One of his hands shifts to grab your leg, smoothly hitching against the back of your knee, caressing the skin there as he pushes it toward your abdomen.
It isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s intense, the new angle allowing him to fuck you deeper. You moan in-tandem, a mutual sound that fills the space between you.
He fills you up, leaving no room for space, heat exuding from him like an open flame. His cock pulses inside of you as he nears his release, fucking you slow.
Each drag of his hips is like searing embers, cock sluggishly drawing out of you before he eases back inside. Your back arches, lips apart, and you’re melting.
“I love you,” Spoken through a half-strained moan, your affection is what seems to push him over the edge. “So perfect, Bob.”
Bob groans, burying his face into your neck, letting out a myriad of strangled sounds as he thrusts into you again, and stills.
His hands dig into the sheets on either side of your head, grasp so ironclad that it rips the threads apart entirely. The bed shuffles with a creak beneath the both of you.
Contorted in ecstasy, he looks like a god, drenched in golden light, glittering with sweat, mouth parted to make room for a ragged grunt.
You cum with him, pussy clenching so tightly that he swears he sees stars, and so do you. His lips pepper all over your throat and jaw, spilling himself inside of you.
It’s a rush of heat, thick and heady, and he cums inside of you in doses of hot spend. It makes you feel dizzy from desire, and the heatwave doesn’t ease your delirium.
“Don’t wanna leave,” Bob murmurs into the notch beneath your jaw, nose ghosting over your skin, breathing in your scent. “Please.”
“Stay,” You sigh, hands shifting to smooth over his hair, pushing wet strands away from his temples. “Stay just like this.”
He doesn’t move, hips slowing, cock still inside of you as he settles, laying comfortably against you. The heat almost fizzles into the background, and he can hear the melody of your heartbeat.
As the world stills around him, he catches his breath in shallow pants, skin burning with tendrils of ochre and gold.
His head nestles beside your neck, musculature still slick with perspiration, but he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. “I love you.” Bob hums, hand cupping your jaw.
“I love you, too,” The humidity creates a haze that permeates your room, but you don’t care. You stay entangled with Bob, limbs ensnared. “Want to shower?”
“In a little bit, just — I wanna be here,” He sighs into your throat, content to feel you around him still, listening to your heartbeat. “You’re perfect.”
Bob tilts his head, chin resting against your collarbone, fingers caressing along the slope of your jaw. He’s beautiful to look at in the heat of the afternoon glow.
Coaxing him in for a brief kiss, you almost jump from your skin when you hear the air conditioning unit kick on with a low roar.
“I think the air’s back on.” You muse, mildly incredulous, but you don’t get your hopes up just yet.
The both of you smile, your hand cradling the base of his head, fingertips trailing through his damp tresses. He exhales, visibly content by your actions.
“I think so, too.” Bob concurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek, and then another. His hips lazily roll once, causing you to gasp.
Warmth bristles in the pit of your stomach as you feel his cock throb inside of you, and you find yourself more eager than ever.
Those dark blue hues pull you in, echoing the sentiment that you belong to him; he doesn’t have to tell you. “Again?” He husks.
clark kent who loves learning about your special interests. you could yap to him about anything for hours and he’d listen to every word and somehow actually retain the information because he knows it’s important to you. you like art? he’s taking you to an art museum with your favorite artists work. bugs? he’s constantly walking up to you with cupped hands with your favorite bug he found on his walk. he’s all proud too “look baby ladybug your favorite right? i found this pretty lady in the side of the office building!” all dimples and blush.
clark kent who smiles at your soft launch photo. he stood behind you placing a hand on your waist as you posted to show your outfit. the photo cut off right below his chin perfectly but you fit perfectly infront of him. he liked knowing that other people know you were taken.
clark kent who learns the right way to brush you hair. you’re sat between his legs on the floor and his brushing your ends gently grabbing pieces to pull it into a bun with gentle fingers. when you thank him he claims he has to learn for your future daughter and smiles.
clark kent who loves providing. all you have to do is show him a picture of something you want. you’re hungry, he’s cooking. wanna go out with your friends? take his wallet. it shocks other people how much he loves it too. you showed him a picture of the heels you wanted exclaiming about how perfect they’d look with your skirt. “you want em?” he looks at you with a warm smile. “yeah but they’re a bit too expensive i’ll have to wait a bit to get em.” he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before whispering “get me my wallet honey”.
clark kent who follows you around. wether you’re at home or the store he likes being near. in the morning you’ll be rushing to get ready and he’ll followed behind you letting you talk him through your outfit choice and he’ll listen even asking questions every so often. off to the kitchen? he could use some water right now. if he’s not trailing behind you with a hand tucked under your shirt your in his reach and at the very least in his sight.
clark kent who checks up on you. he needs to make sure you’re okay when he can tell things are off. “you ‘kay sweetheart?” his voice is low and his hand rest on your back. he could tell something was off because your eyebrows are uncomfortably pushed together as you stared at your computer. “mhm just stuck on this last paragraph.” you pointed to the culprit and he immediately bend down and offered his help with a smile.
clark kent who talks about you visiting his parents all the time. you’re not surprised when he does just that. holding you in one arm and your bag in the other he’s flying to the farm greeting his parents and announcing you as his girlfriend proudly. you gush to him about how lovely and welcoming ma and pa are and he’s just as excited to welcome you into his family.
clark kent who’s body temperature is weirdly bipolar. some days he’ll be freakishly cold, you’d even go so far as to ask him if he went flying in antarctica before walking in the room but he shrugged, shook his head, and pulled you in for an oddly cold hug. other days, most days, he’s like your own personal heater which you love. who needs a blanket when your heated blanket of a boyfriend exists.
clark kent who’s morning routine is kissing you goodmorning, pulling you back in bed like you aren’t late for work and asking you what you want for dinner. he’s more then happy to stop by the grocery store on your way home to make you whatever it is you want that day. when you’re getting ready he’s in the kitchen cooking for the two of you breakfast because he thinks the fact you went without breakfast most days before you were together is insane.
clark kent who’s charm is irresistible. that smile and those dimples gets him more than he needs. sometimes he’s completely unaware. he’s just gotten you and your friends into a club for free and when you tease him for it he shrugs and claims it happens all the time.
clark kent who is the sober companion for you and your friends when you go out, your friends don’t mind because he usually ends up walking them all home when they’re drunk and he keeps out the way of the dance floor. once jimmy had also went, and took a picture of you clinging onto his torso with you and your friend bags on his arms.
clark kent who’s shirts are always so tight on him. a blessing and a curse because you get the best view of his biceps bulging from under the hem of his sleeve. sometimes you can see the outline of his muscles on his back when he moves. one time he flexed too hard (your request) and he ripped his shirt. a curse because he thinks it can be a little uncomfortable, so you suggest it’s best he just takes it off.
clark kent who does what ever task you want with more than enough efficiency. you asked him to wash the dishes and the whole kitchen had been cleaned. he loves making you happy. he’s a proud over achiever.
clark kent who’s protective. you don’t think it’s overbearing but some may disagree. you don’t mind sharing your location or letting him know where you’ll be because you know either way he knows your heartbeat and we’ll fly over in case of emergency. you like the hand on your lower back especially when he steps closer and grips tighter when there’s another person looking too long for his liking. he has to protect what’s his.
clark kent who’s so attentive. he’s passing you a water before you even tell him your thirsty, offering a hand when you walk down the stairs then offering to carry you down them just in case. because he so warm he already known when and where you need the heat of his hand on you, your very own heating pad who happens to be the best boyfriend ever.
clark kent who is a munch. i’m not talking the occasional eating, tit for tat, he’ll eat it everyday, he wants to. if him kissing down your torso doesn’t convince you he’ll look up at you with those eyes and start begging. “please?” a kiss on your inner thigh “please, honey?” a finger slipping beneath your waistband. and once he starts he won’t stop. he’ll go for as long as you’ll let him.
clark kent who’s favorite position might just be missionary. he likes watching your lips fall into an ‘o’ and your eyebrows push together when he pushes into you for the first time. he likes the way your legs wrap around his waist urging him to be closer, the way he has access to your neck so when hes sucking at the spot he knows you like most your moan falls right into his ear.
clark kent who fucks you on any surface. not necessarily something he planned on but something that falls into place. a few times in the kitchen in various counters when you just looked too good coming home from work, why wait all the time walking into the bedroom? a few times in the living room when your hand wandered too far south durning too many movie nights. few times in the shower to save water of course, two burds one stone.
clark kent who always puts you before him. even outside the bedroom your pleasure and happiness comes first, just like you! he’s always making sure to use his mouth or fingers first to make sure you both get your fill, and open up for him, then of course he’ll fuck you through the mattress. but only if and after you’ve came.
clark kent who fucks so hard he’s broken the headboard, more times then the average person, obviously. the feeling of you around him, on him, distracts him so much the hand he used to stabilize himself is now holding a chunk of your headboard. “oops i’m so sorry baby, so sorry i’ll buy you another one, promise… again.”. at first it startled you, more so the sound than him, no matter how strong he is you know clark would never hurt you, even accidentally, the sudden crack pulls a giggle from you and he’s laughing right back at you.
clark kent who is so much bigger than you. when you’re in any position his body just swallows you wether you’re in doggy, missionary, mateing press, he’s nearly two times your size which makes everything feel two times better. he’s so big he nearly blocks out the view of the room when he’s on top of you.
i fear i had a Thought earlier about that scene where superman says “deep slow breaths maam you’re gonna be ok” but it’s clark cooing at you and telling you to relax and breathe so you can fit all of him
18+ mdni
MMMM yeah
clark's huge, and you knew that by just looking at him. but knowing it and feeling it are two very different things. the first push of his cock inside you makes your breath catch, nails curling into the muscle of his arms as he braces above you. a pained whimper slips out, hips twitching like you aren't sure whether to move away from the stretch or just give in to it.
"hey, hey. look at me," he coos, catching your chin with his thumb to tilt your head back. his glasses are slightly fogged, his curls damp at his forehead, but his eyes are steady as he eases you into it. while you're panicking and tense, he's calm and so achingly gentle. "stop holding your breath, honey. deep, slow breaths. you're gonna be okay. you can take it."
you blink up at him, wide-eyed, trying to drag in air as he strokes your cheek gently. there's no way you'd make it through this without his low, coaxing murmurs in your ear.
"that's it. there you go. just breathe with me. in through your nose... now let it out." it's a little ridiculous having the man currently trying to slide his dick into your tight cunt demonstrate how to breathe, but you appreciate the guidance nonetheless. especially when even just his tip inside you has your body tensing in protest.
the next inch slides in, and you gasp, tightening instinctively. he stills immediately, brushing his lips lightly over your sweaty temple. "shhh. sorry, too much?" you whimper an affirmation. "just... try not to fight it, okay? open up for me. you can do that. there's my girl."
he presses kisses down the side of your face, your jaw, your throat, murmuring between each one. so good for me. you feel incredible. that's in. doing so well. when your breathing evens out again, he moves just a fraction deeper, thick cock stretching out your cunt with each shift. it's uncomfortable, sure, but you can find comfort in the fact this giant man is so patient with you. you bite your lip, but he catches it with his thumb, freeing it, gentle even in his insistence.
"no hiding," he whispers. "let me hear you."
"mmm—sorry. keep going."
another press of his hips, still agonisingly slow to savour your shaky exhale. "that's it. gosh, you're so perfect. you're taking me so well." and it goes like that, inch by inch, clark easing forward only when you're ready, only when your body loosens around his thick length. every time you falter, he soothes you with his voice, with soft kisses, with the steady rub of his big hand up your side.
"relax, baby. i've got you. almost all the way in."
the stretch burns, your body moulding around the alien intrusion, but there's a sweetness in it too. the ache gives way to fullness when your body finally accepts him. when he bottoms out at last, hips flush to yours and his cock so deep you swear he must be in your womb, you let out a broken little sound of relief.
his head drops to your shoulder, breath hot and ragged. you think he might be shaking with the effort it took to go that slow.
"see?" he says softly, voice just as wrecked as yours. "told you you'd be okay." he pulls back just enough to look at you, his smile boyish and awed, eyes shining like you hung the stars rather than took an excruciatingly long time to adjust to the sheer size of him. all you can do is shudder beneath him, walls still clenching around the impossible fullness that somehow feels a little more possible right now.
"is this the part where you tell me i'm a big girl and give me a sticker?" you manage to tease as he finds your hands to lace your fingers together.
he rolls his eyes. "if that's what it takes to make you feel better."
you shake your head. all you really want is a kiss right now, and he seems to be thinking the exact same thing. clark ducks his head, mouth slotting against yours as you sigh shakily against him. a few more quick pecks and his forehead is pressed against yours. his weight settles more comfortable above you, careful not to crush you. you can still feel how deep he is, but the sharp edge of it dulls with every breath you take in sync with his.
his thumb strokes against your cheekbone, soft eyes burning into your own. "tell me how you're doing," he prompts gently. "i need to hear it from you."
"full," you admit with a shaky laugh. "don't think i could take any more."
he chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth, then the hollow of your jaw. "good thing i have nothing left to give."
you stay like that for a while. him pressed flush against you, cooing in your ear like he's genuinely proud of you, smothering you in little kisses until you're giggling instead of grimacing.
"okay. okay, i'm ready."
he pulls back a few inches, then rolls forward. and god, the drag is overwhelming, your entire body shivering as your back arches up off the sweat-slick sheets beneath you.
"ohh—gosh," he groans. but even in his own haze he's still watching you, half-lidded blue eyes focused on the way your lips part, the way your own lashes flutter. "that's it. feels so good, honey. tell me if it's too much."
you shake your head, clutching him tighter, a breathless little "please don't stop" passing your lips. his answering smile is dizzy and tender, and he listens. shallow little rolls of his hips to let you adjust, building a pace until you're begging for more.
Your washing machine breaks, and Clark Kent—perfect, helpful, devastatingly kind Clark Kent—immediately offers his. The same Clark you've been pathetically avoiding because being around him hurts too much when you're this gone for him. But it's late, it's raining, and he's being so characteristically sweet about it that you can't say no. What could go wrong?
Your washing machine is dead. Not 'making a funny noise' dead, but utterly, stone-cold silent. You’d pressed the power button three times, a desperate little prayer on your lips, before accepting your fate. A mountain of laundry sat mockingly in its basket.
You’re staring into the abyss of your empty detergent bottle (another problem) when your phone buzzes on the counter.
Clark: Heard a suspicious amount of cursing coming from your apartment. Everything good?
Your fingers hover over the screen. It’s mortifying. You should just not answer. All your efforts to distance yourself from him, to slowly ease his warmth out of your life, will be for naught if he gets even the slightest sense of you needing help. Clark Kent doesn’t ignore cries for help. Clark Kent swoops in, with his gentle smile and strong, broad shoulders.
Clark Kent makes it hard for girls like you to get over him.
But if you don't answer, he’ll probably show up at your door to investigate, which would be much, much worse.
You: My washing machine has passed on to the great appliance store in the sky.
His reply is almost instantaneous. A small bubble with three dots appears and disappears before the message lands, and you hold your breath.
Clark: Oh no! Problem solved. My machine is your machine. Come on over whenever.
Shit.
You: Thanks, but it’s OK! I’ll just hit the laundromat. It’s late and I don’t want to bother you.
You’ve already put on your jacket and are hunting for your keys, a grim determination setting in. The walk will be cold. It will be annoying. But it will be blessedly, wonderfully Clark-free, so it’s a small sacrifice in the long run. Your thumb hesitates over the power switch on the machine. Might as well give it another shot. You jab the button with your index finger.
The phone screen in your hand lights up with his name.
He's speaking before you've finished getting the phone to your ear. "You don't honestly think I'm letting you go out at 11pm in the freezing rain to sit at some laundromat by yourself, do you?"
"I..." What were you going to say again? He's turning the concerned voice on and your stomach is flipping. "It’s not raining that much." It is. You can hear the distinct tink-tink-tink of water hitting your windowpane.
"Okay. It’s not freezing rain. But it’s still late. And that laundromat is… not the best. Lois was just telling me about an article she’s editing about how many streetlights are out on that block."
Lois.
The name lands like a small, smooth stone dropped into your stomach. Of course. Lois. Beautiful, brilliant Lois who makes Clark laugh in ways that light up his entire face, who writes the front-page articles and has the world at her fingertips. Who Clark is undoubtedly, irrefutably in love with, if you had to guess. Maybe they’re even together now. You've been so busy avoiding him that you wouldn't even know.
"I’m not gonna be able to focus on my work if I’m worried about you," he continues, blissfully unaware of the small, quiet devastation he just caused. He’s weaponized his own kindness, and it’s ruthlessly effective. "Please?"
You lean your forehead against the cool surface of your dead washing machine. He could convince the moon to come crashing down into Earth with just one well-placed "please", you think.
"You working on something?" you've moved on to stalling for time.
"Don't change the subject. Grab your laundry and get over here before I come drag you myself."
You're a goner. "Clark."
His laugh is bright and warm and reminds you of a lot of what you miss about him. "Come on," he coaxes, and the gentle, cajoling tone is going to make your heart leap straight out of your throat and into his hands. "I’ll order us some pizza. Or have you eaten already?"
"Don't get me pizza," you protest. "You need to work."
"I need to take a break anyway. I’ve been staring at this screen too long. I’ll be braindead if I don’t take a break soon."
"Then have a break. You don’t have to share it with me. I don't want to impose."
"Alright," he says, and you hear the telltale squeak of his desk chair as he gets to his feet. "Then I'm coming over and dragging you and your laundry across the hall."
"Clark!"
"Y/N!"
You laugh despite yourself, despite the way your stomach hurts. He's too good, too much, too kind. You can't keep up. "Okay, okay," you say, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'm on my way."
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
"Come in," he calls before you can knock. Of course he heard you coming.
You push the door open to find him tidying up the living room, shoving papers into neat stacks and fluffing couch cushions. He looks up when you enter, hair falling across his forehead in that way that makes your fingers itch to brush it back.
"Sorry about the mess," he says, though his apartment is immaculate as always. "I wasn't expecting company."
He's wearing his flannel pajama pants and a soft t-shirt, glasses on. You'd have a hard time figuring out whether this or the suit is worse on your heart.
"You don't have to clean for me, Clark. It's just laundry."
"I know, but..." He trails off, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I wanted things to be nice. It's been a while since you've been over."
You feel a stab of guilt at that. You can't explain why you haven't been over in so long. You can't say, I have a ridiculous crush on you and need to save whatever is left of my dignity by keeping some distance between us.
So, you say, "Oh... yeah." Like an idiot.
"I missed seeing your face around."
"Did you?"
It's out before you can take it back. Clark freezes, then turns to look at you.
"Of course I did." There’s something like hurt behind his glasses. "Why would you say that?"
"No... I didn't mean..." you stammer. You want to go hide in a closet somewhere. "That sounded weird. I'm sorry. Just forget it."
Clark is still studying you with that puzzled, concerned look, but he eventually lets out a little huff of a laugh. "I’ll never understand how you don’t realize how much people like you around."
"Maybe I'm just fishing for compliments," you say in an attempt to play it off.
"Mm," he hums, taking your laundry basket with such ease one would think it was full of cotton balls instead of two weeks’ worth of dirty clothes. "Well, you're welcome to fish here anytime."
You follow him to the tiny (immaculately clean) laundry nook. It's not a room so much as a closet off the kitchen, with much less space than you need for a successful Clark Kent avoidance technique. If he stays to chat, you'll be standing no more than an arms' length apart at best, and you're not sure how that’s going to work for the duration of a full cycle.
"Have you eaten?" Clark asks again. He's leaning against the doorframe of the laundry nook, watching you with an easy sort of patience as you start to load the machine. The space feels impossibly small; you have to keep reminding your lungs how to do their job.
"Yeah," you lie, your voice tight as you untangle one of your t-shirts from a pair of jeans and pray that you didn't throw anything too embarrassing into this basket. "I ate."
"Liar. I can hear your stomach from here."
You freeze, utterly mortified. He’s just joking. Probably. "You cannot."
"I can," he insists, a grin spreading across his face that makes your stomach do a nervous little flip. "It’s telling me very sad stories about an empty fridge." He pushes off the doorframe, taking a single, deliberate step into the nook. The fluorescent bulb above flickers once, as if startled. He fills the space completely, blocking the light from the kitchen.
Your hands are suddenly clumsy. You become hyper-aware of the contents of your basket—the worn-out state of your favorite pajamas and, god forbid, your underwear. You try to discreetly bury a pair of frankly embarrassing floral underwear beneath a towel while he leans over your shoulder.
He’s reaching up, his body twisting around you to open a small cupboard above your head. The soft cotton of his t-shirt presses against your shoulder blade as he stretches, and a warm cloud of something clean—laundry soap and fresh air and just him—envelops you. You hold your breath, your universe shrinking to the inches between you, the faint scent of his shampoo, and the solid wall of his chest at your back.
He pulls back just as you think you might pass out, holding out a bottle of detergent. He’s completely, devastatingly oblivious to the five-alarm fire he just started in your nervous system, it seems. His expression is open, friendly, his gaze searching your face. You'd like to curl up inside the washing machine with your laundry and go on a spin cycle right now.
"Laundry detergent for your thoughts?" he asks, offering you the bottle like he hasn’t just driven every rational thought from your head.
You look down at the bottle, trying to remember how words work. "My thoughts are boring."
"That’s impossible." He unscrews the cap for you before passing it into your hands.
You take it, but he doesn't move back. You can see the flecks of green in his blue eyes behind his glasses.
You turn back to the washer, desperate for something to do with your hands and a way to escape his gaze, but your mind has gone completely, utterly blank. What comes after adding detergent? Cold wash? Warm wash? What exactly are you supposed to do with your arms, your legs, your shoulders? How do people even stand normally?
"Let me get that," he says, gently, quietly. His hand brushes yours as he takes the bottle, and he’s pouring the soap in, setting the bottle aside, twisting a dial. The washer rumbles to life, filling with water, and it feels like the air in the tiny nook is being sucked out through the pipes. He closes the lid and turns to look at you. He's so tall you have to tilt your head up to see his face properly.
"There," he says softly, like he's accomplished something monumental instead of just starting a load of laundry. "All set."
You nod, acutely aware that you should probably leave the nook now, give him space to escape back to his work. But your feet seem rooted to the spot, and Clark doesn't seem to be in any hurry to move either.
"So," he says, leaning back against the dryer, arms crossed. The position makes his t-shirt pull slightly across his chest, but at least now he's a full arms' length away from you. "What's really going on with you lately?"
Your heart stutters. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. The avoiding me thing. The way you practically sprint in the opposite direction when you see me in the hallway."
"I don't sprint."
"You do a very fast walk," he says with a small smile. "It's actually pretty impressive. I didn't know you could move that quickly."
Despite everything, you find yourself fighting back a laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe. But I'm also right." He tilts his head and looks at you for a long moment, like if he focuses hard enough, he can figure out what's going on inside your head without you having to say it out loud. It's an unsettling feeling, as if he might somehow peel back all the layers of your walls and see your pathetic little crush sitting at the core.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asks.
Your heart sinks. "No, Clark, you haven't done anything wrong. Jesus." You run a hand over your face, letting out a sigh. "That's not—you're just—"
He's just perfect. He's kind and patient, he helps an elderly woman carry groceries back to her apartment every Thursday night. How do you tell someone like that that it feels like dying every time he mentions the coworker he's clearly in love with?
"We're good," you finish weakly. "You don't have anything to worry about."
He gives you a look that says he doesn't believe you for a second. "You just hate being around me?"
"Oh, yes. I hate you. Absolutely despise you," you joke.
"Hmm."
"Repulsed," you're holding back a laugh now. "Completely repulsed by your very—"
Clark takes another step forward, and whatever words were in your mouth evaporate. The laughter fizzles, turns less playful and more nervous as he invades your personal space like he's been doing your thoughts, 24/7, for maybe a solid year.
Playful Clark is almost worse than kind Clark. Kind Clark can fill your stomach with butterflies, sure. Kind Clark will stay on your mind, will fuel daydreams of late mornings and gentle hands, but you've built up a tolerance. Playful Clark—bold Clark—might actually shatter the very carefully maintained equilibrium you've worked so hard to create around your relationship with him.
"...face," you manage to squeak. He's much too close and much too comfortable, taller than you've ever really allowed yourself to consider.
What a terrifyingly wonderful feeling. If he leaned down, if you got on tiptoes...
"Clark," you say. The word is a weak warning.
He doesn't move, but his eyes flicker down to your lips and back up. You can feel the blush creeping over your cheeks. "What?"
"Clark."
He's smiling. "Y/N."
You can barely hear your own voice over the roar of your blood in your ears. "Are you just... gonna stand here?"
A small, breathy laugh escapes him. "I don't know. I'm enjoying the view."
"Clark."
His smile widens. "It's not my fault. You're cute when you're flustered."
"Stop. I'm not flustered."
He leans in a fraction closer. "So, I could get closer?"
He knows. He absolutely knows. And you know that he knows, and he's playing chicken. "Clark," you whisper, a final warning. If he gets any closer...
"Y/N." He mimics the tone of your voice. He's trying to tease, but he can't keep the soft, warm edges from creeping into it, the gentle affection he can never hide.
Clark Kent wants to kiss you, you think, distantly, as his nose brushes yours. As a big hand reaches up and cradles the back of your head.
"Is this okay?" he asks, breath fanning over your lips. And god, if that isn't just about the death of you.
The air has solidified, turned to glass, and it's lodged in your chest. "Clark."
"Can I?" His fingertips are warm against the base of your neck. The contact sends electricity racing up and down your spine. "I'm tired of waiting for you to catch on."
"Me catch on?! My biggest problem is that you, Clark Kent, you are the most—"
He's kissing you. He's laughing against your lips as he's kissing you, and your mind has been reduced to a collection of sparks going off in a vast expanse of darkness.
"You're so oblivious," he's saying, his lips moving against yours. "You're the most oblivious person on the planet. I swear."
"I'm oblivious? You're—"
But he's kissing you again—this time more insistent, less patient, a little bit needy and a whole lot of something you can't name, but you want to drown in. Any argument you might have made melts under his touch, vanishes like dew on a sunny morning and leaves nothing but this in its wake.
"I hope your machine is dead for good," he murmurs against your lips.
Your answer gets lost somewhere in the shape of his mouth and the warmth of his hands.
clark going down on you while hes still in the superman suit..... 18+ mdni, fem reader
you heard clark before you saw him - the door of your balcony sliding open and the thump of his boots on the floor. he sighed, and you could picture his face: the tired smile of a job well done.
when you rounded the corner into your bedroom, clad in house slippers and one of clark's crewnecks, ready to greet him, the look on his face was something else entirely.
he was tired alright, but there was a tick in his jaw and his eyes were dark with - frustration? hunger, maybe?
clark's eyes met yours and he softened, tension rolling off his muscled shoulders. his cape fluttered slightly as he reached behind him to close the balcony door, his eyes never leaving your frame.
"hard night?" you asked softly, giving him a smile. you entered his orbit, wrapping your arms around his neck in a gentle embrace.
"mm," clark murmured. his arms came to hold you tight against him as he buried his face in your neck, breathing deeply. he pressed a kiss beneath your ear, then at the side of your neck. you shivered. "missed you so much, sweetheart."
"yeah?" you laugh softly, carding your hand through his carefully coiffed curls, letting them fall loose. "missed you too, superman."
he keened at the name, nuzzling in further and groaning briefly under his breath, pressing another long kiss to the column of your throat. "couldn't get back here quick enough. i was thinkin' about you the whole time."
you felt his arms tighten around you, the heat of his palms pressing into the expanse of your back. you hummed softly, holding his cheek and guiding his face out of your shoulder so you could get a good look at him. clark's eyes were laser-focused on you, drinking in your image.
"honey," clark breathed, the pet name rolling effortlessly out of his pretty pink lips. "i need you."
"clark," you smiled, warmth curling through your chest. "you have me. i'm right here, baby."
"no, i-" clark swallowed, tongue darting out to wet his lips. you watched his eyes flicker down to your lips, to where your body wore his shirt, then back up. "i need you."
"oh," you blinked, understanding his meaning, and a rush of heat flooded your gut. before you could say anything else, clark had tugged you close again, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss.
clark tended to kiss you like it was the last time he'd be able to, and this time was no different. he swallowed the little surprised sound you made, his tongue at the seam of your lips. you let him in, happily, desperately, and your hands fisted curls of black hair. he kissed you like he was memorizing the way you felt, the way you tasted. all heat and passion and mess, just the way clark liked it.
his hands slid to your ass, squeezing the flesh firmly, before breaking the kiss to bend and lift you into his arms. your legs wrapped around his waist. he carried you like it was nothing, fingers dimpling the bare flesh of your thighs. you could feel your core press against the firm edges of his stomach, still covered with blue leather. he looked up at you then, eyes blown wide with need, his lips wet with your saliva. fuck, he was gorgeous.
clark kissed you again, messy with need, teeth clacking and tongues dancing, eyes shut as he maneuvered you both over to the bed. he lowered you onto it, following you down so he didn't spend a second away from your mouth.
"baby," clark murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear. his teeth grazed the lobe, making you shiver, and he smiled into another kiss on your neck.
"what d'you need, clark?" you asked, voice thick through your own arousal.
he kissed back up to your mouth, his cape fanning over you both like a blanket, trapping the heat between you.
"can i go down on you?" clark asked breathlessly. (and as if you would ever say no to that.) "please, i need to taste you, honey. please."
you nodded enthusiastically, clark's face breaking into a brief dopey grin. he backed off you and fell to his knees, pulling you by your legs to the edge of the bed.
"oh, baby..." clark moaned at the sight of you above him, legs spread and propped up on your elbows, staring him down. you were wearing one of his favorite pairs of underwear - the plain cotton ones that were a pretty deep blue. they were so soft and hugged your hips and highlighted your ass in a way that drove clark absolutely insane. "so pretty f'me."
"clarkkk," you whined, desperate for the feeling of his hands and mouth. but clark liked to take his time, and he looked completely at peace between your thighs. after receiving another nod from you, clark tucked his fingers under the waistband and pulled them off of you.
"pretty girl, all f'me," clark muttered, almost to himself, the blue in his eyes practically gone. he took your legs in warm hands, propping them up on his shoulders.
clark pressed a kiss to your ankle, softly, reverently. like he was doing something holy. you watched with bated breath as clark moved, his eyes never leaving the aching spot between your legs.
he moved to your calf, pressing slow kisses along the skin. "i'm so lucky to have you like this."
then your knee, then your thigh, all with the adoration of a priest worshipping his god. "beautiful. so beautiful."
he kissed up the inside of your thigh, his hands sliding up your legs to encourage them further open. he inched closer and closer to where you needed him, so close you could feel his labored exhales on your cunt.
"please, clark," you whimpered, egging him on with your heel against his back. you swore you were so wet it was dripping onto the bedsheets below. "need your mouth, baby."
clark had the nerve to smile while every inch of your body was on fire. he blew a gentle gust of cold air against your clit, making you twitch and yelp under him.
"sorry, baby, i had to," clark breathed before you felt his tongue, warm and flat and big, against your hole. you gasped out, a hand immediately flying to clark's hair and gripping tight. he moaned at the feeling, the vibrations sending rumbles of pleasure through your gut.
clark ate like a man starved, with long strokes of his tongue, as if he couldn't get enough of the taste of you. his fingers gripped your thighs tight, keeping your legs open for him even as you bucked and grinded against his tongue. his lips zeroed in on your clit, sucking just the way he knew you liked.
"fuck, clark-" you moaned, tense with hot pleasure. "please, just like that."
clark keened at the praise, continuing his worshipful ministrations. a thick finger prodded at your entrance, the mix of his spit and your slick allowing easy entry. you whimpered at the feeling, grinding your hips down against the digit. he pumped in and out, matching the pace of his mouth, never letting up.
you could feel your orgasm coming in the blinding throes of clark's mouth. he knew, of course - clark was tuned in to every sign your body gave, and he had memorized the way your heartbeat raced when you were close.
"so good," you could barely get the words out, completely distracted. "feels so good, baby, fuck, don't stop-"
clark slipped in another finger, and with a particularly long suck on your clit, he brought you caterwauling off the edge. you yelled out his name, your grip on his hair bruising and your heels digging into his cape. your eyes were wet and screwed shut, a full body tremor taking over. he slowed but didn't stop, drinking every drop of pleasure he could take from your body. there was a sheen of sweat on both of your faces, and clark slowly pulled his fingers out.
"so perfect," he muttered, rubbing circles on your thigh. you gasped a few deep breaths as your high came down. "so beautiful, baby, you taste so good, did so good for me."
you peeled your eyes open, panting lightly, so you could look at the man beneath you.
fuck, he was a sight. superman, in all his glory, was on his knees for you, his mouth wet with the taste of you. his cheeks were red and his curls were mussed and stuck up in random places in a terribly cute post-sex look. his eyes were blown, staring up at you like you had just given him the moon. he licked his pink lips, getting one more taste of you. he looked like your favorite wet dreams.
⤷ college crush!non-idol!mingi invited you over for a movie night but it ends up being much more than that as a particular scene starts in the movie you're watching and you both get distracted by each other...
word count: 9.5k
♡︎ content warnings: nsfw (mdni), like... graphic sexual content, unprotected sex (don't do this!), choking, breeding
♡︎ author's notes and other related things/content tags: i wrote this in a frenzy. i tried to keep anatomy mostly ambiguous, so pls lmk how i did w that and how i could do better. this is mostly unbetaed. i do write with em-dashes. this is not written by AI. it took me several hours over several days to write this. lastly, there isn't really any plot and there probably isn't going to be a follow up x
feel free to drop questions in my askbox!
the room has grown heavy with the tension between the two of you, and the only sound in it is the faint movie playing in front of both of you. you both had grown quiet when a sex scene had come up, the two of you too embarrassed to even move or react. mingi clears his throat – the first to break the awkward silence between you.
“do you want…” his voice trails off for a brief moment as he looks over to you for the first time in maybe 30 minutes – your cheeks flushed and eyes are dilated. half out of embarrassment and half out of sheer want. he clears his throat again, snapping you out of your daze, finishing his question: “do you want something to drink? perhaps, um, a snack?” his eyes dart around you, eventually landing back onto you. now it’s your turn to clear your throat. you turn away from him, your face burning red hot. you couldn’t believe you just let a silly movie scene get you that riled up. “y-yes please. water would be great.”
“okay,” he squeaks. “water it is.”
you pause the movie as he stands up and stumbles out in a haste to leave the room in the midst of his haste to get out of the space. he walks into the kitchen – which isn’t far at all, and you snap out of your own semi-haze.
then you begin to think. why are you so embarrassed? you’re both grown, you’ve both had sex. it’s normal.
then it hits you – it was why you were so affected by it. you pictured yourself and mingi in the same positions as the characters on the screen and you wanted it. badly.
that’s what seems to bring you to a somewhat terrifying (but brave) decision, but one you were going to act on nonetheless. you nod your head and you stand before following mingi’s path to the kitchen, stopping in the walkway between the two rooms – panting. needing.
he turns around at the sound of your breath, pausing his administrations – which only included grabbing two bottles of water to begin with – and tilts his head.
something about how clueless he looks just… set you off. you stalk over to him, and as you do, you grumble low in your throat: “fuck, i need you.”
you quickly close the space between the two of you and you grab his face in your hands. your lips crash into his – demanding, longing, devouring. he freezes for a moment, in shock that you had even followed him to begin with. the shock melts into desire, and the sound of the water bottles hitting the floor is distant by now, as one of his arms wrap around your waist. he pulls you closer, and the other reaches up to cradle your face, mirroring your own hands in a way. he pulls you up to him, as the height difference has you on your tippy toes and him bending down a bit.
the way he pulls you closer makes the fire in your abdomen burn hotter, it makes you want – no, need – more. you whine at the way he handles you, and you grind into him a bit. he groans at the movement and grabs your ass and squeezes. you moan lightly, and that seems to set him off. he pulls away before he picks you up and turns around, setting you on the counter. the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you entered the kitchen, and looking at mingi, you can tell this is affecting him the same way it’s affecting you – his pupils are blown wide, his shoulders and chest rising and falling rapidly with each bated breath he takes, his lips red and swollen from the kissing.
he leans in again, but before his lips touch yours, he asks: “is this really okay?”
you nod. “yes. it is.”
at that, he dives back in. his hands explore every inch of skin he can find, and he finally slips his hands under your shirt. he runs his hands up your stomach, then to your chest. you gasp into his mouth as he runs his thumbs over your nipples, the skin just around them breaking out into goosebumps. he stops kissing you for a second to chuckle low in his throat at your reaction to his hands on you, and dives lower to start kissing at your neck. he sucks here and there, surely enough to leave marks scattered on the soft skin there.
your moaning is enough to send him deeper into a frenzy, causing him pick you up and carry you to his room and lay you on his bed. he looms over you, assessing you like he’s trying to memorize every curve of your body. he bends down, his face now over yours. the way his hair falls in front of his eyes and the way his necklace drops from beneath his shirt riddles you with need, and you reach up to pull him into another kiss.
this time, his hands don’t stop at your nipples. they pull at the hem of your shirt, and you oblige the silent question by lifting your hips and then breaking the kiss to let him pull the article over your head. it lands on the floor, immediately forgotten as he brings his lips to your nipples and starts suckling at the sensitive buds. you arch your back into him as you let out an open mouth moan.
he lifts his head and speaks again, his voice sounding different than what it normally does. impossibly deeper than his normal tone.
“oh, you love that, don’t you? you like when i use my mouth on your body?”
your face burns impossibly hotter at the straightforwardness of his question, but you nod nonetheless. his hands move to the hem of his own shirt, and he pulls it over his head, it now joining yours somewhere on the floor. you marvel at the lean muscle the loss of the shirt reveals. you had a good idea from the way his shirt looked after a workout, but that was nothing in comparison to the real thing, bare and uncovered. he grabs your hand to pull it up to his chest – inviting, beckoning. you blink before you respond, your hands now exploring his body, sliding over the muscle of his chest, fingers brushing over his nipples, then dragging down his somewhat toned abs. there's a certain softness to his belly, something that makes you a little feral, for lack of better wording.
you squeeze at the flesh right below his navel before you tug on the waistband of his pants. he chuckles again before he pushes you back to the bed and smiles darkly at you, his gaze shimmering with a subtle glint of greed.
leaning back down, he locks lips with you again – his hand finally finding its place where you’ve been needing it most. you gasp into his mouth as he applies pressure there, and he looks into your eyes again, his stare filling you with sexual surrender as he moves his hand from the arousal between your legs to wrap around your throat. the moment his palm touches your throat, you feel your knees nearly give out. not from fear – but from permission. your body gving you permission to let go. the pressure made you feel grounded, as if the world around you narrowed down to one perfect, seductive, breathless connection. your eyes widen as the pressure increases, restricting blood flow just enough to make you dizzy with desire and you moan again. he grinds into you, the pressure of his length pressing into you.
he chuckles again, listening to your shallow breaths and watching your eyes roll back in pleasure.
before you know it, he’s pulling your pants down, and your body is now completely laid bare before him. the only thing you wear now is a scarlet blush across your cheeks. you reach for his waistband again and pull at it, just enough to free his cock, leaking and red. you salivate at the sight of it and lock eyes with him again, only to see the desperation you’re currently feeling mirrored in his own gaze. he licks his lips and leans back down to get close to you, pressing the tip of himself against your entrance, and you moan quietly at the pressure.
he pauses and looks at you, speaking for the first time in what feels like ages.
“are you okay?” he asks.
you hum and nod. “yes.. please… i just need you.”
with that, his eyes darken even more than you thought possible, and he presses in. the stretch is barely bearable, but good. you let out a whimper at the sensation, and your eyes screw shut as you adjust to the weight of him inside you. he restrains himself from moving for a moment to allow you to adjust further, and once you give him the go-ahead, he begins rocking his hips into you slowly. rhythmically. agonizingly slow. he drops his head next to yours, and lets out a low noise from his chest, proving yet again that he wants this just as badly as you do.
his arms were now caged around your head, with his mouth was close to your ears. over your own moaning, you hear his quiet and desperate grunts of pleasure. as he drives his hips into you he buries his nose in your neck, as if trying to bring you ever closer. as if he’s trying to memorize every curve and nook of your body. as if he’s trying to learn every little thing that makes you whine or whimper, and that one–
“mingi, unh!” you moan out as he hits just the perfect spot inside you. he lifts his head and looks into your eyes as he repositions his hips for his cock to continue hitting that spot, making you cry out more for him. he lifts his hand and covers your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. your eyes roll back as he picks up the pace a bit, now torturously in a middle ground. he knows what he’s doing. he knows that it drives you crazy, and he gets off on it. the desperation in your own moans, the way your fingernails rake down his toned back, and the way your legs tighten around his waist, trying to urge him to slow down – no, speed up – no…
what you want in that moment is clouded by the way he feels inside you. each drag of his heavy cock against your walls, and the way his grunts grow more desperate with each passing second. the way they almost devolve into an urgent rhythm, mirroring the pace of his hips. you can tell he’s close. at that realization, you wrap your legs around him and you squeeze. it brings his hips close to yours, virtually stopping his movement altogether.
he lifts his head and gives you a dazed look, utterly fucked out and still desperate to get off. you smile mischievously before pulling him down into a sloppy kiss, tongues sliding past each other, wet smacks filling the room. he pulls his hips back while you’re distracted and slams into you, causing you to yelp into his mouth and your legs to drop from his back. he pulls back out and slams into you again, almost punishingly. he was planning on punishing you for that, now pistoning into you at a speed you could only describe as breakneck in any other situation.
more noises fall from your lips as he brutally pounds into you, your moans devolving into borderline screams as you lose control of yourself. you put your hand over your mouth as the coil in your stomach tightens more. you begin to pulse around mingi, almost at your climax.
he was close to his as well and you could absolutely tell. his thrusts were growing ever more frantic, and his groans were becoming louder as the time went on. you were both lost in the sensation of each other.
finally, with one last harsh thrust, mingi finishes in you, letting a low groan from his chest, your climax following soon after. he rocks his hips a few more times before completely stilling, letting his full body weight fall onto you. you both lay there, sweating and panting. the only sound in the room being the sound of your unified breathing.
mingi lifts himself a bit and pulls out of you, rolling off to be beside you. he looks over at you, and you at him.
the exhaustion finally gets to you after a few moments, and your eyelids grow heavy. mingi stands up and puts his boxers back on, walking to the bathroom and returning with a damp washcloth. you drift to sleep as you feel him cleaning you, then covering you with the blanket from the end of the bed.
he kisses you on the side of your head, right on the temple, and you finally let sleep take you.
⤷ p.sh ; i just want your extra time (and your kiss)
⤷ idol!seonghwa spots you (female reader) in the pit at one of the stops of this tour and can't seem to take his eyes off you. after the concert you're taken to a mysterious room back stage and what follows is.....
what happens when you attend a concert and thee park seonghwa can't take his eyes off you? well. this probably?
word count: 4.5k
♡︎ content warnings/tags: nsfw (mdni), graphic sexual content (mdni i mean it...), one night stand, protected pinv sex (always wear a condom!!!), fingering, hand jobs, multiple climaxes (reader), fingering, overstimulation (?), dom seonghwa if you squint
♡︎ author's notes and other related things/content tags: this is pretty much entirely unbetaed. this is probably dogwater and that's okay lmao! i've never been in this situation so i genuinely don't know how this works lmao!! this is completely fictional! the chances of this happening to just anyone are slim to none! i just be writing fr! don't read too much into it! there isn't really any plot and there isn't going to be a follow up x
feel free to drop questions in my askbox!
title from "kiss" by prince
fic starts under the cut! enjoy!
once the concert was over, you were approached by a man who seemed to be a security guard. he spoke very professionally, and his sentences were short.
“there is someone who would like to meet you,” he started, “but you need to be alone, and you need to follow me.”
you looked at him, puzzled. you had never met this man before, but you saw how he donned a staff uniform. you furrowed your brows, and tilted your head a bit before asking:
“who?”
the man shook his head and refused to offer an answer. a secret for now, you figured.
normally, you’d turn on your heel and walk the other direction, go home, but something deep down told you to just listen. so you did. you nodded and held your arm out.
“lead the way,” you say, your nerves beginning to buzz with anxiety. you never did this.
after a while, you were sitting in a room by yourself, scrolling on your nearly-dead phone, waiting. you’d been led to some kind of back entrance near the stage, the door obscured by a curtain of some kind. after some more waiting, you were startled by a knock at the door. you jolted upright, fixing your posture and clearing your throat. the door opened to reveal a different man, holding a folder with a pen.
oh shit.
you had heard about it, but you never thought it would happen to you, of all people. the man wordlessly approaches you and sets the folder and pen down, then turns away and walks out of the room. before closing the door, he turns around and says, “once you’re done, knock twice. i’ll be just outside.” he flashes a smile and walks out through the door, closing it gently.
once you heard the telltale click of the door fully closing, you peeled your gaze from where the man once stood and looked at the folder he sat on the table in front of you. with shaking hands, you reached out and opened said folder.
your jaw dropped when you read the heading on the page. in bold lettering at the top center of the page, it said “non-disclosure agreement”. your breath caught in your throat, and the realization came crashing down on you.
you skim the document, paying attention to parts that felt important and skipping over parts that didn’t. once you finished reading it over (three times felt like a good amount), you took a deep breath and picked up the pen. you twirled it in your fingers for a moment, trying to be reasonable about the entire situation that you’ve found yourself in.
you had been screaming a lot during the concert, and your voice was gone. that was going to be embarrassing. you had also been sweating because it was hot. you lifted your arm to sniff your under arm. you winced when you could smell the sweat, and you put the pen down to reach into your bag and grabbed your deodorant. after applying, you picked the pen back up with shaky hands and took a deep breath. what have you really got to lose?
you clicked the pen once and pressed it to the paper, signing your name.
what have you really got to lose?
you stood up a moment later and walked to the door, knocking twice as instructed, rushing back to the small leather couch and sitting back down. just as you settled back in, the door opens and the same man from before steps inside. he flashes another warm smile, walking over and collecting the folder and leaving again without a word.
minutes that felt like years pass and you are finally joined again by the same man, and he finally speaks again.
“what is your name?” he asks.
you clear your throat. “y/n,” you reply sheepishly.
the man nods. “well, y/n-nim, if you haven’t already gathered by now, a member has found some sort of interest in you, and would like to meet you personally. is that okay?”
you gulp and nod.
“good,” he says. “follow me.”
he turns on his heel and walks back to the door, opening it and waiting for you. you scramble up off the couch and follow him out of some sort of back door to the arena, which was quieter now that the concert crowd had all but cleared out. he leads you to a large black SUV and opens the door for you, inviting you inside.
“where are we going?” you ask, hesitating before taking another step towards the vehicle.
he smiles. “hotel.”
you nod, still apprehensive. you step into the vehicle, and he closes the door behind you. moments later, the same door opens up, and you’re faced with a somewhat taller male – different from the one before, you note.
you freeze for a second, not sure what to do, and before you can decide, he’s already done so, and he begins getting into the car with you. your eyes widen and you begin to scoot into the seats next to you, trying to maintain as much space as you can with the stranger who is currently invading your personal space.
once he’s settled into the seat you were in before, you look over at him. you find that he’s already looking at you and squeak before snatching your gaze away, back to the seat in front of you.
“y/n, right?” he asks, breaking the silence (startling you in the process).
your blood runs cold as you recognize the voice of the person sitting next to you. you slowly turn to face him again, to find yourself face to face with thee park seonghwa.
your jaw drops. you feel like your eyes are about to bug out of your head. you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. you sit there like that for a moment – dumbfounded, starstruck.
apparently it had been longer than a moment because now the driver was getting in, which is what snapped you out of your daze, and you clear your throat before turning away and squeaking out a sheepish yes.
you couldn’t believe you were here right now, and you needed some kind of physical confirmation, so you turned back to the gorgeous man next to you and break the silence once again.
“can you pinch me?”
seonghwa’s head snaps over to you at the question, half out of shock and half out of being jumpscared by the sudden question from you.
“what?” he looks at you incredulously, not sure if you’re being serious.
you hold your arm out and repeat yourself.
“pinch me. i need to know if i’m dreaming or not. so…” you raise your arm further and wordlessly encourage him to oblige.
he tilts his head as he hesitates. he glances back up at you and you nod. he reaches for your arm, and instead of pinching it like you asked, he grabs it securely and pulls you closer.
you yelp in surprise as he pulls you close enough to see the way his brows have furrowed, and you can see the smudged makeup under his eyes from haphazardly wiping it off his face after the show. you hold your breath again. you’ve never been this close to someone this beautiful.
he speaks again, his voice low this time.
“do you believe it now?” you can feel his breath fan across your cheeks as he speaks, and you look down at his lips as you wet your own and nod.
he chuckles, just a barely there sound before letting go of you and leaning back a bit. you snap out of your daze again and lean back to your side of the car, looking out of the window. you lean up to the driver and ask if he can take you to your house – not far from the arena at all. when you turn back to face seonghwa, his brows have furrowed a bit. his face is twisted in a question, and you figure you should explain yourself – but you can’t. it was simply a reflex, you figured.
so you said that.
“i’m sorry, i just–”
“no it’s okay, i underst–”
“no no, it’s a habit,” you say, suddenly flustered.
“it’s okay,” he starts. “you don’t live with anyone, do you? this whole thing kind of… won’t work out otherwise…” he lets his voice fade out.
you feel your face begin to burn, and you can only imagine that you’re beet red as you respond.
“yeah, i live by myself,” you respond, still floundering for some kind of self-assurance that this is actually happening.
“okay then. we’ll go there,” he decides out loud as he pulls out his phone and begins typing.
you realize that he’s probably letting the others know where he’ll be for the night, and the realization punches all the breath out of you all over again. you couldn’t believe you were riding to your house with park seonghwa.
you look back out of the window and watch as the familiar streets pass by, and you absentmindedly begin thinking about all the little places you frequently visited: the coffee shop near your house that you went to before work, the bar that you went to every so often, the corner of the street–
you snap back into reality once you realize where you are. the corner of your street, moving closer to your house. once the car stops, you inhale deeply and look over again to seonghwa. you find that he’s already looking at you expectantly and you drop your gaze to his hands – which you noticed have started fidgeting.
you suddenly remember the nights where you watched fanmade edits of him, and you remember going just a little (a lot) insane over the way his hands would look during his performances. you remember paying closer attention than you should to the way his veins crept up into his forearms during sports episodes of the variety shows he would appear on.
your mouth runs dry when you get a good look at the length of his fingers – slender and defined – and you inhale sharply again when you realize that – very shortly – those same hands will be on you.
he clears his throat after a moment and ducks his head to meet your gaze, your eyes snapping back up to meet his and you turn back around and let yourself out of the car. you don’t wait for him to follow before you’re stalking towards the steps of your small rooftop apartment. you hear the other door of the car close shortly after.
“y/n!" he semi-shouts as he somewhat jogs to keep up.
the street is empty so he’s skipped out on the mask this time, and he’s caught up to you by now.
you dig in your bag for a moment, searching for your key as you feel his presence closer to you than you expected. you finally find your keys, a soft sigh of relief leaving you as you press the key into the lock and turn it. you pull the door open and step inside, the little light in the entryway switching on as you take a few more steps in.
you gasp as you realize the mess that you left behind in your pre-concert craze, and you turn back around to face him.
“give me one second,” you say as you toss some extra house shoes at his feet. “put these on and wait, please,” you semi-beg, mortified.
he nods and waits as you’ve asked, and you race into your apartment, grabbing up all the trash and clothing off the floor and coffee table. you haphazardly throw them into trash bins and laundry baskets, racing around more and grabbing up more junk and doing the same with that as well.
after a few moments, you look around the small space, somewhat pleased with the result of your rushed cleaning. you turn back towards the entryway and peek around the wall separating the space from the rest of the apartment, and you invite him in.
he chuckles and begins walking towards you, a smug smirk coloring his features now – completely different than how he was when the two of you first arrived at your place. you step back into the living room and look around again to break eye contact with him.
“can you give me a moment? i’m going to um…” your voice trails off as he gets closer to you, invading your space. “i’m going to freshen up.”
you step back again and look toward the kitchen – you could kiss your past self for cleaning it before getting ready – you wouldn’t have known how to cover that up if it were dirty.
“do you–” you clear your throat. “do you want some water? maybe a snack?” you ask nervously.
he stops when he’s mere inches away from you, standing somewhat taller than you – but not towering. you look up at him and wait for a response. he shrugs and steps away and to the side, to give you space to step past him.
“sure.”
you walk towards the kitchen, which isn’t far, and open your small fridge to grab a bottle of water. suddenly you feel his body pressed against your back, deeply inhaling as his nose presses against the soft skin of your neck, warm breath disturbing your hair.
you yelp out of shock and drop the bottle you were holding before turning to face him.
before you can ask him what he’s doing, his lips are on yours. you gasp into the sudden kiss, the water bottle now long forgotten. you feel his tongue prod at your lips and you open your mouth to let him slip his tongue past yours. the only sound in the room now was your heavy breathing against each other, and the vulgar clicks of your mouths separating and reconnecting.
a soft groan leaves him has he reaches up to grab around the back of your neck, his slender fingers gripping you and pulling you ever closer to him. his other arm snakes around your waist and does the same, pulling your midsection to his body all while crowding you more to the fridge behind you.
you reach up and put your hand on his chest, pushing gently, and he separates from you with a final smack of your lips. he looks at you, his eyes glazed over with lust, breathing heavily.
he leans back down and places another kiss on your lips — chaste, quick — and then pulls you toward the living room. he turns around and grabs your hand to continue pulling you through the space, as if he’d been there before.
he sits down and pulls you on top of him to straddle his lap. you look at him for a moment and take in his features again. the way his lips were red and swollen from kissing you, the way his eyes were studying you — probably the same way you were studying him — and his nose, strong and flared from panting. you lean back down closer to him, breathing him in, and your lips ghost over his. he shifts under you, pulling you closer to where your clothed heat sat atop where he very obviously needed you.
you gasp at the contact of something — anything — pressing up against your clit, and he kisses you again. he breathes in the gasp that you let out, and you grind down into his lap. his lips travel from your lips to your jaw line and then lower to your neck, sucking the skin there harshly as if to mark you — and it would.
the thought of being marked at all made you whimper, and you grind into his lap again. he growls, a deep sound, and nips at your collarbone. that pulls a sharp gasp from you and you moan.
he looks up at you, amused.
“you like being bitten, hm?” he asks, a little condescension breaking into his tone.
the tone of his voice makes you shiver, and you whimper softly at him as his hands find their way to the swell of your ass, squeezing and pulling you down to grind against him again.
your head drops back and he takes the chance there to continue sucking and nipping at you, drawing more sounds from you. at this point you haven’t stopped moving, continually grinding against him. you feel yourself drawing closer to the edge just from this alone, and you still yourself and look back down at him.
“seonghwa, need you to touch me…” you start.
he looks into your eyes and chuckles as one of his hands drifts towards the hem of your short skirt, pushed up from all the movement, and slips his hands under it to push your panties to the side. you silently thanked the heavens that you had decided to shave yesterday, as you normally keep yourself cleanly shaved there anyways, and moan as his fingers find your clit and begin to circle it slowly.
you bite your lip at the delicious heat that’s building up more and more, and you feel yourself clench around nothing as you draw closer to your climax.
another moan falls from your lips as his hand moves even closer to where you wanted him most, and he slips his fingers inside. he begins slowly pumping them in and out of you, and you kiss him again. he swallows your moans as they come from you, and you pull away to gasp as you speak to him:
“‘m close… so close…” you grind down onto his fingers and grip his shoulders tight as he accelerates his movements, the noises coming from you never stopping as you get closer and closer and—
you cum with a broken cry, your walls tightening and your head falling back. seonghwa bites at the base of your neck, and your mouth opens. your eyes close as you ride out your climax, panting once you’ve somewhat come down.
you inhale sharply as he lets go of you, pulling his fingers out and prodding them at your lips.
“come on, baby, open up,” he coos. he prods at your lips again and presses in as you part them, sucking your release from his fingers.
he groans and guides you to the side and backwards, laying you flat on the couch. the simple silver chain that lay around his neck now hangs over your face, and you look up at him as he positions his waist in between your waist. he grinds down into you this time, drawing a whimper from your lips. you’re already wet again from the way he handled you, and he comes down to lock lips with you again.
after a moment of hungrily devouring each other, he pulls away and pulls his hoodie over his head and tosses it aside, revealing a black tank top that accentuates all the curves and dips of the muscle on his torso. you knew what he looked like shirtless, thanks to the many videos and photos he posted of himself, but this was different. he was in your house, on your couch, looking at you like he was about to absolutely ruin you.
he smirks when he notices your attention to his chest specifically before leaning down to grab at the hem of your own shirt. he looks from where his hands are up to you, his eyes asking permission before his mouth ever opens. you nod your head before he has to ask. he grins and pulls the garment off you before tossing it away, that now forgotten as well.
by instinct and embarrassment alone, you cross your arms over your chest to cover yourself. the bra that you picked out wasn’t necessarily revealing, but it wasn’t doing much to cover you now that you were on your back, boobs spilling over the top of the undergarment. he reaches down to pull your hands away, a gentle gesture that makes you turn red all over.
he looks over you for a moment, taking in the curve of your breasts, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips. he sits there a moment, just taking you in – studying you. you turn your head and start to grow restless under his gaze. he smiles crookedly as he leans back down, this time paying attention to your breasts where they sit over top of your bra. he kisses there gently and sucks on the soft flesh, leaving more marks in the wake of his lips. one of his hands drift to the other side of your chest, kneading the supple skin in his hands and drawing soft little mewls from you.
you look down at him and thread one of your hands through his hair as he continues. he pulls the fabric of your bra down, revealing your nipples, and turns his attention on the sensitive buds there. your hand tightens in his hair and your eyes close as he uses his mouth on you, more weak sounds falling from your lips.
after what feels like ages, he reaches around the back of you and unclasps your bra as he separates from you. you lift your back and he pulls the garment off you, once again discarding it on the floor with your other clothes.
his tank top comes off soon after, and you absently reach up to bring your hands over his stomach and chest, the muscles there twitching at the contact; his breath quickening as your hands ghost over his nipples and squeezing at the softness under his navel. your hands wander further down to the button of his pants, and you look up through your lashes at him.
“may i?” you ask hesitantly.
he exhales through his nose, nodding fervently in response. you pop the button and drag the zipper down, pulling the corners of the fabric away from him. you palm him through the thick fabric of his pants, drawing a groan from him. his eyes find yours through the bangs that have fallen over his eyes.
you pull at the waist of the garment and reveal more of his boxers, not yet fussing with them. you palm at him more and he groans again as he ruts into your palm, his breath picking up more at the contact. he reaches down towards your clit again, circling it with his middle finger slowly and drawing another whimper from you.
you pull down the waistband of his boxers and wrap your hand around his cock. he slips his fingers inside you again and you bite back another sound that threatened to escape you. you begin pumping his dick slowly, drawing all sorts of noises from him. after a while, he settles into a continuous cadence of your name and moaning. you grind on his fingers and begin making noises of your own.
he eventually sits more comfortably, still positioned between your legs, and you face him, leaning back more for easier access to your dripping cunt. you both get louder as you near your own climaxes, your hands speeding up to accommodate the building heat. he leans down and kisses you, his mouth hot and needy against yours, his tongue entering your mouth and exploring. he swallows your moans and you swallow his.
he pulls away from you and looks into your eyes, and you speak again, your words slurred from pleasure.
“please.. need you inside,” you mewl.
he smiles a crooked smile and pulls his fingers out of you, searching for something to wipe them on. you grab his hand and bring it back to your mouth, sucking his fingers clean again. he growls and stands, pulling you to your feet, dragging you to the open doorway of your bedroom then to your bed. he pushes you onto it, and you fall onto the plush mattress with a soft thud. he pulls his pants off before walking to you and pulling your skirt and panties off you as well.
you reach over to your nightstand and pull open the drawer to retrieve a condom from the little box inside, tossing it in his direction. he rips it open and rolls it on eagerly before leaning back down and grabbing your hips.
you gasp as he pulls you to the edge of the bed and lines himself up at your entrance, leaning down and kissing you for the nth time since the two of you had arrived at your apartment. he presses in with a low moan against your mouth, your own moan mixing with his. as he bottoms out inside you, he inhales before looking into your eyes. you look back at him and nod.
he pulls out a bit and snaps back inside you, forcing a choked cry out of you. you grip his shoulders tightly and brace yourself again as he pulls out and thrusts into you again. he mouths at your neck all over again and bites down as he continues fucking into you at a punishing speed, no longer holding back.
moans spill out of you as you come close to your climax again, the rubber band tightening again and you feel yourself getting close once more. you throw your head back and rake your nails along his shoulders and back.
“hwa, 'm gonna–” you say between thrusts. “gonna cum again–”
he nods and looks up at you, deep into your eyes.
“i’m close. cum with me, pretty,” he punctuates the command with more feverish thrusts, furrowing his brows as his movements grow erratic.
you let out a long moan as the rubber band snaps inside you, shaking from the intensity of your second climax of the night. he finishes soon after with a loud groan, filling the condom and collapsing on top of you.
the only sound in the room is the sound of the two of you panting. after a moment, seonghwa stands up and pulls out of you, throwing the used condom in the small garbage can nearby. he walks over to the towel hung on the back of your closet door and uses it to clean himself off. he tosses it on the floor and walks back towards you; picking up his boxers up and putting them on in the process. you sit up and rest on your elbows as the uncertainty begins to fill you again.
“now what?” you ask.
he smiles, warmer than before.
“now we sleep,” he answers.
your eyes widen as he approaches your bed and sits next to you. his smile fades as the silence stretches.
“...if that’s okay?”
you nod. “sure, that’s okay.”
he smiles again. “okay.”
you stand up and walk towards your dresser, grabbing panties and a night gown to put on. seonghwa makes himself right at home and pats the bed next to him, inviting you into your own bed with a warm smile. you shake your head as you dress yourself and join him under the blanket. you snuggle in close – closer than you probably should – and close your eyes. sleep pulls you under, and you let it. you dream of meaningless things, and you sleep well.
you wake up alone, a note on the night stand in rushed handwriting.
thanks for the eventful night. -p. sh ♡︎
you smile and get ready for the day.
~
this one goes out to claire and chamese, who put the worm in my brain and encouraged me to write it! luv y’all! this legit wouldn’t have been written if not for them lol
if you guys like what you see, feel free to comment or like or reblog! it’s really encouraging and makes me happy to see that people are enjoying what i’m writing :3
synopsis: its been a week since Jason came home with a baby. and a week since nobody's heard from him. the bats are starting to get worried
words: 5.5k
---
The warehouse in the Narrows was full of angry men with bigger guns and worse aim.
Tim ducked behind a crate, firing off two smoke pellets in quick succession. “Red Robin to Nightwing. East flank’s covered.
Duke ducked a swinging pipe and countered with a sweep kick. “This would be going a lot faster if someone was here!”
“Who?” Steph called from across the concrete floor, dodging a hail of bullets like she was on a trampoline. “You mean the guy who insisted on leading this raid and then ghosted us for a week straight?”
“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Dick grunted, grappling up to a rusted support beam to take out a sniper. “Probably just... busy.”
“‘Busy’ like disappeared-off-the-face-of-the-earth busy?” Tim ducked behind a crate, flicked a batarang, and it thunked into someone’s shoulder with a satisfying yelp. “He hasn’t answered a single text!”
“No comms. No pings. No passive-aggressive threats in the group chat,” Steph added, ducking a blow and elbowing her attacker in the jaw. “I miss his threats. They kept me humble.”
Damian landed in the middle of three goons like a meteor. His sword was sheathed but his fists were doing plenty of talking.
“Hood is fine,” he said, punching a guy square in the nose. “Probably sulking.”
The fight thinned out fast after that. The last of the gang scattered once their heavy hitters hit the floor, and Nightwing gave the all-clear. Dick tapped his comm. “Nice work. Everyone good?”
Steph flipped down from a crate. “Day six of no Jason. Day six of me doing double recon. No, I am not good”
“Day seven,” Tim corrected, frowning. “He last checked in last Thursday. Sent a selfie with a crowbar and a note that said ‘feeling cute might stop a trafficking ring later.’”
“Oh right.” Steph sighed. “Day seven. That’s a whole week. What the hell.”
They regrouped at the center of the warehouse, stepping over unconscious bodies and bits of broken crate. Someone had definitely been smuggling illegal tech. Damian kicked a smoking drone away with a grimace.
“I mean, this isn’t unlike him,” Duke said. “Disappearing used to be his brand.”
“He hasn’t done it once since the wedding,” Steph pointed out. “Not since he went full domestic. ‘New year, new me,’ or whatever. He bought houseplants. He answers texts.”
“He came to game night,” Dick added, nodding. “He made cocktails. Cocktails. With little name cards.”
“Married Jason is weird,” Tim muttered. “Weird and reliable.”
Cass tilted her head. “He loves her.”
Steph nodded. “Yeah. He’s happy.”
“And now he’s gone,” Damian said flatly. “Do we think she finally realized she’s out of his league?”
Everyone turned.
Damian rolled his eyes. “What? I am simply suggesting she developed self-awareness.”
Dick exhaled slowly. “No. Something’s wrong.”
There was a beat of silence. Long enough to feel the worry settle in.
“No sightings on patrol,” Tim murmured, pulling out his tablet. “No activity on his usual burner numbers. No Red Hood reports. No dead traffickers or dramatic flaming bike tracks in the street.”
Steph added, “Also no passive-aggressive tweets. Not even a cryptic one about guns and how much he loves his wife. He’s gone dark everywhere.”
“That’s not Jason,” Dick said. “Not anymore.”
Duke sighed. "We check in?"
Dick was already typing on his phone.
Delivered. Read.
No reply.
—
Your apartment looks like a Babies “R” Us exploded.
There are bottles drying on the dish rack, a folded blanket fort on the couch, diapers stacked in the corner like munitions. The baby swing clicks softly every time it rocks, a white noise machine hums from the bedroom, and you’re pretty sure the stuffed penguin Jason impulse bought on the first night may be sentient.
This is not the life you imagined.
It is infinitely better.
One week since a warehouse fire, a crying baby, a soot-covered vigilante, and the soft click of a window latch just before your life changed forever.
Briar has opinions now.
He yells at the ceiling fan. He grumbles when the bottle’s too cold. He has a deeply emotional relationship with Jason’s hoodie strings. He does not like being put down. At all. Ever. Not even a little bit.
Which is why, even though the apartment is full of lovingly Amazon-primed baby gear, Jason’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed, shirt rumpled, and hair a mess from where Briar’s been gripping it like a lifeline. He’s humming absentmindedly, tunelessly as he rocks a very serious baby against his chest. Briar, in his little footie pajamas, is holding Jason’s necklace like it grants him power. His tiny fist clenches and unclenches around the chain every time Jason shifts.
Jason’s eyes are dark-ringed, his voice hoarse.
He looks wrecked.
He looks beautiful.
The baby snuffles, then lets out a soft little sigh against Jason’s chest, nuzzling under his jaw like he was born to fit there. Jason looks down with something painfully soft in his expression. He hasn’t shaved in three days. You think he’s scared to put the baby down.
“Ma,” he whispers, not even looking up. “He’s doin’ the thing again.”
You peek over. “Which thing?”
“The Velcro baby thing. Every time I move, he—”
Jason shifts slightly and Briar lets out a pre-cry squawk. Jason winces. “Yeah. That.”
You laugh, and your voice cracks like old vinyl. “Congratulations. He’s imprinted. You’re the momma duck now.”
Jason huffed a quiet laugh, eyes still on the baby. “Guess he’s got shit taste.”
“He has excellent taste,” you say, running your fingers through Jason’s hair. “That’s the man who saved him. You’re his person.”
Jason didn’t answer for a moment. He just looked down at Briar, who shifted closer and is currently very impressed by his own hand. Jason’s whole expression softened.
Then his phone buzzed on the coffee table.
He groans and reaches for it with his free hand, squinting at the screen.
“…Dickhead,” he says.
“Is that an insult or a contact name?”
“Both.”
You lift your head. Jason holds the phone out so you can read it:
You okay?
No pressure. Just checking in.
We miss you.
Hope you’re safe.
You blink. “You didn’t tell your family?”
Jason looks at you. You look at the baby. Briar, still clinging to Jason like a barnacle, lets out a sleepy judgy little squeak and goes back to gnawing on his own hand.
Jason clears his throat. “I… was going to.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
You raise an eyebrow.
He wilts. “I just, I didn’t want to share yet. I wanted a minute. With him. With you. Just… us.”
You don’t say anything for a second. You just reach across the floor, touch his arm, and rub your thumb across a freckle near his wrist.
“You got a minute,” you say softly. “You got seven days.”
Jason looks back down at Briar, who is staring up at him with round, blinking eyes and one sock halfway off his foot. “He’s not gonna like it.”
“Dick?”
“No. Bruce.”
You frown, shifting so your knees bump his thigh. “He won’t be upset.”
Jason huffs, adjusting his grip as Briar decides now is a great time to arch his back and wiggle like a fish. “You don’t know him like that.”
You reach over and gently tug the tiny sock the rest of the way off before Briar can eat it. “I don’t have to. I know you. And you haven’t done anything wrong.”
Jason’s jaw works, but he doesn’t say anything. You’ve learned that silence from him doesn’t always mean disagreement. Sometimes it just means processing.
You press your hand into his. “Call Alfred.”
Jason blinks.
“Tell him we want to come over. Tomorrow. For lunch. Say we’ve got a surprise.”
Jason looks at his phone again, like it weighs a thousand pounds. His jaw works as he thinks. Then, slowly, he swipes open his contacts.
He finds the name and hits call. You can hear the phone ringing from where you sit. One ring. Two. Then:
“Master Jason,” comes the warm, unflappable voice on the other end.
Jason clears his throat. “Hey, Alfie.”
“You have been notably absent. I trust everything is well?”
Jason’s eyes flick to you. You nod. He nods back, like you’re passing courage between your hands. “Yeah. Yeah, actually. Everything’s… it’s really good. Uh. Listen, I was wondering if we could come by tomorrow?”
There’s a pause on the line.
“We?”
“Yeah,” Jason says. “Me and… my family.”
His voice breaks just slightly on the word.
From the other end: “Of course, Master Jason. Lunch will be ready at noon.”
“Should I set the dining room for the usual, or…?”
Jason freezes for a second. He doesn’t say anything.
And then, from the other end of the call, so gently you almost miss it:
“How many places should I set, sir?”
Jason closes his eyes. Of course Alfred figured it out.
You watch his face. Watch the weight slide off his shoulders like dust in a sunbeam. He looks at you, then down at Briar, who lets out a tiny grunt and tugs on his shirt like dad. focus.
“…Three,” Jason says quietly. “Set three places for us.”
---
The first to notice the sound is Tim. He’s halfway through a second espresso when the low rumble of an engine cuts across the Manor’s quiet grounds.
He doesn’t look up right away, Jason’s engines are a regular soundtrack, but then he frowns.
“…That’s not his bike.”
Steph lifts her head from where she’s lying upside-down on the couch, feet thrown over the backrest, and blinks at him. “What?”
“It’s not his bike,” Tim says again, already moving to the window.
That’s enough to trigger the alarm. Within seconds, the manor is in motion.
Cass drifts silently into the hallway, already a shadow among shadows. Damian stalks down the stairs like he’s challenging someone to single combat before breakfast. Dick appears out of nowhere, half a protein bar in his mouth, phone pressed to his ear. He mumbles, “I’ll call you back, babe—yeah, promise, later tonight,” before hanging up with a sheepish grin. Duke strolls in like the only one who got a full eight hours and doesn’t secretly live in a clocktower.
They crowd the windows like old women at a neighborhood watch meeting.
Steph peels back the curtain. “That’s definitely not his bike. That’s a mom car.”
“It’s a Volvo,” Tim mutters.
Duke hums, crossing his arms. “Guess the dad era has begun.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Steph counters, “Dad Jason would be a nightmare”
Jason parks with careful precision, engine purring to a stop. He doesn’t move for a second. Then the driver’s door opens, and he steps out. He looks… calm. Purposeful.
But it’s the passenger seat that draws the real attention.
“Wait. Where’s his wife?” Steph squints. “She always rides with him.”
“Oh my god,” Tim whispers, eyes wide. “Did she leave him??”
“Is that the announcement?” Steph gasps. “Jason got dumped??”
“Finally,” Damian mutters under his breath, arms crossed like he predicted this day in a dream. “It was inevitable.”
Duke shoots him a look. “Man, could you not be so negative for, like, one second?”
Damian raises an eyebrow, completely calm. “I am simply stating facts. She is far too good for him.”
“Shut up, all of you,” Dick says, but his tone is distracted. Worried.
They watch Jason walk to the back door of the car. He opens it. Steps back.
And then—
“Oh my god,” Cass breathes.
Out steps you. Tired, radiant, holding a baby.
A very real, very bundled, tiny baby.
There’s a long pause.
Tim opens and closes his mouth like he’s rebooting. Steph makes a noise that might be a gasp or a laugh or a short-circuited wheeze. Dick drops his protein bar.
Damian stares.
“Is that—?” Steph starts.
“No,” Tim says, in a voice pitched halfway to panic. “No. He did not—”
“I knew he was acting weird,” Dick mutters.
“Oh good. Like this place needed more kids.” Damian deadpans.
Steph whips around. “Dames, can you not be so cynical for, like, ONE minute?”
Damian just shrugs, totally unbothered. “We only have one butler.”
Jason walks around the car, casual as ever, takes the baby like he’s been doing it forever. The baby sighs, perfectly content.
Jason glances up, sees the whole Batfam pressed against the glass, smirks, and waves.
Duke, faintly: “For the record, I meant the ‘Dad era’ thing as a joke.”
---
The door opens before you can even knock. Classic Alfred.
He does not react, at least, not in ways most people would see. Just steps aside, serene as ever, and says, “Welcome home, Master Jason,” with that warm gravity that squeezes your ribs a little tight.
Jason nods, jaw tense. “Alfie.”
He’s got Briar tucked to his chest, one big hand cupping the baby’s head like instinct. Briar lets out a startled, squeaky noise at the sudden change in air and light. Jason rocks him, barely aware he is doing it.
The family crowds the foyer but no one moves.
You close the door behind you soft, careful. You can feel all their eyes.
No one speaks.
Then, finally, Steph starts: “Okay. So. That’s a baby.”
Tim blinks hard, as if expecting the scene to glitch. “That’s a tiny baby.”
“He’s three months,” you say, voice steady. “His name’s Briar.”
Cass cocks her head, inching forward, silent as breath. Damian stays back, arms crossed, gaze sharp. Dick opens his mouth, then thinks better of it.
“Briar what?” Tim blurts, as if it’s the most important detail in the world.
You glance at Jason. He stays silent, jaw locked. You can’t help a little grin. “Go on, Jay. Tell them.”
“Briar Vengeance Todd.” He murmurs.
Jason’s eyes flick to Bruce. Just once. Then away.
The air cracks, like a glass dropped on tile.
“Vengeance?” Steph squeaks.
“I picked the first name. Jason got the middle,” you deadpan. “It was that or Grenade.”
Cass grins. Tim makes a noise that is probably not medically healthy.
“I fought hard for AK-47,” Jason mutters.
Jason stands his ground, adjusting Briar, who clings tighter, cheek to Jason’s chest, tiny fingers white-knuckled in his shirt.
Alfred’s voice glides in, warm as always: “I take it this was not planned?”
Jason’s eyes dart to Alfred with something soft, grateful. “There was a ring in Crime Alley. Trafficking kids. We shut it down. Building went up. Briar was the only one left.”
You add quietly, “Jason found him. Couldn’t leave him behind.”
Silence.
“He wouldn’t have survived the system,” you say, voice tight. “Gotham would’ve chewed him up.”
“And we weren’t going to let that happen,” Jason finishes, softer than anyone’s ever heard him.
Cass edges closer. “He’s yours?”
You nod. “He’s ours.”
Jason is rigid, every muscle wound tight, as if expecting someone to challenge him. He holds Briar like a shield.
“Is this… permanent?” Dick asks, carefully. “Like… legal?”
Jason answers, voice flat: “Yes. It’s all done. Adoption. Guardianship. Social security. All of it. Got it done in three days.”
You correct, “Forged in three days.”
“Forged legally.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“I gave the guy a Ducati. Legally binding bribe.”
Cass laughs, soft. Tim can’t help a reluctant smile. Dick just stares, awe and terror mingled.
Jason still won’t look at Bruce.
And Bruce stood still, arms folded, unmoving at the back, eyes unreadable.
You reach for his sleeve, squeezing. He exhales slow, heavy.
Briar squirms, makes a tiny grunt. Jason moves without thinking, soothing him. Hand making circles at his back, steady.
“Doesn’t like crowds,” Jason murmurs.
Duke snorts. “Like father, like son.”
Alfred’s lips twitch, amused and gentle. “Lunch is ready, Master Jason. I’ve set three places.”
Jason blinks at the words, at the understanding in Alfred’s eyes.
He clears his throat. “Thanks, Alfie.”
No sarcasm. Just quiet gratitude.
---
Lunch at Wayne Manor has never been this quiet.
Well, not quiet quiet. There’s the clink of silverware, the occasional shuffle of chairs, Tim whisper-arguing with Damian over who gets the last of the bread basket. But no one's raising their voice. No one’s fighting. And no one’s paying attention to their plates.
Because all eyes are on Briar.
Briar looks up at the sea of unfamiliar faces staring at him across the table, eyes wide and unblinking. He doesn’t seem to know what to make of it, so he just babbles, louder, as if that’ll answer any questions.Every sound he makes is met with stunned silence, then adoring coos and applause.
“You guys know he doesn’t actually speak, right?” you say, mildly amused.
“He’s a prodigy,” Tim whispers back, eyes huge.
“He’s expressing opinions,” Cass agrees.
Briar lets out a high-pitched squeal and flaps one arm. The entire table reacts like he just dropped a groundbreaking TED Talk.
“See?” Steph gasps. “He just made a point about urban infrastructure.”
“He said we need better support for local agriculture,” Tim insists.
“He called Drake a clown,” Damian says.
“Okay,” Dick says, leaning forward, hands steepled like he’s in a boardroom. “So I’ve been thinking. I should be the godfather.”
You blink. “We haven’t given that any thought yet”
“I’m still the oldest.”
“I’m the most responsible,” Steph says.
“You once gave a toddler a taser,” Duke deadpans.
“It was off!”
Jason hasn’t said much.
He’s sitting next to you, still subtly in that guard dog posture, shoulders squared and senses alert, like someone might try and snatch the baby out of your hands if he lets his guard down. But his eyes, those have softened. He’s watching Briar like he’s memorizing every little movement. Every blink. Every sound.
And when Briar fusses? The whole table freezes.
It’s just a soft noise at first. A little grumble, like a storm cloud forming behind his scrunched-up brow.
“Oh no,” you murmur.
Jason’s already halfway out of his seat, reaching for the diaper bag like it’s a medical emergency. “He’s hungry.”
Immediately, every Bat within a five-foot radius transforms into a bottle-wielding, pacifier-offering volunteer.
“I’ll feed him—”
“Let me—”
“He waved at me earlier, he likes me the best—”
“I have medical training—”
“You do not, Damian—”
You hand Briar off to Jason before the diplomatic crisis escalates.
Briar goes quiet the second he’s in his dad’s arms. Little fists unclench. Big, glossy eyes blink up at Jason like, finally, the peasants have stepped aside.
Jason doesn’t even look smug. Just solid. Sure.
He takes the bottle like he was born for this. Cradles Briar into the crook of his arm and guides the bottle to his mouth with one hand, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the baby's leg with the other.
Briar latches like a champ and starts drinking with such focus you'd think he was in a competitive sport.
Jason exhales, just the smallest breath, but you see it. The tension bleeding out of his shoulders, the hard lines around his eyes softening as Briar settles.
He’s still alert, still holding the baby like a precious, volatile artifact, but the edge has dulled. His jaw unclenches. The hand that had been gripping the bottle like it might vanish loosens its hold, and he adjusts Briar in his arms with gentle ease, thumb brushing over the baby's fleece-covered belly like a grounding anchor.
The dining room collectively melts.
"God, that's cute," Steph sighs, holding her chest like she’s physically in pain. "I feel like I need to sit down. I am sitting down. I need to sit more."
“Look at them,” Dick whispers, like he’s afraid to scare the moment away. “That’s like… peak contentment. That’s what monks are chasing.”
“Fatherhood suits him,” Alfred says, voice warm as ever, as he places a fresh glass of water by Jason’s elbow. “Though I do hope Master Briar’s dinner preferences extend beyond one caregiver eventually.”
Jason smirks a little at that, still not looking away from his son.
Cass watches them both, eyes wide and shining. “He looks happiest with you.”
You smile and lean back in your seat, stretching your arms with a sigh. “He is.”
Everyone turns toward you.
You hold up your hands, grinning. “Don’t take it personally, okay? He sometimes refuses to eat from me, too.”
“He just…” you glance at Jason, who’s cooing under his breath and adjusting Briar’s sock again before it can fall. “He likes his dad. That’s his guy.”
Jason flushes lightly and rolls his eyes, but he’s not really annoyed. Not even close. The teasing doesn’t reach him, not when he’s cradling one half of his whole world in one arm and keeping his son fed, safe, warm, while the other half sits by his side with stars in her eyes.
Briar’s eyes drift shut slowly, mouth still working at the bottle. His fingers curl around the edge of Jason’s hoodie.
Jason leans back just a little in his chair, legs stretched under the table, and lets the weight of his son settle into his chest.
---
After lunch, everyone moved to one of the many sitting rooms in the manor.
The room humming. Not with conversation (though there's plenty of that) but with energy. The kind that vibrates through the floorboards, soft and giddy and new.
Briar is the source of it, naturally.
He’s stationed on your lap, the certified center of the universe. His hair is rumpled from burrowing into your shirt, his cheeks pink and soft, his legs kicking idly. His hands are exploring: your sleeve, the couch cushion, the hem of his own onesie. A rotating cast of vigilantes try, and fail, to become his favourite.
Dick makes faces. Cass plays peekaboo. Steph gently offers him a stuffed bat she snuck from the batcave. Tim has constructed a batplane out of coasters. Duke is sitting still, determined not to move because Briar grabbed his thumb. Damian is...watching silently from a distance with a furrowed brow and a single grape in his hand like he’s debating whether to offer it as tribute.
Briar laughs at them all. Then immediately shoves his face into your chest, like their attention is too much and you are home base. His laugh becomes a squeak, then a shy whimper, then another giggle when you murmur something soft in his ear and press a kiss to the side of his head.
Jason watches it all from his spot by the wall.
And then he moves.
Without a word, he crosses the room and drops into the open space on the couch beside Bruce. Jason sits up straight, posture tight but deliberate. His arms cross. His jaw flexes. Then he turns his head, just a little.
“All right,” he says, voice steady. “Lay it on me.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Lay what on you?”
“You know,” Jason shrugs, a little too sharp around the edges. “The lecture. I was impulsive. Reckless. Should’ve looped you in before I brought home a baby.”
Bruce is quiet for a beat, then says simply, “That’s not what I was thinking.”
Jason glances at him, wary. “No? You've been quiet all day. I could feel you thinking”
“I was thinking,” Bruce says, “that you’re going to be a better father than I ever was.”
Jason’s head tilts, slow and uncertain. “...What?”
Bruce’s eyes are calm. “I mean it.”
Jason lets out a short, stunned laugh, like he’s not sure what to do with that.
“I—” he starts, then rubs a hand over his face. “I thought you were going to chew me out. You always said I was too hot-headed. I figured this’d be another tally on the ‘Jason acts without thinking’ list.”
Bruce huffs out a laugh. Quiet, real, almost fond. “You took in a kid you found in Crime Alley.”
He turns, expression unreadable but voice gentler than it’s been in years. “Sound familiar?”
Jason groans and slumps back into the couch as something in his brain clicks. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m just saying,” Bruce continues, a little smug now, “it’s not as original as you think.”
“Okay, but at least I didn’t put him in a cape after two weeks,” Jason shoots back, arms crossed again but not so defensively this time.
Bruce chuckles. “That’s fair.”
They sit for a moment in silence, watching as Briar takes in the peanut gallery while leaning lightly against your chest, soft baby noises muffled by your sweater. Dick is still trying to balance a toy on his head. Steph is taking selfies, Cass is staring with a small smile. Duke and Tim are locked in a fierce competition to see who can make the baby laugh first. Damian is now offering his single grape to the baby with solemn reverence, despite being ignored.
Jason glances down, jaw tense again, but softer now. “He’s… everything.”
Bruce nods. “I can see that.”
Jason swallows. Then, quieter: “I used to think you were holding me back. Being too hard on me. That you didn’t trust me to figure it out.”
“I didn’t always do it right,” Bruce admits, voice low. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to raise kids. I still don’t.”
“You tried, though,” Jason says, looking over at him. “I get that now. I—he wakes up crying in the middle of the night and I have no idea why. Sometimes I’m so tired I forget my own name. But I’d still do anything for him. Every time.”
Bruce is quiet. Then: “That’s all I ever wanted. For all of you.”
Jason nods, slow. “I know.”
Another pause.
“Thanks,” he adds, voice rough again. “For not giving me hell about it. I was expecting a lot worse.”
“You’ve grown,” Bruce says. “You love him. That’s what matters.”
Jason glances at him, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.
“Guess we’re not so different after all.”
They both turn at the same time when a shriek cuts across the room like a tiny, furious banshee wail.
Briar, currently perched on Tim’s lap like a wiggly prince, has gone bright red in the face. His little fists are clenched. His eyes are wet. There is righteous fury in the very way he kicks his socks off.
“Oh for—” You sigh, push off the armrest, and walk over to reclaim him from the chaos. “You guys passed him around like a hot potato. He can’t even eat potatoes.”
“He was smiling a minute ago!” Steph protests, already laughing.
“He was tolerating you,” Damian deadpans.
Jason sighs and stands before anyone else can move. “Yeah. That’s enough celebrity meet and greet for one day.”
You roll your eyes fondly and catch Briar as he attempts to throw himself backward. “Okay, okay,” you murmur, shifting him into your arms and walking him over.
Jason opens his arms like a sleepy reflex. You hand Briar off without ceremony.
The baby nestles into Jason’s chest with the dramatic flair of a starlet taking to fainting couches. He lets out a few residual sniffles, hiccups, and then… silence. Peace. His tiny fingers clutch the collar of Jason’s henley like it’s his favorite blanket.
“See?” you say, collapsing back into your seat. “Dramatic little daddy’s boy.”
Everyone watches, a little stunned.
And then Briar, who’d gone momentarily docile, blinks up at Bruce.
Stares.
Stares hard.
Jason notices it at the same time you do. “He’s locked on.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Is he… glaring at me?”
“No,” you say slowly, watching as Briar’s eyes go wide and curious. “I think he’s curious.”
Briar babbles something that might be a question. Then without hesitation, he stretches one hand out toward Bruce. Little fingers opening and closing, again and again.
“Oh,” Jason blinks. “He’s doing grabby hands.”
Bruce freezes. “He wants me?”
“I think he’s offering you a second chance,” Jason mutters, barely hiding a grin. “Use it wisely.”
There’s a long beat of hesitation. Bruce looks like someone just handed him an alien. But slowly, stiffly, like he’s trying not to trigger a trap, he reaches out and lets Jason guide Briar into his arms.
Jason’s hand lingers, steadying the back of Briar’s head.
“Support his neck,” he says quietly, adjusting Bruce’s hold. “He’s little, yeah, but he’s got a strong core. Just keep your arm here—yeah, perfect.”
Bruce lets out a breath.
Briar nestles in against his chest and promptly shoves a fist into his own mouth.
“I’ve… never held a baby this young,” Bruce murmurs. “All the kids I am used to were … a little older”
“You’re doing fine,” Jason says, lips twitching. “He hasn’t rejected you yet.”
They lapse into silence again. Not tense. Just thoughtful.
Jason watches his son curl sleepily into Bruce’s shoulder, drooling a little onto the expensive fabric of Bruce’s button-down.
“You know,” Jason says eventually, voice quieter. “He’s gonna be better than either of us.”
Bruce nods, slow. “He will be.”
He hesitates, then says, voice rougher, “I should have said this a long time ago, but… I’m proud of you, Jason. Of the man, and the father, you are.”
Jason’s breath catches, just for a second. Then he huffs a laugh, looking away. “That’s enough sap for the year, old man.”
Bruce’s lips twitch. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
Jason finally cracks a grin. “No promises.”
There’s a little contented noise from Briar then. A sigh. Full-body. Like he’s just let go of something heavy. Bruce adjusts his hold—
And stills.
Jason narrows his eyes. “What?”
Bruce looks down at his shoulder. Then at the growing wet spot spreading over the front of his shirt.
He looks at Jason, deadpan.
“Your son just peed on me.”
Jason blinks.
Then throws his head back and laughs like he hasn’t in days.
“Hell yeah,” he wheezes. “That’s my boy. I’m so proud of him.”
Briar yawns, pleased with himself.
Bruce closes his eyes. “I see fatherhood hasn’t matured you at all.”
“Not even a little,” Jason says, and grins.
And for a moment, just one, Bruce smiles too.
---
The manor is quiet now.
Dinner plates cleared. Crumbs wiped off the floor. A very serious debate about Briar’s favorite animal still unresolved in the group chat Tim started. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s full. And Briar?
Briar is blinking slow and heavy in Jason’s arms, caught in that sweet, drifting space between sleep and wake. He’s clutching your shirt in one tiny fist, his other hand gripping Jason’s neck, like he wants to hold onto both of you at once.
You’re walking the halls in soft steps, trying to lull him deeper into rest. Jason’s the one rocking him, murmuring little things under his breath like they’re secrets:
“That cabinet right there? Alfred’s sacred china. He says it’s for ‘important guests.’ We had Superman over once. Still didn’t make the cut.”
“Uncle Dick has tried to swing from that chandelier every Christmas since I was twelve. He says he’s being festive. Alfred says he’s being stupid.”
“See that portrait? That’s the one I drew a moustache on when I first moved in. Didn’t go over great.”
It’s soothing, this little loop. You and Jason side by side, swaying in rhythm as you trace your way through the familiar turns. And maybe it’s just instinct or fate, but somehow the walk takes you down further. Below the main halls. Past the wine cellar. Deeper.
To the Cave.
Jason doesn’t even realize where you are until the lights above flicker on.
And you’re standing there, together, facing the glass.
The Robin suit stands in its case like a ghost. Perfectly preserved, perfectly still. Yellow cape. Red tunic. The words etched on the front still sting, even now:
“A Good Soldier.”
Jason doesn’t flinch. But his breath catches for a second. That’s enough.
You shift closer, brushing your shoulder against his. Let your hand rest lightly at the small of his back. Not pushing. Just there.
Briar stirs, sighs, and burrows into his father’s neck.
Jason’s eyes stay on the case.
“He won’t wear a mask,” he says eventually. Voice flat, but not cold.
You nod. Say nothing.
“He’ll have scraped knees and dumb jokes and weird hobbies. He’ll cry when his fish dies and hate broccoli and ask ‘why’ every five seconds.”
You huff softly. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Sounds like freedom,” Jason says.
And you see it then. The shift. The way his grip on Briar softens. The way he leans a little closer to you, like he’s not carrying this alone anymore.
Like he finally believes it.
You don’t say much. You don’t need to.
Your hand slides over his, fingers brushing where he cups the back of Briar’s head. A quiet thank you. A quiet I’m here.
Jason’s thumb moves again, those slow, steady arcs.
“He’ll never know what any of this meant to me,” Jason says.
You shake your head. “He’ll just know you love him.”
Jason looks at you then. Really looks.
And it’s there.
All of it.
The fear. The past. The choice.
The love.
Your free hand finds the back of his neck. You press your forehead to his temple and breathe him in. “Let’s go home,” you whisper.
Jason turns away from the glass.
And walks.
------
I don't know how, but I'm taller
It must be something in the water
Everything's growing in our garden
You don't have to know that it's haunted
The doctor put her hands over my liver
She told me my resentment's getting smaller
No, I'm not afraid of hard work
I get everything I want
I have everything I wanted
------
a/n: so... i wasnt going to do a part 2. then i realized its jason's birthday. and my internship ended yesterday which meant I had a whole day of bedrotting and writing. also the lyric 'Everything is growing in our garden' is a two parter so I just had to do it.
and yes the baby is named after a bush. it grew on me and fit the garden theme.
and promise promise promise the last part of Is it a crime to lie? is coming soon <333
synopsis: Jason comes back from patrol with a baby and soot in his hair. He never thought he deserved anything good, but you build something soft anyway.
words: 3.8k
warnings: crying baby. no use of y/n
---
The building is coming down around him.
Smoke curls like claws through the stairwell, the air thick with heat and sirens and screaming — but none of it matters. Not really. Not since he heard the crying.
He kicks down the last door on the left. Inside: scorched drywall, a mattress half on fire, and—
There.
Curled in the corner like a forgotten blanket. No older than a few weeks, swaddled in soot, mouth open and wailing. Eyes wild. Reaching.
Jason doesn’t think. Doesn’t breathe.
Just moves.
He’s across the room in three steps. Drops to his knees. Checks the baby over with hands he can’t make stop shaking. No visible burns. Still breathing. Covered in ash.
The moment he lifts him, the baby latches onto his flak vest with tiny, furious fingers.
Won’t let go.
Jason’s heart punches his ribs.
"Hey, hey," he rasps, trying to make his voice gentle. “Got you. I got you.”
A beam groans above them. He doesn’t wait. Tugs his jacket off and wraps it around the baby like armor. One hand under the neck. One against his chest. Head down. Go.
Out the hall. Down the fire escape. Through the smoke.
The baby doesn’t cry anymore. Just holds on.
And Jason?
Jason runs like hell.
—
You are not expecting a baby tonight.
In fact, the only things on your to-do list are:
Recharge.
Hydrate.
Kiss your hot husband when he gets home from his nightly war on Gotham’s crime statistics.
You are currently achieving two out of three. Your AirPods hum low-fi jazz into your ears, and the cucumbers on your eyelids are starting to slip down your cheekbones. Somewhere across the apartment, your diffuser is puffing lavender-scented clouds into the air like a sleepy little train. You smell like a coconut-sugar candle and your nails are drying. Life is good.
You’re just starting to doze off when the window clicks open.
Of course. Jason never uses the damn door.
You expect the usual: a grunt, a dropped helmet, maybe a kiss pressed to your forehead before he stumbles into the shower.
Instead, what you get is smoke. Soot. A strangled cry.
You sit up.
Cucumber slices slide down your cheeks and onto your hoodie. One AirPod clatters to the couch cushion. Your husband is standing in the middle of the living room, soot-streaked and wide-eyed, holding a bundled shape in his arms like it might vanish if he so much as blinks.
You stare at him.
Then at the bundle.
Then at him again.
“…Jason,” you say slowly. “That is a baby.”
“I know,” he blurts. “I know. I just—I didn’t think, okay? I saw him and I—”
“Jason.”
He takes two steps forward, the bundle squirming weakly in his arms. There’s a tiny, high-pitched hiccup. The shape shifts and reveals a round, red-blotched face, mouth open in the start of another wail. Soot clings to chubby cheeks.
Jason looks wrecked. More than usual. Helmet hair, bruised, a tear down the seam of his jacket. His arms are trembling.
“There was a fire. A ring. The bastards were running kids out of Crime Alley and I—he was just there. Crying. Everyone else gone. And he grabbed me. Grabbed my glove like he wasn’t letting go, and I just—” His voice breaks. “I saw myself for a second. Just. I moved. I didn’t think. I couldn’t leave him.”
You blink. A slow breath leaves your lungs.
“Come here,” you say, voice soft.
Jason hesitates. “Sweetheart—”
“I said come here.”
He obeys, like he always does when your voice dips into that tone.
You reach for the baby.
Your fingers graze the edge of the jacket and pause. The baby’s eyes flutter up. Red, watery, still in panic mode, but he looks at you. Just for a second.
You smile. “Hi there,” you whisper, more breath than words.
And then, gently, you ease the baby out of Jason’s arms.
He goes without a fight. The baby whimpers, grabbing your shirt with one sooty fist, and tucks himself into your chest with the kind of blind trust that makes your throat ache.
You sway a little, automatically. Muscle memory from a life you never thought you’d need.
“You did the right thing,” you say.
Jason’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His chest rises like he’s about to sob and collapse all at once.
“Breathe, Jay,” you tell him. “In. Out. Again.”
He listens.
One breath. Then another. Then a shuddering sigh.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispers.
“You brought him home,” you say simply. “That’s what you did.”
He swallows.
“Go shower. You’re bleeding. You smell like fire.”
“I can help—”
“You will. But after you shower.”
Jason hesitates. “We don’t even have wipes or—”
“Are you kidding me? You’re the Red Hood. You own three brands of baby wipes. You said they’re the only thing that gets the powder residue off your guns.”
He squints. “You said you wouldn't make fun of that anymore”
“Go. Shower. We’ll be here.”
Jason shoots you a grateful look and then turns to go to the washroom after promising the baby he’ll be back.
You settle onto the floor with the baby curled against your chest, sitting cross-legged by the coffee table like this is any other Tuesday night and not a total deviation from reality. Your fingers are already moving before your brain catches up, brushing soot from his forehead, rocking him in slow, instinctual sways.
He’s hiccuping. Sharp little spasms that jolt through his tiny body, each one punctuated by a shaky breath and a soft, broken sound from the back of his throat.
Your heart squeezes.
“Shhh,” you whisper, rocking a little more. “I know. I know, sweetheart. We’re gonna fix it, okay? You’re safe now.”
The baby wipes, Jason’s fancy, unscented ones, sit in the middle of the table like some cosmic joke. You grab them with one hand and ease the little boy into your lap with the other.
He blinks up at you, lashes crusted with ash, lips trembling. You think he’s trying to cry again, but he’s too tired. Instead, he lets out a low, wheezy whimper that turns into another hiccup, and you feel it all the way through you.
“I know,” you murmur. “Big day, huh?”
You unwrap Jason’s jacket that's been wrapped around the baby slowly, piece by piece. It’s warm from his body heat, and the baby makes a small sound of protest as the cooler air hits his skin.
“Oh, I know, I know,” you croon, voice going higher and softer without you meaning to. “Almost done. Let’s get you all cleaned up, little guy.”
What’s left of his onesie is charred at the edges, barely clinging to one shoulder. You tug at it carefully, apologizing every time the fabric catches. He doesn’t seem to notice. His hands are curled into little fists, still clutching invisible threads.
You grab the first wipe and start gently, his forehead, soft and warm, dotted with grime. You trace along his eyebrows, then sweep carefully down the bridge of his nose. Each stroke is featherlight, the kind you might use for glass.
He hiccups again, but it’s quieter this time.
“There you go,” you whisper. “See? Not so bad.”
You work your way down. Cheeks, chin, neck. There’s a smudge of blood near his ear that you clean with extra care. Not his, thankfully. His arms are sticky, tiny fingers coated in smoke and something that might have been applesauce at some point.
You talk the whole time.
Not because he understands, but because you need it. Because it keeps your hands steady. Because if this baby is going to live in your world now, then he deserves to hear words that are soft and steady and safe.
“You’re doing so good,” you say as you clean under his chin. “Brave little man. Bet you didn’t think you’d end up in a vigilante’s living room tonight, huh?”
He blinks, hiccups again. Then lets out a slow, shuddery sigh.
That’s the first time he really settles.
Not asleep, not yet. But no longer vibrating with fear. His hands uncoil a little. One of them smacks softly against your chest, fingers opening and closing. Grabbing. Seeking.
You let him wrap them around the drawstring of your hoodie.
“Got me?” you whisper. “Yeah. I’ve got you too.”
You work your way down to his belly, where there’s more ash than baby skin, and clean it in little circles. His legs twitch when you get to his feet. He lets out a hiccuping noise that might almost be a laugh.
You smile, watery and wide.
“Ticklish, huh? I’ll remember that.”
Once he’s clean, or as clean as he can be, you reach behind you for the towel you spotted earlier, fresh and fluffy from laundry day. You lay it out on your lap and ease him into it slowly, like wrapping a present made of porcelain.
He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t protest.
Just lets you fold the corners around him and pull him close.
You lift him again, now swaddled and warm and smelling like Jason’s baby wipes. His cheek presses to your shoulder. One final hiccup rattles out of him, soft and damp.
Then stillness.
You stroke a hand down his back and feel his breathing even out, the rhythm finally syncing with yours.
“See?” you whisper. “We’re okay.”
You hold him like that for a long time, rocking gently, chin resting atop his head. His grip on your hoodie string tightens once more, like he knows this is something new, something he doesn’t have a name for yet, but he wants to keep it.
You kiss the top of his head, right over a little fuzz of hair.
“Welcome to the world, baby boy,” you murmur. “Let’s make it better than the one you came from.”
You hear the bathroom door creak open before you see him. He appears in the doorway, soft footsteps, damp hair dripping onto his shirt, a slight limp that he’s trying (and failing) to hide. He’s in one of his plain black tees and a pair of sweats that hang low on his hips, clean for the first time in hours.
But he looks older.
Not just tired, aged. Like whatever he saw in that warehouse tonight carved something new into his bones. His shoulders are hunched. His hands tremble at his sides. He’s blinking too much, like the light hurts.
You don’t say anything. Not yet.
You’re still on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, and the baby, your baby now apparently, is curled into your chest, wrapped in the fluffy towel, finally calm. One chubby fist clings to your hoodie drawstring. His little mouth hangs open slightly, breath puffing soft and warm against your collarbone.
Jason sees the two of you and stops like he’s been gut-punched.
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
You meet his eyes.
“Well,” you say softly, “you missed bath time.”
He swallows. His voice, when it comes, is hoarse. “You look…natural.”
“Do not make a MILF joke right now,” you warn him.
His lip twitches. Not quite a smile. But almost.
He crosses the room slowly, barefoot and silent, and sinks onto the coffee table across from you, elbows on his knees. His eyes don’t leave the baby. You watch his fingers flex, twitch, then curl into fists against his thighs.
He’s still shaking.
You shift the baby slightly so he’s more visible. “He’s clean now,” you murmur. “Mostly soot. One scratch. Nothing serious.”
Jason nods, jaw clenched tight.
“Want to hold him?”
He blinks. “I—I’ll drop him.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I’m not—he’s so small. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
You look at him. Really look at him. The man who faced death a hundred times, the man who ran into fire tonight without flinching. He’s more afraid of this baby than he ever was of a bullet.
“You okay, Ma?” he asks, voice low.
“Jay,” you say gently. “Meet your son.”
Jason sucks in a breath.
You shift the baby carefully, transferring the little bundle into his arms. Jason’s muscles go taut. You guide his hands. One behind the neck. One under the towel. The baby stirs a little, but does not wake.
Jason just stares.
“Our son,” he says quietly. Then, softer, like it costs him something: “You’re already better at this than me, Ma.”
“Not a competition.”
“If it was, you’d be winning.”
You smile. “Let me know when you’re ready for diaper duty.”
He doesn’t laugh. His throat bobs.
“He held onto me,” Jason says. “When I picked him up. Like he was already used to me. Like he knew.”
“He probably did,” you reply. “You’re loud.”
“Sweetheart.”
You glance at him, lips twitching.
He looks back, eyes full of something you don’t have a name for, and murmurs, “You’re killing me here.”
You grin. “Good.”
He snorts, and the sound breaks something in both of you.
You pull a small notepad from the coffee table and hand it to him. Folded. Torn out with care. You made the list while he was in the shower, one-handed, with the baby hiccuping on your chest.
Jason takes it with one hand, still awkwardly cradling the baby in the other.
He unfolds it.
Formula (small can to test for allergies)
Bottles (with the little slow-flow nipple things)
Diapers (Get all from size newborn to size 3 just to be sure)
Wipes (unscented, non-alcohol)
Pacifier (whatever brand looks trustworthy)
Blanket
He stares at it for a second.
Then he says, “You’re terrifying when you’re calm.”
“You said that already.”
“Still true.”
He glances up. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”
You raise a brow. “I just cleaned a crime scene off a one-month-old with gun wipes and wrapped him in a bath towel. I think I’ve earned your trust.”
Jason exhales, slow and shaky. He leans down, presses the gentlest kiss to the baby’s forehead. Then one to your temple.
“I’ll be back in ten,” he says, voice gruff. “Don’t let him grow up without me.”
“No promises,” you say, already pulling the baby back into your arms. “He’s learning fast. Got a strong grip.”
He grabs his keys and is halfway out the window before you call out, “Hey!”
He pauses.
“You’re doing good,” you tell him.
He looks over his shoulder, silhouetted by the streetlight behind him.
“Only ‘cause I’ve got you” he says.
Then he disappears into the night.
You look down at the baby, who is still fast asleep, tiny chest rising and falling like the most fragile promise.
“Well,” you whisper. “That went okay.”
The baby grunts.
You take that as agreement.
–
You and the baby were doing okay for a while.
After Jason left, you wrapped the baby a little tighter in the towel and curled up on the couch with him tucked against your chest. The apartment was warm, quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional rustle of the blanket nest you’d made. You could feel the baby’s little breaths on your collarbone: slow, sleepy, steady.
You thought maybe you’d both doze off.
But then he shifted.
Just a little.
His head tilted back, eyes blinking open. Still a little glazed from fatigue, but alert now. Searching.
And you watched him look around the room.
His gaze skipped past the shelves, the ceiling, the lamp. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t newborn twitchy nonsense. He was looking.
Your chest squeezed.
“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing a thumb along his cheek. “I miss him too.”
The baby let out a soft sound. Not quite a cry. Just a broken little whimper, like something in his tiny chest had snapped loose.
And then came the tears.
Big, hiccupy sobs, full of confusion and exhaustion and something too big for his little body to hold. His face scrunched. His fists clenched in the towel. He started wailing like his heart was breaking.
And somehow, that was the thing that undid you.
You tried. You really did. You held him, rocked him, whispered, “Shh, baby, shh, he’ll be back soon,” over and over again.
But your voice wobbled. Your throat tightened. And somewhere between one sob and the next, your own tears started falling.
You’re still crying when the window opens.
You don’t look up at first. You just whisper, “Jay?” like maybe you’ve imagined him, like maybe you’ve gone soft with shock and longing.
But then—
That’s when the window bangs open again.
You jump, clutching the baby tighter, but then—
“Sweetheart,” Jason breathes, breathless and wind-chapped and bag-laden, “I’m back. I got it all. I—holy shit, are you crying?”
“No,” you sniff, snuggling the baby closer. “We’re both crying.”
Jason’s face crumples. He’s across the room in two strides, bags thunking to the floor.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, crouching in front of you. “It was ten minutes. What happened?”
“He missed you,” you whisper, gesturing at the baby. “I missed you.”
Jason leans forward and kisses your forehead, your cheek, your temple, like he’s trying to seal the cracks. “I’m here now. Okay? You’re not doing this alone.”
The baby lets out one last watery squeak before going quiet, little fists still clinging to your hoodie strings like they’re lifelines.
Jason exhales hard. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
He scoops the bags off the floor and starts unloading: bottles, formula, wipes, a six-pack of tiny diapers, a giraffe pacifier, and, somehow, a stuffed penguin wearing a bowtie.
“I panicked,” he says when you lift an eyebrow at the penguin. “He looked trustworthy.”
You laugh, a little teary still, and set the baby down gently on the blanket-nest you made on the couch. “Okay. You want bottle or diaper?”
Jason eyes the baby warily. “I’ll take diaper. Can’t mess that up too bad, right?”
You make a noise that is not confirmation and head to the kitchen to figure out formula.
Behind you, Jason crouches over the baby like he’s defusing a bomb. “Alright, little man. Let’s not make this weird.”
You’re measuring formula powder into the bottle when you hear a yelp.
“Did he pee on you?”
“Direct hit.”
You bite back a snort. “Wipes are next to you.”
Jason mutters a prayer to whatever gods govern newborn hygiene and starts cleaning up. You screw the bottle lid on and flick the kettle on to heat a little water.
A minute later, you yelp and yank your hand back.
“Babe?” Jason says, halfway through taping the diaper.
“Burned my finger,” you say, holding it under cool water. “He better appreciate this. Formula smells like wet chalk.”
Jason is quiet for a second. You look over and shout out, “You okay?”
“I’m fine. You?”
You glance down at your finger, still under cool water, then over at him, on the floor in front of the couch, legs splayed awkwardly, baby wrapped in a blanket in his lap like something sacred and possibly radioactive.
“I’ve never been better,” you say.
You mean it.
Jason searches your face, like he doesn’t quite believe you yet. But you watch the tension in his shoulders loosen, just a little. The kind of shift that says okay, we can breathe now. Just for a minute.
You dry your hands on your hoodie and grab the warm bottle from the counter. “Alright, Jay,” you say gently, “feeding time.”
He adjusts the baby in his arms slowly, carefully. Like he’s still convinced one wrong move will make the kid detonate. But the baby just blinks up at him, quiet now, eyes big and glassy.
You lean in, helping Jason guide the bottle toward the baby’s mouth. “Remember what the video said? Just enough tilt to keep the nipple full.”
“Like a fuel injector,” he mutters, which is a sentence that absolutely does not belong here and yet somehow fits perfectly.
Then softly, hesitantly the baby latches.
Jason freezes.
And then the baby starts drinking.
A tiny sound, halfway between a slurp and a sigh, escapes his mouth as he settles in, hands curled against Jason’s shirt like he’s staking a claim.
Jason’s voice is barely audible. “He’s eating.”
You press your shoulder against his. “You’re feeding him.”
“Holy shit.”
You laugh. “Exactly what the baby was thinking, I’m sure.”
The room is so still. Gotham hums beyond the windows with distant sirens, the occasional horn, but inside, it’s just the three of you. Just this quiet miracle.
The baby drinks slowly, pausing now and then to blink up at Jason. There’s something so trusting in that look, like he already knows this is his person. Like he knew the moment soot-covered arms scooped him from the wreckage.
You rest your head on Jason’s shoulder. He leans into you instinctively.
“I thought I broke everything I touched,” he says quietly.
“You didn’t break him.”
He looks down again, awe softening the edges of his face. “No. I didn’t.”
When the bottle’s almost empty, you pull back gently. “Okay. Now for part two.”
Jason squints at you. “Part two?”
“Burping. Remember the video?”
Jason blinks. “Oh God.”
You laugh. “Don’t panic. We’ve got this.”
You lift the baby from his arms and place him carefully against your shoulder, one hand supporting the back of his head, the other patting his back in slow, rhythmic taps.
Jason watches like it’s surgery.
“Not too hard,” he murmurs. “Not too soft. Just right.”
“What is he, a porridge?”
“I swear—”
And then the baby lets out a very small, very proper burp.
You both freeze.
Jason’s mouth drops open. “That was—he—he did it.”
You beam. “He did it.”
“No you did it. You’re the baby whisperer.”
You lower the baby back down, curled against your chest now, heavy with milk and sleep and trust.
Jason reaches out and brushes a single finger down the baby’s back. His hand is so big next to that tiny body, but the touch is impossibly gentle.
“He looks like he’s already dreaming,” Jason whispers.
You nod, watching the baby’s eyelids flutter. “I hope it’s something soft.”
A pause. Then:
“What do you think he dreams about?” Jason asks.
You smile. “Right now? Probably warm bottles. And maybe you.”
Jason’s quiet for a beat too long.
You glance over.
He’s staring at you.
Like the world just narrowed down to you and the sleeping baby and the way your voice wraps around both of them like a blanket.
“I really love you,” he says softly.
You blink.
“Say it again.”
“I love you”
You smile. You tilt your head until your temple touches his.
“Back at you.”
The baby lets out one last sigh and goes completely still.
You and Jason don’t move. You just sit there, watching the baby sleep, your arms wrapped around the beginning of something new. Something that still smells like formula and burnt fingers and trust.
something something clark is a very attentive boyfriend for his alt partner
clark who helps you redye your hair with the seriousness of defusing a bomb. he is patient with it. very careful about parting it into sections, very thorough about applying the bleach or dye. he sets a timer to make sure you don't leave the chemicals in a second too long.
clark who sets reminders on his phone for when you need to clean your piercings. if you're too tired or drunk, he will happily help you take care of them. he likes to admire them when he thinks you don't know, and he loves when you ask his opinion on what jewelry to put in.
clark who is such a stickler for tattoo aftercare he could put your tattoo artist to shame. he always makes sure there's unscented soap and lotion in the house. always reminds you to clean them before bed with a cheeky smile, dimples out and everything. if you groan about being too tired, your superman will swoop you into his arms to do it for you.
clark who loves your style. the accessories, the colors, the creativity. he loves going shopping with you just to watch you work your magic. he is a big fan of the changing room runway show, where he gets to watch you hop in and out of outfits he can't help but drool over.
