⚣⚡️A/N → There is a very specific line in here inspired directly from SpongeBob. The first one who points it out gets a prize. Don't ask me why I included it; it made me laugh while I was writing. Anyways, y'all know the usual drill. Writing something else, got inspired to write this, and here we are. Are we surprised?
WARNINGS: Canon Typical Violence | Mentions of Blood | No Actual Murder, only mentions | Fluff | Arguments | Laxus Is A Smug Bastard |
⚣⚡️ Summary → What is Laxus's deal? First, he acts like Y/N's some powerless scum, now, he's all protective and on him like white on rice? And why does everyone seem to be amused by it? Especially Cana?! He's about to catch a murder charge real soon.
⚣⚡️ Words → 5.3K
REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛
⚣ ENJOY ⚡️
Laxus could be such a pain in the ass sometimes.
Even after being welcomed back into Fairy Tail—after his little "journey of self-reflection" and supposed growth—he was still an egotistical thorn in Y/N's side. Y/N had joined the guild around the same time Lucy did, which meant, unfortunately, he'd been present during Laxus's little coup attempt, when he tried forcing Master Makarov to surrender the guild over to him.
He'd been a colossal ass then, and clearly, despite his grand redemption arc, he was still one now. Everyone else seemed to fall for his nice-guy act, but Y/N wasn't buying it. Not when the only person Laxus still went out of his way to antagonize was him.
Strength this, training that, power, power, and more power! Ugh! That was all Laxus ever yammered on about. Sure, when you joined a guild, you had to prove yourself—that was fair. Y/N had taken his fair share of ribbing at the start, but after a few successful jobs—and managing to put Natsu and Gray in their place during one of their ridiculous squabbles—they'd earned the guild's respect. Even Erza had acknowledged him. And getting a nod from Titania herself was no small deal.
(Though, to be clear, she still terrified the living hell out of Y/N. Respect and fear could coexist perfectly well.)
But Laxus? He never let up, well, sort of. Before his expulsion, he'd more than gone out of his way to mock Y/N—calling them a helpless runt, a weakling, a step above a damsel in distress. He'd given Lucy less grief than Y/N, which was saying something. But, even after his glorious return and all his supposed "growth" and "discipline," he still treated Y/N like something that constantly needed saving.
Lately, he'd even started tagging along on Y/N's jobs. Uninvited, insisting Y/N needed someone to "guard his back." Whatever that meant—unless it literally meant guard his back, which, in that case, no thank you! Everyone else found it funny, especially Cana, who never missed an opportunity to toss in a quip or two at Y/N's expense. He still didn't get the joke.
But after today? He'd had enough.
The latest argument had blown up on the road back to Magnolia—same old crap, Laxus defending his decision to keep treating Y/N like some damsel—no—dude in distress. After some time, Y/N had finally stormed off, ducking into a pub to cool down and leaving the blonde egomaniac to stew on his own.
What grated most was that this particular mission had been going perfectly fine before Laxus crashed it. Y/N had been tasked with protecting a political figure from dark guild assassins, a kind of job that typically would have been reserved for an S-Class Wizard or Fairy Tail's strongest team. But Gramps had sent Natsu, Lucy, Gray, and Erza on something else, and handed this one to Y/N. Rumor had it that the Master was even considering promoting Y/N to S-Class after all his recent successes.
Though, Laxus ckearly hadn't gotten the memo. The moment he got back from his own mission and heard Y/N was out, he'd ran right back out like some overgrown storm cloud and inserted himself into the Light Wizard's business.
A few hours of his company were bad enough. Days? Days were torture. The assassins would soon not be the only deadly presence in that town, considering Y/N's patience was hanging by a thread. And one more smirk from Laxus might just be what pushes him to the point, Y/N would cause job requests to go out asking for someone to deal with him.
Honestly, Y/N had no idea how Master Makarov had managed to tolerate his grandson all these years. The Light Wizard had only dealt with Laxus for a fraction of that time, and he was already weighing the pros and cons of life in prison after being charged for murder via spiked earpieces, even though Laxus didn't wear them anymore.
It's fine, Y/N was resourceful.
Heh. Charged… murder. He made a funny.
The cruelest part, though? Beneath all the arrogance and insufferable ego, Y/N couldn't deny an attraction to the Lightning Wizard. It was maddening. The bastard was handsome—chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, muscle stacked on muscle. If he ever learned how to wear a coat properly, he'd be the full package.
Well, after he grew out of that unbearable superiority complex. Baby steps.
Y/N slumped against the table in his corner of the pub. Nursing his mug like it was the only thing keeping him from throttling a certain blonde Lightning Wizard.
"Strength this, power that. Guard, protect, blah, blah, bleh," he muttered into the beverage, mocking Laxus's deep, self-important tone. "If he says one more word about protecting, or strength, or power, I'll electrocute him myself. Whether it's with my magic or his, whatever, I'll find a way."
A few other patrons glanced over at him, either amused or concerned. Honestly, the expressions were hard to tell apart as they sort of blended into the same look. Y/N ignored them, swirling the last sip of his drink. He ran through the argument again in his head, sharper and wittier this time, imagining himself saying all the things he wished he spat in Laxus's smug face.
Not that he didn't already say a full boatload of things before. But those were on the spot; these he'd been sitting on, so they had even more pizazz to them.
"And another thing," he grumbled, pointing an accusatory finger at no one in particular, "if you think I need saving, why don't you save me from your personality first, huh?"
There just wasn't that much pizazz in the world.
The pub's door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool evening air. Y/N didn't bother to look up—until a few bodies approached his table.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
He blinked. A group of five men stood around him, all cloaked in the unmistakable grime of dark guild riffraff. They were all jagged smiles and sharp shoulders, and the way they spread out, taking up enough space in the pub that it made the other patrons shift uneasily in their seats.
One of them, tall and scar-faced—though not that scar, not the one that was constantly lingering in his mind—locked eyes with him and grinned.
"Fairy Tail, right? Recognize that mark anywhere. You're one of Makarov's little brats."
Y/N sat up straighter, shoulders squaring. "Yeah. And what about it?"
"Oh-ho, feisty." The main's grin widened, showing yellow teeth which sent a curdling feeling deep in Y/N's stomach. Did this man ever brush his gums? "Bit far from home, aren't you? Heard some friends of ours ran into trouble a couple of towns over. That wouldn't happen to be your doing, would it?
Y/N tilted his head, unimpressed. "Maybe. Maybe not. Again—what about it?
That earned him a chorus of laughs. Some had mischief gleaming in their eyes, others wore the kind of sneers that promised violence. Another stepped forward, nudging Y/N's mug off the table with the flat of his hand. It clattered to the floor and spilled what little was left.
The other patrons weren't laughing. They sat frozen in their seats, nervously clutching mugs and cutlery, all silently cursing their choice to stop here tonight. Nobody in their right mind would be within five miles of the vicinity when opposing guilds decided to clash.
"Where's your little fairy friends, huh?" another one of the thugs cut in, his voice thick with mockery. "Don't tell me they left a little runt like you all alone."
The scar-faced thug leaned closer, breath hot with something that wasn't minty, his grin widening as if Y/N's mark alone was an invitation to break bones. Y/N resisted the urge to tell the guy how he smelled like someone bottled up "bad life choices" and decided to sell it in a life-sized version of him.
"Makarov must be low on recruits, " the man drawled, clearly savoring the mockery, "sending out little brats to do heavy work. Don't tell me they ran out of real wizards."
Y/N barely could hold back his eye roll. Anyone who thought they could cut through him with just a few little sandbox insults clearly never had the pleasure of spending one afternoon with Laxus Dreyar, let alone 72 hours.
'Oh, fantastic. I always dreamed of being bullied by bargain-bin villains in a third-rate tavern. Fairy Tail really knows how to treat its talent.'
Y/N let a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "Funny thing, your buddies probably thought the same thing. At least, right before I sent them limping home."
That earned a dangerous stillness. Chairs creaked in the ominous silence as the rest of the dark guild shifted, encircling him like vultures eyeing a meal. A few chuckles rumbled, low and threatening, but not one of them was laughing with him.
The bartender, wisely, ducked behind the counter. The other patrons stared down into their mugs with the kind of intensity usually reserved for some type of prayer.
"Bold words from someone drinking alone," the scarred one sneered. "Too bad you don't have that fire freak or celestial cheerleader to back you up."
Y/N clenched his jaw. "Grew out of needing a babysitter when I was 11. And trust me— you're not the first trash from some lame named dark guild to test me."
Scar-face clicked his tongue. "You've got a mouth, I'll give you that. Let's see if you've got anything else worth keeping."
He reached out, a meaty hand grabbing for the Light Wizard's collar, but Y/N slapped it away, standing smoothly. Specks of magic flickered and danced faintly along his skin, like light bending through glass.
"Touch me again," Y/N warned, "and I'll show you what happens when this 'runt' gets annoyed."
'Gods, that sounded way better in my head. Please be intimidated. Please be intimidated. Please–'
Instead, laughter erupted, ugly and mean, filling the entirety of the pub. Scar-face leaned down again, eyes glinting. "You're spunky. I like that. Shame it won't save you."
Y/N swallowed, jaw tightening. 'Alright. Little outnumbered, not ideal. Totally fine, though. I've been in worse… probably. Maybe? Yeah, no, this is bad.'
His hand tightened on the table's edge, magic humming just beneath his skin. He was ready to strike first, buy himself a silver of space. He let his palm glow faintly, a shimmer of light flaring at his fingertips. The pub's dim interior brightened for a second, enough to make the crowd murmur. For a moment, he felt that familiar confidence surge back.
But then, two more of them moved in behind him, one gripping his arm, another shoving him back down into his chair by his neck, the spikes on his wrist chain catching a bit of skin. Y/N tried to twist free, but a pulse of hostile magic pressed against him, and suddenly it wasn't looking so favorable.
"Easy pickings," one of them chuckled. "Makarov's little runts mean all the more fun for us."
Y/N grit his teeth. He could get out of this—he could. It was just… not going quite as smoothly as he wanted.
Then, the air shifted.
A crack of static danced across the room, sharp and violent, rattling glasses on the table. The pub went quiet a split second before lightning tore through the doorway, the force of it throwing one of the dark mages into a wall.
Y/N didn't even need to look up. His eye roll and sigh combo said he knew exactly had arrived.
"Told you," Laxus's voice drawled, heavy with somethong, probably smugness, "you needed someone to protect your back."
In an instant, the dark guild thugs weren't laughing anymore, knowing exactly who this new contender was and the deep shit they were in. Laxus stepped inside, towering, electricity snapping across his fists.
"Funny," Laxus rumbled, gaze sweeping the room, "I thought I told you dark guildies to stay out of Fairy Tail's way."
One of the men hissed. "This isn't your fight, Lightning Bastard."
Laxus's lip twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile, gaze zeroing in on the hand gripping Y/N's arm. And, when said owner of hand realized it was he who had the Lightning Wizard's attention, he yelped and let go like he'd touched hot iron.
"You put hands on my guild. That makes it my fight."
Before anyone could blink, the room exploded with motion. Lightning arced wild and merciless, Y/N barely having time to throw his arms up, the flashes painting the insides of his eyelids white.
The fight was less of a fight and more of a massacre. Laxus didn't even break a sweat as he dropped them one after another, his strikes efficient and brutal, lightning splitting the floorboards and sending the pub into chaos. In seconds, it was over—the dark guild scattered across the floor, either unconscious, smoke coming off their butts, or both.
And Laxus? He stood there, calm as ever, dusting his coat off like he'd just swatted a few flies. He turned, gaze pinning Y/N where he sat, his expression softened just enough to be noticeable—just enough to make Y/N's chest tighten in ways he hated.
"You alright?" His tone wasn't teasing—yet—wasn't smug, yet. It was low, steady, concern buried under gravel.
Y/N blinked, forcing himself upright. "I had it handled."
Laxus's jaw flexed. He didn't believe him; he never believed him when it came to this. His eyes flicked to the faint bruise already blooming on Y/N's neck where one of the thugs hand grabbed him.
Then, he stepped closer. Boots heavy against the scorched wood, shoulders filling Y/N's view until there was nothing else. The pub's remaining patrons shrank back, but Y/N was rooted in place, pulse hammering.
"You call this handled?" Laxus's voice dropped further, almost a growl. His height forced Y/N to tilt his chin up, eyes locking stubbornly on the lightning wizard even as heat crept into his cheeks. "You let them lay hands on you."
Y/N hackles rise. He shoved his arms across his chest, forcing bravado where his pulse betrayed him. "What was I supposed to do, take on five of them at once? I was waiting for the right opening."
"They shouldn't have gotten close enough to touch you in the first place." Laxus leaned forward, his broad shadow swallowing Y/N whole. His eyes burned hotter now, the protective edge fierce enough to be suffocating. "Not you."
Y/N opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Not you. The way Laxus said it, like Y/N was something too valuable to bruise, like the idea of him being hurt was personally unbearable, left his stomach in knots to the point he didn't trust his own voice.
"Whatever," Y/N muttered, rolling his eyes. But he couldn't ignore how Laxus's gaze kept trailing down, scanning his chest, arms, and shoulders, checking for any other marks. And gods help him, there was something almost tender in that ferocity, like the man was memorizing every inch of him to make sure nothing else had been touched.
"Mm." Laxus's eyes flickered to the overturned mug, the chair scuffed from where Y/N had been shoved back down. He didn't argue—yet—but the displeasure was etched plain into the set of his jaw.
"Don't give me that look," Y/N snapped, glaring up at him.
"What look?"
"The one that says 'you're lucky I got here in time.'"
Laxus's mouth curved—just slightly. "Maybe because you are."
See! There it is!
Y/N froze, cheeks burning hot enough to rival Natsu's flames. The entire pub was staring, whispering into their drinks, and Y/N just knew Laxus was enjoying every damn second of it.
And then, as if to prove him right, that infuriating smile spread across Laxus's face. He looked down at Y/N—down, because the bastard was all broad shoulder and stupid height—and murmured, "Cute."
Like the word was some private joke only he understood. Or worse, only he and Cana understood. That drunk little twat. Oh, it's so on when he gets back to the guild hall.
"Real cute," Laxus went on, his voice dipping lower. "You looked like a proper damsel—sorry." His eyes sparked, almost daring Y/N to argue. "Dude in distress."
Heat flooded Y/N's face, puffing into his cheeks like he'd been inflated with hot air. "Why you little— ugh! I said I had it handled!"
"Sure you did," Laxus mused, stepping closer. Close enough that Y/N had to crane his neck even further back to glare at him properly. He offered his hand down, palm broad, steady. "You're welcome."
Y/N slapped it away, moving from the chair he had previously sat in, though the movement forced him right into Laxus's space—close enough to smell the ozone still clinging to him, close enough to feel the static bite along his skin. Gods, he hated how much it made his pulse trip.
"I didn't ask for your help," Y/N bit out, staring up at him from much too close. "I never ask for your help."
"Doesn't mean you don't need it," Laxus shot back, voice low, laced with that maddeningly unbearable mix of amusement and something heavier. Something that made the air between them hum.
Y/N's throat went dry. 'Great. Fantastic. Add 'secretly enjoying Laxus's protective streak' to the list of reasons I'm going to die young.'
The pub was murmuring again, the sound swelling, a room full of witnesses pretending not to eavesdrop. Y/N clenched his fists, pride screaming not to give even a shrewd of gratitude. And yet, looking up at Laxus, all height and muscle and electricity, standing so close the air felt charged—something twisted traitorously in his chest.
'Gods, damn him. How does he get to look hot and smug? That's just unfair!'
"Hey, get a room, you two!"
"Who said that?!"
The shout had cut through the tension like a blade, and Y/N's eyes were menacingly wide, glowing white like light, while his teeth were something sharp like a shark's. His head snapped toward the crowd, radiating threat, scanning for the culprit.
"Was it you grandma?!"
While Y/N was glaring down some innocent old lady, beside him, Laxus's chuckle rumbled low and satisfied, like the bastard was enjoying this way too much. His hand lifted, brushing against Y/N's shoulder, not forceful—gentle. The heat of it lingered, sending an unwanted shiver down Y/N's spine.
"Come on," Laxus said quietly, but the softness in his tone was threaded with iron. "You don't drink in places like this alone. Not while I'm around."
Y/N froze again, before even managing to take a step. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The answer pressed at the back of his mind, obvious and heavy. Suddenly, a bunch of Cana's corny jokes were echoing in his head. But he shoved it all down, quickening his pace to the door before his face betrayed him.
Laxus followed in a slow and confident manner—as if the night, the fight, and Y/N himself all belonged within the reach of his protection. Before they left, though, Y/N turned back to drop some of the money he'd earned from the politician to cover the damages they—Laxus—caused. The last thing he wanted was to be the reason the Master had another meltdown after receiving another formal complaint and demands for compensation.
The pub door slammed behind them, and the murmur of laughter and whispers cut off with it. Cool night air rushed Y/N's lungs, and he welcomed it—anything to cool the heat in his face after that humiliating scene.
He stormed down the dirt path, boots crunching sharply in the quiet. Laxus followed behind, still unhurried, his longer stride swallowing the distance Y/N tried so desperately to put between them.
"Quit following so close," Y/N snapped, glancing back at the mountain of a man shadowing him.
"You're walking in the dark," Laxus said, tone infuriatingly casual. "Not letting you get jumped twice in one night."
"I wasn't jumped," Y/N shot back, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I was… surrounded by some idiots. Big difference."
"Big difference," Laxus echoed, drawling the words. He didn't sound convinced. His gray eyes flicked over Y/N, sharp and assessing. "You're bleeding."
Y/N startled, hand flying to his collarbone. His fingertips came away with the faintest smear of red from where that spiked jewelry had likely nicked him. He cursed under his breath. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," Laxus countered, voice edged like steel. He moved faster, closing the space between them until his shadow draped over Y/N completely. "Next time someone touches you like that—"
"There won't be a next time," Y/N cut in, glaring up at him. "Because I'll handle it before you get the chance to swoop in like some overgrown bodyguard."
They stood locked in the middle of the road, Y/N forced to tilt his chin up again just to keep meeting his eyes. The space between them buzzed, alive with something sharper than magic.
Laxus leaned down slightly, enough that Y/N could feel the static kiss of his breath. "Don't care if you can handle it. I don't want anyone laying hands on you but me."
"Y-You—" he sputtered, stepping back too quickly, only for Laxus to follow right in suit. It was like the bastard was herding him, step for step, his towering presence pressing closer and closer. "Gods, your ego's unbearable."
"So you've said before."
"And I'll keep saying it until the truth finally seeps through that thick skull of yours. "Y/N jabbed a finger at his chest, not that it did much good against that slab of muscle. "Good grief, you are infuriating!"
"Oh, yeah?" That smug tilt curved Laxus's mouth. "What else?"
"Oh, I can give a soliloquy of all the things you are, mister!" Y/N snapped, backing up another step without realizing it. "You're an agonizing, egotistic, big-headed oaf who thinks brawn and power are the keys to everything. You may have fooled everyone else with your whole "redemption journey," but not me. Because you haven't changed one bit since coming back into the guild."
"Who says I was trying to fool you?"
"Oh, please. Like I'd believe anything else. You treated me like scum beneath your shoe when I first joined, calling me a weakling, a runt, and all other sorts of things."
"I don't call you those things now, do I?"
"Maybe not, but it doesn't mean your actions don't scream it. You didn't give Lucy that much grief when she joined, and the obsessive attention you give me, you don't give to her." Another step back. Y/N's heel scuffed the dirt, brushing against roots. Laxus didn't stop advancing. "I don't care what you feel or how you see it. I'm perfectly capable of protecting and handling myself."
"So why didn't you back at the pub?" Laxus's voice dropped lower, rumbling through Y/N's bones.
"I didn't get the chance!" Y/N practically shouted, throwing his hands up. "Yes, I was a bit taken aback and cornered, but did you consider that I was considering that the pub was full of innocent civilians who I'd rather not get caught in the crossfire of a five-v-one? Then, here you come, breaking down doors, destroying property, and zapping people on the ass without a care in the world–"
"They touched you."
"Who cares!" Y/N's back hit something rough and solid, and he realized too late Laxus had been steering him all along. Bark dug into his shoulders, the trunk of a tree, wide and immovable, preventing any further steps backwards. His breath hitched, caught between fury and something far more dangerous.
"Bad guys are going to try and touch me, especially when they're trying to hurt me!" Y/N's words tumbled faster, desperate now. "But let's not even forget the fact that I had to pay part of my reward money to cover the damages you caused, so the Master doesn't get into any legal trouble, especially with the council.Money, I need to pay rent and bills, Laxus! I wouldn't have even stopped in that pub had you not come along and annoyed me to the end of the world."
"You shouldn't have gone alone in the first place." Laxus's arms bracketed Y/N against the tree, his presence overwhelming, the air between them sparking faintly. "That job was—"
"Assigned to me by Master Makarov, our guild master, and your grandfather," Y/N snapped, chin up. "If he felt I was ready for the job, who are you to tell me I'm not? This is exactly what I mean! You may not call me weak or runt anymore, but you might as well since you act like I'm not capable of taking care of myself, like some damsel in distress!"
"Dude," Laxus corrected softly, lips tugging into a grin.
"Whatever! And where did this damn tree come from– mmph!"
Y/N's shouts died as Laxus's hand shot up, calloused and hot, gripping his jaw firm with certainty. His palm cupped Y/N's cheek, thumb grazing dangerously close to his lips before pulling his face up, up into him, crushing their mouths together.
The kiss was fierce, unyielding, like the strongest flashes of lightning lighting up the night sky. Laxus kissed like he fought: unapologetic, relentless, powerful. Sparks practically—and maybe quite literally—danced across Y/N's skin where their mouths met, tingling, biting, and somehow achingly sweet all at once.
Y/N's fists clenched uselessly against Laxus's chest, meaning to shove him back, but gods, he was solid—stone wrapped in heat. His lips burned with every movement, teeth nipping, tongue pushing past Y/N's parted lips before he could stop it. And the double-crossing part? Y/N kissed back, body arching into the heat even as his mind screamed at him to stop, his eyes slipping closed as the surprise left his body.
The world narrowed down to the strength of Laxus's grip on his jaw, the iron band of his arm wrapping tight around Y/N's torso, dragging him flush against a chest that felt like stone under fire. The press of muscle, the heat of him, left Y/N gasping into the kiss as sparks leapt across his skin—sharp, biting, electric. His heart thundered against his ribs like it was trying to escape, but there was nowhere to run, not with Laxus holding him so close.
The scent of ozone wrapped around him, sharp and dizzying, until all he could taste, all he could feel, was Laxus.
When he finally tore his mouth free, it wasn't gentle. Laxus broke the kiss only far enough for breath to slip between them, both of them panting, lips raw and tingling. That arm cinched tighter around Y/N's body, pulling him in hard against the breadth of his chest, until Y/N swore he could feel the pulse of lightning itself humming beneath his ribs.
Gray eyes gleamed down at him, molten and fierce, daring Y/N to deny what had just happened—daring him to say he hadn't wanted it just as badly.
"…You're insufferable," Y/N croaked, voice hoarse, face on fire.
Laxus's grin widened, slow and wolfish. "Maybe. But, you kissed me back."
Y/N wanted to sink into the earth. Damn him.
When Magnolia's lights finally twinkled on the horizon, Y/N released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Finally," he muttered. "I can ditch you and pretend this night never happened."
"You can try," Laxus said, voice dipping low with amusement—and something warmer Y/N refused to name. "But you'll remember it. I will."
Y/N's heart lurched, and he shoved his glare at the cobblestones ahead. 'Damn him. He's going to be the death of me—one way or another."
Laxus walked him all the way back, unhurried, clearly determined to see him safe despite Y/N's constant protests. His lips still tingled from that kiss, still swollen enough to remind him every second of it. What he needed was space—to breathe, to think, to convince himself it hadn't scrambled his head and set his body on fire.
Y/N tried to avoid the guild hall the next day, but he knew Gramps was waiting for his job report, so he anxiously made his way through town. He'd barely stepped inside before Master Makarov was waving him over.
"Ah, there you are! Well done, Y/N. Very well done," the old man boomed, loud enough for half the hall to hear. "I've had word back already—you performed admirably. In fact…" He leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice just slightly. "I think you're ready."
"Ready for what?" Y/N asked warily.
Makarov's grin widened. "An S-Class quest."
The words dropped like a thunderclap. Heads turned at nearby tables, conversations dying mid-sentence. Y/N felt his stomach plummet.
"A… an S-Class?"
"That's right. You've earned it," Makarov said firmly. "But as you know, regulations demand you take one of our S-Class wizards as a supervisor. Just until you've proven yourself and earned the rank."
Y/N nodded quickly. "Of course. I can ask Erza then. She's perfect—"
"She's still away with Lucy, Gray, Natsu, and Happy."
"Oh. Right. Then Mira, she's—"
"Busy with her own obligations."
Y/N swallowed. "Then who…?"
A shadow fell over the table, and once again, Y/N didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The faint prickle of static in the air gave him away before Makarov even spoke.
"Laxus." The Master chuckled, looking a little too amused as he raised his glass. "And it seems he's already volunteered."
Y/N finally glanced back, only to see the smug lightning wizard in his fashionable—and yes, that was said with snark—attire behind him, arms folded, mouth curved in that insufferable grin that said he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
Y/N felt a faint tingle over his lips from last night.
"…I hate my life," he muttered.
"You love it," Laxus murmured, low enough for only him to hear.
A snort cut through the guild's chatter, pulling Y/N's attention toward Cana and her ever-present barrel of booze. She lounged against the bar with an infuriating smirk. "Isn't that just adorable?"
Y/N narrowed his eyes, cheeks heating as Laxus chuckled at his side, clearly enjoying this too much.
"Oh, I'll show you adorable, Cana," Y/N shot back, fists already sparking with light.
That was all it took. Chairs scraped, mugs toppled, and within seconds, the guild erupted into its usual chaos—brawls breaking out left and right, screams and laughter—mostly screams—booming louder than the sound of fists hitting tables.
Gramps sighed into his drink, his pride at Y/N's progress toward his promotion swiftly drowned by the familiar headache of yet another all-out guild fight.
Y/N ducked a flying plate, lunging at Cana with a growl, though the corners of his mouth betrayed the ghost of a smile. Sure, he might have… complicated feelings about the smug blond lightning rod standing beside him through all this chaos, but that didn't mean he'd make life easier for him.
Especially not when everyone and their drunk aunt seemed to be in on some joke besides him. Even Gramps looked to be in the know!
But, if Laxus didn't drive him mad with his overprotective nonsense, Y/N was definitely going to be charged with murder one day in the future.
He rubbed a hand across his face as he opened the door into the kitchen from the garage, calling out tiredly, “I’m home.” He set his keys on the rack and dropped his bag by the door, pulling his hand away in confusion when no one answered. The lights were out, not a sign of life in sight. “Anybody home?” he asked, walking towards the living room. Usually, a sign of life could be found in the form of two of his sons arguing over who got the TV remote so they could watch their shows.
No one was there either and he frowned before he shrugged, assuming that his husband and children had all gone on patrol. He turned and jumped a foot in the air, eyes widening in surprise when he saw Dick and Damian standing there dressed in suits and holding hand towels over their wrists.
He held a hand to his chest as he exhaled, feeling the adrenaline fading. “Jesus, you two scared the hell out of me.” His eyes scanned them, and his gaze narrowed as he asked suspiciously, “Why are you both in suits? Who died?”
Dick smiled and walked up to him. “Welcome home, dad. We have something special planned for you.”
Damian stood with his head up high. “Father, if you will follow us, please.”
His brows furrowed in confusion, and he glanced at Dick who simply nodded; he shrugged and gestured for them to lead, and he walked behind them into the dining room where the main table had been moved out and a simple 3’ by 3’ sat in its place, an elegant tablecloth covering it. Candles stood next to their fine silverware, never taken out unless it was a family scene, and two crystal glasses stood next to each set of forks and knives.
Bruce stood by the table and Damian walked up and turned, facing his father following behind him. “Father, tonight, you and father dine in honor of your anniversary.”
Anniversary.
Their anniversary.
Their 25-year anniversary.
Crap.
It’d been so long since they’d celebrated an actual anniversary and not a staged one for the media that he’d completely forgotten about it. By Bruce’s subtle smile, he knew it too, but simply walked up and held out his hand.
He took it and Bruce asked, “Will you join me for dinner?”
“You didn’t cook, did you?” he teased softly with a smile and Bruce chuckled.
“Actually, Jason took leisure of cooking duties tonight.” He led his husband to the table and pulled out his chair before sitting in his own.
Dick poured some wine into their glasses. “Here we have a Label of Leroy Musigny Grand Cru, from Cote de Nuits, France. A savory and classic red.”
The two men swirled their wines in their glasses, and he inhaled the fragrance before trying a sip; he nodded impressed and looked at Dick. “Thank you, son.”
Dick smiled as Jason walked in, and he couldn’t suppress the laugh that left him as he saw his second son in a chef’s outfit complete with a chef’s hat. Jason held a tray in his hand and began placing their dishes down.
“No appetizers because appetizers are lame, and you won’t have room for dessert, and I worked too hard on it to not have it eaten tonight.” He set the plates down. “I’ve prepared duck confit to go with the red wine, along with roasted vegetables consisting of corn, asparagus, and potatoes, as well as white rice.”
He nodded, again impressed at the sight and planning. “It looks delicious, son.”
Jason puffed his chest out. “It is delicious. I made it.”
“Thank you,” he said with a gentle smile, then looked around. “Where’s Tim?”
“I’m over here!” Tim popped his head up from the corner of the room. “I’m finishing up the sound system.” As soon as he finished, soft, instrumental music began playing and the four boys stood together and took a quick bow.
Jason set a small bell on the table beside Bruce. “Ring when you guys are ready for dessert.”
They scurried out and he smiled, looking at Bruce. “You didn’t have to do all of this, Bruce.”
“I wanted to do something special for you,” he answered, reaching across the table to take his husband’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles and the golden band. “You’ve taken care of me for so many years, put up with so much nonsense, all our kids. Any lesser man would’ve run for the hills…or ended up in Arkham.”
He snorted and turned his hand up, holding Bruce’s. “From going batty?”
“I was thinking clinically insane, but batty works too.” Bruce pulled his hand away and lifted his glass of wine. “To us. Twenty-five years and counting.”
He lightly tapped his glass to Bruce’s. “To us, and hopeful for many more years to come.”
As they began to eat, they drifted into conversation about their life together, how it came to be, meeting, marrying, taking in Dick as a ward, and everything that followed after. Laughter and a few tears were shed but a general feeling of love settled around them as they kept talking about their life. When Jason dropped off dessert, a fresh peach cobbler with homemade vanilla bean ice-cream, the two were tipsy and smiling easily. With dessert eaten, they managed to get to their feet and come around the table, taking each other in their arms as they swayed to the soft piano coming from the speakers.
He rested his temple against Bruce’s shoulder, feeling the man wrap his arms around him securely. “Bruce?”
“Hmm?” his husband hummed, eyes closed as he rested his chin against the man’s temple.
“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love again?”
“I don’t have to think. I know. I fall in love with you every morning I wake up next to you.” Bruce squeezed him. “Every night I close my eyes knowing you’re next to me.”
He breathed deeply, sinking deeper into his husband’s arms. “You sure know how to make a man feel special, Bruce Wayne.”
“Only man that matters,” he replied, kissing his husband’s forehead. “Only one that ever will.”
“Happy Anniversary, Mister Wayne.”
“And a Happy Anniversary to you, Mister Wayne,” Bruce said, leaning down to kiss his husband when,
“Psst! Dad!” The two pulled back and looked up, seeing Tim standing in the doorway. “Dad!”
“Which dad?” he asked. “We’re both dad.”
Tim rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You dad, not him dad.”
“That technically doesn’t clarify which dad you’re referring to,” Bruce replied.
“Batdad.”
“Still both dads,” he said with a wince, then he pointed to himself. “Me dad?”
“YES! YOU DAD!” Tim cried in exasperation.
“What, son?” he laughed.
“Can we watch the Saw series?”
“No.”
“But why?” Tim whined.
“Because one of you is going to get wigged out and end up sleeping in our bed.”
“We see worse on patrol,” Jason said, sticking his head atop Tim’s, then he lifted his hand. “I’ve technically done worse.”
Dick stuck his head around Jason’s arm. “He has. I’ve seen it.”
“Can’t you guys watch a Disney movie or something?” he said with a sigh.
“Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?” Tim begged, clasping his hands in front of him. “None of us will get scared, promise.”
He looked at Bruce who simply shrugged and he sighed. “Fine. But no one better not show up at midnight.”
***
The door cracked open, and he lifted his head, blinking blearily at the thirteen- and eighteen-year-olds standing in his doorway.
“Father…” Damian started, and he sighed exasperated.
“Come on,” he said, opening the covers.
The two crawled in, Damian on Bruce’s side, Tim on his, and he laid back down, closing his eyes.
“I told you boys not to watch Saw.”
A few moments later, the door opened again; Dick and Jason stood there with their pillows in hand.
After coming across a few Bruce Wayne x Male Reader stories that spoke about their deteriorating relationship, due to Bruce's infidelity, it was so refreshing to come across this story that was about them celebrating quite the milestone in their relationship, with the support of their sons. It also was a funny touch to show the sons basically beg to watch one of the Saw movies and want to be closer to their dads because it freaked them out. Keep up the good work!
Now nothing’s the same | Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader
Summary: You know it isn't your Mark the moment he steps into your room. The blood on his suit isn't his. The way he looks at you isn't right. The things he whispers aren't things your Mark would ever say. Yet, you let him stay. And more.
Pairing: Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, frottage, overstimulation, rimming (R receiving), belly bulging, unprotected sex, spit as lube.
Tags: any Mark variant, Reader is lowkey not okay, and he’s a virgin (so prob unrealistic sex?), Unrequited love (for original Mark), Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.
w.c: 12.2k | a/n: English isn’t my first language. This is the first time I write smut so it probably sucks, but hey, I wrote 12k? How did that happen? Yikes… Feedback is appreciated—as longs as is respectful. Also, I wrote this with no particular Mark in mind, so feel free to imagine your favorite variant! The only exception is Mohawk Mark, since his unique hairstyle would immediately reveal he's not the mainstream version at the very beginning (unless you prefer to imagine the reader being dense and oblivious to that glaring detail...).I guess it doesn’t really matter. IMAGINE ANY MARK! And enjoy!!!
Ever since the news broke about cities around the world being destroyed by multiple versions of Invincible, you’ve been hiding. It’s the only logical thing to do—for someone powerless like you, there’s nothing else to do. You can only wait for the nightmare to end, for the heroes to rise victorious. For Mark to rise victorious.
So you stay in your home, clutching your phone, waiting for something—anything—to change. A day passes, and Mark still hasn’t answered your messages. He’s busy, you tell yourself, burying your face in your pillow to stifle the ache in your chest. Of course he’s busy. How could he not be? His hands are full with the weight of the world on his shoulders—fighting, saving, surviving. The news keeps reporting on the Invincibles’ rampage, updating the world daily. A stupid text message—of course Mark doesn’t have time to reply.
(You try not to think about how Mark has been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same. How you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. But you didn’t, and now nothing’s the same.)
So you wait, trapped within your four walls, your chest heavy with worry for your friends—your hero friends—who are out there risking their lives. You cling to the news like a lifeline, watching as the Invincibles tear through city after city, leaving thousands dead, all while they smile like it’s a game.
So you wait, and pray. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, pressing against your ribs until it feels like you might burst. But eventually, hunger forces you to move. You drag yourself to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fumble with the bread. You barely register the motion, your mind drifting to every terrible, unlikely scenario where Mark—your Mark—doesn’t make it. The thought alone makes your throat tighten.
It’s not good. You shouldn’t be this negative. But there are so many Invincibles, and if they’re anything like the Mark you know, then even the strongest heroes must be struggling. People will die. People you care about. And you try—God, you try—not to think about who, who, who.
Maybe that’s why you don’t hear him.
Not that there’s any particular sound to warn you. No footsteps, no creak of the floorboards. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of the curtains by the open window.
One second, your eyes are on the bread on the counter, and the next, an unexpected voice brushes against your ear.
“Found you,” he whispers.
Your heart leaps into your throat, and you freeze, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering to the counter. Your breath hitches as you turn your head slowly.
(Vaguely, you think about Mark fussing over you like a mother hen, that familiar crease forming between his brows. “You really shouldn’t leave your window open like that,” he’d chide, voice laced with exasperation. “Anyone could get in.”
But you’d just laugh, brushing off his concern. “It’s a sixth floor, Mark. And you’re the only weirdo who does.”
I’ll always leave my window open for you, you wouldn’t say.
I’ll always be waiting for you to come, you couldn’t say.)
And then, there he is.
“Mark?” you breathe, relief crashing over you in an overwhelming wave. You don’t notice the differences—how his suit is wrong, smeared with fresh blood and viscera that drip onto your clean floor. How his eyes are too wide, too unblinking, something wild lurking behind them. You don’t see any of it. All you see is Mark standing there, safe, alive. “Oh my god, Mark.”
You rush to him without hesitation, arms outstretched, wrapping him up in a desperate embrace. You’ve been so worried, so consumed by the gnawing anxiety of losing him, that just hearing his voice, just seeing him, shatters any rational thought.
For a moment, he stiffens against you. But then, his arms lock around you with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s too tight, too much, an intensity Mark has never held you with before. That should have been your first warning. But as soon as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, you forget about everything that seems wrong. You forget about the blood, the wild look in his eyes, the way his grip feels almost possessive. All you can focus on is the way he inhales deeply, as if he’s been starved of this—of you.
You shudder, heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain, and then he sighs, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating against your skin.
(“You smell really good,” Mark would murmur, crowding into your space, his nose nearly brushing your neck as he inhaled deeply. “Like, really good.”
You’d shove at his chest, face flaming despite yourself. “Christ, Grayson, you’re not a dog. Back off.”
He’d laugh—that stupid, sunshine-bright laugh that always made your pulse stutter—and lean against the lockers with infuriating ease. “Just being honest… Hey, you could tell me what perfume you use. Maybe then Amber would actually like me on our next date.”
Your chest would tighten, eyebrows knitting together before you could stop them.
“Can’t help you there, pretty boy,” you’d say, slamming your locker shut harder than necessary. When he raised an eyebrow at you, you’d flash a razor-thin smile. “Turns out it’s natural. One hundred percent me.”)
“It’s you…” Mark whispers, his lips brushing against your neck. You hold your breath, trying to suppress the goosebumps rising on your skin, but it’s futile. His voice is low, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He squeezes you tighter, his arms like steel bands around you. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Mark?” you ask hesitantly, confusion laced in your voice. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
You try to push yourself away, hands pressing against his shoulders to create some space—because you can’t do this. You can’t handle him holding you like this, his voice hoarse and low against your neck, his breath hot enough to make you weak. You’re friends. Only friends. He’s made that much clear, and this—this isn’t fair.
But you barely manage to put a few inches between you before he whines, a sound so raw and desperate it catches you off guard. In an instant, he pulls you back in, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his grip unyielding.
“Mark?” you whisper again, voice trembling.
“Not yet,” he replies, his tone pleading. “Let me hold you one more minute.”
And you don’t have the strength to refuse him.
Yet, as the seconds tick by and he keeps clinging to you like a child afraid to let go, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve been ignoring.
Why is Mark here? Why would he suddenly show up at your apartment when he’s supposed to be out there, saving the world? Why would Mark—the same Mark who’s been keeping you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, who barely speaks to you beyond polite conversation, who’s been looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place—be holding you so desperately right now?
Then your attention drifts to his clothes. His suit, but not really his suit. The blood—the thick, dark blood that, now that you’re truly paying attention, doesn’t belong to him. And it’s a lot, pooling around your feet, staining your floor, soaking your clothes.
A sickening weight settles in your stomach, curling, twisting, nagging at the back of your mind. Your arms go slightly limp around him, hesitation creeping in where relief had been just moments ago. Your brain, which had felt so light, so grateful just a minute ago at the sight of him safe, suddenly flashes back to the news. The destruction. The Invincibles terrorizing the world.
And you wonder.
Finally, he exhales—a slow, steady breath, like someone bracing themselves. Then, he lets go, his hands lingering on your arms as if he’s reluctant to break contact entirely.
“Y/N…” he whispers, a wide grin stretching across his face. It’s an unusual smile, unnatural, amused when it shouldn’t. “Here’s where you’ve been hiding, huh?”
“Hiding?” you ask, unsure. “Well—I can’t really do anything else, can I?”
Mark smiles spreads. But his eyes—there’s something in them you hadn’t noticed before. Wide, almost frantic, something raw burning behind them. The dark circles under them make him look exhausted. His hair is a mess. And yet, his expression softens as he studies you, gaze tracing over every feature like he’s trying to memorize you. It’s so intense, so intimate, it nearly steals your breath away.
“What—What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing away, flustered. “Is it—is it over? The fight?”
He coos, a gloveless hand reaching for your chin to tilt it back toward him with a grip that’s firm, almost possessive. “Oh, it’s over. There’s nothing to worry about anymore,” he says, voice light, too light, too nonchalant for someone who just came from a battle. Mark doesn’t speak like this after a fight—he’s never so casual, so detached.
(Mark’s hands would dig into his hair, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m just—I keep fucking up.”
“You’re not,” you’d tell him, hand pressing warm circles between his shoulder blades. “You save people, Mark. Every single day—”
“Bullshit!” He’d jerk upright so fast you’d recoil, chair screeching against the floor. “More people die than I save!” He’d pace, fingers twisting in his hair. “Stop—just stop telling me I’m not fucking up! Stop trying to—to make me feel better! You don’t understand how I feel!”
Your chest would tighten, fingers curling into empty air where he’d been. “I know I don’t.”
“Then stop!”
“However—” you’d stand up as well, eyes locking onto his as you caught his face in your hands, palms pressing gently against his cheeks. Mark would freeze, his breath hitching, wide eyes locked onto yours. “However, I know the world would be worse without you in it. Just thinking about the possibility of not having Invincible on our side—it scares me. Because you’re the only one strong enough to protect us. The only one who can stand up to the worst threats.”
Your thumb would brush over his cheekbone, touch impossibly gentle.
“And I’m sorry you have to carry that responsibility, Mark. But you’re not failing. Not to me.”
His expression would crumble, his eyes glistening with unshed tears before he’d pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder. His breath would shake, and you’d feel his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt.
Your cheeks would burn, heart stuttering, but you'd swallow your feelings and offer only the comfort a friend should.
Your cheeks burn as he tugs you closer by the chin, forcing you to look straight at him. Your hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, but you don’t pull away. You should. But you don’t. Yet, you can’t stand the weight of his stare, so intense, so close, it feels like it’s peeling back layers of you, exposing everything you’ve tried to suppress.
“Nothing to worry about?” you force the words out, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face and the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he nods, his voice low and steady. Then, without warning, he leans closer again, his face burying into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like he just couldn’t get enough. “Oh, shit. How I missed this.”
“Mark?” you ask quietly, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. His breath is hot and electric against your skin. The warmth blooming in your face spreads down, coiling through your body. “What are you doing? Jesus—this isn’t like you.”
“Oh, really?” he hums, lips ghosting over your pulse. The brush of them—so soft, so deliberate—makes you shudder. “Not even a little?”
“No…” you exhale, shivering when his arms snake around your waist, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm. “No. Mark. What—what are you doing?”
Your hands reach for the counter behind you, gripping the edge tightly, desperate for something to anchor you. But Mark—his scent, his body pressed so tightly against yours, his breath burning against the most sensitive part of your throat—makes it impossible to focus, impossible to think. It’s like everything around you is spinning, and you can’t make sense of any of it.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, his tone amused and teasing, like this is all some game to him.
And that finally makes you scowl, the heat in your cheeks now burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. You inhale sharply, trying to regain your senses, but an ugly feeling of shame and hurt settles heavily in your chest.
You lift a hand and push him, or at least try to, your strength no match for his. Still, he complies, pulling away with a reluctant sigh, an annoyed expression flickering across his face as he finally tears himself from you.
“This isn’t funny, Mark,” you say, glancing away, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he complains, his fingers digging into your waist as if he’s reluctant to let you go entirely.
“That,” you snap, gripping his wrists and prying his hands off. “You can’t just—just ignore me for weeks and then suddenly show up and treat me this way. It’s—it messes with my head! It’s not fair, Mark!” your breath comes heavy, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to form the words. Your eyes drop to the floor, and you add quietly, “Just stop.”
He’s silent for a moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into you, searching, analyzing. His head tilts slightly, as if he’s trying to piece something together.
“We’re not… together?” he asks after a beat, his voice incredulous, like the idea is absurd.
The question makes you flinch, and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.
(“I’m sorry,” Mark would mutter, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “I just—don’t see you that way.”
You’d glance away, your lips pressed together in a tight line, trying to hold back the sting of rejection. “I’m sorry too.”
“It’s just—there’s someone else I wanna try it with.”
“I get it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” you sigh, wanting Earth to swallow you whole and disappear forever. But this is Mark, and you couldn’t bear living without Mark. “We’re still friends, right? This doesn’t have to change anything.”
He’d smile at you, his eyes creasing at the edges in the way you adored. “Yeah—Friends!”)
“Of course not!” you snap, voice rising. “You made it very clear you—you love someone else!”
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between you and his overwhelming presence. Was he mocking you? Playing some cruel joke?
But then again, as you pace around the kitchen, trying to hold yourself together, your eyes flicker to his odd suit, to the blood clinging to him, to the confused, almost baffled look on his face. And you think again—why is Mark here? Why, really?
Is he even Mark—
“But Y/N—” he whines, trailing after you like a lost puppy, his voice pleading, “—I would never, and I mean never look at anyone else but you!”
You frown, shaking your head. “I can’t even believe you’re saying this to me right now,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady. “Did you hit your head too hard fighting those lunatics?”
You don’t notice the way he tilts his head at your words, don’t catch the way his eyes darken, flashing with something unreadable.
“If you don’t have anything better to do, then just leave,” you huff, bitterness lacing your tone. “I don’t wanna—humiliate myself any more than I already have. You had your fun. So go away.”
You turn on your heel, heart pounding as you stride toward your bedroom where your phone is charging. There’s a gut feeling gnawing at you, a sensation you can’t shake, and you need confirmation. You need reassurance.
Is the Mark standing behind you even your Mark at all?
Your gut twists violently, but you can’t shake it. The second you step into your bedroom, your hand fishes for your phone, fingers trembling as you scroll through your contacts and press the button.
But Mark hasn’t left. He follows right after you, moving with an easy, unhurried stride, and when he realizes what you’re doing, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.
“O-ho?” he hums, amusement dripping from his voice. “My, my, Y/N, why’re you calling me?”
His hand moves, effortlessly covering yours, fingers warm and firm over your knuckles. The phone rings—once, twice—and Mark leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, voice low, teasing.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t need anyone else.”
Your breath hitches. The sound of the third ring barely registers before he plucks the phone from your grasp with unnerving ease. You don’t even resist—your fingers tremble as they slip away from the device. Not that it would have done anything, anyway. The fifth ring echoes into silence, then clicks to Mark’s familiar voicemail. Useless.
The air in the room shifts, heavy and overwhelming. You watch, frozen, as he casually places your phone on your desk, just far enough out of reach.
Then, the moment your eyes meet his, you know.
This isn’t the Mark you know and love.
Mark hums, content, utterly unbothered as he slides back into your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He sighs, pleased, like he belongs there, like nothing’s wrong.
Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe it’s fear, or disbelief, or survival instincts.
Because you let him.
Your arms fall open, letting him settle more comfortably against you, his weight pressing into you as he nuzzles closer. His warmth, his scent, the way he holds you tight—it’s all too much. And you—weak-kneed, breath unsteady—let him.
“Are you going to kill me?” you can’t help but ask eventually, voice quiet, barely a whisper.
He makes a confused sound in his throat, the vibration brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. “Hmm—not yet.”
Not yet. You should be terrified. Every nerve in your body should be screaming for you to run, to fight, to do something other than stand there, frozen, pliant in his grip. You know he’s dangerous. You know he could snap your neck without a second thought.
Yet—a curious thing happens in your brain.
You’re not afraid. You can’t be.
Because when your eyes settle on this Mark—and he looks exactly like the Mark you know, the Mark you have feelings for—something just… doesn’t click the way it should. Fear doesn’t come. Disgust doesn’t rise in your throat. Dread doesn’t tighten its grip around your chest.
Because he looks so much like Mark. And duh—he is Mark. But not yours, and that alone should be enough to make you want to bolt. Yet—as he nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tingling against your skin, his solid body pressing into yours with a firmness that feels both grounding and overwhelming, and the way he called you ‘sweetheart’—it all makes you want to give in to him.
The feelings you’ve buried—the ones you’ve shoved down since the day Mark rejected you, since the day you forced yourself to be okay with just being friends—are clawing their way back to the surface, stronger, faster, more consuming than ever.
“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry though,” he says, his lips brushing against your pulse in a way that feels deliberate, calculated. “It’d be such a waste to kill you so fast. I came here for you, after all.”
His lips trail along your neck, slow and purposeful, and despite everything—despite knowing this isn’t right—you sigh, shivering at the unfamiliar, intoxicating affection. He moves upward, lips ghosting over your skin until he reaches your ear, nipping at your earlobe.
“Mark…” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, body melting under his touch.
“Ohh, I know, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement, dripping with smug satisfaction. You can feel the smirk curving against your skin. “I know everything you like. I know every inch of you. Let me show you.”
Your body betrays you.
Your mind knows better—knows that this Mark isn’t yours, that the weight of his body pressing into yours should send alarms blaring through your head. But when his fingers skim your waist, when his breath fans hot against your skin, when he sighs like he belongs here—your body doesn’t fight him.
It welcomes him.
Your hands twitch at your sides, uncertain, but you don’t push him away.
“I can’t believe this universe’s Mark wouldn’t date you,” he muses, fingers wandering, exploring, curling behind your back before cupping your ass and squeezing. A choked sound catches in your throat as heat floods through you, your knees nearly giving out. “I mean—look at you.” His voice dips, teasing, triumphant. “Barely resisting.”
You bite your lip, swallowing a sound you refuse to let escape.
He laughs then—open, mocking, and so, so cocky. “And here I thought I’d have to fight this Mark over you, but—” his grin widens, wicked and pleased. “I don’t think I have any competition, sweetheart.” His lips brush against your jaw, his grip tightening possessively. “You’re all mine.”
He starts to push against you, forcing you to walk backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress. You fall onto the bed, breathless, your heart racing as he looms over you, his eyes dark and hungry.
“Just mine, okay?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you—not even him. Not even this universe’s pathetic version of me.” He scoffs, his hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt and tugging it off with a harsh, almost desperate motion. “Loving someone else? When I have you? He’s a fool. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Y/N—you have no idea how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve—”
He groans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark, his eyes raking over your exposed skin like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. You shiver, a deep blush spreading across your face. It’s too much, too fast, and you feel utterly exposed as his gaze devours every inch of you. His expression twists, a mix of desperation and adoration, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your body, committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His fingers twitch, hovering over your skin but not touching, like he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out just to make you squirm.
It’s too intimate, too intense, and for a fleeting second, you forget that he’s dangerous.
“Stop staring,” you weakly complain, turning your face away.
“Oooh, oh-ho-ho, yeah, baby, you’re just like I remember...” he laughs, his breathing uneven, his voice shaking with a wild, almost manic energy. “Yeah—I’ll never let him have you. Never let anyone else even look at you. You’re just mine—holy shit.”
And then he dives.
His lips crash into yours, claiming rather than kissing, his entire body pressing you down into the mattress, forcing your legs open. It’s desperate, feverish—starving. His tongue pushes past your lips, stealing your breath, and you moan into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you struggle to keep up with his messy, frantic rhythm. He kisses you with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy. He groans and growls against your lips as his hands roam your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin. His fingers brush against your nipples, teasing and possessive, and you can only take it, breathless and overwhelmed, your mind spinning as he claims you in every way he can.
“Yeah, baby, keep making those sounds for me,” he murmurs against your lips before diving in again, swallowing every breath, every whimper like it fuels him. “So, so good. Fuck, you have no idea—it keeps me going.”
Your breath stutters as his fingers pinch your nipple, hard enough to make your back arch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he grinds his hips down. Your legs part without a second thought, welcoming him, urging him closer until he’s right there, pressing into you, slotting himself between your thighs.
“That’s it, spread wider for me,” he pants, voice dripping with dark approval. “You’re still so good, fuck.”
Your lips burn, swollen and tingling from his kisses, and when you blink up at him through your lashes, you catch the glint in his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, the usual warm brown of his eyes swallowed by something feral. That smirk—all sharp teeth and predatory hunger—should terrify you. Because the Mark you know has never looked like this before. This unhinged and unsteady. It’s a sharp, gut-wrenching reminder—this isn’t your Mark. This isn’t the sweet, awkward Mark who you fell for, the one you trusted. This Mark is wrong, a twisted mirror image, and you should be fighting him, shoving him away, clawing your way out even if it’s futile—
But then he leans down and presses the softest, faintest kiss to the tip of your nose.
And your mind blanks.
Because holy shit—Mark, the man you’ve been pining over for months, years, is kissing you. And it feels so good, so intoxicating, it messes with your head, scrambles your thoughts into something dangerous.
You know it’s wrong. You know this isn’t him. It’s like pouring your feelings into a stranger, a shadow wearing his face. But fuck—this Mark grinds against you, slow and deliberate, and you feel him, the hard press of him against you, thick and aching with want.
You gasp, body tensing, startled by how badly he wants you.
“Ohh, baby,” he whines, voice thick with desperate need, like he’s been starving for this moment for lifetimes. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, marking you as his. “Let me—” His hips roll again, dragging his thick length against your own, and you choke on air. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come, please, baby, please.”
Teeth scrape along your jaw before finding that sweet spot beneath your ear—the one you didn’t even know was sensitive—and you arch off the bed with a broken moan when he sucks harshly at the skin. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—he maps every inch of you like he’s memorized you, like he already knows every single weak spot before you even realize them yourself.
“Please? Please?” he keeps begging, voice so raw, so desperate, so utterly pathetic it makes you dizzy.
And you—you’re still too caught off guard to react properly. Because Mark—your Mark—never looked at you like this. Never even wanted you like this. But this Mark? He’s rutting against you like an animal in heat, his massive cock straining against his suit as he whimpers your name, making your head spin.
It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. Because Mark rejected you. Because you told yourself you’d be fine with just being friends. Because this isn’t even him—just the evil, dangerous version of him.
(Mark would slip into your open arms, his body heavy with exhaustion.
“I just—I’m scared,” he’d admit, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Scared of turning into my father. Scared of hurting people. And after everything with Angstrom…” his voice would trail off, fingers twitching against your back like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly.
You’d run a soothing hand along his spine, grounding him. “What do you mean?” you’d ask, gentle, coaxing him to keep talking.
“He—he talked about me like I was a monster,” Mark would whisper, voice tight. “Like there’s a version of me out there who destroyed everything. A version of me who’d kill everyone I love. A version of me who’d… destroy you.”
A slow, quiet exhale would leave your lips. “But you’re this Mark,” you’d remind him. “You’re my best friend. And you’d never do that.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, slowly, Mark would sags against you, burying himself deeper into your warmth.
“Yeah,” he’d murmur, barely more than a breath. “Never.”)
But when you move—when you grind up into him, your body answering before your mind can stop it—he makes a noise, something between a groan and a sob, and it’s so wrecked, so full of relief it makes your stomach twist.
Your arms loop around his neck, dragging him closer, pressing your bodies so tight together you can feel his heartbeat hammering against your own. And when his teeth sink into your throat, sucking so hard you know it’s going to bruise, a sharp, broken sound escapes your lips.
The room burns around you, filled with the obscene sounds of his desperate whines and your shaky gasps, the slick friction of fabric between your joined bodies.
“Yeah—” you gasp, nails raking down his back as pleasure coils tight in your gut. “Fuck, Mark, just—Do it. Do it.”
He groans, deep and guttural, a sound so full of possession it sends a sharp pulse of heat down your spine. Then his teeth sink into your neck again—hard enough that you know he’s breaking skin. And when his tongue licks the wound, sucking the blood like he owns you—you know he’s got you.
Your mind fractures into white-hot static as every rational thought—the blood crusted on his suit, the madness in his eyes, the thousands he’s slaughtered, the fact this isn’t your Mark—dissolves into primal need. Nothing exists but the electric pleasure coiling tighter in your gut with each desperate grind of his hips.
“Mark,” you sob, voice breaking as your body arches against him of its own volition. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer. “Oh god, Mark. Fuck. Mark.”
A guttural snarl vibrates against your throat as he claims your mouth again, his tongue pushing past your lips in a violent mimicry of what his hips are doing against yours. The growing dampness between your thighs should shame you, but all you can focus on is the delicious friction, the way his teeth scrape your bottom lip when you moan too loud.
But it’s still not enough.
Not with these fucking clothes between you, not with the way you’re both rutting against each other like wild animals, frantic and insatiable. It’s maddening. You need more.
Your nails claw at his back, at his suit, needing to feel his skin the way he’s feeling yours.
“Get it off,” you manage to gasp between feverish kisses. “Please, Mark.”
With a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, he rears back just enough to grip his suit’s collar. The fabric shreds like tissue paper beneath his strength, revealing sweat-slick skin you immediately map with trembling fingers. His pupils blow wider at your touch, chest heaving as he crushes you back into the mattress.
“Oh yeah, Y/N...” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction as his fingertips trace the dark marks blooming across your neck like bruises. Proof that you belong to him. “Bet this universe’s Mark never made you feel this way, did he? Never touched you like this?” his grip tightens suddenly, making you gasp. “I’m the first, aren’t I? The only one who’s ever had you like this?”
You whimper, nodding without thinking, legs locking tight around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him there.
His grin stretches, wild and triumphant. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down with agonizing slowness—down your neck, across your heaving chest, brushing over your sensitive nipples, gliding down your stomach... Until, finally, his fingers settle between your legs, pressing against the thick, aching bulge in your sweatpants, squeezing just enough to rip a needy moan from your lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, eyes wild with possessive hunger. “So fucking perfect for me. So ready to be mine. Does your Mark know what a desperate little thing you are? How easily you fall apart under my hands?”
His smile tilts, both awestruck and predatory. Then, he leans in until his lips brush yours, his hand working you through the fabric with rough, perfect strokes that have you trembling.
“So hard just for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “He could never make you feel like this. Never touch you like I do.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. “He could never compare. I’m better, I’m stronger—”
He peppers kisses along the corner of your mouth, your flushed cheeks, tender and teasing, a sharp contrast to the way his pace quickens—faster, rougher.
“—I could make you feel even better,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear, voice so low, so filthy it makes you shudder. “Make you scream my name, so loud and clear, maybe the other Mark could even hear you.”
Your breath stutters, a deep moan slipping from your lips, body twisting under his touch.
“Ohh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, breath warm against your neck, teasing, taunting. “You’d love to let him watch. Love to let him see you break for me. Let him realize what he’s lost—what he’ll never have again.”
His voice dips lower, sinking into something darker, something twisted.
“You’d let me fuck you in front of him, wouldn’t you?”
Your body jolts, heat flashing through you in a violent rush, shame curling in your stomach like a vice.
“N-no—!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut, face burning with humiliation. “No, I wouldn’t—”
But your body betrays you. Trembling, surrendering, completely giving in—your hips rut desperately against his hand, your pre-cum soaking through the fabric, staining it.
“Liar,” Mark breathes against your swollen lips before crushing them again in a kiss that’s hot, rough, and bruising. “I can feel how much you want it. How much you need it.”
His thumb presses cruelly against the head of your cock, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the fabric, making you see stars. Your whole body jolts, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat.
“Maybe I should drag him here,” he whispers, grinning against your lips. “Make him watch as I fuck you so good, you forget he’s your Mark Grayson. Make him see how perfectly you take me—how you were always meant to be... ours.”
You shake your head frantically, words lost between your ragged gasps. “No—”
But your back arches, cock throbbing obscenely against his palm. The more he whispers these filthy fantasies, the harder you get, hips stuttering, desperate and eager, seeking more, more, more, as his words sink deep into your brain, filling you with something forbidden, something wrong—something you like.
The pressure builds unbearable. His fingers move with ruthless precision, stroking, squeezing, dragging you to the edge, pulling sounds from you that should be humiliating—but you can’t stop.
Then you think about it. About your Mark. The one who’s still out there, fighting, struggling, exhausted and worn down. You think about what would he think. What would he do if he saw you like this. You imagine your Mark’s confused face watching—the horror in his eyes as he sees you come apart under his doppelgänger’s touch, moaning and whimpering like some cheap slut desperate for any version of him.
“Mark,” you sob as waves of shame and pleasure crash over you. “Mark, Mark—”
Mark exhales a breathy chuckle, eyes dark with fascination. “Oh-ho-ho. That’s it, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”
And then it hits you.
White-hot pleasure blinds you completely as you spill in your sweatpants like some untouched virgin, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken prayer. Your body arches violently, convulsing as your legs clamp around his waist like a vice. Your hands claw at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, to this moment, to reality itself.
“Jesus…” he exhales, almost in awe, his grip tightening possessively. “My god… so perfect.”
You’re reduced to a trembling, gasping mess—shaky legs, toes curling, vision whiting out as the aftershocks rip through you. Mark watches it all with a smug, hungry smirk, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every twitch, every quiver like he’s trying to memorize it, to brand it into his mind.
“Yeah—let it out, Y/N,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “I did this to you. I made you feel this good.”
(“Does that feel good?” Mark would mutter into your ear, his hands still working awkwardly at the knots in your back.
You’d groan, face mushed into the pillow. ”Yup. Feels good. Really good.”
“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he’d grumble, brows pinching together.
You’d stifle a laugh, eyes fluttering shut. ”You lost the bet, Grayson. Now keep massaging my back. My muscles are still wrecked from all the damn work you put me through covering you at Uni.”
“William never complains.”
“Because William sucks at covering! The only reason you’re not suspended is because I’m just too good at lying—Oh! Yeah! Right there, don’t stop,” you’d sigh, melting into the mattress. ”Oh my god, yes…”
His hands would freeze, fingers pressing hesitantly into your skin. ”…Can you stop making those sounds?”
“What sounds?” you’d murmur, half-dazed.
Mark would be quiet for a beat, then resume with a sigh. “Never mind. How about this? Does that feel good?”
“Mmmh, holy shit—yes!”)
Finally, you sink into the mattress, chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven breaths as your climax wears off. Your head falls back against the pillows, glazed eyes barely tracking Mark’s movements. His fingers leave the bulge in your sweatpants, moving to your waistband, fumbling briefly before tugging your sweatpants and underwear down, inch by inch.
“Just let me take care of you,” he mumbles, dazed. “Always gonna take care of you.”
The cold air bites at your oversensitive cock as he yanks it free, his pupils blown wide as he stares at what’s his. Before you can even process the exposure, Mark flashes you a wicked grin before his lips wrap around your cock, hot and wet and devastating. Your hips jolt, body convulsing at the sensation. His tongue swirls, savoring, exploring, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as he tastes you. The overstimulation is unbearable, electric. A strangled, pathetic cry rips from your throat as your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, trying—failing—to push him away.
“Mark!” you jolt, thighs snapping shut around his head, trembling, squeezing, clutching. “Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god. No—”
A deep, satisfied groan rumbles through him, vibrating against your cock and making you yelp. His hands pin your thrashing hips down, holding you there, making sure you take it.
“Mark—”
“Mine,” he snarls between filthy, wet sucks. “Gonna taste every fucking drop.”
The overstimulation borders on painful as he works you ruthlessly through your sensitivity, your cries growing increasingly broken. And yet, somewhere beneath the overwhelming pleasure, a traitorous part of you preens at being so desperately wanted.
Wanted. By Mark. Not your Mark, not the one who’d gently rejected you, but a Mark all the same. A version from some twisted reality who’d torn through dimensions just to claim you. And it sickens you—the satisfaction curling in your gut, the twisted pleasure of knowing that somewhere, in some reality, Mark has always wanted you. Craved you. And if he’s here, willing to ruin you, to unravel you with nothing but his mouth, then who are you to stop him?
His tongue works you over with filthy precision, hot and wet and perfect in ways you’d never dared fantasize about. You writhe beneath him, sheets twisting in your fists, as your gaze drops to where he’s sucking you off—Mark Grayson, on his knees for you, eyes close in joy. The sight alone punches a broken noise from your throat.
“F-fuck—!” you arch violently, tears spilling as pleasure crests into near-pain. “Fuck, I can’t—Mark, please, I can’t—!”
Finally, he lets you go with a slick, obscene ‘pop.’ He pants, breath heavy, lips red and wet as he leans over you. You’re gasping too, your chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, your body trembling like you’ve run yourself into the ground.
Mark watches you, gaze trailing over your flushed skin, your wrecked, tear-streaked face. And then he grins.
“I love you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough. His thumb swipes at the wetness on your cheek. “Love it when you cry.”
(“I hate when you cry,” Mark would say, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ”I hate it even more when it’s me who made you cry.”
You’d slap his hand away, face twisting into a scowl. ”Shut up, Grayson. How dare you—how dare you act upset.” Your voice would shake, anger sharpening every word. ”You can’t even say sorry. Can’t even fake an excuse for why you’ve treated me like this, ignoring me for months… And don’t try to deny it—William noticed too!”
He’d wince, eyes darting away. ”I can’t—I can’t say it.”
“That you’re sorry?” you’d scoff, disbelief dripping from the words.
Mark would bite his lip, shaking his head desperately. ”No! Of course not. It’s—the reason.”
“The reason you’ve been pulling away?” you’d snap, swiping the back of your hand across your wet cheek. Then, it would hit you—heart lurching. ”Is it… because I confessed? I thought we were past that. That we’d still be friends no matter what…”
Your voice would crack, gaze dropping to the floor.
Mark would flinch, shoulders slumping in defeat. ”It’s part of the reason.”
“I don’t understand,” you’d murmur, voice breaking. ”You said it didn’t matter. You promised it wouldn’t change anything.”
“I don’t understand either,” he’d admit, hand scrubbing roughly through his hair. ”Just—just give me time. I need to… figure some things out.”
“You won’t even tell me?”
Mark would press his lips into a tight line, guilt flashing across his face as his gaze caught on your tear-streaked cheeks. ”I can’t.”)
A helpless sob rips from your throat as he surges forward, capturing your bruised lips in a desperate, feverish kiss. He moans into your mouth, deep and needy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue—hot, salty, intoxicating. The realization only makes you burn hotter.
Then, a moan rattles in your chest as his free hand trails lower, fingers teasing where you’re most sensitive. Your gasp is sharp when one presses against your entrance.
“W-wait—” you huff, shaky hands pressing against his broad shoulders. “No… I’ve never—never done this…”
Mark freezes, his expression shifting from surprise to something terrifyingly euphoric. “Oohh, Y/N can you get any more perfect for me? My god—not even in my universe were you a virgin.” He chuckles, low and dark. “Were you saving yourself for him? Hoping he’d finally see you the way I do? He’s such a fool—But I will make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so good.”
As he speaks, his hands roam, gripping your thighs with an iron hold before pushing them up—forcing you open, leaving you vulnerable beneath him. Your face flushes with embarrassment and arousal, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets tightly at the sheer obscenity of the position. He flashes a playful grin, his breath warm against your ass, causing you to gasp and breathe unevenly.
“What— What are you doing?” you stammer weakly, squirming uncomfortably, peering down with shame as Mark leans over your hole, a wide smirk across his face. You realize a second too late was he’s up to. “Wait, wait—Oh my god!”
Your back arches, mouth letting go a deep, throaty groan and your eyes rolling back when Mark inserts his tongue, licking and lapping at the inner walls of your hole, sucking and nibling and kissing. Your head throws back against the pillows, skin burning so hot you swear you’ll melt into the sheets. The sensation is overwhelming—Mark’s hot tongue delves between your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm, licking and probing with obscenely wet sounds that make you squirm uncontrollably. You writhe in delicious contradiction, torn between pulling away and pressing deeper into his merciless mouth.
“Mmh, look at you—” Mark pants between greedy licks, his voice thick with arousal. “That’s it. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
You’re beyond responding, your hips stuttering and your asshole clenching and unclenching with the unfamiliar, yet intoxicating sensation. The pleasure is so intense you bite your lip raw trying to contain the filthy sounds fighting to escape. It’s useless, though, because Mark keeps eating you out and it only takes a few minutes of this sweet torture until you start whimpering and mewling like a little whore.
“F-fuck—!” the curse tears from your throat as your toes curl and back arches off the bed. Your cock stirs back to full hardness, dripping pathetically against your stomach. “Fuck—Mark, my god! Don’t stop, fuck—Oh my god—”
You’ve never been touched like this before—it never even crossed your mind, not even in your wildest fantasies. But damn, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Who would have thought that being pleasured like this could feel so incredibly good? You might just climax right then and there with Mark’s warm, skilled tongue working its magic, and you’d die happily. Your erection is unbelievably hard, leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, but you don’t dare touch yourself because you’re too busy gripping the sheets for stability.
But then Mark pulls away, and you moan and whimper with need, trying to tighten around him in an attempt to draw him back.
Mark smirks and chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at your own lewdness.
“God, baby, you’re so perfect for me,” Mark rasps, pulling back just enough to loom over you. His lips glisten with your taste, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Look at you—already falling apart just from my mouth. Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart? Think that pretty little hole can handle my cock?”
You hadn’t noticed before, too lost in the haze of pleasure—but Mark’s hips have been moving restlessly the whole time, fucking the air with desperate, instinctive thrusts as he devoured you. Now, as he looms over you, you can feel him, hot and throbbing, grinding against your thighs through the thin fabric of his suit. And fuck—he’s massive. Even through the material, you can feel the sheer size of him, the way he twitches with every needy thrust. And yeah—his mouth has left you slick, loose, ready to be filled—but shit. Viltrumites have monster cocks, and it scares you.
And yet—and yet, as Mark moves against you, teasing, testing, making sure you feel the sheer girth of him even through fabric, all you can feel is hunger, a desperate need.
So, huskily, with glazed eyes, you whisper, “Yes, Mark. Yes.”
He doesn’t make you beg twice. One hand tears the remaining suit away like tissue paper, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, and already leaking. The flushed tip bobs against your thigh, leaving a sticky trail as your breath catches.
“Fuck, Y/N—” Mark’s voice breaks as he strokes himself, his wild eyes drinking in every tremble of your body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I dreamed of this moment. You—here, with me again.” His breath shudders, his grip tightening. “Had to find you. Had to make you mine again. I missed you. I missed you.”
His feverish rambling sends your pulse into overdrive, and for one fleeting moment, you wonder about that other life—what version of you could make a man this desperate, this feral with need? What was their relationship like? How did it end? How did Mark end up here, in your universe, searching for you? But then Mark’s strong hands are spreading your thighs wide, his body settling heavily between them, and all coherent thought evaporates in a rush of dizzying arousal.
Shit, shit—Mark Grayson, the boy you’ve been in love with since eighth grade, is about to fuck you. And shit—that thought alone makes your cock ache, your hole clench with anticipation, even as your mind screams that this isn’t your Mark. Your real Mark is probably fighting for his life somewhere. Maybe even dying. And here you are, letting his evil counterpart have you—willingly.
That makes you a horrible friend. You’re disgusting. A traitor. You’re giving in to every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had, every longing you’ve buried for years, all because this Mark—the wrong Mark—looks at you with the hunger you’ve always dreamed of seeing in your Mark’s eyes.
It’s sick. It’s twisted. You’ll never be able to look your Mark in the eye again. Guilt twists in your gut, heavy and suffocating.
You should stop.
You should have never let it go this far.
But then—
“Shh, baby, I got you,” this Mark whispers, shattering your spiraling thoughts. His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he lines himself up. “I got you. Gonna make you feel so good.”
You shiver, heat flushing your skin as his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hard and real. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, locking behind him, pulling him in.
Mark groans, deep and satisfied, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he grins down at you.
“Fuck, yes,” he hums appreciatively, running possessive hands along your trembling thighs. “You’re so good, Y/N. So good.”
His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he drinks down every gasp, every shudder of your oversensitive body like a man starved. And just when desperation coils in your gut—when the teasing pressure at your entrance becomes unbearable—Mark sheathes himself inside you in one brutal thrust.
“Fuck—!” your cry shatters the air as your body bows taut, back arching off the bed. The stretch burns, his thickness forcing you open in ways that make your vision whiten at the edges. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
He’s massive, painfully so. You can feel every ridge, every vein as your body struggles to accommodate him. It’s too much—you’re certain he’ll split you in two.
And yet... The fullness is intoxicating. It burns. It aches. But it also satisfies something deep within you, a primal need you hadn’t even realized was there. Tears prickle at your eyes as you clench the sheets, overwhelmed by the sheer reality of Mark Grayson buried inside you.
“Fuck...” Mark’s voice is guttural, dripping with satisfaction as he bottoms out. “God, you’re tight.” His hips grind deeper, wringing a broken whimper from your throat. “Taking me so perfect—fuck, you feel incredible. Like you were waiting just for me.”
And then, slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he begins to pull back out, dragging a wrecked moan from your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto as he sets a rhythm, each movement sending heat curling through your veins.
“That’s it,” Mark pants against your neck, his breath scalding as he inhales your scent like an addict. “Just like that… you’re perfect. Nobody else could take me like this.” His teeth graze your pulse point possessively. “Only you. Only mine.”
The next thrust is deeper than the last, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your hips jolt up instinctively, a surprised sound catching in your throat.
“Oh god, Mark,” you whine, nails digging into his back, voice breaking on a breathy moan. “Ah—ngh—fuck—”
The agonizingly slow drag of his cock has your vision swimming, pain and pleasure blurring into one overwhelming sensation. He’s so thick, so long, so heavy inside you. Every time he pushes in, it feels impossibly deeper, stretching you, filling you—until it makes your stomach bulge slightly, a small bump appearing in the flat plane of your abdomen.
Mark groans, eyes going wide, his hand settling at the base of your belly. “God, look at you,” he breathes, awed. His fingers press into the bulge, tracing the outline of himself inside you. “Fuck, I’m buried so deep in you. Right here, Y/N—you feel that? That’s me claiming you. Oh-ho-ho, goddamn, look what I do to you.”
His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin even as awe colors his voice. He punctuates each word with a punishing thrust, fingers digging into the visible outline of himself inside you like he wants to brand the shape of his possession into your flesh. And you can’t look away either—because holy shit, this is the first time you’ve ever felt anything like this, and it’s almost too much. Too intense. Too consuming.
Tears streak down your flushed cheeks as your legs tremble violently. The initial pain has melted into overwhelming pleasure, your body adjusting to his impossible size with desperate, shameful eagerness.
“More,” you rasp between gasps, arching up shamelessly. “Faster. Harder. Please—”
Mark chuckles darkly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna make you feel good. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
The dark promise in his words should terrify you. Instead, it sends another pulse of white-hot pleasure straight to your aching cock. Then he moves—harder, faster—tearing the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and reeling. Your body clenches around him, every nerve alight as a broken whimper escapes your lips.
“Mark—Mark—” you mumble his name between gasps, unable to form anything else. “Mark, ah—Mark—mmh—fuck—”
A sharp cry rips from your throat as Mark shifts his angle, hitting a spot inside you that sends a violent shudder through your entire body. Heat surges down your spine, forcing you to arch off the bed, toes curling, every nerve alight with raw, electric pleasure.
“Fuck! There! Mark—ngh—fuck!” you moan, biting down on your lip so hard you taste the faint tang of blood. Mark growls, his movements deep and unrelenting, each thrust pressing you further into the mattress. The bed creaks beneath the force, your skin burning where his grip tightens. “There! Keep going! Fuck, it feels so good—Mark!”
Then—through the haze of heat, through the sinful sounds of skin against skin, of your wrecked moans and his low, animalistic groans—something intrudes. A sharp, buzzing vibration. Your ringtone.
Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, flickering toward your desk—just a few feet away, where Mark tossed your phone. You’re aware the screen glows, the sound ringing in the background, before another brutal thrust wipes all coherent thought away. Let it ring. Nothing matters except the way Mark’s splitting you apart, remaking you as his with every snap of his hips.
The phone rings and rings… then stops. And you don’t even notice when it goes silent, too preoccupied with the drag of Mark’s cock inside you, the way your nails sink into the broad expanse of his back, leaving behind deep, angry marks.
“Perfect,” Mark rasps against your ear, his voice wrecked and reverent, “Taking me so fucking good, Y/N. Made for this. Made for me.”
Your thighs shake violently around him, toes curling as his filthy praise reduces you to nothing but lustful moans and pleading whimpers.
Then—your phone starts ringing again.
This time, Mark notices.
He stills inside you with a low snarl, his body tensing as he straightens slightly, casting an annoyed glance toward the device. But when he reaches for it—his cock still buried deep inside you, making you whimper—his expression darkens with wicked amusement as he reads the caller ID.
“Well, well,” he purrs, looming over you once more, planting one hand beside your head while the other dangles the phone just inches from your flushed, dazed face. “Take a look at this.”
Your stomach drops at the familiar name flashing on screen. It’s Mark—your Mark—calling you.
“Should we answer it, baby?” he muses, tilting his head as his lips curl into a smirk. “Let him hear what you sound like when you’re properly fucked?”
“No—!” you gasp, wrecked and breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach for the phone, desperate to snatch it from his grasp. “Mark—”
But he’s quicker.
“Ah, ah,” he tuts, lifting a single finger in mock reprimand, effortlessly keeping the phone out of reach. His other hand tightens around your hip, keeping you pinned. “You need to get your shit together first, Y/N. Wouldn’t want him to know what you’re doing, now would you?” His eyes gleam with wicked delight. “With that pornographic little voice of yours—so wrecked, so needy for my cock…” He leans in, his breath fanning over your ear. “I bet he’d figure it out immediately.”
A shudder rips through you.
Your vision blurs—tears welling at the edges, cold fear twisting deep in your gut. But worse—worse—is the way your body betrays you. The way you clench around him involuntarily at the thought. At the sheer humiliation of it.
Of your Mark listening on the other end. Unaware. Oblivious. As his variant fucks and ruins you.
“See? I know you,” he murmurs, his voice syrup-thick with satisfaction as he strokes your cheek with unnerving tenderness. His free hand cups your face, his thumb dragging over your lips. “I know exactly what kind of fucked-up little thing you are.”
His grin widens as he watches your lips tremble, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants.
“I’m glad you’re the same here as you were in my universe, Y/N. I adore you like this.” Then, his tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around something dangerous. “Now—try to keep him distracted while I take my time with you, yeah?”
Before you can react, he thrusts—sharp and sudden—just once, but it’s enough to steal the air from your lungs. A strangled gasp escapes you, body reacting on instinct, pulse hammering as he stills once more.
Mark leans in, his breath hot against your parted lips, his amusement dripping with warning. “Otherwise, he’ll keep calling,” he murmurs. “And I don’t want him interrupting us.”
Your stomach twists in knots of anticipation and dread. The phone is still ringing, still just out of reach—Mark’s name flashing on the screen, a second away from being answered. And all the while, this Mark remains inside you—hot, solid, pressing deeper with each second of silence.
“Okay...” you breathe, forcing air into your lungs. “Okay.”
Mark’s smirk turns predatory as he brushes a featherlight kiss to your nose before tapping the answer button, offering you the phone back—and as soon as you grab it and press it to your ear, he immediately resumes his slow, deliberate thrusts that make your toes curl.
“Y/N? Y/N!” The real Mark’s voice—familiar, concerned, kind—crackles through the speaker. He sounds breathless, frantic. “Are you okay? You called and I couldn’t answer but then—but then I called back and you didn’t pick up, and I’m—I’m worried—”
You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip, fighting so hard to keep quiet. But the Mark above you doesn’t make it easy, his hips moving with cruel precision, his smirk deepening as he watches you struggle.
“…Y/N?”
“I’m here,” you choke out, voice miraculously steady despite the way your body arches into each thrust. The not-yours-Mark’s eyes glint with dark amusement as he increases his pace. “I’m... okay.”
Your voice wavers. You can’t help it. A shaky sigh escapes when he ducks his head to nip at your throat, his hot breath raising goosebumps across your oversensitive skin.
“Thank God,” your actual Mark exhales, the relief in his voice almost painful to hear. “Listen, Cecil just— he lost track of a variant. Said he was heading your way, Y/N.”
The not-yours-Mark stills inside you, his expression shifting to something dangerously intrigued. “Oh?” he murmurs against your pulse.
“Y-yeah?” you blurt too loudly, praying the real Mark didn’t hear him.
Your fingers dig into the sheets as the not-yours-Mark begins moving again with renewed purpose, each thrust calculated to wring helpless sounds from your throat while you struggle to keep your breathing even.
“Yeah,” your actual Mark replies through the phone, his voice strained. “I’ll—I’ll come your way. Or the GDA will pick you up, but—it’s dangerous to stay in your apartment! Please, just—just leave. Right now.”
You choke back another gasp, barely holding yourself together. No—you can’t let Mark come here. You can’t let the GDA get involved either. The humiliation would be unbearable—agents witnessing you like this, being taken apart by the same monster who probably leveled cities and slaughtered thousands before claiming you in your own bed.
“No!” you blurt out, voice cracking under the weight of too many emotions. “No, nngh, fuck—you can’t!”
You’re losing control. This Mark—the wrong Mark—is hitting your prostate with every brutal thrust, his teeth sinking into that sensitive spot on your neck while his fingers twist your nipples mercilessly. Stars explode behind your eyelids as another lewd groan escapes you. Virgin or not, there’s no way you could stay quiet under this assault. You realize with dawning horror that he doesn’t want you quiet—he wants you loud, to moan, to let your Mark hear you. To let him know.
That yeah—he’s here.
And yeah—he’s fucking you.
For a moment, there’s only silence on the other end of the call.
Then finally, Mark speaks again, slower this time. “This—this isn’t negotiable, Y/N,” he says, though there’s something off—a hesitation, a shift in his tone as your breath stutters audibly. “Are you… okay?”
No. You’re not okay. You’re overwhelmed, wrecked by pleasure more intense than anything you’ve ever known, losing your virginity to a twisted version of the man you love. Hot tears of shame spill down your cheeks as a sob tears from your throat.
“...Y/N?” Mark’s voice sounds distant now. You can barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears, over the slick sound of skin meeting skin, over the obscene, broken whimpers falling from your lips.
“Mmmh, fuck,” you gasp as the pressure builds unbearably inside you. “Fuck—Mark—”
“That’s it, baby,” not-your-Mark whispers in your ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “You wanna come, don’t you? Wanna scream my name?”
The dam breaks. “Yes! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your voice shatters with each punishing thrust. Dignity forgotten, you arch desperately against him, meeting every movement as you beg mindlessly. “Mark—I can’t—oh god, please, please...!”
The line goes silent for an agonizing moment, the static crackle carrying more weight than words ever could. You squeeze your eyes shut, shame and guilt and disgust warring with the pleasure coiling tight in your belly—but it’s too late now. Far too late.
“Y/N...?” his voice comes through the receiver—your Mark’s voice—strangled and low, thick with realization.
Your stomach drops. He knows. Oh god, he knows. He fucking knows.
Not-your-Mark lets out a pleased hum against your neck, his fingers lazily plucking the phone from your trembling hand while his hips snap forward, forcing a needy moan from your lips. The wet sound of skin on skin is unmistakable. There’s no way your Mark could mistake what’s happening.
Not-your-Mark’s eyes glint with something wicked as he presses the phone to his ear, smirking.
“Too late, dickhead,” he says, just as breathless as you, his voice dripping with smug victory as he punctuates each word with another brutal thrust. “He’s already mine.”
Mark’s furious roar bursts through the speaker. “You—!” you close your eyes, mortified, tears falling down your cheeks because this is the moment Mark realizes you’re a horrible friend. “I’LL FUCKING KILL YO—”
But the sound is cut off with a sickening crunch as not-your-Mark’s fingers tighten, phone shattering, fragments falling like dust.
“Oops,” he pouts mockingly, tilting his head with feigned innocence before his expression darkens. His hand snakes around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to claim. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”
When he slams back into you, you arch off the bed with a broken scream, your legs spreading wider of their own volition. He chuckles darkly, hands sliding under your thighs to fold you nearly in half, opening you up so completely that each thrust punches the air from your lungs.
“Fuck,” he growls, pace turning erratic as his control fractures. “Look at you—taking me so perfect. Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you love taking my cock.”
“I love it,” you gasp without thought, your mind obliterated by pleasure. “Fuck—I love it. I love you.”
A deep, guttural moan tears from his throat, his grip on you tightening as he nods frantically. “Yeah? Love me? Fuck— I love you too, baby. I love you so fucking much.”
And you know he’s not your Mark. You know your real Mark is probably flying at full speed right now, minutes, or even seconds from bursting through your window. But Christ—hearing those words, in Mark’s voice, from his lips, with his face twisted in raw, desperate worship—it makes you dizzy. It makes you happy.
“I love you,” you say again, fingers twisting into his dark hair, dragging him down until your panting mouths brush. “I love you. Always have—fuck—since—since before you even got your powers, Mark!”
“Yeah?”
“Yes! Ah—fuck, yes!” The words dissolve into moans as you kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips sliding messily against his. “When you were such--a nerd! Loved you since we were kids. Love you now. I always will—”
He groans, swallowing your words with a feverish kiss, his hands squeezing your cheeks until your mouth falls open, surrendering completely. Tongues tangle, breath mingles, and he moans right into you—
“I love—” he pants, his movements growing erratic. “I love you, Y/N. Fuck—Gonna take you home with me. Gonna keep you forever. Steal you from that idiot...make him see what he threw away—”
Then—suddenly—his hand wraps around your cock.
It’s been untouched this entire time, leaking wildly against your stomach, and the moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, broken whimper escapes you. Your hips jerk helplessly, legs trembling as pleasure rips through you.
“Fuuuuck,” you sob, shuddering against him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop. I’m gonna—”
“I got you, baby,” he growls, stroking you faster, fucking into you harder. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good. Gonna take you away. Gonna own you!”
And God help you—his words don’t sound like threats when you’re drowning in white-hot ecstasy. In this moment, you’d let him drag you through dimensions, would beg him to claim you completely—because he wants you. He loves you. He craves you in a way you’ve always ached to be craved. And right now—you’d let him take you. You’d let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.
“Ah—ah, Mark—” Your body locks up, stomach tightening, hole clenching around him as the pressure on your cock becomes unbearable. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”
“Yeah, baby, let it out,” he growls against your lips, his hand working your cock in perfect sync with his punishing thrusts. “Come for me. Now.”
You shatter with a strangled scream, body jerking violently as you spill across your stomach in thick, hot stripes. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and spasming as pleasure tears through.
Mark groans like a man possessed, his thrusts faltering as your hole flutters and clenches around him. “Fuck—fuck—” He slams into you one final time, burying himself deep, and then he’s coming too, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. His grip tightens as he grinds himself deeper, prolonging every last spurt, wringing every aftershock from you until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.
You can’t move. Can’t speak. All you can do is lie there, trembling, as he keeps pumping into you, dragging out your orgasm until you’re sobbing from oversensitivity. His hips grind against yours, forcing every last drop into you like he’s determined to make sure you remember this.
When he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss, your body limp and wrecked. Sweat and come cling to your skin, your chest heaving as aftershocks wrack through you. Every inch of you is marked—bruises blooming where his fingers, his teeth, his lips claimed you.
You barely register the mattress dipping as he lays beside you, his arms wrapping around your exhausted frame. A soft, lingering kiss presses to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur against your damp skin.
“Shh, shh, Y/N,” his fingers trace lazy circles against your back. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”
Even in your dazed, post-orgasmic haze, you understand what “everything” means.
It means your Mark—your universe’s Mark—is on his way. It means a fight is inevitable. It means blood, destruction, the clash of two forces that look the same but could never be. And when that moment comes, you’ll have to face him—face the shame that will devour you whole.
Because how dare you?
How dare you moan his name for someone else? Whisper desperate I love yous to the wrong version of him? Come undone beneath a man who wears his face but isn’t him?
And after you told him it was fine—that you were fine—staying just friends. After you swallowed every aching, desperate feeling just to keep him close. But in the end, you gave in. You let temptation pull you under. You let yourself have him—or the closest thing to him. And now, there’s no taking it back.
You know you’re wrong.
You know time is running out.
And you know that when he says he’ll take care of everything, this Mark intends to kill your Mark—just as your Mark wants to kill him.
But your body betrays you—mind foggy, muscles lax with satisfaction, the afterglow pulling you under. As consciousness fades, this not-quite-Mark draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. His breathing steadies, his solid frame surrounding you in deceptive safety.
(And vaguely, you think about your Mark. About how he’s been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same.
“I promise I’ll tell you,” he’d say, a week ago, his eyes avoiding yours in a way that pains you. “I promise I’ll tell you the truth. All of it. And—”
Then he’d looked up, and something in his gaze pinned you there—fervent, almost feverish.
“I’ll—” he’d stop himself, cheeks coloring faintly, and yet he wouldn’t relent his steady gaze. ”I’ll tell you the reason I’ve been acting like such an asshole to you. And I hope...you can forgive me after.”
“Why not now?” you’d ask, puzzled, fingers curling into your palms. ”Why not when I’m asking you, Mark? Right here, and right now.”
He’d flinch, his eyes closing for a fleeting second before opening them again. ”Just—gimme one more week,” he’d rasped. “One more week and—I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’ll—confess everything.”
And as he’d turn around, his broad back to you as he’d take off—not before glancing at you with troubled eyes, an intensity in his eyes you can’t quite place—you’d only guess he’s gonna say he hates you. That he’s gonna say, now once and for all, he can no longer be your friend.
And how you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. How you should’ve never, ever opened your big mouth and let your feelings spill out.
But you did, and now nothing’s the same.)
“I’ll take care of it,” Mark murmurs again as you drift away, his voice a dark promise. “Never gonna lose you again. Never.”
The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek.
And in the final flicker of consciousness, a single thought drifts through your mind— You wished Mark had told you the reason.
Brilliant
REQUEST: male reader who’s kinda shy and quiet but crazy good at math and science and all those equations. something fluffy and cute.
Personal Bodyguard and Personal Bodyguard Pt. 2
Summary: After Tony's rescue and his announcement about Iron Man, Pepper decides the genius needs a bodyguard.
Runway Lover
REQUEST: Tony with a male model. A one night stand but tony catches feelings. After pursuing him they get in a relationship. But everyone (avengers) thinks its not gonna last , since they kept it secret for readers career.
No Title
REQUEST: top m reader overstimulating tony stark? Like, to the point he's crying shaking mess and just melts into reader:3 with sweet aftercare pretty please?
Gender Neutral Reader
Numb
Summary: You didn’t understand Tony’s decision; he’d left you with a gaping hold in your heart. It was easy to feel anger and resentment, but was it really a surprise how things ended?
Why Me Though?
Summary: People don't know why Tony Stark would ever entertain much less date a civilian. However, there's a simple response he gives—he loves you.
Natasha Romanoff
Gender Neutral Reader
Fue Un Placer Conocerte
Summary: Dating an assassin, especially the Black Widow, was bound to have problems. You accepted that since the beginning, however, you can’t help but feel that Natasha didn’t love you. That, to her, this relationship was nothing more than a nuisance.
Clint Barton
Male Reader
Farm Boy
REQUEST: fluff fic about clint barton x male reader
Steve Rogers
Male Reader
We Belong Together
Summary: Dating Steve Rogers was more difficult than you’d imagined. He was a man riddled with insecurities and, unfortunately, this affected your relationship.
Hot Head
Summary: The Avengers don't understand how golden boy Steve Rogers dated you. You were violent, mean looking, had no filter (and that was Tony who said it.) However, nothing is ever black or white.
Gender Neutral Reader
No
Summary: You loved Steve, but you weren’t ready to make the big step in marrying him. Others don’t understand or merely refuse to accept your reasoning.
Talk It Out
Summary: Being related to the genius Tony Stark had many benefits, but being stuck in an argument between him and your fiance, Steve Rogers, was never anticipated.
A Burden of Imagination
Summary: You were a regular 21st century human so naturally you experienced a plethora of things—dating and sex included. However, when you begin dating Steve Rogers, your past is a topic of discussion as it clashes with his religious and old-timey upbringing.
Bucky Barnes
Male Reader
Affectionate
Summary: Bucky is an ex-assasin and hydra's most valuable asset...that doesn't mean he wants to be treated as such.
He's Cute, He's Cute Pt. 1.5, He's Cute Pt. 2, He's Cute Pt. 3
Summary: Another brother of Thor is coming to Earth. The Avengers are wary of the new visitor, yet he's nothing like Loki. Bucky grows a high school crush on the nobel, kind and slightly clueless Asgardian prince.
Where's The Trust?, Where's The Trust? Pt. 2, Where's The Trust? Pt. 3
Summary: After everything Hydra has done to him, Bucky finally found peace in his life—even managing to get a boyfriend in the process. However, his 'brother' Steve isn't too fond of his relationship nor you.
The One Kind Voice, The One Kind Voice Pt. 2
Summary: Hydra was torture, but even amongst all the brainwashing and murders he'd committed, Bucky couldn't help but see you as his shinning light. A safe place from the living hell he endured for over 70 years.
Gender Neutral Reader
Hair Care
Summary: You must be blind to not see or accept that Bucky Barnes (yes, the brainwashed Hydra assassin) had fucking great hair. And yes, even you questioned your will to live when you asked if you could do his hair.
I Forgive You
Summary: When you fight against the mad titan, he manages to restore Bucky's programing, turning him back into the Winter Soldier. You have to fight him, but things go wrong—after all, you wouldn't hurt the love of your life—even if he was tasked to kill you.
Loki Laufeyson
Male Reader
A Crown of Two Realms and A Crown of Two Realms Pt. 2
Summary: You are set to marry Asgard's golden prince, however, when you meet the god of mischief, you can't help but see him differently.
Shadows and Subtlety
Summary: Loki has become unbearably soft and pliant in the presence of you, an assassin that can be seen as a male version of Natasha.
Gender Neutral Reader
Felt Not Seen
Summary: After Loki tries to take over Earth, he stumbles upon a person who doesn't judge nor call him a monster. On the flip side, Loki hates lying to you, a human who unfortunately lost their sight.
Pietro Maximoff
Gender Neutral Reader
Tongue Tied
Summary: Pietro had a routine: wake up, shower, eat breakfast in a hurry (sometimes literally), and then spend the day reminding the Avengers just how fast he was. Confidence was basically his middle name. That is, until you came along.
Stucky
Male Reader
Promise To Return, Promise to Return Pt. 2
Summary: You were drafted to war, leaving behind your Brooklyn boys to fend for themselves. You promised to return to them, but promises aren't always fulfilled.
Two Scoops of Celebration [Tyler Owens X M!Reader]
Summary: It’s been two years since you’ve last spent time with your former college roommate, Tyler Owens. Having just finished a book tour promoting your premiere novel as a published author, you decide it’s time to pay your old friend a visit.
Word Count: 5.5K
Reader: Male (can be read as cis or trans, no genitalia is referenced)
Rating: Teen+
Warnings: Mild language
Notes: What started as a thought about the reader being a male version of Daisy Edgar Jones's character in Twisters very quickly became something new and wholesome. This one goes out to all the boys like me who yearn for a friends to lovers romance with a charming southern beau. As always, no beta, we die like men.
“Hey, City Boy!”
The accent that clings to Tyler’s voice as he calls out to you from across the parking lot is thicker than honey. He’s always had that sweet, southern twinge when he speaks but it seems that every time he refers to you by his favorite nickname, it’s particularly strong. The upward kick punctuating “boy” is borderline twisted.
You hate how much you love the way it sounds.
“Keep calling me that and all your wrangler buddies are gonna start thinking I’m some kind of Wall Street conman!”
You close the door of your car, shaking your head to feign disapproval as Tyler Owens saunters your way. But the smirk denting your cheeks betrays you, and judging by the lopsided smile on his own lips, he knows there’s no way you can keep up appearances.
“Even if you were, I don’t think they give a damn. Anyone cool with me is cool with them.”
Strong arms swallow you whole like a tidal wave and throw you violently against the shore that is Tyler’s broad chest. Even with a thick flannel and undershirt concealing his figure, you can feel just how firm his pec muscles are. He’s even more in shape than the last time you’d met. Still smells like farmland and overpriced cologne though, so some things really never change.
“Good to see you, Ty,” you mumble into the ruffles of his shirt. If there’s one thing you’ll never tire of in this world, it’s the inescapable bear hugs of your former college roommate.
When he finally releases you so he can beam at you face-to-face, his left hand clamps down on your shoulder. His thumb begins massaging your collarbone as he looks you over. The alarmingly intimate gesture nearly gives you goosebumps.
“You look good. NOLA must be treating you right.”
“Good people and even better food. Plus my aunt lives just outside the city so every holiday is a feast. It’s a miracle I haven’t gained more weight.” You chuckle. “How about you? How’ve you been?”
“Just peachy." He raises a finger. "And before you start, no I do not mean that sarcastically.”
The two of you share massive, toothy smiles and bask in the warmth of each other’s presence. A whole two years without getting to see the man who’d single-handedly motivated you to finish your degree at UA is simply too long. Life hasn’t exactly sucked without him, but you’ve always known things would be so much brighter with him around, the same way rolling fields of green are always a bit more breathtaking when peppered by sunflowers.
“Alright, quit grinning at me like that. You’re gonna fracture a cheekbone,” he teases with a gentle pat of the hand against your jaw, “C’mon, let’s grab a bite. My treat.”
***
The two of you catch up over a pair of greasy burgers and several bottles of beer. Stories are exchanged at the dinner table like currency. He tells you about a slippery twister he chased across the Oklahoma border into southwest Missouri; you tell him about the tour you took around the country promoting your first novel. And even though stories about meeting fellow writers and signing books are far less exciting than hair raising tales of tornado wrangling, Tyler is just as invested in your retellings as he would be if you’d told him you were planning to steal the Declaration of Independence.
He takes a long swig of his drink. “You’re amazing, y’know that right?”
You scoff, “Says the guy who literally drives his truck into tornadoes for a living.”
“Anybody can do stupid shit like that.” He waves his hand dismissively.
“Not with enough wisdom to survive the way you do.”
“‘Course not. But that’s not the point! What I’m saying is you’re a guy with genuine talent and being able to create something elegant and captivating enough for people to spend hours if not days reading…That’s something to celebrate.”
Your cheeks flush, not from the alcohol in your system, but from the emotions his praise has stirred within you. Your stomach feels impossibly light. He may not have been the one to major in English, but Tyler sure has a way with words.
“I read it, by the way,” he adds before you can muster a timid phrase of thanks.
Now there’s a surprise. Notorious rodeo boy and meteorology YouTube star, Tyler Owens, has actually read your queer fantasy novel. Your queer fantasy novel with a very graphic sex scene—well, scenes (plural) actually—between two grown men.
“Really?”
“Really.”
You cock your head and eye him expectantly. “And…”
“And I think it’s pretty damn good.” He throws his head back as he downs the remainder of his beer. The first couple of words after are strained from an air bubble in his throat. “Look, I ain’t blowin’ smoke just because we’re buddies. I’ve been reading your work ever since you finally let me have a peek at your poetry assignment during second semester of sophomore year and I’m telling you, you’re good. And I’m sure as hell glad the rest of the world is catching onto it too.”
The airy feeling in your gut doesn’t dissipate but the pride in your chest is hefty enough to keep you from floating away.
“Thanks, Tyler. I mean it. Even though the praise of a college dropout can only mean so much,” you manage to tease with a tiny smirk.
The grin that meets you is almost blinding. “You son of a bitch.”
“Sorry, you know I had to.”
He clicks his tongue the same way you used to hear him express vexation at the results of a bull-riding competition. “Like hell you did. I ought to give my copy of your book a hundred pages of dog ears for that.”
The blasphemous image of carelessly bent page corners pops into your head. A chill runs down your spine.
“You wouldn’t dare,” you growl, fingers ever so slightly lifting the butter knife from beside your plate to point its blunt tip at the man across from you. It’s an empty threat at an already low stakes showdown.
“Oh, I really would. And then I’d donate it to a hand-me-down bookstore so some broke English major looking for a new read has to painstakingly unfold every last one before he can actually enjoy the story.”
Your jaw drops. Two years and several hundred miles apart, and he has yet to forget what makes you tick. A part of you is thankful that’s the case because you know it means you really do hold value in his life.
“I drive ten hours to spend time with you and this is how you repay me?”
“Oh, please. That’s nothing. Besides, I’m paying you back the right way.” He pulls out his worn-out trifold wallet and drops a few paper bills on the table. He tucks the waitress’s hastily scribbled check underneath the pile of bills. “Cold, hard cash, baby.”
***
After dinner, you trail his modded, red Ram pickup a few miles north to a motel near the edge of the small Oklahoma town. The motel itself is clearly long past its prime, but not even remotely close to being one of the shittiest places either of you have ever stayed. With a Walmart not too far up the road and a Braum’s directly across the street, you’re pretty confident that you won’t be left wanting for much.
It comes as a complete shock that the motel room is not empty when you step inside. There are balloons floating in the corners, confetti strewn all over the bed, and a banner dangling above the headboard that reads, “Congratulations!” On the dresser just beneath the wall-mounted flatscreen are hand-wrapped gifts and a bouquet of sunflowers nestled inside a hardcover-shaped ceramic vase.
“Whoa, what the hell happened in here?” Tyler announces with poorly faked bewilderment—albeit purposefully so—as he trails you inside, “Looks like someone gutted a piñata on your bed.”
“Haha, very funny.” You stroll over to get a better look at the sunflowers. They smell delightfully fresh. “You did all this?”
“Sure did!” He shuts the door and grabs one of the presents to hold while he waits for you to savor the moment. The way he absentmindedly rotates the gift in his hands reminds you of a quarterback handling the ball between plays. “I know guys usually aren’t big on receiving flowers, but sunflowers were kind of a big part of your book so I thought it’d be fitting. Plus I needed something to gussy up the vase.”
You can’t help but be impressed. Not only did he put his eyes to the pages of your book just to say he did it, but he actually made sure to remember details like the motif of sunflowers. You’ve always known he’s more than just a pretty face and charisma but continually being gifted the privilege of truly knowing the heartfelt man behind that stereotypical facade means the world to you.
“Here.” He passes you the gift in his hands. “Open this one.”
Now that it’s in your grasp, you can easily tell by the shape and weight that it’s some sort of coffee mug. You chuckle, unable to contain your amusement, and rip the paper poorly concealing its identity. The second you free the cup from its wrapping, that chuckle turns into a roaring laugh.
“Are you fucking serious?”
You hold the mug up to face him. It’s one of those cheesy “World’s Greatest Dad” mugs you’d find at any road stop or Walmart around Father’s Day, but the “Dad” has been crossed out and the word, “writer”, is hand painted on the ceramic just underneath it.
Tyler beams. “What? You don’t like it?”
“Of course I like it,” you retort. “It’s got a certain je ne sais quoi that just screams Tyler Owens to me.”
He points at the hand painted “writer” near the bottom of the mug. “Could be the shitty paint job. That really was me, by the way. I still don’t have a lick of artistic talent in me.”
“Awww, bless your heart,” you jest while placing one hand on his chest.
It’s a harmless, mocking gesture reminiscent of an aging memaw whose grandbaby has just told her that—despite their hard work—they’re failing their history class. And really that’s all you meant by touching him. But the second you feel the heat of his body radiating against your palm and note the teensy upward tick of his eyebrow, your stomach does a giddy little flip.
Before you can jerk your hand away, Tyler grabs your wrist, fingers wrapping around your forearm to keep your palm pressed against his shirt. A loose wire somewhere in the complex system that is your consciousness snaps, causing your breath to catch. You fully intended to play the whole moment off as casually as humanly possible but this contact is certainly dismantling any hope you may have of doing so.
“You makin’ fun of me, City Boy?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, and without any sign of that signature smirk on his face, it’s hard to tell if he’s actually been ruffled by your teasing.
You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t crack or waver. Years of friendship be damned, there isn’t a singular crumb of desire within you to give him a peek behind the curtain at the very nervous boy trying to keep himself together in front of a handsome man.
“Maybe I am. You gonna do something about it, cowboy?”
“You’re lucky I like you,” he drawls in a low voice, “‘Cause my mama didn’t raise no coward.”
A crooked smile finally breaks the tension that’s been lingering between you. He adds, “Besides, you’d be kissin’ dirt long before you could even land a blow. No offense, but something tells me a certified bookworm like you doesn’t stand much of a chance against the guy who used to ride broncos for a living.”
“‘Used to’ being the operative words.”
The weight on your shoulders that had been put in place by the stifling suspense of the interaction finally dissipates when he chuckles and releases your arm. You gently shove him backward a step. His laughter fills the room like the ringing of Sunday church bells.
“Y’know, I’ve really missed this.”
Your eyebrow instinctually raises at the statement. “Missed what?”
“All of this,” he says, making a vague hand gesture between the two of you. “Fucking around with you, yappin’ about life, making you laugh.”
The look of adoration on his face as he gazes down at you does something violent to your gut. You’d throw up if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately want to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of him. That kind of doe-eyed expression on a face like his should be made illegal.
“You’d think that spending several years risking your life chasing tornadoes would make you hard, but somehow you’ve only gotten softer.” There’s no malice in your words, only admiration.
“Growing up’ll do that to ya. Plus, when your life flashes before your eyes often enough, it gets pretty easy to see the big picture.”
“Ty, you’re starting to sound like a Chicken Soup book. Is this a cry for help?”
He lets out a breathy chuckle and dips his head down a little, almost as if avoiding your gaze. His eyes linger on the mug in your hand for a moment. It feels crazy to even consider the possibility but you swear there’s a tinge of red in his cheeks.
He’s…blushing?
“Look, I’m just saying I miss seeing you all the time. Playing catch-up every couple o’ years isn’t enough,” he confesses softly. “A lot of that’s my fault, I know. Hell, these past two months alone, I’ve been hauling ass across state lines three or four times a week. But I’ll be honest, there’ve been more days than not where all I wanted was to call you and listen to you talk about your book.”
Hesitation and humility are elusive tourists in Tyler’s life. Seeing him so timorous is almost unsettling. There had been moments in college where the stress had beaten him senseless or grief had hollowed him into a shell of his usual self, so this isn’t the first time he’s divulged such raw emotions to you. But no matter how many times over the course of your connection it happens, it never ceases to stir something solicitous inside of you.
Before some anxious parasite inside your head convinces you not to do it, you ditch the mug on the dresser and snake your arms around his neck to pull him into a much-needed embrace. Judging by the way he stumbles forward a step, he hadn’t been expecting you to take him in your arms.
But the initial bewilderment doesn’t keep him from melting into you. Not even a second after he’s processed your affectionate action, his arms are wrapping tightly around you and his chin finds a soothing perch upon your shoulder.
“Call me,” you say softly. “Whenever you want. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night or you’re just bored on the road. I’m always here for you. You know that, right?”
You feel him nod in unison with a soft, “mm-hmm,” next to your ear. Such a muted response awakens your primal instinct to protect. There’s an aura of fragility surrounding him at that moment that makes you forget just how nervous you’d been in the midst of your conversation. And in each other’s arms, things just feel…right.
After a long but not at all uncomfortable silence, he whispers, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a hankering for ice cream.”
You nearly snort with laughter at the tonal shift. Reluctantly, you unravel your arms from around his neck so you can look him in the eyes again. Chances are you’ll dream of that hug tonight.
“You’ve been thinking about Braum’s ever since we parked, haven’t you?”
He grins slyly as he admits, “I have.”
“Well hop to it, cowboy,” you exclaim with a nod toward the door. “We ain’t got all night!”
“What about the rest of your presents?”
You give him a look: one brow raised while the other digs into the ridge above your nose and your mouth forms a hard, flat line. Not a word is spoken but you know he can decipher the meaning.
“Okay. Yup, you’re right. Presents can wait. We’ve got better places to be.”
***
Making the journey over to the ice cream parlor is easily the best decision either of you have made all week. With plastic spoons in hand and wide, child-like smiles plastered across your faces, you reminisce about old times.
Despite being gifted with a knack for meteorology, Tyler had struggled to actually maintain his academic prowess in college. He was a wild child through and through, opting for the adventure of an unplanned road trip or raging frat party over the assignments of his mandatory gen-eds. He fell behind hard and fast in his freshman year.
You, on the other hand, had been the golden child of academia. There wasn’t a single class that stumped you. On top of your thousands of dollars in scholarship funding, you had finished high school with a slough of college credits, which meant you could focus on your passion by taking any and all creative writing courses that UA had to offer. Screenwriting, poetry, non-fiction, journalism, just to name a few. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what form of storytelling you studied; you have plenty of stories to tell and you are going to share them with the world one way or another.
It wasn’t until sophomore year that the two of you met. Pure chance brought you together in the form of randomized dorm assignments. Your freshman year roommate had decided to rent a house with some friends which meant the school had a bed to fill. And, unfortunately for Tyler, his freshman year roommate was booted from the dorms for sneaking in buttloads of weed and an even bigger buttload of girls whenever Tyler wasn’t around.
So, be it fate or some other unknowable power of the universe, Tyler Owens was moved one floor up and two doors over to share a room with you.
“Y’know, I really do appreciate you tryin’ to keep me from flunking out,” Tyler says between massive spoonfuls of his Neapolitan sundae. “My mama’s always loved you for it. Says you’re one of God’s sweet angels sent to look after her precious little boy.”
You laugh. “She doesn’t say that.”
“Alright, those aren’t her exact words. But I’m not lying when I say she loves you. ‘Like biscuits n’ gravy,’ she says.”
“She’s only met me once!”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve told her enough stories about you. According to her, you’re part of the family.”
Something flutters spastically in your gut at that statement: part of the family. All these years, you’ve been fully aware that the two of you are close. Hell, neither of you have shied away from divulging anything that’s happened in each other’s lives, no matter how good or bad. But knowing that he’s spoken so highly of you, so often that his mother recognizes your importance in his life still comes as a surprise to you.
“Well, my mom watches you do crazy shit on Youtube so she knows better than to call you an angel,” you taunt before taking a long, slow lick from your spoon.
Tyler’s gaze falls on your tongue as you drag the plastic utensil across it. His eyes narrow slightly and his lips part as if to counter your remark. However, there is no response ready to be thrown back at you and whatever cocky smile had started to form dissolves faster than cotton candy in a rainstorm.
For the briefest moment, he just gapes at you with hooded eyes.
His Adam’s apple bobs.
Oh.
By the time your mind actually processes what’s happening, he blinks and draws his eyes back to the half-eaten bowl of ice cream in front of him. You’re glad he’s not wearing his signature white hat because he can’t hide his flushing cheeks beneath the brim.
“Remind me to send your mom a t-shirt then,” he says.
“And be stuck staring down your ugly mug every time I visit my parents? Hell no!”
The playful banter is apparently what was needed because his blinding smile is already worming its way back onto his lips. He eyes you from beneath his lashes.
“Ugly? You think a million people would still be subscribed to my channel if this was considered ugly?” He points to his face with the tip of his spoon.
You shrug, making sure to put on a show of dismally feigned innocence. “I just figured people were dying to see Lily do cool tricks with her drone. Either that or they just can’t get enough of Boone’s pyro skills and whimsical personality.”
The look on his face screams flabbergasted. Actually, he looks borderline offended. He’s silent for a moment, tongue denting the inside of his cheek.
Finally, he scoffs. “Right. Boone’s ‘whimsical personality.’ That’s gotta be it.”
“I don’t know why you’d think it’d be anything else.”
He sighs. “Listen, I hate to burst your bratty little bubble, but I can’t take a single thing you say seriously when you’ve got ice cream on your nose.”
You feel your playful demeanor plummet harder than hail. The idea of embarrassing yourself in front of him never fails to make you unbearably nervous. “Where?”
He leans forward, finger slowly getting closer to your face. “Right…there!”
Just before his finger makes contact, his other hand swipes the back of his spoon across the tip of your nose. A dollop of strawberry-flavored ice cream sits at the scene of the crime like some sad, Dollar Store attempt at clown makeup.
You blink. He laughs heartily and takes another bite, grinning to himself like some rowdy teenager who’s just pulled the best prank of his career as the neighborhood hooligan. As much as you want to be infuriated by his childish behavior, you find it particularly difficult to do when that damn smile makes him shine like the sun.
“I can’t stand you,” you mutter as you drag your napkin over your face to remove the evidence of his attack.
“Aw, come on. Have a lil’ fun, City Boy! Besides, I know that’s not true. We men may be stubborn and impulsive, but there’s no way in hell we’d drive 600 miles to visit a fella we couldn’t stand.”
“Maybe I was insanely bored.”
“Is that how you usually cure your boredom these days: drive hundreds of miles to meet handsome guys at random motels?”
As soon as the question leaves his mouth, his cocky smile is replaced by a grimace. He doesn’t even need to see the embarrassed expression plastered on your face to know that the joke he was trying to make didn’t stick the landing.
You both blush. And boy are you thankful he’d suggested the two of you sit at an outdoor table after you’d ordered your dessert.
“Sorry. That sounded a lot funnier in my head. I didn’t mean—“
You cut him off. “It’s okay. Really. I know what you meant.”
He forces a small, sympathetic smile and nods. The guilt he’s battling internally is so strong that it’s radiating from his skin. It might actually make him sick. However, the remorseful look in his eyes is just as likely to make you sick.
“Tyler, I’m begging you with every fiber of my being to stop.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Stop what?”
“That!” You point directly at his face. “The sad puppy dog pout thing you’re doing!”
“I don’t know what you’re going on about.”
Despite his eyebrows pinching even closer together in a dramatic display of penitence, you can see the corners of his mouth twitch upward. The little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing and it might actually drive you crazy. You love to hate him almost as much as you hate to love him.
“Y’know, it’s moments like this where I wish they’d never roomed us together.”
“See, now I know you don’t mean that either. That nerdy fella I met sophomore year with his fat stacks of books and never-ending journals was itching for some real-life excitement. He may not have liked me at first, but I know for a damn fact that he needed a push from someone like me to get him out of his shell. And look at ‘em now!” He gestures to you with his spoon. “A published author climbing his way up to the big leagues.”
Okay, so you love him far more than you could ever hate him.
***
The two of you return to your motel room after another hour or so of yapping on the Braum’s patio. You both sit at the edge of the confetti-covered bed as you open the remainder of his presents: a pair of candles for your desk at home, a new set of leather-bound journals, and a collection of dice that feature different prompts and writing topics to help inspire future stories.
You can’t help but grin as you analyze the box of dice. “You’ve outdone yourself, Owens.”
“I know.” He hooks one arm around your shoulders and pulls you flush against his side. “Not to brag, but I think I’m one hell of a gift giver. When I want to be, at least.”
You swallow. The way your heart spasms in your chest at the feeling of his arm wrapped around you is startling. This sideways embrace is not an inherently amatory gesture, you know that. Hell, it’s probably his way of communicating brotherly affection. Logic, however, can never quell the excitement of a lover boy’s heart.
“Thank you for all of this, Ty. It’s perfect. Well, maybe minus the whole confetti mess.”
He laughs, scoops up a clump of the rainbow-colored tissue paper with his free hand, and dumps it on the top of your head. “You see a mess, I see opportunity.”
You roll your eyes. Confetti comes tumbling into your lap as you shake your head like a dog fresh out of the bathtub.
He adds, “It was either confetti or rose petals. And something tells me you and I aren’t exactly at the rose petal stage in our relationship yet.”
Your brow instinctively raises at that. “Yet?”
It’s a miracle that your stomach doesn’t turn itself inside out.
He shrugs. “Give it time, man. Maybe one day you’ll realize I’m more than just a pretty face.”
“Well, trust me, I wouldn’t be falling for your brains. I’m actually not sure there’s anything going on in there,” you manage to tease in return. You gently knock your middle knuckle against his temple. “Jesus Christ, I think it might be hollow.”
“Ouch. Y’know words can hurt, right?”
“I might know a thing or two about words, yeah.”
“I’m quite certain you do,” he says with a crooked smile.
The way he looks at you with such audacious adoration should be criminal. It kicks up a familiar, violent storm in your gut that is only made exponentially worse by the presence of his arm draped around you.
Your cheeks have grown hot. In fact, your whole body feels like it’s been engulfed in an invisible blanket that is too heavy and wrapped too tightly around your torso and—
Oh.
Oh.
His eyes are on your lips.
Just like earlier, he’d let his gaze wander. And like earlier, his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows what you imagine is a lump in his throat. This time, however, there’s no spoon on your tongue that inadvertently drew his attention.
There’s an almighty, invisible force at work that pulls you closer to him.
Suddenly, you're leaning. You hadn’t even been conscious of the decision when it started, but you’re naturally leaning toward him and he’s pushing back.
Magnetism.
He’s so close—closer than he’s ever been in all the years you’ve known him. From here, you can clearly make out the normally imperceptible flecks of gold in his green eyes. Miners once risked their lives for gems and metals that shine the way Tyler’s eyes do. They’re beautiful.
He’s just a breath away when the magnetic pull suddenly stops. The anticipation nearly draws a pathetic whimper from some depraved animal trapped inside your ribcage. You can practically hear his teeth clack together as he clenches his jaw.
His voice is soft and uneasy when it breaks the suffocating silence that’s enveloped the room. “Please tell me I’m not about to fuck this up.”
You immediately shake your head as you whisper, “You’re not…I promise.”
Like a cowboy desperately trying to avoid spooking a jittery mustang, you slowly bring your hand up to caress his neck. The second your fingers graze his skin, he exhales. His breath is hot on your lips.
“It’s okay. I want you to kiss me.”
With your permission explicitly granted, he eliminates the gap between your mouths.
It’s such a delicate kiss; a first kiss to end all first kisses. He doesn’t push too hard or rush into anything too passionate (not that you would complain if he did), but simply lets his lips melt with yours. Even when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss just a little, there’s no indication of carnal desire. Your affection is a delicacy that he has chosen to savor.
“I’ve been thinking ‘bout this for so long, I was startin’ to worry I might actually have a screw loose,” he muses when he finally breaks the kiss.
“You actually have several screws loose, casanova, but that’s got nothing to do with wanting to kiss me.”
The chuckle that reverberates from his chest is so low that you can feel it in your bones. And—raunchy as it is to admit—bones most certainly aren’t the only part of your body stirred by the sound of that deep laugh.
“You may be right about that, City Boy. But it sure don’t help screw ‘em back in.”
Now that you know your connection runs deeper than former roommates or college buddies, you cave into the temptation to touch. The hand you’d placed on his neck starts to wander, tracing the hard line of muscle up to the back of his jaw before sliding back down to dip your fingers into the valley of his collarbone.
“How long have you been thinking about this?” You ask.
“Since the last time we met up, I think. At least that’s when I really started putting the puzzle together in my head,” he admits. “But probably longer.”
“Hey, two years is a long time.”
He nods. “Sure is. How ‘bout you, Mr. Big Time?”
“How long have I been pining for you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Your hand ceases its wandering and settles on his chest as you ponder the question. Well, as you pretend to ponder the question. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it for far too long.
“Second semester of sophomore year.”
His face falls. He looks mortified. “You’re joking.”
“Wish I was.”
He lets out a heavy breath of disbelief. “You’ve been holding this in for eight years! Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Oh, come on, Ty,” you scoff. You’re not at all angered by his questions. The answers just seem so obvious that it’s almost funny that he even has to ask. “I was the introverted, token gay roommate to a frat boy—albeit, you were a very nice frat boy. Why would I risk a confession when you never once mentioned being attracted to men? Besides, I’ve always valued our friendship way too much to try anything.”
He stares at you silently. The look on his face is an intricate mixture of guilt and adoration.
Finally, he says, “I’m sorry. I know it’s kind of a stupid thing to apologize for but I really am sorry. The fact that I couldn’t see you holding something so important back…I don’t know. In some ways, I failed as your friend for that.”
“No, Tyler, you didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of us did.”
“Well, whether I screwed the pooch or not, I’m gonna make it up to you either way,” he declares.
You laugh, fully amused by his determination. “Make it up how?”
“Food. Sex. Money. Hell, you want my truck? You can have it.”
“No, you can keep that. No offense, but your truck is filthy and beat to all hell.” You pat his chest lovingly and adjust his collar. “Besides, I like the first three options better. Especially the second one.”
The corner of his mouth curls upward into a lopsided smirk. “I’m glad you said that, ‘cause I’ve got a near-unlimited supply of that. The money, not so much.”
He tenderly grips your chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding your face to his. You eagerly follow his lead. Lips meet in a gentle kiss.
“You wanna have me start gettin’ to work on that repayment, City Boy?” He murmurs between kisses.
You pull back just as he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, opting to press your index finger to his lips. “Start by getting the confetti off my bed, then we’ll see about option two.”
Oh my gosh, I loved this! It was so sweet, and it was such a cliffhanger to end the fic right before things got steamy. I can't wait to read more! Keep up the good work!
The androids have won the war and you, along side other mechanics, were forced to stay in Detroit as their medics. The more time passed, the more they got attracted to you, until finally they took what they wanted the most.
This has multiple chapters and only the first is available on tumblr, the rest of the chapters are on ao3 and wattpad
SUMMARY — In the dangerous, chaotic world of hunting, you and Dean Winchester found solace in a friends-with-benefits arrangement—a simple, no-strings connection to escape the relentless weight of your shared lives. Dean, a man who kept his emotions locked behind walls built from years of pain and loss, treated attachments as liabilities and avoided vulnerability at all costs. Yet, you became the exception.
Your sharp wit, unwavering confidence, and ability to see through his bravado slipped past his defenses, offering him a sense of stability he didn't know he needed. While he tried to convince himself that your relationship was purely physical, the truth was far more profound. You mattered to him in ways he couldn't deny, grounding him in a life defined by chaos. Against his own rules, Dean found himself holding onto the one connection he couldn't let go.
AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, I have a confession—I have never seen Supernatural! Which is weird because I loveeee any show or movie dealing with the supernatural! However, I seen read plenty of Jensen Ackles fics, enough to fall in love with the gruff hunter, Mr Dean Winchester. Boy, oh, boy. He’s a tough, so hears something to melt your heart!😉✨
The story of how you and Dean Winchester became entwined is far from conventional—though it began in the simplest, most unremarkable way. In the unforgiving world of hunters, where every day was a gamble with life and death, and the weight of your duty pressed heavily on your shoulders, finding moments of relief wasn't just a luxury; it was survival. For you and Dean, that relief took the form of a shared understanding—an arrangement born out of mutual need: friends with benefits. No emotional messiness, no strings attached. Just two weary souls seeking solace in each other's company, finding fleeting comfort amid the chaos.
And if there was anyone who could embody that kind of arrangement, it was Dean Winchester. Ruggedly handsome in a way that seemed almost cinematic, Dean exuded a raw masculinity that was both infuriating and magnetic. His confidence was disarming, his smirk a challenge, and his green eyes held the kind of mischief that dared you to keep up. He was a man of contradictions: a relentless hunter who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but masked his pain with crude humor and unapologetic charm. He had a talent for turning even the most innocent remark into a sexual innuendo, a penchant for classic rock, and an encyclopedic knowledge of pop culture references that would have been impressive if it weren't so distracting. And, of course, there was his unashamed fondness for pornography—a fact he made no effort to hide, even when it made you roll your eyes.
Dean wasn't someone who let people get too close. He had built walls around himself, reinforced by years of trauma, heartache, and the gnawing fear that attachments only brought more pain. Women came and went from his life, their names forgotten as quickly as they were learned, serving as fleeting distractions from the shadows that seemed to follow him everywhere. He had rules—strict, self-imposed boundaries that kept him from caring too much, feeling too deeply. But then there was you. And somehow, without even trying, you became the exception to every one of those rules.
Maybe it was the way you carried yourself in the heat of battle—calm, collected, and fiercely determined. Or perhaps it was your sharp wit, the way you could meet his sarcasm with a quip of your own, effortlessly keeping him on his toes. You challenged him, called him out on his nonsense, and refused to let him get away with his usual bravado. There was a spark between you, an undeniable chemistry that ignited every time you were in the same room. It wasn't just physical, though that was certainly part of it. There was something deeper, something intangible that drew him to you like a moth to a flame.
Dean couldn't ignore the way you made him feel—how your presence seemed to ground him, even when everything else in his life was spiraling out of control. You weren't just a convenient distraction or a fleeting fling. You were a rare constant in a life defined by chaos and loss. And though he might never admit it, not even to himself, Dean found himself captivated by you. Not just your striking features or your commanding presence—though those certainly didn't hurt—but by something deeper. Something he couldn't quite name, but that made him break every rule he had so carefully built to protect himself. Something that made him keep coming back, again and again, to you.
You had an undeniable effect on Dean—an effect so consuming, so all-encompassing, that it shattered any expectations he'd ever had about what someone could mean to him. You weren't just someone he wanted, someone he found attractive or compelling. You were a craving, a fire that burned through his veins and refused to be extinguished, no matter how much he tried to rationalize it. You were in his thoughts constantly, lingering like the hum of a well-tuned engine, always there, even when he didn't want to admit it. You weren't just a desire; you were an addiction—intoxicating, irresistible, and impossible to replace. And the truth? Dean didn't want to escape it. He welcomed the way you consumed him, as terrifying as it might have been.
There was something about you that defied explanation, a magnetic pull that went beyond physical attraction or fleeting infatuation. Maybe it was the way you could match him stride for stride, meeting his sarcasm and teasing head-on with that sharp, wicked smirk that drove him insane. You weren't intimidated by his bravado, his wit, or his rough edges—instead, you seemed to thrive on the challenge of keeping up with him, throwing his words back at him with twice the fire. Dean wasn't used to that. He wasn't used to someone who didn't just tolerate his roughness but met it with their own, blending seamlessly into the rhythm of his life like you'd always been there.
But it wasn't just the banter or the chemistry that set you apart. It was the way your presence made everything feel... lighter. For a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, who lived every day knowing death was just a step behind, you were his reprieve. The chaos and noise of hunting—the relentless guilt, the endless responsibility—felt a little less suffocating when you were around. With you, the world didn't seem quite so heavy. You didn't just make life bearable; you made it worth the fight, worth the endless sacrifices and heartaches. And that was something Dean hadn't felt in longer than he cared to admit.
The thought of losing you? It was more than unbearable—it was terrifying. Dean was no stranger to loss; it was a constant, unyielding shadow in his life, stealing everything he held dear. But the idea of losing you wasn't like anything he'd faced before. It wasn't just grief or sadness he imagined—it was devastation. The thought of you walking out of his life, of your laugh, your presence, your fire disappearing, left a hollow ache in his chest that he couldn't ignore. Losing you wouldn't just hurt—it would break him in a way he wasn't sure he could come back from.
So no, you weren't going anywhere. Not if Dean had anything to say about it. He wasn't the kind of man who easily held onto people—his life was messy, dangerous, and far too uncertain. But for you, he would make an exception. He had to. Because somehow, in the chaos of his life, you had become his anchor, the one thing he could hold onto when everything else seemed to spin out of control. You were his constant, the steady presence that reminded him why he kept fighting, why he hadn't given up. And though he might not be the best at showing it, Dean Winchester would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. Because the thought of losing you? That wasn't just unbearable—it was unthinkable. You weren't just someone to him. You were everything.
When it came to you, Dean Winchester didn't just care—he claimed. His protectiveness wasn't a casual thing, nor was it something he apologized for. It was fierce, unapologetic, and at times downright terrifying. He didn't just watch over you; he guarded you with the intensity of a man who had lost too much already and refused to lose again. The idea of anyone even speaking ill of you was enough to make his jaw clench and his green eyes harden with that razor-sharp, dangerous glint that made most people back off without him having to say a word. Disrespect you? Hurt you? They'd better pray Dean didn't hear about it—because when it came to you, there was no forgiveness, only retribution.
It didn't matter that you didn't need protecting. Dean knew you were strong—hell, he'd seen it up close. You weren't just capable; you were a force of nature. He'd watched you take down monsters with a precision and ferocity that left even the most hardened hunters slack-jawed. You handled yourself with confidence and skill, and there was a fire in you that burned so brightly it was impossible to ignore. You didn't need anyone to save you—you'd made that clear from day one. But that didn't stop Dean. It wasn't about whether you needed him; it was about the fact that he needed to be there for you.
Dean had your back in every possible way. He wasn't just a partner in battle; he was an unmovable presence in your life, standing by you like an unshakable wall. He was the first to step forward when things got rough, the first to take a hit so you wouldn't have to, the first to make it clear to anyone who dared cross a line that you weren't someone to mess with. Whether it was stepping in with a cutting remark to shut someone down, fixing that steely glare on a threat, or physically putting himself between you and danger, Dean made sure the message was clear: you were untouchable. On his watch, no one—human or otherwise—would get close enough to hurt you.
But his devotion ran deeper than just physical protection. Dean wasn't just your shield in the field; he was your unwavering support in every part of your life. He stood by you in the quiet moments, too, watching your six not just on the battlefield but in every room, every situation. You'd catch him scanning a crowd, making sure no one was getting too close, too loud, too bold. He didn't need to say a word; his presence was enough. The way he hovered just a bit closer when tensions rose or the way his gaze darted to you when you entered a room spoke volumes. It wasn't just about keeping you safe—it was about making sure you knew you weren't alone. That no matter what came your way, he was right there, ten toes down, ready to stand between you and anything that threatened you.
Dean Winchester might have been a lot of things—brash, stubborn, and infuriatingly sarcastic—but when it came to you, he was steady, loyal, and relentless. His care for you wasn't loud or flashy; it was in the little things. In the way he made sure you had a hot meal after a long hunt. In the way he double-checked that the weapons you carried were in perfect condition. In the way his hand would find your arm or your shoulder when words weren't enough to say, I've got you.
Because when Dean cared, he cared with everything he had. He didn't do half-measures or halfway devotion. You were his person—his anchor, his partner, his everything—and he wasn't about to let anyone forget it. He'd fight for you, bleed for you, and, if it ever came down to it, he'd die for you without hesitation. Because you weren't just important to him—you were everything. And Dean Winchester never let go of what mattered most.
Tonight, Dean Winchester was a man on a mission. It wasn't about hunting monsters or saving the world—though those things had their place. Tonight was about you, about making sure you understood, without question, just how much you meant to him. Grand gestures and sweeping declarations weren't Dean's style. He wasn't the guy who showered someone with roses or planned elaborate candlelit dinners. No, Dean expressed himself through dry humor, protective instincts, and those rare moments when he let his guard slip, showing the vulnerability he kept locked away. But tonight was different. Tonight, he was determined to show you, in his own way, that you weren't just someone in his life—you were the someone.
Even Sam and Castiel couldn't hide their surprise at the effort Dean was putting into planning something special. Sam had raised an eyebrow when Dean muttered something about setting aside some time and needing things to go "just right." Castiel, ever the curious observer, had tilted his head, his unblinking gaze silently analyzing this rare glimpse of Dean's softer side. After all, this was the same man who thought a six-pack of beer and a slice of pie was romantic gold. Yet here he was, mapping out a plan to make sure you felt appreciated, loved, and understood.
Unfortunately, as was often the case in your world, life had other plans. Before Dean could even begin to set his night in motion, the three of you—Dean, Sam, and yourself—caught wind of a small pack of vampires preying on a nearby town. The hunt couldn't wait. Innocent lives were at stake, and in true Winchester fashion, the mission had to come first. Castiel had been ready to join you, but angelic duties had called him away, leaving the three of you to gear up and face the threat alone. The trunk of the Impala was quickly filled with machetes, bottles of dead man's blood, and the familiar weight of yet another dangerous night.
Despite the sudden change of plans, Dean wasn't about to let the hunt derail everything. Even as the three of you strategized, his attention lingered on you in ways that spoke volumes. He handed you a weapon with a brush of his fingers that lingered just a little too long to be casual. His jokes, aimed at breaking the tension, were always delivered with a glance in your direction, his eyes sparkling with something deeper than humor.
The three of you—Dean, Sam, and yourself—pushed cautiously into the abandoned mansion, the heavy wooden doors groaning under their own weight as they creaked open. The air that greeted you was suffocatingly stale, carrying the acrid stench of rot and mildew that made your stomach turn. The grandeur of the once-stately home was long gone, replaced by decay and neglect. The intricate carvings on the wooden banister were chipped and splintered, the elegant chandeliers dangled precariously, and the faded remnants of wallpaper peeled from the walls like forgotten memories.
Dean moved on your right, his machete glinting faintly in the dim shafts of moonlight filtering through shattered windows. His body was a study in controlled tension, each step deliberate, his green eyes scanning the shadowed corridors for the slightest hint of movement. To your left, Sam's towering form moved with equal precision, his flashlight sweeping over the debris-strewn floors and gaping doorways. You could feel the charged silence between the three of you, the unspoken knowledge that danger was lurking in the dark.
The herd of vampires you'd been tracking was somewhere in this sprawling labyrinth, and the unease in your gut only deepened as you ventured further inside. Years of hunting had sharpened your instincts, and right now, every nerve in your body screamed that you were being watched. The oppressive quiet pressed in on you, broken only by the creak of the warped floorboards beneath your boots and the distant drip of water echoing through the cavernous space.
"We should split up," you suggested in a low voice, your words cutting through the heavy silence.
Dean stopped dead in his tracks, turning to you with an incredulous glare. His jaw tightened, and his voice was a low growl as he snapped, "That's the dumbest idea I've heard all week. And that's saying something."
You met his sharp gaze with calm defiance. "The house is too big, Dean. If we stick together, we'll be here all night, and they'll have time to scatter. Splitting up means we cover more ground faster."
Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he considered your point. "He's not wrong," he offered cautiously. "If we stick to a plan—stay in contact and regroup at the first sign of trouble—we might have a better chance of catching them off guard."
Dean let out a heavy sigh, gripping his machete like he wanted to argue but couldn't find the words to refute you both. "Fine," he muttered, though his expression left no doubt he hated the idea. "But if either of you gets in over your head, you call. I mean it. No hero crap."
With a reluctant nod from Dean, the three of you split up. Sam headed toward the grand staircase, his flashlight sweeping over the crumbling steps as he ascended to the second floor. Dean veered off toward the eastern wing, muttering something under his breath about bad ideas. That left you with the western halls—a maze of decaying doorways and shadowy passageways that seemed to stretch endlessly into the dark.
The deeper you ventured, the heavier the atmosphere became. The walls seemed to close in, the corridors twisting and intersecting in a way that made you question whether the mansion's design had been intentional or the result of time warping its structure. Your machete felt solid in your grip, a reassuring weight against the growing tension.
When you stepped into a large library, the air felt different—heavier, charged with a faint energy that raised the hairs on the back of your neck. Rows of dusty shelves loomed around you, their contents long forgotten and crumbling. A massive window at the far end of the room was cracked and fogged with grime, letting in just enough light to cast eerie shadows.
Then you saw it—a flicker of movement in the corner of your eye. You froze, your heart hammering as you tightened your grip on your weapon. Slowly, you turned, scanning the room with practiced precision. That's when you spotted him.
A figure emerged from the shadows, leaning casually against one of the bookshelves as if he had all the time in the world. He was tall and lean, his pale skin giving him an almost ghostly appearance in the dim light. His dark hair was slicked back, framing sharp, angular features that were only accentuated by the smirk curling at the corner of his lips. But it was his eyes that held your attention—cold, calculating, and predatory, glinting with an unsettling mix of amusement and hunger.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with mockery. "A hunter, all alone. What a delightful surprise."
The vampire prowled around you, his movements unnervingly fluid and calculated, each step deliberate as though he were savoring the moment. His sharp, piercing gaze raked over you, studying you with an intensity that felt invasive, as if he could see right through you. The smirk tugging at the corner of his lips hinted at amusement—or perhaps satisfaction—but there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in his eyes.
Your grip on the machete tightened, its weight steady in your hand, a much-needed anchor in this tense standoff. You held your stance firm, but your mind was a whirlwind of calculations. He wasn't lunging, wasn't snarling, and yet his every movement radiated menace. He was toying with you, a predator testing its prey. But why? That lingering question gnawed at the edges of your mind.
"Tell me," he drawled, his voice like velvet, smooth and disarmingly calm. "What brings you here, hunter? Were you foolish enough to wander in alone? Or are you just that brave?" His tone was mocking, but there was something underneath—curiosity, perhaps? Intrigue?
You didn't answer, your eyes tracking him as he circled. Silence was your shield; words could give too much away. He noticed your refusal to speak and chuckled, a low, rich sound that made your skin crawl.
"Ah, the silent treatment," he said, feigning disappointment. "That's fine. Silence can be... telling." He stopped briefly, tilting his head as though examining a puzzle piece he couldn't quite figure out. "But you're different, aren't you? Not like the others. There's something... unique about you."
His eyes gleamed with a strange intensity as he resumed his slow circling. You could feel the air shift around him, heavy and charged, as though the room itself was reacting to his presence. Most vampires you'd encountered had been feral, desperate creatures, attacking with reckless abandon or fleeing when cornered. But this one? This one was composed, confident—dangerously so.
You couldn't ignore the questions clawing at the edges of your mind. If he was here alone, where was the rest of his nest? Vampires didn't operate solo, especially not leaders. And you were certain this one was the leader. His calm, his control, the way he carried himself—it all screamed authority. But if that was the case, why wasn't he surrounded by his kin? And more importantly, where was his mate? Vampires who lived long enough to lead a nest often had a mate—a partner as strong and cunning as themselves. The absence of one was glaring.
Your eyes darted subtly around the room, searching for any sign of movement in the dense shadows. The room was vast, its corners dark and endless, offering countless places for another vampire to hide. If his mate was here, they could strike at any moment. Or was he truly alone? The possibilities buzzed in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.
"Looking for something?" he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. He had caught the flicker of your gaze, and his smirk deepened. "Or someone, perhaps?" He leaned in slightly, his movements so smooth they were almost imperceptible. "If they're here, you'll meet them soon enough."
You refused to flinch under his scrutiny, your resolve unwavering as you met his gaze. But there was something disarming about the way he looked at you, as if he were searching for something deeper, peeling back layers you weren't even aware of. And then there was that other look—the faintest flicker of admiration, or something more unsettling. Attraction, perhaps? Whatever it was, it left you uneasy.
"What do you want?" you asked finally, your voice sharp and steady, cutting through the thick tension like a blade.
He stopped circling, standing just a few feet away now, his smirk softening into something more calculating. "What do I want?" he echoed, his tone almost playful. "For now? I want to know more about you. You've intrigued me, hunter. There's a strength in you, something I haven't seen in a very long time. Something rare."
His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You didn't rise to the bait, keeping your expression neutral, your weapon steady. He was trying to disarm you, to draw you into a game you didn't intend to play. But his calm demeanor only made him more dangerous. He wasn't like the others you'd hunted—this one was intelligent, deliberate, and playing a game with stakes you couldn't yet see.
"You're stalling," you said, narrowing your eyes. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now."
His chuckle was soft, but it carried a dark edge. "Kill you? Oh no, hunter. You're far too interesting for that. Besides," he added, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint, "I have a feeling this is just the beginning. I'd hate to waste such... potential."
The male vampire took a deliberate step closer, his smirk curling into something darker, more predatory. His eyes gleamed with an intensity that felt almost magnetic, holding your gaze as though he could bend your will with a look alone. Yet, there was an undeniable allure beneath the menace, a strange charisma that made your skin crawl even as it piqued your unease.
"You know," he began, his voice low and smooth, laced with a chilling kind of seduction, "you would make a magnificent vampire. Strong. Clever. Fearless. Qualities like yours don't come along every day." His pale fingers hovered near yours, not quite touching but close enough to make you hyperaware of his presence. "Imagine it. No more running, no more mortal limitations. You and I—forever. Doesn't that sound... enticing?"
The words sank like ice into your mind, freezing your blood as you processed his absurd proposition. Your grip on your machete tightened, the familiar weight anchoring you against the storm of implications behind his offer. Yet before you could summon a response—sarcastic, angry, or otherwise—the tension in the room shattered with a thunderous crash.
The door behind the vampire burst open, slamming into the wall with a crack that echoed through the decaying mansion. A blonde woman stormed in, her every movement radiating fury and disbelief. Her striking features were sharp as a blade, her golden eyes glowing with a mix of rage and disdain. She carried herself with the authority of someone who was used to being obeyed—or feared.
"Elliot," she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip, "what the hell are you doing?"
The male vampire—Elliot, apparently—stiffened briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in irritation before he turned to her with a calmness that only deepened the tension. "Ah, Celeste," he said smoothly, his tone laced with mock surprise. "You're earlier than expected."
"Clearly," she shot back, her voice dripping with venom. Her fiery gaze darted between you and Elliot, her scowl deepening. "What is this?" She gestured at you, her tone sharp enough to flay skin. "Are you seriously flirting with a hunter? Have you lost your damn mind?"
Elliot exhaled a long-suffering sigh, running a hand through his dark hair as though Celeste's arrival was the greatest inconvenience of his night. "Flirting?" he repeated, his voice tinged with exasperation. "You misread the situation. I'm making an offer."
Her laugh was sharp and bitter, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "An offer? You're trying to turn him, aren't you? Don't even try to deny it."
Elliot's smirk returned, this time more amused than predatory. "And what if I am?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk. "He's exceptional, Celeste. Even you can see that."
The color drained from her face, her fury briefly giving way to stunned disbelief. "You're insane," she hissed. "We've been together for decades, and now you're ready to toss me aside for some random hunter? Is that it?"
Elliot turned to her fully, his expression hardening, the amusement fading into something colder. "Decades of convenience, Celeste," he said bluntly, his tone like a blade cutting through the air. "Don't mistake what we've had for something it's not."
Her face twisted in a mixture of pain and fury, her fangs flashing as she stepped closer to him. "You bastard," she spat, her voice trembling with emotion. "You used me. All this time, you used me."
"You were useful," Elliot said flatly, his voice devoid of sympathy. "But don't delude yourself into thinking you were anything more."
Celeste's golden eyes burned with rage as she turned her attention to you, her expression venomous. "This is your fault," she snarled, pointing a finger at you. "You've bewitched him somehow, haven't you? But it doesn't matter—you're dead. Tonight."
She took a step forward, her fury boiling over, but Elliot moved faster. He stepped between you and Celeste with a speed that made your heart skip, his posture rigid and his voice low and dangerous. "Enough," he said, the word cutting through her rage like a command. "You will not touch him."
Her laugh was a harsh bark of disbelief. "You're protecting him? A hunter? Against me?"
Elliot's gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "He's not just any hunter. He's mine."
The possessiveness in his words made your stomach churn, your unease mounting as the energy in the room shifted. It was colder now, heavier, as though his claim had weight beyond the spoken word. You could feel the power in him, raw and oppressive, pressing against you like an unseen force.
Celeste stared at him, her chest heaving with suppressed fury. "You've lost your mind," she whispered, her voice trembling with rage and disbelief. "You'll regret this. Both of you."
Suddenly, the room exploded in a flash of violence as Celeste's head was severed cleanly from her shoulders. There was no warning—just a swift blur of silver and the sickening sound of blade slicing through flesh and bone. Her head hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling to a stop, while her body crumpled in a lifeless heap. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood as the shock of what had just happened settled in.
You barely had time to process the scene before your gaze locked on the source of the attack: Dean Winchester, standing tall and unapologetic, his machete glistening with blood. His green eyes burned with a sharp, unyielding intensity, his smirk laced with the kind of swagger that only Dean could pull off.
"Yeah, sorry to interrupt your little soap opera," Dean said, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he stepped forward. He gestured casually with his bloodied weapon, as if he hadn't just executed a vampire mid-argument. "But let's make one thing clear: he's spoken for."
Elliot's body stiffened, his expression shifting from shock to pure, unbridled fury. He snapped his head toward Dean, the calm facade he'd worn earlier disintegrating in an instant. His dark eyes burned with hatred, and his lips peeled back to reveal his fangs, sharp and glistening. "You dare interfere?" he snarled, his voice low and menacing, practically vibrating with rage. "You'll regret that."
Dean, utterly unfazed, rolled his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the machete. His smirk widened, his voice dripping with cocky defiance. "Big talk for a guy who just lost his girlfriend," he quipped. "What's wrong? Did I ruin your plan to turn him into your eternal cuddle buddy?"
Elliot's face twisted in rage, his entire frame vibrating with barely contained energy. His movements were sharp and predatory as he took a menacing step toward Dean. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the air around him growing heavier as he prepared to strike. He wasn't just angry—he was an apex predator on the verge of attack, his supernatural strength and speed radiating off him in waves.
Dean didn't flinch. He stood his ground, his machete gleaming in the dim light as he squared his shoulders. "Bring it on, Dracula," he growled, his tone daring.
That was all the invitation Elliot needed. He lunged, moving so quickly he was almost a blur. His hand shot out to strike, claws extended, but Dean sidestepped at the last second, swinging his machete in a wide arc. The blade connected with a shallow slice across Elliot's arm, drawing blood. Elliot hissed, barely fazed, and spun back around with terrifying speed, his claws slashing through the air where Dean's throat had been just moments earlier.
The fight was brutal and relentless, their movements a chaotic dance of strength and strategy. Elliot's supernatural speed and power were staggering; he moved with inhuman precision, every strike aimed to kill. Dean, however, was no stranger to impossible odds. He moved with the practiced skill of a man who had faced death more times than he could count. His blows were calculated, his every movement a mix of grit and raw determination.
The sound of their battle filled the room—the clash of steel, heavy footfalls, the occasional grunt of pain. Elliot's strength was overwhelming, and at one point, he caught Dean by the arm and threw him across the room like he weighed nothing. Dean crashed into a bookshelf, the wood shattering under the impact, but he was on his feet again in seconds. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning through the pain. "That all you got?" he taunted, his voice low and daring.
Elliot snarled, his eyes glowing faintly as he lunged again, this time aiming for Dean's chest. Dean ducked just in time, bringing his machete up in a swift upward strike. The blade bit into Elliot's chest, leaving a deep, searing wound. The vampire howled in pain, staggering back, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He retaliated with a backhanded strike, his claws catching Dean across the shoulder and sending him stumbling.
You stood frozen, your heart pounding as the fight raged on. Dean was holding his own, but barely. Elliot's supernatural strength was wearing him down, each counterattack forcing Dean closer to the edge. You wanted to jump in, to even the odds, but before you could move, Dean's sharp gaze found yours.
"Stay back," he barked, his voice firm and unyielding, despite the strain in his expression. Blood trickled down his arm, staining his shirt, but his resolve was unshaken. "I've got this."
Elliot's head snapped toward you, his cruel smirk returning. "How noble," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Trying to protect him? You can't even protect yourself."
Dean's jaw tightened, and without hesitation, he lunged forward with a roar, swinging his machete with every ounce of strength he had left. The fight wasn't over—not yet. And if you knew anything about Dean Winchester, it was that he wouldn't stop until the vampire was dead, even if it killed him in the process.
Dean was struggling, his movements growing slower, more desperate with every swing of his machete. Elliot was relentless, dodging each strike with inhuman speed, his attacks growing bolder and more calculated. The vampire wasn't just fighting—he was toying with Dean, circling him like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. Blood trickled down Dean's forehead from a cut just above his brow, the crimson streak stark against his pale skin. His chest heaved with labored breaths, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion, but he refused to stop. Refused to give up.
Elliot's smirk deepened, his predatory eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "You've got grit, I'll give you that," he drawled, his voice laced with mockery as he stepped closer. "But let's be honest—you're out of your league, hunter. Look at you. You're barely standing."
Dean's lips curled into a snarl, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his machete tighter. "Yeah? Well, I've taken down worse than you," he shot back, though the quaver in his voice betrayed just how close he was to his limit.
Elliot chuckled darkly, his fangs catching the dim light as he leaned in, closing the distance between them. "Oh, I doubt that," he sneered. "But don't worry. I'll make this quick." He paused, his smirk turning even crueler. "Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll let you watch while I turn your little friend. Make you see what he becomes."
Those words lit a fire in Dean's eyes, his rage momentarily overriding his exhaustion. With a roar, he lunged forward, swinging his machete in a wide, desperate arc. But Elliot was faster. He caught Dean's wrist mid-swing, twisting it sharply until the blade clattered to the ground. Dean barely had a chance to react before Elliot's other hand shot out, slamming him against the wall with bone-crushing force.
Dean's head snapped back against the crumbling plaster, his breath knocked from his lungs as Elliot pinned him in place with one hand around his throat. The vampire leaned in closer, his smirk widening as he bared his fangs. Dean thrashed against the grip, but it was like struggling against iron chains—Elliot was too strong, and he was enjoying every second of it.
From your position, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the scene playing out in agonizing slow motion. Dean's struggles were growing weaker, his face reddening as Elliot's grip tightened. The vampire was speaking, taunting him, but the words barely registered. All you knew was that if you didn't act now, you'd lose him.
Adrenaline surged through you, and you moved without hesitation. Dean's earlier order to stay back echoed faintly in your mind, but you pushed it aside. There was no way you were letting him die—not now, not ever. With your machete in hand, you crept forward, your steps quick but silent, your grip tightening around the hilt until your knuckles ached.
Elliot was so focused on his prey that he didn't notice you until it was too late. Just as he leaned in, his fangs poised to strike, you swung your machete with every ounce of strength you could summon. The silver blade whistled through the air, a deadly arc that struck true.
The cut was clean, precise. Elliot's head severed from his shoulders in an instant, his expression frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief. His body crumpled to the ground in a heap, lifeless, as his head rolled a few feet away before coming to a stop. The room fell silent, save for the sound of your own ragged breathing.
Dean stumbled forward as the vampire's grip released, coughing and clutching at his throat. He leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Slowly, he looked up at you, his face a mix of relief and frustration. "You really don't take orders well, do you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse.
"You're welcome," you replied, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you tried to steady your breathing. Your grip on the machete remained firm, your pulse thundering in your ears.
Dean straightened, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His gaze dropped to Elliot's lifeless body, then back to you. A faint, crooked grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Hell of a swing," he muttered, nodding toward your machete. "Remind me not to piss you off."
You managed a small grin in return, though the weight of what had just happened hadn't fully lifted. "You looked like you needed a hand," you said simply, your voice steadier than you felt.
Dean's grin softened, and he reached out to clap a hand on your shoulder. The gesture was brief but heavy with meaning. "Thanks," he said, his voice quieter now. "Seriously. I owe you one."
Before either of you could say more, the silence of the room was broken by a faint noise—a distant creak of footsteps echoing through the mansion. The two of you exchanged a glance, the momentary reprieve evaporating as the reality of the situation returned. The fight wasn't over. There were still more vampires lurking in the shadows, and you both knew it.
Dean bent to retrieve his machete, his movements steady despite the fatigue etched into his frame. "Let's finish this," he said, his voice firm, his green eyes sharp once more.
You nodded, your machete still at the ready.
The heavy iron doors of the Men of Letters bunker creaked and groaned as you, Sam, and Dean pushed them open, stepping into the dimly lit warmth of your sanctuary. The hunt was finally over. Days of tracking the vampire herd, endless skirmishes, and close calls had culminated in one brutal showdown, leaving the herd annihilated—and all of you battered and exhausted. The adrenaline that had kept you on your feet had long since burned out, leaving only the ache of bruises and the bone-deep fatigue that followed every hunt.
Dean was the last to step inside, his machete hanging loosely at his side, the blade streaked with dried blood. His shirt was torn in several places, revealing fresh cuts and purple bruises across his arms, chest, and shoulders. He moved with a slight limp, favoring his left leg, and his face was streaked with grime and blood—some his, some not. Yet despite his disheveled state, he still managed to mutter, "Those damn bloodsuckers were on steroids or something," his tone laced with sarcasm as usual.
Sam, equally worse for wear with a gash above his eyebrow and dirt smudged across his face, clapped Dean on the back. "You're lucky they didn't do worse," he quipped, his voice heavy with exhaustion. Without waiting for a response, Sam trudged off toward his room, the promise of a shower and sleep clearly his priority. "I'll patch this up later," he added, gesturing vaguely to his injuries before disappearing down the hall.
Dean made to follow, his steps slow and uneven, but you stepped in front of him, crossing your arms and blocking his path. "Hold it right there," you said, your tone firm yet gentle. "You're the one who looks like you just went twelve rounds with a grizzly bear. Sit down."
Dean rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of annoyance. "I'm fine," he muttered, though the stiffness in his posture and the wince that flickered across his face told a different story. "It's just a couple scratches."
You raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his bravado. "Uh-huh. And I'm the queen of England. Sit. Down."
He sighed dramatically, but the fight was already gone from him. Dropping into one of the war room chairs with a heavy thud, he leaned back, letting his machete clatter onto the table. "Fine, Nurse Ratched," he grumbled, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
Without another word, you grabbed the first-aid kit from its usual spot on the shelf and pulled up a chair beside him. Dean watched as you opened the kit and laid out what you needed, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. "You're really getting a kick out of this, aren't you?"
"Not even a little," you shot back, already dampening a cloth with antiseptic. "Now sit still and shut up."
Dean complied, though not without muttering something about you being bossier than Sam. You ignored him, focusing on cleaning the blood and grime from his face and arms. The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the occasional hiss or wince from Dean when you pressed too hard on a particularly nasty gash. Your hands moved methodically, and despite his usual resistance to being fussed over, Dean stayed still, letting you work.
As you carefully wrapped a bandage around a deep cut on his arm, you caught him watching you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that his usual smirk was gone, replaced by something softer, almost contemplative. His green eyes lingered on your face, the intensity of his gaze making you pause.
"What?" you asked, glancing up at him.
Dean shook his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Just... you're good at this."
You raised an eyebrow, your tone playful but pointed. "I've had a lot of practice patching you up, Winchester."
He chuckled, but it was a quiet, almost bittersweet sound. "Yeah, I guess you have." His gaze dropped briefly, as if searching for the right words, before he looked back up at you. "You don't have to, you know. Take care of me like this. I'm supposed to be the one looking out for you."
You frowned, tightening the bandage with a little more force than necessary. "You don't get to decide that," you said firmly. "You're not just some guy I hunt with, Dean. You matter to me, okay? So stop being stubborn and let me take care of you."
Dean's breath hitched slightly at your words, his expression shifting. For a moment, he just looked at you, his usual walls nowhere to be found. His green eyes softened, and the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I think I'm in love with you."
The confession hung in the air like a thunderclap, the weight of it sinking into the quiet space between you. You froze, staring at him, your heart racing as you processed his words. Dean Winchester, a man who guarded his emotions with ironclad defenses, had just let them spill out in the most unexpected way.
"Dean..." you started, but he cut you off with a small, self-deprecating laugh.
"Don't worry," he said quickly, his voice rough. "You don't have to say anything. I just... I needed to get it out there. You deserve to know."
You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before placing a hand on his uninjured arm. "Dean," you said softly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. "You're an idiot if you think I don't feel the same way."
His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. "You do?"
You smiled, squeezing his arm gently. "Of course I do, you stubborn ass. But we'll talk about it later—after you let me finish patching you up."
Dean let out a breathy laugh, his smile genuine this time. "Fair enough," he said, leaning back in the chair. "But you're still bossy."
"And you're still reckless," you shot back, shaking your head with a grin. "Take your shirt off."
Dean's eyebrows shot up, and despite the fatigue lining his face, a slow, cocky grin spread across his lips. "Well, if you wanted me naked, you could've just said so," he teased, his voice carrying that familiar drawl of Winchester charm. "Didn't peg you as the 'wounded soldier' type, but hey, I'm not complaining."
You rolled your eyes, doing your best to ignore the way his grin tugged at something in your chest. "I'm serious. I need to clean that cut on your chest, and I can't do that with your shirt in the way."
"Mm, bossy. I like it," he quipped, but as he reached for the hem of his shirt, his smirk faltered for a moment when the movement made him wince. He pulled the fabric over his head, tossing it to the floor with a groan.
You tried not to stare, but the sight of his battered torso was hard to ignore. Bruises in various stages of discoloration painted his skin, and dried blood streaked across the angry red gash that ran diagonally across his chest. Even beaten and bruised, Dean Winchester was... well, he was still Dean Winchester.
Focus. You grabbed a cloth, soaked it in antiseptic, and stepped closer, crouching slightly to better reach his chest. "This might sting," you warned, pressing the cloth gently against the wound.
Dean hissed, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. "No kidding," he muttered through gritted teeth. "You're lucky you're cute; otherwise, I'd be kicking you out of my personal space right now."
You raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a smirk of your own. "Pretty sure I've earned my place in your personal space, Winchester."
He chuckled, though it was rough and breathy. "Fair point." His green eyes lingered on you as you worked, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Y'know, you're pretty good at this."
"I've had a lot of practice," you replied, dabbing carefully around the edges of the gash. "Mostly because you keep getting yourself into situations like this."
Dean leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze never leaving your face. "Well, if this is how you're gonna take care of me, maybe I'll get banged up more often. Free TLC from my favorite person? Could be worse."
You let out a small huff of exasperation, but his words still sent a flicker of warmth through you. "You're impossible," you muttered, shaking your head.
As you continued to clean his wounds, the air between you shifted. The banter quieted, replaced by something heavier, more intimate. The room seemed to shrink, the space between you and Dean charged with an unspoken tension. You could feel his gaze on you, more intent now, as if he were memorizing every detail of your face. Your hand brushed against his side as you worked, and his breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
When you finally stood to discard the bloodied cloth, Dean's hands suddenly found your waist. His grip was firm but careful, his calloused fingers pressing gently into your sides. The unexpected touch made you freeze for a moment, your heartbeat stuttering as his thumbs brushed lightly against your hips. You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, you felt the warmth of his lips against your neck.
The kiss was soft, almost tentative, as if he were testing the waters. His breath was warm against your skin, and the way his lips lingered sent a shiver down your spine. You stood still, your hands hovering uncertainly near his shoulders, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.
Then he tilted his head up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was slow and deliberate, carrying a weight that left you breathless. This wasn't the impulsive kind of kiss born from adrenaline or heat of the moment. This was something else entirely—something deliberate, something meaningful.
Your mind raced, trying to piece together what this meant. Dean Winchester wasn't exactly known for vulnerability, and this was different. There was no bravado, no smirk. Just him, raw and unguarded.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his hands still on your waist as if he couldn't bring himself to let go. His green eyes searched yours, his expression uncharacteristically open. It was as though he was trying to say something but didn't know how.
"Dean," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. "Don't," he murmured, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Don't say anything. Just... let me have this."
You swallowed hard, your emotions warring in your chest as you placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Okay," you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "But, Dean... I'm not going anywhere."
He closed his eyes for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at your words. When he opened them again, the vulnerability in his gaze was still there, but so was something else—something warmer. His hands loosened slightly on your waist, though he didn't let go.
"Good," he said quietly, his voice carrying a faint trace of that signature Winchester charm. "Because I'm not ready to let you go."
Dean's hands, so steady and certain in battle, now moved with a different kind of confidence. They trailed downward from your waist, his touch warm even through the fabric of your shirt. The shift in his grip sent a shiver through you, anticipation crackling in the air like static.
When his hands settled firmly on your ass, his hold was unapologetically possessive. He gave it a squeeze, a low hum of satisfaction rumbling from his throat, the sound reverberating through your chest. Against your lips, you felt the telltale curve of his smirk, laced with mischief and hunger. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes alight with that dangerous combination of charm and heat that was uniquely Dean Winchester.
"Didn't think I'd get you in my lap tonight," he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that sent warmth pooling low in your stomach. "But I'm not complaining."
Before you could form a coherent response—whether to quip back, scold him for his timing, or give in entirely—Dean shifted. His grip tightened, firm and insistent, and with one smooth, fluid motion, he pulled you forward. Your knees slid onto the chair on either side of his hips, your body straddling his thighs as he drew you into his lap. The sudden movement left you breathless, your chest brushing against his as you steadied yourself.
His hands returned to your hips, anchoring you firmly in place as if daring you to move. His gaze roamed over your face, taking in every detail with a mix of amusement and barely concealed desire. "That's better," he murmured, his lips twitching into a self-satisfied grin. "Now I've got you right where I want you."
Your breath hitched, and before you could retort, he surged forward, claiming your lips once more. This kiss was nothing like the first—it was hungry, demanding, a raw intensity that made your pulse race. His lips moved against yours with fervor, his hands pressing against your hips to pull you even closer, until there wasn't a sliver of space left between your bodies.
As the kiss deepened, his tongue teased yours, every movement deliberate, sending heat coursing through you. His fingers curled against your sides, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the power he held. Beneath you, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled strength barely restrained as you balanced precariously on his lap.
When his lips finally broke away from yours, it was only to trail down your jaw, leaving a hot, tingling path in their wake. He pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck, each one deliberate, calculated. His breath was warm against your pulse, and when his teeth grazed the tender spot just below your ear, your body reacted instinctively—a soft, involuntary sound escaping your lips.
Dean chuckled, the sound low and rich, vibrating against your skin. "Careful," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and a darker, more primal edge. "Make noises like that, and I might not let you off this lap for a while."
There was teasing in his tone, but beneath it, there was something deeper—something raw and unspoken. You could feel it in the way his hands moved over your body, exploring with a mix of reverence and desire. He wasn't just touching you; he was committing every curve, every line, to memory, as though this moment mattered more than either of you had expected.
When his lips returned to yours, the kiss was just as searing, just as consuming, but now it carried a weight that left you breathless. There was no rush, no urgency to move beyond this—just Dean, claiming every inch of you with his touch, his kiss, his presence. His hands remained steady on your hips, keeping you tethered to him, as though letting go wasn't an option.
And you realized you didn't want him to let go. Dean Winchester had a way of commanding a room, of making you feel like nothing else existed but the two of you. In this moment, you were more than willing to let him consume you completely.
Your fingers tangled in Dean's hair, the strands soft and warm against your touch as he kissed you with an intensity that made your world narrow down to just him. His hands gripped your ass firmly, his hold unapologetic and possessive, grounding you in a way that made your pulse race. The heat of his palms burned through your clothes, a stark contrast to the cool air of the bunker. Every touch carried a deliberate weight—hunger, yes, but also something deeper, something unspoken that lingered in the space between you.
Dean finally broke the kiss, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak. His voice was low and gravelly, tinged with a vulnerability you didn't often hear from him. "You know," he began, his green eyes meeting yours with an almost shy flicker, "I had this whole damn night planned for you."
The unexpected confession caught you off guard, and you blinked at him, your hands still resting in his hair. "What?" you whispered, your voice soft, barely audible over the thundering of your heartbeat.
Dean let out a quiet chuckle, equal parts humor and self-deprecation, as his hands slid from your ass to rest gently on your hips. He tilted his head back slightly, his gaze searching yours, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction. "Yeah," he said, his tone quieter now, a rare tenderness weaving through his words. "Candles, music, real food—not diner junk. I even picked out a bottle of whiskey that didn't taste like it came out of an engine block."
Your lips parted in surprise, the image of Dean Winchester—gruff, no-nonsense, and allergic to emotional displays—meticulously planning a romantic evening stirring something deep in your chest. "You?" you managed, a note of disbelief creeping into your voice.
His smirk returned, but it was softer now, lacking his usual cocky edge. "Yeah, me. Don't look so shocked." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to speak again. "I don't do that kind of thing for just anyone. But for you... I wanted to."
Your hands slid from his hair to cup his face, your thumbs brushing gently over the stubble on his jaw. "Dean..." you began, your voice soft, but the weight of your emotions made it impossible to finish the sentence.
Dean cut you off, his smirk fading into a rueful grin. "Of course, the universe had other plans," he muttered, his tone turning wry. "Because why the hell not throw a pack of vampires into the mix, right? Nothing says romance like dead man's blood and machetes."
A soft laugh escaped you, the sound breaking through the heavy tension that had settled between you. "So, what? You're telling me I missed out on some grand romantic gesture?"
Dean's lips twitched into a quiet laugh of his own as his thumbs traced slow circles on your hips. "Not just some grand gesture," he corrected, his voice growing serious again. His green eyes locked onto yours, the sincerity in them hitting you harder than you expected. "I wanted you to know... how much you matter to me. How much this—" he gestured faintly between the two of you with a slight shrug "—means."
His words hit you like a freight train, the raw honesty in them leaving you momentarily speechless. Dean Winchester didn't do vulnerability—not often, and not easily. But here he was, baring himself to you in a way that was rare, even for him.
After a beat, you found your voice. "You didn't need candles or whiskey to show me that," you said, your voice soft but steady. "Just you, Dean... that's more than enough."
He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Yeah, well," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead that was so tender it made your chest ache, "I'm still gonna make it up to you. Just wait."
His hands slid back to your ass, his grip firm and familiar, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together again. His lips found yours once more, and this kiss was just as consuming as the first—but now it was softer, filled with something more profound than just hunger. It was a promise, a reassurance that this—whatever it was—wasn't just a fleeting moment.
As the kiss deepened, his touch moved with the same deliberate care, his hands anchoring you to him as though he wanted to keep you there forever. You couldn't help but smile against his lips, your heart full as the weight of his words lingered.
Maybe the night hadn't gone as planned. Maybe there were no candles, no music, no expensive whiskey. But none of that mattered. Because Dean was here, raw and unguarded, and in this messy, unplanned moment, he had given you something far more valuable than any grand gesture.
He had given you him. And that was more than enough.
SUMMARY — Derek's love for you is fierce, unrelenting, and deeply passionate, even when his heat takes control. While his primal instincts may amplify his need for you, his love and care remain constant. In these moments, you see every side of him—the lover, the protector, the alpha, and the vulnerable man who trusts you completely. His passion burns with intensity, but it's rooted in tenderness and trust, making you his anchor and the one he loves unconditionally. Despite his raw, wild instincts, Derek's love always shines through, grounding both of you in an unbreakable bond.
WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.
WORDS! 11.6k
AUTHOR'S NOTE! Hi! Just wanted to say the lack of Derek Hale fics is criminal, the man is so goddamn fineeee and such an fucking alpha…ughhhh. Anywho —happy reading😉✨
Being the boyfriend of Derek Hale is anything but simple—it's a challenge, a test of patience, loyalty, and resilience. Derek isn't just your average guy; he's a brooding, fiercely protective werewolf with a past heavy enough to weigh down even the strongest of hearts. Being with him means you've faced your fair share of danger, heartbreak, and intense moments that have pushed you to your limits, both emotionally and physically. It's not just about enduring the supernatural chaos that seems to follow him like a shadow; it's also about navigating his deeply rooted possessive instincts—a part of him that can be as intimidating as it is endearing.
Derek's possessiveness isn't something to be taken lightly. It's a primal, instinctive part of him, born from years of loss and betrayal, making him hyperaware of anything that threatens his loved ones. You've seen that fiery gleam in his eyes when someone so much as looks at you the wrong way or steps too close for his comfort. His protectiveness borders on territorial at times, as though his wolf senses are constantly on high alert, ensuring you're safe, no matter the cost. He's not afraid to stake his claim—not in a controlling way, but in a way that lets the world know that you are his, and no one else's.
Being with Derek means navigating these intense emotions. You've had to learn how to reassure him, to remind him that you're not going anywhere, even when his insecurities surface. It means being patient when his past haunts him, and understanding when his walls go up, knowing that beneath that tough exterior lies a heart that loves fiercely, but has been hurt too many times to count. His loyalty to you is unwavering, but it's a loyalty that demands the same in return.
And yet, despite the challenges, being Derek Hale's partner comes with its own kind of magic. His love may be intense, but it's also genuine, powerful, and raw. He loves with his entire being, protecting you as if you're the most precious thing in his world. You've endured the trials that come with loving a man like him, but you've also been rewarded with moments of vulnerability and tenderness that only you get to see—the way he softens when he looks at you, or the rare, small smile that lights up his face when he feels at peace.
Yes, being Derek Hale's boyfriend is no easy task, but it's a journey you've embraced wholeheartedly, knowing that the love he offers is as wild, untamed, and enduring as the wolf inside him.
Though there are two distinct sides to Derek's possessiveness, this moment reveals the softer, sweeter version of it—the one that makes your heart flutter and reminds you how deeply he cherishes you. It happens during a pack meeting at the newly restored Hale House, a gathering that feels more like a family dinner than a formal strategy session. The house, once a ruin, now stands tall again, filled with laughter, chatter, and the comforting scent of home. You've taken it upon yourself to help serve food to the pack members, moving gracefully around the room, offering plates and making sure everyone is settled.
Derek is at the head of the long dining table, his usual brooding demeanor softened just slightly by the warmth of the atmosphere. He watches you like a hawk as you move from one person to the next, his gaze unwavering. You can feel the weight of his attention, a mix of pride and something undeniably territorial. No one says a word about it, but the rest of the pack knows better than to comment—this is just Derek being Derek.
Finally, when everything is in place and everyone has been served, you grab a plate for yourself and look for an open seat. Before you can take a single step toward a chair, a strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back gently but firmly. You glance down and meet Derek's intense gaze as he tugs you closer without a word. Before you know it, he has you settled in his lap, one arm snaking around your waist to keep you in place, as if daring anyone to suggest you belong anywhere else.
"Derek," you murmur, leaning in close so only he can hear. Your tone is a mix of amusement and exasperation. "This is your meeting. You're supposed to be leading it, not—"
"I don't care," he interrupts, his voice low and gravelly, but there's a softness in his eyes that betrays the intensity of his words. His hold on you tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he isn't letting go. "Stay here."
The pack continues their discussions, wisely ignoring the alpha's clear claim on you. You can feel his warmth radiating through his shirt, his hand resting protectively on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Despite the slight flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck, you can't help but relax against him. Derek, for all his gruffness, has a way of making you feel like the center of his world in moments like this.
You sigh, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."
"And you're mine," he replies, his tone quiet but filled with conviction, his lips brushing lightly against the side of your temple.
Though it's a little distracting for the rest of the pack, no one dares to question it. This softer, possessive side of Derek might be less intimidating than his fiercer moments, but it's no less powerful. It's his way of showing the world—and you—that you're not just someone he loves. You're someone he can't bear to let go of, even for a moment.
Then there's the other side of Derek's possessiveness—the version that's intense, commanding, and impossible to miss. It's the side that comes out when someone steps over a line they should've never approached in the first place. Tonight, that line is crossed while you're working your shift at the bar, doing the job you insisted on keeping despite Derek's protests.
"Let me take care of you," he's said countless times, his low, gruff voice almost pleading. But as much as you love him, you're too independent to let him shoulder your financial responsibilities. Bartending may not be glamorous, but it's your job, and you're proud of the work you do. Derek respects that—most of the time. But tonight, his patience is about to be tested.
It's a busy evening. Music hums through the air, mingling with the chatter of customers and the clinking of glasses as you pour drinks and banter with the regulars. Most of the people here know exactly who you're dating. They've seen the mark on your neck—Derek's love bite, dark and unmistakable, a territorial claim he left with purpose. The regulars don't bother you; they know better than to risk Derek Hale's wrath.
But tonight, trouble doesn't come from a regular. It comes from someone new—a man sitting at the bar, nursing a drink and watching you with a cocky smirk that instantly sets you on edge. At first, you try to brush off his attention. You're polite, professional, and quick to redirect the conversation, but he doesn't take the hint.
"Come on," he says, leaning across the bar, his voice dripping with confidence. "You can't tell me you're not single. A guy like you? Working here? Bet you get all kinds of offers."
You force a tight smile. "I'm not available," you say, your tone firm but not aggressive.
He doesn't back down. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're waiting around for some guy who isn't even here. What kind of boyfriend lets you work a place like this anyway?"
You feel a flicker of irritation, but before you can respond, the air in the room shifts. It's subtle at first—a strange hush that falls over the nearby patrons, followed by a wave of tension that seems to ripple through the bar. You don't have to look to know what's causing it. Derek is here.
You glance toward the entrance just as Derek steps through the door, his presence commanding attention even in the crowded room. He's dressed simply, but there's an edge to his movements, a barely restrained energy that makes everyone instinctively give him space. His sharp green eyes lock onto you immediately, scanning the scene and landing on the man leaning too close to your side of the bar.
Derek doesn't break stride as he approaches, his gaze narrowing. The man notices him too late, straightening up but not yet realizing the mistake he's made.
"Something wrong here?" Derek's voice is calm, low, and steady, but it carries a weight that silences the nearby conversation.
The guy tries to play it off, oblivious to the storm he's just invited. "No problem. Just talking to your... friend here."
Derek's lips twitch into a faint, humorless smirk as he steps closer, resting his hands on the bar. "He's not just my friend," Derek says, his voice dropping into a tone so cold it could freeze the room. "He's mine."
The guy blinks, clearly caught off guard but still trying to save face. "Hey, no offense. I didn't know—"
"You do now." Derek cuts him off, his gaze never leaving the man's. The unspoken threat lingers heavy in the air, and the guy shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as if searching for an escape. Derek doesn't move, doesn't need to. His sheer presence is enough to make the man mumble a quick apology before slinking away, disappearing into the crowd.
Once the intruder is gone, Derek's attention shifts to you. The tension in his jaw softens as he reaches across the bar, his large hand sliding against your wrist, pulling you closer. His eyes flick briefly to the mark on your neck as if to reassure himself it's still there.
"You okay?" he asks quietly, his tone softer now but still laced with that protective edge.
"I had it under control," you say, though the slight smirk on your lips betrays the rush of affection you feel in the moment.
Derek raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "Sure you did."
You shake your head, leaning in just enough so only he can hear you. "You know I can have claws?"
"I know, but you don't have to use them when I'm around," he replies without hesitation, his voice steady and full of conviction. It's not a declaration for the room—it's a reminder for you, a promise that no matter what, Derek will always be there to protect you, to claim you, and to remind anyone foolish enough to cross him exactly where you stand.
For better or worse, this is the other side of Derek's possessiveness—intense, overwhelming, and unapologetically fierce. It's not always easy to handle, but it's part of who he is, and part of the way he loves you with everything he has. And in moments like this, you can't help but love him just as fiercely in return.
Then there are moments of intimacy and passion—moments that remind you of just how deeply Derek Hale loves and needs you. Tonight, one of those moments begins quietly, in the safe haven of your shared bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm light across the room as you sit comfortably on the bed, your back against the headboard, a book resting in your lap. It's not just any book, though—it's about being Luna to a pack.
You've never officially been given the title, but you've taken on the responsibilities in your own way. You care for Derek's pack—both the older members and the newer ones—like they're your own family. Whether it's listening to their problems, giving advice, training alongside them to sharpen their skills, or cooking meals that bring everyone together, you've seamlessly become their rock, their guiding presence. Even if Derek hasn't formally acknowledged it, the pack already sees you as their Luna, and you want to understand the role better—to be even more for them, and for Derek.
You're deep in thought as you read, turning a page when the sound of the bathroom door opening pulls your attention. You glance up just as Derek steps into the room, and for a moment, the air seems to shift. His hair is damp, water droplets still clinging to the ends and glistening under the soft light. A towel is wrapped low around his waist, leaving his broad chest and sculpted torso fully exposed, muscles flexing with every step he takes. The faint scent of his soap lingers in the air—a clean, woodsy scent that's distinctly his—and it makes your heart skip a beat.
Derek doesn't say anything at first. His piercing green eyes meet yours, and there's a flicker of something in his gaze—something raw and unspoken. It's a look that's equal parts admiration and desire, like he's seeing you for the first time all over again. You feel a blush creep up your neck, but you hold his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from him.
"What are you reading?" he finally asks, his voice low and slightly rough, still thick from the heat of the shower. He moves closer, his bare feet silent against the floor as he stops at the edge of the bed.
You hold up the book slightly, showing him the cover. "Something about being a Luna," you reply softly, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of shyness. "I just... thought it might help. You know, since I've kind of been acting like one already."
Derek's expression softens, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, almost imperceptible smile. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your knee through the blanket you have draped over your legs. "You don't need a book to tell you how to be a Luna," he says, his tone warm and laced with pride. "You're already everything they need."
His words send a warmth through your chest, but before you can respond, he moves onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He settles beside you, leaning back on one arm as his free hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The closeness of him—the heat of his skin, the faint scent of him still lingering from his shower—makes your pulse quicken.
"You take care of everyone," Derek murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. His fingers trail lightly along your jawline, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. "You've made this pack stronger, more connected. And you've done the same for me."
You swallow hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze as it locks onto yours. "I just want to make things easier for you—for all of you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be someone you can depend on."
"You already are," Derek says firmly, his hand sliding down to rest against your shoulder. He leans in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. "You're my anchor. My strength. My Luna."
The last word comes out with a weight that makes your breath hitch. He's never said it out loud before, never made it official. But hearing it now, spoken with such conviction, sends a rush of emotions through you. Before you can respond, Derek's lips capture yours in a kiss that's both tender and demanding, pouring every ounce of his love and passion into the moment. His hand cups the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing closer to yours.
The book slips from your lap, forgotten, as you lose yourself in him. His warmth, his touch, the way he whispers your name like it's the only thing that matters—it's all-consuming. In this moment, there's no pack, no responsibilities, no worries. There's only Derek, and the unbreakable bond you share with him.
When you finally pull back, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your neck. "You don't have to prove anything," he says quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "You're already everything I need. Everything we need."
The words settle deep in your chest, filling you with a sense of belonging you didn't realize you were missing. In Derek's arms, with his love surrounding you, you realize that being his Luna isn't about titles or duties—it's about being the person who stands beside him, through everything, just as he stands beside you.
Derek can be such a lover boy when he wants to be—a side of him that's soft, affectionate, and, at times, beautifully vulnerable. It's a part of him he doesn't show to many people, but with you, he lets down his walls, revealing the man behind the strong, stoic alpha exterior. In those moments, he's all tender touches and quiet words, the kind of man who holds you close like you're the most precious thing in his world. He's the Derek who gently brushes your hair out of your face, who kisses you like you're his lifeline, and who lets you see the raw, unguarded emotions that he keeps locked away from everyone else.
But that tenderness can shift in an instant—because when Derek feels his heat coming on, that lover boy softness is quickly replaced by something much more primal and consuming. It starts subtly at first: a faint tension in his muscles, a sharper edge to his movements, and a look in his eyes that burns with an intensity that makes your heart race. You've learned to recognize the signs, the way his breathing grows heavier, his gaze locks onto you, and his usually steady control begins to fray at the edges.
In the beginning, Derek tries to fight it. He does everything in his power to keep that vulnerability intact, to hold onto the tender way he speaks to you and the soft, reverent way he touches you. He doesn't want to lose control, doesn't want the heat to strip away the affection he shows so carefully. But his heat is a force beyond his will—a deep, primal instinct that coils inside him, pushing harder and harder until it demands release. It's not something he can suppress, and as much as he tries to resist it, it takes over, leaving him with only one overwhelming need: you.
The signs are subtle at first—his hands lingering a little longer when he touches you, his gaze trailing after you with a sharp intensity, and the way his breathing changes whenever you're near. But when his heat fully takes over, it's no longer subtle. It's raw, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore. His hands become more insistent, his grip firmer as though he's afraid you might slip through his fingers. His voice, once so soft and measured, grows rough, urgent, every word heavy with a hunger that makes it clear just how deeply he craves you.
For example, there was that one night when the house was quiet, everyone in the pack fast asleep. You were tidying up the living room, moving quietly as you folded a blanket and straightened up the mess left from the day. The only sound was the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. You didn't notice the way the air had shifted at first, the way the temperature seemed to rise just slightly. But then you felt it—the unmistakable pull of his presence.
You turned, and there he was, standing in the doorway. Derek's chest rose and fell heavily, his hair still damp from the shower he must've taken not long ago. His eyes—those piercing green eyes—were locked on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was something different about him, something primal and wild simmering just beneath the surface. His muscles were tense, his hands curling into fists at his sides as though he was fighting to hold himself back.
"Derek?" you asked softly, your voice breaking the heavy silence. You set the blanket down, instinctively stepping toward him, but as soon as you moved, he was already closing the distance between you.
"I can't—" His voice was rough, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands came up, gripping your arms gently but firmly, his touch burning hot against your skin. "I can't wait anymore."
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling slightly as he fought to maintain even a shred of control. "I've been trying," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I've been trying to hold back, to give you space. But I can't—I need you now."
His words hit you like a wave, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his body coiled so tightly it felt like it might snap. Derek's vulnerability was still there, flickering in the way his hands shook slightly as they slid down your arms, but it was swallowed up by the primal need overtaking him. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your neck as he inhaled deeply, his grip tightening as though grounding himself in your presence.
"Tell me you're mine," he rasped, his voice thick with urgency, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Please."
You could feel his desperation, the way his entire being seemed to hinge on your response. And in that moment, with his heat burning between you and his love for you so evident in every touch, you realized just how much Derek needed you—not just physically, but emotionally, completely. You were his anchor, his safe harbor in the storm of his heat, and you would give him everything he needed.
You reached up, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm yours, Derek," you said firmly, your voice steady even as your heart pounded.
The words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. With a low growl, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss so fierce and consuming it left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, his touch firm and possessive, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable connection that bound you together.
In that moment, there was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. Derek's heat had taken over, but it wasn't just instinct—it was his love for you, raw and unfiltered, driving every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. And you gave yourself to him completely, knowing that this was what he needed, and that you would always be there to hold him through it all.
Without a word, his strong arms wrap securely around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet as though you weigh nothing. The sheer strength in his embrace sends a shiver through you, your hands instinctively finding their place on his broad shoulders for balance. His body radiates warmth, the tension in his muscles palpable as he carries you across the room with purpose.
He reaches the couch in just a few steps and lowers himself into it, pulling you down with him. His firm grip never falters, guiding you to straddle his lap with ease. The position is intimate, your knees bracketing his hips as your bodies align perfectly. You can feel the solid expanse of his chest pressing against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you even as your pulse quickens.
Derek's hands settle on your waist at first, his fingers curling slightly as they find their hold. But they don't stay there for long. His touch becomes more deliberate, sliding down to rest on your hips before moving lower, his palms finding their place on the curve of your ass. He grips you firmly, his fingers pressing into the flesh with just enough force to send a jolt of heat through you. There's no hesitation in his actions, only a possessive intensity that makes it clear he's in control of the moment.
His green eyes meet yours, and the look in them takes your breath away. It's a mix of desire, adoration, and something more primal—something that makes it impossible to look away. His hands squeeze again, a low, almost inaudible growl rumbling in his chest as he leans in closer. The movement presses you tighter against him, and the sensation leaves no doubt about how much he wants you.
"You feel perfect like this," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His hands don't stop moving, alternating between firm squeezes and slow, deliberate caresses, as though he's memorizing every inch of you. The way his fingers dig into your skin is possessive, grounding, and completely overwhelming all at once.
You can't help but let your hands roam as well, sliding over the strong planes of his shoulders and down his arms. Every inch of him feels solid, unyielding, and the heat between you grows with every passing second. Derek's gaze never wavers, and the intensity of his attention makes you feel like the center of his entire world.
"You're mine," he says, his voice barely more than a growl, but there's an undeniable softness beneath the possessiveness. It's not just a claim—it's a promise, one that makes your chest tighten with emotion. And with the way he's holding you, touching you, you know it's a promise he'll keep.
Derek's lips find the curve of your neck with a hunger that makes your breath hitch. His movements are deliberate yet fevered, the softness of his mouth contrasting with the growing intensity of his desire. The first kiss he presses to your skin is warm and lingering, but it quickly deepens, his lips parting to let his teeth graze against your sensitive flesh. You can feel the heat of his breath as he starts to work his way down, his focus entirely on leaving his mark on you.
The first hickey blooms under his lips as he sucks at the delicate skin just below your jawline, his hand tightening on your waist as if to keep you steady. But you're anything but steady. Your body reacts instinctively to the sensation, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his mouth continues its work. His tongue flicks over the spot he's just claimed, soothing it for a brief moment before he moves on to another area, determined to make sure everyone knows you're his.
As his kisses grow more intense, your body seems to take on a mind of its own. Without realizing it, you begin to shift in his lap, the movement subtle at first—a slight roll of your hips, a faint press of your weight against his hands. Derek notices immediately. His hands, already gripping your ass, tighten their hold, his fingers digging into the flesh as if anchoring you to him.
The friction from your movements sends a spark through both of you, and you hear Derek's breath hitch against your skin. He pulls back for just a moment, his green eyes blazing with a mix of surprise and raw desire as he looks at you. "You don't even know what you're doing to me," he growls, his voice low and rough, every word dripping with need.
But instead of stopping, your body moves again, a subconscious rhythm taking over as you grind against him. The heat between you is undeniable, and every shift of your hips fans the flames of Derek's growing need. His hands guide your movements now, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him. His grip is firm, almost possessive, as if he's afraid you might stop.
"You're making this impossible," he murmurs, his lips finding your neck once more. This time, his kisses are rougher, more desperate, each one leaving a deeper mark than the last. The combination of his mouth on your neck and the way his hands control your movements has you utterly overwhelmed, your mind clouded with nothing but the feel of him.
Derek groans softly against your skin, his voice filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger that only spurs you on. Every small movement, every sound you make seems to push him further, his desire for you quickly spiraling out of control. You can feel it in the way his lips move against you, the way his hands grip you like he never wants to let go, and the way his body reacts to every subtle shift of your own.
There's no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the all-consuming pull of desire, the undeniable connection between you both as Derek claims you with every touch, every kiss, every whispered growl.
Derek's hands were everywhere—firm, strong, and utterly insistent. His grip on your waist tightened as his lips found yours again, rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. It wasn't long before his hands slid lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants and boxers. With one swift motion, he began pulling them down, exposing the bare skin of your ass to the cool air. The heat radiating off his body only made the contrast sharper, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake as his hands moved over your newly exposed flesh.
The way his palms kneaded the curve of your ass made it clear he was ready to take things further, his movements growing more urgent with every second. Derek's breathing was heavy, his lips hovering just over your jaw as he whispered, "I need you." His voice was gravelly, raw with desire, and it sent a shiver through you. You could feel just how ready he was, the evidence of his arousal pressing firmly against you as he gripped your hips and pulled you even closer.
But as much as the intensity of the moment consumed you, a sliver of reason managed to push through the haze. You glanced around the room, the familiar surroundings of the living room suddenly feeling far too exposed. You placed a hand on Derek's chest, pushing lightly to create a small bit of space between you. "Derek," you said, your voice breathless but firm. "We're in the living room."
Derek paused for the briefest of moments, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours. For a second, you thought he might reconsider, but instead, a crooked smirk tugged at his lips. "I don't care," he replied, his tone low and filled with determination. His hands slid back to your ass, squeezing possessively as he pulled you tighter against him, his lips brushing against your neck as he added, "Let them see. Let them know you're mine."
You let out a soft groan, your resolve wavering under the intensity of his words and the heat of his touch. But still, the logical part of you persisted, refusing to let him completely ignore the reality of your surroundings. "You would care," you countered, your voice steadying, "if someone walked in and interrupted us."
That gave him pause. Derek let out a low growl, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder as his grip on you tightened. You could feel the tension in his body, the conflict between his desire and his instinct to protect you—not just from danger, but from the inevitable embarrassment of someone catching you both in such a compromising position.
After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh, his lips grazing your skin as he murmured, "Fine." His hands lingered on you for a moment longer, his thumbs brushing over your skin as if committing the sensation to memory before he finally pulled back, his eyes still dark with unfulfilled need.
Suddenly, he slid his hands to your waist and gently lifted you off his lap, setting you aside on the couch. The loss of his warmth, even for a moment, made you ache with anticipation, but your eyes stayed fixed on him, drawn to the commanding presence that always seemed to radiate from him in moments like this.
Standing tall in front of you, Derek's green eyes burned with desire, his gaze locking onto yours as his hands moved to the hem of his shirt. He tugged it upward in one smooth motion, revealing the toned expanse of his chest and the taut muscles of his abdomen, each movement accentuating the strength you knew so well. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his skin flushed slightly as the fire between you both built.
Your mouth went dry as he kicked off his shoes and reached for the waistband of his pants. The sound of the zipper echoed faintly in the room, a soft but tantalizing promise of what was to come. Derek's pants slid down his legs, and he stepped out of them with effortless grace, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The thin fabric did little to hide the evidence of his arousal, and your heart raced at the sight.
Finally, Derek's hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, his movements slow enough to drive you mad with anticipation but fast enough to show he couldn't wait much longer. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and pushed them down, letting the boxers fall to the floor. As he stood before you, completely bare, your eyes were instantly drawn to him—his swollen dick, thick and hard, standing proudly, a sight that never failed to captivate you.
Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in, your pulse quickening as heat pooled in your stomach. Derek's body was a masterpiece, but it was the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—that truly stole your breath. His dick twitched slightly under your gaze, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he could sense just how much you loved seeing him like this.
"You like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the deep timbre sending a shiver down your spine.
You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking up to meet his as a smile of your own formed. "Every time," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity.
Derek stepped closer, his body radiating heat, and the intensity of his gaze made your pulse race even faster. "Good," he murmured, his tone laced with desire. "Because it's all for you."
In a matter of moments, Derek gently pulled you up from the couch to stand in front of him. His green eyes locked onto yours, filled with raw hunger that made your knees weak. Without saying a word, his fingers slid to the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward in one smooth motion and tossing it aside. His touch was electric as his hands roamed over your exposed skin, pausing briefly at your chest before he moved lower, his gaze trailing behind every movement like a predator savoring his prey.
He crouched slightly to tug at your pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them with practiced ease before sliding them down your legs. The cool air of the room kissed your skin as your boxers followed, leaving you completely exposed before him. Derek stood tall again, his eyes raking over your body with a primal intensity that made your breath hitch. When his gaze landed on your hard dick, his lips parted, and a low, guttural growl escaped him—a sound so full of arousal it sent a shiver down your spine.
"Perfect," he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick with desire. His hands didn't hesitate as they found your hips again, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin just above your pelvis before sliding lower to cup your ass. He gave it a firm squeeze, a smirk tugging at his lips when you gasped at the contact.
Before you could process what was happening, Derek bent down slightly and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, hoisting you up onto his shoulder with effortless ease. The sudden change in perspective made your heart race, your body pressing against his as his other hand gripped your thigh to keep you steady.
"Derek!" you exclaimed, though your voice came out breathless, a mix of surprise and excitement.
He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down to your bare ass, giving it a sharp smack that echoed through the room. "I've been patient long enough," he growled, his voice low and dripping with need. The sting of his hand on your skin sent a jolt of heat through you, and you could feel the strength in his hold as he carried you with ease.
Each step he took toward your shared bedroom was purposeful, the sound of his bare feet against the floor muted by the thundering of your heartbeat. His grip on you was firm but possessive, and his other hand didn't stay idle. It slid along your thigh, occasionally squeezing or smacking your ass again, the sensation leaving you breathless and your arousal growing.
"Keep squirming, and I'll have to stop right here," Derek rumbled, his tone teasing but with a dangerous edge that sent a thrill through you. "And I don't think either of us wants that."
The promise in his words made your body still, though the anticipation building between you was almost unbearable. Derek's confidence, the sheer power in the way he carried you as if you were weightless, only made your desire for him burn hotter. By the time he reached the bedroom door, you were already aching for him, your body alive with anticipation for what was to come.
Derek kicked the door open with his foot, stepping inside with purpose. He lowered you just enough to brush his lips against your skin, his hot breath ghosting over your back as he whispered, "You're mine tonight." Then, with one last firm squeeze to your ass, he laid you down on the bed, his body following closely behind as his desire for you became all-consuming.
Derek's lips crashed against yours with a hunger that took your breath away. His kiss was deep, urgent, and all-consuming, as if he couldn't get enough of you. His hands cupped your face, his fingers rough yet gentle as they tilted your head slightly to deepen the connection. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest pressed firmly against yours, his breathing growing heavier with every second that passed.
Your hands roamed down his strong, sculpted body, your fingertips tracing the ridges of his muscles. Derek groaned softly into your mouth, his lips parting slightly as his tongue brushed against yours, igniting a fire that made your entire body hum with anticipation. The kiss was messy, desperate, and filled with all the pent-up desire he'd been holding back.
As your hand trailed lower, you felt the tension in his body shift, his muscles tensing slightly under your touch. Your fingers brushed against his length, already hard and hot, and a shudder ran through him. Derek growled low in his throat, the sound reverberating in his chest as your hand wrapped around him. The growl wasn't just a reaction—it was primal, a raw expression of his need for you.
You started to pump him slowly, your grip firm but teasing. Derek's head dropped forward, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a sharp exhale. His lips parted, his breathing growing heavier with each deliberate stroke of your hand. "You're going to drive me crazy," he murmured, his voice rough and strained, a hint of a growl still laced in his tone.
The way his body responded to your touch was intoxicating. His hips jerked slightly, instinctively chasing the friction you were providing. His hands slid down to your waist, his grip tightening as if he needed to ground himself, to keep from losing control entirely. Every time your hand moved, a low, guttural sound escaped him, his arousal clear in the way his body seemed to tremble under your touch.
"You know what you're doing to me," Derek growled, his voice rough and filled with barely restrained desire. His green eyes locked onto yours, darkened with lust, and the intensity in his gaze made your heart race. "You're not playing fair."
You smirked slightly, your strokes becoming just a little slower, more deliberate, as you watched him struggle to keep his composure. "I'm just giving you what you want," you replied, your voice soft but teasing, a playful edge to your tone.
Derek's growl deepened, his hands sliding up your sides before pulling you even closer. His lips found yours again, this time rougher, more demanding, as though trying to pour every ounce of his need for you into the kiss. The way his body responded to your touch, the way he growled and trembled beneath your hand, was utterly intoxicating. You knew he was holding back, but the raw intensity in his kisses and his touch made it clear he wouldn't be able to for much longer. And that thought sent a thrill through you that only made you want to tease him more.
Suddenly, Derek's hand gently closed around your wrist, pulling your hand away from his dick. The intense look in his green eyes made your breath hitch, a silent promise of what was to come. He leaned in, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that was both deep and commanding, his tongue brushing against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Slowly, his kisses began to trail downward, his lips and tongue leaving a fiery path across your jaw, then your neck, and lower still.
Each kiss was deliberate, his mouth pausing to savor the curve of your collarbone, the plane of your chest, and the dip of your stomach. His hands followed the journey, strong and sure as they mapped out your body, leaving no inch untouched. By the time he reached the edge of your hips, your pulse was racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Derek smirked against your skin, the heat of his breath a tantalizing tease as his hands gripped your thighs.
He looked up at you then, his gaze dark and filled with unrestrained desire. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands beneath your legs, lifting them effortlessly over his broad shoulders. The way he held you—strong, steady, and completely in control—sent a wave of anticipation coursing through you. Before you could say anything, you felt it: the first brush of his tongue, warm and wet, as it trailed along your hole.
A soft moan escaped your lips, unbidden, as the sensation overtook you. Derek growled low in response, the vibration against your skin only adding to the pleasure. His tongue worked with expert precision, circling, teasing, and pressing in ways that left you gripping the sheets beneath you. The heat of his mouth, combined with the pressure of his hands gripping your thighs, was overwhelming in the best way.
Your hands found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you held onto him for dear life. The small, involuntary tug you gave earned another growl from Derek, his lips curling into a smirk against your most sensitive skin. He didn't stop—if anything, he doubled down, his tongue moving more insistently as he sought every sound he could pull from you.
"Derek," you gasped, your voice trembling as your back arched slightly, pressing yourself closer to his mouth. The combination of his tongue and the strength of his hands holding you in place left you completely at his mercy. Each flick, each press of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, your entire body alight with sensation.
He paused just long enough to look up at you, his lips glistening, a smirk playing on his face. "I love the way you sound," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal before he dove back in, his tongue exploring you with even more intensity. The way his stubble brushed against your skin only heightened the sensation, the mix of roughness and warmth sending you spiraling.
Your grip on his hair tightened, a soft gasp escaping you as he found just the right rhythm. Derek's growls vibrated against you, letting you know just how much he enjoyed tasting you, savoring every moment. Time seemed to blur as he continued, his sole focus on your pleasure, making it impossible to think of anything else but the way his mouth felt against you. Every kiss, every stroke of his tongue was a reminder of just how much Derek wanted you, needed you, and was willing to worship every part of you.
When your hole was glistening and wet from Derek's relentless attention, he finally pulled back, his lips and chin slick as he looked up at you with a mix of hunger and satisfaction. His hands gently squeezed your thighs, his touch grounding as he took a moment to drink in the sight of you—flushed, breathless, and completely undone beneath him.
"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the words dripping with sincerity and raw desire. His hands shifted, one sliding up to caress your hip while the other found his own dick, thick and pulsing with need. Slowly, he stroked himself, his eyes never leaving yours, the sight of you clearly spurring him on.
Derek positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his swollen dick brushing against your slick hole. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your breath hitched as you felt the heat of him press against your sensitive skin. He moved deliberately, sliding his length along your hole, teasing you with the friction. Each slow, deliberate stroke left you gasping, your body instinctively shifting to chase the sensation.
"Derek," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation as your hands reached out to grip his broad shoulders. He smirked slightly at your reaction, the faintest curve of his lips a sign of his confidence, his control.
"Patience," he said, his voice rough yet soothing, his free hand sliding up to intertwine with yours. "I want to feel every second of this."
Finally, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his dick pressing just slightly inside. His green eyes met yours, searching for any hint of hesitation, but all he saw was your trust, your desire for him. With a steady hand, he began to push forward, his hips moving slowly, giving you time to adjust as he stretched you inch by inch. The sensation was intense, a delicious mix of pressure and pleasure that left you gripping his shoulders tighter.
Derek let out a low groan, his voice deep and guttural, as he sank further into you. "You feel so good," he murmured, his words shaky as his control wavered. His hands returned to your hips, gripping you firmly as he continued his slow, deliberate pace, every movement sending waves of heat coursing through your body.
Your body arched beneath him, your breath hitching as he filled you completely. The stretch was intense, but the way Derek moved—steady, patient, and utterly focused on your comfort—made it impossible to feel anything but pleasure. He paused for a moment when he was fully seated inside you, his chest heaving as he gave you a chance to adjust, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, his concern shining through the haze of his desire.
You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, your lips brushing against his. "I'm perfect," you whispered, your voice filled with both reassurance and longing. "Please, Derek. I need you."
Hearing those words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. Derek's hips began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust pushing deeper, making you feel every inch of him. His hands held you firmly, guiding your body against his as he set a rhythm that quickly had you melting beneath him. Every movement, every touch, every breath between you was filled with passion, a connection so deep it left you utterly consumed by him.
Then his strong hands moved to guide your legs, lifting them effortlessly and wrapping them around his waist. The new position brought him even closer, allowing him to sink deeper into you with every movement, making your breath hitch with each thrust. His body radiated heat, his skin damp with exertion, and the steady grind of his hips made it clear he was completely consumed by you.
Leaning forward, Derek brought his face closer to yours, his green eyes darkened with lust but softened by the depth of emotion they held. His lips captured yours in a passionate kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matched the rhythm of his body. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, and you opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you pulled him closer. The kiss was intense, raw, yet there was a tenderness to it—a reminder that even in this moment of unrelenting desire, Derek was still yours, and you were his.
You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled slightly as he worked to hold back the primal instincts simmering just beneath the surface. Derek's heat was there, smoldering like an untamed wildfire, and every thrust, every growl rumbling in his chest, hinted at how much he was restraining himself. He wanted to lose himself in you, to let his heat take over completely, but he fought to maintain control, to ensure your pleasure and comfort came first.
"God, you feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and strained, a testament to just how much effort he was putting into holding back. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as his thrusts continued at the same steady pace, each one deliberate and measured. "I'm trying," he added, his voice breaking slightly, a growl slipping out as his hands gripped your hips tighter. "I don't want to hurt you."
You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against his stubbled jaw as you gazed up at him. "Derek," you said softly, your voice trembling but steady, "I trust you. I'm here. Let go."
His eyes searched yours, his resolve flickering for a moment before he groaned, his lips claiming yours again in a kiss so fierce it made your heart race. His grip on your hips tightened, and his movements became just a fraction deeper, more purposeful, though still careful not to overwhelm you. The simmering heat inside him was building, and you could feel the tension rising with every thrust, every breathless kiss.
Derek held back, but barely. The restraint in his movements was palpable, his body vibrating with the effort it took to stay in control. Yet, through it all, his focus remained on you—your reactions, your pleasure, the soft moans and gasps he pulled from your lips as he pushed you closer to the edge. And in that moment, you knew that even as his heat threatened to consume him, Derek would never let it burn you. Instead, he would use every ounce of his strength to channel it into something passionate, raw, and undeniably yours.
You sat up slowly, the movement making Derek's breath hitch as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His eyes met yours, dark with desire and barely restrained passion, as your lips found his in a kiss that was hungry, deep, and filled with the raw emotion simmering between you. The warmth of his skin pressed against yours, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you as you moved.
Your body pressed against his chest, your heart pounding as you began to lift yourself, only to sink back down onto his length. The sensation drew a low growl from Derek's throat, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements, his strength supporting you effortlessly. Each time you moved, a wave of pleasure rippled through both of you, the rhythm you created together growing steadily more intense.
Derek's lips moved with yours, his kisses desperate and consuming, as though he couldn't get enough of you. His tongue brushed against yours, his breath hot and ragged as you continued to rock up and down his length, taking him fully with every motion. The feeling of him filling you completely sent shivers down your spine, and the sounds escaping both of you only added to the fire between you.
"Ugh," Derek murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, a tremor of restraint still present beneath the overwhelming desire in his tone. His hands slid down your back, gripping you more firmly, his fingertips digging into your skin as he fought to maintain his control.
You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in his hair as you looked into his eyes. "Derek," you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. "I want you—completely. Don't hold back."
His eyes searched yours for a moment, the conflict in his expression clear. But as you moved again, your body pressing against him and taking him deeper, the last threads of his restraint began to fray. A deep, guttural growl escaped his chest as his grip on you tightened, his hands guiding your movements with more insistence.
The words, "Don't hold back," was all Derek needed to finally let go. His body stilled for just a moment, his chest rising and falling as he processed what you'd said, the last remnants of his restraint hanging by a thread. Then, like a dam breaking, something primal and unstoppable surged forward. His eyes snapped open, glowing a brilliant, fiery red—a vivid sign that his heat had fully taken over. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, but it wasn't fear you felt. It was exhilaration, knowing he trusted you enough to let his instincts take control.
With a low, guttural growl that reverberated through the room, Derek's hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive force that left no doubt: you were his. His thrusts increased, the steady pace giving way to something far more raw, more urgent. Each powerful motion sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, your body arching to meet him as he moved with an almost unstoppable intensity.
"God, you're mine," he growled, his voice rough and deep, a mix of desire and possession. The words sent a thrill through you, and you tightened your hold around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him as his thrusts drove deeper, faster. The heat radiating off his body felt like it might consume you, the primal energy pouring out of him filling the room as his focus remained entirely on you.
His glowing red eyes never left yours, even as his lips found your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Each kiss felt like a brand, a mark of his uncontrollable need for you. The mix of his rough, animalistic growls and the whispered praises against your skin left you trembling in his arms, completely lost in the storm of his heat.
"You feel so damn good," Derek muttered, his voice breaking slightly as his pace continued to build. His hands moved from your hips, sliding up your back, pulling you flush against his chest as if he couldn't get you close enough. The new angle sent sparks of pleasure through your body, your moans mingling with his growls as he pushed you both closer to the edge.
Every thrust, every motion, every sound Derek made was a testament to how much he'd been holding back, and now that he'd given in, there was no stopping him. His heat had fully taken over, his need for you driving him to claim you in every possible way. And as the overwhelming sensations built to a crescendo, you realized there was nothing else in the world but this—Derek, his love, his heat, and the unshakable bond between you.
Soon Derek's thrusts became relentless, his dick driving into you with a force and precision that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Each motion was deep, powerful, and perfectly aimed, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with the accuracy of someone who knew your body intimately. It was overwhelming, the way he moved—like every thrust was deliberate, designed to claim you completely and leave you trembling in his grasp.
Your hands clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscles as he kept up his intense rhythm. Derek's growls filled the air, low and primal, reverberating through your chest as he poured every ounce of his strength and need into you. His glowing red eyes bore into yours, the fiery gaze a reminder of the heat driving him, the primal instincts that he had finally let loose.
"Derek," you gasped, your voice breaking as another perfectly angled thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you. The way he moved felt almost otherworldly, each motion deliberate yet raw, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. It was like he was determined in his mission to push you further, to make sure you felt every inch of him.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Every part of you belongs to me." His voice was rough, strained, but filled with conviction, his words punctuated by the unyielding rhythm of his hips. The sheer dominance in his tone, paired with the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, sent shivers racing down your spine.
Your body reacted instinctively, arching into him as your legs tightened around his waist. Derek's hands gripped your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive force as he adjusted his angle slightly, making each thrust even more devastatingly precise. The sensation was almost too much, a perfect mix of intensity and pleasure that left you gasping for air.
Derek was completely lost in you, the heat of his need driving him to claim you fully, completely. And with each thrust, each powerful motion, it felt like he was branding himself into your very soul, making sure you'd never forget exactly who you belonged to.
The pleasure overwhelmed you, building higher and higher until you couldn't hold back any longer. With a strangled gasp, your body tensed, and a rush of ecstasy surged through you. Your release came in powerful waves, your dick pulsing as streams of cum spilled between your bodies, coating your stomach and his. The intensity of it left you trembling, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.
But Derek didn't stop. If anything, the sight and feel of your climax seemed to fuel him further, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as he maintained his relentless pace. His glowing red eyes locked onto yours, the raw hunger in them making it clear that your pleasure had only pushed him closer to the edge of his control.
"You think we're done?" Derek murmured, his voice rough and dripping with desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips thrust deeper, harder, drawing out every ounce of sensitivity from your overstimulated body. "I'm not stopping until I've had all of you."
The overstimulation sent sparks of sensation through your nerves, your body jerking slightly at the relentless friction. Every thrust was a mix of pleasure and intensity that bordered on too much, yet you couldn't bring yourself to tell him to stop. The way he filled you, the way his hands gripped your hips to pull you tighter against him, left you utterly helpless under his control.
"Derek," you moaned, your voice trembling as your hands gripped his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The combination of your own sensitivity and his unwavering pace was overwhelming, leaving you caught in a haze of pleasure that felt like it might consume you entirely.
He growled low, a sound so primal it made your toes curl, and his lips found your neck, biting and sucking at your skin as he thrust into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. "I'm not done with you yet," he rumbled, his tone possessive, his movements a clear reminder that he wasn't holding anything back anymore.
Even as your body trembled from the overstimulation, you couldn't deny the heat building again deep inside you. Derek's intensity was undeniable, his need for you all-consuming, and the way he moved made it clear he wouldn't stop until you were completely undone beneath him—again and again.
Suddenly, Derek's movements grew even more primal, his glowing red eyes blazing with unrestrained heat. With a growl that vibrated deep in his chest, he pulled out of you briefly, he gripped your thighs as he stood up effortlessly, lifting you with him. The next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the cool surface of the nearest wall, the sharp contrast of heat and cold sending a shiver through your already sensitive body.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as Derek held you there, his strength making it seem like you weighed nothing. One of his hands braced against the wall beside your head, while the other gripped your thigh tightly, keeping you secure as he aligned himself once more. Without hesitation, he thrust back into you, the sudden fullness pulling a loud, uncontrollable moan from your lips.
The new angle made every movement more intense, Derek's hips snapping against you with a force that left you gasping for air. Each thrust drove you harder against the wall, your body pinned completely under his control. His growls filled the room, low and guttural, as he poured every ounce of his heat-fueled need into you.
"I can't get enough of you," Derek muttered, his voice rough and breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. "I can't stop—I don't want to stop."
The intensity of his words, combined with the unrelenting rhythm of his hips, sent sparks of pleasure racing through your body. Your hands tangled in his hair, your fingers gripping tightly as you pulled him closer, capturing his lips in a desperate, heated kiss. His tongue tangled with yours as his thrusts became harder, faster, each one leaving you trembling in his arms.
The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with the labored breaths and groans that escaped both of you. Derek's hand slid from your thigh to grip your ass, pulling you closer to him as his hips drove even deeper, hitting spots that made your vision blur. The wall behind you groaned slightly under the force of his movements, but Derek didn't seem to care—his focus was entirely on you, on the way your body responded to his.
"Fuck," he growled against your lips, his voice dripping with possession as his thrusts became almost brutal in their intensity. His heat burned through him, his need for you all-consuming, and he was determined to claim every part of you, to make sure you felt just how much he wanted you.
Every movement, every growl, every heated kiss pushed you closer to the edge again, your body completely overwhelmed by the force of Derek's passion. Pinned against the wall, utterly at his mercy, you surrendered to him completely, knowing he wouldn't stop until you were both completely undone.
With one final, deep thrust, Derek's body tensed against yours, his growl reverberating through the room as he reached his peak. You felt the warmth of his release flood into you, the heat of it spreading through your body like wildfire. His hands gripped you tightly, almost possessively, his nails pressing into your skin as he held you flush against him, refusing to let even an inch of space separate you.
The tension in his body slowly began to ebb as his growls softened into heavy, ragged breaths. Derek's forehead rested against yours for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as the remnants of his heat coursed through him. His lips found yours instantly, the kiss a mix of passion and tenderness, as if he needed to ground himself in you after the intensity of what you'd shared.
The desperation in his kisses began to fade, replaced by something gentler, more intimate. His hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, his body still trembling slightly against yours. It was as if he was pouring every ounce of affection and gratitude into that moment, letting you know without words how much he loved and needed you.
Gradually, as the heat left his system, the fiery red glow in his eyes began to fade. You watched as they softened, returning to the familiar, piercing green you loved so much. His gaze met yours, the intensity in his eyes replaced by a look of pure adoration and vulnerability. The primal edge of his heat had given way to the man you knew—the Derek who cherished you with every fiber of his being.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse from the growls and moans of moments before. His forehead pressed gently to yours, his hands cradling your face as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort.
You smiled, your fingers brushing through his damp hair as you leaned into his touch. "I'm more than okay," you replied, your voice steady and filled with warmth. "That was... everything."
A faint, almost sheepish smile tugged at Derek's lips, his eyes flicking between yours. "I didn't hurt you?" he asked again, his tone softer now, the protective side of him surfacing even after everything.
You shook your head, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and reassuring. "You were perfect, Derek."
Relief washed over his features, and he let out a soft breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. He held you there for a long moment, his heart beating steadily against yours as his body finally relaxed completely. Even as the intensity of his heat faded, his love for you burned just as brightly, evident in the way he held you as if you were his entire world.
Derek's love for you shines through, even in the midst of his heat—a love so deep and unwavering that no primal instinct could ever overshadow it. When his heat takes control, his movements may be raw, his growls guttural, and his need overwhelming, but beneath it all, it's still him. It's still the man who cherishes you with every fiber of his being, who would do anything to protect you, and who trusts you enough to let you see him at his most vulnerable.
It's in those moments that you see Derek completely unguarded, stripped of all the walls he's built to shield himself from the pain of his past. You see the man who loves you fiercely and unapologetically, who worships every inch of you with an intensity that feels like it could consume the air around you. His heat amplifies that love, turning it into a force that's almost too powerful to contain, but even as his instincts drive him, he never loses sight of you—your needs, your comfort, your pleasure.
Each touch, each kiss, each growl is filled with unspoken promises: that you are his, that he will always protect you, and that no matter what, he will never let anything harm you. It's a love that feels almost untamed, wild and primal, yet at the same time, it's rooted in tenderness and trust. Even in his most unrestrained moments, Derek never forgets who you are to him—the one person who sees every side of him and loves him for all of it.
And in those moments, you see all the pieces that make Derek who he is. The lover, whose touch can be both gentle and possessive, worshiping you as if you're the only thing that matters in his world. The protector, whose instincts drive him to keep you safe at all costs, even from his own untamed power. The alpha, strong and commanding, yet willing to yield to you in ways he never would for anyone else. And finally, the man—the one who belongs to you as much as you belong to him, the one who lets himself be vulnerable and open because he trusts you with all that he is.
Derek's passion may burn hot enough to scorch everything in its path, but with you, it's never destructive. It's a love that warms you, strengthens you, and reminds you that no matter what happens, you are his anchor, his solace, and the one person he'll always come back to. And as he holds you close, as his red eyes fade back to green and his heat slowly ebbs away, you know without a doubt that his love for you will always burn brighter than anything else.
A/N: There’s absolutely not enough gay Joel Miller fanfics out there, so I guess I’ll add my own to the mix? Note- I do this for fun, so I don’t proofread a lot. I just wanna add more filth to the world ✨
Summary: Reader gets injured on patrol with Joel, and Joel refuses to leave his side.
Closer
Snow crunches under your boots as you trudge through the forest, the frigid winter air stinging your cheeks and making each breath feel like pins and needles are going down your trachea. The bitter wind howls through the barren landscape, carrying with it a cold that cuts straight to the bone. You tighten the pitiful excuse for a scarf around your neck, the woolen fabric offering little protection against the relentless Wyoming chill. Each breath is a reminder of the harsh reality of your world. Without thinking about it, you glance ahead at Joel, who trudges forward with the kind of grim determination that has kept you both alive many times before.
The trees, bare and skeletal, reach towards the heavy gray sky with gnarled branches, their bark coated in a thin layer of frost. It seems as if the woods themselves are frozen in time, awaiting the thaw of spring to come. Unfortunately, you have several more months before warmer weather approaches. It had been a long winter already, and the food stores were beginning to dwindle. You were lucky Tommy’s patrol brought down a few elk last week, enough to keep spirits going for at least a little while longer. Still, you couldn’t help but worry about the months to come.
“Eyes open,” Joel grunts ahead of you, as if sensing your wandering mind. His voice is almost lost in the wind, but you’re familiar enough at this point to understand what he says, or grunts… He’s a man of little words, playing his cards close to his chest. You’d practically begged Maria to send someone, anyone else these morning patrols. The idea of spending hours alone with the most reclusive man in Jackson wasn’t something you longed for. Plus, Joel seemed rather disinterested at the idea of having an unfamiliar body to take care of. Nevertheless, here you were, four months later- still trudging through the snowy underbrush, eyes peeled for movement.
“You keep your eyes open,” you grumble under your breath, confident the howling wind will disguise your quip.
You could swear you hear a snort of laughter from the man ahead of you, but it’s hard to tell with the wind howling so obnoxiously in your ears. Still, the possibility causes the corner of your mouth to tug upwards into a smirk. It had been a game of yours for a while, trying to force a laugh out of Joel. You’d seen it happen before on rare occasions. A chuckle here, a smirk there. It was a strange thing to watch Joel’s permanently-furrowed brow smooth itself out, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling deeply, mouth upturned. It suited him.
Without thinking, you find your eyes studying Joel. The way the softly falling flecks of snow stick to his salt-and-pepper curls. The broad muscles of his shoulders sway in time with his steady pace. He moves confidently and quickly, no doubt just as ready to return home as you are. You’re about two miles out from the gates at this point, passing the river that welcomes you into familiar territory once more. A sigh of relief escapes you, tinged with the strangest feeling of disappointment. It’s not that you enjoy freezing your asscheeks off in negative temperatures, though… There is a quiet familiarity to the routine. It’s easy to be around Joel. Less to think about. It’s as if his presence brings a calmness, something solid to hook your focus into. You were aware these feelings meant trouble, but at this point… what didn’t?
Joel slows his pace as you pass the river, no doubt feeling just as relieved to be in the home stretch. He reaches a comfortable pace a few feet from you, eyes cast forward. The steady clomp of his boots falls into time with your own.
“Almost there,” he comments, shooting a quick glance in your direction. He knits his brow together, eyes scanning your red cheeks. “Y’alright?”
I’m lucky the cold sting of the wind hides the blush that creeps into my face. “Yep. Nothing I love more than freezing my dick off in this beautiful Wyoming hellscape.”
Joel snorts under his breath, bringing a pleased smile to your lips. One point for Y/N…
“What about you, old man?” You suddenly tease, testing your luck. You watch as Joel turns a sharp amber gaze in your direction, jaw clenching. But he’s unable to hide the twinkle in his eyes. You arch a brow, waiting for his response.
Joel simply adjusts his rifle on his shoulder to a more comfortable position with a grunt. “Old man could still kick your ass…” He grumbles, eyes locked on the horizon, scanning from right to left.
You break into a genuine grin, falling silent once more as you both make your way step-by-step towards home. 1.8 miles. 1.6 miles. 1.5 miles. It’s a relatively quiet day besides the howling of wind and the crunch of snow under your feet. Not many people are crazy enough to brave the northern winter; though, you maintain your daily patrols, unwilling to take the chance and end up losing the first place you’ve found to be safe in a long time.
It’s almost too uneventful these days… You catch yourself thinking just as your foot hits a hidden patch of ice. You hear the snap before you feel it, a sharp pulse of pain shooting its way up your leg as you tumble down, hitting the ground with a hard thump. A soft cry makes its way from your throat, practically losing itself in the wind.
Before you can figure out what happened, Joel is kneeling beside you, eyes scanning you diligently, hands hovering above your wounded leg. “Sh, sh sh…” He consoles. “Y’alright?” He checks your head for injury, and you swat him away, hissing through your teeth at the radiating pain in your ankle.
“Fine, Joel,” You grunt. “Didn’t hit my head, just slipped. I… I think it’s broken.” You attempt to move your leg, the pain causing your vision to go white for a split instant. “Shit!” You’re over a mile away from home with no horses, and the weather seems to be picking up. Wracking your brain, you clench your jaw. “Go to town, get help. I’ve got my rifle.” Staying here by yourself isn’t the most appealing of ideas, but you know you can’t walk.
You see Joel bristle as you suggest parting, and the man releases an annoyed puff of air in the form of a small cloud that dissipates above your heads. “Go to town, my ass. I’m not leavin’ you out here to freeze to death.” His eyes are locked onto yours, a warm coffee-color that reflects the dull glint of sunlight off the freshly fallen snow. You feel your body give an involuntary shudder and mentally blame it on the pain.
“Well unless you’re hiding a horse up your ass, you don’t have a choice,” I counter, tilting my head in a clear challenge.
This only seems to strengthen Joel’s resolve. He silently stands, towering over you for a moment. In this instant, it seems as though he may actually turn and leave you lying there. Why does the thought of that make your stomach hurt? However, his intentions make themselves clear when he steps behind you and locks his thick arms under your knees and behind your back. With a deep grunt, he straightens up, you locked tightly against his chest like a baby. The move is dizzying, and you unintentionally grip his shoulders in response. “Woah! Joel! What are you doing?”
“Deal with it,” he grunts as simply as that. He begins to take gentle steps back on our route towards town, paying attention to any unlevel areas of ground. You barely feel the motions of his stride, but you’re hyper aware of other things now. The warmth of his broad chest radiating out and thawing your aching muscles. His steady breathing, gentle puffs of air on the top of your head. The thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat. And most of all, the deep crimson shade that’s taken over your cheeks as you’re forced into an incredibly-humiliating position of vulnerability. You want to protest, to hit him, to force him to drop you and leave you on the frozen ground to avoid being spotted like this. However, you can’t deny the surge of warmth that spreads through your belly as the man carries you effortlessly over the landscape.
Joel purposely shoots you a glance, sensing your discomfort. “Y’alright?”
“Shut up.”
“Big words for someone gettin’ a free lift,” he shoots back, clearly enjoying the upper hand. There’s a hint of arrogance in his tone that makes you want to slap him and then kiss him. It sends a shiver down your spine, something not lost on the older man. You sense the vibration of a chuckle in his chest, but he stays silent, maintaining a clear and careful path back towards Jackson.
“This is humiliating,” You whine, throwing your head back and letting the snow fall directly onto your face.
“Quit your complainin’. Freezing to death ‘cause of pride would be humiliating.” Joel tightens his grip. “And for Christ’s sake, help me out here. Hold on or somethin’.”
You clench my teeth, biting back a groan while you throw a hesitant arm around his shoulders, other hand holding on to his jacket. It’s the least intimate position you could possibly contort yourself into, and yet it still feels like you’re playing “damsel-in-distress.” You should have seen the ice coming, should have been more careful. Now you were definitely off patrol for a while. A shadow falls over your face at the thought of someone else taking over your patrol slot with Joel.
“It hurtin’?” Joel asks softly, voice taking on a careful tone. When you glance up, he’s concerned, eyes flicking down to study your swelling ankle. “We’ll be there soon.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” You close your eyes, finding comfort in the darkness away from your present situation. “Thanks.”
A low rumble is all you receive in response, his chest humming an approving noise. The steady rocking of his pace sends your head falling back against his chest every few steps, colliding gently with the hard muscle. Being this close, you can smell his natural Joel smell. Like old sawdust and pine. It’s a comforting scent that you’ve grown used to on patrol, sneaking careful inhales without Joel noticing. You could only imagine the taunts you would receive if he ever suspected. He knows about your sexuality at this point, but he’s never made a case of it, electing instead to carry on as if nothing changed, which you appreciate. In return, you refrain from asking about his personal life, only engaging when he has something to share, which is rare.
“You fallin’ asleep on me?”
Joel’s drawling voice wakes you from your daydream, your eyes shooting open to find an amused, maybe even cocky smirk. You feel your cheeks redden again. “No, shut up.” You feel like a child in his arms, completely helpless. It’s a far cry from how you’ve worked hard to prove yourself, both to the community and to Joel.
Joel just chuckles and continues his trek. Within minutes you spot the familiar walls of Jackson on the horizon. Your body relaxes a bit knowing your ordeal will be over soon. With a sharp whistle, Joel has them opening the heavy wooden gates, carrying you inside. You begin to squirm, ready for Joel to release you, but he just lifts you higher into his grip and continues walking, ignoring the looks from the gate patrol. “I’m takin’ you to the infirmary,” he states, resolute.
You open your mouth to protest, but something about his steady determination feels… good. It has a warmth pooling in your core again, eyes careful as they scrutinize Joel’s rugged expression. Deciding it best not to argue, you just nod silently and look forward as he walks you both to the nearby infirmary. It’s a quiet day today, most people holed up inside their homes to wait out the falling snow. The infirmary only has a few people flitting in and out, and Joel is confident as he makes his way inside towards an available cot. “Slipped on ice out on patrol,” he explains calmly when the nurse makes his way over to you.
“We’re gonna have to cut these pants off,” the nurse explains apologetically, eyes flitting to your swelling ankle. “I hope you have more.”
You roll your eyes, unable to help yourself. “Great. Just great.” You sigh and nod, giving silent permission for the scissors to be brought out. Joel backs up, giving the staff room to work, though his eyes remain fixed. They study your calm diligence as your favorite pair of pants is hacked away, your ankle red and inflamed. His cheeks appear almost tinged pink when he realizes he’s gazing, and he quickly averts his gaze to give you some privacy.
You, meanwhile, are too busy mourning the pants to notice how Joel’s eyes flicker across the hem of your underwear before shooting down to the tile floor. If you had noticed, you may have also seen the way his breath catches in his throat, or how his pupils dilate. But no, you’re busy watching as the staff treat your ankle, setting and wrapping it, and giving you a small amount of pain medication to take on your way. They don’t have any extra pants around, so they wrap you as best they can in a thick fleece blanket, making you look like the world’s most insane upper-midwestern mermaid. You don’t miss the twinkle in Joel’s eyes when he sees your new outfit.
“Well that sure is somethin’ ya don’t see every day…” Joel muses, one side of his mouth curling up into an amused smirk.
“I swear to god, Joel,” you groan. “Can you just help me get home?”
Joel raises his hands in mock defense. “Alright, alright. But you’re coming with me.” His voice carries with it a sternness that dares you to challenge him.
“With you?” You squeak out, surprised.
“Ya can’t walk. Not at least for a few days.” He scratches the back of his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he appeared sheepish. “You got hurt on my watch, and that makes you my responsibility.”
Your face falls slightly. So that’s it? I’m a responsibility? I feel my jaw clench. “I can’t take care of myself, Joel.” The statement is pure bullshit. He and you both know you’d be frozen into a human popsicle if it weren’t for Joel’s stubbornness. “I’m not anyone’s burden.”
Joel’s eyes narrow as he takes in your reaction, the defensive hurt evident on your face. It doesn’t take him a second to kneel down next to your cot, eyes serious. “Hey now…” His gaze is a magnetic force, pulling your focus up to those eyes of his. Those damn eyes…
“You’re no burden,” he declares matter-of-factly. “I’m just lookin’ out for ya. We’re… we’re buds, right?”
Buds? You blink. Since when does Joel consider you a friend? You must have worn your surprise on your face, because Joel continues on.
“Yeah, buds. Whatever. Shut up. Just let me bring you home with me for a couple days, alright? I could use the company. Ellie’s out on a supply run for the week anyways.” His eyes soften, seeming to implore me. But his mouth is still drawn in that classic Joel expression.
“I…” You feel your suspicion begin to dissipate, replaced with surprised confusion. “Fine.” Your voice is soft, careful even. Of all the times you’ve fantasized about Joel bringing you home, this was never one of the scenarios.
Joel nods silently, but his body hums with a pleased glow. He stands, takes the medication and pockets it before glancing back down at you.. “Ready?” His arms twitch to take you up again, but this time he refrains from doing so until he’s sure you’re expecting it. “Promise I’m just a short walk away this time.” He shoots you an uncharacteristically cheeky grin.
You feel yourself nodding before you even consider his words. Joel takes you up to cradle you once more, this time making sure the blanket around your lower half is wrapped securely and won’t be lost in the increasingly-strong winds outside. You barely notice the frigid temperatures this time. Between the adrenaline from your ankle and the warmth flooding your body from Joel’s arms, it could be springtime. Luckily, there’s nobody wandering outside to spot this display of vulnerability, and Joel is able to bring you to his home within the next few minutes.
The air inside is warmer, but still chilly, as he sets you on the couch. He wordlessly moves to the fireplace and gets a good blaze started. The heat from the flames fills the room with a comforting warm and steady glow, already making you forget about the storm outside. You find yourself holding the small bottle of pain pills from the infirmary. “Take your meds,” Joel commands, eyes studying you for a moment before he turns and disappears into the kitchen.
“Aye, aye, Cap’n…” You mutter, twisting off the top and popping one. At least we have medication now. The town supplies were steadily growing, but this winter was bound to be harsh. It was a good thing the reserves could last you for weeks… Your mind wanders while Joel fusses about in the kitchen, returning with two cups of coffee. The aroma fills your nose, making you almost forget about the dull throb in your ankle for just a moment.
Joel wordlessly hands you a steaming mug and takes a seat in the chair across from you. His gaze is steady as he takes in the sight of you laid up on his couch. His expression is hard to read, but it seems as though he’s pleased about something.
Narrowing your eyes, you interrupt the silence. “What?”
Joel shakes his head with a low chuckle. “You’re cute when you’re all indignant.”
The words hang in the air like balloons. It’s as close to a flirt as you’ve ever heard from Joel, and directed at you??? You feel heat rise to your cheeks, and you swallow thickly. “I- er… I-”
“See?” Joel shakes his head, releasing an amused puff of breath. “You can’t stand being taken care of, can you?”
Your cheeks burn, embarrassed. That’s not entirely the truth. To be perfectly honest, you wanted nothing more than to sit back and let Joel take care of you. To protect you. To provide for you. But that isn’t the way the world works. People don’t just take care of others without expecting something in return. You knew Joel wasn’t the type, not anymore… but the bias remained firm. “I… This isn’t a place where you can rely on someone else,” You finally choke out.
Joel studies you carefully, considering your words, before responding.
“This place? With me?” He grows serious, expression softening. “You ain’t gotta worry about that, hot shot.” His teasing term of endearment makes my shoulders soften, a familiarity amidst all this new territory and the rearranging of boundaries that comes with it. Joel points to my ankle. “That. That’s no joke. You could make it worse. Hurt yourself. I still need you on patrol when you get better.” His mouth twitches up into a tiny smile. “Next time you can carry me. I promise.”
The joke prompts a laugh out of you, the mental image of you struggling to lift Joel into your arms a sight to behold. As your body shakes with laughter, you spot Joel with a pleased grin, his plan to break down your walls already working. It was a strange game you played. Each with your own walls and defenses, each with your own strategy of navigating the other’s. Here, in Joel’s home, you felt those walls attempt to erect themselves again, your body’s way of protecting itself against threats. And your developing crush on Joel was the biggest threat of all.
***
One day turned into two days, and two days turned into two weeks. Your ankle was slower to heal than you would have liked, and crutches would have been no help on the icy terrain around town. Joel demanded you remain at his home, long after Ellie returned. The teen regarded you laid up on the couch with an amused smirk. “It’s about time,” she remarks, a teasing grin playing on her lips.
Joel shoots her a dark glower, and she backs off, hands raised in defense. “I’ll be upstairs.” She shoots a final smirk directly at me before turning on her heel and bounding upstairs to go do whatever it is that teenagers do. Joel sighs, shaking his head and grumbling something about kids. You, however, are still stuck on Ellie’s comment.
“What did she mean by ‘about time?’” You ask.
Joel looks up from his hands, brow shooting up. “Er, who knows? Have you met Ellie? Who knows what she’s sayin’ half the time?” He tries to play it off, but you’ve spent enough time around Joel to know when he’s bullshitting. Still, though, you don’t care to dig too much, so you try and change the subject. “Joel? Would you mind grabbing the ice pack?” The request is simple. Usually, giving Joel something to make him feel helpful is the quickest way to dissolve any lingering tension.
Like clockwork, Joel rises and moves to the kitchen with a silent but relieved nod. When he returns, he makes his way to the couch and takes a seat, pausing to move your legs into his lap. He’s gentle as he moves you, taking care to support your weight evenly. Even the ice pack feels feather light when he presses it to your ankle. This had been your nightly routine for the past week, as Joel argued that you weren’t “icin’ it proper.” This had also led to more indignant protesting and a lot of red cheeks before you finally gave in.
You let out a tiny, relieved sigh as the ice pack soothes your injury, eyes falling closed. “Thanks, Joel…”
Joel grunts in response. “See? Feels nice to let someone finally take care of ya.”
You chuckle, butterflies fluttering about in your belly at his words. “Yeah, yeah… You know, you seem to like this more than you should.” Your tone is teasing. “Maybe you shoulda been a doctor.”
Joel hums in amusement. “Hmph. Nah, not for everyone, just… just you.”
The words are like an atomic bomb set off between you. Your eyes flutter open, finding Joel staring at the fire like he can’t believe what he’s just said. His muscles are rigid, the kind of frozen that appears when you’re hiding from something out on patrol. All you hear is the crackling of the fire and the steady beating of your heart in your ears. “Me?” You finally manage to gasp out.
It’s the reddest you’ve ever seen Joel. His eyes shoot from the flames to your face, and he releases a long, steady stream of air. He seems to be accepting his fate. “You.” With an awkward clearing of his throat, he focuses back on your ankle, adjusting the ice pack. There’s a tension in the air now, thick enough to cut. For a moment, you worry you’re misinterpreting things, but when Joel glances up at you, the truth is evident. He has something deeper on his mind.
“Y/N, I…” Joel treads cautiously, appearing hesitant to say the wrong thing. One of his hands cups your other ankle, lightly enough to be felt but not strong enough to keep you still. “I’m tired.” He clenches his jaw, determined. “I’m tired of dancin’ around this shit. I’m gettin’ too old for this.” He finally twists his head, gaze locking onto yours, challenging. “I care about you. More than I thought I would. More than I should. More than you probably know.” Those puppy dog eyes of his are relentless. “I like ya.”
Talk about atomic bombs.
You can’t suppress the sudden trembles that crop up across your body. All the feelings you’d been fighting with for so long are making their way out of the floodgates. All these months of patrol with Joel, of sneaking secret looks and dreaming of moments like this. The time spent in his home has only driven you closer and intensified those feelings. You’ve been growing to enjoy feeling taken care of, and Joel does it oh-so-well. “Joel…” You breathe, heart racing.
The man pauses his doctor routine to meet your eyes, and for the first time since you’ve met him, you see fear. It’s almost disconcerting. His hands remain close, ready to remove themselves at your word. He worries he’s gone past the point of no return now.
“I want you.”
The words send a shudder through Joel’s body. His breath comes out quicker, and his eyes take on a gleam of desire. It’s as if a weight has been loosened from his shoulders. Gently… tenderly… he leans closer, arm coming to steady your head in his giant paw of a hand. He pauses inches away, warm brown eyes searching yours earnestly. You feel his breath on your face, the heat of his body both heavy and comforting. The scent of his soap and that natural Joel smell that you crave so deeply.
“Please…” You breathe, afraid to blink lest the moment end.
“Gladly…” Joel closes the distance between you, capturing your mouth in a sweet, tender kiss. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you can feel the raw power in his body, barely kept at bay from sheer resolve. His scruff tickles your face, and it makes you shiver with delight. Emboldened, you take your hands and cup his cheeks, running your thumbs over the short, prickly follicles. Without meaning to, you release a low whine into his mouth.
Joel’s grip tightens, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring the seam of your lips. When you part them to grant him access, you can feel his grin. Joel’s hands move down your torso, settling at your waist. His lips are soft and warm against yours, tasting slightly of whisky. It gives you a heady rush, your own hands fumbling at his chest to undo his top shirt buttons. You find his hand gripping your wrists, eyes on fire with utter desire.
“Are you sure?” His voice is calm, but it's tinged with a slight tremor, as if he’s on the verge of something.
“Joel…” You gaze up at him. “I’ve wanted you for so long…” The admission makes your cheeks burn, but you can see the pleased look on Joel’s face. Without another word, he scoops you up just as he had on the way back from patrol, heading to the stairs. He wordlessly strides up to the second floor, turning down the dark hall and entering his bedroom. As he gently sets you down on the mattress, he presses a gentle kiss to your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of you tonight, Darlin’,” he purrs.
You shiver, the anticipation spreading throughout your limbs. You cast a glance up at Joel, your expression one of hunger and desire, but also of vulnerability and trust. Joel seems pleased by this, and he rises once more to begin removing his shirt. You watch intensely as the worn fabric shrugs its way off of broad shoulders, sliding over python-like biceps and hitting the floor with a muted thump. Joel stands bare chested in front of you. Your eyes rake over his thick, strong neck, leading into a broad, muscular chest that dissipates into a softer tummy. Flecks of salt-and-pepper chest hair dot his torso, the heaviest concentration gathering in a condensed line heading from his navel and disappearing into his jeans. You swallow thickly, eyes locked on his belt. Your fingers itch to remove it yourself, but you force stillness while Joel continues his show.
His thick fingers have his belt out in no time at all, dropping his pants to the floor. Arousal floods you at the sight of his (presumably) heavy cock straining against the black fabric of his underwear. Even restrained, it was impressive. You felt your mouth fall open as you directed your gaze back up to his eyes. They were diligently trained on you, studying your body language like he was out on patrol. He steps free of his pants and approaches carefully, swinging a leg up on the bed to prowl up your body.
His heat blankets you in warmth, his weight a comforting feeling. Boxing you in with his forearms, he settles lower and kisses you softly. “This okay?”
You nod wordlessly, fingers already moving to your shirt buttons. Joel catches you and chuckles low, sitting up on his knees to help you out. Between the two of you, your shirt is off quickly. Opened up like plaid angel wings underneath your trembling frame.
“So beautiful…” Joel murmurs, settling back down and pressing soft, aching kisses to your chest. His beard pricks your skin, sending fire rushing down to your already straining member. He feels so warm and solid atop your body. The sensation is an unfamiliar but welcome one. Hesitantly, you clutch Joel’s rippling shoulder blades, admiring the tautness of the skin underneath your fingertips.
Joel’s lips find a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, making you buck softly, a low whine crawling its way out of your throat. “Oh!”
Joel grins wolfishly against your neck. “Oh?” His lips attack once more, teeth grazing the soft, supple flesh. “Does someone like that?” He nuzzles against the sensitive spot, breath hot and ready. His callused hands clutch and grip you tightly in place. “Sensitive, aren’t we?”
His teasing tone makes your heart flutter. It feels so good to give into this side of yourself, one that isn’t afraid to moan and squirm and show vulnerability. Something about Joel’s presence makes you feel it’s okay to let go and come fully undone. It’s a primal urge, a desire for truth. For something raw and exposed.
Joel’s hands pause on your sweatpants, teeth nibbling at my earlobe. “May I?” He growls.
You whimper once more, and Joel gives a low grunt of approval before undoing the drawstring and slipping them down over your hips. “You’re beyond beautiful like this…” He coos in praise, fingers trailing lightly over your exposed flesh. “I’ve wanted this for so long…” He leans down to press a tender kiss to your lips, leaving you dizzy.
Joel begins making his way down to help y fully shimmy out of my sweats before returning to hook his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He shoots you one final look for consent, refusing to budge unless you give him an answer. You give him a nod, raising your hips to make it easier. Within an instant, your underwear is gathered around your ankles, and Joel is admiring you, fully exposed, beneath him.
His eyes lock onto your erection, currently bobbing and twitching, aching for any kind of contact. His tongue flits out and licks his lips before he shoots you a cheeky look. “Big boy…” He grins.The comment sends you blushing yet again, to which Joel responds with a hungry chuckle. He softly takes his hand, wrapping around your base, eyes meeting yours with a look of pure lust. The pressure makes you moan involuntarily, and your eyes squeeze themselves shut.
“Eyes on me,” Joel growls. “I wanna see you when I make you scream my name…”
Your eyes fly open, heart pounding so loudly you worry that Joel himself can hear it with his deaf ear. The commanding tone comes out of nowhere, sounding similar to how Joel presented himself to you during your first few patrols together. This time, however, it makes you even needier. “Joel…” You whimper.
Joel’s response is to grin and then wrap his lips around the head of your cock, sinking down and enveloping your arousal in his warm, velvety mouth. The sensation is like fireworks going off inside of your groin, and you can’t contain the moan that rips its way out, reverberating through the home. Thank god Ellie was out for the day.
Joel brings his mouth off long enough to shoot you a smirk. “Good boy…”
You shiver uncontrollably, lost in the throes of desire. You need more, and you need it now. Joel seems all-too-happy to comply as he envelops your cock in his mouth once more, this time taking you all the way to the base. He swirls his tongue around your shaft while one hand massages your inner thighs, fingers working their way lower and lower. It’s an overwhelming feeling, and your eyes practically roll back in your head. “Fuck!”
Joel moans his approval around your cock, the vibration sending even more pleasure rushing through you. He bobs his head up and down, intent on making this about you first and foremost. And oh, did he want you to come undone for him…
You cry out, overwhelmed by the sensations, tangling your fingers in his curls. He only increases his efforts, spurned on by your responses. You can feel the heat in your belly coiling and tensing, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of white hot bliss. You struggle to come up with the words to warn Joel. “J-Joel! I… I’m gonna… I-”
Joel brings his head off your dick, swiping his tongue down the side of your shaft. “What are you gonna do, Baby?” He purrs.
I whimper, bucking softly, arching my back into his touch. “Please… I wanna cum…”
The burning request makes Joel shiver, and a dark glint twinkles in his eye. “Oh, don’t worry, Darlin’...” He ignores your weeping cock and prowls over you like a panther until his eyes are locked right above your own. “I’m gonna get you there.” He gently grasps your hands and brings them to the waistband of his boxers. Sensing the intention, you eagerly hook your fingers in and lower them, freeing his cock. It swings down like a battle ax, heavy and swollen with desire. The sight makes your breath catch in your throat, already anticipating the feeling of him stretching you out.
“You want this, Darlin’?” Joel murmurs, hand brushing your cheek delicately. The motion causes you to turn your eyes back to his, fervent with lust.
“Y-yes…” You nod, hand reaching down to softly wrap around his hilt. The action makes Joel stiffen and gasp, sending a thrill through you. You hold him for a moment, eyes heavy through thick lashes. “Do you have… do you have any lube?”
Joel chuckles and reaches over into his nightstand drawer. “The perks of being on scavenge teams.” He withdraws a small bottle of something and returns to hover over you, slathering his fingers in the substance. “You ready?”
You nod breathlessly. “Please, Joel.” The request is simple but laced with need. The anticipation was killing you. You watch with careful eyes as Joel lowers his fingers, teasing his first digit near your entrance. His eyes lock onto your own, a silent command. You obediently hold his gaze and bite your lip when he begins to probe his way inside of you. You can’t help the shaking, nor can you help the soft moans. Joel fucking loves it, eyes shining with pride at each sound he coerces from your body. It’s been a while since he’s been with a guy, but it’s good to know he still has it. And this wasn’t just any guy… This was “Y/N.”
The sensation of Joel’s finger inside of you is soon joined by two, both working in tandem to stretch you out. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, but Joel is patient and careful. He wants this to feel good for you. Nothing makes him more aroused than knowing he has that effect. And it’s been a long time for him as well.
“Joel… more!” You cry, bucking your hips. The feeling is too good now, and it’s all you can do to keep from thrusting yourself down on his fingers yourself.
“That’s it, Darlin’... Doin’ so good for me…” Joel purrs, introducing his middle finger to your hole. “So fuckin’ tight…”
His words have you gasping for air, clearly their intended effect, as Joel gives a pleased smile and presses a kiss to your lips. You kiss him back hungrily, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance. Joel wins out, and you succumb to his touch willingly. It’s an easy thing to let go and pass him the reins at this point. He’s shown enough evidence at this point that he knows exactly what you need, even if you didn’t know yourself.
“That’s right, angel… let yourself go…” He encourages, shifting his hips to bring himself up close to your entrance. “Gonna make you feel so good…” He gently removes his fingers and aligns the head of his pulsing cock with your hole. He lets out a low hiss, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck… gonna make me feel so good…” His eyes open once- more long enough to lock gazes with you- before he grasps your thighs in both hands and gently pushes inside.
You cry out at the sensation of being stretched out by something larger than his fingers. “Fuck, Joel!” He feels massive, and it’s just the head. It really has been a minute.
Joel shushes you softly, leaning forward to pepper your face with kisses. “Doin’ so good, Darlin’...” He buries his face in your neck. “We’ll stay right here… long as you need.” His voice is steady and patient, but his body trembles with the effort of keeping himself only just inserted in you. The restraint is perhaps one of the hottest displays of affection you’ve seen in a long time.
You bite your lip, forcing yourself to relax more. “Just… kiss me… and take me…” You beg softly, willing Joel to look back. When he does, his expression is of amusement and arousal. He brings his face closer, lips finally meeting yours with a tenderness you’d come to expect. “Gladly…” He moans, and then he begins pushing the rest of the way inside of you. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his tongue swipe at your teeth in a carnal display of possession. He bottoms out and continues to kiss you, hands cradling the back of your head, hips locked into place. “You… feel so… good…” He groans. “Fucking hell…”
You whimper, allowing yourself to get used to the feeling of having Joel buried inside of you, stretching you out and filling you up. “Oh… Joel…”
Joel growls as you moan out his name, lips claiming yours once more in a passionate display of affection. “Fuckin’ love hearing you say my name like that…” He snarls. “Might have to keep ya around.” His hand grips the side of your ass roughly, but his eyes still carry that same tenderness underneath the arousal. You can feel your blood roaring in your ears at this point, carrying with it the pressure of wanting your release.
“Joel…” You whimper again, testing out the waters.
Joel groans, hips moving forward and pushing him impossibly deep inside of your walls. “Fuck, Darlin’... You don’t know what you do to me…”
You force back a pleased smile long enough to find his warm toffee gaze once more. “Please, Joel… I need you.”
Joel’s breath catches in his throat, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple. “Well, shit, sweetheart. That’s all you had to say.” He begins to pull out softly, stopping before he’s fully extricated, then pumping himself back into you with a resounding smack of skin against skin. The sound is absolutely obscene, and it makes Joel pick up the speed. His hips move quickly, back and forth, finding a rhythm that has the bed creaking and headboard knocking against the wall. You find your nails digging into Joel’s back, leaving small angry crescents across his back. The sensation makes him hiss and bury his face in your neck with a muffled howl of delight.
“Let me hear my name, Darlin’,” he pants, rhythm building, wanting to hear the delight he’s giving you.
Your good leg wraps around him, pulling him deeper. “Joel!” You mewl, vision obscured by heavy lids. With your legs around him, Joel is deeper than ever, the pressure of your tight walls around him almost too much to bear.
“Fuck…” He swears, his thrusts becoming more urgent, the sound of skin-against-skin filling the room. His lips seek yours, hungry and desperate as he guides you both to the brink. His chest is slick with sweat, a testament to the intensity of his actions. “Cum for me, Angel… Cum with my cock inside you…” He murmurs against your lips, his movements erratic, his own climax impending.
You feel yourself teetering over into that blissful oblivion as he shifts his hips one final time and begins hitting your sweet spot. The pleasure is blinding, and even though you’re sure you’re practically screaming his name, you can barely hear yourself as you reach orgasm. You’re sure you’ve never cum so hard in your life. As you do, you tighten around Joel’s pistoning cock, and he’s unable to prevent from filling you with his seed. You gasp at the sensation of load after load of Joel’s cum filling you, hot and thick. Joel shakes with the tremors of pleasure as he pumps out the last of his load, finally collapsing on top of you in one big sweaty mess.
“Goddamn…” he breathes, still impaling you with his cock.
You’re at a loss for words, reality slowly setting in as you realize you and Joel have just crossed into uncharted territory. But with the man’s comforting weight on you, arms wrapped protectively around your torso, you find it hard to be anxious. That’s a first. You find yourself speaking first after several moments of introspection.
“Did you mean what you said?”
Joel pauses at your sudden interjection, finding his eyes making their way over your bare torso and up to your gaze. “Did I mean what?” He asks. “Specifically?”
You feel a familiar tinge of embarrassment. “That you care for me…” You look away.
Joel hums a disapproving tone and reaches out to gently tilt your chin back to face him. “Of course, Darlin’. I’m not just trying to get my rocks off here, though…” He glances down at himself, still fully embedded inside of you. “Mission accomplished,” he grins cheekily.
The relief floods your body, easing tension you didn’t realize you were carrying. “Oh… good.” A faint smile crosses your lips. “I meant it, too.”
Joel gives you a small smile, hand reaching to caress your cheek softly. You lean into his touch, craving the gentle contact in such an intimate moment. “Good.”
You lay there for a while before Joel shifts, slowly removing himself from you. The sensation makes you hiss, and Joel himself groans until he’s finally extricated from you. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “Gonna get a shower goin’. I’ll come help you up when it’s ready.” And with that, he gives you a tender kiss on the lips and rises to pad off into the bathroom.
You remain on your back, gazing up at the ceiling and marveling at the turn of events. What does this make you? What will Ellie think? What will Tommy think? Hell, what will the town think? Anxieties plague your mind until Joel returns, and he can sense your discomfort.
“Hey now… what’s the matter?” He rushes over, sitting on the side of the bed and checking you over. “I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”
The comment brings a smirk to your face. “Only in the best way,” you chuckle. The joke relaxes Joel, but his eyes still carry concern, so you continue. “I guess… just wondering what people are gonna think, ya know? I know it’s stupid, but…” You trail off, looking down.
Joel’s hand takes yours, giving it a reaffirming squeeze. “For starters, I think people got bigger problems than whatever we do with ourselves.” He smirks. “God knows Ellie will have lots to say, but she’s the one that’s been ridin’ my ass about asking you out for the past three months.”
Suddenly, her comment (“It’s about time…”) makes sense to you. “Oh…” Then a blush crosses your face. “Months???”
Joel grins unexpectedly, ducking his head and running a hand through his curls. “Guess it took me a while to work up the nerve…” He looks sheepish.
“I broke my goddamn ankle!” You find yourself laughing suddenly, amused at the stupidity of it all. “We fight monsters out there almost every day, but we couldn’t even bring ourselves to just get a damn drink?”
Joel’s eye catches yours, the wrinkles at the corner growing deeper as his grin widens. “Well, how about it?” He asks, hand clutching your own and turning it over to inspect it with gentle eyes.
“How about what?” You tilt your head.
“That drink?” Joel’s gaze flicks up once more. “I’d say I owe you a few.”
You bite back a pleased smile, your heart swelling. “It’s a date.”
Joel grins, pleased, before ducking down and crushing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. His delight is palpable, and it may be the first time you’ve seen him this way. It seems he has as much opening up to do as you. But… as you feel his warmth and steadiness around you, you know that it’s only inevitable. Your ankle will eventually heal, and you’ll return to patrols with Joel. Things will go back to the way they were except for in the one way that matters most. Joel is never, ever, taking his eye off you again. And that’s a promise.
SUMMARY — Conner Kent, known as Superboy, is a powerful figure, capable of great destruction and widely feared. He is respected for his immense strength and serious demeanor, making him a strong ally. However, to you, he is much more than that. He is Project Kr, a clone of Superman from Cadmus who once helped you escape from captivity. You remember his fierce determination and how he fought for his own identity while freeing you. To the world, he's Superboy, but to you, he's the boy who brought hope and light.
WARNING! 18+MDNI! Swearing.
WORDS! 16.5k
AUTHOR'S NOTE! Conner Kent is that guy, no one can tell me otherwise. The boy is fiooooneeeee, okay! This was a long one to write and it definitely trampled other fics I have planned, but I had get it out for the readers. Anyway, enjoy your reading! 😉 ✨
Acquiring the ability to control cosmic energy was never something you envisioned for your life, but desperate times can drive even the most ordinary person into extraordinary circumstances. For years, your family had been struggling under the suffocating weight of financial instability. Bills piled up like mountains, debts threatened to swallow your home, and your part-time job at the corner store barely scraped together enough to keep the lights on. Watching your parents age prematurely under the strain of endless stress made you feel helpless, as though you were merely a spectator to your family's slow unraveling.
But one evening, as you flipped through the faded pages of a secondhand newspaper, something caught your eye. It was a small, inconspicuous ad nestled between real estate listings and job postings. The bold letters read: "Volunteers Needed: Lucrative Opportunity. Life-Changing Rewards." Beneath it, the fine print offered no real details, just a phone number and one name: LexCorp.
You'd heard of LexCorp before—who hadn't? Depending on who you asked, it was either a beacon of technological progress or a shadowy conglomerate with too many secrets. Whispers about their projects varied from revolutionary to downright sinister. But desperation doesn't allow for hesitation. The promise of financial salvation was too tempting, so you dialed the number that same night.
A calm, professional voice on the other end of the line invited you for a preliminary interview. The process moved faster than you expected. Within days, you found yourself in a gleaming, sterile office building that loomed over the city like a monolith. You answered questions about your health, your resilience, and—strangely—your willingness to take risks. The interviewer never clarified what kind of risks, but when they slid the contract across the table, your focus locked on the reward: a sum so generous it could pay off all your family's debts and still leave enough for a comfortable life.
The contract was a labyrinth of legal jargon and densely packed paragraphs, punctuated by bold phrases like "irreversible effects," "assumption of risk," and "non-disclosure agreement." But the promise of freedom for your family outweighed any doubt, so you scrawled your signature across the dotted lines without looking back.
It wasn't until later that the grim reality set in. The "project" wasn't just experimental—it was dangerous. LexCorp had unearthed a crystalline artifact, a strange cube humming with energy not of this Earth. According to the scientists, it contained pure cosmic energy—an unstable force capable of reshaping matter, bending space, and altering the fabric of reality itself. They theorized that, in the right hands, it could create beings with abilities to rival even Superman.
You weren't alone in the program. A handful of other volunteers joined you, all desperate for their own reasons. The testing began almost immediately, a grueling process that pushed your body and mind to the brink. You were exposed to blinding flashes of the cube's energy, its chaotic currents coursing through containment fields barely strong enough to hold it. Each session felt like standing in the heart of a storm, your nerves stretched taut as the energy seared through your veins.
It didn't take long for the casualties to mount. One by one, the other volunteers fell. Some collapsed under the strain of the experiments, their bodies unable to adapt to the energy's raw intensity. Others met even darker fates as containment breaches unleashed bursts of uncontrollable power. The scientists treated each loss as a data point, scribbling notes on clipboards while their expressions remained disturbingly detached.
And then there was you. Somehow, inexplicably, you endured. Where others withered, you thrived. Your body didn't just survive the energy—it absorbed it, adapted to it, and transformed. You began to exhibit abilities that defied explanation: manipulating matter with a thought, generating bursts of pure energy, and sensing disturbances in the world around you as if you were tethered to something far greater than yourself.
At first, the scientists were ecstatic. You were their success story, their living proof that the experiment could work. But as your abilities grew, so did your unease. This power didn't feel natural—it felt like something alien, a force that didn't belong within a human shell. The memories of the other volunteers haunted you, their faces a constant reminder of the cost of your transformation.
The financial burden that had weighed so heavily on your family was gone, replaced by an entirely new weight—the realization that you were no longer just a person. You were a weapon, a product of ambition and desperation. Your life was no longer your own.
What began as a desperate attempt to help your family had turned you into something else entirely: a walking, breathing experiment. And while your body thrived on cosmic energy, your soul bore the scars of what you'd become.
The madness didn't end with your newfound powers. If anything, it spiraled into a nightmare beyond your darkest imaginings. LexCorp saw you not as a person, but as a priceless asset—an investment they intended to exploit to its fullest. To ensure you would remain under their absolute control, they delivered a cruel, calculated lie to your family: you had died in a tragic, catastrophic accident. There was no body, no closure, just grief. As far as your parents knew, you were gone—a victim of this cold, merciless world.
But you weren't dead. Far from it. LexCorp secretly transferred you to Cadmus, an infamous facility buried deep in classified government records, renowned for its cutting-edge but ethically dubious experiments in genetic manipulation and superhuman biology. The compound itself was a fortress, hidden in an unmarked location, surrounded by layers of security designed to ensure nothing—and no one—got out.
Your new "home" was a specialized containment cell, meticulously engineered to nullify your powers. The walls shimmered faintly with a metallic sheen, imbued with compounds and technology designed to absorb the cosmic energy flowing through your body. No matter how much strength you summoned, the cell rendered you powerless. It wasn't just a prison—it was a tomb for your autonomy.
The routines of captivity weren't physically harsh, but they were psychologically devastating. Each day was a dull monotony, a predictable loop that wore on your mind like sandpaper against stone. You were provided meals on a rigid schedule—nutrient-rich but devoid of flavor—and your quarters, while minimally comfortable, felt suffocating in their sterile, inhuman design. Time blurred into an endless expanse of sameness.
Occasionally, you had moments of interaction that broke the monotony. Conversations with the G-Gnomes, small, psychic creatures employed by Cadmus to probe your thoughts and monitor your mental state, offered a strange sort of companionship, though their eerie, insectoid features unnerved you. Then there was Kraig, a peculiar hybrid being who seemed almost amused by your predicament. He spoke in riddles, dropping cryptic hints about Cadmus's inner workings and the shadowy figures pulling the strings.
They also allowed you to practice your powers, but only under strict supervision. The training arena was a sterile, white void, filled with sensors that monitored your every move. You were tested to your limits—summoning bursts of energy, manipulating objects, even warping matter in controlled settings. But you weren't doing it for your benefit. Every session was another data point for Cadmus, another step in their quest to unlock and weaponize the full extent of your abilities.
The guards at Cadmus ensured compliance at all costs. They weren't your average enforcers. These were genetic hybrids, beings with enhanced strength, speed, and resilience, some of them augmented by alien DNA. Their presence was a constant reminder of the futility of resistance. Every hallway you walked, every glance from their cold, calculating eyes, made it clear that rebellion was not an option. Even if you managed to overpower them—which seemed impossible—the labyrinthine facility offered no clues about its location. No windows, no distinguishing features, nothing that hinted at where you might be in the world. For all you knew, you could have been on another planet.
The isolation began to chip away at your resolve. Days bled into weeks, the walls of your cell pressing closer with each passing moment. You began to lose track of time, your mind slipping into darker places. Dreams of escape faded, replaced by the oppressive reality of your imprisonment. And then, something unexpected happened.
On what seemed like an ordinary day, during one of your escorted walks to the training area, you encountered him. At first, you thought your eyes were deceiving you. Standing before you was a figure straight out of legend: Superman. The same chiseled jawline, the iconic red cape, the unmistakable "S" shield on his chest. Your heart froze in your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to save you?
But Kraig, your enigmatic acquaintance, quickly corrected your assumption. This wasn't Superman. It was Project Kr—an imperfect clone crafted in Cadmus's relentless quest to control the power of Kryptonian DNA. Up close, you could see the cracks in the illusion: his slightly rougher features, the faint aura of instability in his demeanor. He was no savior, but another prisoner, bound by the same invisible chains that held you.
Meeting Project Kr changed everything. He wasn't just a clone; he was a person, struggling with his own identity, his own chains, his own quiet rebellion. In him, you saw a kindred spirit—a reflection of your own suffering and longing for freedom. For the first time, hope flickered in the darkness.
Finding someone to talk to was a relief, even if Project Kr wasn't exactly the warmest conversationalist. At first, your exchanges were brief—fleeting moments punctuated by short questions or observations. He wasn't particularly chatty, and his reserved nature made it difficult to know whether he even wanted to engage. Still, you persisted. Slowly, those terse exchanges began to grow into longer interactions. It might have started with a simple question—something about the sterile facility you both called a prison—but it gradually blossomed into hesitant conversations that carried the weight of mutual understanding.
Project Kr was captivated by your stories of the outside world. His eyes would narrow in quiet fascination as you described the mundane details of life beyond Cadmus. The way sunlight broke through trees in the morning, the scent of fresh rain on concrete, the chatter of strangers in a crowded marketplace—things you'd once taken for granted now felt like treasures as you recounted them. His questions were sharp and deliberate, as though each answer unraveled a world he had only dreamed of but never truly believed existed. You painted him pictures of blue skies and bustling cities, of quiet parks and chaotic streets. And every word seemed to stick, as if he was storing these glimpses of freedom deep within himself.
In return, you tried to nudge the conversation toward anything that might help you escape. You asked careful questions about the facility's layout, its security measures, and anything else that might give you a clue. But Project Kr's responses were vague, fragmented, and often unhelpful. It didn't take long to notice something was off about him. Sometimes, mid-conversation, his expression would cloud over, and he'd grow quiet, almost distant, as though listening to something you couldn't hear.
It was then you realized the truth: Kraig. The strange psychic hybrid who had been a begrudging presence in your life was manipulating Project Kr's mind. Subtly, perhaps even unconsciously, Kraig was twisting his thoughts and controlling his actions. The realization sent a chill down your spine. One day, in a rare moment of privacy, you managed to warn Project Kr. You kept your tone neutral and your words vague to avoid tipping off Kraig, but you urged him to be cautious, to question the voices in his mind. Project Kr didn't acknowledge your warning directly, but his thoughtful silence made you hope he'd understood.
Your chance at freedom came sooner than expected—and from a source you never could have predicted. One day, alarms erupted through the sterile corridors of Cadmus. The red lights painted the walls in flashes, and the normally unflappable guards scrambled like panicked ants. You had no idea what was happening. Then the sounds of muffled combat echoed through the facility, followed by explosions and shouts.
The chaos found its way to your cell when the door hissed open, and three figures appeared: Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. Their presence was so unexpected that you thought it might be a trick or some elaborate test. But there they were, battered but determined, with Project Kr at their side. They wasted no time in freeing you. There was no room for questions or hesitation—only urgency. They needed to move, and you weren't about to argue.
The escape was a whirlwind of chaos. The five of you fought your way through the labyrinthine facility, dodging guards and tearing through security systems. The young heroes moved with reckless determination, their banter sharp despite the life-or-death stakes. You quickly found your place among them, using your powers to blast through obstacles and defend the group as the facility descended into absolute pandemonium.
Along the way, you liberated others—victims of Cadmus's cruel experiments. Some were like you, beings infused with strange powers, while others were creatures whose very existence seemed impossible. Together, you all made your way toward freedom, leaving destruction in your wake. Guards fell, alarms blared, and containment units shattered as the facility unraveled.
When you finally broke free, the night air hit your skin like a long-forgotten memory. You barely had a moment to savor the victory, though, before the Justice League arrived. The towering heroes descended like gods from the sky, their presence commanding. But instead of celebration, you were met with sharp disapproval. Batman's cold glare, Wonder Woman's disappointment, and Superman's shock all weighed heavy on the young heroes.
The League was unimpressed with the recklessness of Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. But it was the sight of Project Kr that truly sent ripples through the group. Superman froze, staring at his clone with a mixture of disbelief, discomfort, and unspoken questions. The tension in the air was palpable as the League tried to make sense of what had happened and what Cadmus had been hiding.
You stood awkwardly amidst the chaos, unsure of where you belonged in this strange new reality. All you wanted was to go home, to finally see your family again and leave this nightmare behind. But it quickly became clear that wasn't going to happen—not yet. Batman's sharp, calculating gaze lingered on you, assessing your powers, your potential. You felt like a puzzle piece he was already trying to fit into a grander scheme.
It wasn't freedom you had walked into—it was the beginning of something much larger. The escape had torn open a new chapter in your life, one where you were no longer just a prisoner but a player in a game far beyond your understanding. And as the Justice League deliberated your fate, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the start of something far more complicated, far more dangerous, than you'd ever imagined.
Returning home should have been the end of your nightmare, but instead, it marked the beginning of a more complicated and harrowing chapter in your life. Batman, true to his word, arranged for your return to your family, but not without strings attached. Standing in the shadows of your old neighborhood, he issued a warning: he would be watching, checking in periodically to ensure you didn't lose control—or endanger anyone. His voice was steady, almost detached, but his presence left little room for argument. Exhausted, you didn't press for details. All you wanted was to go home.
The reunion with your parents was both heartwarming and devastating. When they opened the door, their faces were a storm of emotions—shock, disbelief, and overwhelming joy. The tears came quickly, followed by bone-crushing hugs, as they struggled to reconcile the son they thought they'd lost with the one standing before them now. But as relief gave way to reality, their joy turned to anger.
They didn't hold back, their voices rising as they scolded you for your recklessness. Volunteering for an experiment with LexCorp—of all places? What were you thinking? Didn't you know how dangerous they were? The words hit you like blows, but you understood the source of their anger. It was fear disguised as frustration, born from the agony they'd endured while believing you were dead. And though their scolding stung, it was underscored by a simple truth: they were just grateful to have you home.
For a brief time, it felt like life might return to normal. You tried to fall back into old routines, helping out around the house, making small talk at dinner, and even considering the possibility of returning to school. But nothing about you was normal anymore. The cosmic energy flowing through your veins wasn't something you could hide forever.
At first, the signs were subtle—a glowing fingertip here, a static hum in the air when you were nervous—but it quickly escalated. Your emotions became dangerous triggers. A flash of frustration could send a burst of energy surging from your hands, while excitement might cause objects to levitate or shatter. Despite your best efforts to suppress it, your powers were volatile and unpredictable. You knew you were losing control, and worse, your family was beginning to notice.
Then there was LexCorp. They weren't content to let you slip through their fingers. Just weeks after your return, strange cars began appearing near your house, their darkened windows reflecting nothing but menace. Agents loitered on the edges of your property, their suits sharp and their gazes sharper. They didn't bother hiding their intentions, occasionally knocking on the door with thinly veiled threats, demanding to know where you were. Their intimidation tactics grew bolder by the day, turning your home into a pressure cooker of fear and tension.
The breaking point came during an argument with your father. He had been on edge since your return, and his concern for your future boiled over when you mentioned wanting to go back to school. He insisted it wasn't safe—not for you, and not for anyone around you. But you were desperate for a shred of normalcy, and the argument escalated until it was loud enough to rattle the windows.
And then it happened. In a flash of frustration, you lost control. A surge of cosmic energy erupted from you, sending your father flying across the room. He hit the wall hard, slumping to the floor in stunned silence. Thankfully, he wasn't seriously hurt, but the look on his face—the mixture of fear and disbelief—broke something inside you. He wasn't looking at his son anymore. He was looking at a stranger, someone dangerous, someone he couldn't protect.
You knew then that you couldn't stay. As much as you loved your family, as much as they loved you, you were a threat to their safety. And LexCorp's shadow looming over them only made things worse. You couldn't protect them here—not from yourself, and not from the enemies you'd made.
Desperate and unsure of what else to do, you made a decision that felt surreal: you called Batman. The fact that you even had the means to summon the Dark Knight was a strange reminder of how far your life had strayed from normalcy. When he answered, his voice was as calm and precise as ever. After you explained the situation, he listened quietly before offering a solution.
Batman extended an invitation—or perhaps a directive. He offered you a place at The Cave, a secret base for young heroes and sidekicks under the mentorship of the Justice League. It wasn't just a sanctuary; it was a training ground. There, you could learn to control your powers, defend yourself, and face the enemies who would inevitably come for you. It wasn't a retreat—it was an enlistment into a dangerous new world.
The Cave was unlike anything you'd imagined. Hidden beneath layers of earth and stone, it buzzed with cutting-edge technology and the faint hum of activity. This wasn't just a hideout—it was a hub for covert operations. The young heroes who called it home were unlike anyone you'd ever met. Aqualad, Robin, Kid Flash, and others moved through the space with confidence, their actions precise and their camaraderie sharp-edged. They weren't just kids—they were warriors in training, bearing the weight of their mentors' legacies.
You felt out of place among them, like an outsider in a world where everyone else already knew their role. They were fast, skilled, and experienced, while you were still struggling to keep your powers in check. But this was your new home, your new reality. It wasn't what you wanted—far from it—but maybe it was what you needed. Here, under Batman's watchful eye and surrounded by others who understood the burden of extraordinary abilities, you had a chance to find stability.
This was no ordinary life, but then again, you were no ordinary person anymore. You weren't just a kid trying to fix your family's problems. You were something more—a fledgling hero, a potential force for good. And as you stood in the Cave, surrounded by the hum of advanced technology and the determined faces of your new teammates, you realized this wasn't the end of your story. It was only the beginning.
Among the chaos, one thing brought you a measure of comfort: seeing Project Kr, now going by the name Conner. The sight of his familiar face, stoic as ever, made the adjustment a little easier. For Conner, the surprise was mutual. He hadn't expected to see you again, and though his expression didn't betray much, you could tell he was glad to have someone he recognized.
For you, it felt like a lifeline. You had barely interacted with the team members who had freed you—Kid Flash, Robin, and Aqualad—and they were already deep into their missions and camaraderie. While they were friendly enough, their bond made you feel like the odd one out. But Conner was different. He wasn't a polished hero or an experienced team player; he was just trying to figure things out, much like you. That small connection eased some of the tension.
Not long after settling in, you were introduced to two more members of the team: Artemis and M'gann. Artemis, with her sharp wit and cool confidence, made an immediate impression. She wasn't one to sugarcoat her words, and her tough exterior initially made her seem intimidating. But there was something about her—an edge of vulnerability beneath the bravado—that suggested she understood what it meant to fight for your place in a world that doubted you.
Then there was M'gann, or Miss Martian, who was the complete opposite. Her warmth and enthusiasm were like a burst of sunlight in the dim, serious atmosphere of the Cave. She greeted you with a beaming smile and an openness that immediately put you at ease. Her curiosity about you was genuine, and she made an effort to include you in conversations and activities, even when you felt like retreating into the background.
It didn't take long for you to realize how different each member of the team was. Robin was quick-witted and a little cocky but clearly brilliant; Kid Flash was an endless source of energy and humor; Aqualad carried himself with a calm, commanding presence that made him seem like the glue holding the group together. Conner, however, was still figuring out where he fit, much like you.
Through all of this, Conner remained a steady presence. While he wasn't one for long conversations, his quiet support was reassuring. Occasionally, the two of you would exchange a few words about Cadmus, your powers, or just the strange twists your lives had taken. Those moments of familiarity in an otherwise unfamiliar world kept you grounded.
Artemis and M'gann quickly became part of your routine as well. Artemis was the one who pushed you during training, challenging you to step up and prove yourself. M'gann, on the other hand, helped you feel like part of the team, her kindness and patience making the transition easier. Slowly but surely, you began to feel like you belonged—not just as someone seeking refuge, but as a true member of something bigger.
In your free time, you and Conner began spending more and more time together, falling into an easy, natural rhythm that neither of you had expected. At first, it was just casual conversations, catching up on everything that had happened since Cadmus. You talked about the weeks you'd been apart—how he'd adjusted to life at The Cave, how you'd wrestled with your powers and the lingering guilt of your escape. Those chats were brief but meaningful, moments of quiet connection amid the constant chaos of life as young heroes. But before long, they became something you both craved—moments of solace that grounded you in ways nothing else could.
It was impossible not to notice how much Conner had changed. He was still the strong, silent type, but there was a new layer to him now, a quiet confidence that made him seem more centered. Gone was the unsteady, uncertain figure you'd met in the depths of Cadmus. In his place was someone learning to take control of his life, to find his place in the world. That growth only deepened your respect for him, and soon, your conversations began to shift. What started as small talk about training sessions or team dynamics turned into late-night discussions about your fears, your hopes, and the strange, winding paths that had led you both to this point.
It felt effortless, natural, like you could say anything to Conner without fear of judgment. He listened in a way few others did—quietly, intently, as if every word you spoke carried weight. And when he opened up in return, you could feel the trust he was placing in you, each admission a window into the person he was becoming. The bond between you deepened with every conversation, and it didn't take long for you to realize that what you felt for Conner wasn't just friendship. It was something much more profound, something that scared and exhilarated you all at once.
You couldn't ignore it anymore. How could you, when every glance he gave you seemed to linger a little longer than it should, when every brush of his hand against yours sent a shiver down your spine? Those piercing ocean-blue eyes seemed to see straight through you, leaving you breathless and flustered in ways you hadn't experienced before. And then there was his physique—broad shoulders, a chiseled frame, and strength that felt almost mythical. You'd caught glimpses of him without a shirt during training, and those moments had a habit of staying with you, replaying in your mind at the most inconvenient times.
But it wasn't just his looks. It was everything about him—the way he could calm your nerves with a simple look, the way he listened to you ramble about the smallest details of your day, the way his presence made you feel safe in a way you hadn't felt since before Cadmus. Even his infamous temper, which should have been a warning sign, only drew you closer. You'd seen the fire in him, but you'd also seen the way he softened around you, the way your words could bring him back from the edge when no one else could.
And then there were the little things: waking up in the morning with thoughts of Conner already swirling in your mind, the sound of his voice echoing in your head long after he'd spoken, the way his rare but radiant smile could make your heart race. It wasn't just a crush—it was something deeper, something undeniable. You were falling for him, hard, and every moment you spent with him only solidified that truth.
Unbeknownst to you, Conner was wrestling with similar feelings. At first, he didn't understand what he was experiencing. Emotions were still a foreign concept to him, something he was learning to navigate, but the more time he spent with you, the clearer it became. The way his heart leapt when you smiled, the way your laughter could cut through the anger he so often struggled to contain, the way his pulse quickened every time you touched his arm—it all pointed to one undeniable fact: you weren't just a friend. You were someone who made him feel alive.
He began gravitating toward you without even realizing it. Whether it was during training sessions, missions, or quiet moments in The Cave, he found excuses to be near you. He volunteered to partner with you whenever possible and couldn't help but let his protective instincts take over whenever you were in danger, even though he knew you could handle yourself. It wasn't just habit—it was something deeper, something he couldn't deny no matter how hard he tried.
The rest of the team noticed almost immediately. The chemistry between the two of you was impossible to ignore, and it quickly became the subject of playful teasing. Kid Flash, ever the joker, took every opportunity to comment on the "will-they-won't-they drama," making exaggerated bets on how long it would take for one of you to confess. Robin smirked knowingly but kept his thoughts to himself, while Artemis alternated between amusement and light encouragement, often giving you both subtle nudges to just admit your feelings already.
But not everyone was thrilled. M'gann, who had her own complicated feelings for Conner, watched the growing connection with thinly veiled jealousy. She tried to hide it, putting on a brave face and pretending everything was fine, but her envy was apparent. It cast a shadow over the group dynamic, one that you and Conner both felt but didn't know how to address.
Despite the teasing, the jealousy, and the unspoken tension, nothing could stop what was building between you and Conner. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every late-night conversation brought you closer to the inevitable. The feelings between you were too strong to ignore, and sooner or later, one of you would have to take the leap. Because this wasn't just a fleeting crush—it was something unstoppable, something that had already started to change both of you in ways you couldn't begin to explain.
The weight of your emotions kept both of you tethered in uncertainty. That is, until one quiet evening when the truth could no longer be contained.
It had been a long, grueling day at The Cave. Training sessions had pushed everyone to their limits, and the tension among the team was palpable. You needed a break from the relentless chaos, and as if reading your mind, Conner had suggested a walk along the beach near the cliffs. Without hesitation, you agreed. Wolf, his ever-loyal companion, bounded ahead, his paws leaving faint imprints in the sand as he explored the shoreline. Occasionally, he would stop and glance back, his amber eyes checking to make sure you were both keeping up.
The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange, pink, and gold. The ocean mirrored the colors, its surface shimmering like liquid light as waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. A gentle breeze carried the salty tang of the sea, tugging lightly at your clothes and hair. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft crunch of sand beneath your feet and the distant calls of seabirds.
It was a moment of rare peace, one that felt almost too perfect to be real. For once, there were no missions looming, no training drills to face, no external pressures demanding your attention—just the two of you and the endless horizon.
Conner was the first to break the silence. His voice, quiet and contemplative, barely rose above the sound of the waves. "You know," he began, his gaze fixed on the distant ocean, "a lot has changed since I left Cadmus." There was a hesitance in his tone, as if he were still trying to piece his thoughts together. "Back then, everything was simple. Not in a good way, just... empty. I followed orders. Did what I was told. I didn't think about anything beyond that."
You glanced at him but stayed silent, sensing that this was something he needed to say in his own time. His jaw tightened briefly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his expression flickering with uncertainty. "Since then, I've learned a lot—about myself, about the world, about what it means to... choose who you want to be." He hesitated, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "And about what I want."
The confession caught you off guard, your chest tightening as his words sank in. Conner glanced at you, his ocean-blue eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "Sometimes, it's overwhelming," he admitted, his voice dropping lower. "I feel like I'm always trying to catch up, to figure out who I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to do. But when I'm with you..." He stopped walking, turning to face you fully.
The wind ruffled his dark hair, and the fading sunlight bathed him in a golden glow that made his chiseled features look almost unreal. For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression soft but intense, as if searching for the right words.
"When I'm with you," he continued, his voice steady now, "everything feels... clear. Like none of the confusion or doubt matters. Like I can just be."
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. The air around you felt charged, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you. Before you could respond, Conner took a small step closer, the sand shifting beneath his boots.
"I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to say it," he said, his voice firmer now, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "I love you."
The words hit you like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. He stood there, raw and unguarded, every wall he'd ever built stripped away in this one, vulnerable moment. "I didn't realize it at first," he continued, his voice quieter now, as if the confession itself had drained some of his resolve. "But I do. I love you. And it's not just some fleeting feeling—it's real. It's... everything."
The world seemed to stop. The waves, the wind, even Wolf's distant barking faded into the background. All you could see, all you could hear, was Conner standing before you, his words hanging in the air like the last rays of sunlight on the horizon. He looked at you with a mixture of hope and fear, his hands hanging uncertainly at his sides, as though he didn't quite know what to do with them.
"I love you," he repeated, softer this time, as if reaffirming it to himself. "And I don't care if it's messy or complicated. I just... I had to tell you."
It was then that you realized your hands were trembling, your emotions a whirlwind of shock, joy, and disbelief. You had imagined this moment so many times, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer weight of hearing those words spoken aloud. For the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion etched into his features.
"Conner..." you began, your voice catching in your throat. His name felt like a lifeline, grounding you in this moment that felt too big, too important, to fully comprehend. You stepped closer, your trembling hands finding their way to his. The warmth of his touch steadied you, his calloused fingers gently enclosing yours as if to anchor you both.
Looking into his eyes, you saw everything you needed to say reflected back at you—the trust, the connection, the undeniable truth of what you both felt. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the world in twilight, you realized that this wasn't just a moment of confession. It was the beginning of something new, something real, and something worth holding onto.
"I love you too," you whispered, and the smile that broke across Conner's face was brighter than the fading light of the setting sun.
The confession lingered between you like a fragile thread, heavy with emotion yet pulsing with potential. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the weight of Conner's words and the silent tension locking you both in place. His piercing blue eyes searched yours, as though trying to read your thoughts, his vulnerability exposed in a way you had never seen before. Then, as if something inside him shifted, Conner took a step closer—close enough for the warmth of his body to cut through the cool ocean breeze.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The intensity in his gaze said everything. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his movements careful, giving you every opportunity to step back, to stop what was about to happen. But you didn't. Your feet stayed rooted in the sand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest as the world around you seemed to fall away. The rhythmic crash of the waves, the distant cries of seagulls, even the faint sound of Wolf panting nearby—all of it faded into nothing. There was only Conner, and the way he made the air between you feel electric.
And then his lips met yours.
The kiss was everything you hadn't realized you were waiting for. It was slow at first, tentative, like the beginning of a story you both wanted to savor. But it didn't stay that way for long. As the initial hesitation melted away, the kiss deepened, growing in intensity. There was a passion behind it, a rawness that spoke of everything the two of you had been holding back for so long. His lips were soft yet firm, his movements deliberate but hungry, as though he were pouring every unsaid word, every pent-up emotion, into this one perfect moment.
His hands, rough and calloused from endless training, moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted with the fervor of the kiss, and it sent a shiver through you. It was as though he were afraid to let you go, afraid you might vanish if he didn't hold on tight enough. You leaned into his touch, your own hands instinctively finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as if to anchor yourself in the surging tide of emotions threatening to sweep you away.
The kiss deepened further, and Conner pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. The feel of him—the strength, the warmth, the sheer presence—was overwhelming. His body pressed against yours, solid and steady, making you feel both consumed and protected all at once. You could feel the faint, steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, a grounding reminder that this moment was real, that he was real.
Your own hands slid up to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with everything you had. Each movement, each touch, felt charged, electric. It wasn't just passion; it was love—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to contain. The connection between you seemed to hum with a life of its own, as if the universe had been holding its breath for this exact moment.
Conner tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss further as his hands tightened around your waist, holding you close but still gentle, still careful. His touch sent warmth radiating through you, a heat that spread from where his hands rested to the very tips of your fingers. You felt as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it all, yet you didn't want it to end.
And then, reluctantly, the two of you broke apart, gasping softly as you both remembered the need to breathe. Conner didn't move far. His forehead came to rest gently against yours, his breath warm and uneven as he tried to steady himself. His eyes remained closed for a moment, a soft smile curving his lips—a smile so rare, so full of affection, it made your chest ache.
When his eyes finally opened, they were filled with a tenderness that made your knees weak. He didn't speak right away, and neither did you. Words felt unnecessary in the face of everything that had just passed between you. Instead, he lifted a hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, as if to confirm to himself that you were still there, still real.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time," he finally admitted, his voice low and almost shy, a sharp contrast to the confident strength he usually carried. The vulnerability in his tone only made your heart swell further.
"So have I," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft crash of the waves. The words carried a weight of truth that made him smile again, his rare, breathtaking smile that seemed to light up the darkening horizon.
For a while, neither of you moved, content to stay locked in this moment. His arms remained around you, holding you close as the ocean breeze swirled around you both. Wolf's distant bark brought a faint laugh from Conner, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he finally pulled back, though his hands never left your waist.
Standing there, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, you felt as though the world had shifted. The tension that had lingered between you for weeks, the unspoken feelings that had hung in the air, were gone. In their place was something real, something steady.
And in that moment, as you gazed into Conner's eyes and saw nothing but affection and certainty reflected back at you, you knew one thing for sure: this was only the beginning.
From that day on, everything changed. The kiss on the beach didn't just mark the start of your relationship—it was the foundation for something transformative, something neither of you had fully realized you were missing until that moment. You and Conner became inseparable, building a bond that was as powerful as it was tender. Over the next five years, your lives intertwined as you grew together, navigating the complexities of both hero life and the challenges of adulthood.
The beginning of your relationship was an adjustment period, filled with both excitement and learning curves. Conner wasn't the most expressive person when it came to words, but his actions spoke volumes. He showed his love in the quiet, meaningful ways that only he could. Whether it was standing protectively closer to you during tense missions, slipping you a cup of coffee just the way you liked it after a grueling training session, or silently sitting by your side during long, quiet evenings, his devotion was clear.
Conner wasn't one for grand romantic gestures, but the little things made up for it. He remembered details about you that no one else did—your favorite music, the way you liked to unwind after a stressful day, the exact spot on your shoulder that was always sore after combat training. His love wasn't loud or flashy, but it was steady and undeniable.
Of course, it wasn't perfect. Adjusting to each other's quirks and differences wasn't always easy. Conner's occasional temper and your own stubborn streak led to clashes, sometimes over the smallest things—who forgot to clean up after training, or which of you deserved the last slice of pizza after a long mission. Other arguments ran deeper, rooted in the immense pressure both of you faced as heroes. Sometimes Conner would shut down emotionally, retreating into himself when he felt overwhelmed. Other times, you'd push yourself too hard, refusing to admit when you needed help. But no matter how heated or difficult things became, the two of you always found a way to reconcile, your love proving stronger than any disagreement.
Not everyone was thrilled about your relationship—M'gann, in particular. It was no secret that she had feelings for Conner, and the announcement of your relationship hit her hard. Though she wasn't openly hostile, the tension was undeniable. At first, her actions were subtle: lingering a little too long in conversations with Conner, finding excuses to partner with him during missions, or offering advice that felt far more personal than professional. Her glances toward you were sharp, her words clipped and frosty whenever you were around.
You tried not to let it bother you, but there were moments of doubt. M'gann was stunningly beautiful, effortlessly charismatic, and had a connection with Conner from the early days of his life outside Cadmus. Part of you couldn't help but wonder if she could offer him something you couldn't. But Conner's loyalty never wavered. He made it clear where his heart lay, whether by politely but firmly shutting down M'gann's attempts or simply moving closer to you during team gatherings, taking your hand in his and grounding you in the reassurance of his presence.
Over time, M'gann began to accept the reality of your relationship. Her attempts to win Conner over became less frequent, and while the tension between you two never completely disappeared, it faded into the background. Eventually, her focus shifted toward her own growth, and though your relationship with her would never be warm, it settled into a quiet indifference. She became a minor distraction compared to the love and connection you shared with Conner.
As the months passed, you and Conner faced countless challenges together, each one shaping the bond between you. Life as young heroes wasn't easy—the missions were grueling, the stakes high, and the sacrifices often painful. But through it all, you were each other's constant. You celebrated victories together, no matter how small, and offered comfort during moments of doubt and loss. Conner's quiet strength became your anchor, while your unwavering support helped him find his footing in a world that often felt too complicated and overwhelming.
When life outside the team came calling, you tackled those challenges together too. From figuring out how to balance hero duties with the mundane struggles of daily life to simply learning what it meant to grow into yourselves, you became each other's greatest ally. On the days when it felt like the weight of the world was too much, Conner would pull you into his arms, his steady heartbeat reminding you that you weren't alone. And on the nights when his own doubts crept in, you were there to remind him of his worth, of the incredible man he had become.
Then five years passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. You went from two unsure teenagers navigating the chaos of the team to adults who had found not just strength in one another, but a deep and abiding love that had weathered every storm. There were still challenges, of course—every relationship has them—but the foundation you'd built together was unshakable.
The connection that began in the sterile halls of Cadmus had blossomed into something extraordinary. Conner wasn't just your boyfriend—he was your partner in every sense of the word. He was the person who stood by your side in battle, the one who held you close when the nightmares came, the one who believed in you even on the days when you struggled to believe in yourself.
And you weren't just his boyfriend—you were his rock, his constant in a world that had once seemed so alien and confusing. You gave him a sense of purpose, of belonging, that he'd never known before. Together, you had built a life filled with love, trust, and the unshakable certainty that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you could face them as long as you had each other.
What began as a quiet connection had grown into a love that was steady, powerful, and enduring. Conner was your home, and you were his. And as you looked toward the future, you knew that whatever storms came your way, you would weather them together. Always.
You two had grown into your roles as senior members of the now-expanded Team, a transformation that felt both surreal and inevitable. What had started as a small, tight-knit group of young heroes had evolved into a sprawling organization with dozens of recruits, each bringing their own unique powers, personalities, and challenges. It was a far cry from the days when you and Conner were the rookies, scrambling to keep up with the veterans. Now, you stood among the most experienced, entrusted with leading the next generation of heroes and steering them through the chaos of their missions.
Stepping into leadership roles hadn't been easy at first. The weight of responsibility was daunting, especially when you remembered your own early missteps. But with time, you both found your footing, developing your own distinct styles as leaders. Conner's leadership was natural, almost effortless. His steady presence and unshakable sense of duty made him a rock for his squadron. He commanded respect without demanding it, his quiet authority inspiring trust and loyalty. Conner was the kind of leader who always showed up—whether it was to guide his team through a perilous mission or to quietly offer a word of encouragement to a struggling recruit.
Your leadership style was different but no less effective. Where Conner's strength lay in his consistency and calm, you excelled at connecting with your squad on a deeper level. You had a gift for understanding people, seeing their potential even when they couldn't. Your approach combined empathy with just the right amount of tough love, pushing your team to grow while making sure they always felt supported. You understood the importance of believing in someone, of showing them they could succeed even when the odds felt impossible. Your recruits respected you not just as a leader, but as someone who truly cared about their success.
Despite the demands of leadership, the dynamic between you and Conner remained as strong as ever. Though your duties often pulled you in different directions, you always found time to collaborate. Whether it was during strategy meetings, debriefing after missions, or those quiet moments when you both needed to vent about the latest recruit who thought they could "go solo," you leaned on each other. You balanced each other perfectly—Conner's pragmatic approach grounded you, while your empathetic perspective often helped him see angles he might have overlooked. Together, you made a formidable team, both in and out of the field.
The new normal was a far cry from the uncertain days of your early years with the Team. Back then, you'd felt like you were constantly running to catch up, to prove yourself. Now, you and Conner had become the ones others turned to for guidance. It was a strange realization at first, but also deeply rewarding. You weren't just fighting battles anymore—you were shaping the future, mentoring the next generation of heroes who would one day carry the mantle.
That didn't mean it was easy. The new recruits were a mixed bag, as new recruits always are. Some were eager but reckless, driven by the need to prove themselves in ways that often landed them in trouble. Others were more cautious, unsure of their abilities and hesitant to take risks. And then there were those who chafed under authority, testing the limits of your patience. Each recruit brought their own challenges, and managing them required different approaches.
Conner handled the rebellious ones with his usual no-nonsense attitude. He didn't tolerate excuses or slacking, but he was also fair, quick to recognize hard work and improvement. His squad knew where they stood with him, and while his methods were sometimes intimidating, they were undeniably effective. You, on the other hand, excelled at breaking through the walls recruits often put up, finding ways to reach even the most difficult personalities. You had a knack for making them feel seen and valued, which often helped smooth over the rough edges.
You and Conner frequently swapped strategies, often during late-night conversations in the Cave or on rare quiet evenings at home. These moments were a reminder of how well you worked together, your different styles complementing rather than clashing. You didn't always agree—Conner's straightforward, discipline-focused approach sometimes clashed with your more empathetic methods—but your shared goal of keeping the team safe and prepared always brought you back to the same page.
Conner had just wrapped up one of the most grueling missions he'd faced in weeks, tracking Clayface through the rancid, labyrinthine sewers beneath Gotham City. The mission had been long, messy, and exhausting. With Nightwing leading the operation, the team had managed to corner and neutralize Clayface, but not without a few close calls—and plenty of exposure to Gotham's less-than-pleasant underbelly. By the time they returned to the Cave, the stench of sewage clung stubbornly to Conner, his clothes ruined and his mood sour.
After a quick debrief in the command center, Conner wasted no time heading to the showers. The hot water was a welcome relief, scalding away the grime and the memory of slogging through filth. He scrubbed at his skin with almost aggressive determination, muttering under his breath about how the smell refused to go away. Finally, after what felt like forever, he emerged clean and refreshed, droplets of water still clinging to his short hair and glistening on his skin.
He made his way to your shared room in the Cave, his fatigue weighing heavy on him. The door creaked open, and as he stepped inside, the sight before him made every ounce of stress from the day begin to fade. You were lounging on the bed, wearing one of his black T-shirts, the oversized fabric swallowing your frame and hanging down to your thighs. It was comically large on you, but that only made it more endearing. You sat cross-legged, utterly engrossed in the book resting in your lap, your brow furrowed slightly as you turned the page.
At the sound of the door opening, you looked up, your expression softening instantly into a warm, affectionate smile. "Hey," you said, your voice light and soothing, as though you'd been waiting for him all day.
A small but genuine smile tugged at the corners of Conner's lips. "Hey," he replied, his voice still low and gravelly from exhaustion. Without a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He didn't bother with words, didn't ask for permission—he simply made his way to you, resting his head on your stomach as he settled himself between your legs. His damp hair pressed against the fabric of the T-shirt you wore, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin beneath. His strong arms slid around your waist, pulling you close as though anchoring himself to you.
You didn't need to ask what he needed. Over the years, you'd come to understand Conner's unspoken language. He wasn't one to articulate his emotions easily, but his actions said more than words ever could. The way his body relaxed against yours, the way his breath slowed, and the way his grip on your waist tightened slightly—it all told you exactly what he was seeking: comfort, grounding, and the peace that only you could provide.
Your hand moved instinctively to his hair, your fingers threading gently through the damp strands. You stroked with slow, deliberate motions, your touch light but firm, knowing how much he loved this simple gesture. Conner let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, the tension visibly melting from his body. His arms flexed briefly around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, as though to ensure you wouldn't slip away.
"Tough mission?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers continued their soothing rhythm.
Conner hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes half-lidded as he let himself relax fully against you. "Clayface. Sewers. You can probably imagine the rest," he muttered, his tone laced with weariness.
You chuckled lightly, the sound vibrating gently against his cheek where it rested on your stomach. "Yikes," you teased. "Bet that smelled like roses."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, his dry humor peeking through despite his exhaustion. "Yeah, real refreshing," he murmured, his voice softer now. "Definitely one for the books."
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that came so naturally after years of being together. The sounds of the Cave—distant footsteps, the hum of machinery—faded into the background. You set your book aside, your attention fully on Conner now, your hand never ceasing its slow, comforting movements through his hair. His breathing grew steadier, his shoulders losing the last remnants of their tension as he melted into you completely.
The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a warm cocoon. Conner's grip on you was secure but gentle, his presence grounding you just as much as you grounded him. You couldn't help but smile as you looked down at him, his face peaceful and relaxed in a way that made your heart ache with love. These were the moments you cherished most—the quiet, unspoken ones where words weren't necessary, where just being together was enough to make the world feel right.
As the minutes stretched on, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his temple, your lips lingering against his skin. Conner responded with a barely audible hum of contentment, his arms tightening briefly around your waist before relaxing again.
"You want a massage?" you asked softly, your fingers threading gently through Conner's damp hair. His head rested heavily on your stomach, his body fully relaxed against yours, and the rhythmic motion of your hand seemed to ease away the tension he carried after his grueling mission. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing steady, and for a moment, it seemed like he might drift off completely.
He didn't reply right away, as if weighing the question or simply savoring the comfort of the moment. Then, slowly, a familiar smirk crept onto his lips—the kind that sent a shiver of anticipation through you every time you saw it. His ocean-blue eyes fluttered open, the corners crinkling with mischief as he tilted his head slightly to look up at you.
"Nah," he murmured, his voice low and edged with a playful undertone that made your heart skip a beat. "But I do have another idea."
You raised an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, though your pulse quickened at the teasing glint in his eyes. "Oh? And what idea might that be, Mr. Kent?" you teased, your fingers momentarily pausing in his hair as you waited for his response.
Conner shifted lazily, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could get a better look at you. His smirk widened as his gaze swept over you, taking in the sight of you curled up on the bed, still wearing his oversized black T-shirt that fell just above your thighs. The amusement in his expression was almost predatory, his eyes darkening slightly as they met yours.
He didn't answer right away, letting the silence stretch. His hand moved with deliberate slowness, brushing against your thigh in a way that sent a jolt of warmth through you. His fingertips lingered, tracing idle patterns on your skin, the touch both teasing and intimate.
"Well," he drawled at last, his voice dipping into that deep, gravelly tone that always made your stomach flutter. "I was thinking..." He trailed off, leaning in closer, his face just inches from yours now. The smirk softened into something more tender but no less dangerous as his hand slid up your leg, his palm coming to rest firmly on your hip. "Maybe we could do something a little... more fun."
You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of nervous energy and anticipation. "More fun?" you echoed, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders, your fingertips grazing the solid warmth of his muscles beneath his shirt. "And what exactly do you have in mind, Conner?"
His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He leaned in even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Why don't I show you?" he murmured, the suggestion laced with affection as much as mischief.
Before you could respond, he moved with effortless strength, his arms tightening around you as he shifted your positions in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised gasp as he flipped you onto your back, pinning you gently beneath him. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and the warmth of his body enveloped you as he braced himself above you.
His smirk was back, but there was a tenderness in his gaze now, a softness that made your breath catch. His hand remained on your hip, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of the shirt you wore—his shirt. "You've been taking care of me all night," he said softly, his voice quieter now, laced with gratitude and something deeper. "I think it's my turn to take care of you."
Your heart raced as his lips found yours, the kiss starting slow, almost reverent. His mouth moved against yours with a tenderness that sent warmth blooming through your chest, but it didn't take long for the kiss to deepen. The passion that simmered beneath his calm exterior broke through, his lips pressing against yours more firmly, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back to pull you even closer.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, still slightly damp from his shower, as you kissed him back with equal fervor. Every movement, every touch felt electric, the world narrowing to just the two of you. Conner's weight above you was grounding, his warmth seeping into you, his presence wrapping around you like a cocoon.
He broke the kiss just long enough to meet your gaze, his forehead resting against yours as his breath came uneven. His eyes, now darker with emotion, held a mixture of love and desire that made your heart swell. "You're all I need," he whispered, the words so soft you almost didn't hear them over the sound of your own pounding heartbeat.
You smiled, your hands sliding down to his shoulders as you pulled him back down for another kiss. "Then don't let me go," you murmured against his lips, your voice just as quiet but filled with all the affection you felt.
Conner didn't reply with words—he didn't need to. The way his arms wrapped around you, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he held you as though you were the most precious thing in the world—it all spoke louder than anything he could have said. And in that moment, with the warmth of him pressed against you and the world fading into the background, you knew there was nowhere else you'd rather be.
His rough, calloused fingers slid beneath the hem of the oversized black shirt you wore—his shirt, which hung on your frame like a dress. The fabric bunched slightly as his hands traveled upward, the contrast of his warm touch against your skin sending shivers down your spine.
His movements were unhurried, almost teasing, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the intensity in his ocean-blue gaze making your breath hitch. When his fingers found the waistband of your underwear, he paused, his lips quirking into a playful smile as though silently asking for permission. The anticipation was electric, crackling in the air between you.
You nodded, barely able to contain the heat rising in your body. That was all the confirmation Conner needed. Slowly, he slid your underwear down, his fingers grazing your hips and thighs as he removed the final barrier between you. The sensation was maddeningly soft, yet charged with an undeniable intimacy that left you feeling completely exposed—and utterly desired.
As your underwear slipped away, Conner's hand trailed back up, his touch firm yet gentle as his fingers brushed against your dick. His palm enveloped you, his grip warm and steady, and the simple act sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you. His movements were slow at first, deliberate, as if he were mapping every inch of you, learning the way your body responded to his touch.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw before murmuring in a low, husky tone, "You're perfect, you know that?"
The words made your pulse race, your heart pounding in your chest. Conner's gaze softened, though the intensity never wavered, and his hand moved with practiced care, each touch sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. There was something deeply intimate about the moment—more than just the physical connection, it was the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.
The shirt you wore—his shirt—slipped further up as he moved, exposing more of you to him. His free hand slid around your waist, holding you in place, anchoring you to him as his movements became more deliberate. The warmth of his touch, the weight of his body pressing against yours, and the sheer love in his gaze all combined to create a moment that felt nothing short of breathtaking.
"Conner..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you felt yourself surrender completely to him. He smiled at the sound of your voice, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that was as passionate as it was tender.
His hand moved with deliberate slowness, sliding up and down your dick in a rhythm that was maddeningly precise, designed to make you unravel beneath his touch. The heat of his palm, the strength of his grip—firm but never rough—had your body responding instinctively, arching slightly into his hand as your breath hitched.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his deep voice dropping to a low, husky whisper that made your entire body tremble.
"You're so hard for me," he murmured, his words laced with a teasing edge that sent a flush of heat straight to your cheeks. His tone was rough, raw with desire, but there was also a playful affection in the way he spoke, like he loved seeing how easily you came undone in his hands.
"Look at you," he continued, his voice like velvet, each word dripping with intent. His grip tightened slightly as he stroked you, the added pressure drawing a quiet moan from your lips. "You're so perfect like this—so needy. You like when I touch you, don't you?"
Your heart raced, your breaths coming faster as his words hit you like a spark to kindling. Conner's hand never faltered, moving in a steady rhythm that left you teetering on the edge of control. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear before continuing, his voice filled with a delicious mixture of command and tenderness.
"Every inch of you belongs to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."
His free hand slid around your back, pulling you closer to him, as though he couldn't stand even a fraction of space between you. The heat of his body pressed against yours was overwhelming, and the way his words filled your ear—dirty, possessive, and utterly irresistible—made it impossible to focus on anything else.
"You're mine," he growled softly, the roughness in his voice sending another shiver down your spine. "And I'll make you feel so good you won't be able to think about anyone but me."
Every touch, every word, every deliberate stroke of his hand was a symphony of pleasure, building higher and higher until you felt like you might explode from the sheer intensity of it. Conner's lips brushed against your neck now, his teeth grazing your skin lightly as he whispered one final promise, his hand moving just a little faster, driving you closer to the brink.
"Let go for me," he murmured, his voice a mixture of command and reassurance. "I want to feel you completely lose control—just for me."
And with that, the overwhelming combination of his touch, his words, and his presence pushed you over the edge, your body surrendering completely to the man who held you like you were his entire world.
The tension in your body built to an almost unbearable peak, every nerve alight as Conner's skilled hand continued its deliberate rhythm. His grip, his pace, the heat of his touch—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. Your breath quickened, a series of soft gasps and quiet moans escaping your lips as you felt yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.
Conner must have sensed it, because his lips found their way back to your ear, his voice a low, sultry murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "That's it," he whispered, his tone both commanding and tender. "Don't hold back. Let me feel you."
His words were your undoing. The tension coiled deep inside you snapped all at once, and you cried out softly, your body arching instinctively into his hand as you reached your climax. A rush of heat surged through you, and you felt yourself release, your hot seed spilling over his hand in a wave of pure, unrelenting ecstasy.
Conner didn't stop, his hand slowing just enough to draw out every last pulse of pleasure, his touch grounding you even as your mind reeled. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer as your body trembled against his.
"That's it," he murmured again, his lips brushing against your neck now, pressing soft kisses to your heated skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go like that."
You couldn't form words, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you tried to steady yourself. Conner's touch became gentler, soothing now, his thumb brushing lightly along your hip as his free hand reached for a nearby cloth to clean you up. His movements were tender, his eyes filled with a quiet affection that made your chest ache.
As he finished, Conner leaned back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. The corners of his lips turned upward in a small, knowing smile, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady and warm.
You nodded, still catching your breath, and managed a faint smile in return. "More than okay," you murmured, your voice laced with both exhaustion and contentment.
Conner chuckled, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Good," he said simply, his tone filled with quiet pride. "Because I'm not done spoiling you yet."
Suddenly, Conner had you straddling his waist, your thighs resting firmly on either side of his hips as his hands roamed over your body with an intensity that made your pulse race. His calloused palms gripped your ass firmly, fingers digging in just enough to leave a lingering warmth against your skin. The strength of his touch sent a shiver through you, a perfect mix of control and affection that made you feel completely consumed by him.
He shifted beneath you slightly, his muscles flexing under your weight as he adjusted your position to pull you even closer. His lips curled into a teasing smirk as his hands tightened on your backside, the possessiveness in his gaze making your breath hitch. Without warning, he raised one hand and brought it down with a sharp, deliberate smack against your ass.
The sudden sting was quickly followed by a rush of heat that spread through your body, the sound of the slap echoing in the room. You gasped softly, the mixture of surprise and pleasure making your body instinctively arch toward him. Conner's smirk grew wider, his ocean-blue eyes darkening with desire as he watched your reaction closely.
"You like that?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a teasing edge that sent a thrill through you. Before you could respond, his hand came down again, another firm smack that made your skin tingle and your heart race. The way his strong hand lingered afterward, kneading the spot he had just struck, sent shivers down your spine.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck as his other hand slid up your back, holding you steady. "You drive me crazy," he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with raw affection and desire. His breath was hot, his kisses deliberate as he nipped lightly at your neck before trailing his tongue along the sensitive area.
His hand on your ass delivered another firm smack, the impact sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "I could do this all night," he muttered, his tone both playful and commanding as his lips moved back to claim yours in a kiss that was as consuming as it was passionate. His grip on you remained firm, his hands alternating between soothing caresses and sharp, tantalizing slaps that kept your body tingling with anticipation.
Every movement, every touch, every deliberate action reminded you just how deeply Conner desired you, his actions a perfect blend of strength, passion, and unwavering affection.
Your body pressed firmly against Conner's, your fingers tangled in his short, dark hair as his lips claimed yours with a fiery intensity. The kiss was deep and unrelenting, filled with passion that made the rest of the world fade into insignificance. Conner's hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you impossibly closer, as if the space between you was unacceptable.
A low moan escaped your lips, muffled against his, as the heat between you built to an overwhelming crescendo. You felt his lips curve into a small, satisfied smile against your mouth, his body reacting to every sound you made. Breaking the kiss for a brief moment, you tilted your head slightly to whisper in his ear, letting out another soft moan, the sound raw and unfiltered. His sharp intake of breath and the way his grip tightened on you told you exactly how much it affected him.
Just as Conner's lips trailed down to your jawline, leaving a path of slow, deliberate kisses, a loud knock echoed through the room, startling you both. The sound cut through the intimate atmosphere like a knife, and you felt Conner stiffen beneath you, his grip on your waist momentarily freezing.
A low growl of frustration rumbled in his chest as he turned his head toward the door, his expression shifting into one of pure annoyance. Without letting go of you or breaking the connection between your bodies, he raised his voice, his tone sharp and commanding.
"Go away," Conner barked, the edge in his voice leaving no room for argument.
You couldn't help but smile at the irritation lacing his words, finding his reaction both protective and endearing. His attention shifted back to you almost instantly, his hands moving back to your hips as he resumed where he left off, his lips brushing against your neck now.
"They better not knock again," he muttered against your skin, his voice low and full of barely restrained frustration. The way his breath warmed your neck sent shivers down your spine, and the momentary interruption quickly melted away as Conner's focus returned entirely to you.
The knock may have broken the rhythm for a moment, but the intensity between you two reignited almost immediately, pulling you both back into the heat of the moment as if nothing had happened.
Conner's body was taut beneath you, every muscle coiled with tension as the heat between you both continued to build. His breaths came heavier, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands, and you could feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against you. His arousal was evident, firm and insistent, a clear sign of just how much he wanted you.
The way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, left no room for doubt. Conner's smirk turned devilish as he shifted slightly beneath you, making you acutely aware of the growing pressure. "You're killing me," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire, his ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours with a gaze that felt like it could set you on fire.
As you shifted in his lap, the friction only made the tension between you more palpable. His arousal strained against the fabric of his pajamas, firm and ready to break free from its confines. The way his body reacted to every subtle movement of yours sent shivers of anticipation through you, and the intensity in his expression made it clear he wasn't planning on holding back much longer.
His hands slid up your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as his lips found their way to your neck once again. "You've got me ready to lose control," he whispered against your skin, his tone filled with equal parts affection and raw, unfiltered want. The promise in his voice was enough to make your heart race as you felt the full extent of his desire, firm and eager to join the moment.
Conner removed his hands from your body briefly, his gaze locked onto yours as he reached for the waistband of his pajamas. The tension in the air was almost palpable, each second feeling like an eternity as he slowly pushed both his pajamas and underwear down in one fluid motion. The fabric slid over his hips, revealing the taut, sculpted muscles of his lower body, every inch of his physique a testament to his raw strength.
And then, there it was—his dick sprang free, standing proudly, thick and fully erect. At nine inches, it was impossible to ignore, commanding attention with its sheer size and firmness. The sight alone sent a rush of heat through your body, making your breath catch in your throat. The way he exuded confidence, his body radiating a natural, effortless dominance, only added to the allure.
Conner's smirk widened slightly as he noticed your reaction, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with a mixture of affection and desire. He stepped closer, the tension in his movements now replaced with a sense of ease and purpose. His hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer as his body pressed against yours, the heat of his skin intoxicating.
"You've got me all worked up," he murmured, his deep voice low and teasing as his fingers brushed lightly against your sides. The weight of his dick against you was undeniable, a reminder of the intensity simmering between you two.
The moment was electric, the anticipation thick in the air and before you knew it, Conner's hands gripped your hips firmly, his touch grounding and steady as he positioned himself beneath you. The heat of his body pressed against yours, and his ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Every movement he made was deliberate, filled with purpose, as if he wanted to savor every moment leading up to this.
His dick, thick and pulsing with anticipation, rested heavily against you. You could feel its heat, its weight, as he shifted slightly, aligning himself with your entrance. The sheer size of him made you gasp softly, your body trembling with a mix of excitement and nerves. Conner's hands slid back up to your sides, his thumbs brushing soothing circles into your skin as he leaned in closer.
"Relax," he murmured, his voice low and full of reassurance. His lips found the curve of your jaw, pressing gentle kisses there as he adjusted his position. His dick pressed lightly against your ass now, the sensation sending a spark of heat through your body. The deliberate way he moved, slow and measured, showed how much care he was taking—not just to avoid rushing, but to ensure you were ready for him.
His gaze flicked back to yours, his blue eyes softened with affection but still darkened with desire. "Tell me if it's too much," he said softly, his hands tightening slightly on your hips as he aligned himself perfectly with your hole. The pressure was subtle at first, a promise of what was to come, but it was enough to make your breath hitch and your heart race.
Every touch, every movement felt charged with emotion as Conner held you steady, his body and his presence radiating both strength and tenderness. This was more than just physical—it was intimate, personal, a moment that seemed to transcend words as he prepared to join with you completely.
Your hands gripped Conner's strong shoulders for balance as you slowly began to move, your body adjusting to the fullness of him. The first motion was tentative, deliberate, as you raised yourself just slightly before sliding back down, taking him deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, every inch of him stretching and filling you in a way that made your breath hitch and your heart race.
Conner's hands remained firm on your hips as he guided your movements with subtle pressure, his touch a blend of control and encouragement. His ocean-blue eyes stayed locked on yours, his gaze filled with both awe and desire as he watched you take him, inch by inch. The way his chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths told you he was holding back, letting you set the pace.
As you moved again, the motion became smoother, more confident. Slowly, you began to find a rhythm, rising up and sliding back down, feeling every ridge and curve of him as you did. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through your body, building steadily with each motion. Conner's low groan rumbled through the air, his fingers digging into your hips just enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine.
"You feel so good," Conner murmured, his voice rough and filled with raw emotion. His head tilted back slightly, exposing the strong line of his jaw, but his eyes never left you. His hands began to move with you, guiding your rhythm as you continued to ride him, the intensity between you growing with every passing moment.
The connection between you was electric, every touch, every motion building a tension that seemed to radiate through the room. Conner's quiet groans and whispered encouragements spurred you on, his voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace as you continued to move together in perfect harmony.
Soon Conner's fingers pressed into your skin just enough to ground you. You could feel the subtle shift in his energy, his need to guide you taking over as his hands began to set a rhythm, slowly increasing your pace.
"Let me take care of you," Conner murmured, his voice low and husky, filled with both affection and desire. His eyes met yours, their ocean-blue depths darkened with passion, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he moved you, raising your body just enough before lowering you back down onto him, the deliberate motion making you take him deeper.
The change in pace was subtle at first, his guidance smooth and controlled, but you could feel his need building with each motion. His powerful hands worked in perfect synchronization with your body, lifting and guiding you to move faster, the rhythm between you becoming more intense. The sensation of him filling you completely, again and again, was almost overwhelming, pleasure radiating through you with every movement.
"You feel so damn good," Conner groaned, his voice roughened by the sheer intensity of the moment. His hands slid slightly up your waist, his thumbs brushing against your ribs as he continued to guide you, his strength making the faster pace feel effortless. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by his soft groans and your quiet moans, the connection between you electric and all-consuming.
As he urged you to go faster, his own hips began to rise slightly to meet your movements, the added force sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His head tilted back slightly, his lips parting as he let out a deep, guttural moan that made your heart race. His hands never faltered, holding you steady and ensuring every movement brought you both closer to the edge.
"Just like that," Conner whispered, his voice dripping with both encouragement and need. The rhythm between you built steadily, the intensity growing with every second as his hands guided you faster, harder, deeper. The room seemed to blur around you, leaving only the feeling of him beneath you, his touch on your skin, and the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you both.
Before you could fully register the shift, Conner's strong hands moved with purpose, gripping your hips as he adjusted his angle. In one fluid motion, he leaned forward, gently pushing you onto your back while still buried deep inside you. The sheer strength and control of his movements sent a shiver through your body, the sudden change in position amplifying the intensity of your connection.
Your back pressed against the mattress as Conner hovered over you, his broad shoulders and sculpted frame casting a shadow over you. His hands slid to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he repositioned himself, adjusting his angle with precision. His piercing blue eyes met yours, the intensity in his gaze stealing your breath.
"Hold on to me," he murmured, his voice low and filled with both command and affection. The sound sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and without thinking, your hands found their way to his back, your fingers digging into his firm muscles.
Conner's hips began to move again, the deliberate thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, each motion hitting places that left you gasping. His pace was steady at first, a mix of controlled power and tenderness, as if he wanted to savor every moment of being this close to you. His gaze never wavered, watching your every reaction as if committing them to memory.
"Damn," he groaned, his voice rough with desire as his hands slid along your thighs, pulling you closer to him. His thrusts grew faster, his hips meeting yours with increasing urgency as he surrendered to the intensity building between you. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by the deep, guttural groans that escaped his lips and the breathless moans spilling from yours.
His head dipped lower, his lips finding your neck as he pressed kisses to your heated skin. The combination of his movements and the sensation of his warm breath against your neck left you completely overwhelmed, your body arching beneath him in response. His hands slid up to your waist, holding you steady as his rhythm became more forceful, his need for you evident in every deliberate thrust.
Each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The room felt electric, every nerve in your body alight as he drove deeper into you, his hips moving with an unrelenting pace. Your breath hitched, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders for stability, but nothing could ground you against the overwhelming sensations.
"Conner..." you moaned, his name spilling from your lips without thought, raw and filled with the intensity of everything he was making you feel. Your voice trembled, the sound echoing in the heated air between you. The way his name left your lips seemed to spark something in him, his movements becoming even more deliberate, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.
Hearing you call his name made Conner groan deeply, his breath warm and heavy as he leaned closer, his body pressing against yours. His blue eyes darkened with desire, locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. "Say it again," he growled softly, his voice low and filled with a mix of command and need.
"Conner," you gasped again, louder this time, the sound unfiltered as the heat between you built to an almost unbearable peak. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you closer, his thrusts coming faster now, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your body arched beneath him, completely at his mercy as his name tumbled from your lips over and over, a desperate chant that only seemed to spur him on.
"Just like that," he murmured, his voice thick and ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Let me hear you. I want to hear how good I make you feel."
His pace quickened even more, his hips moving with a raw, unrelenting passion that left you clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. The sounds of his groans, the slap of skin against skin, and your own voice calling his name filled the room, a symphony of unrestrained desire as he drove you both closer to the edge. Conner's strength, his control, and the sheer depth of his connection to you left you completely undone, your moans of his name the only thing you could manage as he pushed you to heights you'd never imagined.
The pleasure built inside you, overwhelming and unstoppable, as Conner's relentless pace drove you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tensed, your breath hitching sharply as you felt the rising heat coil deep within you, ready to burst. Each thrust sent another jolt of pleasure through you, the intensity mounting until you couldn't hold back any longer.
With a sharp cry of his name, you surrendered completely, your body arching against him as you released. A stream of your hot seed spilled out, the sensation crashing over you like a tidal wave. The release was overwhelming, leaving your mind blank and your body trembling in his grasp. Your nails dug into Conner's shoulders, your moans spilling freely from your lips as the waves of pleasure rippled through you, one after another.
Conner groaned deeply, his breath ragged as he held you steady, his strong hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. His eyes flickered down to take in the sight of you completely undone beneath him, your chest heaving, your cheeks flushed, and your release marking the moment with undeniable evidence of the connection you shared.
"You're so damn handsome," he murmured, his voice low and full of awe as his pace slowed slightly, letting you ride out the final tremors of your climax. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he continued to move within you, savoring the closeness and the heat radiating between your bodies.
The moment felt infinite, your body still trembling from the force of your release as Conner's steady presence anchored you. His lips brushed against your cheek, his hands gently caressing your sides as he whispered, "We're not done yet." The promise in his voice sent another shiver through you, and despite the blissful exhaustion settling in, you couldn't help but crave more.
Suddenly, Conner's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin as he buried himself deeper inside you. His thrusts became faster, harder, and more relentless, the sheer power behind them taking your breath away. It was as though he'd reached a breaking point, his self-control unraveling as he chased his own release with an intensity that left you completely at his mercy.
"God, you feel so good," Conner growled, his voice rough and strained, each word punctuated by the force of his movements. His head dipped down, his lips finding the crook of your neck as he kissed and nipped at your skin, his breath hot and uneven against you. The sounds he made—deep, guttural groans that seemed to come from deep within his chest—only added to the electricity crackling between you.
Your body rocked with every thrust, the sheer power of his movements sending waves of pleasure coursing through you all over again. His pace was unrelenting, his hips snapping forward as he lost himself completely in the moment, his need for you driving him into overdrive. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of your bodies moving together, accompanied by his moans and your breathless gasps, the air thick with heat and passion.
Conner's grip on you became almost desperate as his pace quickened even more, his thrusts deep and hard, pushing both of you to the brink. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled beneath your hands as he reached his limit. His breath came in ragged gasps, his groans growing louder and more primal with each thrust.
"Can't hold it anymore," Conner growled, his voice rough and raw as he thrust into you one final time, burying himself as deeply as he could. His body tensed, and with a low, guttural moan, he released, a hot surge of his seed spilling inside you. The heat of it sent a shiver through your body, the sensation overwhelming as you felt every pulse of his release.
Conner stayed buried inside you, his body trembling slightly as he let out a long, shuddering breath. His arms slid around you, pulling you close as he rested his forehead against yours, his ocean-blue eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and satisfaction.
"Perfect," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with a quiet reverence as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. His hands moved to caress your sides, his touch soothing as you both basked in the afterglow, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless and utterly content in each other's arms.
After a moment of stillness, Conner let out a deep, contented sigh and slowly pulled out of you, his movements gentle and careful. The absence of him left a mix of relief and longing, but his warm presence remained as he immediately shifted closer, wrapping his strong arms around you. The weight of his body against yours and the soothing rhythm of his breathing anchored you in the moment, bringing a quiet sense of comfort and safety.
He pulled the blanket over the both of you, tucking it snugly around your shoulders as you nestled into his chest. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, a tender gesture that made your body relax further into his embrace. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, combined with the warmth of his skin, lulled you into a state of pure tranquility. Your eyes grew heavier, the exhaustion from the intensity of the moment pulling you closer to sleep.
Just as your breaths started to slow, the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by a sudden, sharp knock at the door. The sound startled you awake, and you felt Conner stiffen beside you, his body instantly alert. His protective instincts kicked in immediately, and without a word, he reached for the blanket, pulling it up to cover you completely before sliding out of bed.
"Stay here," he murmured softly, his voice low and reassuring as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. He grabbed his boxers from the floor, slipping them on with practiced ease before making his way to the door. His movements were fluid but purposeful, his broad shoulders and muscular frame silhouetted in the dim light as he approached.
Conner placed a hand on the doorknob, pausing for a brief moment to glance back at you. His expression softened when he saw you peeking out from beneath the covers, and he gave you a small, reassuring smile before turning his attention back to the door.
Conner cracked the door open just enough to see who was on the other side, his body positioned to block the view of the room. When he saw M'gann standing there, her expression bright and hopeful, he let out a quiet sigh, his irritation easing into polite patience.
"Conner," M'gann said, her tone light and cheerful as she leaned slightly into the doorway. "We're all about to sit down for dinner. I thought maybe you'd want to join us?"
Conner glanced back toward the bed for a brief moment, his protective instincts kicking in as he ensured you were still tucked away and comfortable. Then, turning back to M'gann, he gave her a polite but firm smile. "Thanks, M'gann, but I'm going to pass tonight," he said, his voice calm and even. "I've already got plans."
M'gann's expression faltered slightly, the smile on her face tightening for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered. "Oh... okay," she said, trying to keep her tone casual. "Maybe next time?"
"Yeah, maybe," Conner replied, his tone kind but noncommittal as he gently closed the door. He stood there for a moment, letting out a small sigh before turning back toward you, his expression softening the instant his gaze landed on you.
Sliding back under the covers, Conner wrapped his arms around you once more, pulling you close against his chest. "Sorry about that," he muttered, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Now, where were we?"
You smiled sleepily, your head resting against his chest as you let the warmth of his embrace pull you back into the peaceful haze of sleep. "Right here," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Conner chuckled lightly, his grip on you tightening just enough to remind you that you were safe and loved. "Exactly," he said, his tone filled with quiet affection. "Just us. Always." And with that, the world faded away again, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms as you drifted back into sleep.
SUMMARY — you and Dick Grayson go way back but it’s been so many years since you two last spoke. So what happens when you two reconnect in the oddest way possible.
WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.
WORDS! 7.8k
AUTHOR’S NOTE! firstly, THANK YOU all for the love and support for Sunday Mornings. Now, this is a long one and I may have gotten a little carried away but nevertheless I hope you all enjoy!
Dick Grayson.
There's an undeniable magnetism about Dick Grayson—an aura that makes it impossible to stay away from him, even when every instinct tells you that you should. He embodies everything that simultaneously irritates and captivates you. He's infuriatingly charming, effortlessly sociable, and devastatingly handsome. Add to that his cocky attitude and penchant for being the ultimate goofball, and you're left with a contradiction wrapped in an irresistible package.
You've known him since your very first year at Hudson University, where fate (or maybe bad luck?) had you both enrolled in the same criminology class. While you were focused on minding your own business, diligently taking notes and keeping your head down, Dick Grayson had other plans. He was the kind of guy who seemed to thrive on interaction, and apparently, you had caught his attention.
It started innocently enough. You were hunched over your notebook, furiously scribbling details from the professor's lecture, utterly engrossed. That's when Dick made his move. Leaning over with that trademark mischievous grin, he decided your focus was far too serious for his liking.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice low enough not to draw the professor's wrath but loud enough to break through your concentration.
You tried to ignore him, hoping he'd get bored and leave you alone. But this was Dick Grayson, and persistence was practically his middle name. He didn't just want your attention—he demanded it. Whether it was tapping on your notebook, cracking an unnecessary joke, or asking a deliberately ridiculous question about the lecture material, he seemed determined to throw you off your game.
At first, you hated him for it. Who did this guy think he was, barging into your quiet world of focus and discipline with his infuriating grin and boyish charm? But over time, something shifted. Maybe it was the way he made you laugh when you least expected it, or the fact that underneath all the cockiness, he was genuinely kind and intelligent.
Dick Grayson wasn't just a distraction; he was a force of nature. And whether you liked it or not, he had a way of turning your world upside down.
Your friendship with Dick began as a slow bloom, nurtured by shared classes, late-night study sessions, and moments of unexpected laughter. What started as a simple camaraderie between classmates grew into an unshakable bond that lasted all four years at Hudson University. The two of you were inseparable, each other's confidant, cheerleader, and partner in crime-solving, so to speak.
By the time graduation rolled around, everyone assumed that life would pull you in different directions. With the ink barely dry on your diplomas, it seemed logical that you'd both scatter to explore the opportunities your criminology degrees offered. And for a while, it seemed like that was how the story would end. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
You eventually landed a job in Blüdhaven as a small-time investigator, the kind of work that fit your personality like a glove. Observant to a fault and driven by a relentless curiosity, you thrived in the world of puzzles and mysteries. Unraveling clues, piecing together fragments of stories, and finding answers where others saw dead ends gave you an unshakable sense of fulfillment.
But being as observant as you were had its downsides. You were the kind of person who couldn't let things go, even when every rational instinct told you to back off. That's how you found yourself in your current predicament—a missing persons case that had taken a dark and dangerous turn.
It had started innocently enough, following breadcrumbs that no one else had noticed. But as you dug deeper, you realized the case was connected to a local gang, one that didn't appreciate your meddling. Unfortunately for you, they'd noticed your snooping long before you realized you were on their radar. By the time you put the pieces together, it was too late. They had you.
The gang's leader, a stereotypical brute with a barrel chest and a growling voice to match, stood over you, barking out threats. His speeches were a predictable blend of clichés: "You should've minded your own business!" and "You don't know who you're messing with!" It would've been almost funny if the situation weren't so dire.
Despite the danger, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. You'd managed to find the missing person, even if it had landed you in chains. And now, as the leader ranted, you sat there, tied to a chair in some dingy warehouse, mentally kicking yourself for not being more careful.
Then, something caught your eye.
Out of the corner of the dimly lit room, a movement stirred in the shadows. At first, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you. But then, you saw him—a figure dressed in sleek black and blue, moving with cat-like precision through the darkness. The gang leader, oblivious to the silent intruder, continued his tirade, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.
The man in the shadows was swift, almost inhumanly so. One by one, the gang members guarding the room were dispatched with precise, fluid motions. He was a blur of calculated power, blending perfectly into the gloom until he wanted to be seen. And then, he was there.
Nightwing.
You'd heard whispers of him before—Blüdhaven's vigilante protector, a myth to some, a menace to criminals. But seeing him in action was another thing entirely. His black and blue suit seemed to absorb the faint light in the room, his presence commanding yet effortless.
As chaos erupted in the warehouse, the gang leader spun around, barking orders to his panicking subordinates. You could only watch in awe—and maybe a little bit of relief—as Nightwing expertly dismantled your captors. You didn't know how or why he'd come for you, but in that moment, you didn't care. All you knew was that your life was in the hands of someone who clearly knew what he was doing.
The warehouse was a symphony of chaos. Nightwing moved like a shadow come to life, his every step deliberate and his strikes landing with unerring precision. You couldn't look away, transfixed by the fluidity of his movements. He wasn't just fighting—he was dismantling. Each thug fell with a grunt or a pained yell, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground. The air was thick with the sharp sounds of punches landing and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the cold cement floor.
The leader, who had loomed so intimidatingly just minutes ago, now looked like a lumbering fool. He charged at Nightwing with brute force, swinging a metal pipe with the confidence of someone who had never faced someone of this caliber before. Nightwing sidestepped with ease, his movements economical and almost effortless. In a flash, the vigilante grabbed the leader's arm, twisted it with a sharp motion, and sent the weapon flying. A quick roundhouse kick to the chest sent the man sprawling onto his back with a groan of defeat.
And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the fight was over.
The silence that followed was almost deafening. Nightwing straightened, his breathing steady despite the intense effort he'd just exerted. He surveyed the room, his sharp gaze ensuring no threats remained. The dim lighting cast a faint glow on his black-and-blue suit, accentuating the imposing figure he cut. You couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and awe, even as your pulse raced from the ordeal.
Finally, his focus shifted to you. His stride was purposeful, his boots barely making a sound as he crossed the distance. He crouched beside you, the sharp angles of his mask now just inches from your face. His hands, encased in black gloves, moved swiftly, slicing through the ropes that bound your wrists and ankles.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but carrying a gentle concern that caught you off guard. His eyes—calm, steady, and searching—met yours briefly, and in that moment, the hostage trembling nearby seemed like an afterthought.
You swallowed hard, your voice shaky as you replied, "I'm fine. Thanks to you."
As he helped you to your feet, his hand lingered on your arm, steadying you. It was a small gesture, but it sent a jolt through you. Those eyes. Brown, warm, and so achingly familiar. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as realization struck.
"Dick?" you whispered, the name escaping your lips before you could stop yourself.
He stiffened, the subtle movement confirming what you already knew. His head turned slightly, his gaze flicking to the hostage, who was watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. His silence said everything.
You bit your lip, realizing your mistake. Swallowing your questions, you forced yourself to focus. The hostage needed to be taken care of, and this wasn't the time or place for the confrontation brewing in your mind.
"Thank you," the hostage managed to stammer, their voice shaky. Nightwing gave them a curt nod, his usual confidence slipping back into place as he offered them a reassuring glance.
Moments later, the sound of sirens filled the air, the flashing red and blue lights of the approaching police cars spilling into the warehouse. Officers rushed in, taking the gang into custody and escorting the hostage to safety. Meanwhile, you stayed put, standing just outside the chaos as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from your system.
Nightwing lingered, his posture tense but his presence solid and unwavering. It was clear he was waiting—perhaps for the right moment, or perhaps for you.
"You're not leaving," you said, stepping closer to him with a sharpness in your tone that surprised even you. "Good. Because we need to talk."
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. Still, you caught the faintest hint of unease in his posture. He knew what was coming.
As the last of the police cars pulled away, leaving the two of you bathed in the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp, you finally allowed yourself to say what had been clawing at you.
"It is you," you said softly, the weight of the realization settling over you. "Dick Grayson."
Nightwing let out a soft, resigned sigh. Without a word, he reached up, his gloved fingers curling around the edges of his mask. In one smooth motion, he pulled it away, revealing the face you'd known for years.
The sight of him hit you like a wave. His dark hair was slightly tousled, damp with sweat, and those familiar brown eyes stared back at you with a mix of guilt and apprehension.
"Hi," he said, his voice quiet but steady, as if testing the waters.
You stared at him, struggling to untangle the mess of emotions inside you. Shock, anger, confusion, and something else—something softer—swirled in your chest. "You've been here," you said finally, your voice trembling. "In Blüdhaven. This whole time. And you didn't tell me?"
"It's not that simple," he replied, his tone gentle but laced with regret. "I wanted to. I just... couldn't."
You huffed, crossing your arms as you glared at him. "You're not getting out of this, Dick. We're talking about it. All of it."
A small, sheepish smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, he almost looked like the carefree friend you remembered from Hudson University. "Yeah," he said softly. "I figured as much."
The weight of the moment hung heavy between you, unspoken questions lingering in the air. There was so much to say, so much you needed to understand, but for now, the two of you simply stood there, the silence stretching like an unspoken promise.
Soon, the two of you arrived at Dick's apartment, the closest and most convenient place to regroup. The space was warm and inviting, a surprising contrast to the gritty chaos of the warehouse you'd just escaped. Dick excused himself to change out of his vigilante uniform, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and his belongings.
It wasn't long before your curiosity got the better of you. Old habits die hard, and you found yourself wandering the apartment, taking in the details. The first thing you noticed was how organized it was compared to his dorm back in college. Gone were the piles of laundry and cluttered desks; everything here had its place. The sleek, minimalist decor hinted at someone who valued function over flair, though the occasional personal touch softened the aesthetic.
There were pictures scattered around, mostly in simple frames. You stopped to study them, recognizing some of the faces from news articles and social media posts. These must be his siblings. During college, Dick had rarely talked about his family, offering only vague hints that he was adopted and that his adoptive father was extremely wealthy. Back then, the extent of his family's resources was evident in the way he casually splurged—never obnoxiously, but like the carefree college student who'd buy a round of shots for half the campus without a second thought.
Your gaze lingered on a particular photo, and your breath caught. It was a picture of you and Dick, taken during a Christmas party in your junior year. The two of you stood beneath a sprig of mistletoe, your face frozen in an exaggeratedly annoyed expression as he planted a kiss on your cheek. But you remembered that moment vividly. You remembered how fast your heart had raced, how flustered you'd felt, and how you'd struggled to keep your reaction under control. Out of all the pictures you'd taken together, you couldn't believe he'd kept this one.
The sound of his voice startled you from your thoughts.
"You know, this is exactly how you got yourself captured the first time," Dick said, his tone tinged with amusement.
You turned sharply, only to find him leaning casually against the doorframe. He was dressed in a navy blue tank top that revealed the lean, athletic build beneath, his arms toned from years of training. Loose-fitting gray joggers hung low on his hips, offering a distracting peek at his defined waistline. For a moment, your thoughts betrayed you, wandering where they shouldn't. You quickly shook the imagery from your mind and refocused, gesturing toward the picture in question.
"Why this picture?" you asked, pointing at the frame.
Dick stepped closer, glancing at the photo with a soft smile. "It's my favorite of us," he admitted, his voice light but honest.
Your chest tightened. You stared at him, studying the way his expression softened as he looked at the photo, as though it held a special place in his memory. You remembered that night clearly, but you'd never imagined it meant as much to him as it had to you.
"You don't even like Christmas," you teased, trying to deflect the sudden wave of emotion threatening to surface.
He shrugged, turning to you with a playful grin. "True. But I like you."
The simplicity of his statement made your heart skip a beat. He said it so casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, yet the weight of those words hung heavy in the air between you. You swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.
"Dick..." you began, your voice faltering.
"Don't overthink it," he said, his grin fading into something softer. "I just... like having a reminder of how happy we were. That's all."
You looked back at the photo, the moment frozen in time, and then at him. For all the chaos that had led to this point, standing here with him now, it was hard to deny that something about this moment felt right.
The dining room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the adjacent kitchen. You leaned against the chair, arms crossed, watching as Dick moved to the table where a stack of papers sat in disarray. His movements were deliberate but lacked his usual confidence, as though he were stalling for time.
“So,” you began, your tone cutting through the silence, “I’m guessing things have been rough if you decided to change careers. Last we talked, you were dead set on becoming a cop. It was literally all you could talk about.”
You turned to face him fully, your words sharp but not without curiosity. Dick froze for a moment, his shoulders tensing before he turned his head slightly toward you.
“That’s still in the works,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with defensiveness.
“Yeah?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow as you pointed to the table. “You mean with those blank applications over there?”
Dick followed your gaze to the stack of untouched forms on the dining room table. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair as if that would somehow untangle the thoughts swirling in his head.
“You don’t understand, Y/N…” he started, but you weren’t about to let him finish.
“I may not be a crime-fighting vigilante in spandex,” you interrupted, stepping closer and folding your arms tightly across your chest, “but I do know you can’t keep putting your life on hold like this. Blüdhaven isn’t Gotham, Dick. You don’t have to be out there night and day. It’s not your responsibility to carry this city on your back.”
He turned to face you fully now, his jaw set. “I also run my own team, you know,” he pointed out, his tone firm but not without frustration.
“Okay, and?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “I’m thankful for what you did tonight—for me, for that hostage, for everyone you help. But come on, Dick. You can’t just live for this. You should have a life outside of your nighttime activities and team leadership. You deserve more than this relentless grind.”
His hands clenched briefly at his sides, and then he threw them up in exasperation. “I did!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion. “I did have that life. Four years, Y/N. Four years of normalcy. School, friends… you.”
You blinked, his words hitting you like a freight train. He wasn’t done.
“I fell in love with you, for god’s sake,” he continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. “But I knew—deep down—I couldn’t hold onto that. I couldn’t keep living in a reality that wasn’t mine to have.”
For a moment, the air between you felt impossibly still. You stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, his words ricocheting in your mind.
“You… fell in love with me?” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.
Dick looked at you, his expression vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. His usually confident demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw and honest.
“I never stopped,” he admitted quietly, his gaze unwavering.
The weight of his confession hung heavily in the air, but before Dick could react, reality struck you like a lightning bolt. Without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped him across the face.
The sharp sound echoed in the room, startling you both.
“You waited four years to tell me you’re in love with me?” you exclaimed, your voice a mix of frustration, disbelief, and something you couldn’t quite name.
Dick blinked in surprise, his cheek barely reddened from the slap. He raised a hand to rub at it, murmuring, “Ow.” Though you knew it hadn’t actually hurt him—your slap had been more for dramatic effect than anything else—it still made him flinch slightly.
“You know,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperated humor, “it took a lot of courage to admit this. I mean, at first, I wasn’t even sure what I was feeling. But the more I got to know you…” He paused, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “I was whipped. Everyone knew how protective I was of you.”
“Clearly not everyone,” you shot back, folding your arms tightly across your chest.
Dick tilted his head, his expression softening with that boyish charm that always seemed to disarm you. “That’s because you were always so oblivious to things,” he pointed out, a teasing edge in his tone.
“This isn’t about me,” you retorted, your frustration flaring again. “This is about you—about you waiting years to—”
Before you could finish, Dick’s hands moved with startling quickness, cupping your face as he leaned in, cutting you off completely. His lips crashed onto yours, silencing your protests in an instant.
Your first instinct was to resist, your mind screaming at you to stay angry, to push him away and demand answers. But the moment his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent, your anger began to dissolve like sugar in water. His touch was firm but not forceful, as though he was pouring every unspoken word, every pent-up feeling, into that kiss.
Damn him.
Your hands, which had been frozen in mid-air, slowly lowered to his chest, resting against the fabric of his tank top. You wanted to be mad, to hold onto your indignation, but instead, you found yourself leaning into him. His lips were soft yet commanding, and they melted away every ounce of tension in your body.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. His brown eyes, now so close, bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. There was an undeniable hunger in them, a raw and unguarded lust, but beneath it was something deeper, something that spoke of years of unspoken feelings and restraint finally breaking free.
The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with tension as he leaned in closer, his forehead still brushing against yours. His hands, which had been gently cupping your face, slid down to your jaw, his thumbs tracing soft, maddeningly slow circles on your skin.
“I want to make love to you so bad,” Dick whispered, his voice husky and low, the words trembling with emotion. “But I want to do this right.”
The warmth of his breath tickled your lips as he spoke, and the sheer vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. Yet the weight of those words, so raw and sensual, sent a jolt of arousal through you. You felt your body react instantly, your breath hitching as your dick tightened in response.
You had never heard anything like this from him before—such a delicate balance of sweetness and longing, spoken with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your stomach. His voice wasn’t just sexual; it was reverent, like he was making a promise wrapped in desire.
Your hands rested against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tank top as you tried to steady yourself. The warmth of his body beneath your touch only heightened the tension, and you struggled to form a coherent thought, let alone words.
“Dick…” you finally managed, though it came out as little more than a breathless murmur.
His eyes never left yours, his gaze darkened with an intensity that made it clear just how much he wanted you—but he didn’t move, waiting for your response. Waiting for you to meet him halfway. And in that moment, the depth of his restraint only made you want him more.
“I want you to make love to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you met his gaze. The words hung in the air for a moment, electrifying the space between you.
Dick’s eyes darkened instantly, the flicker of hesitation replaced by raw desire and unrestrained passion. That was all he needed. In the blink of an eye, his lips were on yours, crashing against yours with a fury that made your knees weak.
The kiss was nothing like the soft, tentative one from earlier. This was urgent, consuming, as though he’d been holding back for far too long and couldn’t contain himself any longer. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The heat of his chest pressed against yours, and you could feel his heart pounding as wildly as your own.
You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours with an intensity that made you shiver. His fingers trailed up your back, one hand tangling in your hair while the other held your waist, anchoring you to him.
Your hands found their way to his shoulders, sliding over the smooth, warm skin exposed by his tank top. You clutched at him, your fingers curling into the fabric as you felt his muscles flex beneath your touch. He kissed you like a man starved, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years, pouring every ounce of his suppressed longing into it.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and swollen from the sheer intensity. His forehead pressed against yours as he steadied himself, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, though the look in his eyes made it clear how much he wanted you.
You nodded, your hands sliding down his chest to rest against his waist. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
That was all he needed to hear before his lips were on yours again, this time softer but no less passionate, as if he wanted to savor every second of what was about to happen.
Dick’s lips moved from yours with deliberate, unhurried precision, trailing a path along your jawline before finding the sensitive skin of your neck. The contrast between his soft kisses and the occasional scrape of his teeth sent a shiver coursing down your spine.
When he finally found your sweet spot just below your ear, your breath hitched sharply, and a low, involuntary moan escaped your lips. The sound seemed to spur him on, his lips lingering as he alternated between gentle kisses and slow, teasing nibbles.
Your hands, which had been resting lightly against his waist, tightened instinctively. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his joggers, pulling him closer, needing to feel the heat radiating from his body. The firmness of his waist beneath your touch grounded you even as your head tilted back slightly, offering him more access.
He hummed against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. His arms wrapped around you more securely, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other pressed against the small of your back, holding you flush against him.
“God, you taste amazing,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and rough. The combination of his words and his lips on your skin was overwhelming, igniting an firm erection in your dick that made it impossible to think of anything but him.
Your breathing grew heavier, your chest rising and falling against his as you surrendered completely to the sensations. Every press of his lips, every soft graze of his teeth, sent sparks of pleasure rippling through you, and you couldn’t help but cling to him even tighter.
“Dick,” you breathed, his name spilling from your lips in a way that was half plea, half encouragement. His response was a low, approving growl that made your knees go weak, but his strong arms kept you firmly in place.
Dick’s hands slid down your sides, lingering for a moment at your hips before they gripped your thighs firmly. In one fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. His strength, always impressive but now impossibly intimate, sent a shiver through you.
Your arms clung to his shoulders for balance as he held you close, your chest pressed against his. His lips captured yours again, and the kiss was slow but no less hungry, his steps steady as he carried you toward the darkly dim room down the hall.
Normally, your inquisitive nature would have taken over, and you’d have surveyed every inch of the space. But right now, your attention was consumed by him—by the heat of his body, the way his fingers flexed against your thighs, and the electric connection between you.
The faint glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on the walls as he entered the room. You barely registered the surroundings, focusing instead on the way his breathing had quickened, mirroring your own. He reached the bed, lowering you carefully to the floor with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.
His hands lingered on your hips as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze burning with unspoken desire and reverence. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm against your skin as he lifted it over your head. He took his time, his eyes roaming over you like he was memorizing every detail.
Your breath hitched as he began to undress himself, his movements fluid and unhurried. His tank top came off first, revealing the toned lines of his chest and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His joggers followed, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.
Your hands moved instinctively to his waist, tugging at the waistband of his boxers, but he stopped you gently, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone.
His hands returned to you, sliding along your sides with deliberate slowness before slipping beneath the waistband of your own boxers, guiding them down. The intimacy of the moment made your pulse race, every inch of skin he revealed heightening the tension between you.
Now, with both of you standing there, bare except for the thin fabric separating you completely, the air felt charged, heavy with anticipation. Dick’s eyes locked onto yours, his expression a perfect blend of lust and something deeper, something that made your heart pound harder than ever before.
Dick’s hands wrapped around your dick with deliberate care, his grip firm yet gentle. The slow, teasing movements of his fingers as he stroked you sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. His eyes stayed locked on yours, their intensity leaving you breathless. He watched your every reaction, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile as soft moans began to spill from your lips.
The sound seemed to embolden him, as if each moan was a symphony only he could conduct. He leaned closer, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Before you could process what was happening, he guided you backward, gently pushing you onto the mattress.
The soft surface cradled you as you fell, the world around you blurring into insignificance. All that mattered was him—his touch, his gaze, his presence. Dick climbed onto the bed, settling himself between your legs with a confidence that made your pulse race.
His hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly but not aggressively as he spread your legs slightly wider. The warmth of his palms was grounding, his touch both possessive and reverent. His eyes never left yours, a silent question hanging in the air, one you answered with a slight nod and a quiet, shaky breath.
Leaning forward, he placed a featherlight kiss just below your navel before lowering himself further. The sensation of his tongue grazing your dick made your back arch slightly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. He didn’t stop there—his tongue trailed down with slow, deliberate strokes before his lips closed around you completely.
The heat of his mouth was overwhelming, his movements skilled and calculated. He alternated between slow, torturous licks and firm, rhythmic suction, drawing louder moans from you with each passing second. The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure, mingling with his soft hums as he worked.
Just as you thought the sensations couldn’t intensify, you felt something new. His hand, which had been resting on your thigh, moved downward, his fingers tracing teasing circles near your hole. The first press of his fingertip was gentle, testing, and when he felt your body relax, he slid a single finger inside with the same care.
The combination of his mouth and the intrusion sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and your moans grew louder, higher, uncontrollable. Your hands instinctively reached for him, one tangling in his hair as the other clutched at the sheets beneath you.
“Dick,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a plea.
He glanced up at you, his brown eyes dark with desire, a glint of satisfaction evident as he took in the sight of you unraveling beneath him. He added a slight curl to his finger, hitting a spot that made your entire body tremble. The way your voice broke with pleasure was like fuel to him, and he redoubled his efforts, his lips and fingers moving in perfect harmony to push you further toward the edge.
The only thing you could do was surrender to him completely, your mind and body consumed by the intensity of the sensations he was creating.
The sudden press of a second finger into your hole sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, a sharp moan escaping your lips at the unexpected intrusion. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly, your chest rising and falling as Dick’s fingers moved inside you with increasing speed. Each curl and thrust was precise, hitting spots that made your back arch off the mattress in ecstasy.
The heat pooling in your hole was overwhelming, your breath coming in short gasps as you struggled to keep up with the rhythm he was setting. Just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of control, his fingers stopped abruptly and slid out, leaving you gasping at the loss of contact.
“Why did you—” you began, your voice breathless and laced with confusion, but the words caught in your throat as your eyes traveled down to him.
Dick had shifted back slightly, his hands hooking into the waistband of his boxers. With deliberate slowness, he slid them down his hips, his eyes never leaving yours. As the fabric pooled at his knees, your gaze dropped, and your breath hitched at the sight before you.
His dick was fully revealed, and he was… well, impressively endowed. Huge as hell. The dim light of the room cast shadows that only emphasized his size and shape, and for a moment, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The anticipation in the air was electric, and the confident smirk playing at the corners of his lips told you he noticed your reaction.
“You were saying?” he teased softly, his voice low and dripping with amusement.
Your mouth opened to reply, but no words came. Instead, your eyes flickered back up to meet his, and the hunger in his gaze made your stomach flip. He moved closer, his hands returning to your thighs, gently spreading them wider as he leaned over you, his bare skin brushing against yours. The weight of him above you, combined with the heat radiating from his body, sent your pulse racing again.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice a mix of tenderness and desire.
You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”
His smile softened for a moment, a flicker of something deeper crossing his expression before he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an invitation.
Dick broke the kiss, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back slightly. His eyes stayed locked on yours, filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. Reaching over to his dresser, he grabbed a small bottle of lube, his movements deliberate but steady.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing a reassuring circle against your hip.
You nodded, your anticipation building as he popped the cap. The cool gel landed on your hole, and you squirmed at the sudden chill, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Dick chuckled lightly at your reaction, his hands smoothing over your thighs to steady you.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he worked the lube gently around your hole. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, his touch careful and precise.
Once he was satisfied, he coated himself in the gel, his large hands moving confidently as he spread it over his dick. The sight alone made your heart race, but before you could get lost in the thought, he tossed the bottle somewhere across the room with a soft thud, refocusing entirely on you.
His hands returned to your waist, gripping you firmly but gently as he positioned himself between your legs. The weight of his gaze anchored you, and you took a deep breath as you felt the head of his dick press against your hole.
“This might feel a little intense at first,” he warned, his voice husky but tender. “Let me know if you need me to stop.”
You nodded again, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as he began to push forward slowly. The stretch was immediate, his size making you wince slightly as your body adjusted. Dick paused, his brows furrowed in concentration as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.
“You’re doing amazing,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple before trailing down to your cheek.
He continued inching forward, his movements measured and deliberate, giving you time to adjust with each small push. By the time he was fully seated inside you, your breaths were coming in shallow gasps, but you could feel the tension in your body beginning to ease.
Dick stayed still for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. His hands moved up to cradle your face as he kissed you softly, his lips tender and warm. “You feel so damn good,” he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses down your jawline and neck.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his words laced with affection as he peppered your skin with soft touches. His hands stroked your sides gently, grounding you while his lips worked to soothe any lingering discomfort.
“You’re everything,” he added, his voice low and filled with emotion, as though each word was meant to make you feel as cherished as possible.
The warmth of his presence, the tenderness of his touch, and the sincerity in his words made it impossible not to relax completely. Your body adjusted to him, the initial discomfort fading into something far more intimate and fulfilling.
Dick’s thrusts began slow and deliberate, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm as he slid in and out of your hole. Each thrust was careful, as if he were gauging your every reaction, ensuring you were comfortable. The initial stretch had given way to a new sensation—fullness that sent sparks of pleasure radiating through you with every deliberate motion.
Your hands clutched at the sheets, your knuckles whitening as you let out a shaky moan. The heat building in your core only intensified as Dick’s strokes grew deeper, his pace gradually increasing. His hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to anchor you but not hurt. He adjusted his angle slightly, and the next thrust hit a spot that made your back arch off the mattress and a louder moan escape your lips.
“That’s it,” Dick murmured, his voice a deep, encouraging rasp that sent shivers through your body. “Let me hear you.”
Your moans grew more unrestrained as his movements became more confident, each stroke deeper and more precise than the last. His body pressed against yours, the heat of his skin adding to the growing intensity. The sound of your bodies moving together—his labored breathing, your gasps, the rhythmic creak of the mattress—filled the dimly lit room, creating an atmosphere of pure intimacy.
“Dick,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips as the pleasure built higher. His response was a low groan, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned down to kiss you deeply. His lips were warm, insistent, and grounding, keeping you tethered to him even as your body felt like it might unravel from the sensations he was creating.
Every thrust felt like a wave crashing through you, each one pulling you further under, until all you could do was cling to him and let him take you where he wanted.
“Say it again,” Dick whispered in your ear, his voice low and full of need. His thrusts grew faster, deeper, his breath hot against your skin. “Say my name.”
“Dick,” you moaned, your voice breaking as another thrust sent a wave of pleasure surging through you. “Ugh, Dick—”
He growled softly at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you up from the bed. In one fluid motion, he shifted, sitting back on his knees with you straddling him. Your legs remained tightly wrapped around his waist, your bodies pressed together as his hands slid up your back, anchoring you against him.
You didn’t need any encouragement. Your body took over, moving instinctively as you began to rise and fall along his dick. Each motion sent him deeper inside you, filling you completely, and your moans grew louder, spilling into his ear with every movement.
The sensation was overwhelming—the stretch, the heat, the way his hands gripped your hips to guide you as you moved. But before another moan could escape, Dick silenced you with a kiss. His lips crashed into yours, passionate and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours as his hands roamed your back, pulling you even closer.
“I love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion and desire. “I love you so fucking much.”
Your breath hitched at his confession, your heart racing as you whimpered in response. “I love you too, Dick. I love you.”
The rhythm between you grew faster, more desperate, as your body tightened around him. The pleasure was building, an unstoppable crescendo that left you trembling in his arms. You buried your face in his neck, gasping out, “I’m close. Faster, baby. Please.”
His lips brushed your ear as he chuckled softly, his voice deep and intoxicating. “As you wish.”
With that, he tightened his grip on your hips and thrust upward with renewed intensity, meeting each of your movements with precision. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the steady slap of your bodies moving together. Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life.
Dick’s lips found yours again, his kisses feverish and consuming as he whispered words of love and encouragement between each kiss.
Your entire body tensed as the pleasure reached its peak, and you let out a cry of pure bliss, your climax washing over you in waves that left you breathless and shaking in his arms.
Dick’s thrusts didn’t falter for a moment. If anything, they became more relentless, each one deeper and more deliberate than the last. His breathing grew heavier, his body pressing firmly against yours as his rhythm quickened. The telltale tension in his muscles and the soft groans spilling from his lips signaled that he was nearing his own climax, but he didn’t let up.
His lips never left your skin, moving from your mouth to your neck and back again, as though grounding himself in the intimacy of the moment. Each kiss was full of raw passion, his lips trailing heat and leaving you breathless.
“You feel so good,” Dick murmured against your ear, his voice strained and low. “So perfect.”
The intensity of his thrusts made it impossible to form coherent words. Your body arched instinctively, your hands clutching at his back as he held you tightly against him. You could feel his grip on your hips tighten, his fingers digging in slightly as his movements became more erratic, more desperate.
“Y/N,” he groaned, your name rolling off his tongue in a deep, guttural tone that sent shivers through you.
A moment later, he buried himself to the hilt, his hips pressing flush against yours as he reached his breaking point. The warmth of his release filled you, a rush of heat that made you gasp. His head fell against your shoulder, his breath ragged as he rode out the waves of his climax, his body trembling slightly against yours.
Even then, his lips continued their tender assault, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder and up to your neck. His voice was a low whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of your labored breathing.
“If I wasn’t so tired, I’d hit you,” you breathed out, your voice heavy with exhaustion but tinged with playful annoyance.
Dick chuckled, his warm breath ghosting over your neck as he pressed a soft kiss to your skin. “Why?” he asked, his tone light and teasing. “What did I do this time?”
“You robbed me of four years of amazing sex,” you replied matter-of-factly, shooting him a tired glare that only made him laugh harder.
His laughter was rich and unrestrained, his chest vibrating against yours as he leaned back just enough to lift his head from your neck. His gaze locked onto yours, mischief dancing in his dark brown eyes. Without warning, he captured your lips in a kiss so passionate and full of promise that it left you breathless all over again.
When he finally pulled back, his grin was wicked, and his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Oh, baby, we’re just getting started,” he said, his hand sliding down your side possessively. “I hope you don’t have plans in the morning.”
You barely had time to process the meaning of his words before his lips were on you again, igniting another round of passion that carried you both well into the night.
By the time morning rolled around, the two of you were sprawled on the floor of his living room, completely spent. The apartment bore the evidence of your nocturnal escapades: furniture slightly askew, scattered pillows, and discarded clothes littering the space. The air was still faintly warm from the fire you’d burned through the night.
Dick’s strong arms were wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear. Your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, your breaths soft and even against his skin. His chin rested gently atop your head, and both of you wore blissful smiles as the sunlight began to filter through the curtains.
The world outside was quiet, but in that moment, everything felt perfectly complete. There, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared intimacy, you both slept peacefully, content in a way you hadn’t been in years.
SUMMARY — To the world, Clark Kent is Superman—the invincible hero, Earth’s mightiest protector, and a symbol of hope and strength. He’s the one who soars through the skies, battles formidable enemies, and saves countless lives without a second thought. But to you, he’s simply Clark—the shy, kind-hearted farm boy from Smallville you’ve loved since high school.
WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.
WORDS! 10k
AUTHOR’S NOTE! - Here's a little fluff for my favorite farm boy, I recently watched the Superman teaser and got a little inspired.
The early morning sun began its slow, graceful ascent over the towering skyline of Metropolis, sending soft, golden rays spilling through the sheer, cream-colored curtains of Clark Kent’s cozy apartment. The delicate fabric diffused the light, casting a warm, ethereal glow across the room. The gentle illumination danced over the simple but thoughtfully chosen furnishings: a well-loved leather armchair tucked into the corner, a sturdy wooden bookshelf overflowing with novels and framed photos, and a vintage record player resting on a low cabinet—small tokens of a life built together.
Beneath a thick, plush comforter in the center of the room’s focal point—a spacious, inviting bed—Clark and his longtime boyfriend, Y/N, lay entwined in peaceful slumber. Their breaths rose and fell in a quiet, harmonious rhythm, filling the serene space with a sense of intimacy only shared by two souls deeply connected. The soft weight of the comforter enveloped them, shielding them from the crisp morning air that lingered just beyond the windowpane.
Though Y/N remained fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady, calming rhythm, Clark was already awake. His piercing blue eyes, usually sharp with focus and responsibility, now gleamed with tenderness as he quietly admired the man sleeping beside him. For a few precious moments, the weight of the world slipped away—no urgent headlines to chase, no distant cries for help demanding Superman’s strength—just the quiet stillness of their shared sanctuary.
Clark’s gaze lingered, tracing every familiar line and curve of Y/N’s face. His fingertips, rough from years of fighting battles no one else could, hovered just above Y/N’s skin, hesitant to disturb the peaceful spell. He followed the delicate slope of his jaw, the curve of his lips—soft and slightly upturned, as though he were dreaming of something sweet—and the dark, feathery lashes that rested gently against his cheeks. How many times had he memorized these details? How many mornings like this had he silently counted himself lucky?
Here, in this stolen moment before the world woke up, Clark was simply Clark—the man who had fallen in love with his best friend back in high school and never stopped. His heart swelled with the same overwhelming emotion he felt every time he realized he got to spend another day with the person who grounded him, made him laugh, and saw past the cape to the man beneath.
As the sun’s rays grew bolder, stretching farther into the room, the stillness was broken by the sudden, jarring beep of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Its sharp sound shattered the tranquility like glass meeting stone.
“Morning,” Clark whispered, his deep voice warm and soothing, rich with a love that couldn’t be contained. His hand gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s forehead, his touch as tender as the sunlight now spilling across the bed.
Y/N blinked slowly, his eyelashes fluttering. He shifted slightly beneath the thick, plush comforter, its weight a soothing barrier against the crisp morning air. He could feel the solid, steady warmth radiating from Clark’s body beside him, grounding him before he even opened his eyes fully. His fingers twitched reflexively, seeking out the comforting presence he knew was there.
When Y/N’s half-lidded gaze finally focused, the first thing he saw was Clark, lying on his side, already awake. His piercing blue eyes gleamed softly, filled with a quiet intensity that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best possible way. Clark’s expression was open, vulnerable, and utterly disarming—like he was seeing something precious he still couldn’t quite believe was real, even after all these years.
A sleepy, instinctive smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. He stretched slowly, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed and the quiet stillness that lingered in the room, allowing the peaceful moment to settle over him like a familiar melody. His fingers reached up lazily, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his face before his hand drifted down to rest gently on Clark’s chest.
The steady, reassuring thrum of Clark’s heartbeat pulsed beneath Y/N’s fingertips, calm and unwavering, like the rhythm of the earth itself. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing further as he nestled closer, resting his head against Clark’s broad shoulder. The fabric of Clark’s soft, well-worn T-shirt felt cool against his cheek, contrasting with the warmth radiating from his skin.
“Good morning,” Y/N murmured, his voice rough with sleep but laced with tenderness. His words were barely above a whisper, soft and warm like the first light of dawn filtering through the window. His hand idly traced slow, lazy patterns across Clark’s chest—small, unconscious shapes made in quiet affection.
Clark smiled, his hand moving with gentle certainty to rest on Y/N’s lower back, his fingertips drawing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. His touch was familiar yet reverent, a silent promise etched into every small caress.
Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the faint glow spilling through the window, signaling the start of another day. The world outside slowly stirred to life, but inside their shared haven, time seemed suspended—just the two of them in a bubble of warmth and love that felt untouched by the outside world.
“What time is it?” Y/N asked softly, his voice still tinged with sleep and curiosity, though there was no urgency behind the question. His fingers continued their gentle, aimless tracing, not yet ready to break the fragile stillness of the moment.
With a reluctant glance, Clark shifted his eyes toward the worn alarm clock on the nightstand. Its glowing red numbers silently ticked forward, marking the steady march of time. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he registered the hour. “It’s 7:15,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a quiet breeze through the still room.
Y/N groaned playfully at the answer, dragging one hand down his face in mock exasperation before propping himself up on one elbow. His hair was delightfully tousled, a few stubborn strands falling across his forehead despite his half-hearted attempt to smooth them down. “We really need to get up,” he said, though the lack of conviction in his voice betrayed him. His fingers brushed lightly against Clark’s arm, lingering there as though reluctant to break the warmth of their embrace.
Before Y/N could move any further, Clark’s strong arms tightened around his waist with effortless ease, pulling him back down into the secure circle of his embrace. His hold was firm yet tender, a perfect blend of strength and comfort, silently promising that he wasn’t ready to let Y/N go just yet.
“Not yet,” Clark whispered, his voice soft but resolute, filled with quiet intensity. His piercing blue eyes met Y/N’s with such tenderness that it made Y/N’s breath hitch for a moment. There was something profound in that gaze, something unspoken yet unmistakably clear—love, deep and unyielding.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward in mild amusement despite the way his heart seemed to swell in his chest. “Clark, we really should—”
“Do you know what today is?” Clark interrupted gently, his tone playful but tinged with something deeper—something meaningful. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his expression equal parts teasing and expectant.
Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in conversation, before a quiet laugh bubbled up from his chest. He let his forehead rest gently against Clark’s for a moment, savoring the warmth of their closeness, before pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes again.
“Of course I know,” Y/N replied softly, his voice steady but colored with affection. “It’s our anniversary.”
Clark’s smile widened, his eyes shimmering with something unmistakably radiant, though there was still a spark of playfulness there. He shook his head slightly, brushing his thumb tenderly over Y/N’s cheek, letting his fingers trail gently down to his jawline. His touch was reverent, as if the moment itself were fragile and precious.
“Not just any anniversary,” Clark corrected, his voice dipping lower, resonant with emotion. “It’s our ten-year anniversary.” His expression shifted into something more serious, almost reverent, as though the weight of a decade spent together was something sacred—something he still couldn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to have.
Y/N’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into something far deeper, warmer. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he simply cupped Clark’s face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gentle, familiar lines along his jaw. His touch was slow, deliberate—a silent answer filled with love and devotion.
“Ten years,” Y/N echoed, letting the words hang between them like a whispered vow. His voice was quiet but steady, thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
Clark’s expression softened further, his smile turning just a little more playful as he leaned forward, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to Y/N’s forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and reassuring, before pulling back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze again.
“And I’m not letting you out of this bed until we properly celebrate…” Clark whispered, his voice low and teasing but laced with unmistakable sincerity. His arms tightened just a fraction, drawing Y/N even closer. “…Starting right now.”
Y/N laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with both affection and amusement. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice light but affectionate, fingers still tracing slow, loving patterns across Clark’s chest.
Clark only smiled, leaning in to press another kiss—this time soft and lingering—against Y/N’s lips, sealing the promise between them with quiet certainty.
Y/N pulled away, letting out a soft breathy laugh, his lips curving into a playful smirk as he rested his hand gently on Clark’s chest. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the steady, familiar rhythm of Clark’s heartbeat—strong, unyielding, and comforting in a way that felt like home. His fingers absently traced small, lazy circles over the fabric of Clark’s worn T-shirt, savoring the warmth radiating from his skin.
His eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a teasing edge in his voice as he arched an eyebrow. “Clark,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with mock sternness, “if we celebrate right now, neither one of us is going to make it to work on time.”
Clark chuckled, his deep, resonant laugh filling the room like a warm embrace. It was the kind of laugh that made Y/N’s heart swell, as familiar and comforting as the dawn’s first light. His smile widened into that boyish, slightly mischievous grin Y/N had fallen in love with all those years ago—a grin that still made his knees weak even after a decade together.
“You make a compelling point,” Clark admitted with mock seriousness, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze softened as he took in every beloved detail of Y/N’s face—the curve of his cheek, the sparkle in his eyes, the way his lips quirked in that teasing smile that always left Clark feeling utterly captivated.
Before Y/N could fire back with a witty retort, Clark moved with effortless grace, gently shifting his weight as he rolled over, pinning Y/N beneath him in one fluid motion. His strong arms braced on either side of Y/N’s head, caging him in—but his touch was tender, protective, filled with nothing but love. Y/N gasped softly in surprise, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and affection.
Clark leaned down until their faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against Y/N’s skin. His gaze never wavered, tracing every familiar feature with reverence, as though memorizing them all over again.
“I guess I could try to be responsible…” Clark whispered, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, “…but where’s the fun in that?”
Before Y/N could respond—or even fully process the words—Clark dipped his head and captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His mouth moved with unhurried purpose, savoring the connection as though time itself had ceased to matter. The kiss was deep but tender, filled with emotion that words could never quite capture.
Y/N’s breath hitched as Clark’s warm lips trailed away from his, leaving a path of feather-light kisses along his jawline. Clark’s mouth lingered just below Y/N’s ear—his most sensitive spot—his breath sending pleasant tingles down his spine. His lips brushed gently against Y/N’s neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that ignited a warmth deep within him.
A quiet, breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips as he arched into Clark’s touch, threading his fingers through Clark’s thick, dark hair. He tugged gently, earning a soft, pleased hum from Clark that resonated against his skin. “You’re impossible,” Y/N whispered, though his voice trembled with love, his words holding no real bite.
Clark pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, his expression soft but still tinged with playful defiance. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with warmth, love, and something far deeper—something timeless. “Ten years,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently across Y/N’s cheek, his touch reverent and tender. “I think we’ve earned a little celebration… even if we’re a bit late.”
Y/N laughed again, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though he made no effort to move away—he never could when Clark held him like this, when he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. His heart swelled with overwhelming affection, threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of it all.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Y/N whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion as he tugged Clark down into another kiss—slow, deep, and full of all the love and devotion he couldn’t put into words.
Clark’s grin widened against Y/N’s lips, his expression radiating pure joy. “I know,” he whispered playfully, echoing the familiar words that had been exchanged between them countless times—but now, they held a deeper, more profound meaning.
In that moment, nothing else existed—no alarms, no deadlines, no responsibilities. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of their shared breath, the warmth of their intertwined bodies, and a love that had endured a decade and promised to last a lifetime.
By 8:15 a.m., the quiet intimacy of the early morning had dissolved into the familiar rhythm of Clark and Y/N’s weekday routine. The warmth of their shared bed now felt like a distant memory as they moved through their cozy apartment with practiced ease, the comfortable chaos of a typical workday morning unfolding around them.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of toasted bread and the faint trace of Clark’s cologne lingering in the hallway. The kitchen was alive with quiet energy—drawers opening, shoes being slipped on, phones buzzing with notifications. The distant hum of Metropolis traffic outside was a constant, blending into the comforting sounds of home.
Clark stood at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie still undone around his neck. He poured steaming coffee into two familiar mugs—one emblazoned with the bold “Daily Planet” logo, and the other featuring a playful “World’s Best Partner” design, a sentimental gift from Y/N on their fifth anniversary. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, steady and sure, as though even the smallest tasks carried a quiet significance in their shared life.
“Babe, have you seen my laptop charger?” Y/N’s voice called from the bedroom, tinged with mild urgency. His words were punctuated by the sound of drawers sliding open and the soft rustle of clothes being shifted around.
Clark couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head fondly as he set the coffee mugs on the kitchen table. “Check the shelf by the desk!” he called back, his voice warm and familiar. In one smooth motion, he looped his tie into a perfect Windsor knot, fingers moving with expert precision—years of balancing superhero duties and tight Daily Planet deadlines had honed his multitasking skills to near perfection.
Moments later, Y/N emerged from the bedroom, holding his laptop charger triumphantly like a prize. His collar was only half-buttoned, his sleeves still unrolled, but he already looked every bit the driven professional Clark had admired from the moment they’d worked side by side as young interns. His hair was slightly tousled, still settling after a rushed comb-through, making him impossibly endearing.
“Found it!” Y/N announced with mock triumph, flashing Clark a cheeky grin as he hurried toward the kitchen. He grabbed his “World’s Best Partner” mug from the table and took a long, appreciative sip, savoring the warmth that seeped into his fingertips. A contented sigh escaped his lips. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said with sincere gratitude, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.
Clark smirked, leaning casually against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “I try,” he teased lightly, though his gaze softened as he watched Y/N sip his coffee, soaking in the familiar comfort of their shared morning ritual. It was in these small, ordinary moments that Clark felt the fullness of their life together—steady, warm, real.
Y/N gave a quick glance at the microwave clock—8:17 a.m. They were cutting it close but still technically on time if they hustled. He grabbed his well-worn messenger bag from the back of a kitchen chair and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. “Let’s roll,” he said with determined resolve, already mentally running through the day’s to-do list.
Just as Y/N reached for the door, Clark’s fingers gently brushed against his wrist, halting him with a soft touch. “Hey,” Clark murmured, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.
Y/N turned, brow raised in curious question. His expression softened as he met Clark’s gaze, recognizing the quiet emotion shimmering in those piercing blue eyes.
Clark’s smile shifted into something far more tender, his earlier playfulness replaced by sincerity. “Happy ten-year anniversary,” he whispered, his voice rich with meaning, as though he still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to be standing there, sharing this life with the person he loved.
Y/N’s expression melted instantly, the rush of the morning forgotten. He leaned in, cradling Clark’s face gently in his hands, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. The world outside seemed to pause, leaving only the warmth of their shared breath and the quiet rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.
“Happy anniversary,” Y/N whispered back, his tone filled with unwavering love. His fingers lingered against Clark’s jaw for just a moment longer, as though reluctant to let the moment end.
With one last shared smile—intimate, knowing—they turned toward the door, ready to face whatever challenges the bustling city had in store. Whatever the day might bring, they would face it together—just as they always had, and always would.
Clark stepped through the revolving doors of the bustling Daily Planet building, adjusting his signature glasses out of habit as he took in the familiar symphony of the newsroom’s organized chaos. The air buzzed with the electric energy of a new workday—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and conversations overlapping as reporters exchanged leads and debated headlines. The faint scent of fresh ink and brewed coffee lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the newsroom’s relentless pace.
A small, contented smile tugged at Clark’s lips as he strode across the polished marble floor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tile. He felt right at home here, even after years of balancing the double life of award-winning journalist and Earth’s greatest protector. Still, even amid the familiar hustle, his mind lingered on the peaceful morning he’d shared with Y/N—the warmth of their shared coffee, the lingering kiss at the door, the whispered “Happy anniversary” that still echoed softly in his heart.
He was halfway to his desk when he found his path blocked—ambushed, really—by two familiar figures: Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, his closest friends and trusted partners in journalistic crime. Lois stood with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised in playful expectation, while Jimmy hovered just behind her, his ever-present camera slung over his shoulder like he was ready to document something groundbreaking.
“Alright, Kent,” Lois announced with a sly smirk, tilting her head in that knowing way she always did when she was on the verge of uncovering something. “What’s the plan?”
Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her question. He adjusted his glasses again, a reflex whenever he felt caught off guard. “Plan? What plan?” he asked, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
Jimmy let out an exaggerated scoff, stepping forward with wide-eyed disbelief. “The plan, Clark!” he urged dramatically. “Don’t tell me you forgot! It’s your ten-year anniversary with Y/N today!”
Clark’s eyes widened ever so slightly, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of practiced calm. “Wait—how do you two know about that?” he asked, his voice tinged with mild suspicion but tempered by curiosity.
Lois rolled her eyes, her smirk widening. “Please,” she said with mock disdain. “I’m a journalist, Clark. It’s literally my job to know things.”
Jimmy nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m, like, super observant. You’ve had that goofy, ‘I’m-so-in-love’ look plastered all over your face for days.” He gestured dramatically around the newsroom. “It’s practically headline news at this point.”
Clark couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”
Lois stepped closer, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction, though the spark of mischief never left. “Seriously, though,” she said with a bit more warmth, “you do have something special planned, right? Ten years isn’t just any anniversary.”
For a brief moment, Clark’s mind drifted to the small velvet box tucked securely in the inner pocket of his coat—the one he’d been carefully keeping out of sight all morning. The memory of its weight was reassuring, grounding him in the quiet certainty of what the evening would bring.
“Let’s just say…” Clark began slowly, his lips curving into a knowing smile, “…I might have a few surprises up my sleeve.”
Jimmy let out a dramatic gasp, clearly intrigued, while Lois arched an approving eyebrow. “Now this is a story I’m dying to see unfold,” she quipped, already imagining the possibilities.
Clark chuckled, brushing past them toward his desk. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he called over his shoulder. “No spoilers… even for journalists.”
Lois smirked knowingly while Jimmy fist-pumped in silent excitement, already speculating wildly about what Clark’s “surprise” might be. The newsroom’s steady hum continued around them, deadlines and breaking news still demanding attention—but for a brief moment, Clark allowed himself to savor the quiet anticipation bubbling within him.
Tonight would be more than just a milestone—it would be the start of something even greater. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Y/N’s face when he finally revealed what he’d been planning for weeks… and slipped that ring onto his finger.
The day carried on as usual—but for Clark, the countdown to that perfect, long-awaited moment had already begun.
The streets of Metropolis teemed with life far below as Superman soared effortlessly through the crisp morning sky, his iconic red cape billowing behind him like a banner of hope. The sharp edges of the city’s glass-and-steel skyline glinted in the morning sun, casting streaks of light across the bustling streets below. His keen eyes swept across the familiar cityscape, ever watchful, always ready.
The city pulsed with its usual symphony—honking car horns, hurried conversations, the rhythmic clang of construction equipment, and the distant chatter of morning radio shows drifting from open windows. The steady thrum of Metropolis’ indomitable spirit surrounded him, grounding him even as he hovered hundreds of feet above. To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming—chaotic—but to Clark, it was the heartbeat of home.
He had just finished assisting the Metropolis Fire Department with a hazardous warehouse fire down by the docks. The acrid scent of smoke still clung faintly to his uniform, though the crisis was long resolved. He allowed himself a rare moment of pause, suspended in the sky, arms crossed, his cape trailing like a protective shield over the city he’d sworn to protect.
Then something familiar tugged at his senses.
Cutting through the tangled web of urban noise, a voice—distinct, beloved—filtered clearly into his super-sensitive hearing.
Y/N’s voice.
Clark’s breath hitched as he stilled mid-air, hanging weightless against the wind. His sharp focus zeroed in instantly, his hearing filtering out the static of the city until only that familiar voice remained. His heart clenched with longing and quiet relief.
He traced the sound to the upper floors of a gleaming high-rise in the heart of downtown—the unmistakable, foreboding silhouette of LexCorp Tower, its sharp edges and mirrored surface reflecting the cold morning light. The sight alone made his jaw tighten, tension rippling through his frame. No matter how many years passed, Lex Luthor’s presence in Metropolis remained a constant thorn in his side.
But then Y/N spoke again, and Clark’s protective instincts flared.
“Yes, Mr. Luthor… I’ll have that report on your desk by noon,” Y/N said, his voice steady and professional, though Clark detected the faintest trace of exhaustion beneath his practiced tone. “I’ve already confirmed the logistics team’s data… Yes, sir, I’m double-checking it now.”
Clark exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He could see Y/N in his mind’s eye—sitting at his immaculately organized desk, surrounded by gleaming tech and cool, polished steel decor, the harsh blue glow of holographic displays casting soft light over his face. His back would be straight, his sharp, tailored blazer fitting perfectly across his shoulders—a detail Y/N always insisted was necessary to “look the part.”
Clark’s chest warmed with quiet pride. Despite his unease about LexCorp—a company built on moral ambiguity and dangerous ambition—he knew Y/N. Driven, capable, relentless in his pursuit of success, yet unfailingly kind. He trusted Y/N implicitly.
Lex Luthor, on the other hand…
Clark frowned, his protective instincts prickling. Even now, he couldn’t entirely banish the concern that came with knowing Y/N worked within arm’s reach of one of the world’s most dangerous men. He strained to listen for anything out of place—any shift in Y/N’s voice, any hint of tension—but all he heard was focused professionalism.
Then, suddenly, Y/N’s voice softened—barely above a murmur—as though he believed himself to be completely alone. His tone turned warmer, more personal.
“…And maybe after work, I can figure out how to surprise you for once, Clark…”
Clark’s breath caught.
There was the faint rustling of papers, followed by a quiet, almost wistful chuckle that tugged at his heart.
“Ten years… Can you believe it?” Y/N whispered, almost as though speaking only to himself.
Clark’s expression melted into something achingly tender, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest that even the cold steel of LexCorp couldn’t diminish. For just a moment, he allowed himself this stolen glimpse into Y/N’s day—a reminder of the life they’d built together, of love that had endured through battles, secrets, and the challenges of his double life.
He hovered there, suspended in the stillness of the morning sky, wrapped in the memory of Y/N’s voice and the unspoken promise threaded through those words.
Then, from several blocks away, a sudden wail of police sirens split the air, snapping him back to reality. His gaze hardened instantly, his senses shifting back into sharp focus. The city needed him again.
But before he shot off into the wind, he cast one final, lingering glance toward the gleaming spire of LexCorp Tower, his voice a whispered promise meant only for the wind to carry:
“I love you, too.”
And then, in a streak of red and blue, he vanished into the sky—ready to protect the city he called home, and the man he loved more than anything.
The familiar creak of the front door closing echoed softly through the stillness of the cozy apartment. Clark Kent stepped inside, his broad shoulders relaxing as he shrugged off his thick, charcoal-gray overcoat. He smoothed out its fabric with practiced care before hanging it on the brass hook by the entryway, a small detail Y/N had insisted on installing when they first moved in together. The air smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla from a gently flickering candle on the bookshelf, mixing with the warm, inviting scent of home-cooked meals from memories past.
The apartment was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the dimmed overhead lights and the warm sparkle of fairy lights strung along the window. Framed photographs of shared adventures lined the walls—a snapshot from their first vacation, candid moments from friends’ weddings, and even a picture of Clark holding a grinning Y/N on his shoulders at a summer fair.
But tonight wasn’t just another ordinary evening. It was their ten-year anniversary, a milestone woven with laughter, challenges, and countless moments of quiet, steadfast love. Tonight, Clark intended to mark that journey in a way neither of them would ever forget.
With steady deliberation, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and carefully retrieved a small, velvet-covered box. He set it down gently on the cool marble countertop, as though the magnitude of what it held weighed heavier than any feat he had ever accomplished as Superman. His thumb brushed over the soft fabric of the box, tracing its edges with reverence. Inside rested a simple, timeless ring—delicate yet strong, much like the bond he shared with Y/N. He had spent months searching for the perfect piece, envisioning the way it would look on Y/N’s finger every step of the way.
Drawing a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and gently closed the box. The evening wasn’t going to prepare itself. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his strong forearms, and turned toward the kitchen. Fresh ingredients were laid out precisely as he had planned—Y/N’s favorite meal, every detail considered down to the garnish.
Moments later, Clark turned his attention to the living room, the heart of their shared memories. It was a space shaped by comfort and familiarity, where countless evenings had been spent wrapped in warmth and laughter. He moved with quiet purpose, selecting a small stack of their favorite movies from the shelf—classic comedies that never failed to make them laugh, heartfelt dramas that always left them holding each other a little tighter, and those feel-good romances they could recite line for line. He placed the DVDs neatly on the rustic wooden coffee table, arranging them just so, knowing Y/N would smile the moment they saw them.
Draped over the back of their well-loved couch was a thick, cozy blanket—soft, worn, and infused with memories of lazy Sundays and late-night cuddles. He smoothed out its folds, making sure it was within easy reach for when the night wound down, when dinner was just a memory, and only the quiet comfort of each other remained. A few plump, overstuffed pillows rested at each end of the couch, inviting and familiar.
The soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the window added a magical warmth to the room, their tiny bulbs twinkling like distant stars. On the coffee table, he placed a wooden tray holding two mugs—one ready for hot cocoa, the other for Y/N’s favorite tea, complete with a small jar of honey. A delicate ceramic bowl filled with chocolate-covered almonds—Y/N’s guilty pleasure—completed the thoughtful setup. Every detail was intentional, a reflection of the countless quiet nights they had shared in this very space.
But even as the living room felt ready, Clark couldn’t shake the sense that something was still missing.
He stepped back into the kitchen, enveloped once more by the inviting aroma of the special meal he’d worked so carefully to prepare. The rich scent of seared steak lingered in the air, mingling with the creamy, garlicky aroma of the mashed potatoes he’d whipped until they were impossibly smooth and buttery. The sautéed vegetables—green beans with a light char, caramelized baby carrots glistening with honey, and earthy mushrooms kissed with rosemary—were arranged in a serving dish, their vibrant colors promising comfort and warmth with every bite.
On the stovetop, the red wine sauce had reduced to perfection, its velvety richness gleaming as Clark gave it one last stir. The deep, complex fragrance of simmering shallots, garlic, and wine filled the room, tempting him to taste—but he resisted. This was for Y/N.
His gaze drifted to the marble countertop, where the decadent chocolate mousse cake he had picked up from their favorite bakery waited like the final act of a perfect evening. Its glossy, dark chocolate surface shimmered under the soft kitchen lights, adorned with delicate curls of bittersweet chocolate and a light dusting of powdered sugar. Plump, jewel-toned raspberries rested artfully around the edges, a splash of vibrant red against the dark richness of the cake.
Satisfied with the meal, Clark moved to the small dining table near the bay window. He tugged at the edges of the crisp white tablecloth, ensuring it lay perfectly smooth. Their best dinnerware gleamed in the soft light, paired with sparkling wine glasses and polished silverware arranged with precision. He folded two linen napkins into elegant triangles, placing them neatly by each plate.
At the center of the table sat a modest yet beautiful bouquet—soft blush roses, delicate white lilies, and fragrant sprigs of eucalyptus bound together with natural twine. Their gentle scent mingled with the meal’s intoxicating aromas, adding a romantic, timeless touch. Clark adjusted the bouquet slightly, ensuring it looked effortlessly perfect.
Finally, he lit three slender ivory candles in sleek, minimalist holders. Their warm, flickering flames cast a soft, golden glow across the table, their light shimmering off the delicate crystal and creating an atmosphere of quiet elegance.
With everything in place, Clark allowed himself a moment to pause. The apartment felt magical, transformed by love and intention. Yet his eyes inevitably returned to the small velvet-covered box still resting on the counter, its deep navy surface catching the candlelight like a secret waiting to be shared.
He stepped closer, brushing his thumb once again over its soft, textured fabric. Inside lay the ring—simple yet exquisitely crafted, timeless yet personal. He could still remember the moment he had found it, knowing instantly it was the one. Strong but delicate. Elegant yet enduring. Just like what they had built together.
He imagined Y/N’s face when he saw it—his wide-eyed surprise, the way his breath might hitch, the unmistakable light that would fill his eyes when he understood what Clark was asking. The thought made Clark usually steady hands tremble just a little.
It wasn’t about the meal, the setting, or even the ring.
It was about the ten years of shared memories, of challenges faced side by side, of whispered promises in the dark, and quiet mornings filled with warmth and love. It was about their story—one already filled with so much life and meaning—but with so much more yet to be written.
And tonight, Clark Kent was ready to ask Y/N to write the rest of that story with him—forever.
With dinner prepared, the apartment glowing with warmth, and every thoughtful detail in place, Clark found himself standing in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the collar of his white dress shirt for what felt like the tenth time. His fingers smoothed the fabric, adjusting the top button, then pausing as he reconsidered, ultimately leaving it undone for a more relaxed look.
He straightened his tie, only to frown and pull it loose again. His reflection stared back, resolute but edged with vulnerability, a flicker of nerves in his usually steady blue eyes.
With a slow, measured breath, he adjusted his glasses—pointless, really, but the familiar motion gave his restless hands something to do. The thin frames rested perfectly on the bridge of his nose, though he still fiddled with them out of habit. He braced his palms against the edge of the dresser, leaning forward, forehead nearly touching the cool surface of the mirror.
“This is fine,” he murmured, voice low but firm, as though willing himself to believe it. “You’ve faced supervillains, alien invasions… even world-ending threats.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “This is just… one question.”
But this question mattered more than anything else he’d ever done.
He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back as if preparing for battle. His reflection stared back, still strong but undeniably human—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
“He’s already said yes… a thousand different ways over the past ten years,” Clark whispered, almost as though speaking the words aloud would steady his heart. “This is just… making it official.”
He ran a hand through his dark, slightly tousled hair, pushing it back in a way he knew Y/N liked. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against his temple as he let out another breath, more controlled this time. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out the small velvet box once again.
Flipping it open, he let his eyes rest on the ring inside—simple but elegant, timeless yet meaningful. He had chosen it with absolute certainty, picturing Y/N’s hand wearing it, imagining how it would feel to place it there himself. The thought made his chest tighten—not with fear, but with overwhelming love.
For a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. There were no distant cries for help, no looming threats or urgent responsibilities. In this quiet space, there was only the promise of forever, contained in the small, glinting circle of gold resting in the velvet folds.
A soft, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the last traces of doubt. His voice, low but steady, broke the silence.
“You’ve got this, Kent.”
Just then, the familiar click of the front door unlocking echoed softly through the quiet apartment. His head snapped up, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and joy.
Y/N was home.
Clark gently closed the ring box, slipping it back into his pocket with practiced care. His pulse quickened, but his hands were steady now. He smoothed his shirt one last time, inhaling deeply, letting the love he felt ground him.
This was the moment. The beginning of something new, built on ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and promises unspoken but always understood.
Y/N stepped inside of the apartment, already shrugging off his coat after a long, tiring day at work. He reached out automatically to flip the light switch, expecting the familiar glow of the overhead light—but paused, his fingers hovering in midair.
Something was different.
The apartment was already softly illuminated—not by the usual bright lights, but by the gentle, flickering glow of candles scattered throughout the living room and dining area. A delicate floral fragrance, light and fresh, mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of something savory and richly seasoned wafting from the kitchen. Y/N blinked, his eyes widening as he slowly took in the transformed space before him.
The usually simple, everyday dining table was unrecognizable—draped in a pristine white tablecloth that gleamed softly under the warm candlelight. Two polished wine glasses stood side by side, catching the soft light like tiny prisms, while their best silverware lay neatly arranged on elegant dinner plates. In the center of the table sat a beautifully arranged bouquet of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and eucalyptus sprigs woven together with thoughtful care. Their delicate petals glowed softly in the candlelight, their fragrance blending seamlessly with the warm, inviting smells of home-cooked food.
Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a small serving tray waited, holding a carefully plated dinner beneath a gleaming silver cover. Steam still gently wafted from beneath the lid, hinting at something savory and delicious inside. The mouthwatering scent of garlic, herbs, and seared meat hung in the air, making his stomach growl despite the emotional tightness building in his chest.
He took a tentative step forward, feeling his breath hitch as he noticed the living room. There, on the rustic coffee table, was a familiar stack of their favorite movies—the ones they always watched on cozy nights in, when they just needed to be close. A thick, cozy blanket was neatly folded over the back of the couch, inviting and familiar, ready for when the night wound down. Everything was arranged with such intention, such thoughtfulness… such love.
Y/N pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer care and intimacy behind every detail. His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding with disbelief and something deeper, something warmer. Was this really happening? Did Clark… do all of this?
Before he could fully process the scene, a quiet creak of the kitchen floorboards caught his attention. He turned slowly, his breath still uneven, and his gaze landed on Clark standing just a few steps away.
Clark’s hands rested loosely at his sides, fidgeting slightly—a rare crack in his usually steady composure—but his expression was soft, warm, and impossibly tender. His deep blue eyes held an intensity that stole Y/N’s breath—not the intensity of a hero prepared for battle, but of a man utterly, irrevocably in love.
“Clark… what is all this?” Y/N whispered, voice trembling with emotion.
Clark’s lips curved into a gentle, familiar smile—the kind that had always felt like home. His eyes shimmered with warmth, reflecting ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and late-night talks. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured, taking a slow, measured step closer.
Y/N let out a shaky breath, his gaze flickering from the candlelit table to the familiar stack of movies—and finally back to the man who had done all of this. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. “You… you did all this… for me?” His voice cracked, disbelief and affection tangling in his throat.
Clark’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening even further. “For us,” he corrected gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet vulnerability.
Y/N felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his heart swelling so much it almost hurt. Every detail—the flowers, the meal, the movies, the candles—felt like a physical manifestation of the life they had built together. A life filled with love, warmth, and quiet, shared moments that meant everything.
His hands trembled as he reached for Clark, closing the space between them in a heartbeat. His arms wrapped tightly around Clark’s strong frame, pulling him into an embrace filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t seem to say. Clark held him just as fiercely, his face burying into Y/N’s shoulder, breathing him in like he was the only thing that mattered.
Y/N’s breath hitched against Clark’s neck, a soft, broken sound of love and wonder. Neither of them moved for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, grounded in the familiarity and promise of what they shared.
In that moment, there was no world outside, no responsibilities, no distant cries for help—only them. Two hearts, intertwined and steady, standing at the edge of something new, something even deeper than what had come before.
Surrounded by the gentle glow of candlelight and the quiet warmth of home, Clark held Y/N tighter, silently promising that this—they—would always be his greatest adventure.
And tonight, their forever was just beginning.
The warm glow of candlelight flickered softly across the cozy apartment, casting gentle, golden light over every familiar surface. Y/N and Clark sat comfortably on the well-worn couch, plates balanced carefully on their laps while the familiar sounds of their favorite movie played quietly in the background. The soft crackle of the candles still burning on the dining table blended with the movie’s soundtrack, creating an atmosphere of warmth, intimacy, and quiet joy.
Clark had insisted on serving the meal himself, carrying each perfectly plated dish with the care of someone offering up something precious. The garlic-herb steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and perfectly sautéed vegetables looked like something from a five-star restaurant—but tasted even better. Each bite was rich, savory, and cooked exactly the way Y/N liked it.
“This is so good,” Y/N mumbled around another bite, eyes widening with genuine delight. “Seriously… did you take a secret cooking class or something? How do you always nail this?”
Clark chuckled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish but clearly pleased. “I might’ve… practiced a little,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “I just wanted tonight to be perfect.”
Y/N’s heart swelled at the quiet sincerity in Clark’s words. The love behind every carefully considered detail of the evening hit him all at once—the flowers, the candles, the dinner, the movies—all thoughtfully chosen, all crafted with so much care. He set his plate down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on the food when something far more important was sitting right beside him.
Without a word, Y/N reached out and gently placed his hand over Clark’s, his fingertips tracing slow, familiar patterns across the back of Clark’s strong, calloused hand. The warmth of his skin was grounding, comforting, home.
“You are perfect,” Y/N whispered, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “This whole night… the dinner, the movies, the candles… everything. It’s perfect.”
Clark’s breath caught, his eyes softening as he gently turned his hand to entwine their fingers together. His thumb traced slow, reassuring circles over Y/N’s knuckles, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes.
“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Y/N continued, his gaze never leaving Clark’s. “But you did. You always do… You always find a way to make me feel so loved.”
Clark’s breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening just a little around Y/N’s hand. His voice was low but steady, full of quiet intensity. “You are loved… more than anything… more than I could ever say.”
Y/N’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his heart pounding with affection so deep it felt impossible to contain. Slowly, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against Clark’s, savoring the quiet, shared connection. In that small, still moment, surrounded by the warm glow of flickering candles and the familiar hum of their shared life, nothing else existed—only them.
“Thank you… for all of this,” Y/N whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “For everything.”
Clark smiled softly, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips gently against Y/N’s in a tender, lingering kiss. It was slow, filled with all the love and devotion words could never fully express. His hand cupped Y/N’s cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make the world fall away.
When they finally parted, their foreheads still resting together, Clark’s voice was barely above a whisper—but steady and sure.
“There’s still… one more thing.”
Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, curiosity sparking in his expression. “What do you mean?”
Clark’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached for Y/N’s, threading their fingers together with practiced ease, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of that touch. His heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, but the feel of Y/N’s hand in his steadied him, like it always had.
“Come with me,” Clark whispered softly, his voice low but sure.
Y/N blinked in surprise but let Clark gently guide him off the couch and into the softly glowing living room. The flickering candlelight cast a warm halo around them, creating a setting that felt timeless, intimate, and entirely their own. Y/N’s expression shifted from curious to something deeper, something tender, as he felt the subtle tension in Clark’s usually steady grip.
Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe, to be fully present in this moment he’d imagined countless times. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over Y/N’s knuckles—a silent reassurance for both of them. When he finally met Y/N’s gaze, his deep blue eyes shimmered with emotion—vulnerable but unwavering, filled with love so profound it left no room for doubt.
“Y/N…” Clark began, his voice trembling just enough to reveal how much this meant to him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say… something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he stayed quiet, his gaze steady, urging Clark to continue.
Clark tightened his hold ever so slightly, his hands enveloping Y/N’s like a protective barrier, keeping them both anchored in this moment. His voice grew steadier, though still thick with emotion.
“From the very first moment I saw you… back in high school… I knew,” Clark said softly, his eyes shining with memory and meaning. “I didn’t know exactly what ‘forever’ looked like back then… but I knew you were going to be someone important. The someone.”
Y/N’s eyes shimmered, already brimming with unshed tears as the weight of Clark’s words settled over him.
“We’ve built this incredible life together,” Clark continued, his voice deepening with quiet intensity. “Through moves, jobs… everything life’s thrown at us. And through it all… I’ve known one thing with absolute certainty.” He swallowed hard, his lips quirking into the faintest, most affectionate smile. “I want to spend every day, every moment… with you.”
Y/N’s breath shuddered as a tear slipped free, trailing slowly down his cheek.
Clark’s eyes softened even further as he gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I thought about this night so many times… about what I’d say… but I kept coming back to something you said once.”
Y/N blinked, his brow furrowing faintly as he tried to recall.
“It was a long time ago… back when we first talked about marriage,” Clark murmured, his deep voice softening into something reverent, as if he were holding a fragile, cherished memory in his hands. His gaze lowered for a brief moment, lost in the weight of what he was about to say. When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed with something raw and unguarded—love, hope, and nostalgia woven together.
“‘Don’t marry me just because we’ve been together forever…’” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke the familiar words. “You said that to me.”
The memory hit Y/N like a crashing wave—vivid, intimate, and achingly familiar. It had been during one of those long, late-night talks when the world outside didn’t matter, and the future felt like a distant, untouchable dream. Y/N remembered the quiet stillness of that night, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating Clark’s thoughtful expression as they both lay tangled together, speaking from the heart without hesitation.
Clark’s warm fingers brushed gently over Y/N’s, grounding him in the present even as his words pulled him back to that deeply personal moment. His touch was familiar, steady, and reassuring—the same touch Y/N trusted through every joy, every storm, every uncertain tomorrow.
His voice softened even further, dipping into something more intimate, more earnest, as though he were speaking directly to your soul. “‘Marry me because you want to,’” he continued, his thumbs tracing slow, tender circles over the backs of Y/N’s hands. “‘Because you can’t see yourself with anyone else. Marry me… because you love me.’”
Y/N’s breath hitched as those words echoed through him, every syllable steeped in memory and meaning. They weren’t just words from the past—they were a promise him had once made without realizing how much they would come to define his future.
Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, blurring the sight of Clark’s face, but Y/N could still see the love etched into every line, every tender curve of his expression. His gaze held Y/N’s with such fierce intensity that it felt like nothing else in the world existed—just the two of them, tethered by a shared history and an undeniable, enduring love.
Clark’s hands tightened around Y/N’s just slightly—not possessive, but grounding—anchoring them both in the weight of the present. His breath hitched as he whispered, “I never forgot those words… not for a second.”
His voice cracked, just faintly, but he pressed on, his expression resolute and filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want to marry you because of how long we’ve been together… or because it’s ‘what comes next.’ I want to marry you because there’s no one else I could ever imagine standing beside me. No one else I want to build a future with… grow old with.”
He let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening as he whispered, “I want to marry you… because I love you.”
Y/N let out a soft, broken laugh, tears spilling freely now as he clung to Clark’s every word.
Clark’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with emotion. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself onto one knee, his gaze never wavering, his hands still cradling Y/N’s as though letting go was unthinkable. With quiet reverence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he’d carried close to him all night. His fingers trembled only slightly as he opened it, revealing the simple yet elegant ring—a perfect symbol of the love they had built: enduring, strong, timeless.
“I do, Y/N,” Clark whispered, his voice raw with unguarded emotion. “I love you… endlessly. I see my forever… and it’s you. It’s always been you.”
His gaze softened further, shimmering with hope, love, and absolute certainty. “Will you… will you marry me?”
The room seemed suspended in breathless stillness—time stretching endlessly in the space between the question and the answer. Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as a choked, tearful laugh escaped his lips. He covered his mouth for just a second, overcome, before reaching down and pulling Clark up into his arms with a fierce, unrestrained embrace.
“Yes,” Y/N whispered, voice trembling but resolute. “Yes. A thousand times… yes.”
Clark let out a shaky, relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N like he never intended to let go. Their foreheads pressed together, tears mingling as they clung to the enormity of the moment—the life they had already built and the future they were now promising.
Time seemed to stop the moment Clark gently slid the ring onto Y/N’s finger. His large, warm hands trembled just enough for you to notice, though his grip remained steady and sure—like he was grounding himself in the reality of this moment. Clark’s ocean-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, swirling with relief, joy, and an overwhelming depth of love that stole Y/N’s breath away. His expression softened as though the weight of anticipation he’d been carrying for weeks had finally lifted.
For a moment, all Y/N could do was stare at the ring sparkling brilliantly in the soft candlelight. Its elegance and meaning were undeniable, but even its beauty couldn’t compare to the way Clark was looking at Y/N—like he were the most precious, extraordinary person in the world, the very center of his universe.
Emotion swelled in Y/N’s chest, leaving him speechless. Tears blurred his vision, but through the shimmering haze, he could still see Clark—standing there, still holding his hand like he couldn’t bear to let go, his breath uneven as he searched your face for reassurance that this was real.
With every ounce of love, joy, and unspoken promise between them, Y/N closed the distance and pulled Clark into the most heartfelt, soul-deep kiss they had ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—it was steady, certain, and profound, like the turning of the earth, like something that had always been meant to happen.
Their lips met with a softness that carried ten years of shared history—nights spent laughing until their sides hurt, quiet mornings tangled in sheets as sunlight streamed through the windows, whispered promises exchanged in the dark when the world felt too heavy. This kiss held all of that—and more. It was the culmination of a thousand moments, big and small, that had built the life they shared.
Clark’s hands came up slowly, almost reverently, cradling Y/N’s face with a tenderness that spoke of how deeply he cherished this moment. His fingers brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his touch light but grounding, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His lips moved against Y/N’s with aching sincerity, pouring his heart into the connection, into the unspoken vow that they would never have to let go.
Y/N’s arms wrapped securely around Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them—only warmth, only love, only them. He felt Clark’s breath hitch ever so slightly against his mouth, felt the way his shoulders relaxed as though the weight of the world had finally fallen away, leaving only this perfect, timeless moment.
The soft glow of the candles flickered gently around them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar walls of their home. The delicate scent of roses and eucalyptus lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting warmth still radiating from the hearth of the kitchen. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, quiet and still, as though honoring something sacred unfolding in that small, candle-lit apartment.
But the only warmth they truly felt was the steady, enduring fire they had always kindled in each other—the kind of warmth built over years of shared dreams, quiet comforts, and unconditional love.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling as they lingered in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers gently traced the edge of Clark’s jaw, his touch still trembling from the overwhelming rush of emotion. Clark’s eyes opened slowly, his deep blue gaze shining with love, awe, and absolute certainty.
“I love you,” Clark whispered, voice thick with emotion, as though the words weren’t nearly enough but still everything he needed to say.
Y/N smiled through tears that still shimmered in his eyes, his own voice breaking. “I love you… so much.”
Their fingers entwined again, holding on as though they never intended to let go—and they didn’t. They wouldn’t. This was forever.
Their story—already filled with so much life, so many memories and shared adventures—was only just beginning.
And in the soft, golden glow of their home, surrounded by the quiet beauty they had built together, they stood hand in hand—ready to write the next chapter, together.
i'm rewatching twd so here's a lil rick grimes smut to whoever's interested <33
it's set during 5x16 when rick wakes up in that room after michonne knocked him out n he has all those lil white plasters on his face <3
rick grimes x trans male reader
warnings/content: smut so 18+, rough sex mixed with some loving sex, first time together, vaginal sex, cum eating, kissing, all that good stuff :3
word count: 3.3k
also on ao3!
Glenn looked over at Rick. “Did you want this?”
“No,” Rick replied, shaking his head. “I hit my limit. I… I screwed up. And here we are.”
“What happened to you out there?”
“It just… took over. The anger.” He sighed, looking down at his hands. “I dunno. I felt like my mind was slippin’ again and I just felt… tense? Like nothing could get me out of that headspace. I dunno… I’m just sorry you guys had to see that.”
Unable to stop yourself, you snorted. Rick’s head snapped up, glaring at you, and you raised your arms in defense. “Sorry, man. Just sounds like you need to get laid, is all.”
All seriousness was sucked out of the room and Michonne and Glenn had to stifle their laughs, looking between each other in surprise.
Rick, however, stared you down with a tilt of his head. “What?”
“There’s plenty of people out there, Rick. Find someone to fuck and you’ll be golden.”
Glenn squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to conceal his laughter and he mumbled out, “I mean… he has a point?”
Michonne couldn’t hold back and she broke, letting out a loud laugh. “Sorry,” she waved her hands, “sorry. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Jesus,” Rick whispered, running his hand over face. “I… If you’ll excuse me, I’m just gonna sleep some more.”
The three of you began to leave, saying your goodbyes filled with laughter, before Rick called your name. “Uh oh,” you grinned, “sounds like I’m in trouble.”
“Maybe next time you shouldn’t tell the Big Bad Leader to get laid,” Glenn joked, leaving with a laughing Michonne. “Good luck.”
Walking back into the room, you watched Rick get comfortable on his back. He placed his arm underneath his head with a groan, shuffling around so much so that his shirt rode up and revealed his bruised abdomen. “What’s up, Officer?” You asked as you made your way to the chair in the corner of the room, taking a seat and resting your elbows on your knees.
He huffed out a laugh, looking at you with curiosity. “Did you mean what you said?”
“Hm?”
“About me needin’ to get laid?”
“Well, yeah?” His question confused you. “I just think you need to relieve some stress, is all.”
All he did was hum in response but there was a smirk growing on his face. He closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the pillows and relaxing deeper into the mattress, and all you could do was stare. For a moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep, your eyes stuck on the steady rise and fall of his chest, but his smirk only continued to grow until he was almost grinning. You furrowed your eyebrows, the gears in your head working overtime as you assessed the situation.
And then it hit you.
“Wait… what are you implying, Rick?”
The deep chuckle that left his lips made your stomach drop. “Not implyin’ anything.”
Your heart hammered in your chest. “Rick.”
He sat up, leaning his weight on his elbows, and smirked over at you, his eyes playful. “D’you want me to be implyin’ somethin’?”
You stared at him and he stared back. His eyes lowered to your lips and then to your throat, his tongue sliding out to wet his lips when he looked even lower, eyes trailing down your chest and landing between your spread legs. The clothes you wore weren’t revealing in the slightest–dark cargo pants and a thin t-shirt–but the way he looked you over made you feel like you were naked.
“Rick?”
He lifted his bandaged hand, gesturing for you to come closer with two fingers. Taking a deep breath, you stood up and made your way to the side of the mattress, clenching your jaw when his hand came up to rest on your leg. “I want you.”
“Then have me.”
Rick was kneeling on the mattress and tugging you down to join him in seconds, his lips on your neck before you could react. He sucked and nibbled down from your jaw to your collarbone, one hand gripping the back of your head as the other lowered to your belt. “Take these off.”
You wasted no time in unbuckling your belt and dropping your pants, struggling to kick them away as he bit down over your shoulder. Your pants got caught on your boots and you swayed, only staying upright when Rick caught you with a laugh.
“I said take them off, baby, not fall over.”
Your face flushed red as you sat next to him, untying your shoelaces and throwing off your boots as quickly as you could. His lips found their way back to your neck, marking up the other side as you finally rid yourself of your pants, and his hand slid over your inner thigh.
“They’re off,” you whispered, breathless.
“Good boy.”
He grabbed at you, moving you so that you were back on your knees, facing the wall, and he was kneeling behind you. His hands trailed up your sides, pushing down so that you were arching your back and your ass was on show.
“Fuck,” Rick gasped, the palms of his hands trailing down to the back of your thighs. “You look better than I imagined.”
“Imagined?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. You think I haven’t imagined you like this before?” He cupped your ass, dipping his finger between your legs. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.”
You dropped your head down between your arms, closing your eyes as you let his hands wander over you. His thumb teasingly pushed against your entrance, making you gasp, before his index finger took its place and he slowly pushed it inside. You were tense, the intrusion something you hadn’t felt in a while, and he could tell, his other hand caressing over your thigh in an attempt to calm you.
“This okay?” He asked as his finger pushed all the way inside you. You nodded, pushing back against his finger as he slowly pulled it back. Rick huffed out a laugh. “Someone’s eager.”
“Just use me, Rick. Do whatever you want to me.”
The deep groan that left his throat was delicious. His hand tightened against your thigh to ground himself as a second finger teased at your entrance. “Trust me, baby, I will. Just gotta make sure you’re prepared.”
Rick’s second finger joined his first, deep as it could go, and you sighed heavily as he thrusted them in and out. He took it slow, the pace feeling like torture, and all you wanted to do was beg for more. His other hand smoothed over your skin, over the back of your thigh to the front and then to your stomach beneath your shirt, until it found its way to your hard cock.
“Please,” you begged, “just fuck me.”
He groaned, deep and low, before pulling his hands from you and taking hold of your hips, pressing himself against you. There was the sound of movement behind you, a slight rustling as he discarded his shirt, before you heard a soft muffled moan followed by a pop. “God, you taste good,” he whispered, unbuckling his belt and pulling out his cock. Your legs shook in anticipation, the thought of him fucking you turning you on more than you ever thought possible. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart. You ain’t gonna be able to walk for days.”
The head of his cock pressed against your entrance and even without looking back you could tell he was big. His hands were firm on your hips as he pushed in, slow and steady. It stung, his cock stretching you out more than you were used to, but you took it with confidence, allowing yourself to feel full.
Eventually, he bottomed out, his cock as deep as it could go, and he remained still as he let you catch your breath. It took you a few moments before you managed to mumble out a soft, “Move, please.”
He pulled his hips back, his cock sliding out of you painfully slow until only the tip remained, and he smoothed his hands over your back once more before thrusting into you, setting a rough pace. It took you off guard, the fast pace making you moan louder than either of you expected. His bandaged hand took hold of your jaw, muffling the whines that fell from your lips, and he leaned down to run his tongue across your neck.
It was hot and wet and teasing as he dragged it up until it made contact with your ear. “Shit, you’re so tight,” he gasped out, nibbling at your earlobe. “Fuck. Get on your back.” You pushed off the mattress with shaky arms, landing on your back with a groan and he wasted no time in thrusting back inside you, hard and fast. “You look so fuckin’ good like this, baby.”
You wanted to say the same back; he looked absolutely stunning hovering over you, his chest broad and shoulders adorned with a beautiful handful of freckles, and the band-aids on his face accentuated his features beautifully. His eyes were dark and full of lust and his mouth was agape, his lips plump and pretty–it was almost too much.
Rick trailed kisses down your neck, sucking and biting as he went, before the fabric of your shirt stopped him from going any lower. His hands made their way to the hem of your shirt, tugging on it in an attempt to tell you to take it off. You clawed at your shirt, almost ripping it as you pulled it off over your head and threw it to the ground.
Almost immediately, his hips slowed at the sight of you. His eyes softened and his hands made their way to your chest, the tips of his fingers tracing over your scars. Anxiety bubbled deep in your gut and for a moment you feared he’d pull away in disgust, but that feeling was quickly thrown out of the window when he leaned down and brushed his soft lips across your scars. It was gentle, something that you weren’t expecting with the way things started, and it was intimate. You felt your stomach twist.
Once he kissed across from one side to the other, his cock deep inside of you, he moved up so that his face hovered over yours and he smiled down at you. “You really are beautiful. You know that, right?” His words took you by surprise and all you could do was nod without much thought. “Of course you do, how could you not?”
As if he hadn’t surprised you enough, his lips covered yours and he kissed you hesitantly. It took your brain a few moments to catch up but soon enough you were kissing him back with passion, sliding your lips against his in a kiss full of a surprising amount of emotion. His large hands cupped your face, almost as if he were cradling you, and your hands made their way to his hair, wrapping up in his curls and tugging gently. He let out a soft groan against your lips and you slipped your tongue into his mouth, sliding it across his with confidence. You felt him huff out a laugh into the kiss, pulling away momentarily to catch his breath before kissing you softer than you’d ever been kissed.
Your mind reeled at the change, at how he went from fucking you roughly to holding you gently and kissing you as if you meant the world to him, but all you could do was reciprocate. For a moment you forgot that his cock filled you to the brim, your body used to the stretch and your mind hazy, but then he pushed his body closer to yours and it felt like all your nerves were on fire.
He leaned back, his lips plumper than before as he struggled to catch his breath. “Fuck, I got distracted.”
“That’s you getting distracted?” You asked, panting. “God, please get distracted more often.”
His hands made their way back to your hips and his lips twisted up into a filthy smile that sent your heart rate skyrocketing. “Thought you wanted me to use you, sweetheart?”
Before you could answer, he pulled his hips back and slammed into you, setting yet another rough pace. This time, however, his lips found yours again and the two of you moaned against each other. One of your hands tugged at his hair as the other trailed down from his chest to his stomach, feeling all over his skin before inching its way back up until your fingers brushed gently over his nipple. He gasped into your mouth, pushing his chest against yours and letting his strong arms wrap around your shoulders, his face burying into your neck.
“I’m close,” he grunted, his voice thick. The noises that came from his mouth were heavenly, a mix of deep groans and delicious whimpers. “God, I’m so close.”
“Me too,” you managed to get out.
His hips stuttered and he pounded into you, trailing one hand down until it found its way back between your legs. You jumped as he brushed his finger over the tip of your cock and it was only a matter of seconds before your orgasm came crashing down over you. Your muscles tensed and the hand in Rick’s hair tugged so hard he lifted his head to watch as your body succumbed to the pleasure.
With two more deep thrusts, he was pulling out of you with a heavenly whine and cum was shooting onto your stomach. His lips were parted, pretty and pink and spilling soft moans, and his eyes were squeezed shut. You reached up to cup his face, pulling him closer and brushing your lips against his. He reciprocated the kiss, lazily running his tongue across your bottom lip.
After a few moments of lazily making out, he pulled back and stared down at the mess he left over your stomach with a proud smile. “You look good like that.”
“What, covered in cum?”
“Covered in my cum.”
Your heart skipped a beat and you fought back a pathetic moan at his words.
He dropped his hand down to your stomach, dipping his finger into the cum that warmed your skin, before scooping some of it up. He slid his hand higher up your chest, rubbing his cum-covered finger against your nipple. You gasped, arching your back at the feeling. He did that a few times, moving the cum over your body with a small smile.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food, Grimes?”
His eyes flickered up to meet yours and they darkened ever so slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Hm, you’re right,” he mumbled, lowering himself until his breath fanned over your chest. You gasped, not expecting him to take you seriously, and a moan fell from your open mouth as his closed over your left nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, allowing his tongue to lick up the cum that cooled over your sensitive skin.
“Jesus,” you breathed out, the feel of his hot tongue moving over your chest enough to get you going again. “This wasn’t what I was expecting at all.”
“Really?” He whispered against your skin, moving over to take your right nipple between his lips.
You laughed through a whine. “What, you think this was all part of some big plan?”
“You’re the one that suggested I oughta get laid.”
“Yeah, and I was talking about someone like Jessie, not me.”
He chuckled against your skin, pressing one last kiss against your scars before leaning up to kiss you softly. You could taste his cum on his lips and it made you clench your legs together with a soft moan, your thighs clamping against his hips. “Hm, you like that?”
“Stop being cocky.”
Rick grinned down at you, his lips parting as if he had something more to say. Instead, he pressed his lips against your jaw, trailing them back down your chest and stomach until his breath was tickling your inner thigh. “What was that? You want me to stop?”
His lips hovered over your cock and you breathed out a deep sigh. “Don’t you dare.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Before you could even process his words, he took you into his mouth. The sudden pressure made you jump, your hands scrambling to his hair in an attempt to ground yourself. His lips were like magic, working over you in a way that blanketed your mind in a peaceful silence even as your lips parted with a loud moan. He made sure to give equal attention to your cock and your entrance, tongue sliding down to dip inside you.
“Fuck,” you whined, tugging at his hair and eliciting a groan from him. That made you buck your hips against his mouth, losing yourself in the pleasure.
You couldn’t tell how long it’d been when you felt the familiar coil deep in your gut. The feeling grew, your second orgasm approaching faster than your first, and you threw your head back as you neared the edge. Rick pulled you closer with his arms wrapped around your thighs, flicking his tongue against the tip of your cock before flattening it against the underside and sucking hard.
The force of your orgasm had you arching your back and his hands slid down to rest against your lower back to keep you steady. You moaned and whined and whimpered as his mouth continued to move over you, dragging out your orgasm until you couldn’t take anymore.
“Rick,” you whispered, gently pushing him away. He moved immediately, collapsing against you with his warm chest against yours and his face buried in your neck. “That was…”
“Incredible? Fantastic? Amazing?”
You snorted, still attempting to catch your breath. “I was gonna say great, but those work too.”
The two of you laughed, the world outside and all its problems disappearing as you held each other. Rick snuggled as close to you as he could, his heavy breaths slowly steadying until you were sure he was asleep this time. The thought of him being comfortable enough to fall asleep in your arms made you smile and you grabbed at the sheets, ensuring that the both of you were covered.
You began to drift off, exhaustion settling in, when there was a knock at the door. Rick stiffened up against you but stayed wrapped up in your arms as the door opened, and Carol walked in.
“It was about time,” she laughed, rolling her eyes playfully with a soft smile. “But you have to cut it short, I’m afraid. Deanna wants to see you.”
“Me?” You asked. “What for?”
“She didn’t say, just asked me to fetch you. Best not to keep her waiting.”
You nodded, thanking her as she left. Once you were sure she wasn’t coming back, you tapped Rick on the shoulder a few times. “Come on, Grimes. Off.” He groaned and buried his face deeper into your neck, holding you tightly. As much as it warmed your heart, you had to get him off you even when you wanted nothing more than to stay there forever. “Don’t get clingy now, mister. Deanna’s mad at you, remember? We can’t have her mad at me too.”
With a soft groan, he pulled himself away from you, letting you slip from beneath him as he dropped back onto the mattress with a thud. You shook your head with a smile as he watched you pull your pants on, his head resting on his palm.
“You having fun there?”
“Mhm,” he replied, eyes looking all over you with no shame. “You look good.”
“Says you,” you remarked, sitting beside him to tug your boots on. He sat up, peppering lazy kisses over your exposed shoulder, and you smiled wider. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”
He nodded, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. “I’ll be waitin’.”
You grabbed your shirt off the floor, throwing it over your head before making your way to the door and giving him one last smile. “Get some rest, Officer.”
Dad’s Best Friend!Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Chubby!Male Reader
Title based off TWICE’s “Alcohol Free”
Requested by the gorgeous, wonderful @buckyshusband0 once again: “Dad's best friend!ATJ x Male Reader. Seeing reader grow up from a small child to a grown young man was something his dad was proud of. y/n just graduated from college and was now visiting his father at his small modern house with luggage because they were going to go on a small vacation. One thing y/n doesn't know... his father's best friend, his childhood crush, Aaron. Aaron was someone who y/n had a crush on growing up, but he knew it was wrong.. he knew it was forbidden. When y/n sees Aaron for the first time in years, Aaron is taken aback by the beauty of the boy he basically helped raise. That small child was now a young man. (You can decide how the scene goes on from there.) 3 days later, they are all at the beach and y/n is wearing such a tight lingerie in public, making Aaron want him more than anything. (Maybe y/n notices how Aaron stares at him..) Now a few days later, they're all staying in a hotel room. y/n's father speaks up and tells him he's going to get a drink from the bar and invited Aaron, but he softly declines. Now it was just them two in the room. Aaron speaks up about how he notices how y/n looks at him and slowly gets up and puts his finger under his chin. (Smut scene.) After sex, Aaron kisses y/n for the last time before whispering to keep this forbidden action a secret... Kinks: edging, armpit play 🤭, praising, body worship, marking (hickeys)”
Your dad closed the car’s trunk, grabbing the last of your bags before heading inside, “You excited for these next few months champ?”. You grabbed the last of your things from the middle seats, closing the door and walking alongside your dad. “Sure am! Finally graduated college and now ready to just… relax! Just to figure out things first.” Your dad set down your bags and closed the door behind you, “Of course! I did the same thing after college, kinda. I fooled around, but not you, you’re a good kid”, he pinched your cheek as you chuckled.
“You know you don’t have to worry about me dad”, you grabbed the bags you could and made your way upstairs, to your room, your dad following suit. “I know I don’t, you’ve always been an angel. I’m not even sure you’re even my son”, you both laughed as you two set your bags onto your bed.
You both let out a sigh of relief, you began to unpack, putting things into your drawers and closet. Your dad’s phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and looked at it, he smiled and looked to you, “Hey, you remember Aaron?”, you turned to him, “Aaron Taylor-Johnson?”, he nodded. “He’s coming to stay over for a bit”, you continued to put your things away, “For how long?”. Your father stayed quiet for a bit, then answered, “He says for a few months. You okay with that?” You set down your empty bag so you can sit on your bed, “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? Haven’t seen him since I graduated highschool, it’ll be nice to catch up.”
Your dad left you and you immediately started giggling like you were back in middle school. You’ve had a crush on him ever since you’ve discovered what a crush even was. In fact, he was the reason you realized that you’re gay. So you couldn’t wait to see him and see if he was still as handsome as you remembered he was.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Your dad and you spent the next few days preparing for Aaron’s arrival, your dad told you he’d be staying in the room next to yours.
When he arrived, you couldn’t believe your eyes at what you saw. Your bedroom’s window faces the street, giving you a view of the car that pulled into the driveway, and out stepped a man that you couldn’t believe was Aaron. He was so much more manly, he was wearing a shirt that hugged his body, accentuating his pecs and abs. It was as if he was just muscles all over, his arms were huge and had amazing biceps.
God… you imagined what those arms could do to you. You moved to head out, then you looked down and… you were sporting a boner. “Goddamnit!”, you decided to sit down on your and let it go away before heading down outside.
You stepped out and you immediately caught Aaron’s eye. “Y/N!? Is that you?”, he ran towards you and pulled you into the tightest hug you’ve ever received. It was so familiar, and you possibly breathed in how he smelled.
And possibly so did Aaron.
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All three of you spent the entire day catching up. Learning about what’s happened in all of your life’s in just the past four years. And you and Aaron sneaking glances at each other when neither of you were paying attention.
That night, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron. You had a wet dream about him, the last night that happened was in highschool. It was a pool party and you couldn’t stop thinking about him in those swim shorts. They hugged every part of his lower half so well. You woke up with morning wood, as well as cumstains in your underwear.
The same thing happened again, you woke up and moaned as you stretched. You then touched your boner and felt the dried cum on your underwear. You just shrugged it off and changed into your regular clothes and brushed your teeth.
You made your way downstairs and was met with Aaron bumping into you, you just stumbled back and looked up at him. “Morning”, he said while looking down at you. “Good morning”, you said, rubbing your eyes. ‘Eye boogers, that’s really attractive’, you thought as Aaron kept looking at you with a smile.
“I made some pancakes”, he pointed to a plate filled with pancakes on the counter. “Some plain, some with chocolate chips, and some with blueberries. Didn’t know what you liked so I just made a few of each”, you smiled at Aaron’s kind gesture.
“You made breakfast for me?”, you smile gently. “Of course. Kinda figured you’d need it since you didn’t have much for dinner last night”, you smiled, “Thank you”, he waved a hand. “Of course”, he grabbed his jacket that was draped over the couch, “I’ll be at the gym. If your father asks for me, tell him I’ll be back probably when the sun goes down.”
‘Geez, no wonder he’s in incredible shape’ you thought. With that, Aaron left and you sat there eating one of each of the pancakes he made. After you were done, you decided to do the dishes. And after the dishes you decided that you’d might as well clean the whole house. Your dad was gone fishing, as he does most weekends, Aaron’s out so you thought it was a good chance.
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You had finished cleaning the entire house, by the time you were finished the sun had begun to set. You were resting in your room with your window open and curtains closed, the sounds of outside calming you and the orange sun rays inside your room made for the perfect resting time.
You napped and woke up from time to time to use the bathroom. This time you had woken up because your phone rang, it was your dad. You picked up, a little nervous, “Dad?”, you asked. “Hey kiddo! Listen I’m on my way home but I’m leaving right after because an emergency meeting just came up at work. So I’ll be in and out”, you let out a sigh of relief. “Ok dad. How long will you be gone?”
“Don’t know, maybe a few days, maybe even more. Tell Aaron that I’ll be out”
“Alright dad. Drive safe and hopefully that meeting goes well.”
“Alright then, bye”, your dad hung up and left you to once again go back to sleep.
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This time you were awoken by two things, a strong cold breeze, and your door opening quite roughly. You jumped at your doors opening and were ready to defend yourself. “Damn”, you heard a voice call out. You sighed in relief as you saw that it was just Aaron. “Holy fuck you scared me”, you said as you got up and closed your window.
“Sorry, I was just wondering where everyone was”, Aaron gave you an apologetic smile. “Oh, well I was just resting since I cleaned the whole house. My dad left to go to an emergency meeting at work”, you sat down on your bed.
“Oh alright”, Aaron stepped into your room. “You mind if I sit down?”, you moved over and made space for the man. “I’m sorta beat myself”, Aaron laid down in your bed.
“Why’s that? Gym wore you out?”, Aaron just scoffed. “Was hoping it did, instead a bunch of the equipment wasn’t working. Only was able to do chest and lift weights”, you stared at Aaron's drenched shirt. “Seems like you worked out a lot though, your shirt’s drenched in sweat”
Aaron sighed, looking at you, “Yeah, which reminds me that I need to shower, dumb gym showers were broken”, Aaron sat up and walked to the door. “See ya tomorrow”, Aaron stepped out and then poked his head back in, “Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow? Weather calls for a lovely beach day”, you nodded. And then fell back asleep.
Both of you excited to see each other shirtless.
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You went upstairs and packed your bag for the beach, you grabbed your swimsuit and put it on, putting back your shirt and shorts over it, figuring you’d just take them off when you’d get to the beach.
Aaron was in his room and packed his bag as well, “You ready M/N?”, he called out, “Yes!” Aaron grabbed his bag and headed downstairs, you followed behind him.
When you got in Aaron’s car you tried your best to not stare at him. He had on his swim shorts and had an opened button up shirt. His amazing body was on display and it didn’t help that the windows were rolled down as the wind blew open his shirt.
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You two arrived at the beach, it was mildly crowded but nothing terrible. You and Aaron found a spot and Aaron laid down a towel for both himself and you. You set up the umbrella as Aaron took off the shirt and applied sunscreen.
You took off your shirt and shorts, revealing probably the most tightest and revealing one piece swimsuit ever. And began to apply the sunscreen you brought. “Hey M/N?”, you looked over to Aaron and he was holding the sunscreen in his hands with his back to you, “Can you get my back?”, Aaron stood as you began to apply sunscreen to his back.
“You need any help?”, Aaron asked, as he applied sunscreen to his arms. Aaron turned around and felt his breath falter when he saw you. He coughed once he was finished, “All right, well I’m going to go for a bit of a swim. Care to join me?”
You shook your head no, “Think I’ll just lay here for a while.” “Suit yourself”, Aaron jogged towards the ocean, going out far but not far enough where he couldn’t see you.
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It was an hour that Aaron was spending in the water, and you laying down in the sun.
You had your eyes closed, enjoying the day when you heard a ball thud next to you. A guy about your age came up to you. “Oh sorry”, he said, “It’s fine”, you smiled and got up. Grabbing the ball and heading towards him.
You tossed the ball towards him, “No problem”, you said, not noticing that underneath his sunglasses his eyes roamed your body. “Seems like you’re enjoying your day, really sorry I disturbed you.” You waved a hand, and you noticed that his skin was just a bit red.
“You put on any sunscreen?”, he shook his head. “We ran out. Came here with a couple of friends”, you gestured towards your bag underneath the umbrella. “I have some extra. I don’t mind giving you some.” He perked up, “You really don’t have to. Really!”
You shook your head and walked towards the back, the guy waved his friends over. “Could my friends get some too?”, you got the sunscreen from your bag. “Sure! I have enough, I think.” You turned around and saw more bush show up, you blush at the way they smiled at you.
“Uh- I’m Jake by the way!”, the guy who you first talked to said. He pointed to the guy on his right, “He’s DeMarcus”, DeMarcus waved. He pointed to the guy on his left, “He’s Jaxon”, Jaxon flashed a smile.
Aaron was swimming around, loving the water. He went underneath for a bit then stuck his head out. He noticed the guys talking to you, seeing how they made you laugh. He scoffed, slowly swimming closer. He began to swim faster as you began to apply sunscreen to one the guy’s back. He could’ve sworn that they had boners, there’s no way that swim shorts tent up like that by itself.
Well, on some degree he could understand. In took every fiber in Aaron’s being to not just pin you down and fuck you in that swimsuit once he saw it on you. Gave him a raging boner.
“Thanks for this”, Jake said, giving his friends a knowing while they rolled their eyes. “No problem!”, DeMarcus leaned in close to Jake, “Dude. Let us have a chance will you?”, Jake just stuck out his tongue.
Aaron got out of the water, damn, why’d you both have to agree on being so far? He made his way close to this little group. You were applying sunscreen to DeMarcus’ back. Him not so subtly flexing as he asks you for help with his arms.
You giggled, “You seem really strong”, you finished applying the sunscreen. “Yeah I work out a lot”, he said, turning back to you. He began to pop his pecs. You felt your face heat up, “You like that?”, he asked.
Before you could answer, Aaron came up to you and grabbed a towel that was on your shoulder and used it to dry off. You glanced at him, “Have fun?”, he towered behind you, staring down at the guys. “Sure did, though it would’ve been better if you joined”, you were about to apply sunscreen to Jaxon but Aaron snatched the bottle away from you.
He handed it to Jaxon, “Keep it.”, it came out more as a demand rather than a suggestion. “Uh yes sir”, Jaxon said, stuttering as DeMarcus picked up the ball. “M/N”, Aaron said, with a smile on his face, “Join me this time?”
You smiled and saw him smiling back at you. You blushed and looked back to the guys, “Well, if you’re from around here then I guess I’ll see ya”, you waved as you made your way towards the water. “As if”, Aaron said.
Aaron turned back to the guys, “So”, he turned to DeMarcus, “You think you go the gym as often as me?”, DeMarcus gulped. “And you”, Jason’s face went red as he saw the way Aaron stared him down. “You like getting felt up by my boy?”, Jason stepped back as Aaron stalked towards him. “I-I-I”, Aaron just stepped closer. “I didn’t know! I swear! I swear if I knew he was in a relationship, and especially with someone like you, we wouldn’t have made a move!”, Aaron just scoffed.
Aaron turned to Jaxon, “You’re off the hook because you barely got an experience”, Aaron just gave them an icy cold look. “Now go back, don’t come near M/N again. Got it?”, they all nodded their heads in understanding as they hurried their way back to where they were playing with the ball.
Aaron just sighed as he turned to the water, not seeing you and began to worry. But you then resurfaced and you waved to him. He smiled like a fool and made his way back to the water. He dived in and began to swim towards you.
You two swam with each other, sometimes racing, sometimes just letting yourselves float on the surface, splashing water at each other.
It was like this for a couple of hours. Before the two of you decided that it was time to head home.
You dried yourselves off, packed up everything and shook off sand off things. You placed towels in your seats, Aaron started the car and began to drive away, the sun setting, and you slowly fell asleep as Aaron drove.
He turned to you and smiled, ‘So handsome’, he smiled. And then he took a look at the rest of your body, the swimsuit hugging you in all the right places, ‘Fucking shit’, he thought as felt himself get hard again.
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When you two arrived home, it was dark, Aaron shook you awake. “We’re here”, he said softly, you stretched and got out. You grabbed your things and headed towards the front door with Aaron next to you. “I had a great time Aaron”, you said smiling up at him. Aaron couldn’t help but envision you saying those words after a date. You’d probably be cuter than you are now, and he’d kiss you after he’d walked you to the door.
He shook those heads away. “I did too”, he smiled back, you unlocked the door and Aaron headed to the garage as he dropped off some of the beach stuff. He walked back in with his bag in his hands. Going through it to make sure he had everything.
He looked up and saw you walking up the stairs, and he had an amazing view of your ass. The swimsuit looked like it was a thong now and Aaron could’ve sworn he could cum right then and there. “Fuck”, he said under his breath. “I’m gonna shower then I’m going to bed”, Aaron stood there before snapping back to reality. “A-alright! I’ll see you in the morning then. Night!” “Night!”, you called back, Aaron looked down. He was sporting a major boner, he groaned as he headed towards his room.
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You awoke to a beautiful sunrise. You stretched and readied yourself for the day. From your bathroom window you saw Aaron outside, doing some yard work. You saw how his arms fixed as he picked up big bags of dirt for the garden, and you noticed his ass whenever he bent over. “Not bad”, you said as you began to brush your teeth. Aaron now headed into the shed.
You went downstairs to find a plate of breakfast in your spot at the table. Aaron must’ve made it, you happily ate it as you scrolled through your phone. Once you were done you washed your plate and utensils and joined Aaron outside.
“Hey”, you called out. Aaron peaked his head around the corner. “Oh M/N! Morning!”, he smiled as he dig some dirt. “What made you decide to work on this?”, Aaron wiped sweat from his forehead, “Your father talked to me that he wasn’t able to tend to the garden as good as you do, so figured I can do what I’m able to”
“I can help”, you said, “No really. Let me do this for you?”, Aaron smiled. “Alright”, you gave him a small smile. “I should be done in a few hours”, Aaron looked to the patio. “How do you feel about burgers later?” You thought for a second, “Sure, I’ll have to go into town for the things though”, Aaron stood up, “All right. I’ll work on the garden and make it as pretty as you and you prepare the stuff for later.”
You nodded as you felt get warm at the garden comment, walking back into the house, grabbing your keys and going to your car. You get in and start it, driving off into town.
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You return when the sun is beaming hot. Taking the things from the trunk of your car and heading towards the door. Walking in and setting the things on the kitchen island.
You walk out into the back to see the garden come back to its beauty that you’ve had before. You gasp, walking out and seeing Aaron planting more flowers. “Aaron”, you said, he turned around and smiled proudly. “What do you think?”, you stare at him and go over and hug him, not caring that he’s absolutely drenched in sweat.
“Oh my god, it’s beautiful, almost exactly like what I had it as”, Aaron hugged you back. “But”, you pulled back, “Have you been out here since I left”, Aaron nodded. “Aaron, it's boiling hot! Get inside right now!”, you grabbed his hand and dragged him inside. He loved it when you got like this, all worried about him, you were so cute when you did.
“How about you help me with the burger stuff, the garden is practically finished, we can do finishing touches or whatever tomorrow”, Aaron sat down as you brought him a beer. You handed him tomatoes and cutting board and a knife. “Slice these.”
“Sir yes sir”, he chuckled, he smiled as he you be so attentive with the other things. Even with sometime as simple as burgers you were completely concentrated on.
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You finished preparing the last patties, “Can you fire up the grill for me?”, Aaron walked out onto the patio and fired up the grill. He was prepping it as you were inside finishing the sauces and whatnot. Aaron poked his inside, “Grill’s ready”, you grabbed the tray of patties and placed some on the grill as Aaron helped.
Aaron saw you bring out the rest of the stuff and decided to help with that as well. You gave him a small thank you, you grabbed a spatula and stood at the grill, ready to flip the patties.
Aaron stood next to you with a plate of burger buns, ready for you to place them. “You know”, Aaron said, catching you off guard. “I’ve really liked these past few days with you M/N. It’s been so long, I’ve missed you”, you smiled with a heat spreading across your face.
“I’ve missed you too Aaron, feels like it’s been years since I’ve seen you”, you grabbed a patty and placed it on a bun that Aaron held on the plate. “Being with you makes me feel at home”, you said with a smile. And Aaron swore that he could feel his heart melt.
You put more patties onto the buns, “Alright, think this is enough for us”, Aaron agrees as he began to prep his burger to his liking. You followed suit, once you were finished you sat in one of the lawn chairs next to Aaron.
Feeling bold, you spoke up, “I like being with you Aaron”, you turned to him. “I like being with you too M/N”, he smiled as he wiped sauce off the side of his lips.
You smiled, as you continued to eat your burger. Both of you enjoying the nice day.
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Aaron was packing his suitcase and was putting it in the trunk, noticing that you came out with your bags too, he ran over and grabbed them from you, his arms flexing in that tight shirt he was wearing, “Thank you Aaron”, you said, “No problem M/N”, he placed your bags alongside his and opened the door for you.
Once everything was accounted for, you two began to drive off, “So does this means your dad’s meeting is over or something?”, Aaron asked looking at you. “I don’t know, he didn’t say on the phone, I’ll ask when he get there.”
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You two had arrived when it was noon, your father waiting in the lobby, “M/N! Aaron!”, your dad came over to hug the both of you, “Hey dad”, you smiled as you hugged him back. After doing a bit of catching up, your dad went up to the front desk and ask for room keys, “This is great! You two are right next to each other”, your dad smiled as he handed you your room keys. “Now we’re not all on the same floor, you two are three floors above me. But that doesn’t really matter.”
Your dad then went to the elevator, the bell boy following, “I don’t think there’s enough room for all of us”, he said. “Doesn’t matter, we can take another one”, Aaron said as he put an arm around you and walked to another elevator, and pushed the up button, waiting for it to come down.
You had arrived on your floor and you opened your room and it was huge, the bed was huge, the bathroom was huge, the window was huge, it was all huge. You sat on the bed, you told the bell boy to leave the bags in a corner. You had gotten up and took what you brought and put it on, your regular clothes going above it.
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It had been a few hours, your dad, Aaron, and you all talking, you asked your dad if he’d be back home soon, and he said no, these hotel rooms were just a commodity because they’d be going to the next town over, and that they had to be out of hotel rooms by the end of the week. But it didn’t matter to him.
The sun began to go down.”Hey Aaron”, your dad said, “They have a bar downstairs, wanna join me for a couple of drinks?” “Sorry pal, not tonight, maybe some other time”, you spoke up, “Don’t make a fool of yourself dad, you know how you are”, he waved a hand at you. “Don’t have to tell me twice, I already made a fool of myself the first night here.” Your dad got up and walked out, “Well, have a nice evening you two.”
When the door closed, Aaron spoke up “M/N? Can we talk?”, you nodded, making room for him on the bed.
Aaron sat down, “Hey”, he said. “Hey”, you said back, a small laugh came from the older man. “M/N, I really meant it yesterday when I said I’ve been enjoying my time with you. And that I like being with you. And…”, he took a deep breath, “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.” He was scooting closer to you. “And, I’ve seen the way you look at me”, Aaron grabbed your chin, angling your head to look him directly in the eyes.
“Aaron”, you voice was shaking, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Aaron placed a hand on your thigh, “What do you think I’m saying?”, he leaned in closer, “Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, please”, you didn’t say anything.
Instead you let Aaron kiss you. You couldn’t believe it, Aaron Taylor Johnson, your crush for years, your dad’s best friend, was kissing you! You let him take over the kiss, his hands shakily coming up to grab your face and you held them. You could feel yourself completely melt at the way he kissed you.
Aaron pulled back, a huge small was spread across his face, “Was that ok?” You nodded, licking your lips and smiling, “It was more than ok”, Aaron stared at you, “Then you won’t mind if I do it again?” Before you could respond, Aaron began kissing you again, his tongue entering your mouth, a moan coming from you.
You felt Aaron’s hands roam around your body, then, Aaron grabbed you and place you on top of him and he began kissing you once more. His hands were on your back, but they soon began to roam lower, soon finding your plump supple ass. One hand was grabbing at your ass while the other was cradling your head, Aaron grinder onto you, drawing a moan from you. He pulled back, “Please”, he said, “Please can we have sex? I can’t take another minute of pleasuring myself thinking of you.”
You were taken aback, he wanted you this badly? “You’ve thought about me?”, he nodded. “I’ve thought about you too”, he just smirked and grabbed your hips and grinded into you again. “So then please, let me make you feel good baby”, you looked down at him. “Alright”, you said, taking off your shirt, you leaned down to kiss him again. This time his hand went inside your shorts, and he expected to feel something, like boxers or something like that, instead he just felt flesh. His hand squeezed your ass, then found a string.
He pulled back from the kiss, looking down at your ass, both hands going underneath your shorts and pulling at a string. Aaron looked at you with a smile, “M/N L/N, are you wearing a thong? A g-string thong?”, you felt your face heat up and nodded. He got a look in his eyes, “Take these shorts off. Now.”
You rolled over next to him and stared into his eyes as he stared into yours as you removed the shorts. He immediately followed suit and tore off his clothes, his shirt and pants on the floor, leaving him in his underwear. “C’mon”, you whined, “Take them off.” Aaron smiled, “I will, under one condition”, he sat up and raised his arms and began to flex. “Kiss my muscles”, you just laughed and sat in his lap. You leaned over to kiss his biceps, he flexed his arms as you did so, smiling down at you.
You moved over and kissed his other one, licking it and softly biting down on it. Aaron bucked his hips slightly, his hard cock poking you. You looked up at him and kissed him. He smiled down at you, “I’m assuming you want your body done too?”, he nodded. You started at his happy trail, kissing your way up to his eight pack, “An eight pack? Jesus…”, Aaron chuckled. You kiss and licked each individual one.
You got to his chest and kissed him all over, licking his nipple and flicking at it with your tongue, a slight moan coming from him. As you suck in his nipple, your nose sits nicely near his pit. And you breathe in, “Hey, when was the last time you showered”, Aaron’s eyes go wide. “Oh shit!”, Aaron jumped up from the bed, but you grabbed his hand, “I never said I didn’t like it”, you said, biting your lip.
Aaron just looked at you and chuckled lightly. “But!”, you said, “Have you washed your ass?”, Aaron made a face. “Of course I have. I just sometimes forget my armpits”, he paused, “And my crotch.” You smiled and dragged him back down, taking off his underwear, “It’s obvious I’m gonna be the bottom of this relationship, and you don’t like a dirty ass right?”, Aaron shook his head. “Well I don’t like dirty ass either. Besides, I have dreamt of eating you out before.”
Aaron kissed you, his hard cock rubbing against your barely clothed one. “Trust me, this ass is clean”, he kissed down your neck, then stood up and raised his arm and took a sniff. “So, you really like how it smells now?”, you nod as you bite your lip. “Oh baby are we gonna have some fun”, he smiled as he laid back down, arms raised.
“Take all the time you need baby, gonna give you a big prize once you're done”, you smiled as you sat in Aaron’s lap, his cock resting on your ass as you dove your nose into his lightly haired armpits. A moan escaping your mouth as you inhaled his scent. “So really”, you said, “How long has it been you’ve cleaned them?”, Aaron thought for a second while you began to lick his armpit. “It was the day we went to the beach, so really not that long,” you grinded your hard cock onto his stomach, a moan leaving your mouth.
You moved onto his other armpit, this time Aaron placed a hand on the back of your head, shoving you deeper into it. “Sniff it boy”, he said as you were taking in deep breaths of his smell. Aaron pulled your head back, your face was shiny in the sweat that drenched his armpit. Aaron brought you into a kiss, tasting the salty sweat on your tongue and he moaned. “So fucking good”, he said, bringing your head back to the pit. You began to lick at it.
Aaron stuck a finger in his mouth as he began to toy with your hole, putting the thong string aside. A moan escaped your mouth as you finished licking his pit. You sat up and breathed heavily, “Now you smell like me”, he said, “Make sure that everyone knows your mine”, he said as he brought you in for a kiss.
Aaron sat you on his lap, “Like those boys at the beach”, Aaron said coldly. You looked at him, “Are you jealous?”, Aaron gave you a look. “Oh my god you are jealous”, you began to laugh as Aaron wrapped his hand around your cock, cutting off your laughter and being replaced with a moan. “Oh Aaron”, you moaned, an arm wrapped around his him as you kissed him. He kisses back, jerking you slowly and softly.
He took the precum from his own cock and yours and used it to jerk you slowly, the thong’s pouch now laying at the base of your cock. Aaron jerked your cock quickly, moans escaping you, wet slick sounds filling the room as well. “You’re so pretty like this baby”, Aaron said as you began to whine. “M’gonna cum Aaron”, you said, Aaron kissed you. “Yeah baby? You gonna cum for me?”, you nodded as you looked at him with glassy eyes.
Aaron then suddenly removed his hand, leaving you to cry out as he stretched. “Aaron”, you whined, “Aaron I was about to cum”, Aaron looked at you and kissed your cheek. “I know. That’s what you get for laughing earlier”, you let out a sound. “Aaron please I’m sorry.” Aaron looked at you.
He once again wrapped his hand around your cock, beginning to stroke it slowly, a pleasured moan escaping your mouth. Aaron sunk his head down to your neck, softly kissing and leaving bite marks and hickeys all around. “Aaron”, you said breathily, he but down on your shoulder as he let go once again.
You cried out, Aaron ignored this, simply kissing your cheek. “Face down, ass up”, he said into your ear. The way he said it sent shivers down your spine, you obliged. As you positioned yourself, Aaron stood up and grabbed a packet of lube from his pants pocket. Your cock was hard dripping onto the bed below.
Aaron moaned at the site. “Such a pretty pussy”, he said as he moved the thing aside. You moaned as he called your hole a pussy. Aaron ripped open the lube packet and poured it on his 9 inch dick. He spat out onto your hole, before kneeling down slightly as he licked a stripe across your hole, drawing a broken moan from you.
He then began to tongue fuck you, his tongue going deep inside you. “Fuck Aaron”, you cried out. He smacked your ass, drawing another moan from you. Aaron pulled away from your delectable ass, licking his lips as he breathed heavily. He now opted for his fingers once again.
“Gonna make sure that you can fit all of me inside, sweetheart”, he said in a low voice. You whined as he did so, his other hand gently pulled on your hard leaking cock, causing you to cry out. “When can I cum?”, you asked with tears in your eyes. “You’ll know exactly when sweetheart. But for now…”, Aaron put you in your back, his hands on the bed right next to your head. “Gonna fuck you till I fill you up.”
Aaron slid in the tip, moans escaping from both your mouths. You breathed heavily, your cock twitching, “Remember”, he said as he slid in slowly, “No cumming.” Aaron leaned down to kiss you. Your moans slipping into his mouth. One hand slipping down as he began to play with your nipple. A loud whine coming from you.
“So pretty like this baby”, he said, staring down at you. Your face felt hot, your chest was rising and falling, your eyes were filled with tears of indescribable amounts of pleasure. “Please”, you said weakly, “Please what M/N?” You breathed in heavily, a moan was heard as the tip of cock grazed your prostate. “Make love to me”, you said. It sounded so desperate, so genuine. Aaron couldn’t deny you that feeling.
“Of course baby”, he said. He removed his dick from inside, causing you to whine at the emptiness, he shushed you gently, placing you on the bed like he was putting you to sleep. He grabbed the pillows and put one underneath your head and a few around you. “Only the best for you M/N”, he said as he kissed you softly, his cock once again entering your hole.
This time, Aaron was able to thrust fully, both you moaning into each other’s mouths as Aaron began to gain speed. With each thrust, Aaron’s kissing got sloppier, an indication of his nearing orgasm. “My pretty M/N”, he said as his tip would hit your prostate. “You’re taking me so good love, you’re absolutely insatiable.”
Aaron kissed you one last time, a broken moan left his mouth as he came inside you. His legs were shaking. He pulled out and was breathing heaving breaths. “I just knew that you’d have a hole to die for”, he laughed. You laughed back, admiring the sweat glistening on his body.
Aaron looked down, your own cock never got its release that it craved. Aaron made a sound, grabbing your cock and pulling on it gently. “Remember when I said that you’ll know when to cum?”, you nodded as you shivered at Aaron’s gentle touch. “I hope you still know”, he said.
In a flash, Aaron took your cock into his mouth, his nose all the way in your pubes. Your body squirmed as your mouth opened in pleasure, just an ‘O’ shape, no sound escaping. Except for tiny gasps each time your cock would hit the back of Aaron’s mouth.
Aaron pulled back, licking your shaft and sucking Your balls, “Hold in out for me baby? Know it’ll be worth it”, you just nodded as you reached down and grabbed his hair. Pulling him back onto your cock, holding him in place as you began to buck your hips into his mouth, your balls slapping his chin.
You were like a man on a mission, choking sounds coming from Aaron, “Fuck. So fucking good”, you said. Aaron’s hands roamed your body, gliding over your skin before he began to play with your nipples. Aaron decided that one hand would play with your nipples. And the other would play with your hole.
It seemed to be the last straw for you, you stopped bucking your hips into Aaron’s mouth, you let go of his hair. You were cumming, cumming a lot and hard. You practically screamed as you came. Aaron moaned as he let some cum go down his throat. But he also pulled back and let you paint his face. He laid there for a second, breathing heavily.
“M/N, baby…”, he said, licking his lips. He crawled up next to you. “Fucking incredible”, he said, as you began to lick your cum off his face. Aaron grabbed your chin and kissed you, the two of you shared your cum.
Aaron got up and stretched, heading into the bathroom and you heard the sink running. He walked back in with a towel. He stopped by the mini fridge for two water bottles. He tossed you one as he drank from the other one. You drank yours and set it on the nightstand next to you.
Aaron got back to bed and began to wipe away any stray cum that came from either of you. He wiped your mouth, stomach, and cock. Aaron lifted your leg and placed your foot on his shoulder, he kissed your calf as he looked at you with a soft smile, cleaning his own cum from your hole. He walked back into the bathroom, setting down the towel, and once again he came back to bed.
He laid next to you, wrapping an arm around you. You looked to him, he leaned down to kiss you, “I love you M/N”, he said. You felt your heart burst with joy, “I love you too Aaron.” Aaron smiled as he got the sheets untucked and covered you both. “M/N, your dad can’t ever know we did this. He’ll kill me”, you looked at Aaron.
“I know”, you sighed. You kissed his cheek, “But”, you paused, “What are we now?”, Aaron looked at you and smiled. “I was hoping you’d be my boyfriend”, your heart fluttered. “Of course”, you laid a hand across Aaron’s chest as he pulled you in tighter, chuckling as he grabbed your leg and placed it over his two. Aaron reached over and turned off the lamp. The room is now in darkness.
Aaron spoke,,“M’always gonna try my best to make you happy M/N. Gonna love you as best I can”, you sighed happily. “All you gotta do is be with me Aaron, I’m happy whenever you’re around.” Aaron smiled like a fool.
Summary: You’ve finally broken free of the forces controlling you at a great cost, though the cost of doing so was even greater than you thought. Now, you fight for the antithesis of what you had been representing, and have to grapple with finding your own place in the galaxy while grappling with the person trying to find their way into your heart. Will The Son choose the light? Or the dark? Whatever the answer may be, may the force be with us.
A/N: WE’VE FINALLY REACHED THE FIGHT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!! As always, I hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Other than the usual of minor character death and violence, none.
Word Count: 7,084
Italics are your thoughts
Masterpost
Poe groaned, “I know we have to but... do we have to?”
You smiled, a bit sad yourself as you wished you could relish the moment longer, “The galaxy doesn’t wait, unfortunately.”
He sighed, turning his head and nuzzling into your neck, placing a few warm and slow kisses, sending the smallest of twinges through you, “Poe, you better stop.”
The huffs of air you felt against your neck let you know he was trying to stifle a laugh as he placed one last kiss, “Fine, fine.” He moved to get up off you and you moaned as he did, instantly missing the feeling of his warmth and weight around you, “Don’t move.”
You stayed there as he went into the bathroom and emerged with a washcloth not long after, moving over to delicately wipe off the evidence of your encounter. After he was all finished cleaning you up, including your hole as much as he could with the cum leaking out, he gave you an affectionate kiss on the lips.
“If we die today, I can say I died happy,” Poe admitted, buckling his pants as he pulled them back up.
You scoffed, “We’re not dying today.”
You were putting your shirt back on and after the fabric passed over your eyes and onto your chest, you glanced to see Poe giving you a complicated look. It was one of sadness, disappointment, acceptance, and many others all at the same time, much like the expression on your own. You didn’t want to spoil the moment over pessimistic talk, but you also wanted to get out all the words you needed to say to each other in case you wouldn’t be able to. However, wouldn’t doing exactly that also spell out your doom? The both of you were trudging blindly and desperately trying to hold on to the remnants of hope you shared. Sharing a small encouraging conversation with your eyes, he nodded with a tight lipped smile and returned to dressing. Before long, the two of you were dressed as you were before and you excused yourself to the bathroom, completely cleaning yourself of anything remaining before rejoining Poe.
“Alright, let’s do this,” you said as you exited the bathroom, Poe dressed and waiting for you by the door.
He smiled and turned to open the door, pressing the button and taking a step forward to walk outside. As you came up a step behind him to leave, the two of you noticed Maz approaching from the side.
“Maz,” Poe started.
She gave the two of you a solemn smile, the small woman approaching with a small box in her hands, “Poe, Y/N. I must speak with Y/N if that’s alright.”
You were slightly confused, as you had never really interacted with the woman before. You knew one of the first major missions you went on with the Resistance when everything first started was staged at her watering hole, but never really interacted with her personally.
Sharing a short look with Poe, he nodded before replying, “That’s alright, I wanted to get something done anyways. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”
He reached over and gave you a peck on the cheek before walking away, leaving you and Maz alone in the hallway.
You didn’t want to have the conversation in the room as the smell of sex was probably still rampant and decided to get in front of it, “Shall we walk?”
She nodded, taking initiative and walking forward, leaving you to follow after. After the first few seconds of silence, you pondered breaking the silence yourself before she did.
“I know we haven’t spoken directly before,” she stopped walking and turned to you. “But Leia entrusted something to me, something she wished for you to have.” She offered the box she was holding to you and you accepted, taking it into your hands before she continued, “Hmmm.”
Your curiosity for the contents within the box was momentarily lapsed as you noticed her begin to study you. The spectacle over her face, extremely large and making her nearly raisen-shriveled eyes seem huge falling over her left eye. She was only about four feet tall and quite small, an orange skin color showcasing her unique race. However, as small as her figure might have been, she had an aura around her that implied she either was more, or knew more than she gave off.
“Is something... wrong?” you hesitantly asked.
“You’re quite the interesting one, now that I have you in front of me,” she quipped.
She put a hand on the box and pressed down, making you slightly arch down to her level as she then moved her other hand and took a hold of your face to get even closer to you.
“Oh! That-” you began as you tried to understand what was happening.
“Oh... OH I see,” she gazed deep into your eyes, also turning your head side to side and inspecting you thoroughly.
“I’m sorry, what’s happening right now?” you were completely lost.
She seemed to finally be satisfied, letting go and leaning back, “To think... I’ll return to command.”
She offered zero explanation as to what she had done, what conclusion she had somehow reached, or why she had done any of it as she walked away contently. You were stuck in place as you tried to comprehend the moments that just transpired but ultimately failed.
“I hope I didn’t do something wrong,” you muttered before turning your attention back to the box in your hands.
You nearly opened it before looking around the empty hallway, deciding to walk a bit further to come to a door that led out into the jungle. The small area it led to was rather bare bones, only a few workers scattered across. You sat down on a small mound near the door and placed the box on your lap, moving to remove the cover. As you did, you gasped, the contents in the box were... your robes; the very same robes you wore when you were the Son. Sitting atop the folded clothing though, was an enclosed letter with your name written across. Picking it up out of the box, you unfolded it to read.
“Y/N,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer around. From the first day you walked in, I knew, that there was going to be real hope for the Resistance. Your past weighs heavy on you, but I know I can rest easy knowing that I can leave what remains in your hands. Take care of Rey for me. Her challenges are only just beginning. I suspected you never came to understand but Rey, is a Palpatine.”
You gasped at the newfound information, how could you not have known? Though deep down you almost felt a sense of validation. You had personally seen Rey’s interactions with the dark side, at least what you thought was all of them, and her ease of connection was something that always unnerved you. It was there all along and you could never see it, it seemed impossible yet, you knew that most likely, Palpatine could have been involved as he had been blocking you in other ways since you had returned. You went back to reading the note.
“Even now, I still have yet to completely wrap my head around this nexus event, but I know that I’ve been feeling something in the Force for a while now. It started with you, but it’s been growing, in what shape or form I have no idea, but something is coming. I hope it’s a good omen for the battles I know you and Rey will win.
I hope you’ll accept your robes. I know they’re a reminder of your past, but I think even you have finally come to realize that you can’t run from it, not anymore. May the Force be with you.”
You sighed as you finished reading the note, fresh tears threatening to form in your eyes. Leia truly was one of the kindest people you had met in the galaxy. You refolded the note and tucked it back into the box, grabbing your robes and pulling it up to look at them. Giving them a once over, they were clean and in good condition, and while they didn’t have the dark emanation they once gave you, they still made you slightly nervous. The black and red colors made you recall your days back at the Pyramid, killing your already somber mood. Though as you looked upon them, you no longer felt the hatred you once did, not at the robes, nor provoked by them. Thinking to yourself, you placed the robes back into the box and got up, walking back over to your room intending to change into them.
You had a strange feeling you wanted to indulge in so as you undressed yourself to get changed, you grabbed your robes with nervousness before cautiously putting them on. They fit just as perfectly as they did before and looking at yourself in the mirror, you struggled to settle on an opinion. However, as you were doing so, you felt strange energy twirling through your robes, slowly beginning to change their hue and color. The phenomena reminded you much of when you had finished your sabers and you watched as various strands of your robes began to lighten up. The strands on your left shoulder and legs began to glow and cleanse themselves, purifying into a bright white. They completely contrasted the dark on your right side, and you found the dynamic interesting as your left saber was your dark one.
After your clothing had finished modifying itself, you gave yourself a once over in the mirror, actually managing a smile as you really liked the new look. It incorporated your past but also showed what you wanted to be, who you were. You almost giggled a bit as the thought, thankfully these cover the marks on my neck, went through your mind. Deciding you had spent enough time already and needed to get back to command, you left your room and headed over.
On your walk over, you thought over what was to come. You still didn’t know where Exegol was, where the fleet of planet killing weapons were, where Rey was or what kind of defense or attack you could possibly mount against the Final Order. Whatever Rey was up to, you hoped it was something that would help. Coming back up to command, Rose, Connix, and Beaumont were still at stations trying to gather what intel they could. Poe wasn’t there and you decided to sit at one of the stations and try to see if there were any developments. Not long after though, Poe and Finn approached.
“I’ve got some news for you guys,” Poe started.
You got up from your seat to greet them as the rest turned to their direction.
He looked towards Finn before returning his eyes towards all of you, “I’ve decided to make Finn my co-General. We’ll both be leading the Resistance from now.”
Rose had a proud look on her face while Connix shared a small smile, Beaumont simply nodding in acknowledgement. You also gave Finn a small congratulatory smile, locking eyes with Poe and giving him a wink to let him know he made the right decision. He was struggling to take on all the responsibility on his own and while you didn’t want to be in a leadership position, Finn was the perfect choice.
“Congratulations, General,” Rose directed towards Finn.
He gave her a determined look and nod in return and the two of them proceeded to walk over towards you. The small droid that you had found on Ochi’s ship accompanied them as it rolled up alongside Finn.
“We’ve got more news,” Poe said to you as he came up in front of you.
You shifted on your foot, “What is it?”
Finn looked down at the droid, “His name is D.O, and he was going to Exegol with Ochi of Bestoon.”
Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked down at the droid, “Exegol? Why?”
Poe continued, “To bring the little girl he was looking for on Jakku to Palpatine.”
You put the pieces together in your head and finally understood. After Leia told you Rey was a Palpatine, she must have recognized the ship because he had gone to Jakku for her. He must have taken her parents and they gave their lives to keep her hidden, safe.
“He was looking for his granddaughter... all this time,” you paced. “But why keep that hidden? Kylo has been pursuing her for his own reasons, yet... the Emperor wants her too.” You gasped, “But he wanted her dead?”
“Ochi was to bring her to the Emperor alive,” Finn added.
“Wait, did you say granddaughter?” Poe questioned.
“If D.O was going with him to Exegol, does he have any information about it?” you asked.
“We were just about to figure that out. He said he’s been to the planet before,” Finn explained as he went to grab a cable. He returned and plugged it into the back of D.O’s head and into one of the consoles, the screen lighting up with a scan of the planet’s surface, “All the information you need for an airstrike on Exegol.”
Poe studied the screen, “Yeah, except how to get there. Are you seeing these atmo readings?”
“It’s a mess out there,” Finn mumbled. “Magnetic crossfields,” he began.
Rose had come up behind your group to peer at the screen as well and continued his observations, “Gravity wells, solar winds.”
“How does a fleet even take off from there?” Poe pondered.
“Maybe their ships are outfitted with some kind of technology, or there’s something we’re missing,” you wondered.
“Terribly sorry,” C3PO interrupted your brainstorming. “I’m afraid Artoo’s memory bank must be crossed with his logic receptors. He says he is receiving a transmission from... Master Luke.”
“How is that possible?” Rose shot back.
“Artoo, let’s hook you up,” you stated, watching the droid roll over.
Artoo plugged into the terminal and began to transmit the message he was supposedly receiving, as more and more people began to surround the command center.
“That’s an old craft ID,” Poe noticed as Artoo’s data filled the screen. “That’s Luke Skywalker’s x-wing.”
“It’s transmitting course marker signals on its way to the unknown regions,” 3PO added to Poe’s observation.
You felt it, it wasn’t Luke but... Rey, she was going to Exegol. How she managed to get another wayfinder you had no idea, but your spirits were beginning to get lifted. Rey hadn’t abandoned the Resistance afterall.
“It’s Rey,” Finn came to the same conclusion as you, and you looked at him curiously, wondering whether he was hoping it was or truly felt it as you had. “She’s going to Exegol. She’s showing us,” he stepped away from the monitor to address everyone. “She’s showing us how to get there.”
Poe looked between you and Finn, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Then we go together.”
Without a moment's notice, everyone ran off in different directions, the entire Resistance now finally mobilizing to mount your attack against the biggest threat the galaxy had seen. Even though your Resistance numbers were a dwindling few, the buzz that filled the base was one you had rarely seen before as everyone vehemently prepared for what was to come. As you no longer had your own ship, you were given an x-wing to pilot instead. You were to take Ruie with you as this ship had an astromech slot but you felt bad you couldn’t bring the rest of your droids. Then again, you were also glad you weren’t bringing them straight into harm's way all the same.
You felt like you should have been afraid but instead, you felt... almost comfortable. Things were falling into place and for the first time you actually felt like you were aware of what was going on. Rey was on her way to face off with Palpatine, and while for some reason you felt a weirdness when it came to Kylo, you knew that this final faceoff, whether it came right after the nexus event of Kylo and Rey fighting, or being the nexus event itself, you were finally going to release your power. Though, you couldn’t throw the idea out of your mind that it still wouldn’t be enough. You didn’t know how many ships they had and as your forces were already small, you did fear no matter how powerful you knew you were, it still wouldn’t be enough. Holding onto hope instead, you steeled your resolve as you approached the spot everyone was to meet before eventually getting into the ships and heading out. Huddling below one of the bigger ships, you came up to the center near where Poe and Finn were preparing their final speech.
“As long as those star destroyers are on Exegol, we can hit them,” Finn began the speech.
“Hit them how?” Beaumont questioned.
The specs of the destroyers were given to you after they had attacked Kijimi, one thing that came out of that horribleness that aided you.
“They can’t activate their shields until they leave the atmosphere,” Rose answered Beaumont.
“Which isn’t easy on Exegol,” Poe continued. “Ships that size need help taking off. Nav can’t tell which way’s up out there.
“So, how do the ships take off?” one of the Resistance members asked.
“They use a signal from a navigation tower, like this one,” Poe pushed a button in his hand and a holographic was then displayed, showing a large antenna-like structure.
“Except they won’t. Air team’s gonna find the tower, ground team’s gonna blast it,” Finn explained.
“Ground team?” another worker inquired.
“I have an idea for that,” Finn reared his head to address him momentarily.
“Once the tower’s down, the fleet will be stuck in atmo for just minutes, with no shields, and no way out,” Poe revealed the intent of the plan.
“We think hitting the cannons might ignite the main reactors,” Rose spoke on behalf of the engineers.
Lando Calrissian, who had finally joined back up with the Resistance, had finally made his presence known, “That’s our chance.”
“Are you finally fighting, Y/N?” another in the crowd said.
Eyes congregated towards you as they awaited your response. You passed air through your nose as your lips set, looking out at the crowd.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” your eyes passed over the various workers, “this battle isn’t something that’s going to be easily won.” Your eyes met Poe’s and his gaze gave you strength, “I’ll be giving this battle everything that I’ve got.” Some noises of relief passed through the crowd but you were quick to continue, “But each and every one of us need to go beyond our limits for this. We cannot afford to falter in front of this enemy.”
“Then we need to pull some Holdo maneuvers. Do some real damage,” Beaumont offered.
“Come on, that move is one in a million,” Finn was quick to retort. “Fighters and freighters can take out their cannons if there are enough of us.”
One of the other members exclaimed in a foreign language, “There aren’t enough of us!”
“He’s right, we’d be no more than bugs to them,” another worker chimed in, one of Connix’s.
You didn’t want to agree with them but they weren’t wrong, there weren’t enough of you for what was most likely to come. However, you also knew that this was the last time the Resistance would meet before going off to the most perilous battle you had ever known. Morale was a need right now.
“That’s where Lando and Chewie come in. They’ll take the Falcon to the core systems. Send out a call for help for anyone listening,” Finn spoke.
“We’ve got friends out there. They’ll come if they know there’s hope,” Poe promised.
Their words, unfortunately, did not seem to win over the crowd, doubtful muttering rippling throughout.
“They will,” Poe solidified. “First Order wins by making us think we’re alone. We’re not alone. Good people will fight if we lead them.”
“Leia never gave up. And neither will we. We’re gonna show them we’re not afraid,” Finn took on a more hopeful and determined tone.
“What our mothers and fathers fought for, we will not let die. Not today. Today, we make our last stand. For the galaxy. For Leia. For everyone we’ve lost,” Poe reminded the crowd.
“They’ve taken enough of us. Now we take the war to them,” Finn finished the speech with the promise of the Resistance finally fighting back with everything that it had.
The final words of their Generals managed to kick them all into gear, as everyone went straight back to preparing to leave and getting into their ships. All ships had received the markers along Rey’s course and were prepared to make the trip to the unknowns. It was time to take the fight to the Emperor.
As you approached your x-wing, next to Poe’s, he came up beside you, “Not much of a flight suit.”
You chuckled and looked down at your robes before returning to him, “I know, but, I need these for this fight.”
He smiled at you and came closer, pulling you in close and wrapping you in a hug, “They look great.”
You sighed and melted slightly into the hug, embracing him all the same, “We’re going to make it through this.”
His grip tightened slightly on you, “We will. I plan on living a long, long life with you, Y/N Y/L/N.”
The two of you separated slightly to come face to face as your hand came up to his face, “So do I. Let’s go kick some ass.”
He gave you a wicked grin and leaned in for a kiss, which you accepted and returned with love. Pulling away, you gave each other a solid nod before going to your separate aircraft. Ruie rolled up to you and you sighed with a smile, leaning down to greet him.
“Hey buddy,” you patted his golden head. “How are you feeling?”
He chimed and beeped a few times, letting you know he was a bit nervous but ready to fight with his master.
Your smile grew at his words, “I’m lucky to have you by my side.”
He chirped excitedly and you chuckled, getting into your cockpit as he situated himself in the astromech spot behind you.
Soon enough, all Resistance aircraft took to the skies and were off in hyperspace towards the deep unknowns. The ride was quick and easy enough, right up until you needed to exit hyperspace to hit the correct markers. As you exited, bright red and orange colors filled your front window, strange shapes and forms streaming across your vision. Your navigation console would have been zero help in whatever electromagnetic nightmare you were riding through but Rey’s markers thankfully eased your anxiety.
“I know it’s a rough ride, but stay locked on Rey’s course,” Poe at the front of the fleet said over the comms.
Traveling through it just a bit further, you were finally clear to hit the last hyperspace jump before ultimately arriving at your destination. As you did though, your heart dropped to your feet.
The barren wasteland that was the surface of the planet, adorned with thunderstorms everywhere, was filled with star destroyers nearly as far as the eye could see.
“Look at that fleet,” Poe muttered in awe.
They didn’t give you even a second as ion cannons began firing at your ships and forced you to scramble.
“Welcome to Exegol!” Poe yelled, explosions rocking your ears.
There were dozens upon dozens of ships firing on you and evading all of their shots were becoming increasingly difficult as the seconds passed. Lightning struck on your left and right as you tried to evade both the lasers and the deadly natural disasters.
“On your left, Wexley!” a pilot spoke.
You glanced over to see Wexley nearly slam into another one of the Resistance ships while he was trying to avoid shots.
“Get down to their elevation! They can’t fire on us without hitting each other,” Poe advised. “Don’t give up! Help is coming.”
You nosedived downwards as the other Resistance fighters did, trying to get down as soon as possible and make your job easier.
“There it is, Poe I see it,” Finn said over the comms. “I’ve got a visual on the tower.”
You had finally reached the same elevation as the star destroyers and began to ride along their underbellies, their large cannons finally coming into view. Those are what destroyed Kijimi. Though, your relief from their ships firing on you was squashed by the fleet of TIE fighters now being deployed at you.
“Incoming TIEs!” Wexley called out.
“I see them! Use the ships as cover if you have to!” you yelled back into the comms.
“I got you Finn,” Poe called out as he zoned in on TIE’s firing at Finn’s transport.
Through your dodging, you hadn’t managed to get a hit on the cannons yet, but you made your way over towards Finn’s transport as well and provided cover fire. Taking out two of the TIE’s, you whizzed past one of the large ships and managed to catch in the corner of your eye the tower Finn had mentioned. However, the moment your eyes landed on it, you noticed it begin to power down!
“They're turning off the navigation tower!” you mentioned.
“What?” Finn shouted.
“Those ships need that signal, it’s gotta be coming from somewhere,” Wexley ascertained.
“They figured out what we’re doing, call off the ground invasion,” Poe commanded.
“The nav signal’s coming from that command ship. That’s our drop zone,” Finn countered.
One of the ships were raised slightly higher than the others and had an active radio tower, and you felt the same thing that Finn did. Perhaps Finn is more than he seems too...
“You want to launch a ground invasion on a star destroyer?” one of the pilots exclaimed.
“I don’t want to, but we can’t take out that ship’s nav system from the air. Give us cover. We gotta keep that fleet there till help arrives.”
“You heard the General. All wings, cover that lander,” Poe solidified the plan.
Piloting into formation, you along with Poe and the various other wing fighters from the Resistance formed a defensive position around Finn’s dropship. Flying straight onto the surface of the star destroyer, the transport landed and opened its doors, Orbarks rushing out with fighters riding on top of them. They were four legged horse-like creatures that wouldn’t be able to get jammed by any kind of technology, it was perfect. Rose, Jannah, Beaumont, BB-8, and a force of the Resistance was led by Finn on the surface of the destroyer as they pushed forward. Troop carriers from the Final Order also landed and they began to have a small turf war thousand of feet in the air. You shot down TIE after TIE trying to cover them with the rest of the fighters, knowing that if they had a way out, you would never have the chance to destroy their cannons.
The engines of the star destroyers began to fire and Poe verbalized your thoughts, “Those thrusters are hot. How are we doing?”
“We’re gonna blow our way in, and take out that nav tower,” Finn responded.
Various explosions rocked the surface of the ship as Jannah tossed grenades to cover Finn and BB-8. You couldn’t see clearly what was going on but you focused on your task of covering them all the same. After a few more moments, another, bigger explosion rocked the surface and rippled up the nav tower in a series of explosions.
“There it goes!” Finn shouted as the nav tower began to sag and lose power.
“Nice one, Finn!” Poe congratulated. “Nav signal’s down, but not for long.”
The fighters you had on the ship began to funnel back towards the transports to escape.
“Still no Falcon or backup,” Wexley commented.
R-2 on Poe’s ship chimed and Poe sighed, “I don’t know Artoo. Maybe nobody else is coming.”
“What do we do, General?” was asked over the comms.
“We gotta hit em ourselves,” Poe resolved.
“What can we do against these things?”
“Just stay alive!” was the best Poe could manage as your ships began to focus attacking the cannons.
Worry filled you, even though the nav tower was offline, would you even be able to finish the job with what you had left? Your eyes traveled below you, to where you could feel Rey and Palpatine facing off. There were hundreds of Sith loyalists down there with her and your fear spiked. Will Rey be- Your thoughts were cut off as you suddenly felt him... Ben Solo. Not Kylo Ren any longer, but Ben. You could feel that he had finally returned to the light and sensed that he was getting closer and closer to Rey. Your eyes went back to looking at your surroundings, the large and menacing ships surrounding you in all directions, TIE’s chasing down your brethren. It was time.
“Poe, it’s time for me to do what I can,” you stated, piloting your ship directly down to the planet's surface.
As you broke away from the main fight, and now the cannons which they were worried about protecting, the TIE’s didn’t even bother chasing you, breaking off and returning to chasing others.
“Y/N... I’m not sure what can be done at this point,” Poe’s defeated tone came through just slightly.
You came to land on the surface of the planet and popped upon the visor of your cockpit, “Everyone is giving everything they have. Even their lives... I have to be prepared to do the same.”
“What do you me-” you couldn’t hear Poe as you jumped out of your cockpit.
Ruie beeped worriedly at you, “I have to try.”
You came to sit on the floor, the gray dust staining your legs as you assumed a meditative stance. Your eyes came to a close and you began to focus. The sounds of ships exploding and lasers flying through the air getting further and further away as you went into the depths of your mind. For months, you had been keeping it locked in, confining your power to a smallness that wouldn’t affect the galaxy.
Enough. You had enough.
The power within you began to rise, as you allowed your former powers to finally be brought to the surface. You couldn’t afford to hold anything back, and you were ready to unleash everything you had within you, it was time for you to finally show up in this war.
The dust around you began to shake violently, the particles beginning to take on a new weight and float into the air. Your body naturally began to rise along with the particles, every cell in your body brimming with the newfound energy beginning to fill them.
You had never felt like this before.
Power, rippled off of you in waves. The force felt solid around you, an emanation from your form. Unbeknownst to you, your body had continued to float, rising higher and higher as you seemed to have your own gravitational pull. You had risen to the level of the star destroyers, and were still rising higher into the atmosphere. Your power only grew more and more, it felt like it was almost too much to bear as more and more energy rushed into you.
“General!” one of the workers on a star destroyer yelled.
“What is it?” Enric Pryde, the General of their forces shouted back.
“What... what is that?” they pointed straight out of the window!
The General rushed forward and peered out the window to see... you in a crossed position, floating higher and higher just in front of their ship.
He gasped and fear filled him, “Fire! Fire on him now!”
All of the weapons from the capital ship suddenly stopped firing at the ships around it and all veered their aim over towards the object in front of them.
“What the hell?” Poe exasperatedly questioned. “What are they-”
His eyes followed the new target of their weapons and his eyes widened, “Y/N!”
They fired.
Dozens of cannons all centralized on your body began to fire. Though, as they did, their lasers failed to hit their target. Every single laser that came close to you, were all reflected in other directions. Your body continued to float, unaffected by the barrage of lasers intended to reduce you to ashes.
“That’s impossible,” Pryde shook in his uniform.
You could feel Finn on the surface of the star destroyer, intending to be left behind to destroy the resetting navigation tower. Rey and Ben were fighting together against Palpatine, but they were losing. You could feel the life drain out of them both as Palpatine stole their life force.
“There’s too many of them!” Snap was being tailed by multiple TIE’s.
You felt his life force be snuffed out as well.
More and more of your fighters were being destroyed, “Alpha 3 is down!”
“What do we do? They’re behi-ah!”
Your heart ached, and a tear fell down your face as you felt the loss of life around you. However, you went even deeper, pulling out everything that you possibly had.
Thunder began anew... no... it was no thunder, but lightning. Lightning shot up from the surface of the planet and exploded thousands of feet in the air. Branches of lightning pulsed outwards in every direction, popping and sizzling around the small bubble that had formed around you. Rey... You barely felt her at all and you knew the lightning was because of Palpatine. It took out every single Resistance ship in the air, frying their systems and sending them into disarray, leaving only the Final Order aircraft to remain unharmed.
“Be with me,” Rey’s voice came through like a whisper in your ears.
She held on for life on the ground, drained of her energy as she attempted to connect with the Jedi who came before her.
“Rey... fight,” you willed to her. “We are not alone. We have those who came before us. We have those who fought the same as we must fight.”
“Rise.”
“Rise.”
“We stand behind you.”
The voices of the former Jedi began to fill your ears as they connected with you and Rey.
“Stand!”
Your eyes opened. Blinding white shone through your right eye, an inescapable darkness flowing through your left. The lightning died down around you finally, and the booms of the light behind you illuminated your figure as you overlooked the hundreds of star destroyers.
“Systems are back online!” Poe shouted as the plummeting ships finally gained their bearings and began to fly back into the fight.
You raised your arms to the sides, a loud thunderclap striking behind you, a heavy gust of wind barreling outwards that shook even the ships in the air. The glowing from your eyes began to emanate further, your entire body now radiating like a star in the night.
“You guys need a hand-” Lando Calrissian’s voice had come over the communications line as thousands of ships began to come out of hyperspace behind you.
Your eyes narrowed and you began to amass the power you were unleashing into your arms.
“By the grace of the maker...”
Poe’s hand came to protect his eyes from the blinding light that you were giving.
Rearing your hand back, force energy began swirling around you further, and shadows began to fill your sides. Slowly, on your left and right sides respectively, previous Sith and Jedi masters began to materialize. You could feel their knowledge, their wisdom flowing through you, and electricity began to crackle off of your body. The clouds in the sky began to flurry around you and focus into your palm behind you.
“This is what he feared...” Pryde dropped to his knees on his bridge.
With a mighty yell from the depths of your chest, using all the strength you had, you slammed your palm forward. The electricity that your body generated shot through the center of your palm like a spear before it split, arcing wide and far, reaching every last capital ship. The gale of the winds pushed forward as well, acting as a solid press to place the force of planets on top of them. The electricity overcame every ship much like Palpatine's blast did but conversely, ripping through all of the Final Order star destroyers without mercy. Their systems and engines were fried and on top of that, the gravitational force of your push was so heavy, it sent ships weighing hundreds of thousands of pounds to plummet and crash down to the ground.
The pilots in their ships were all struck in awe. Not only the band of Resistance fighters you had left, but the thousands of ships that had just exited hyperspace to witness what had just occurred. Though you sprung to action, knowing that Finn and Jannah were still on the command ship trying to take out the tower. You soared through the sky, rushing straight down to catch the two of them with the Force. Just as you did so, the Falcon and Poe’s x-wing came up alongside you floating in the air.
“Need some solid ground?” Lando smirked as Chewie opened the hatch of the ship.
A very perplexed and slightly terrified Finn and Jannah floated back into the ship with your help and you began to float over yourself.
“Did we just win?” Poe said over the comms.
Cheers and applause erupted into the line as everyone began to celebrate the biggest victory the galaxy had seen.
The bright emanation was dying off of you more and more and you chuckled, “I think we did.”
You could also feel that Rey had won her battle as well, defeating Palpatine. I knew she could do it. Though, you couldn’t feel Ben anymore and heaved a sad sigh, he had finally gotten back to where he belonged just for him to be lost.
The sounds of explosions rocked the world as dozens of the ships slammed against the ground and cracked apart. You looked on in wonder, genuinely surprised that you were able to pull it off. Though, just as you finally breathed your own sigh of relief and were about to enter the Falcon yourself, you felt something.
Your eyes drew over to where the ground was beginning to shake and rumble. A dark energy swirling just along the surface of the planet, seemingly trying to break free. The rocks began to split and open, and your worst fear was confirmed. A single star destroyer emerged from the ground.
An evil and ragged voice spoke from the bridge, a man whose face was covered by a mask, “Fire!”
If that ship fired and hit the surface of the planet, it wouldn’t matter how fast a ship might be, there was no way they would be able to get out of the blast zone... they were going to give up their ship and their lives just to kill all of you?
“There’s not enough time to stop them from firing! All ships, evacuate, now!” Poe screamed.
You knew no one would make it out in time and so instead, you grunted and pushed forward, flying straight at the ship.
“Y/N! What are you doing? Get out of there!” Poe yelled, his fear lacing every word.
You flew as fast as you possibly could, seeing the underbelly cannon begin to turn and take on a red hue as it prepared to fire. You flew straight into the front of the cannon, and closed your eyes.
“What is he doing? It’s suicide!” Rose cried out.
“Sai kosh’a nuyak vithar. Tul’shai sai qanase, nor’shrae nu sharji nuyak veritas. Kad jae kul’the zorkis, sa drazen… Shynai’Kura Viri’sithal,” you chanted before opening your eyes once more. (I am unbroken. Nothing may pierce my armor nor glide close to my allies. Once the truth is revealed, none shall bypass... Shield of the Unyielding Warrior.)
The cannon fired.
You reached your hand forward and intercepted, manifesting a force shield in front of you. The red beam’s weight was heavy, too heavy. You strained as your entire body threatened to break underneath the force of the blast. The beam that was intended for the planet’s surface just below you, was now being forced back by you. Your arm sizzled with the heat from it, and you felt your strength draining further and further.
The ships that were flying helplessly in the sky could do nothing but simply watch as their fates were held in this moment.
You were beginning to get pushed back, and you began to yell, trying to build your power back up. If you failed, everything up until now meant nothing. Everyone would die and you would lose anyways.
“I am with you,” you heard a voice to your left.
You turned to see the faint outline of your sister also holding her hand out, helping you fight back against the deadly force. Tears threatened to burst forth and you felt a presence to your right, gazing over to see now your father by your side.
“Let’s show them what happens when they try to hurt our family!” your father bellowed.
You smiled, turning back towards the beam of light in front of you and solidified your determination. Pushing back as hard as you could, you were actually beginning to push forward. Slowly and surely, you were beginning to overwhelm the beam!
“You can do this, Y/N. You can do this,” Poe whispered into his cockpit.
“Ahhhhh!” with the last of your strength, you surged forward and pulsed out a last push of your energy.
It completely overcame the beam and reversed the direction of the flow, sending it flying straight back into the ship and destroying it completely!
Once again, cheers and yells filled the ears of everyone who could hear. The threat to the galaxy was finally over.
Though as you finally defeated your enemy, you didn’t have a drop of energy left in you and your body sagged. Hundreds of feet up in the air... you began to plummet.
Woo, here we are with Chapter 25! It's been an amazing ride so far! To start this chapter with the aftermath of Poe's and Reader's first time was definitely cute to see, but it was quick to remind us that there is still a war to be won. I appreciated Leia leaving that package for Reader and her encouraging him to not run from his past anymore and to embrace the future, while also revealing that Rey is related to Palpatine. That whole battle was insane! It was cool to see Reader getting the support not only from Jedi and Sith from long ago but also from his sister and father. He was able to use everything he had to save everyone. But, in the process, he left himself without any energy to save himself from seemingly plummeting to his death. I do expect that Poe will be involved in his rescue in some way, shape, or form. That was such a great chapter and a great cliffhanger! I am sad that it does seem like we're reaching the end of this story, but I can't wait to read what happens next! Keep up the good work!
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