âMorning was a she-dragon that hatched during the Dance of the Dragons. She belonged to Lady Rhaena Targaryen, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Laena Velaryon.â đđ
Sometimes, a debt is best paid off on your knees.
Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, dubcon to noncon, thigh riding, older man, daddy kink goes brrr, 6.9k words
Thinking about losing a bet and losing it bad. One of those casinos where you can almost feel the grime in the air, shady looking dealers cutting cards right in front of you, but you're just too slow to realise it.
You're too drunk to be playing, and too pretty to be losing so bad.
When you're all out of chips, you should know better than to take house credit. But you're already in the hole - you've spent all your savings on poker and you need one big win to even it all out.
It's late when the game ends. Just you and two others left at the table, whiskey turning sour on your teeth when you realise just how bad you've screwed yourself over.
You're not surprised when two hulking enforcers come to get you. Suits all black and neatly pressed, but it's still not enough to hide their tattoos or scars. Not enough to soften their rough edges.
"Boss wants to talk to you, miss. If you would."
Nice of them to offer, but everyone at your table knows it's a farce. A little game of pretend so it doesn't hit quite so hard when they drag you off.
You stand, silently cursing yourself for being so stupid, for wearing such painful heels, for wearing such a short dress. They lead you towards the back of the casino, and every step feels like another nail in your coffin. You're not just deep in the hole anymore. You've somehow shoveled all the way past the goddamn mantle.
They take you to an office high above the casino. Floor to ceiling windows giving the boss a way to look out on his domain.
The first thing you notice about the room is the smell of leather and whiskey. Not unpleasant, especially not after being down there with the peasants.
The boss is standing at the window when you come in, holding a glass of whiskey. All you can see of him is his back - broad, the outline of his muscles showing through the cotton of his button up. His hair long enough to brush his collar, and thick.
The bouncers (thugs? enforcers?) leave you alone with him. Door whispering shut and locking you alone with your debt.
"You ain't a bad player, girl."
You try to smile. Fail.
"Not that good, or else we wouldn't be here."
He chuckles, rich and deep as brandy.
"C'mere. I wanna show you something."
You're halfway across the room before you even realise you've moved. Something in you jumps at his orders, and the rest of you struggles to catch up.
When you reach the window, the first thing you notice is the table you played at. The high rollers poker set up, smack dab in the middle of his view.
"I've been watching you all night, girl. You've got a good poker face, and a mighty interesting way of distracting your competition."
You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly self conscious. You aren't the first girl to wear a low cut dress to a card game, and you won't be the last. But hearing him point it out still makes you feel a little ashamed. No trick too low for a winner and all that, but still...
You change the topic.
"I know it's bad, but listen, I can give you my address, my ID, my banking details. Maybe I can pay the casino off in installments. I'm sure you've got some sort of loan agreement on standby for situations like these."
The man hums, and you turn to finally look at him.
He's older than you, his hair bordering on black and shot through with grey. Strong jaw, light stubble, nice lips. Hazel eyes, with fine lines at the corners.
If you had to picture a casino mogul with shady connections, he isn't what you'd come up with.
"That's true, but I reckon you don't exactly qualify."
His drawl is all Texan, deep and slow. It makes something inside you flutter.
"I've got a job. I know I'm a student, but I can pay."
He doesn't answer. Instead, he offers you his glass of whiskey.
You take it, more nervous than anything else. You're used to cheap tequila and even cheaper beer, but even you can tell that he drinks some high quality stuff. When you take a sip, the flavour sits on your tongue like a kiss.
"No sweetheart, I reckon you and I will have to work something else out. The kind of deal I only offer to... special customers."
You meet his eyes and you realise exactly what sort of customers he means. The pretty kind. The drunk kind. The too-short-skirt and too-high-stilettos kind.
Your throat goes dry and you toss back another gulp of whiskey to try and cover it up.
Your ma used to say that getting yourself into trouble meant no one else but you was responsible for getting out of it. But did that really mean dropping to your knees and paying off a debt with your tongue?
You look around his office, hoping to buy yourself some time. The floors are genuine hard wood, and there are stag heads mounted on the walls. There's a hunting rifle half assembled on his coffee table, in the middle of being cleaned.
"What..." You swallow, try again. "What do you want me to do?"
"Play a few rounds of poker with me."
That surprises you enough that you turn back to face him. There's a slight smile on his face, a kind of wry, secretive amusement.
"I think I'm all out of credit mister."
He grins full on, the tips of his fangs just barely visible behind his lips.
"We ain't playing for cash this time."
He looks you over, eyes roaming and then lingering. Your skin prickles over in goosebumps. You're used to men looking at you, but never so openly. Never so proprietary.
Like you're bought and paid for already.
"No darlin'. I reckon we play for the last thing you've got to your name."
He smiles again, wolf fangs showing. "I reckon we play for the clothes off your back."
Your breath hitches, eyes going wide. You don't know it, but you look just like a doe on the first day of spring. Looking right down the rifle but too stuck to run.
He sucks his teeth, still smiling. "Best out of ten. If I can get you out of your clothes by the end, you pay your debt off with.... well, I ain't gonna spell it out for you."
"And if you don't?"
"You walk out of here a free woman. Not owing us a cent and still in your pretty little dress."
The devil would have offered a better deal. But what else can you do? Sue him? Yeah, that'd go well. Broke college kid with a bad poker run against a man you're pretty sure works for the mafia. You won't even make it to court in one piece.
You pull in a slow breath, trying to still your heart.
You meet his eyes, even though it takes everything in you to hold them.
"Deal."
He offers you his hand just like the devil would, if Old Scratch decided to wear cowboy boots and Levi's. You take it, palm dwarfed by his.
He leads you to his desk and pulls a chair out for you, every inch the southern gentleman. His fingers brush the nape of your neck when he pulls away.
He sits down across from you and you can't help feeling small. It's like being in front of the principal all over again, huge mahogany desk and all.
He digs through a side drawer and pulls out a pack of playing cards, the box still wrapped in plastic. The sound of it tearing makes your ears tingle.
"Fresh deck. So we both know it's a fair game."
He shuffles just as fancy as you'd expect, cutting and then cutting again until the cards blur in his hands. You watch his hands, trying to spot tricks you know you can't hope to understand.
He's got nice hands, you notice in-between card spreads. Long fingers, clean nails, veins that stand out against his skin. A fancy watch on his wrist but no sign of a wedding ring, not even a tan line.
Well, maybe it ain't surprising. You wouldn't want to marry him either, if he regularly plays strip poker with his clients.
"You wanna deal first, darlin'?"
"Sure."
He offers you the deck but doesn't let go.
"You gotta kiss it for good luck. Don't ya know that?"
He's smiling at you again, that half twist to his lips that feels less welcoming than stepping straight into hell.
You lean forward and kiss the cards, your lipstick stain bright against the white.
"Is it my luck or yours?" you ask.
He lets go of the cards and watches as you deal.
"I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"
Two man poker is a whole different game to the regular hold 'em. More aggressive. There aren't other hands to lessen the blow, so a draw is damn near impossible. No folding either, at least not against him. It's win or lose, no inbetween.
You win the first round, but just barely. Your palms slick and softening the edges of the new cards.
He doesn't react to losing. Not a smile or a frown or even a twitch in his fingers. He just takes the deck and deals again.
An ace, a jack and a king on the table. A ten and an eight in your hand. Not the worst, you can make it work.
He flips another card on the table. A nine. That gives you one more card for a straight.
You glance across at him and freeze. He hasn't even touched his cards. He's just looking at you, reclined all easy in his chair with the shadows falling across his face in stripes of dark.
"You've got a tell, girl. Do you know what it is?"
"No. But I get the sense you aren't going to tell me."
He picks up his whiskey and takes a sip, his lips brushing the lipstick stain you left behind.
"Nah. That wouldn't be any fun, would it?"
You look back at your cards. You can win this round with a little luck. Neither of you are betting with chips, so at least you don't have to worry about bluffing your way out. It's all luck this time. Luck and maybe just a bit of skill.
He draws the last card. Another king.
Not what you were hoping for. It leaves you with a four card straight.
He takes his time flipping his own cards over, watching you the entire time.
Your eyes flick down. Two kings. That means he has four of a kind. An easy win.
He doesn't even bother to look down. Just smiles as he reads the defeat in your face.
"Heels off, pretty girl."
You do it as slowly as you can, but you can't delay the inevitable. Your heels land on the wood floor with a thud. That leaves you in your stockings, your dress, your bra and your barely there thong. Four more pieces. Four more wins and you'll be his to claim.
He watches you without moving, still smiling. You can imagine this same scene playing out a hundred years ago. The gunslinger and the bar girl who landed too deep.
You reckon it would end the same too.
You shuffle the cards harder then you should, cardboard slapping in the silence. You deal fast, barely bothering to look at the three table cards.
Your own hand is a king and a three. Random.
He thumbs up the corner of his cards and you struggle to read anything in his face. Was that a slight twitch in his ring finger? A tightening around the eyes?
You flip the fourth and fifth cards in quick succession. Nothing at all to work with. Your hand is a total bust. You don't even bother trying to keep a poker face. You flip your cards over and start reaching for your stockings.
"High card," he says quietly.
You freeze and look at his cards. It's true. His hand is even worse than yours. You win because of your king.
You exhale sharply, feeling light as air. Three rounds down, still safe. Seven to go.
You win the fourth round with a damn lucky full house.
The fifth is cutting it close. You both end up with flushes, but he wins by having two more royals than you.
You try not to show too much skin as you slip out of your stockings. Thin material like this shouldn't make any difference, but you feel a little colder after losing them.
You don't feel very lucky. And maybe he can tell, because his smile gets just a bit wider.
You can still taste his whiskey when he deals the next round. Almost sweet. Almost mocking.
Your ears are buzzing with blood. Your heart rocketing against your chest. Three pieces of clothing left. Five rounds of poker. Are those good odds? You can't tell anymore.
You lose. Catastrophically.
He tries not to be smug, but not even his stone cold poker face can fully hide it.
"Need me to unzip you?"
"No."
You don't want him touching you. Not until the very end.
You reach back and unzip your dress with a little bit of tugging.
Better to just get it over with, right? You let the dress fall to the floor in a glittery heap and cross your arms across your chest. The cold sends goosebumps crawling across your thighs.
You're wearing a matching lace set. Bra and panty both a dark green. Your lucky colour, though you sure as hell don't feel lucky now.
He whistles.
"Didn't know you dressed up so nice 'fer me."
You sit back down and scoot your chair in, so the desk hides a bit more of your skin. You don't reply.
You win the seventh round, but any feeling of victory is crushed with the eighth. He wins it almost too easy.
You don't look at him as you undo your bra. You keep one arm pressed against your tits, but he clicks his teeth and you slowly lower it.
He doesn't whistle this time. But you can hear him shift forward in his chair, can hear the slight intake of breath.
You're sitting at his poker table in nothing but your panty with two rounds to go. You thought you begged lady luck plenty, but up until now you didn't know what true desperation felt like.
You shuffle as softly as you can, aware that every movement just brings attention straight to your chest.
You still try to avoid looking at him, even when you deal his cards.
He catches your wrist before you can pull away, his thumb bruising your pulse.
"Not so quick. Can't a man enjoy the view he's won?"
You finally meet his eyes. Darker now, much darker. Hazel bleeding into the golden brown of oak wood.
"You haven't won yet."
He let's you go, his smile fading.
The first three cards are a three, a seven and a nine.
Your hand is a three and a seven. A two pair right out of the gate. Still, you try not to be too hopeful.
The fourth table card is an eight.
But the fifth card? Your fingers are shaking when you flip it over.
He growls. The first real break in his carefully maintained poker facade.
A seven.
That leaves you with a full house, the fourth best hand. You win.
One more round to go.
He grabs the cards with more force than needed, bending the whole deck almost in half.
He shuffles fast. A lot faster than before, fingers moving differently somehow. It makes your spine tingle. He couldn't possibly be cheating while you're looking straight at him, right?
He tosses your cards at you like a proper dealer would, and then flips three onto the table faster than you can follow.
All hearts. An ace, a jack and a ten. Three parts of a royal flush.
You know without even looking at your cards that they're junk. And when you do finally pick them up, you realise its even worse than you thought. They're random number cards, no relation to the table cards at all.
The fourth and fifth table cards aren't much better. Your last hand is a total bust. You let them fall onto the table without bothering to wait for the call.
Stupidly, you want to cry. You can feel that lump in your throat, can feel that pricking behind your eyes. You sniffle without meaning to.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, doll," he says kindly, "You were never going to win."
He flips his cards over. They stare back at you like an accusation.
The king and queen of hearts.
That gives him a royal flush. He wins, with a hand few people ever have the luck to draw.
He stands and slowly comes around the desk. Your eyes are glued to the floor and all you can see of him are the tips of his boots. A soft, brown leather. Worn in, but clean.
No fake vaquero then. He's cowboy all the way through.
He rests a hand on your hair.
"Stand up, sweetheart." He isn't unkind about it.
You swallow and push yourself to your feet. You've been naked in front of men plenty of times before. But never like this. Somehow, you feel exposed. Like he's peeled away more than just your clothes. Like you're standing with both your tits and your soul bare.
He touches your hips and you flinch, still looking down at the floor. His thumbs run over the lace of your panties. He flicks the elastic and it thrums against your skin with a small snap.
"These are mine now, ain't they?"
You nod.
He hooks his fingers under the lace and tugs them down. Your underwear drops to the floor without even a whisper.
He takes a slow, deep breath. Then drags his palms up your sides, stopping at your rib cage - right under your tits.
"I'm gonna be good to you, girl. I promise."
You steel yourself and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his. You try to keep them back, but you can feel tears collecting at your waterline. You blink and they splash down onto your cheeks, warm as blood.
He doesn't wipe them away.
He leans forward and presses his lips against your forehead. As sweetly as a father would.
"I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."
That only makes the tears come faster. Because he does have you - every inch of you, bought and paid for.
He leads you back to his side of the desk, your legs as unsteady as spring willow.
He sits down in his chair and looks up at you, palms cradling your hips. He traces his thumb across your skin, admiring.
"Come sit on my lap, girl."
You don't want to. You desperately don't want to.
But you do anyway, humiliation scorching your cheeks.
He clicks his tongue and grabs your legs, forces them apart so you're straddling his thigh, your back against his chest. He bounces his leg and the denim grinds against your clit.
Your gasp and make the mistake of looking back at him.
He's reclined in his chair like Lucifer at lunch, at ease and smug all at once.
"Didn't your daddy ever bounce you on his knee, girl?"
"No."
He lays a hand on the curve of your waist, his thumb stroking electric tingles down your spine.
"Guess I'll have to do what your daddy never could then, huh?"
He bounces his leg again, his jeans rubbing past your folds and scraping against your clit. You hiss, closing your legs like that can make any difference. How does he keep doing that? Aren't you heavy?
His other hand comes to your waist, and without any warning, he drags you backwards a few inches. Your clit rubs on his jeans fast enough to almost burn.
"C'mon girl, don't tell me you're so sensitive already?"
He rocks your hips forward and you shudder.
"Of course I am! It's fucking rough."
He clicks his tongue again, like he would at a horse.
"Watch your tongue. I don't like it when my girl swears."
His thumbs press indents into your skin, pushing your hips forward so you end up right back where you started, your clit ten times more sensitive.
He reaches forward and tilts your chin towards him, so you're looking at him over your shoulder.
"You gonna make me wash your mouth out, girl?"
You have a pretty clear idea of what he wants to use and it sure as hell ain't soap.
"No."
"No, what?"
He can't be serious. Isn't this embarrassing enough? Still, you have no power here. None to deny him, none to turn him away.
"No, sir."
It burns your tongue to say it.
He hums quietly, happy as a cat with stolen cream.
He leans up and nips your ear.
"Show me what you got, kid. Ride me and maybe I'll let you go."
He drags his lips down your neck before he pulls away.
You bite your lip, feeling like you've just been tossed on stage with a microphone and nothing else. You feel like you need to perform for him, and it's humiliating.
You rock your hips forward a little. It doesn't feel so bad, when you're the one in control. His jeans are rough on your clit, but... electrifying too.
You do it again, a little further, his leg solid and thick between your thighs. His hands slip from your waist to your ass, grabbing and kneading.
"Thaaat's it. Don't it feel real good?"
Your pussy is getting wetter and you can feel it soaking through his jeans. You feel just a little bolder. Give him a good show and maybe things won't have to go quite so far as you fear.
And hey, you ain't exactly a virgin. You know how to ride a man.
You stretch your arms up and cross them behind your head, all the better for him to admire your body. You grind forward on his thigh, clit rubbing against the traces of slick that soaked into the fabric.
You gasp again, not so shy about being quiet.
You hear him hiss softly, but he doesn't stop you.
You pick up your pace, sliding on him like a bull rider would. You didn't think it possible, but you feel your cunt pulsing. Feel it aching for something to fill it.
Riding on an older man's knee, with your back arched like a cat in heat. Debt hanging like a sword over your neck. And still, your body wants to be fucked. Demands to be fucked.
You don't realise his hands have moved until you feel his fingers brush your clit. His fingers are hot and slick with spit, and he forces them between your pussy lips.
You freeze, his spit smeared all over your cunt.
"What -"
He doesn't let you finish. One arm curls around your waist and her drags you back against his chest, your ass pressing against the icy cold of his belt buckle.
The new position leaves your cunt wide open to his touch, and his thumb presses hard against your clit.
"Fucking tease," he mutters, thumb tracing lower and probing at your entrance. "Had to watch you all night, my cock fucking aching."
"Wait, slow down. I -"
He slips his thumb into your cunt. Not deep, but rough.
You gasp. Try and squirm away, but all it gets you is another hiss in your ear and his belt grinding against your bare ass.
"Told myself I was gonna go all slow with you. Fucking impossible."
He takes his hand away from your cunt and sucks his fingers. When he touches your clit again, hot spit drools down your folds.
So icky.
He doesn't care if you don't like it. He rubs it like lube all over your cunt, two fingers probing at your entrance.
Gross. You don't want his spit inside you.
But there's no real way to tell him that, is there? Not when he owns you for the rest of the night. Not when you agreed to it.
His fingers push inside you, stretching you out with a dull ache. So much thicker than when you touch yourself, his fingertips reaching so much deeper. His skin isn't soft like yours is - you can tell he's worked with his hands because you can feel it. Lord help you, you can feel every inch.
"Hot and wet," he murmurs against your hair. "Just how I like it."
He pumps them in and out of you a few times, before pulling out with a twist that makes you shudder.
"Needed to check. Make sure you can handle my cock."
He holds his fingers up and slowly separates them. Slick and spit stretch in thin strings. Are you really that wet already? How? You didn't think you were the type to even get wet. All the men before him would have to dig your bottle of lube out of the nightstand before you even let them near you.
He brings his fingers up to your lips, smears the slick across them.
"Open up."
It's his spit.
You don't want to taste it. Don't want it in your mouth. He's not your boyfriend, he's not your lover. He's just a thug with a thing for girls two decades younger than him.
He presses harder against your lips.
"Open. Up."
You do. His fingers make your tongue tingle, long enough to brush the back of your throat and almost make you gag. The taste isn't the worst. You can mostly taste yourself - salty as seawater - and a little bit of whiskey.
"Suck."
You try not to think about it. Just suck him off and pretend it's your own fingers.
"Good girl."
He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and grabs your jaw.
"You ain't gonna give me any trouble about what comes next, are you?"
Your answer is muffled by the way he's holding you, but it's still clear enough to understand.
"No, sir."
"Good. Don't wanna have to wrestle you into place."
It makes you shiver. The implication that he can. That he would. If you decide to put up a fight, it's not going to stop him. Not going to make him back away and question the boundaries of consent. He's going to fuck you, whether you want it or not.
He relaxes his hold on your jaw, his palm skimming down your throat. A reminder, whether he means it to be or not.
He squeezes your tit. Not too hard, skin warm against yours.
"Stand up," he orders, his voice tight.
You're barely on your feet before he's pushing you forward, one hand on the nape of your neck.
He bends you over his desk.
The wood is cool and smooth against your skin. Almost comforting. Almost.
The sound of his belt coming undone is loud in the silence. You've heard that sound so many times before - that little clink of metal - but not once has it sounded quite so awful.
You want to stand up, want to at least have some say in what's about to happen.
No chance. His hand on your neck is tight, like he's holding down a calf for slaughter.
"Been wanting this since the moment I saw you."
He kisses your temple, and then your cheek. He ignores the tears pooling on the sleek mahogany.
He catches your wrists and pins them against your lower back. Not twisting enough to hurt, but tight enough that he has you caught all the same.
Your arms pinned and one hand holding you down by the nape. That's how he takes you.
He doesn't even bother trying to be nice. The head of his cock catches on your entrance and then he's pushing all the way in.
He bottoms out with a snarl, his grip tightening on your neck.
He pulls out almost all the way, and then slams right back in. You bite back a scream, your whole body tensing up.
Didn't he say he was going to be good to you? What kind of goodness is this?
"Too much to handle, girl?" he mocks, all his southern charm withered and gone.
"That's okay." He drags you up by your neck, your back arching painfully. "By the time I'm done, you'll know what it's like to get ridden by a real cowboy."
He drops you, you chin slamming hard against the wood. You taste blood, though you aren't sure from where.
He grabs your wrist and crosses your arm behind your back, so that your right wrist ends up next to your left hip and vice versa. It's uncomfortable. Almost painfully so.
And worst of all, it gives him all the leverage he needs to start pounding into you. Mean. Rough. Hard enough that every thrust has the huge desk rocking forward.
"Slow down! It hurts!"
He laughs.
"Too big 'fer you? Huh, little girl?"
"Yes! Ju-just go easy. Please."
He snarls as he bottoms out again, his throbbing tip scraping the deepest parts of your cunt. Spreading pre cum all across your cervix.
"Say you love me."
"What?"
He pulls all the way out, panting. His tip rubs against your clit, hot and wet and sticky.
"Say you love me and I'll slow down."
Is he insane? You don't even know his name. You can't love him, not with the way he's touched you. It's cruel to make you say it -Â haven't you entertained enough of his perversion?
You take too long to answer him.
His grip tightens on your wrists. Harder than anyone has ever held you.
"Fine," he growls, "The hard way it is."
You don't last long. Every lover you've ever had would stop if you even flinched. Until tonight, you didn't think sex could hurt so bad. You didn't think being fucked could leave you sobbing, praying for it to end.
You didn't realise that some men get off on seeing your tears.
By the time you manage to say it, your cunt is a sobbing, aching mess. Your nipples are rubbed raw from the friction, your wrists not much better.
"I love you."
He doesn't even break pace. Cock spearing inside you with less mercy than the Devil.
"Again."
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you! I've always loved you! You're the man I've waited for all my life. I love you. Please stop hurting me."
He does.
He loosens his grip on your wrists and hooks one massive arm around your waist. He flips you over so you're on your back.
And oh, what a sight you make. Mascara running. Lips swollen. Tears caught in your lashes. Ruined.
He forces his way between your thighs and leans down, palms on either side of your face.
His hair is messy, his shirt half undone. But it's his eyes that catch you.
There's hellfire in the way he looks at you.
"Again," he says quietly.
You swallow, your words and your courage abandoned on the floor with your dress and stockings.
"I..."
He waits, never looking away from you.
"I love you."
He smiles. It doesn't comfort you at all.
"Liar."
He touches your cheek, surprisingly gentle.
"You have a tell, remember? I'll always know when you're lying."
He leans down and kisses you. His tongue presses against your teeth, and then swipes deeper into your mouth.
Old enough to be your father and he's got you naked on his desk, cunt drooling around his cock and his tongue down your throat. It's blasphemy. It's monstrous.
It's the best damn fuck he's ever had.
He doesn't break off the kiss when he starts thrusting. Slower this time, savouring the way your cunt throbs around him.
You whine against his lips, your cunt still burning.
"Quit 'yer complainin'," he murmurs, "Goin' slow, ain't I?"
His Texan drawl getting thicker the longer he's between your legs.
"Hurts..."
"You want me to come in your mouth instead?"
You shiver, not sure which is worse.
"Fine. You wanna choke on it? I ain't gonna stop ya."
He pulls you up and gathers your hair in his fist. An awkward position, but with you sitting on the edge of the desk, all you have to do is lean down to take his cock in your mouth.
He's surprisingly patient with you. Or maybe he just likes seeing you naked and crying on his desk.
It's almost over, you tell yourself. Just suck him off and you can leave. Put it all behind you and never touch a deck of cards again.
His cock is creamy with your juices. Most of it in a ring around the base.
You lick the tip and shiver. It's bitter. The way pomegranates sometimes are.
His hand on your head is heavy, demanding. You don't want him on your tongue, but he's already taken so much. What difference does this last bit make?
You try and relax, try and take all of him. It doesn't work. You gag, tears brimming on your eyes.
He huffs, amused almost. Or mocking. You can't tell.
"I can always finish in your cunt, if you can't handle it."
No. You most definitely can't handle that.
You take a deep breath through your nose. You can handle it. You will handle it.Â
You grab his belt and pull him a little closer, nails digging divots in the leather.
He makes a pleased sort of noise and pushes your head down, all the way to the base. It's awful. You're overwhelmed by the taste, the smell, the feel of him.
He groans.
"Takin' it so fucking good, ain'tcha?"
He keeps you in place by your hair, and slowly pulls out. He let's you catch a hasty breath before he's right back in, a growl rumbling through him.
"Yeah, I reckon you needed this too. Needed your daddy to teach you a lesson on taking dick."
He chuckles, still fucking your throat with slow, deep thrusts.
"Needed to be reminded of your place in the world. Right here on my cock."
He has ridiculous stamina. None of your boyfriends have lasted half as long.
You moan around his cock and he shudders, grip tightening on your hair.
"You want to end this? Want me to let you go?"
You nod, looking up at him through your lashes with your mouth stuffed full of cock. Poor thing. Got more than you bargained for, didn't you?
He smirks, teeth ready to tear you apart.
"Then just hold still, alright? Gonna fuck your throat good and proper."
He bucks his hips and you choke. Whole body tensing as you gag and fight to hold still. He doesn't go so fast that you can't handle it, but you're right on the brink. Tears coming fast, lips feeling raw and bruised.
The sound of it is obscene. The slick sliding of his cock, the small coughs and gags. All of it the epitome of filthy sex.
Your hands move from his belt to his thighs, half to steady yourself, half to slow him down.
He's thrusting deep, his breathing getting faster. Each exhale almost a snarl.
He grabs your jaw and holds your mouth open right before he comes, his tip resting on the edge of your tongue.
His spunk shoots across your tongue and palette - flooding your senses with the the taste of him. And for a second or two, you think you'll never be able to rinse it away.
He groans, shamelessly loud.
"There," he pants, "Just how it's 'sposed to be."
He pulls out and tilts your chin up until you meet his eyes.
"Swallow."
You do. It's goes down thick - clinging to your teeth. Your stomach clenches, like your body knows exactly what you've consumed.
"Good."
He takes a deep breath, and then let's you go.
Well, for a second or two. Long enough to tuck his cock back in his jeans and redo his belt. And then he's grabbing you around the waist and pulling you against his chest.
He sits back down and drags you with him. Back on his lap, just like you started. Only difference is, this time your head is tucked under his chin and he's got one arm loosely draped over your thighs.
For a minute or two, there's only the sound of you both catching your breath
You don't want to keep thinking. You wish your brain would just shut up and let you get through this without pointing out all the ways you're hurting.
You try and sit up, maybe grab your clothes, but he doesn't let you. Hand coming up to press your head back against his chest.
You sag against him, defeated. Still not done then.
He's the one who finally breaks the silence.
"I know you, girl," he murmurs against your hair. "Better than you think. Tonight ain't the first I've noticed you."
You hum quietly, not sure what he wants you to say.
"You wanna know something funny? I've got a whole lot of dealers in this place. And almost all of them are honest men."
You lift your head a little.
"Almost all?"
"Just about every single one them. Except for the one you had tonight."
You go cold.
"You rigged my game." Your voice is hoarse - from tears, from his cock, from fear.
He laughs. " 'Course I did. House always wins, doll. But sometimes I just nudge things along."
He strokes a hand up your thigh, lazy and possessive.
"Like tonight. When I had a pretty girl on the line and an empty bed to fill."
You try and pull away, but his arm is still tight around your waist. Keeping you pressed up against him.
"How many? How many girls have you done this to?"
"A handful. Can't really remember all their faces, after all these years. But doll, none of them were you."
"What difference does it make? You're... you're a monster. A predator."
He laughs, indulgent.
"That what you wanna call it? I just call it 'risk management.' Folk know exactly what they're signing up for when they walk through those doors. Ain't my fault some of 'em don't know when to stop."
You push against his chest, trying to force your way off his lap. He's too hot, too close, too terrible. This man was inside you and it turns your stomach. You feel dirty from the inside out.
He clicks his teeth and squeezes your thigh.
"Quit squirmin'. You ain't goin' nowhere."
"Let me up. You got what you wanted, right? Our deal is done."
You slap his chest, hard.
"Let me go."
He doesn't.
"You really wanna be difficult with me, hmm?"
He smacks your ass, full strength. You yelp and jerk away. But there isn't anywhere to go except closer against him.
"You ain't going nowhere. So just sit pretty and let your daddy tell you a story."
"I don't want -"
He rubs his palm over your ass, over the same spot he hit you. You shiver and shut your mouth.
"Like I was sayin', all of those girls were just flings. I let 'em go if they don't want it. If they prefer the interest, so be it."
He's smiling. You can hear it in his voice.
"They never do though. Not when the choice is between fifteen minutes sucking my cock or fifteen years at prime lending rate."
He runs his palm over your ass again, squeezing.
"But you're special, ain'tcha? You're my girl. No more flings after you."
He presses a kiss against the crown of your head.
"You're the one I've been waiting for."
"You can't," you manage. "You can't keep me here. We had a deal. My debt is settled."
"You think I can't pull a few strings?" He sounds more amused than insulted. Like a father when his daughter says he can't pick her up like Superman. "It ain't hard, doll. A car left abandoned out in the desert. Your phone and ID all neat in the glove box. Couple grand to a captain on the force to have your case packed away as cold. Easy as apple pie."
You're icy from the tips of your fingers to your toes. He runs a hand through your hair, soothing.
"But I don't gotta do that, do I?"
Your lips are numb. No, no, no - this isn't how it's supposed to go. You know he's a thug, you know he has connections beyond what a legal man ought to have. Can't be a casino boss otherwise. But none of that was ever supposed to apply to you. You're just a dumb student who spent a few too many weekends at the tables. That doesn't deserve a punishment like this.
"Do I?"
"No, sir."
"Right. Because you're going to stay with me without putting up a fuss. Gonna be my girl."
"Yes, sir."
He hums, pleased.
"You'll love it here, doll. You can play as much poker as you want. All on the house."
âI do not believe that is true, miss. You can do it. Proceed.â
Youâve groaned in frustration. It felt like itâs been hours since you and OCPâs brightest not-so-new invention been pretty much locked in the room of precinct. It all started as a⌠very detailed observation. You are used to providing maintenance to Robocop â he wasnât all shiny and new as a decade ago, but it gave him a sort of⌠character. That was a very unusual thing about a robot to say, but it was precisely that. He wasnât a machine. He wasnât a human.
He was, however, pinning you to to the wall, one shiny, strong leg between your shaking thighs, making you grind yourself against it. The low hum of his core processor filled the space between your ragged breaths. Your thighs trembled against the unyielding poly-alloy of his leg, the friction a desperate, maddening rhythm. Robocop made a sound akin to faint whirr as he focused on the tear tracking through the curve of your cheek. You were a mess, really. And you were making a mess on his leg. But as any good teacher does, he was guiding you. Torturously. Methodically.
A burst of static escaped his vocalizer. It almost sounds like a suppressed gasp.
"This... friction... is not a recognized evaluation form. But it does provide â hhh- a lot of information."
"I - I can't think when you're - " you panted, rolling your hips again, helpless against the sensation. He was in control of it â of everything; for a second you thought he was controlling your thoughts as well because youâve kept staring at his fingers on your hips and wanted nothing more than to take three of them into your hole.
"Irrelevant," he blurted out, but his internal cooling system kicked on with a sudden, loud hiss. The exposed lower half of his face, the part that is still Alex Murphy, was sheened with a fine sweat.
"Cognitive function is⌠not the primary objective of this exercise."
His other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, protecting it from the cold steel wall. He guided the angle and the pace, a slow, piston-like rhythm that was brutally efficient. When your own muscles trembled and tried to falter, that very strong hand took over completely, moving your entire body along the track of his thigh with effortless, humiliating strength. The hard, prominent seam of your trousers was pressed directly against your clit, and with every guided, circular motion he forced from your hips, it rubed a raw, overstimulated nerve. Wetness was no longer just a feeling; itâs a sound. A soft, slick shhhck, shhhck that synced with the rhythm of his hydraulic whirrs.
ÂŤYou are⌠beautiful, like this. Do not deny an old unit his pleasure of seeing you unravel,â he grinded out, a low, guttural sound escaping him - a hybrid of a hydraulic sigh and a human groan. The coiling tension in your gut snapped, and a violent, whole-body shudder wracked you. A silent scream parted your lips as you cum, your inner muscles clenched around nothing, your thighs locking and shaking against the cold, solid reality of him. The pleasure is a white-hot circuit, connecting the point where your bodies meet directly to your glitching, overwhelmed brain.
Through the haze, you feel it - a final, powerful tremor that runs through his entire frame, a harmonic vibration that matches your own. His grip on your hip tightened almost to the point of pain, a final, possessive clamp before his systems seem to reset. The frantic whirring of his fans is the only sound for a long moment, filling the room with the evidence of his own overload. His visor, still glowing that hellish, beautiful red, was fixed on you.
mdni!!! breeding kink + free use thoughts w/ titus danforth
titus danforth tracking your cycle with a clinical obsession. hiring the best ob/gyns in the world to monitor your fertility health. all female team, of course, titus danforth is the only man allowed to even breathe near it.
but when titus realise your in the prime window to breed; all hell breaks loose. youâre cockwarming him all night, him shifting inside of you as cum pools to the stained sheets. fucking you for hours; denying your orgasms again and again, him keeping you on the edge just for him to rip the pleasure right out of your reach.
titusâ favourite thing however? keeping you in the cabin just off the danforth grounds, breeding you whilst you do the most mundane of tasks. him pulling your panties to the side as you get dolled up to look pretty for him in your thigh highs and babydoll dress. the only noise in that room is the sound of flesh hitting each other, moans and the occasional âwhatâs that for, kitten?â from him as you excitedly show him what a product is for.
titus wouldnât admit it, but you look so pretty bouncing on his cock as you attempt to do a winged eyeliner correctly <3
he doesnât even look at your body with lust â more so anatomically, like how farmers look at a breeding cow. your tits? perfect for filling up with milk to feed his heirs. your hips? perfect to grab when you bounce up and down on his cock. even perfect for you to bear his heirs. your pussy? perfect to pump his loads in one after the other.
âŚClark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main MasterlistâŚ
âŚsummary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.âŚ
âŚwarnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of readerâŚ
âŚwc: 10.5kâŚ
âŚauthor's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with itâŚ
Clark has been acting strange all week.
He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didnât question it. He runs everywhere. Itâs a little ridiculous he doesnât have a red face more.
âWant some water?â Youâd tapped on his desk, and heâd let out a sharp breath.
âYeah.â His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. âWater- Water would be nice. Thank you.
He hadnât looked you in the eyes.
Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didnât do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when youâd walked past.
Youâd gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didnât reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and youâd just gotten used to it. Maybe youâd stepped in dog poop on the train and no oneâs told you.
âDo I smell bad?â Youâd asked Jimmy, and heâd looked at you like your were crazy.
âI donât know? I donât go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-â
âIâm not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.â Youâd hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. âIâm asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-â
âThen go ask Lois!â
âLois is in Gotham, I canât ask Lois-â
âThen ask Clark, heâll be happy to smell me-â
Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. âIf this is some weird mating dance, Iâm not interested-â
âItâs not a mating dance!â
âIt seems like a mating dance-â
âItâs not-â Youâd shaken your head. âJust stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!â
Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmyâs eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and youâd known who it was before you turned.
You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever heâs close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.
âHi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-â
You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.
Heâs a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and thereâs a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and heâs shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. Heâs pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. Heâs breathing through his mouth.
His eyes are black, and gleaming.
You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clarkâs brow.
Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.
You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesnât know what to do either. Youâve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.
âHey, buddy.â Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like heâs speaking to a feral animal. âYou feeling alright?â
Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like heâd almost forgotten Jimmy was there.
Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesnât mean to. Itâs Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giantâs body.
But like this, Clark doesnât look like a man. He looks like something thatâs crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.
He looks dangerous.
And he doesnât respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If heâs been corrupted by somethingâin this world, you canât rule anything outâand he attacks, youâre not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clarkâs huge, heâd crush Jimmy with one fist and youâd be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.
But whateverâs going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.
âIâm fine.â He rasps, staring at Jimmy. âJust- Didnât sleep well. You know.â
Jimmy blinks. âNo, uh- I donât-â
Clark looks at you.
And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.
âYou smell good.â He mutters.
He turns like somethingâs dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutesâin total baffled silenceâbefore Jimmyâs mouth falls open.
âWhat the fuck is up with him?â
Nobody seems to be sure.
On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while heâs editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and heâs a good reporter but not the best writer.
âYou canât use that word here.â You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.
âThere are no other words I could use, though-â
âCorrupt?â
âBut- Oh.â He sighs, hitting backspace. âSee? Thatâs why youâre the expert.â
You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.
âHowâs your piece coming?â He asks kindlyâalways kindlyâand you groan.
âDogshit.â
âIâm sure itâs not that bad-â
âMy main source backed out.â You grumble. âLike a little baby bitch. I canât make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, itâs asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-â
âBut you won the last one.â Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.
âYeah. Because I had a source.â
âAh. Right.â He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.
You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. Itâs a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.
âWhat if I said I have a source for you?â He asks softly, and you perk up.
âReally?â
âYeah, really.â He grins. âYou know, Iâd think youâd have faith in me, I wouldnât lie about that-â
âShut up, Iâm excited-â
âI can tell.â He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.
He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when youâre excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.
Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.
You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.
And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.
Today you keep it under control.
Itâs Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask whatâs wrong, but he shakes his head like heâs already denying you an answer.
âItâs- Uh- Superman.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âSuperman can be your source.â He grunts, shifting in his chair. âI can ask him to. For you.â
âI- You donât have to.â
âI want to.â
âI can find someone else-â
âNo, I- Iâve got it.â
He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.
Youâre used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. Thereâs no amount of love youâd risk your friendship for.
But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.
You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. âThank you.â
He nodsâtight and jerkedâstares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.
âI have to go to the bathroom!â He announces to the whole bullpen.
Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.
He doesnât come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.
Heâs back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick youâre worried he might be going feral.
And you have no idea what to do.
Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is Whatâs up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if youâve got any idea whatâs Clarkâs been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him teaâa thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he hasâand Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.
He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Careâyouâve given up on trying to get him to the ERâClark grunts a sound like no and wonât hear another word.
Youâre getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clarkâs always talking about his very good immune system.
And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and itâs somehow not effecting his work performance.
âClark.â You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. âYou need to go to a doctor.â
His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like heâs in prayer.
âClark-â
âPlease.â He says, so quiet you almost miss it. âBack up.â
You blink. âBack up?â
He nods, and thereâs a sting in your heart.
He hasnât asked anyone else to back up.
But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesnât relax from the first.
You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.
He still wonât fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.
âClark.â Youâve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. âThe doctor-â
âI donât need a doctor.â He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.
âYouâre sick-â
âNo. Iâm not.â
âDude, I- I can feel your fever from here.â The heat, rolling off his body like heâs an active star. âAt least just go so they can say youâre not sick.â
He doesnât answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesnât want you too close.
âPlease?â You say. âIt would make all of us feel better.â
That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.
His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like thereâs something toxic coming off of you that heâs trying to avoid.
And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.
Itâs never fun, for the man youâve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like youâre proximity might kill him.
The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.
But thatâs not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.
âClark- Please-â
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.
âOh- Okay. Sorry.â
You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.
And you look back. You canât help it.
But all he does is stare at you.
So you walk away.
Clark doesnât come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but wonât report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.
âIs he-â
âHeâs not sick.â Jimmy stares at you like youâre a ghost. âHeâs- Um- We should- Give him space.â
You frown. âBut-â
âLots of space.â Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. âAnd maybe me some bleach. Freakinâ- Gross-â
Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. Youâre wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.
âDonât go visit him.â
You shoot her a glare. âI wasnât going to-â
âYes, you were.â She raises her brows. âDonât.â
âBut-â
âDonât.â
âWhat if he needs something-â
âI texted his cousin. She knows what to do.â
âToâŚâ You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Loisâ grip. âYou know whatâs going on with him, donât you.â
Lois shrugs. âYeah. Maybe.â
âLois-â
âHeâs going to be fine.â She says, giving you a firm look. âDonât check on him.â
She walks away without another word.
On Friday, you go to Clarkâs apartment.
You donât go inside. Loisâ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while youâre more than willing to disobey her, itâs the way sheâd said it.
Donât.
His door is right there.
Loisâ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldnât listen.
Donât.
You made him soup, because youâre pathetic. Heâd left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and youâd brought it home to clean up before returning it. Youâd had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where youâd give Clark his jacket, heâd swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.
But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. Itâs too fuzzy a picture to be reality.
You stand at his door. You donât remember walking inside the building.
Donât.
But you want to.
Donât.
He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if heâs been waiting for you to check on him-
Donât.
Loisâ voice isnât louder than your heartbeat. But itâs level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.
And you keep seeing Clarkâs face. Keep thinking of how heâd been stiffer than concrete, until youâd moved away.
He wouldnât want to see you right now. Heâd made that clear.
You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.
Before Clark can open it, you walk away.
On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.
Itâs a distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he canât stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know whatâs going on with him except you-
You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.
This is exactly what youâre trying not to think about.
Itâs hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CCâd.
Heâs everywhere. You canât stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says heâs basically out of commission. Canât really do anything right now, heâd grumbled, making a sour face. Too⌠Sick.
Heâd said it weird, but everything about this is weird.
Usually youâd talk to Clark about that.
You miss him.
Goddamnit.
Apparently, youâre very bad at not thinking about Clark.
You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, donât think about Clark.
He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this sweater, that youâve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but youâd kept it anyway.
You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows youâre thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousinâs number, so you can ask her if heâs okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Loisâ voice in your head, and go visit him.
Youâre about to go with that last option, when thereâs a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.
Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. Itâs hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way youâve never seen on TV. Maybe heâs just more casual, when heâs doing home visits.
But why is he home visiting you.
Usually that would freak you out. This week, itâs just another fucking thing.
You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.
âHello?â
Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.
He doesnât look well.
Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-
Like Clark.
Just like Clark.
And itâs not just the ragged appearance. Itâs something deeper. Itâs the way heâs staring at you like heâs worried youâre going to attack him. Like heâs restraining himself from moving, like youâre a repellant and he wants to fly away.
Or something else.
Without the glasses, thereâs something else.
He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe itâs just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. Thereâs an openness on his face that wasnât there before. And heâs not looking at you like heâs afraid or skittish.
Heâs looking at you like heâs a predator. Like youâre prey.
âClark?â
âIâm here for your interview-â
You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. SupermanâClark? âpushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.
He stumbles back like heâs been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.
Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.
His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.
âClark- Wait-â
Supermanâs body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.
At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.
You put ClarkâSuperman? âin your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.
Heâs burning at 150 degrees.
He should be dead. Youâre not even sure how you touched him without burning up.
The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.
You swallow, hugging yourself tight. Itâs hard not to reach out to him, but you donât feel like you should. He hadnât wanted you near him, and youâve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.
Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.
That time it was definitely your name.
Superman moaned your name.
You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You canât rip your eyes away from him.
Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whateverâs tormenting him isnât enough to wake him up, but itâs enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.
It does nothing for hearing him.
And heâs loud. Youâre lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or youâd get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, heâs somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.
It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. Heâs got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.
Your eyes wander to his abdomen. Thereâs a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-
Oh.
Thatâs⌠Big.
You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. Youâre thirstier than when you started.
The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clarkâs bulge. Supermanâs bulge.
You still havenât really dealt with that.
Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. Youâre sure. Youâve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How youâve never seen him get drunk. The fact that heâs built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm. Â
And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.
To be sureâyou have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusationsâyou cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.
When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clarkâs ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing heâd been using for cover.
You donât let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You wonât violate him like that. Youâre here for confirmation, and nothing else.
Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clarkâs brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.
Dear lord.
Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.
You donât mean to. You move before you can think.
Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.
He could break you. Heâs Superman. Youâve watchedâalbeit from afarâhim pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if youâre glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.
You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.
Clark is Superman,
And somehow, thatâs the least important thing thatâs happening right now.
His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.
âClark?â You breathe, and he moans.
This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-
You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.
He looks like heâs in pain. Your touch helped, and heâd liked it, and-
No. You canât. You wonât. Youâre stronger than that, and heâs not in his right mind. Whateverâs effecting himâwhateverâs strong enough to effect Supermanâcanât be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because heâd moved your hand there. He probably doesnât even know itâs you.
But heâd been calling your name. Heâs calling your name right now.
The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.
If you werenât such a masochist, youâd put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.
And youâre not that strong at all.
Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You havenât even managed to close your eyes.
Youâre so dazed from the everything that you donât hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.
When you turn, Clarkâs standing in the door of the living room.
Heâs naked.
Fully naked.
And this time, youâre too tired stop your eyes from wandering.
Heâs glorious. Itâs not just the muscle and size of him, itâs all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when youâre sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.
But itâs also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight youâre worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldnât complain.
And his cock.Â
You donât know how he manages to walk around with that thing. Itâs bigger than the toys youâve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.
Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.
âClark, I- Iâm so sorry-â
âDonât.â He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like heâs actively stopping them from moving. âIâm the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldnât have come here.â
He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of release on his thigh. Heâd been humping the sheets all night. Youâd heard the squeak of the mattress, and-
âI broke your bed.â He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. âIâll fix it when- This passes.â
âClark-â
âStop saying it like that.â
You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.
His eyes are shining. You canât tell if itâs with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.
âPlease donât say my name. Like that, or- At all.â His throat bobs. âIt makes everything very hard.â
Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.
âYeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.â
You laugh softly, despite everything.
Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he wonât stop staring at you,.
âDonât laugh either.â
âI- Iâm sorry-â
âAnd donât apologize, or- Or look at me-â
He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.
âCla-â You cut yourself off. âShould I call you Superman?â
âNo- That- Thatâs weird-â
âKal-El?â
âWorse.â He grunts, and you sigh.
âI need to be able to call you something.â
âIt would be better if you didnât talk, actually.â
That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.
âNo, not- Not like that-â
âNot like what-â
âItâs just, when you talk-â
âItâs hard?â You snap, and you donât know why youâre so mad all of a sudden. Maybe itâs how you havenât slept in almost two days.
Itâs probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, youâre going to kill him.
âPlease donât sat that word.â Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.
âNo. Iâm going to talk, and youâre going to listen and give me answers.â
âI- I donât think thatâs a good idea-â
âYou donât get to decide whatâs a good idea right now, boner-boy.â
He wrinkles his nose. âThat⌠Doesnât seem fair.â
âMaybe, but you know whatâs also not fair?â You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. âIgnoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!â
âI didnât tell you to shut up-â
âYou said I shouldnât talk.â
âI said it would be better if you didnât talk.â He mumbles, staring at the floor. âThatâs not the same-â
âShut up.â
âSorry.â
The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.
âYou better fix the wall, Kent.â
âI will. âM sorry-â
âStop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me whatâs wrong!â
You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesnât move away.
âYouâre not allowed to- To be mad.â He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. âBe more mad.â
 Thatâs not promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he canât bear to see your reaction. Â
âYou know kryptonite?â
You blink. âOf course I know kryptonite, I donât live under a rock.â
âRight. Well,â he coughs. âThereâs, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does⌠Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think youâd like her-â
âClark.â
âSorry- Sorry.â He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.
âRed kryptonite?â You prompt, softer than before.
His cock twitches. You try not think about it.
âI got exposed to some.â He mumbles. âLast weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually itâs something like⌠Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-â
âIt what-â
âI got better.â He says quickly. âBut itâs usually immediate. This wasnât. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasnât going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, andâŚâ
He trails off, words hanging in the air.
Saw you.
You activated the red kryptonite in him.
Thereâs a very reasonable guess to what itâs doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.
âWhat happened when you saw me?â You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.
Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. Heâs going to need talking into this.
âClark.â You say gently, and he groans.
âPlease donât make me say it.â
You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. Itâs almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.
âItâs very⌠Demanding.â He mumbles. âAbout certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I canât ask that of you-â
âCanât you?â
Your question is quiet. You know heâll hear you.
And Clarkâs head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.
âYou- You canât mean that-â
âWhy not?â
You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.
âIâd like to.â You murmur. He grunts.
âYou donât have to pity me-â
âItâs not pity.â
He chuckles dryly. âFeels like it. I know you donât- Thatâs not how you feel-â
âWho says itâs not how I feel?â
You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.
âUhh⌠Steve?â
You scoff. âSteveâs been trying to ask me out for three years, of course heâd tell you that.â
Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.
Youâve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.
âI- I could hurt you.â He says, giving you that puppy look.
You shrug. âI like being hurt a little.â
His cock jumps. He doubles over, and youâre a little worried heâs going to break your whole apartment if he doesnât move soon.
âClark.â You whisper, taking a small step forward. âI trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.â
âNo, you-â
âDonât tell me what I feel.â
He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.
âWill it hurt you?â You ask. âIf you ignore it?â
He nods, tight and controlled.
You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.
Not with fear.
With excitement.
âThen use me.â You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. âPlease.â
And Clark snaps.
He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clarkâs fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.
Clark picks you up like youâre made of feathers, and thereâs something steady about there being no ground at all.
If you were in your right mind, youâd think something about free fall and having no worry if thereâs nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.
But youâre not in your right mind. Because Clark isnât kissing you like a kiss.
Heâs inhaling you, and itâs already lighting you on fire.
Thereâs a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.
You push back, and he moans. Itâs the most beautiful sound youâve ever heard.
Clarkâs back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, thereâs no way he can get close enough.
You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.
He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.
âClark-â
âSo- Sorry-â He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. âYouâre just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-â
He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.
âSmell so good.â He almost whines. âSo good.â
You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. Youâre the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but heâs also a man whoâs in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.
Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. Heâs almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he canât even help himself. You donât think he can.
It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This wouldâve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.
âItâs okay.â You coo, kissing the side of his head. âYou can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-â
âYou- You canât-â
âDonât tell me what I get to want-â
âNo, you canât.â He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.
You donât mind at all.
âIâll hurt you.â He mutters, and you sigh.
âWe talked about this-â
âIâll hurt you.â He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.
You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he canât physically stand to be that far from you.
And you feel it.
The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. Youâd think was a stick if you didnât know better.
Oh.
Right.
Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.
âI need to get you ready.â
You swallow. âI- Iâm pretty-â You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and thereâs the familiar tingling ache thatâs always a good sign. âI feel pretty ready-â
Clark grunts. âNot ready enough.â
âHow do you know-â
âNose.â
âNose- Oh.â You flush. He can smell your arousal. âBut thatâs a good thing, right-â
âNot enough.â
He seems reduced to short worded grunts. Youâre not faring much better, but thereâs also a massive man below you that canât stop sucking around your tits.
âCan you⌠Always smell me?â You manage to ask, and he hums.
Thatâs his agreement hum.
Your jaw drops.
âAre you serious-â
âI canât help it.â
âYou- You could wear nose plugs-â
âNo. Like it too much.â
Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.
âYou- Canât move-â
âYou should move-â
âWonât hurt you.â He grunts, like heâs making a vow. âJust- Need a second.â
You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but youâre desperate.
âYou were better when you woke up.â You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. âLucid.â
Clark grunts. You smile at the air.
âYou came in bed last night.â
He stiffens slightly. âWet dream.â
âAbout who?â
You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. âYouâre very⌠Mouthy. Like this.â
And youâve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says itâlike something heâs measuring, a note heâs jotting down for a pieceâmakes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.
âWow. Mouthy.â You tease. âNot very polite, Clark.â
âThere are other words I couldâve used for it.â He mumbles, and you giggle.
âYeah? Like what?â
Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.
âA brat.â
A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like youâre something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.
And his voice. Lower than youâve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.
âI should jerk you off.â You blurt.
Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.
âYou- You canât just say that-â
âBut it will help.â You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. âYouâll feel better enough to- To get me ready.â You try to keep your voice level, as if youâre not thrilled just to say the words. âAnd then⌠More.â
Clark doesnât answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didnât hear.
âCan you please look at me-â
âNo.â He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.
âClark-â
âDonât ask me to move.â His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.
You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.
âClark.â You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. âItâs okay.â
âI- I need to get you-â
âIâm going to touch you, okay?â
His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.
Enough.
You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.
âSorry-â
âItâs okay.â You say quickly, smiling slightly. âGood preview.â
He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like heâs going to snap something else out about you being a brat.
You settle against his knees, and donât give him a chance.
The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.
Heâs throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.
You add a second, and squeeze at the base.
Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.
âBe- Be careful.â
You pause. âDoes it not feel-â
âFeels good.â He grunts. âToo good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-â
Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.
You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.
And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way heâs moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once heâs back in controlâonce this massive dildo of a dick is inside youâyouâre not going to be able to focus on such things.
You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.
Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.
âLike- Like that- Shit.â He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. âYeah, baby, oh- Right there-â
He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.
You want to taste him.
When you slide off his legsâkeeping your hands workingâClark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.
âWhat- What are you-â
You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound youâve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.
The grip is tight, but painless. Youâre in no danger of pain.
Thereâs something thrilling about how heâs gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.
You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.
âSorry- Fucking Christ-â
You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.
It doesnât take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.
âAre you-â
You moan, and Clark gives in.
He fucks your face like itâs a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.
âLook- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-â
Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.
âYouâre so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-â Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. âYour mouth is so warm, and- And soft-â
You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.
And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-
Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.
Heâs cumming.
And heâs not stopping.
Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, thereâs not a place it hasnât hit.
Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.
âIf you-â
âDo that inside me.â
You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.
âI- I mean- Clark-â
He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.
âI heard you.â He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. âPretty well, actually.â
His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.
âDonât- Donât tease-â
âTrust me.â He mutters darkly. âI wonât.â
Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.
âOh- Oh god-â
âIf I had time.â Clark murmurs, almost to himself. âIâd keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,â his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. âLet you make a mess in my lap. Wait âtill youâre begging for it, then touch you,â one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. âNice and slow, until you feel what Iâm dealinâ with right now.â
You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when heâs horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.
âOh, you like that.â He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. âYeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.â
He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. Thereâs a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.
âClaaaark.â You moan, squeezing tight around him.
Youâre rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.
He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.
âThatâs it.â He mutters. âJust seeing what you need, itâs alright. Shit,â he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. âYouâre so wet. I- I gotta-â
You hear it start to possess him, and you canât be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. Heâs strong, but youâre horny, and thatâs sure to help you somehow.
Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.
Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like heâs having a fine meal.
You canât look away from it. Itâs the hottest, most lewd thing youâve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like heâs milking you for more.
Youâre a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.
Thereâs nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. Youâre a smeared, wrecked mess that canât stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.
Itâs predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.
âWanted to do that for so long.â He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. âYouâd come into the office and start gettinâ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought Iâd lose my mind, every single day.â
His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.
âThere she is.â He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until youâre drooling.
Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But youâve also never been put over Clarkâs lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push upâhe needs attentionâbut Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.
âNeed to be inside you.â He grunts. âNeed you ready.â
Well. If he needs it.
Itâs easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesnât take long for you to feel like youâre close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.
âClark- Clark-â You donât have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. âI- Iâm gonna-â
âI know.â He mutters, and fuck, you donât doubt him. âWhenever youâre ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.â
It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.
Youâre dazed from the orgasm. Itâs the strongest youâve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clarkâs fingers pull away.
âYouâre ready.â He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything thereâs no friction. The tension in Clark tells you heâs close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.
âJust- Stay like that, beautiful.â He kisses the side of your head. âAnd if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. Iâll stop.â
And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know heâs Clark. And there isnât a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.
âCan you- Can you please say youâll tell me-â
âIâll tell you.â Itâs barely more than an exhale.
Clark hears it.
âGood. Good girl.â He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. âLet me- Canât do it here. Not right.â
Youâre not sure what heâs talking about until youâre airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.
Maybe Clark could let you live with him.
Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.
Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.
Thatâs a good plan. The best plan.
There really couldnât be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.
âKeeping her ready.â He rumbles, and you hum. Youâre certainly not complaining.
Youâre already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clarkâs hands. He mightâve already ruined you forever.
âDonât do that.â
Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.
Heâs back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.
âI touch you.â He grunts, and you canât argue with that.
You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like itâs gotten harder. You swallow. Itâs very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, youâre going to try.
Heâs been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but heâs not making any attempt to move on you. Heâs just⌠Staring.
Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.
He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god youâd like him to do that to you later.
His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.
You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. Itâs right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.
Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.
âDidnât mean to do that.â He rasps, and your lips twitch.
âI liked it.â
He chuckles, shaking his head. âOf course you did.â
Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.
And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.
He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. Thereâs almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.
âGoinâ slow.â He mumbles. âWhile I can.â
You nod. Itâs all you can manage.
He feels just as bigâif not biggerâthan he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and youâd be worried you couldnât take it if your pussy wasnât greedily swallowing him whole.
âThatâs it.â Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. âThereâs you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-â
He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.
Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. Itâs good, unbelievably good, and your body doesnât know what to do with it.
âTight.â Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.
âBig.â
He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.
ââm serious.â He says, low and rough. Like a secret. âWhen I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-â
You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You canât stop your smile.
âI know.â You breathe, and he nods.
âLove you.â He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. âSo much.â
You blink, and his eyes widen.
âThatâs- Um- I donât think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-â
Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man thatâs somehow, all yours.
âMy brain is soupy too.â You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.
Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.
âVery soupy. But,â You beam. âI love you too. And Iâm very serious.â
Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. Youâd like to be rocketed right up to heaven.
âMake me dumb.â You breathe, and Clarkâs shoulders square.
Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.
You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. Itâs a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.
Heâs fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. Thereâs no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesnât let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.
Safe and attended to.
Youâve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clarkâs barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.
Itâs too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is yourâusualâmax, and thatâs usually with time between. But Clark isnât letting up. And youâre getting close again.
âCla- Clark-â You whine out, and he fucking growls. âClark, Iâm gonna-â
He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.
Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.
He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.
Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.
It feels even better than youâd thought. At first itâs nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then itâs more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.
Then itâs too much. Youâre not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.
Now, itâs everything. Youâre full. So full. You never want to be empty again.
And you donât think Clark would allow that anyway.
Because heâs still fully hard inside of you. And with how heâs staring at you, you donât think thereâs a space of sound mind anymore.
Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.
You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.
Thereâs a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. Itâs the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.
Clark cums again. You donât know how thereâs still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.
You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.
He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly youâre being flipped over, and Clarkâs impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.
Itâs a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.
If he sees it as a challenge, youâre ready to lose, over and over and over again.
On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.
There isnât a spot in the apartment that doesnât feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.
Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, youâd find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When youâd looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like youâd molded him to only fit in you.
Itâs an oddly romantic thought.
There are lots of those to go around.
Clarkâs waiting for you in the living room. Heâs been trying to clean, but you donât think thereâs a point.
âI told you Iâm going to have to move,â you joke, and he sighs.
âWell, I- I really tried, but-â He wrinkles his nose. âI think it got in things. When I- Yeah.â He groans. âI can see it.â
âSee it-â
âX-ray vision.â
âOh.â That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. Itâs going to take some getting used to.
Clark bows his head, almost in shame.
âSorry I didnât tell you,â he mutters.
You shake your head. âIt fine-â
âI wanted to-â
âClark.â You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. âItâs okay. Really.â
He blinks at you, then relaxes.
âReally?â He asks anyway, and you nod.
âReally.â You nod to the floor. âI can even start apartment hunting right now.â
Clark laughs at that, and you beam.
Itâs the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, itâs still just Clark. And youâre more lucky to have that, than anything else.
âYou could move in with me.â He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.
âI-â
âIf itâs too fast, you donât have to, I- Geez, I havenât even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-â
âClark.â You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. âI was thinking the same thing earlier.â
He starts slightly. His lips twitch. âYou were?â
You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.
âItâs not- Maybe too fast-â
âMaybe.â You shrug. âBut I- Iâve loved you for years.â You look down to your fingers. âAnd we kind of lived together before. For work. And youâre my friend, first, so if you think itâs fine-â
Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and itâs barely been a day, but itâs the most natural thing in the world.
âIâm gonna do it right, though.â Clark says against your lips. âTake you out. Woo you.â
You laugh. âBring it on.â
âŚEnd note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary highâŚ
âŚIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŚ
âŚBuy me a coffee! (and get early access!)âď¸âŚ
âŚsummary: everyone loves golden boy Steve Rogers. Everyone but you. It's alright, though, because he hates you back. But love and hate are closer than you both think.âŚ
âŚwarnings/tags: steve rogers x female!reader, avengers era, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, pining but they don't know they're pining, idiots in love, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, some plot to get to feral porn, super soldier level smut, (kind of office sex, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, super soldier stamina, dry orgasms but he's a trooper he keeps going, begging, rough sex, praise and degradation kink, mean!steve, nipple play, manhandling, hyperspermia, big dick steve, squriting, p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, dacryphilia, dumbification, soft!dom steve), soft!steveoutside of smutâŚ
âŚwc: 9.6kâŚ
âŚAuthor's Note: i love enemies to lovers with sweet men it's so important to me. thank you!âŚ
There arenât a lot of rules to being on the Avengers, and the ones that exist are easy to follow. Donât feed Tony after midnight, heâs like a gremlin. Donât laugh at Samâs jokes when theyâre not funny, it encourages him. Always listen to Fury, unless you like being stranded in Utah. Donât touch Natashaâs food. Donât piss off Banner.
Easy. Youâre not a fool, and if you were, you wouldnât deserve to be here.
A lot of people still donât think you deserve to be here, but Nat always reminds you that they just donât know what kind of enemy youâd make. Sheâd rather have you on their side. Everyone warmed up to Wanda eventually, too. The team already likes you, and none of you have a clean letter.
Almost none of you.
Steveâs is cleaner than a freshly waxed and plucked floor. Steveâs letter is perfect. Heâs perfect. Heâs the Golden Boy, designed in a bottle to be likable and confident and collected. Cameraâs flash and his smile is whiter than the moon, and more blinding than the sun. He claps Tony on the back after a slightly mocking joke, clearly unfazed. He places his hand on Natâs lower back in the most gentlemanly way possible, and everyone swoons like heâs some movie star.
He sits next to you on one of these panels youâre not allowed to skipâyou tried to, and Clint dragged you to the helicopter like some misbehaving childâand ignores you all together. A tiny nod and smile for the cameras. Stiff shoulders that square away from you, like if he blocks you out, youâll just vanish in the hazy lights.
Heâd like it, if that happened. Heâd probably throw a fucking party.
Because you donât know why. You donât know what you did. But Steve Rogers hates you, and no one even thought he was capable of that emotion.
It started the first time Nat dragged you in, spitting and weary like a feral cat. Sheâd given Steve and Tony the brief on your powers. Said that you had a good heartâalthough she hadnât done an x-ray, so you have no idea how she was so sureâand asked to keep you.
Asked.
Natasha didnât ask for anything. She said it like a question, and fixed Steve and Tony with the most terrifying glare in the world. Tony had shrugged, and Steve had tried to protest. Nat had crossed her arms and flicked her brows up in a silent challenge. Steve had swallowed, looked at you with a strange gleam in his eyes, and given up. Heâd left the room with a grumble, not sparing you another glance. Tony would tell you laterâafter you annoyed it out of himâthat heâd spent a month trying to talk Nat out of you. Like a toy he didnât want her to be playing with.
You hadnât said a single word. Natasha hadnât told him anything about your past. And he still hadnât wanted you there.
âRogers,â you murmur, smiling at the flashing lights thatâsupposedlyâhave people behind them.
Youâve come to think of them more as vultures. Theyâd like to pick you apart and eat out whatever kind of black, charred thing youâre made of. You never give them the satisfaction.
Steve says your name, low and flat. His attention flits over, scanning you from the corner of his eye. You catch his gaze, and he looks away just as fast.
You roll your eyes and huff, slumping back in your seat. You drum your fingers on the smooth, deep blue cloth of the table. They gave you a water bottle. Maybe if you drink it fast enough, you can just go pee and skip this whole thing-
âSit up.â
Steve speaks so low you almost donât hear him. You frown at his profileâstupid clean jawline and strong featuresâand slump further in your seat. Just to test him. Just to make him twitch.
There arenât a lot of things you find pride in. Being able to get under Steveâs skin is one of them.
He notices immediately, and shoots you a glare. You snort, and his eyes narrow.
âI told you to sit up-â
âI heard you.â
âAnd you didnât listen?â Someone shouts his name. He turns to flash them that look at me, arenât I perfect? Smile, and you try not to gag.
âYouâre not my boss.â You hiss through your teeth, smiling at the people shouting your name.
Steve makes a low, rough sound in his throat. âI am your boss.â
âNo. I work under Nat.â
âWho works for me-â
âDoes she?â
Steve shoots you another look, and this time you giggle. Heâs still smiling, through every single glare. It looks psychotic.
He doesnât even try to reprimand you this time. He just sighs dramatically and looks back to the crowd. You sit up, but not because he told you to. Youâre not another one of his dogs.
Because thereâs one more rule about being an Avenger. About being an American.
No one hates Steve Rogers.
Heâs an angel. A blessing. His pretty boy face and classy words and pure heart. He never falters, never gives up, never does anything selfish, never gets off his fucking high horse. Heâs so handsome it hurts to look at, and heâs so innocent about it, like blushing virgin schoolgirl who canât stand seeing a fucking ankle without getting red faced and sputtering. Heâs all kind words to everyone, he carries twenties on him to give to homeless people, he donates most of his Avengers salary to charities, he handles every press question with tact and charm, and he looks at you like youâre sulfur coated gum, stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
No one tells you what to do when Steve Rogers hates you. Heâs not supposed to hate anyone.
So you must be the fucking problem.
You try not to look at him, for most of the panel. Itâs easy when he gets seated on the other end of the table, but whatever fucker was in charge of seating today must hate you. You canât turn your head without seeing his lazy, kind smile, and you canât turn out his deep laugh, and god, what if you just punched him in the face on live TV-
Someone says your name, and your head snaps over.
âYeah?â
Steve tenses. Youâre supposed to just nod, or say yes, not yeah. Thatâs not professional. Shame for him the media trainers gave up on you years ago. You donât know why Steve still bothers. Everyone still loves you anyway.
And the person who said your name doesnât deserve professionalism anyway. Itâs a slimy man at the front of the question line, with slicked back hair and an expensive watch and teeth that look too big for his mouth. You know what kind of question this is going to be, before he even opens his mouth.
âHi,â the man smirks at you, and you smile back. Itâs the cold, bored smile that you wear like a shield. If the man feels the chill from it, he doesnât even flinch.
âHey.â
Steveâs jaw ticks. If he breaks a tooth, maybe you wonât have to deal with this question.
âHey.â The man echoes back, his gaze dropping back to your tits. âI have to ask, what does it take to get you out of the Avengers compound and out on a date?â
You laugh, spinning your mic and leaning back in your chair. The audience laughs with you. They always do.
Steve doesnât, and it stabs near your ribs for some useless reason. Sometimes you wonder if your powers just donât work on him, which would make him even more annoying than he already is.Â
âMore than that,â you say, and the man stands a little taller.
âYou wanna give me a step-by-step?â He winks. âIâm a good rule follower.â
âHm.â You smirk. âIâm sure you are.â
A chorus of teasing jeers comes from the back of the crowd, where all the men always get shoved. Theyâre less insistent than the fangirls who want to see Steve and Thorâs muscles. The man at the front of the line looks back with a proud grinâhe got you to talk, what a miracleâthen returns his gaze to you.
âWhat about if I promise to be a gentleman?â
âThen Iâd ask you to cross your fingers,â you say, smiling with so much honey youâre worried your face is going to get glued like this.
The oooooos are louder this time, and you laugh. The man at the front looks like heâs about to fall to his knees. He grabs at the mic stand like a lifeline, staring at you with wide, devout eyes, and you donât even flinch when Steve rips your mic from your hands.
âSheâll be backstage after, buddy.â His tone is light, but firm. The man blinks at him, like he forgot he was there. âRemember, sheâs got a whole panel to get through. Donât want to distract her too early.â
He laughs. Everyone laughs with him, except for you.
You smile at him with enough venom to burn the super solider serum right out of his big, muscled body. Steve smiles back, with that strange gleam back in his eyes.
Itâs only there for you. Itâs been two years, and you never learned to read it. The questions move on, and your mic gets turned of while Bruce talks about his favorite kinds of tea. You lean to the side, hissing from the corner of your mouth.
âWhat the fuck is your problem.â
Steve doesnât blink. He keeps his winning smile on his face, and youâre sure that to anyone looking on from the crowd, it seems like youâre exchanging friendly jokes.
âThis isnât a dating app.â
âI know that-â
âDidnât seem like it.â
You scoff. Your smile is starting to hurt your face. âWhat was I supposed to do, tell him to piss off?â
Steveâs lips twitch down, ever so slightly. âYou flirted back.â
âSo? I was never going to go out with him, he looked like a fucking sewer rat.â
âThatâs rude-â
âOh, suck my dick.â
You look back to the crowd. Steve mutters your name, and you ignore him. He says it again, firmer this time, and you shoot him a shut the fuck up look.
His nostrils flare. His eyes are so blue, you think you could get lost in them if he wasnât always trying to forcefully burn you out.
âYou-â He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, shakes his head, and look back out to the crowd. âYouâre going to find yourself with a stalker one day. It happened to Nat.â
You almost snort. Youâve heard that story. Nat curb stomped him. âIâm sure Iâd handle it.â
Steveâs lip curls. âYou have no combat training,â he grunts, and you huff.
Not this again.
âIf someone got the jump on you-â
âNo one gets the jump on me.â
âYet,â he gives you a pointed look, and you hold it, unimpressed and bored. âBut one day-â
âOne day what? Iâm just going to lose all my powers? And need Captain America to protect me?â You laugh crudely, and Steve scowls.
 âI didnât say that-â
âThen what were you going to say-ââ
âThat you need to be careful-â
âAnd why do you care-â
âI donât-â
âReally?â You roll your eyes. âCouldâve fooled me.â
âYou- You fucking-â
âSteve.â Sam leans over Steveâs shoulder, glaring between you. âPeople. Watching. Calm down.â
You and Steve both freeze, and glance out to the crowd. Sure enough, almost all the eyes are on you. Shining vultures. For one, at least, picking Steve apart with you.
You smile and wave. Steve sits so tall you think he might be trying to fly away.
âWhat were you talking about?â The next person asks, and Steve laughs.
Controlled. Always so fucking controlled.
âNothing important-â
âIt looked important.â
Steve shrugs. âWe take everything we do here seriously. A conversation about dinner can look like a war meeting sometimes, with how much passion we have for- Everything.â
He waves at the air, and the crowd murmurs. You smirk, because Steve sees the light in that ripple. Only the rising relief. Not the dents itâs leaving in the water.
But you see them. You see them better than anyone. And you know why the people drop it. Tonyâs glaring down the table, and Nat is rubbing her face, and you know they heard it too.
You love it when he fucks up. Youâre beaming for the rest of the panel, because you know what the headline is going to be in the morning.
Passion, he said.
Idiot.
It happens so fast, and Steveâs the only one surprised by it.
âYou two.â Tony points between you in the morning. âMy office. Now.â
You smile, shoving your bagel in your mouth and following after him. Steve looks confused. Youâre sure heâs never been called to an office before. Youâre thrilled to have that first experience with him.
âTony, whatâs going on-â
âNo.â Tony points at him with a scowl, and the door locks behind you. âNot a word from you, Cap. This is your fault.â
âMy fault?â Steve almost recoils. âHow is it my fault, I havenât even done anything. Itâs probably her fault-â
You snort, taking the bagel out of your mouth. âMy fault? You donât even know what we did yet!â
âWell, I know itâs your fault-â
âBecause everything is my fault-â
âFor stuff like this, yeah. It is.â
âStuff like this- Like what, you getting in trouble-â
âIâm not in trouble-â
âOh, you just got called to Daddyâs office because of your good behavior-â
âCan you both shut up?â Tony raises his voice, glaring between you with his nose pinched. âI swear, youâre going to give me a migraine that kills me. And you,â he shoots you a glower. âNever call me Daddy again.â
You smirk. âWhy, does it turn you on too much?â
Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you. Tony just looks bored.
âYeah, it does. Which is annoying.â
âAw,â you beam at Steve. âHe thinks Iâm annoying.â
A vein is pushing out of Steveâs brow. If anyone is going to die right now, itâs going to be him, from bursting a vessel. You giggle, dropping in the seat in front of Tonyâs desk. Steve just stands behind you, a soldier at attention against his greatest enemy. You tip your head backwards, looking at him under fluttering lashes.
âYou should sit down, buddy.â
Something flickers over Steveâs face. âDonât call me buddy.â
âDonât stand there like a creep.â
His lip curls. You give him a challenging smile, and he lets out one of those heavy sighs thatâs only reserved for you. He stomps over to the chair next to it, and drops down with a scowl at Tony.
âYou want to tell us why weâre here, Tony?â
Tony frowns, and glances at you. âDoes he not know?â
You shrug. âHeâs a little stupid. You know that.â
Tonyâs lips twitch despite himself. Steve scowls.
âI donât know what you two are talking about, or- Planning-â
He cuts himself off, as Tony tosses the printed out article down on the desk. You hadnât actually seen it yet, but you knew it was coming. Â
From the look on Steveâs face, though, he really hadnât realized at all.
âWhat.â Itâs all he says. One clipped, dumbfounded word as he stares at the paper. You sort of want to laugh, but you bite it down. Tonyâs looking at you like this is serious. Like he canât make it go away with a wave of his hand.
Stever grabs the article. You lean over his shoulder, just to piss him off a little more. He doesnât even bother to glare at you, his fingers digging so deep into the paper it tears. The headline gets crumpled, like heâs crushing it with just his gaze.
Secret Love In the Avengers.
Itâs not very snappy. You think they couldâve tried harder, but at least the picture is good. You and Steve both look nice, and youâre staring at each other so intently you canât even blame them for the minimum effort. With Sam looking bored on Steveâs other side, and you and Steve leaning so close together, thereâs no mistaking in that photo who might be seconds from making out.
âTony,â Steve mutters. âWhatâs this.â
Tony snorts. âWhat do you think this is, Cap? A news article about trades with China? No, because less people would be reading that than theyâre reading this.â
âWeâre hotter than trades with China,â you offer, and you think Tony would laugh if he wasnât so pissed.
âWhy is there a picture of us.â Steve mutters, and Tony rolls his eyes.
âWell, when two people look at each other like they want to fuck, everyone tends to notice.â
Steveâs jaw locks. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.
âSo what, do you need us to do another release-â
âNo.â Tony glares at you. âThis is the third time something like this has happened with you two-â
âWhat?â You snort. âNo, it isnât-â
âAh.â Tony raises a hand. âDonât play stupid with me. Iâm trying to be generous with third, and Iâm not in the mood to hold your hands through feelings right now.â
âFeelings?â Steve spits, fumbling with the paper. âThere are no- I donât know what you think youâre talking about, Stark-â
âSteven.â Tony says flatly. âYou. Shut up.â
Steve shakes his head. âYou donât know what youâre talking about-â
âYes. I do. And you do too.â
You raise your hand, frowning between them. âCan I ask what the first and second time were, because Iâd remember if this happened before-â
âNo, you wouldnât,â Tony snaps. âBecause I have spent millions bribing people out of running these stories, and you never look online to see what people are saying.â
âWhat people are saying?â You look at Steve. âWhat are people saying?â
Steve coughs, ears turning red. âNothing-â
âThey think youâre fucking.â Tony says flatly, and your mouth falls open.
âThey- What?!â
âYou have chemistry, kid.â Tony shrugs. âEvery second youâre next to each other, youâre eye fucking so much we all feel like weâre supposed to leave the room.â
You sputter, shaking your head. You can feel you flush, burning up your face. When you look at Steve, he wonât meet your eyes.
He never does.
âDid you know about this?â You hiss.
He sighs, running a hand over his face with a half-shrug. âMaybe.â
âMaybe?! What the fuck does that mean-â
âMeans he knew.â Tony says flatly. âEveryone knew.â
âEveryone knew what?! That the whole country thinks I want to fuck Steve?!â
Tony snorts. âYou do want to fuck Steve.â
Your face burns. Steve looks up with warning pinch in his brow. âTony.â
âDonât Tony me, pretty boy-â
âJust- Not now-â
âYes, now.â Tony glares between you. âThis has gotten out of hand. We get it. Youâre both hot. Youâd have hot sex. But if you donât either fuck or cut bait and start acting like adults, youâre grounded.â
Steve scowls. âYou canât ground me, Stark, Iâm your boss-â
âWell, I cut the checks.â Tony crosses his arms. âSo I think I can do whatever I want.â
Steve and Tony keep glaring at each other. You stare off in the middle distance between them. Your hands donât feel like theyâre your hands. Your feet are planted on the carpet, but not on solid ground. Your head feels like itâs pressing into itself, yet also expanding to something bigger than you can hold onto.
You donât want to fuck Steve. Sure, heâs all muscles and rugged yet soft features, but there are countless men like that.
There are very few men like that. Well, you could find one. You have one in front of you. But you donât want to fuck him. Heâs annoying. Impossibly annoying and bossy and always up your ass about something, and not in the fun way like youâd prefer-
No. You wouldnât prefer. You donât want to fuck Steve. You can have anyone else, youâd rather have anyone else. Steveâs just always there and always making you embarrassed and angry, and maybe youâre into that but itâs none of his business. Itâs not like heâd be like that in bed, either way.
You think. Not that youâve thought about it. Heâs too perfect. Too boring. Heâs not boring when heâs arguing with you. He just hates you that much. That you make him break. Or you let him show that side of himself. You donât poke and prod at anyone like you poke and prod at Steve. Heâs just fun to get a rise out of. He gets cute when heâs pissy. He sneers your name and it goes right between your legs, but that doesnât mean you want to fuck him.
You donât. You donât. You donât? Â
He has big hands, but you donât want them groping and squeezing all over your body. Heâs got a strong nose, but youâve never thought about it pushing against your clit, just like youâve never thought about his huge biceps wrapping around your neck while he fingers you stupid. And youâd smile at him, dazed and long fucked out of protesting. And heâd feed those fingers to you while sitting you on his cock, and all that perfection would melt away into something raw. Something real, thatâs open and refuses to be stitched close. Something that both of you want to drown in.
Somethingâs thatâs just for you, and Steve, and no one else.
Oh, no.
You want to fuck him.
Tony says your name, and your gaze snaps back over. Your palms are sweating, your face burning, your skin suddenly itchy and your feet restless. You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck Steve.
He looks at you weird, and you shift in your seat. He canât know. Ever. This is going to get cleaned up, and Steve will never know that you might, kind of, really want him to just toss you over his shoulder and fuck you stupid. You glance at him from the corner of you eye, and his gaze sears into you. You have to look away.
Thereâs no way he can know. Youâve barely even known for a minute. Tony only says he knows because heâs an ass. This will pass. It has to pass.
âFigure it out.â Tony tells you, before walking out of the office.
And you will. By never being in the same room as Steve again.
You shoot to your feet, and almost sprint out of the room. Steve calls your name, but you donât look back. Heâs faster, but heâs also respectful. He wonât manhandle you and force you to listen, like you want him to.
God, you really want him to. Youâre going to kill Tony for making you realize that, then kill yourself, and no one will ever have to know thatâfor all your cool, bored smiles and teasing and flirting, for all your powers and siren-like smileâyou just want to be fucked stupid by the most righteous, innocent sex-symbol in America.
But then Steve shouts your name again. Heâs following you. Why is he following you.
âFuck off, Steve!â You shout over your shoulder, and he scoffs.
âNo, you heard Tony, we need to talk-â
âWe really donât-â
âYes, we do- Will you slow down-â
You pick up the pace, just to piss him off. Steve groans, and you hear boots hitting the ground behind you. Heâs giving chase, and you can barely outwalk him.
Steve grabs your arm before you can even break into a sprint. You thrash, but itâs useless. Heâs too strong, and thatâs so hot, and youâre going to throw yourself off a bridge about this.
âLet go-â
âNo.â Steve drags you down the hall, into an empty conference room. âNot until we talk.â
âThereâs nothing for us to talk about-â
âWill you just stop being such a fucking brat and listen?â
Steve raises his voice, stern and commanding. Itâs deep, so deep it echoes through you, and your knees wobble. He sees it. His jaw ticks, his grip slackens, and you rip your hand away.
âBrat.â You mock. âWhat would America think, if they saw their Golden sun talking to a girl like that?â
Steveâs lips twitch. âYou are not a girl.â
âAw. Iâm a woman-â
âYouâre a problem.â He leans over you, voice dropping to a hiss.
And this is how he always looks at you, but magnified. With a sharper gleam in his eyes, his lips thin and white, like heâs trying to swallow every word. A vein in his brow ticks, and you smile.
âIâm a problem?â
Steveâs throat bobs. âYes.â
âHurtful,â you whisper, and he rolls his eyes.
âYouâll live.â
For a long moment, you just stare at each other. He wants to talk, he can talk. Youâre not entertaining this. Not just for him to unravel you then keep being a fucking dick.
âYouâŚâ He shakes his head, a tiny motion as his tongue flicks over his lips. âYou are impossible.â
âYouâre impossible-â
âBecause you make me impossible,â he sneers, and you lean back slightly.
âI- You-â You try to scoff. Itâs a weak sound. Heâs too close, and he smells like pine trees and something spicy, and itâs not fair. âI donât even do anything-â
âYes. You do.â
âWhat, is my skirt too short? Are my shoulders distracting you-â
âYouâre distracting me.â Steve presses forward, until your faces are only inches apart. âYou always distract me, you fuckinâ-â He closes his eyes, shoulders heaving.
âSteveâŚâ You breathe, and he chuckles.
âDonât say my name like that,â he rasps. âYou donât fuckinâ mean it.â
You blink, trying to think over the desire, burning in your body. Of course you meant it. You didnât even want to say it, but heâs so close. Itâs intoxicating. Youâd think he was drugging you, if that was possible.
Steveâs pressed you against the conference table. His arms are caging you in, giving you no escape from the electricity, almost crackling in the air. You open your mouth, then close it, lost for what to say. Youâre worried youâll just whisper his name again. He drags his eyes open after what feels like a million years, his voice dropping down to something hot and dangerous.
âYou never push anyone,â he says. âLike you push me, doll. Itâs not⌠It drives me crazy.â
You swallow, your voice smaller than you want. âYou- You push me-â
âBecause I canât help it.â He presses closer. Your noses are almost bumping. âYou are beautiful, and insolent, and infuriating-â
âSteve-â
âAnd youâre so sweet to everyone.â He grabs your jaw, and your hand flies to his wrist. âEveryone loves you, so they think Iâm crazy when I say youâre tryinâ to kill me.â
âEveryone loves me because of my powers.â You try to remind him, because if he does this, you wonât be able to stop him. âYou- You know that-â
âI do. Trust me,â he murmurs your name, gaze flicking to your lips. âI know. Spent so long blaming them too. All those daydreams had to be because youâre Natâs honeypot. Thought it was the wrong thing to do, that I was some kind of monster to thinking about you like that, when everyone else already does. But no,â he looks back to you. âItâs just you, doll. I plugged my nose, avoided your pheromones, let Bruce experiment on me to make me immune, did fuckinâ everything, and I still wanted you.â
You take a deep, ragged breath. You have to lick your lips, to stop the spit, and Steve tracks the motion like a predator.
No one wants you. Everyone loves you, but no one wants you. Youâre pretty but untouchable. No one can hurt you. If you ask someone for something, theyâll always do it, whether they really want to or not.
But SteveâŚ
He says he wants you. And you really want to believe him.
âHow long.â You breathe, and he sighs, bowing his head.
âSince the second I saw you.â
âYouâŚâ You scan over his face, looking for any hint that itâs not really him. That he doesnât really, fully mean it. âYou want to fuck me?â
His ears turn red. âI mean- Not just that-â
âBut you do,â you breathe, and he sighs.
Stares for a second longer, then nods.
âOkay.â You whisper. Steve looks to your lips, then back to you again.
âOkay?â
 You nod. Steveâs grip on your jaw tightens, and your breath hitches. He leans down slowly. So torturously slowly.
Your lips meet, soft and chapped and nervous. You lean up, and he presses down. Your noses bump, and his tongue flicks over your lower lip. Your nails dig into his bicep, and he grunts, and-
Steve snaps.
His other hand flies to your face, and he presses over you, hot and demanding. Your breath hitches, you mouth falls open, and he shoves his tongue down your throat with a groan. You grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him so hard you both stumble back. Your knees hit the back of the table, but Steveâs fast. He ducks down without breaking the kiss, and scoops you up into his arms.
You squeal, but the sound is quickly muffled by Steveâs tongue down your throat. Your laugh is breathless and giddy. He chuckles, pushing further forward, and you pull at the collar of his shirt. He jerks forward, angling his head to deepen the kiss.
âNeedy.â He mutters against your lips, and you shove his shoulder with weak hands.
âShut up, I could still stop this-â
âBut you wonât.â He taunts. âYou like it, donât you. Like gettinâ on my nerves, making me lose control.â
Steve pulls away, grabs your knees, shoving them apart with rough, firm hands. You gasp, grabbing at his neck. âSteve-â
âYouâre wet under there.â He growls, running a big hand up your inner thigh. âI can smell it. Smell how much you want me, every damn time youâd mouth off.â
Your swallow, pressing your brows tight together. You watch him rub your legs, breathing through your nose like some wanton whore. Steveâs thumb grazes the place where youâre leg meets your core, and your whole body shivers.
He smirks, looking at you under pretty lashes. You try to glare, but youâre panting. His gaze just makes the fire in your core burn brighter, and your tongue flicks over your lips.
âYou never said anything,â you whisper, and Steve gives you an amused look.
âYou wouldâve killed me.â
And you can laugh breathlessly. Ten minutes ago, you wouldâve. But now heâs all over you, and you canât even bring yourself to mock him.
âNo,â you brush your lips over his. âI wouldnât have.â
Steve works his jaw, that raw, strange look flashing over his face. The look thatâs yours. Thatâs only ever been for you.
He leans in, and this kiss is softer than before. Steve massages your hips, settling himself between your legs. You spread them wide to accommodate him, and feel it poking against your thigh. His cock, thick and hard, somehow bigger than you imagined, and you hadnât been thinking small.
âYou feel that.â He pulls your upper lip between his teeth, smiling slightly. ââS what you always do to me. Every day, Iâd be walkinâ around so hard I was worried youâd see it. But no.â His kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other. âYouâre oblivious, arenât you honey.â
You hum, tipping your head back. Steve groans, dragging his lips over a pulse point, letting his tongue flick against sensitive skin. One hand slips under your shirt, careful fingers tracing up the line of your spine.
âSteveâŚâ You whisper. âDonât tease.â
âOh, but you like it too much when I do.â He rasps. âYou love it, love being a sweet little toy for me.â
You whimper, and he reaches around, grabbing a handful of your ass.
âSo bossy âtill Iâm touchinâ you,â he sucks on your neck, grinding his bugle into your core. You gasp as the rough friction, and Steve chuckles.
âYou- Youâre such an ass-â
âYou like that too.â He grunts, breath hot in your ear. âYou like beinâ the one person that gets me going, that makes me lose it. No one else, doll.â He pushes your ass forward, so your clit is pushed against the thick hardness of him.
A long moan escapes your lips, and you drop your face into his shoulder. Steve grunts, rutting forward, and itâs so fucking hot you canât think past it. The drawl of his voice in your ear, the strength of him around you, itâs intoxicating. The clothing adding extra friction, his fingers digging into your skin. His hand slips into your pants, deft fingers dragging down your ass to tease right against the drip of your pussy.
âJust you,â he thrusts forward, squeezing your ass. âOnly you. So fuckinâ pretty and sassy, drivinâ me insane-â
You whimper, and Steve makes a low sound, taking a deep breath against your hair. The table creaks, with the force of his every thrust.
âSo rude of you, sweetheart, to make me try and keep it together when youâre running around, begginâ to be fucked- God-â
Steve moans, jerking his hips back suddenly. You stare at each other, panting and flushed. He swallows, and thereâs a stain blooming on his pants. Your mouth falls open, and normally youâd make fun of him, but fuck. Thereâs so much of it. You can see white, leaking out of the cuffs of his pants and onto the floor. He came just from that. Just from holding and kissing you.
And heâs still so hard.
You lick your lips, and look back up. Steveâs throat bobs. You smile, fumbling with your pants, and he blinks.
âYouâre- Uh-â
âIn me.â You point at his dick, about to burst the seam of his slacks, then your core. âYou- Do that in me.â
Steveâs hands curl into fists. Youâve never seen his face so red. Itâs almost adorable. âUh- Are you sure-â
âDo you want to fuck me stupid or not?â
He leans back, startled. You hold his gaze, pull down your pants, hike your legs up on the table, and spread them wide.
You could swear you see it twitch, as he takes you in. Head thrown back, your fingers rubbing between the swollen, dripping lips of your cunt. You breathe out his name, dipping one finger into your heat and pumping slowly. Steve takes a rough step forward, grabbing your knees like handles.
âStop,â he grunts, and you obey.
Steve runs his fingers down your bare thigh, slowly guiding your hand away from your pussy. You grab his shoulder, holding his gaze as he rubs his thumb around your clit. You let out a slow, relaxed breath, and Steve smirks.
âYou like that, doll?â
âAs much as you did,â you breathe out, and Steve chuckles.
âAh. Too late for that.â He presses a mocking kiss to your open lips. âYou showed me what you want. How bad you want it.â
Steve flicks your clit, and your back arches. He presses back down on the little button, and a long moan rips from your lips.
âI came in my fuckinâ pants,â he whispers in your ear. âAnd youâre still begginâ me to fuck you.â
âWasnât- Wasnât begging-â
âBut you would,â he coos. âIf I asked you to. Youâd say please, Stevie and cry for me to stuff this pretty little pussy.â He pushes down on your clit, and you whimper. âLike the good little slut you are.â
God, the hold he has on you should be crime. You choke out his name pathetically, and Steve starts to rub you in thick, unrelenting circles. His free arm wraps around your lower back, holding you in place when his fingers dip down, and start to explore the folds of you pussy.
âSo wet,â he mutters, pushing one finger deep into your cunt. You clench around him, and a squelching sound fills the room as he pumps slowly. âWet and tight.â Steve looks up at you with a smirk. âYou think youâre gonna be able to take my cock, doll? Christ, youâre barely taking my finger.â
He pushes in a second one, just to prove his point, and your mouth falls open. Heâs right. The burn of his two fingers, it feels like heâs stretching you open with a fist. He slides them in deeper and deeper, his thumb working your clit, and your nails sink into his neck.
âSt- Steve,â you gape between your bodies, watching him disappear inside of you. âSteve-â
âHm?â He gets up to the knuckle, and looks up at you with a smirk.
You try to take a second to catch your breath, and he scissors his fingers, twisting his wrist so it hits a gummy spot inside of you. You cry out, and he silences you with a deep, messy kiss.
âFeel it,â he mutters against your lips, pulling his fingers almost all the way out. âNo talkinâ for once, doll. All you gotta do is feel it.â
He slams his fingers back in. You whimper, but nod. Steve hums in approval, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You squeeze and gush around him, and he groans. You barely get a second to compose yourself before he starts to thrust his fingers, deep and hard, and you start to unravel.
Steveâs strong. This is him holding back, and heâs still so strong. You scramble to get a real, firm hold on something, because heâs pummeling your pussy into a drenched, slack oblivion. The pace is brutal, knuckles dragging right over your g-spot over and over, splitting you open in a way that makes you drool.
He makes his mouth busy, trailing kisses back down your throat, then over your shoulders. You moan, leaning your head against his, and he smiles against your skin. Steve draws back to meet your gaze, and through the daze of the pleasure heâs dragging out of you, you smile back.
Your body is rocking, from the brutality of how heâs touching you. Steveâs eyes flick down, but not to where his fingers are being swallowed by your pussy.
Heâs looking at your tits.
He licks his lips, watching them bounce under his force. You think he might be hypnotized. Before you can say anything, he reaches up and rips your shirt clean off.
âSteve- Ooh-â
âShhh.â He gives you a stern look, twisting his fingers in your cunt. âIâve got you, doll. Just- Lemme-â
Steve looks back to your tits, and his eyes are almost black with desire. Youâve never seen anything hotter, than how he looks at you as he lowers himself down.
He mouths at the curve of your tits, sucking a tiny, dark bruise. You moan, starching at his bicep, but he just drags you closer. Forcing your back to arch, your tits to push into his face.
âLook at you,â he mutters, voice dripping with something close to reverence. âMy girl.â
And you blink. Because that wasnât discussed, but your pussy clenches all the same. His girl.
You donât get more time to think about it before Steveâs lips wrap around your nipple, and you lose control.
He mouths at you like a starved man. Kissing and licking and sucking, sending tingling, electric sensations straight from your tits to your pussy. He moans every time you squeeze down on his fingers, which just feels like a vibrator right against your sensitive nipples, and makes you lose it all the more.
Youâre grinding up into him, thrashing a little like an animal and whimpering in his ear. Steve bites down softly, his thumb staring to make quick, relentless swipes at your clit.
âOh- Oh fuck-â You moan, tugging at his short, soft hair. âSt- Steve- Too much- Iâm gonna- Fuuuck-â
You donât know why you thought he was going to slow down. Steve switches nipples, biting down before sucking hard, right as his blunt fingertips hit that spot inside of you. You cry out as you cum, your body writhing against his stronger one. He keeps you in place, his hand working you through the orgasm. Pulling every last spasm of your cunt, and a few more after. He kisses your nipples and over your breasts before he draws up.
When itâs done, your eyes are lidded. Steve stares at you, slowly pulling his hand out. He smears your juices over your pussy, thumbing at your clit for a few more, light seconds. You squeak, and he smiles.
âYou look pretty when you cum,â he mutters, and you flush.
Youâve been told that before, but this feels different.
This feels real.
You canât think of anything to say. Steve doesnât push you to try. He leans forward, cupping your cheek and giving you a smaller, softer look before he kisses you. You melt into him, too dazed from what might be strongest orgasm of your life to protest.
ââm gonna fuck you âtill you canât walk.â Steve mutters. âBut- Not here.â
You hum in agreement. âClean up later?â
âLater.â Steve grunts in agreement. âIf I donât get inside of you, think Iâm gonna die.â
You giggle. Itâs so stupid, but you giggle. Steve huffs out a low laugh, and drags your forward. Youâre being carried like a koala in his arms. He kisses your cheek before drawing up to his whole height, and glancing at the door.
âI, uh-â He gives you a sheepish expression. âIâm gonna have to run.â
You nodâyouâre naked, you expected as muchâand he clears his throat.
âYou gotta hold on.â
âI am holding on.â You pat his neck, and he sighs.
âDoll, Iâm gonna be running really fast-â
âIâm holding on tight.â
âHold on tighter.â
You roll your eyes, and wrap him in the best chokehold you can manage. The asshole doesnât even pretend to grunt.
âYour boobs are in my face.â He mumbles, and you snort.
âYou were eating them like, five seconds ago-â
âYeah, but- That was just us. What if someone sees-â
âThat youâre carrying me naked? Probably that weâre fucking.â
He twists his neck to glare up at you. You smile innocently back, and he sighs.
His breath is warm, over your breasts. It makes you squirm a little, and Steveâs grip on your body tightens.
âYou are such a brat,â he mutters, almost in awe. âI stop fucking you for ten seconds, and youâre already talking back again.â
âOops.â You beam. âYou should fix that.â
Steve chuckles. His tongue flicks over his lips. âYeah,â his voice is dark. A promise. âTrust me. Iâm gonna.â
And he runs. He runs so fast you squeal, because you forgot how fast he can be when heâs really trying. You press your face back into his neck to block the wind, and when he stops, you still donât look up.
The smell hits you first. Itâs deep and rich and-
Steve.
You poke your head up, and youâre in Steveâs room.
Itâs not what you expected, a military cell where he sleeps and plans way to torture you. Itâs⌠Cozy. There are books on a shelf that slightly poorly put together, and the bed is made but the sheets look thick and soft. Thereâs a mirror on the dresser, facing the bed, and so much paper you almost donât know where to look. Drawings of flowers, and rivers, and sunsets. One of a bird, and a few of the landscape of the compound, and so, so many of-
âIs that me?â
Steve grunts, tossing you down onto his bed and starting to strip. You move to your knees, ready to scramble off the bed and get a better look at the drawings, but he gives you a stern look.
âStay.â
You roll your eyes. âShut up, I wanna see- Steve-â
He grabs you like you weigh nothing, and throws you right back onto the bed before youâre even on two feet. Your thighs press together, thrilled with the blatant manhandling. Steve notices it, and laughs.
âYou like that, huh?â
âShut up-â
âNo, you liked that-â
âMaybe I did.â You stick your tongue out, and he smirks.
âYou love beinâ a ragdoll, donât you. Needy girl, youâre gonna let me do whatever I want to you-â
âYou have drawings of me!â You blurt, because you really donât need him to make you more horny.
Steve shrugs. âI do. So?â
âSo?â You fumble, pulling at the sheets. âYou- You like me-â
âThatâs a shock to you?â Steve gives you an amused look. âI just fingered you in borderline public.â
âWell- You- You-â Youâre sputtering again. Only Steve does this to you. It drives you fucking insane. âYou couldâve just wanted to fuck me-â
âNope.â He shrugs. âIâve been in love with you for a while. You just get on my last line sometimes, doll.â
And all your protests slip out of your head.
I love you.
He- He said-
âWhat?â You squeak, and Steve sighs.
âI love you.â
He said it again. âWh- Why?â
âWhy?â He gives you a tired, almost annoyed look. âWhy wouldnât I love you?â
âBecause Iâm annoying.â You answer immediately. âAnd mean, and bossy, and- Iâm annoying-â
âYou said that one already.â Steve starts to walk towards you, and you lean into his gravity, even as your heart beats in your ears.
âHow do you know you love me.â You whisper. âIt- It could just be my powers-â
âItâs not.â
âBut-â
Steve takes your face between his hands, his thumb dragging over your lower lip. You fall silent, and you know youâre staring up at him like heâs the sun, but youâve never been so warm. Youâre afraid to move. To lose it.
âSteveâŚâ You breathe, and he hums. âYou- You canât mean that-â
âI do.â He presses his thumb forward, and your lips wrap around it on instinct. You suck, and his eyes flash with more approval.
Itâs embarrassing, how pliable that makes you. How heâd just need to give you one bit of praise after so much mocking, and you might just cum right here. Sucking on Steveâs thumb, naked on his bed, sheets bunched between your thighs.
âI love you because youâre smart,â he says, and useless, embarrassing tears prick at your eyes. âAnd funny, and kind. You never abuse what you can do to people. You work hard, you drive me crazy, youâre always ready to do anything for anyone else.â
You try to shy away. Youâd been wrong. Youâre not cumming, youâre getting so hot it feels like a fever, because having him degrade you is less embarrassing than this. Steveâs grip on you face tightens. Heâs not letting you get away that easy.
âYouâre gorgeous,â he murmurs. âAnd itâs got nothinâ to do with any powers. So I love you, doll. And youâre gonna feel it.â
Thereâs nothing you can say to that. Tears are pricking at your eyes, hopeless and confused and desperate. You need to see what that feels like. Steveâs love, painted all over you.
âYou want that?â He mutters, and you nod. âWords-â
âPlease,â you breathe out, the words muffled around his thumb. âShow me.â
Steve smiles. He pulls his thumb away with a pop, and taps your check gently.
âSee?â He smirks. âBegging.â
Your eyes narrow, but Steve doesnât let you spit out a response. He crashes down into a harsh, long kiss that makes your toes curl and thighs rub together. Steve gropes all over your body, pushing you down into the mattress before rolling over and forcing you to straddle his chest.
Heâs naked. You donât know how you missed itâprobably the love confessionâbut the thick, hard curve of his cock slaps against your ass, and his bare chest flexes when you drag your nails over his pecs.
âYouâre gonna ride my cock, doll,â he rubs your ass, smiling up at you. âDonât need you to say anything back. Just show me,â he squeezes your ass. âHow fuckinâ bad you need it.â
You look back at it, and your breath hitches. Itâs huge. Bigger than any youâve ever taken, bigger than any youâve ever seen, even in porn.
âDid you take fucking drugs for that thing?â You breathe, and Steve snorts.
âYes?â
You glare at him, and he raises his brows.
âYou getting on, or not?âÂ
For a second, you think about being petulant. You cross your arms and pout, trying to test how far you can push him. But Steve just snorts, rolls his eyes, and picks you up. You donât even get to wiggle before heâs forcing you down on his dick, and the air is knocked from your lungs.
Steve sits so deep in your, it might be pushing all the thoughts out of your brain. You gape down at him, making weak noises as your pussy pulses and stretches around him. His fingers dig into your hips, but itâs the only sign that heâs struggling to hold himself back.
âMuch as I love you beinâ a brat,â he mutters, massaging your ass. âIâd rather see this.â
He reaches up slowly, tucking air behind your ear. You smile weakly, and he chuckles, settling fully into the pillows.
âRide it, doll,â he orders, and god help you, you try.
You catch your breath after a long moment that feels like eternity, and start to roll your hips. Steve groans, eyelids fluttering, but doesnât help you. His hands stay firm on your body, forcing you to use everything you have to grind down onto his dick.
He pushes against that gooey spot inside of you, and you falter with a long moan. You shift, forcing him right against it, and he lets out a sharp breath, but still doesnât move.
âFeels good, doesnât it,â he coos, cock throbbing inside of it. âNice and big, fillinâ up your pussy so good.â
You moan, hips bucking. Steve grunts, thrusting up slightly, and you tip your head back. The friction is good. So good. For a second, back arched and thighs aching, you find a rhythm. It starts slow, rolling and pushing Steveâs cock right where you want it. You look down at him, sweaty and adoring beneath you. His hands wander, his breathing ragged and lips parted.
âThatâs a good girl,â he mutters. âCâmon, baby, there you go.â
You keen, and move faster. Your knees are weak, but the need is stronger. You bounce on Steve dick, grabbing at his chest and gasping for air as he splits you open over and over again.
But itâs not enough. You donât have extra stamina or strength, and heâs so big, and youâre so turned on your body is starting to forget how to move. Every wet, obscene sound makes you glance at where heâs disappearing inside of you, the way your slick is coating his cock when you pull up and his balls are heavy, pushed against your ass when you drop back down. You get hornier, and you want to just let go and allow your eyes to cross and toes to curl, but you canât. You canât find the pace.
You canât cum. You canât, and pathetic, fat tears stream down your cheeks because of it.
Steve reaches up, brushing them away with a tiny smirk. âAw, babydoll. Donât cry.â
You sob, shaking above him as your legs finally get to weak. Youâre just squirming above him now, blinking under wet lashes at his teasing, lazy smile.
âCanât get there all alone, can you,â he pushes you down, slamming his hips up, and you make a choked sound like his name. âYeah, thatâs right. Sweet girl, just a fuckinâ mess on my cock.â
âPle- Please-â You blubber, collapsing over Steveâs chest. âGod, Steve- Please-â
âAw. Begging so pretty.â He kisses your brow. âHow could I ever tell you no?â
Steve grabs you off his cock, twisting you onto your stomach as he sits up. Youâre shoved down into the mattress, your cheek pressed into the cushions by one of Steveâs hands on the back of your neck. The other stays on your hips, dragging your ass high up in the air to present to him.
âSuch a mess.â Steve runs the head of his cock between the lips of you pussy, letting it press against your clit before he lines it up at your entrance. âYou really needed this, didnât you?â
He slides in slowly, and your eyes rolls back in your head. Heâs impossibly deeper at this angle. You try to press your face into the mattress, to muffle your pathetic sounds, but Steve folds his body over yours, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking it back as he bottoms out.
âLook.â He bites your ear, dragging back before slamming forward, drilling his cock back into your abused, over sensitive pussy. âLook at us, babydoll. Fit so fuckinâ perfect.â
Your eyes dart up, and oh. Oh god.
Itâs the most pornographic thing youâve ever seen. Steve wrapped around you, his jaw tight and one hand resting on your hip. You canât see where heâs fucking you, but you can see how his muscles flex with each thrust. Youâre trapped under him, your gaze locked onto his black, fervorish one. Thereâs no blue left in his eyes, as he hits a pace like an animal. Only hunger and adoration.
âSt- Steve-â
âThatâs it,â he rasps. âThatâs right, say my fuckinâ name- Scream it-â
âSteve!â You cry out, the tears streaming down your face as it becomes far too much. âOh- Ooooh-â
 Steve lets go of your hair, wrapping his massive bicep around your neck. It keeps your head up, keeps your eyes on his. He kisses the side of your head, and you can feel arousal sliding down your thighs as he rolls his hips.
âSo pretty,â he whispers. âLook at yourself. Look how fuckinâ perfect you are.â
Your eyes dart over, and an unbearable warmth prickles over your skin. You look more beautiful than youâve ever felt in your life. Thoroughly wrecked, worshipped, fucked into a drooling mess with swollen lips and glazed eyes. Steve noses at you, smirking against your skin.
âGood, good girl.â His words are thick, his thrusts becoming erratic. âFeels nice, doesnât it?â
You whimper an agreement, and Steve chuckles.
âYou gonna cum for me? Câmon, show me how nice it feels, cum on my fucking cock-âÂ
Itâs like he has more control over your body than you do. The orgasm rips through you at his command, and you sob out his name as you fall apart in his arms. Steve grunts, pulling fully out for half a second to roll you on your back. You barely even feel the loss before heâs burying himself right to the hilt, and you canât remember what being empty feels like.
Thereâs more than there looked to be. Steve pulls almost all the way out, to try and make more space, but it does next to nothing. Thick ropes of cum fill you up until you can almost taste it. There are wet, messy sounds as it starts to leak out, over your ass and thighs. You can see it in the mirror, dripping down onto the mattress. Youâre stuffed up so well, you try to say Steveâs name, but it just comes out a pathetic moan.
He collapses over you with a grunt, and all the edge vanishes. He pulls fully out, cradling you in his arms and kissing over your neck.
âI made a mess.â He mutters, running light fingers over your inner thigh.
You giggle, kicking him away, and he smiles against your skin.
âYou gonna talk to me?â
You shake your head, licking your lips. Your voice is gone, from screaming, and you can see him wince when he realizes it.
âI didnât hurt you-â
You shake your head quickly, and his shoulders relax.
âOkay. Good. I- Iâm gonna-â
He tries to get up. You grab him, and yank him back down. He grunts, giving you an incredulous look.
âHoney, itâs everywhere.â
You glare at him. Heâs warm. Heâs not getting away from you that easy. And you expect him to argue, like he always had before, but he just⌠gives in.
âOkay. Five minutes.â
He leans back over you, and you lay there. Cuddling.
Like a real couple.
You could be. Steve said he loves you, and he meant it, and that opens a door youâve never thought about before. A door you never even let yourself think about.
A door you might want to see the other side of, more than youâve ever let yourself admit.
But now-
You want it. You wanted this, and you want that, and youâre not going to spend another second pretending you donât.
âAbout what I said,â Steve mutters, like heâs reading your mind. âBefore we- Or- I guess during-â
 You roll over and grab his face. He blinks adorably, and you smile.
Steve murmurs your name, and you smile.
âI love you,â you croak out.
His jaw goes slack, and your smile widens. Itâs the only thing you can think to say. The only thing you want to say.
And when Steve kisses you, itâs slow. Romantic and loving and deep. He really loves you. Everyone in the world, and the perfect man loves you. He holds you like youâre the only thing in his world. You feel like youâre the only thing in his world.
And he might really be the only thing in yours.
âŚEnd note: i will never back off my "he's mean during sex" agendaâŚ
âŚIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŚ
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âŚTaglist (Fill out this form to be added!)âŚ
âŚRead on aO3! - Masterlist - Soldier Boy MasterlistâŚ
âŚsummary: soldier boy never liked soft things, until he met you. suddenly, there's nothing more important in the worldâŚ
âŚwarnings/tags: Soldier Boy x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (he's a hundred), angst, switching pov between ben and reader, softer!ben, canon divergance, pining, plot to earn the smut (dirty talk, posessiveness, teasing, praise and degredation kink, size kink, dry humping, body worship, dom!Ben, nipple play, finger sucking, begging, manhandling, oral f!reciving, pussy spanking, overstimulation, clit abuse, creampie, monster dick ben, rough sex, this man is a sex god fr fr, edging, dumbification, dacryphilia, hyperspermia, squirting), love confessions, fluffâŚ
âŚwc: 11kâŚ
âŚauthor's note: request! i love that old manâŚ
Butcher said he knew a librarian, and Soldier Boy snorted.
âYou think some moldy, four-eyed broad is going to help us fix this? Some gal whoâs never gotten her hands dirty in her life?â
âI think weâre runninâ outta options,â Butcher said, shooting Soldier Boy a look of challenge. âYou got better ideas, Iâm all ears. âTill then, weâre goinâ to see my girl.â
Soldier Boy had opened his mouth, ready to suggest many better ideasâhe was full of them, a real strategic geniusâwhen Hughie cleared his throat from his side. He had a hand up, like he was going to touch Soldier Boyâs shoulder, but thought better at the last second.
âSheâs- Youâll like her, I think,â Hughie twitched, struggling to hold Soldier Boyâs gaze, but still trying. Heâd never say it, but Soldier Boy admired the weed, twitchy kidâs tiny balls, for not giving up and running to the hills. Bravery wasnât exactly in the cocksuckerâs favor. âYouâll like her a lot more than us.â
That almost made Soldier Boy laugh. âThat ainât gonna be hard, kid.â
But screw him north, south, and to Tinseltown, the cocksucker was right.
They walked into the library, and the first thing Soldier Boy noticed was that it was warm and cool all at once. Like stepping into a building made of springtime. Sunlight poured in, but there was a soft hum in the background from the fans. The furniture was cozy, but everything was perfectly clean. Butcher called out a name, lazily bouncing on his feet, and an angelic voice called back.
âBe right there!â
Butcher smirked. Hughie shifted nervously, shooting Soldier Boy looks like heâd explode in this little fairy book house. He wouldnât. Place wasnât worth wasting his bomb on anyways.
Then you floated into view, and Soldier Boy felt the ground under his feet shift. You werenât a molding, self-important, four-eyed bitch. If this was a fairy book house, you were a fairy. If you had the voice of an angel, it was because you were an angle, and the world twisted itself to give you everything you needed. The sunlight bended, hitting you like some scene from those romance movies heâd always refused to shoot. You floated more than walked. You smiled like you knew everything, and it didnât even piss him off.Â
Soldier Boy hadnât been a teenager in almost a hundred years, but suddenly he remembered. How it felt for his face to heat and his cock to twitch and his heart to race under his palms. He kicked himself silently, gritting his jaw and standing a little taller. He was a grown fucking man. An American icon. A hero. He wasnât going to tip over his fucking feet like some kid, especially not for some pretty girl that probably looked down on him. On everyone. The smart ones always did.
They were also the most fun to get in bed. They got bratty, then stupid when he fucked them nice and slow. All the mocking and sass draining out of their pussy, onto Soldier Boyâs hands and cock. Sharp eyes go dazed and sneers fall into open, shocked lips. Â
Youâve got those sharp eyes, as you take their little group in. Theyâre like a hawk, picking them apart with a single look. A hawk in a dollâs body. A sexy, smart little doll.
But thereâs no sneer. Even as you glare at Butcher, youâre more pouting than anything else. Solider Boy wonders if youâd pout while begging for him, or just get defiant and bitchy. Heâd love to find out.
âYouâre getting blood on the carpet,â you tell Butcher, and he shrugs.
âAinât you worried about where Iâm leakinâ the blood from, love-â
âNo.â You cross your arms, lifting you chin. âYouâre going to clean it up.â
Butcherâs shoulders curve slightly. Like a scolded fucking child. âCâmon, I got other shit to be workinâ on-â
âThen you shouldnât have dragged blood on my carpet.â
âBut- I got work I needed ya for-â
âHughie can tell me about it.â You offer Hughie a small smile, and he waves in return.
Soldier Boy stands a little taller. Maybe you just havenât noticed him yet.
âClean,â you snap at Butcher, turning on your heels and marching back between the shelves.
Butcher looks at Hughie and Soldier Boy, like theyâre supposed to save him from this shit. Hughie gives him an apologetic smile, and follows you into the back. Soldier Boy grins, clapping Butcher on the shoulder before following.
âYou didnât tell me she was a firecracker-â
âShe ainât a firecracker,â Butcher muttered, rolling up his sleeves and glaring around the entryway for whatever people use to clean things. âSheâs a fuckinâ problem.â
Soldier Boy smirked, looking back to where you disappeared. âEven fuckinâ better.â
Butcher snorted, giving Soldier Boy a strange, half-amused look. âGood luck with that one, Gov. Donât blow the fuckinâ job.â
Soldier Boy flipped him off. Heâd never blown the job over a woman beforeânot even an ethereal, enchanting oneâand heâs not about to start now. He stood in the corner of your little office, while Hughie asked you questions about books and chemicals and other, smartass shit that Soldier Boyâs never bothered with. He always had people like you on payroll, to give him those answers when he needed them, but usually he didnât. You punch anything hard enough, it breaks. And he was pretty fucking good at punching.
He said that, at one point. Hughie sighed like he was in physical painâkid was fucking dramaticâand you just gave him a curious tilt of your head.
âYouâre good at punching?â
âIâ m the fuckinâ best.â Soldier Boy pushed off the wall, crossing over to the desk. âCould show you sometimes. Teach you how to defend yourself.â
âHm.â
You looked him up and down, and Soldier Boy found himself puffing out his chest and flexing his arms. Heâd dealt with hard to get girls before. They always cave, when he chases long enough. When he gives them a bit of a show, and promises them itâll be worth their time.
âWhat would I be defending myself against?â You asked, soft and sweet. Your voice was like honey. Soldier Boy wanted to get trapped in it, like a fly.
âThere are evil people out there,â he drawled, leaning over the desk.
You didnât lean away, but you blink, and Soldier Boy hears your heartbeat skip. Any reaction is a good one. Meant he was doing something to your body, and that was the first step in getting his foot through the door.
âBut Iâm here to protect you,â Soldier Boy winked, and stuck out a hand. That was his favorite line. It always fucking worked. âSoldier Boy, doll. Pleasure to meet you.â
Usually, that line made women of all ages and makes swoon. Theyâd bat their lashes and giggle if they were easy, roll their eyes and flush if they were hard, get starry-eyed if they were innocent, or twirl their hair of they were just as sinful as Soldier Boy himself. But you looked him up and down, and your heartbeat was at a steady baseline. You watched him like you were trying to read him. Like he had thoughts written over his face, and you were skimming through them. Through him.
âI know,â you said, taking his hand and shaking once. Your fingers werenât trembling. Your smile was kind, but controlled. âNice to meet you.â
Soldier Boy blinked, hand still hanging in the air as you turned back to your computer. Heâd felt an unsteady heartbeat under his fingers, when youâd touched. But it wasnât yours. It was his. He wasnât fucking nervous. His mouth was oddly dry. He cleared his throat and stood back up, trying to strangle some fucking dignity into his body. He wasnât about to fold in half like some fucking pussy. He just hadnât gotten properly laid in too fucking long. You were pretty. That was fucking it.
You helped Butcher and Hughie with the job, tracking down books and flipping through them with nimble fingers. Soldier Boy imagined them wrapped around his cock, and forced himself not to rub himself through his pants. He wasnât about to be that fucking pathetic, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how he couldnât look away from you for a single second, in case you just turned into mist and turned out to be some kind of fucked up hallucination.
Soldier Boy watched you, as you read and spoke to Butcher. You were polite. Please and thank you and tiny fucking giggles that made his balls heavy. It would be fun to fuck all that out of you. All those sweet words pouring out of your lips, as youâd cry and sing for him.
Butcher seemed to respect you, which said something Soldier Boy wasnât sure how to hear. Nothing and everything good. When Hughie told you what supes they were going after, you didnât blink or crow uselessly about murder not being right. Youâd just rolled up your sleeves and gotten to fucking work. Soldier Boy could appreciate that. No use in crying about shit that had to be done.
âHowâd Butcher find someone like you,â Soldier Boy asked when it was just the two of you. You looked up with raised brows, he almost fucking balked.
 Pretty fucking doe-eyes that ripped right through him. Fucking dangerous.
âSomeone like me?â You echoed, and he grunted.
âYouâre too fucking gorgeous to be tangled up in this shit-â
âAm I?â Your lips twitched. âI wish someone wouldâve told me that. I wouldâve kicked you out.â
Soldier Boy opened his mouth, his tongue dragging over his lips. You kept fucking smiling and talking, and he was asking you to smile and talk, but it did something drug-like to his brain and he didnât fucking like it.
âYou know, I used to watch your movies as a kid,â you said casually.
Soldier Boy smirked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He could fucking work with that. âYeah? You a groupie?â
That got another, breathy little laugh from your lips. Christ, the sound was addicting. âNot quite. Iâm not- Thatâs not really something I do.â
âSomethinâ you do? The fuck does that mean.â
You shrugged. âHero worship.â
Soldier Boy frowned. The fuck were heroes for, if not to be worshipped. âYou think youâre too good for that shit? For getting wet from seeinâ someone you want on a screen?â
That got a flush. Itâs the best fucking color heâd seen, on your face. He wanted to kiss over it, make it bloom down your neck and over your tits.
âI bet you were a dirty fuckinâ girl, werenât you,â he leaned further forward, and dared to reach over the desk. To brush his fingers against your arm, and revel in the way you shivered from his touch. âHad posters of me in your room, didnât you. Used to touch yourself, thinkinâ about me breaking through the fucking wall and taking you right there.â
You blinked at him, with those pretty fucking eyes. They were glossy, now. Another step. He was closer, to what he wanted, and it was the best damn feeling in the world.
âWell, Iâm here to make dreams come true, doll,â he traced down your arm, and your breath caught. âJust tell me how you want it, Iâll fuck you âtill youâre too cross-eyed to read this shit.â
He jerked his head to the books, and waited. This was the part where you told him to bend you over the desk, to pin you to the wall, to pull you into his lap and let you ride him until you passed out.
But instead, you fucking laughed. You pulled your arm back and giggled, shaking your head like heâd said something funny. Soldier Boyâs mouth fell open, and he felt like a fucking idiot. You flipped through your little book, ignoring his dumbfounded expression. He opened and closed his mouth like a damn fish, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
âMy favorite was Ghosts of Hanai,â you told him, offering another one of those mind-numbing smiles. âDid you know it was a book first?â
Soldier Boy did not know that. He couldnât remember how to speak, to tell you that.
âItâs a really good book. Obviously youâre not the main character- In the book- But I kind of liked the adaptation anyway. It wasnât as- You know- Good. But it was more fun.â
âIâll show you fun,â he muttered before he could stop himself, and you just giggled again.
If you did that shit one more time, he was going to have to go into the bathroom to beat himself off. Soldier Boy knew why Butcher called you a problem, now. You were perfect, and infuriating, and he shouldâve wanted to put your head through a wall for fucking laughing at him, but he didnât. He wanted to hear that songbird sound again. He wanted to fucking get under your skin, the way youâd seeped under his.
âBye, Soldier Boy,â you waved to him like a sweet siren, when they were ready to go. He grunted, and waved back.
âYou sure she ainât some kind of supe,â he asked Butcher in the van, and Butcher snorted.
âIâve wondered, but nah. Just a fuckinâ human.â
Butcher gave Hughie some kind of secret look that Soldier Boy didnât concern himself with. He was too busy thinking about you. Heâd have to go back to you see you. Heâd make up a reason why. But he wasnât used to not getting things he wanted, and he was worried he might want you so much his annoying fucking heart was going to give out about it. He couldnât allow that.
Youâd remember him. Youâd laugh for him more. Heâd figure out what made you like him, and heâd do it, and then this annoying buzz in his bloodstream could fuck off.
This annoying fucking feeling better fuck off.
It wouldnât fuck off.
Soldier Boy found himself back at your library after a week. If anyone asked, heâd say he tried to stay away. It would be to preserve dignity. To pretend he hadnât been hoping theyâd need more stupid books so he could go back and see you.
You were clinging to the edge of his every thought. That laugh, that smile, the magnetic way youâd spoken and sat and been. Gentle but not weak. Kind but not stupid. A rare kind of thing to be, when you knew the dark kind of shit that grew in the corners of the world. Part of Soldier Boy prayed it was just an act. That heâd talk to you a little more, and youâd be no better than the rest of them. Then he could fuck you and forget after, like heâd done with almost every other person on his long, stained list of bodies.
But you were just fucking like that. And it was insufferable and enchanting and fucking amazing.
âSoldier Boy,â you said when he returned, blinking in surprise, and something else he couldnât read. âYouâre⌠back?â
He grunted. âObviously.â
âDo you need help with another-â
âNo.â
You frowned at him. Did that little head tilt, and Christ, what he wouldnât give to just bury his fucking face in your neck and breathe you in.Â
âI just here to get a book,â he heard himself say, and Jesus, you were doing something to him. He didnât give a fuck about books. He certainly didnât want one.
But you were here. And Soldier Boy had a feeling you wouldnât be open to him just being here to see you.
And you lit up, when he said he wanted a book. Great. Now he was going to have to fucking read, just to get some pussy.
âWhat book?â
âA- Big one.â That had to be impressive. âBiggest youâve got, doll.â
He winked, looping his thumbs through his belt. You made that face again, brow raising slightly. âBig as in long, or complicated?â
Soldier Boy shrugged. âBoth.â
âFiction or Nonfiction?â
Why were there so many kinds of fucking books. âWhichever one you like better. I trust you wonât give me something shit.â
That made your lips twitch, and it hit Soldier Boy like a rush of coke. His head got lighter and the world got sharper, and you smiled at him, and that heartbeat was his again. He really was worse than a fucking teenager.
âWait here,â you told him, and he did. Like a fucking dog.
You came back with a massive heap of a book. There couldnât be that many words in the world, let alone enough sentances to make something that long. Anything worth saying shouldnât take more than a fucking page.
âInfinite Jest.â You passed him the book, and he stared at you. âLong and complicated.â
Soldier Boy grunted, not bothering to spare the book a glance. You were what he was here for, and if you just fucking walked away, he felt like he might explode.
âYou like this thing?â He almost barked, and you paused, already a half-step back.
âItâs okay,â you said slowly. Actually fucking thinking about your answer. âI like his essays better.â
âEssays?â Soldier Boy frowned. âYou like his fuckinâ book reports?â
You gave him one of those coy, honeyed half-smiles again. He was worried he was going to fucking drool. âCreative essays. Like- Book reports about your life.â
Soldier Boy nodded, glancing down to the book, then back to you. He didnât want to read this shit. Book reports had, as far as he remembered, always been short. And he wanted to see what kind of shit you liked to read. What you considered good. âI want one of those. Instead of this.â
Heâd meant it to be an order, but it came out without the usual edge he put in his tone. That edge was his best weapon. It had won him countless battles before they even fucking started.
But you just gave him that fucking look. The one where he felt flimsy and stupid and weak, his body all excited from your attention and his fingers itching to dig into your soft looking skin. You smiled, and he swallowed, drawing himself a little taller. He wouldnât just fall into you. He refused to be that fucking weak.
âRead that first,â you told him. âThen weâll talk about the essays.â
You turned and walked away. Soldier Boy let you go, because if he touched you, he was worried he was going to turn into more of a weak fucking lapdog than he already was. He wished he could read youâread that smile, those looks, the lacey tone you took with him and seemingly no one elseâas well as you seemed to be able to peel him right apart. He looked back at the book, roughly flipping it to the first page. He tried to read the first sentence, but the words floated off the fucking page and didnât even brush through his brain. He couldnât read this shit.
Then weâll talk, youâd said.
Youâd talk to him, if he read this.
Christ on a Cross. He was going to try and read a book.
It took him a month. A month of staring at words in the dead of night, when he couldnât sleep and no one was around to see. If Butcher caught him trying this shit, heâd never hear the end of it. Hell, he wasnât hearing the end of it now, and no one even knew he was reading.
âWhere you goinâ, Gov?â Butcher barked as Soldier Boy moved to the door, and he scowled at the air.
âNone of your fucking business.â
Then Butcher said your name, smiling knowingly, and Soldier Boy wanted to punch his teeth in. âYouâre goinâ to see her again, ainât you-â
âSaid it was none of your fucking business,â Soldier Boy spat, raising a firm finger. âNot another word, or I punch your teeth into your asshole, you got that?â
Butcher just laughed to himself, and Soldier Boy ground his teeth. It wasnât anything like your laugh, but then again, nothing was.
âHi, Soldier Boy,â you greeted him without looking now. He wanted to think that meant something. That you were getting as obsessed with his presence as he was with yours. âDid the dictionary help?â
âMhm,â he glanced at the sitting area, where a few old folksâyounger than him, but wrinkled in a way heâd never beâwere poking through the newspapers and chatting. There were some kids in the book section. Few teens giggling, somewhere deeper between the shelves.
No one paying him any mind. No one to look at him and wonder what the fuck Soldier Boy was doing in a library, why heâd needed a dictionary, like he was some dumbass who couldnât speak or read or-
âI needed a dictionary,â you said, and Soldier Boy blinked. You were looking at him. Right at him. He felt it, in his heartbeat, and he never wanted it to fucking stop.
âWhat,â he said, stupid and drunk, and you smiled.
âI needed a dictionary. To get through Infinite Jest. The first time,â you amended, your eyes getting strangely softer the longer you watched him. âBut- I still needed it.â
Soldier Boyâs hands curled into fists. âYou read it multiple times?â This one time was feeling like it was going to fucking kill him.
âI read most things multiple times.â
He snorted. âJesus.â
That made you blink. A faint flush creeped onto your face, and you looked back to your computer. Soldier Boy froze. Your heart was doing a little fucking stumble.
Interesting.
âYouâre real fuckinâ smart, huh?â He tried, just to see what would happen.
Your heart did the little stumble again.
Jackpot.
âMaybe,â you mumbled, glaring at your screen. âI just- Like books.â
Soldier Boy snorted. âYeah. Think I figured that one out myself.â
You hummed, not meeting his gaze anymore. You were getting quiet. He didnât like it. Not like this. Youâd be allowed to get quiet and shy when he was balls deep inside of you. Right now, he wanted to hear that pretty fucking voice, teasing and sassing and helping him, all at once.
âWhat kind of books do you like,â he asked, and it sounded lame to his own ears.
But you looked at him. And screw him up the ass and sideways, it was fucking worth it.
âWhat kind of books do I like?â
âThatâs what I fucking said, isnât it?â
You stared at him. He stared back, because there was one thing he wasnât going to let himself do, and it was back off of this.
âWhy?â
And Soldier Boy leaned back. Because you said it like that was a real question. Like he wouldnât, obviously, naturally, want to know every fucking thing about you. Women liked it when someone listened, heâd learned over the years. Heâd listen to whatever the fuck you wanted to say, if it got you closer to being in his arms.
âBecause,â he said, and your lips tugged down into that pretty pout.
âBecause why?â
âCanât I just fuckinâ want know?â He snapped, and you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms.
âNo one ever just wants to know.â
Soldier Boy rolled his eyes. âWell, youâre looking at someone, doll. So get that through your pretty head.â
You blinked. Flushed. Wrapped your arms around yourself, like you were trying to stop that loud heartbeat from jumping right out of your chest.
âI like everything,â you said stiffly, and Soldier Boy smirked.
âEverything, huh.â
You shrugged, and he leaned over the desk. Your breath hitched, and he knew his features were turning wolfish, but he didnât fucking care. You seemed into it anyways.
âEverything,â he breathed, and your lips pressed in a nervous little line. âShow me what everything is, then.â
And Iâll show you everything, gorgeous. He thought about saying it. Thought about how youâd melt and get nervous and heâd have his in.
But he didnât. He couldnât figure out whyâwhat the fuck was wrong with him, what the fuck you were doingâbut the words got caught, and he didnât say them. He had you where he wanted you anyway, he rationalized. Talking to him. Smiling at him. Breaking you right now would be too fucking easy.
Since when had he not wanted easy.
Maybe since you pulled him through the bookshelves with light, delicate fingers on his wrist. Like you were afraid of breaking him. Since you talked and talked and talked, and he realized how fucked he was.
He wasnât listening to you talk to fuck you. He just wanted to hear you talk, about books and ships and history and romance and any other fucking thing you wanted. He went home with a book he hadnât gone there for, because you said it would help him keep trudging through Infinite Jest, and it did. He finished it that week, and marched back into your library with a prideful grin, slamming the monster of a book down on your desk.
âDone,â he declared, and you smiled at him like you were fucking happy, and it did something to his chest he didnât want to name. Something fucking gooey and light. Something dangerous and strange.
âDid you like it?â You asked him, like it fucking mattered.Â
Soldier Boy nodded, and you beamed.
âI have something for you, next.â
Of course you fucking did. You were just perfect like that. And the next thing was a damn picture book, but when he glared at you, you just giggled and pushed it further into his hands.
âTrust me,â you said, and fuck him, he did.
He took the damn book, because you were the one handing it to him, and heâd read it, because that smile was the best thing heâd ever damn seen.
âBye, Soldier Boy,â you said when he walked away, and he paused.
Soldier Boy. The character, in the movie you hadnât liked as much as the book. âBen.â
You blinked, and he sighed.
âMy name is Ben.â
âOh- Okay,â you flushed, and there it was again. That little skip in your heart. âMy name is-â
âI know your name, doll,â he drawled, and you bowed your head. Shy and adorable and he was so fucked.
âRight. I- I knew that.â
He chuckled, grinning down at you, and that hawk sharpness in your eyes was gone. You looked like a fucking bunny, and screw him, he wanted to bend you over right there. He brushed his fingers with yours, and you made the tiniest fucking sound.
âBye, pretty girl,â he said, and you mumbled another bye of your own.
Soldier Boy took a deep breath through his nose, and smelled it. Heady and thick and purely fucking you.
You were turned on. It made his own cock twitch in response, throbbing and begging him to coat itself in that sweet slick between your legs. To feel the way it would stick and slide against him, to cover himself in you and make you his and-
He took a deep breath. Heâd be back tomorrow. Heâd keep testing it, until you snapped. You made him chase, heâd keep fucking chasing. He didnât want to just take you anymore. He wanted to make you admit it. That you wanted him as much as he wanted you.
He was worried that wasnât fucking possible. That no one had ever wanted anyone, as much as he wanted you.
Feelings were so fucking annoying. He still refused to name them. Youâd do that for him, with all your smart words and pretty eyes.Â
Soldier Boy looked over his shoulder before he walked out the door. You were watching him. He smirked, waving a hand in goodbye. You flushed and looked frantically back to your computer.Â
Heâd get you where he wanted you. Didnât matter what heâd need to do. He looked at the book in his hands. Comic, youâd called it. Heâd give it a shot. For you.
He was starting to worry, about the type of shit heâd do for you. Â
âWhatâs your thing,â Ben grunted at you one day, and you frowned.
âMy thing?â
âEveryoneâs got something that gets them in this shitty game,â he said. âThey kill someone you love? Help someone you hated. One of those soft little fuckinâ pussies try and do something to you?â
A small, angry part of him flared at that. Anything that had touched you would burn.
âI mean- Itâs just the right thing to do,â you mumbled, looking back to your book, and Ben snorted.
Of course youâd do the right fucking thing. He knew you better now. He shouldnât have bothered to be surprised.
You liked things too much. You were too soft and too hard in all the strangest places. You never looked at him like you were afraid, and you praised him for finishing comic book after comic bookâyouâd been right, he liked those things, more than heâd say aloud, but you knewâand then youâd flush when he gave you a little too much attention and get sassy when he tested you.
He knew about your past now. There were darker parts that made him angry. Happier shit that made you smile, and made him want you to smile about him one day.
You knew about his past. More than heâd ever told the tabloids. Heâd found it slipping out of him, the longer he was around you. But you had that effect on him. Flowing over his like the fucking ocean and catching him in your tide. He didnât fight it. Anything that made you look at him, that let him tease you, and made you all fucking soft and sugary.
Ben brought you dinner now, like some kind of delivery boy. But you always smiled at him, and asked him how his day had been, and damn him that kept making it worth it. You kept making it worth it. He was allowed in your place now, and he didnât question why. Heâd just been there, and youâd been going home, and heâd been allowed to walk you there. It wasnât too far from the library, and pretty fucking small, but it smelled like you. Felt like you. So he liked it, and he found a reason to be there almost every fucking day, and that reason was food or your safety or another comic book. Youâd talk and heâd listen, then heâd talk and youâd listen, and fuck him, he felt better than he had in longer than he wanted to admit. In maybe forever. And it was all fucking you.
âWow.â Hughie had said to him, about a week ago. âYou really donât just want to like- You know. Bang her.â
Ben had grunted, not bothering to respond. All the shit he said just made them bigger asses. Butcher had taken to asking him to read every single piece of paper they came across. Frenchie had been making kissy faces behind his back, and asked him to make out with a book. The only reason Ben hadnât crushed his skull with a single hand was that heâd be kicked out, and youâd probably frown upon that upon that.
âHeard you been reading,â MM had grunted to him. âDidnât know you knew how.â
Ben had ignored that too, mostly because he hadnât know he could read either. But he was getting better at it. Helpful to have a good motivator.
You.
He didnât want to just fuck you anymore. He wasnât sure what the fuck he wanted. You smiled and the world felt in order. You said his name and it sounded like being called home. Fucking you would be a benefitâyouâd only gotten hotter, the longer heâd looked, and his shower and pillowcases knew your name as well as his dreams did by nowâbut he also liked just⌠sitting here. Talking. Like some cucked, pathetic little housewife-
âWhy do you do it?â You asked, and Ben paused.
âDo what? Fight?â
You nodded, watching him with that judgement free curiosity. He frowned at his burrito, hoping it would give him the answer. He didnât fucking know. He never thought about that kind of shit, unless you asked him to.
âCouldnât you just⌠leave?â You asked softly, and he glanced up at you under heavier eyes.
âYou want me to leave, doll?â
âNo.â
Youâd answered so quickly. It made him feel a million feet tall, and decide that maybe flying wasnât that fucking bad, if this was what it felt like.
âBut- Do you really want to do this forever?â Your voice was so quiet, Ben was worried you were trying to tread lightly around him. He never wanted you to do that. Not with him. If he was getting raw and weak, you had to fucking come down with him.
âNah,â he took a large bite of his burrito, speaking through the mouthful. âSick of it. All of it. Been lookinâ for something better-â
âBen,â you chastise, holding out a napkin. âChew.â
He rolled his eyes, but chewed. You smiled, waiting patiently for him to finish. He never fucking knew how you did that. Put up with him, when all the members of Butcherâs team looked like they wanted to throttle him every damn second. He used to like it like that. To be satisfied, with the way people would glare at him and not be able to do a fucking thing about it.
But you just⌠liked him. And that felt better than anything else.
âLooking for something better,â he said after he swallowed. âYâknow. Not this shit.â
âWhat does better look like?â
You asked it gently, and he doesnât need to think about it.
Better looked like you.
âStill figuring that out, doll,â he muttered, and something taut flashed over your features. Ben frowned. Times like this, he really fucking wished he could read you.
âI hope you figure it out soon,â you mumbled, and Ben swallowed.
He did too.
Youâre getting confused, but Ben is a confusing man.
Everything youâd heard about himâfrom Butcher, Annie, and the TVâsaid that heâd be a monster. An impossible, murderous asshole whoâd snap you in half to get what he wanted. Over sexual and disrespectful. Arrogant and cold.
And he was arrogant. He was impossible, and a bit of an asshole. Heâd flirted with you like he couldnât help himself, and looked at you like he wanted to eat you alive.
But then he actually read the book. He smiled at you, and got soft around edges you hadnât even noticed were so sharp. It had been like watching barbed wire unravel. Concerning and strange and⌠endearing.
Ben was surprisingly endearing.
It was like heâd never just had a friend before. He wandered after you in the library like a puppy, and leaned over your desk with squared shoulders like he wasnât quite sure what he was doing himself.
âWhatâs that,â heâd ask you every day, about almost every thing, and youâd shove down a laugh. Under all the gruffness and anger, he mostly just seemed confused. About the world. About you.
So at least it was mutual. The uncertainty.
Because for everything you understood about Benâhis loneliness, his age, his strange puppy like demeanorâyou didnât get this. What he meant to you. What you meant to him.
Youâre afraid youâre in love with him. That somewhere between take-out dinners and telling him you read romance books, he stopped being just Ben and became yours.
Not yours.
No one elseâs. He says he hasnât gotten laid in forever. Between visiting you and working, youâre sure he hasnât had time to mess around in a bar or alleyway. That makes you smug, in a way that sits too brightly in your chest. You donât want him to find that kind of feeling anywhere. You wish heâd ask for it from you.
He makes moves. He flirts and teases and smirks when it pools between your legs, nostrils flaring and eyes gleaming. Like he fucking knows. But he never does anything about it, and youâre going insane.
You mean something to him. You had to. Heâs not the kind of man who wouldâve stuck around this long, if he didnât. But heâs also not the kind of man to deprive himself of things. If he wanted you, he shouldâve fucking taken you by now.
Hughie turned red, and mumbled something about this not being his business, when you brought it up.
âJust- Talk to him,â heâd pleaded. âNot me. Never me- I- I like life.â
Youâd frowned, but Hughie had frantically changed the subject. He seemed to know something you didnât. They all did.
âHeâs fuckinâ obsessed with you,â Butcher had drawled, when youâd asked him. âThatâs what we know.â
Your face had burned. âItâs- No heâs- I mean- I know he- He likes women, and- Iâm one- But- Just sex-â
âLove, he could find sex on the street or gutter if his dick needed a tug,â Butcher had rolled his eyes like youâpacing and wringing your handsâwere the insane one. âHe read for you. Iâm real bloody sure he didnât even know what the fuck a book was, âfore he laid eyes on your pretty fuckinâ face.â
Youâd smacked Butcher. Heâd laughed, and started asking more mission-related questions.
Youâd obsessed over it all day. Obsessed with you. He wasnât. He couldnât be. You were you and Ben was Ben. He was Soldier Boy. The handsome face youâd grown up fawning over, the big man on the TV screen that seemed untouchable. Youâd almost fainted when you saw him, something like a survival instinct locking over you and stopping you from becoming a downright pathetic schoolgirl. You tried to divorce him in your head, from the idealization of a childhood crush.
But you couldnât. He was meaner and kinder and smarter and cruder than anything youâd managed to dream of. His praise made you dizzy and his mocking tone sent a pool of desire between your thighs, and then he did the dishes when he thought you werenât lookingâyou think he might be under the impression youâll believe theyâre just doing themselvesâand asked about your interests and didnât fuck around.
He was supposed to fuck around. To make it easy on you, to get over the infatuation.
He hadnât. And now youâre so far gone you spend every day gorging yourself on his attention.
Obsessed.
Pretty girl, he calls you. Youâd like to be his pretty girl, if heâd just put a claim on you. You wish you could drink enough to be brave. You wish heâd be selfish again, and just fucking take you.
But youâre going to have to do this the hard way. The way that cleaves you in half, if thereâs a single wrong serration. If he just carves your chest open, takes your heart, and doesnât offer his in return.
You have to try. Because if you donât, youâre going to be here forever.
He brings you your favorite food, tonight. He sits with his knee bumping yours, and it makes your head so clouded you almost forget your plan.
âDo you have⌠anything?â You ask, your voice barely more than a nervous breath. âThat you want to do?â
Ben gives you a sideways, almost confused look. âThe fuck does that mean?â
âI mean, just- What are you planning to do?â
âWhen.â
âIn the future.â
âAh,â he shrugs, raising his burger back to his mouth. âThis.â
You swallow. Thatâs not helpful. âThis?â You prompt weakly, and he nods. âYou mean- This?â You wave a hand around the room, and Benâs lips twitch. âMe?â
âYou?â
He says it like he canât believe what heâs hearing, and your heart shrinks.
Thatâs what you thought. You never shouldâve listened to Butcher and Hughie, you knew that wasnât what he meant, you fucking knew it and- God, you were so fucking stupid, to think heâd want you back.
âNevermind,â you mumble, and Ben stiffens.
âDoll-â
âIâm getting a new shipment of books tomorrow.â You donât want to talk about this anymore. âSo- I might be too busy to eat lunch-â
Ben snaps your name, and you stare at your hands.
âI- Um- I donât know how long it will take, so you donât have to come over-â
Ben grabs your wrist, his touch almost searing into your skin, and when you look up, heâs staring at you. Heâd moved to kneel over you. Your noses would brush if you twitched. His breath fans over your face, and youâre embarrassingly slack under his hand.
âBenâŚâ You whisper, because you donât want to do this. You donât want whatever fragile thing you hadâeven if it was just friendshipâto break.
But he doesnât move back. He never really has.
âYouâre sulking,â he mutters, and you try to bow your head, but he catches your chin with two fingers. Tilts it slowly back up, forcing you to hold his gaze. âWhy.â
Your voice is tiny. âDoesnât matter-â
âThe fuck it doesnât matter. Whatâs wrong with you.â
âNothing,â you try to avert your gaze. Itâs impossible. âI just- Youâre- Iâm-â
You cut yourself off lamely. Ben leans in closer, jaw ticking as he scans over your features.
âYou want it to be you?â
Your mouth falls open. âI- What?â
âMy future.â He rasps. âYou want it to be you?â
âDo you?â
Your mouth falls open. âI- What?â
âMy future.â He rasps. âYou want it to be you?â
âDo you?â
You expect him to laugh, but the lines on his face just deepen. He lets out a sharp breath through his lips, then smirks.
âMaybe I do,â he almost purrs, tipping your chin a little futher back. âWhat then, doll?â
You gape at him. So close. Saying words he wonât be able to take back, but not enough to make you melt. Youâre still guarded. Still careful.
âSay it,â you whisper, because you have to be sure. âThe- The whole thing.â
Ben frowns. âDoll-â
âSay it,â you almost plead. âIf you mean it-â Please fucking mean it. âIf this isnât just- If Iâm not just some fixation, Ben, please say it-â
He crashes his mouth over yours, and your words turn into a long, hungry whimper. His lips are chapped and warm. Soft but firm, the kiss demanding but controlled. His hand slides into your hair, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck, and you melt into his strong body. His tongue traces over your lower lip, and you whine softly.
You get breathless embaressingly fast. Your thighs press together, but heâs not making it easy on you. His hand on your neck drags down your spine and splays possessively on your back. He pulls you closer, humming in satisfaction when you brace your fingers on his thighs. His knee pushes between your legs, and you grind down against it without a thought.
âChrist,â he kisses the corner of your mouth, smirking as you pant and cling to his jeans. âNeedy little thing, ainât you?â
âBen,â you whimper, and he hums.
ââS alright. Iâm gonna take care of you.â He hooks his arm under your knees, the other sliding under your arms. âCâmon.â
You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into the air, pressing your face into his neck. He carries you steadily to the bedroom, setting you down with suprising gentleness on the bed. You blink hopelessly at him, as he draws back up. He still hasnât said it.
And like he can read your mind, Ben smirks and flicks your nose with his thumb.
âNot a fixation,â he says. âJust my pretty fuckinâ girl.â
You flush, but refuse to cave that fast. âThatâs not saying it.â
Ben snorts. âJesus, woman-â
âSay it.â You snap, beforeâunder the burn of his gazeâadding a mumbled, âPlease.â
Ben chuckles. He peels off his shirt, and you almost forget to be stubborn. His big. Even bigged than he looks with his shirt on. His skin is tanned and soft, his boobs might be bigger than yours, and you can see the flex of thick, well built muscle with every breath. Your tongue flicks over your lips, and he smirks.
âYouâre real fuckinâ demanding, you know that?â
âYou- Youâre supposed to- Ben-â Your protests fall flat, as he trails a light touch up the underside of your leg. âBen- Thatâs- Youâre- Not playing fair-â
âIâm not tryinâ to play fair, doll,â he teases. âIâm tryinâ to get you ready.â
âReady?â you squeak, and he hums, squeezing under your knee.
âWant you to be nice and relaxed for me,â he murmurs. âGonna use this pretty fuckinâ body right. Make you wet, make you fuckinâ stupid.â
He pushes his fingers under the hem of your shorts, and your breathing is staggered and shallow. You lean back and push into his touch all at once, and Benâs grin widens.
âLook at that. Already playinâ nice.â
You try to glare at him, but he lean back down, pressing you back into the mattress with a deep kiss. Your fingers shoot into his hair, as his weight settles between your legs. It forces them open, his budge pressing right against you clothed, aching pussy. You hadnât even let yourself fully feel itâthe vastness of your desireâbecause youâd been worried it wouldâve just consumed you entirely. That youâd turn into some sex-crazed lunatic, imagining Ben above you and touching you and kissing you. You wouldâve turned into a puddle that spent her days in bed with a vibrator, dreaming of what she couldnât have.
But now you have it. You have him. Kissing you like heâs trying to let you consume him. He groans, with every whimper he draws from your lips. His hips roll against your core, and your breath catches. Your cunt feels like itâs almost in pain, from the neglect of intention. You scratch at Benâs shoulders and belt, trying to drag him closer and tear every barrier between you apart with only your nails.
Ben catches your wrist, and pins it over your head. You thrash and strain, and he just chuckles, dragging his thumb over soft skin.
âLook at you,â he rolls his hips down again, and your back arches off the bed. âHow the fuck could you think I wouldnât want this?â
You blink at him, breathing through your mouth, and Ben leans down. His kiss brushes the very tip of your nose. You mewl, wired and desperate, and Ben laughs. The mockery of it only makes the heat between your legs stronger.
âYou make me fuckinâ crazy,â he says, jaw clenched tight. âMake me⌠Feel things.â
âYou make me feel things too,â you breathe out, and Ben stills.
âYeah?â
You almost giggle at the slack, worshipful look on his face. Guarded but leaking with a hope youâre sure his old, old heart doesnât know how to recognize. You donât strain against his pull on you. You just lean up and brush a kiss over his jawline.
His whole body shudders. You sink back into the cushions, beaming as his wrecked expression. A low growl rolls through his chest, and his eyes go so dark itâs almost predatory.
âYou,â his voice has dropped, so impossibly deep. âYouâŚâ
Words seem to fail him. You donât mind. You donât love Ben because heâs a man of words. You have enough of them as it is. You surround yourself with them, and there are only so many in the world that can express this. The electric, new and fragile and hungry thing between you.Â
You love Ben because heâs a man of action. And you know heâs not going to be able to say he loves you.
So he crashes back down, and shows you instead.
It starts with open mouth kisses, over your collarbone and throat. You head tips back, your mouth going slack, and Ben moans against your skin.
âSo fuckinâ responsive.â He snakes a hand under your body, giving you ass a firm squeeze. âKnew you would be. Sensitive fuckinâ doll, probably getting fuckinâ soaked from just a little touching.â
Humiliations burn with arousal in your gut, deep and hot and intoxicating. You are soaked. You can feel it every time you shift against him.
âYeah, thatâs right,â Ben coos, kissing a particularly soft part of your neck. âI know how bad you want this. I can fuckinâ smell it.â
Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. âYou- You what?â
âYou heard me,â he pushes your shirt slowly up, thick fingers brushing over the soft skin of your stomach. âEvery time you got needy, doll. I could almost taste it.â
âAnd you- You never-â
âYouâre the one who said to be sure.â
His tone is mocking, but his touch is hot and his expression is shockingly soft. You flush under the attention, unsure what to do yourself. Just splayed on the bed for him to play with, dazed and confused. Ben grins like a wolf, and tears off your shirt without a warning. You almost protest, but he doesnât give you the chance.
âNo bra,â he takes on perked nipple, rolling it between his fingers with a dangerous smile. âFuckinâ slut.â
You swallow, watching with wide eyes as he lean over your chest. Electricy shoots through your body, as he wraps his mouth around your neglected nipple, sucking lightly as he plays with the other one between those infernal fingers. You stare at the ceiling with fluttering lashes, lost in the warmth of his mouth. His tongue flicks, and you whimper. Benâs teeth graze against you, and a weak noise of his name falls from your lips.
He smirks, dragging more kisses over the curve of your breast. He gives your nipple one last flick, then kisses over the hurt.
âAlready beinâ so quiet,â he teases, toying with the band of your shorts. âThink I might need to make you scream, doll. Make you prove how bad you want this cock.â
âI- I want it-â You stammer, pushing up on your elbows. âDonât- I want it-â Â
âShh.â Ben presses his finger against your mouth, and your jaw snaps shut.
He blinks. You swallow, trying to drag up the strength to resist him again, but itâs too late. Heâs seen it. How fucking desperate you are to please him.
âJesus,â he mutters, mostly to himself. âYouâre- Chirst.â
Your cheeks burn. You try to roll onto your stomach, but Ben catches you and rolls you back. You pout at him, silently pleading with him not to make this a fucking thing, but he just keeps examining you. His gaze burns over your skin. You think youâre going to fucking explode.
Slowlyâalmost carefullyâBen pushes his thumb into your mouth. You take it, batting your lashes and loosening your jaw. The pad of his fingers tickles the back of your throat, and you suck lightly, eyes fluttering shut. Ben massages your thigh, and your legs fall further open.
âThis what you really fuckinâ wanted, huh,â Ben mutters, and you hum, swirling your tongue around him. âYouâll do anything I fuckinâ tell you.â
You hum, sucking harder. You eyes burn, and you squeeze them shut.
Ben taps your cheek with his free forefinger. âOpen.â
You obey, blinking through the shame, not letting yourself slack on his thumb. You flick against it, the same way heâd played with your nipple, and his throat bobs.
âFuckinâ dangerous,â he says, and you donât understand why he thinks that. Youâre the pathetic one here.
But Ben pulls his thumb back, and with a softness you didnât know he had, he leans down and brushes his lips against yours. Itâs a restrained, teasing kiss. You think youâre going to cry, but then he pushes his knee back against your core, and you can only gasp against his mouth.
âThatâs it, doll,â he mutters. âRelax for me.â
âBe- Ben-â You blubber, already fucking ruined. âTouch me, please-â
He deepens the kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth with such demand you almost sob. He knee grinds itself against you, moving back only so he can rip your shorts and panties away. Your breath hitches, as two massive fingers drag their way through your cunt.
âWhat a fuckinâ mess,â Ben growls. âIâve been neglecting you, havenât I. Not fuckinâ my pretty girl like she needs.â
You whine, nodding like a bobblehead. Ben pulls slightly back, kissing a stray tear on your cheek.
âFucking crybaby,â he hisses. âBarely even done anything yet, youâre going to be a fucking wreck when Iâm done.â
God, you are. Thereâs no way around it. Those two fingers are curling right against your weeping pussy, and if he doesnât do something soon, youâre going to fucking scream.
âIâll give you something to really cry about.â Ben slams a quick, harsh kiss back on your lips before pulling away. âNo cumming, âtill I say. You got that?â
You stare at him, and the softness is gone. His jaw is set, his eyes sharp, and his voice a rough command. Usually, youâd laugh at his attempts to boss you around, but right now youâre barely more than putty in his arms. You nod, and Ben huffs in satisfaction.
âGood girl.â
Your cunt squeezes around nothing. Ben must smell the gush, because his nostrils flare and his fingers dig into your hips.
âBeen waitinâ too fucking long for this,â he says, kissing his way down your body. âGoing to take my fuckinâ time, doll. Think Iâve earned that much, keeping my cock in my pants long as I did.â
You mewl an agreement, and Ben laughs.
âAnything I say,â he mutters to himself, pulling your legs over his shoulders. âToo fuckinâ good to be true.â
Youâd argue this wasnât good, if it wasnât the best feeling youâve ever experienced. Youâre completely at Benâs mercy, one massive hand massaging your ass as the opposite parts your pussy folds, giving him a good look at the evidence of your desperation.
Ben hums in approval, and your pussy clenches again. He laughs, kissing the inside of your thigh, and blows a puff of cool air against your clit. Your hips fly off the bed as you cry out, and Ben slams them down with a single hand.
âStay still.â He orders, and you whimper in acknowledgement.
Youâre going to try. Youâre really going to fucking try, to listen. To be good for him.
But he doesât make it fucking easy.
Ben dives headfirst into your pussy, and you almost fucking scream. You knew he was experienced, but this feels like someoneâs mouth fucking you with a sex machine. A hot, messy sex machine that has rough lips and a thick tongue, plunging in and out of your gaping cunt. His nose drags against your clit, rubbing into it over and over like heâs trying to set you off, and you grab at the sheets to try and achnor yourself.
âBe- Ben- Fuck-â He makes out with your clit, and your eyes roll back in your head. âOh- Oh my god-â
He pulls back, smacks your pussy, and pushes his face back into your core. Your body doesnât even seem to know how to process it, every nerve so lit up that itâs scrambled and dazed. Youâre almost, literally, overloaded with pleasure.
Ben keeps eating you out with the fervor of a starved man. He uses his whole face, tonguing you like heâs trying to memorize the way you squeeze around him. Whenever you cry out for him, he spanks your pussy, and you canât tell if itâs a punishment or reward. Maybe both, if the way your cunt pulses with every hit is an indication.
He hits your pussy again, right when youâre so close to the edge you can taste it, and you almost cum. The only thing that stops you it is physically yanking yourself back, trying to escape the intensity of his touch.
Ben grabs you and drags you back. You whine, looking up at him with glossy, tear stained eyes. He wipes them away with his thumb, glaring down at your open, wrecked expression.
âThe fuck did I say about moving?â
âI- I didnât-â
âYou did.â
He plants one hand on your lower abdomen, spanking your pussy with the other. Once. Twice. Your eyes roll back and the tears roll down your cheeks, but Ben just sneers.
âYou wanna cum, doll?â
âYes- Yes, please-â
âThen be fuckinâ good.â
He spanks your pussy again, and pushes his face back in. Your cunt is so abused and raw it only takes a few seconds to work you back up to where you were before. You try not to move, but then Benâlike he wants you not to listenâflicks his clit back and forth over your clit, so fast it feels like a vibrator. Your thighs lock around his head, and your back arches off the mattress.
This time, Ben doesnât pull back and spank you. This time is worse. He just⌠Keeps going. Heâs strong enough to keep your hips steady against his face. He grabs your ankles, and forces them to stay around his head. You canât get away from him, as he works your pussy. You thrash in the sheets, crying out and shoving his head as it becomes borderline impossible to hold your orgasm in, but he doesnât fucking stop.
Youâre crying, loud and pathetic, and Ben just moans against your cunt. You roll onto your stomach, trying to crawl away as your traitorous pussy grinds against his face, and Ben slaps your ass. One arm leaves your bodyâthough it doesnât help you at allâand you hear skin slapping behind you. You manage to twist over your shoulder, and almost cum just from the sight.
Ben, jerking himself off as he keeps you pinned to his face. His cock is thick and big, bigger than anything youâve ever see. Itâs almost pretty, and thatâs not something a cock should be. Heâs leaking with pre-cum. You want to lap it off of him.
He slams you further onto his face, and you mewl, collapsing back into the matteress. You might pass out, with the effort to keep your orgasm in. You can barely think, barely speak. Youâre just sobbing into the sheets and lost in the pleasure.
Then it stops.
Ben pulls away, and the loss is worse than the torture. You cry out, babbling something like his name, and Benâs lips slot gently over yours.
âDoinâ so fucking well, babydoll,â he mutters. âJust a little longer. Itâll feel good.â
You nod, trying to chase his lips when he pulls away. He hums in amusement, pressing a kiss to your neck, and drags your ass up into the air. Your knees are already wobbly. You wouldnât be able to stay up, if Ben didnât wrap an arm around your stomach and force you up.
âNever seen someone so fuckinâ gorgous when they cry,â he mutters, rubbing that thick cock between the lips of your pussy. âThink I just like you wet, honey. Wet and fuckinâ sweet.â
He gathers some arousal with his fingers, then reaches over to press them against your lips.
âTaste,â he orders, and you obey thoughtlessly.
You donât taste bad. Just⌠Strange. You moan, but mostly because you like Benâs fingers being back in your mouth.
âThatâs it,â Ben coos, lining himself up against your entrance. âKeep suckinâ, pretty girl. Know it helps.â
You hum, and youâre too gone to actually think about what he said. It helps.
Then Ben starts to push inside you, and it becomes obvious what he meant. You squeak around his fingers, and Ben shushes you, slowly. Pushing every inch in so slowly, letting you adjust before giving a little more. Youâve never been strenched this wide, had such deep an angle. You keep sucking on his thumb, trying to find something to do with your body but seize up and wiggle. Ben thumbs slowly at your clit, helping it get further and further in.
âFuck,â he hisses when he bottoms out, his balls pressed against the curve of your ass. âFit me like a fuckinâ glove, doll- Christ-â
Ben leans fully over you, his body blanketing yours and his hand splaying back over your stomach. His face presses into the crook of your neck, his thumb pulling out of your mouth so his hand can wrap around your throat. He grinds his hips down, and you mewl, fresh tears falling from your eyes.
Ben kisses them away, rolling his hips again. His cock hits so deep inside you, you think you see stars. Just having him in you is cruel. Youâre so full, with so little friction, itâs a wonder youâre not sobbing.
But Ben takes mercy, squeezing your neck gently before whispering, âSing for me, babydoll.â
He pulls almost fully out, slams back in, and you scream. Itâs a broken, delighted sound of pleasure, and Ben groans against your skin. He lets go of your throat, letting your cheek press into the mattress, and grabs your hand. Your fingers tangle together, as you pant. Thereâs nothing you can really do but take it. The size of him along, it knocks the air clean from your lungs. Ben presses demanding kisses, over your face and neck. You try to kiss him back, but you mostly just writhe and cry out his name.
Heâs like an animal, with all his grunts and growls of your name. Every thrust drags his cock over your g-spot, splitting you open over and over until youâre just a ball of tears and nerves in Benâs arms. His thumb wanders back down to your clit, rubbing tight, harsh circles, and you scream. The Zpressure in your body feels seconds from exploding, and you really donât think you can take much more.
âBe- Ben-â Your eyes cross, as he keeps pounding into your gushing cunt. âOoooh- Bennn-â
âI know,â he kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, his hips snapping down like a drill. âSoak my cock, pretty girl. You can do it, come on-â
The permission is all you needed. Benâs hips snap forward, the head of his cock angled to drive into that gooey spot, and you come undone. Your orgasm is blinding and powerful, sweeping through every inch of your body. It lasts, as Ben fucks and fingers you through it, unraveling you so completely you think you black out for a moment. All you remember is a heavenly, strangely pure kind of floating feeling, and Benâs growled praise in your ear.
âGood girl,â he hisses, and you coo, pussy fluttering and weeping. âFuckinâ- Gonna fill you up, doll, fill you up real fuckinâ good- Iâll be leakinâ out of this pussy when Iâm done, let everyone know who the fuck you belong to- My girl, my fuckinâ girl-â
Benâs thrusts grow jagged, his hand moving back to your throat, and you make a blubbering sound of agreement. He chuckles, choked and rough.
âYouâd fuckinâ love that. Beinâ full of me, beinâ mine, beinâ- Fuck-â
Ben cums, thick ropes of cum spurting into your cunt. Thereâs so much of it, so much of him, you can almost feel it in your throat. Almost fucking taste it. He tries to fuck you through it, but soon his release is dripping down your thighs and spraying back to your calves, and he pulls out. A stream of it hits your back as he moans, and you only squeak when Ben rolls you over and paints your stomach and tits white as well.
Itâs a glorious fucking sight. Ben in all his glory, his cock wrapped in his fist and coated in your juices, his chest heaving as he moans your name and cums all over your body. When heâs done he doubles over, crashing his lips against yours and kissing you with so much fervor, you could almost think no sex had happened at all.
He pulls back, and you giggle. You donât know why. It just feels like the right fucking thing to do, with how softly heâs looking at you. How unbelievably fucking lucky you are. Ben raises his brows, rolls his eyes, and presses a softer kiss to your lips.
âYou think this is funny?â He mutters, but thereâs no venom in his voice.
You nod, smiling up at him, and he sighs.
âYouâre lucky,â he mutters, and he has no idea.
You press a kiss to his lips, and they twitch up. His eyes soften again, as he takes you in. So fucked out you canât even speak.
âGood?â He mutters, and you nod like a bobblehead.
So good. So fucking worth it, for the months of mind games of questions, with how fucking good it was.
Ben smiles. And you can read it all over his face.
How he really does feel the exact same way.
âTold you Iâd take care of you,â he grunts. âMy fuckinâ girl.â
And you are. And he really, really fucking does. He cleans you up and feeds you. Gets you water and crawls into bed, lighting up a joint but keeping you tucked tight into his chest. You look up at him with a dazed smile, and he looks down at like some adoring, devout follower of a secret religion.
âWe should get married,â he says suddenly, and you laugh, finding enough of a voice to respond.
âDate me first, smart guy.â
He grunts, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. You both know there isnât much dating that will need to be done, to get you on board. But Benâs going to try anyway. And you love him for it. How willing he is, just for you, to really, always fucking try. Â
âŚEnd note: eric kripke WISHES he had my vision of soldier boy âŚ
âŚIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŚ
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