I’ve been waiting for that Maki x male reader fic and it was saurrrrrr good! Now hear me out, what do you think about Jock Maki x Thicc femboy male reader👀
eeek my first ask im blutchin
tw: unprotected sex (wrap ur willy), body image issues mentioned, slight angst to fluff, body worship, very romantic love making, soft!dom maki
accidentally turned this into an entire fic OOPS!
…
you were nervous
it was the last home game of the season and your boyfriend maki had planned an outfit for you to wear so he has some eye candy to look at in the front row during the game.
the problem?
the outfit was his jersey, an offensively short skirt and thigh highs that matched your university colors.
now usually you had no issue being feminine. you did your makeup every morning and wore skirts often but nothing this short…in public.
you already had a lot of eyes on you as the star point guards boyfriend. especially when he made you guys public, running up to you after a win and kissing you for all eyes in the gym to see.
you had never been happier. your boyfriend who not only accepted you and your femininity but embraced, buying you literally anything you looked at for longer than 3 seconds.
but you heard the whispers
“if hes a boy why does he dress like that”
“wouldn’t maki be better off with a woman instead”
“if hes gonna wear something like that it should at least cover more skin… hes embarrassing himself”
but its makis final home game, and youre his number one cheerleader… you were gonna show up for him how he wanted!
during half time he jogs over to you “hi babe! you wore the outfit!”
you nod and shrink into yourself a bit “yea its your last home game…had to make sure you had a pretty supporter” you slightly smile
he looks at you…like really looks at you and starts to ask if you’re okay before the whistle blows and he has to run back out. “wait for me!” he yells before getting into position. you nod and smile at him, starting to cheer as the second half starts.
maki scored the winning shot for their team and as his teammates carried him off to the locker room and the gym emptied, you were left alone with your thoughts.
‘did i look okay?’
‘people were staring a lot…’
‘what if i dont look as good as he wanted and i embarrassed him?’
“baby?” you snap out of it and quickly wipe tears you didn’t even realize were falling when you hear makis voice. you put on your best smile and run up to hug and congratulate him “im so proud of you babe you did so well tonight!”
he pulls away to look at you, the same look he gave you earlier, and you flush under his gaze. you clear your throat to break the awkwardness. “can i borrow your jacket?”
he looks at you in confusion but hands it to you anyway “doll its like 80 degrees out, and you’re already wearing my jersey… are you that proud of me you wanna show me off?” he smirks and it gets a laugh out of you, which is what he was hoping for
you snort “you wish” you say as you put his jacket on and zip it completely “i just need to cover up” you say as you both start walking back to his car
he pouts “do you not like the outfit?” looking at you sincerely
“no maki its cute…its…its nothing” you say with a small smile “im sure you’re exhausted and you smell awful so let’s get you home and showered”
he noticed your discomfort but didn’t push, he didnt wanna put you in a vulnerable state if you weren’t ready but when he goes to hold you hand and you hug and curl into yourself, that’s when he realizes something was truly wrong.
you get to his car and like the gentleman he is he opens your door for you. you mutter a thank you and lean against the window.
he goes to put his hand on your thigh, but you cross your legs, becoming just out of reach, again he doesn’t push, but he’s taking notes
you finally get home and kick off your shoes. “im getting in the shower” he says heading up the stairs to the bathroom
“do you wanna join?” maki asks, you hesitate and look up at him
“no go ahead ill make your dinner while you’re in the shower”
he looks at you “y/n, please?”
“youre gonna be starving before you go to bed…ill be in the kitchen if you need anything” you say avoiding his eye contact and headed to the kitchen
maki finally makes his way back down to the kitchen to eat whatever delicious smelling food you had for him on the table.
you hand him a plate and kiss his forehead. “im gonna go get in the shower and lay down, im not feeling to good”
you shower and change into your comfortable oversized sleep clothes and get into bed, the thoughts coming back now that your alone and the tears start before you can comprehend it.
maki finishes dinner and heads upstairs to hear tou sniffling in your shared bedroom. he’s never been more concerned than he is right now.
he comes in and slides into bed with you spooning you from behind. “y/n, my love whats wrong? you havent been yourself all day”
you sniffle and cry out “the outfit… i was so worried if you were embarrassed with how i looked in it and ive heard what everyone has been saying about me and how you shouldn’t be with me…i feel so ugly” small sobs come out as you cover your mouth with your hand.
maki flips you around to face him. “i never have and never will EVER feel embarrassed about our relationship and about you. you are my sun and the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen. if i didn’t want you wearing that outfit i wouldn’t have asked you to. ive seen every inch of your body i had a pretty good idea of what you were gonna look like in it. and honestly it had me bricked up the entire came, i could barely focus” he snorts
you giggle and sniffle as maki wipes your tears. “there he is, theres my pretty boy”
you flush and try avoiding eye contact before he grabs your face and makes you turn to face him. “if i knew the outfit would make you uncomfortable i wouldnt have asked you to wear it, and im sorry you had to feel so self conscious all night. but its just us now, can i help you remember whose pretty boy you are? make sure you forget whatever anyone else says about you or us?”
hearing his voice like this causes your thighs to squeeze together and a tent in your boxers to form. you nod “please”
he nods and turns you on your back. “keep your eyes on me tonight okay? i wont let your mind drift anywhere, gonna fuck you so good your head will be filled with how good i make you feel mkay?”
you swear whenever he sweet talks you in bed your hips gain a mind of their own. “maki…” you whine as he straddled you starting to undress you both.
“im here baby, can i take this off?” he asks pulling at your shirt. you hesitate but eventually nod and he finishes undressing you.
“good boy, so pretty” he says in between kisses. he makes his way down to your hips leaving bite marks as evidence of your activities tonight.
“keep your eyes on me ‘kay?” you nod and watch as he slowly takes you in his mouth while prepping you with his fingers
you whine as the stretch burns but his mouth feels so good, your body doesn’t quite know what to do. “babe- hngh… fuck maki” he hums up at you the vibration sending you over the edge as you cum in his mouth.
he swallows and you turn away in embarrassment. “nah ah i said look at me remember?” he forces your face back to look at him. “watch me put it in okay? show you how perfect our bodies go together.”
you prop yourself up on your elbows as he slowly sinks into you inch by delicious inch. “fuck you’re tight. no matter how many times i fuck you silly you still are so tight”
you clench at his words which makes him grown as he bottoms out. maki leans over you and captures you in a kiss “you are my pretty boy, fuck what anyone else says, what matters is me and you okay?
you nod and whine out “mhm maki… fuck! please move!” he kissed your forehead with a smile “imma take care of you” he leans you back down on the pillows and starts fucking you good and slow.
you go to close you eyes but he reminds you “look at me doll… or ill have to stop” you whine and keep your eyes on him, only him. his hair still slightly wet sticking to his forehead, the sweat starting to form defining his muscles, how he furrows his brows whenever he pushes back in. your maki.
he presses his forehead to yours as you wrap your arms and legs around him. “fuck pretty boy im close. you make me s-shit feel so fuckin good.
you start grinding your hips to meet his thrusts wanting to get you both to your high. you cry out “maki m’gonna cum hic!” he starts to slow his hips and you whine “nonono please don’t fuck, please let me cum”
“i will baby i promise. just promise me you’ll tell me whenever you start feeling this way about yourself” he asks as he speeds up again. “fuck! i promise maki i promise”
he’s pounding into you now making sure you both cum at the same time “you promise hm?” you nod weakly trying to keep you eyes open, your hips bucking into the air yearning for his touch.
you nod with tears forming in your eyes “maki please… i promise” he leans in and kisses your forehead “good boy” he says as he starts pumping your cock
“cum for me sweetheart, show me how good i make you feel” you genuinely don’t think you could quiet down if you wanted to as you cum all over his hand and both your abdomens. he immediately steals a kiss from you as he stills inside you, painting your walls with a reminder of how much he loves you.
“i love you so much doll”
“i love you too maki”
…
hi anon! i hope you like this!!! if you want me to redo it lmk but i liked how it turned out!!!
Warning for bottom male reader, established relationship, sleepy sex, reader is around/the same age as Requiem Leon, size kink, light choking (this is literally saved as bicep chokehold on my computer).
You don’t think there will ever be a day that Leon’s job doesn’t get him hot under the collar. He isn’t 21 anymore, so those days are further apart, but they still do happen.
You’re somewhat grateful when he comes home and you realize. Too many times you’ve nearly been caught in a cramped closet trying to get off after a mission. You can hear it in Leon’s footfalls as he walks to the bedroom, the slow thump against the hardwood waking your body up.
“Did I wake you?” Leon asks in the doorway.
You roll over and lazily pull yourself up to sit against the headboard, “I wasn’t sleeping,” you answer.
Leon lets out a chuckle and leans against the door frame, “you aren’t?” He questions. He crosses his arms against his chest, a smirk on his face as he watches you swipe a hand across your tired eyes.
“I was resting my eyes,” you reply, relaxing into the pillows. If Leon is just going to stand there, then you are going to relax and enjoy the view.
“Ahh, okay,” he says slowly. Leon slinks up to the bed, the sound of his boots sending warmth through your stomach as he gets closer. “You look comfortable,” he observes as he leans down with a groan to unlace his boots.
You can’t help but laugh, “need some help?” You asked, pushing yourself down the bed. It wasn’t really like you could talk, you’ve aged just as Leon has. You groan in the same fashion sometimes when you brush your teeth. You still couldn’t understand how you were able to keep up with Leon out in the field.
“I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” Leon answers, his blue eyes dark as they flick up to look at you.
“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you murmur, spreading your legs to make room. Your cock throbs in your pants as Leon pulls his boots off and walks to toss them in the corner of your bedroom. If it were any other night, the harsh sound would make you flinch, but now it just fills you with the thrill of excitement.
You’ve got a hand in your shirt when Leon turns back around, “ah ah ah,” Leon scolds, “that’s my job,” he says, his voice low. Neither of you registers the sound of Leon’s knees cracking when he gets on his knees at the foot of the bed, too focused on Leon’s hands as they make their way up your shirt.
“By all means,” you say, moving your hands to Leon’s shoulders.
But instead of getting your shirt off, Leon’s warm hands settle underneath your shirt, underneath your ribs so he can pull you into a kiss. If taking off your shirt was his job, Leon’s a shit worker at it.
Before Leon can deepen the kiss, you get a hand under the back of his shirt, pulling up even as you feel the wet touch of Leon’s tongue on your bottom lip.
“You aren’t too tired?” Leon questions with a playful bite to his words.
You’re tempted to throw his shirt into his face, but you instead toss it past his shoulder. “I’m not,” you answer, “but if you are,” you say, getting back into the position Leon had found you in, “we could just sleep.”
“Sounds good to me,” Leon says as his muscular weight settles on top of your back.
You hide your smile in the bed as you feel the warm press of his lips on the back of your neck. You both knew you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, at least not right now.
Pressing back against his weight, your ass comes into contact with the bulge in Leon’s pants. You feel teeth against the side of your neck when you push back again. You gasp at the feel of Leon’s warm tongue against your pulse point, your cock throbbing in your pants.
Leon’s weight leaves you momentarily, a chill settling over your skin as you hear the sound of your bedside table opening.
“No underwear?” He asks after pulling your pants down past your ass.
“It’s laundry day,” you reply, arching your back into Leon’s lube-slick finger.
“Didn’t do the laundry, and then I find you in bed when I get home,” Leon says, his finger easily finding your prostate. After all these years, you’d be more surprised if he wasn’t able to immediately find it. “What did you do all day?” He questions as a second finger joins the first.
“Waited for you to get back,” you answer with a moan as your cock grows harder between your legs.
“You poor thing,” Leon coos before he leans down to press his lips to your cheek. His soft words don’t match the movement of his fingers as they hammer home, relentlessly stroking your prostate.
Unsure whether to push back into his fingers or to drive your hips into the bed, you remain still, letting the movement of Leon’s fingers do it for you. You move as his fingers do, your mouth falling open with a gasp as he prepares you for his cock.
Two fingers become three, the twinge of it deliciously painful. Leon’s fingers fuck in and out, stretching you open for his cock. By the time he pulls them all the way out, there’s a wet patch on the bedspread underneath the head of your cock.
Your body thrums with unused energy, but Leon gives you nowhere to move. He simply replaces his fingers with his cock, fucking into you in one slick movement. It punches the breath from your lungs, your body clenching down as you begin to get used to his cock.
You don’t know how many times you’ve taken Leon’s cock, but it feels like each and every time, it manages to take your breath away.
What doesn’t help is Leon leaning down, one of his arms moving around your neck to hold your body to his. You’re connected from top to toe with Leon’s knees bracketing your hips, his long legs tangled with yours.
“Breathe,” he whispers into your ear, his hips moving in a slow circle. Inside, his cock jostles your prostate enough to draw your attention back to the moment. “Good,” Leon says when you pull a deep breath in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You let it out to take another one in, squeezing around Leon’s cock as you become accustomed to it. Above you, Leon gasps softly, his hips giving an involuntary twitch. You crane your neck to look at Leon, quickly knowing you won’t be able to stay in the position for too long without having an ache later.
“Sensitive?” You question as you tighten around Leon’s cock.
Leon’s arm tightens momentarily around your neck to get your head at the right angle to pull you into a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, and the kind that tells you exactly what you’re about to get. Like he’s apologizing for how he’s about to fuck you.
He begins when his tongue is in your mouth, the kiss long turned wet and dirty. It makes it hard to focus on trying to respond to the kiss as Leon pistons his cock in and out, but Leon still doesn’t pull away.
He moans into your mouth as he thrusts, his tongue working against yours. Drool falls from the corner of your lips as Leon hammers away at your prostate, the spit running down your chin until it hits Leon’s arm.
Leon’s bicep flexes in time with his thrusts, squeezing your throat not enough to cut off your air supply, but enough that the thrill of it potentially happening is there. You bring both hands up to dig your fingernails into the muscle of Leon’s arm, letting the man do all the work of holding you up.
Leon groans through the pain, his hips speeding up. The bed creaks under the weight of your combined movement, and the headboard knocks against the wall with the motion of Leon’s thrusts, the sound only seeming to spur Leon on.
One of your hands falls beneath your body between your legs, “I’ve got it,” Leon says, his voice sultry. His slick fingers wrap around your hard cock, dragging the precum that’s gathered at the head down. His hand moves in time with his hips, your orgasm quickly approaching.
It only takes a handful of jerks with his hand for your orgasm to come crashing into you. You come with a yell, your bottom lip dragging against Leon’s as you grip the skin, riding out your high.
Your hole flutters around Leon’s cock as he fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts already short and quick, letting you know that he’s close. His hand moves from around your cock to your stomach, his arm wrapping around the sweaty skin to pull you impossibly closer.
He comes with a groan, his head hidden away safely in the crook of your neck. He holds you close as his cock throbs inside of you, like he doesn’t want to waste a single drop.
Warm puffs of Leon’s breath hit your neck as he pants, heating your cooling skin. His arm begins to loosen as his breathing slows, his body following yours down to the bed.
You do a double take as you move when you catch sight of Leon’s arm and the crescent moons your nails left in his skin, “shit, Leon. I’m so-”
Leon rolls onto his side and moves forward into a swift kiss, much faster than you expected for someone his age. His eyes flick down when he pulls away, “it’s fine,” he says, looking at the marks, “I’ve had worse,” he sends you a soft smile that crinkles his eyes.
“Yeah, but not from me,” you reply, running your finger over the marks.
“I most definitely have,” he replies with a smirk, propped up on one bent arm.
You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he’s thinking about.
“You used to kick my ass when we would spar,” Leon says, flopping onto his back, one of his arms moving to pull you against his chest.
“That’s different,” you reply, running a hand slowly down his chest.
Leon hums, “when was the last time we sparred?” He questions, running a hand down your side, his fingers skimming your ass.
You went silent, genuinely trying to remember, “I don’t know.”
“Think it’s time for a rematch?” Leon questions sleepily.
You look up, smiling softly when you see his eyes are closed. If you were years younger, you’d already be rolling on top of Leon for round two, but now, you were content with where you were.
Have you ever thought how Mark would react if he had a boyfriend that's husband material? 🤔
Imagine the reader likes to help Debbie out whenever he feels like it, and Mark is watching him help Debbie and thinks to himself, " I NEED husband him up ASAP. "
﹌⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆⊹ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆﹌
This is kinda related to the fic that was about my request but eh!!
– Number 1 fan!! 🌊 anon
HUSBAND MATERIAL
pairing mark grayson x male reader
in which mark grayson realizes two things: (1) his sharp-tongued, emotionally constipated boyfriend is absolutely husband material, and (2) he might actually combust if he doesn’t put a ring on it soon.
the first time you met debbie, mark was a mess. not because he thought you wouldn’t like her—no, he knew you’d love her, because debbie was impossible not to love—but because his brain kept conjuring up worst-case scenarios. what if she brought up that time he cried during titanic when he was twelve? what if she mentioned his weird phase where he tried to grow a mustache and failed spectacularly? what if she pulled out the baby photos?
he could already see it—debbie grinning, oblivious, while you slowly turned to him with that razor-sharp look of yours, the one that said "i will never let you live this down." your eyebrow would arch, just slightly, and mark would have to resist the urge to phase through the floor in embarrassment.
but instead, you surprised him. you shook her hand with that same quiet confidence you carried everywhere, offered her a rare, barely-there smile, and said, "it’s nice to finally meet you, mrs. grayson." your voice was even, polite, but there was something underneath it—respect, maybe even warmth.
and just like that, debbie’s eyes lit up. "oh, sweetheart, call me debbie," she said, already pulling you into a hug you didn’t stiffen away from (which, coming from you, was basically a declaration of love).
mark exhaled, watching as you let debbie fuss over you without so much as a sarcastic remark—which, coming from you, was also basically a miracle. there was something painfully tender about the way you tolerated her motherly instincts, how you didn’t pull away when she fixed your collar or how you actually listened when she started rambling about mark’s childhood like it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing in the world.
his chest felt too tight. you were always so guarded with everyone else, all sharp edges and dry comebacks, but here you were—letting his mom drag you into the kitchen to "help" (which really meant her talking your ear off while you chopped vegetables with terrifying precision). and the worst part? you liked her. he could tell by the way your shoulders relaxed just a fraction, by the barely-there quirk of your lips when she laughed.
god, you were going to be insufferable about this later. not because you’d tease him (though you definitely would), but because now you had leverage. now you knew exactly how to make him melt—just by being nice to his mom, of all things.
mark was so, so screwed.
mark leans against the doorway, watching the way your hands move with knife-sharp efficiency against the cutting board. the afternoon light catches the silver band of your watch—the one debbie gave you for your birthday—as your wrists flick in perfect rhythm. there's something intimate about seeing you like this, sleeves pushed up to reveal those faint scars across your forearms, the ones you never explain but he's traced with his lips countless times. your brows knit together in concentration, but your mouth is softer than usual, not quite smiling but... settled. at peace. it's a good look on you, mark thinks.
debbie bumps her shoulder against yours, flour-dusted fingers gesturing wildly as she recounts mark's pancake disaster. "the smoke alarm went off three times," she giggles, and you make that sound—not quite a laugh, just air rushing through your nose as you keep chopping carrots with military precision. but then you surprise mark by muttering, "he still burns toast at least twice a week," without even looking up, and debbie gasps like you've just handed her classified information.
mark's mouth falls open. you're gossiping. with his mom. the same you who usually communicates in grunts before coffee is now quietly adding, "last tuesday he tried to make grilled cheese in the microwave," and debbie leans in closer as if you were whispering the secrets of the universe. "let's just say i have to buy a new one."
"markus sebastian grayson!" she shrieks, while you finally glance up just to shoot him that smug, knowing look—the one that should annoy him but just makes his pulse stutter instead.
it's terrifying how easily you fit here, between the chipped tiles and his mom's laughter. the same way you fit into mark's life without him even realizing—leaving his favorite energy drinks in the door pocket of the fridge where he always looks first, or how you "accidentally" buy too many of those awful snacks he likes whenever you grocery shop. you pretend it's coincidence when you throw his wrinkled shirts in the dryer before school the next day, when you leave ibuprofen and water on his nightstand after particularly rough patrols.
and god, the way you take care of his mom too—replacing her favorite spatula when it breaks before she even notices, memorizing how she takes her tea (two sugars, splash of milk, in the robin egg blue mug because it "tastes better" that way). you roll your eyes when she hugs you but never actually dodge it, and mark's pretty sure you've developed some kind of silent communication system where you just know when the other needs coffee or space or someone to listen.
your knife hits the cutting board with steady thunks, the rhythm syncopated with debbie's laughter as she dramatically recounts more of mark's childhood failures. you're not smiling, not really, but there's something unbearably soft in the way your shoulders relax, in the quiet "tch" you make when she tries to sneak more vegetables onto your cutting board. mark presses his temple against the doorframe, overwhelmed by how badly he wants to freeze this moment—you in his mother's kitchen, sunlight catching the silver in your watch, looking for all the world like you belong here.
mark presses a palm to his sternum like he can physically hold in the swell of emotion threatening to crack him open. it's too much. you're too much. this version of you that exists between the space of his childhood home and his mother's affection, this you that lets yourself be soft in ways no one else gets to see. it makes him want to fold you into his arms and never let go, makes him want to kiss the frown lines between your brows until they smooth out forever.
debbie wipes her hands on her apron, glancing at the clock. "oh! i almost forgot! i need to send some documents to a client," she says, already moving toward the stairs. "don't burn the kitchen down while i'm gone." the wooden steps creak under her hurried footsteps, leaving just the two of you in the warm, spice-scented kitchen.
the rhythmic tap of your knife against the cutting board fills the silence. mark watches the way your fingers curl protectively around the onion, how your wrist flicks with each precise slice. he pushes off the doorway and drifts closer, drawn to you like gravity. when he reaches to steal a piece of carrot from your neat little piles, you smack his hand away without even looking.
"you're staring," you mutter, the knife flashing as you dice the onion into perfect slices. your tone is flat, but mark doesn't miss the way your ears have gone slightly pink.
"can't help it," he grins, crowding into your space anyway. his chest presses against your back as he peers over your shoulder. "you're cute when you're all domestic. look at you, so caring and nurturing."
you elbow him in the ribs, but there's no real force behind it. "shut up. if you're just going to stand there, make yourself useful." you jerk your head toward the pile of unpeeled potatoes in the sink.
mark makes a show of sighing dramatically but grabs the peeler anyway. he bumps his hip against yours as he takes up position at your side, close enough that your sleeves brush with every movement. "so," he says, scraping at a stubborn potato eye, "you and my mom, huh? trading my deepest secrets even though i'm right here?"
you huff, but he sees the corner of your mouth twitch. "she started it." the admission comes grudgingly, like you're confessing to a crime. your knife stills for just a second before you add, quieter, "she's... nice."
the simple words make mark's chest go tight. he watches the way your shoulders relax when you think no one's looking, the careful attention you pay to making each vegetable slice even. when he bumps your shoulder gently, you don't pull away—just grumble something about "personal space" while continuing to let him lean against you.
the potato peelings pile up in the sink as mark works, his movements slower than yours but just as focused. every so often, he'll "accidentally" flick water at you, grinning when you scowl but don't actually move away. the kitchen fills with the sounds of sizzling oil, the scrape of knives, and the quiet, comfortable silence that only comes when two people know each other down to their bones.
mark's voice comes out softer than he means it to, fingers stilling against the half-peeled potato in his hands. "i wasn't lying though," he murmurs, letting his temple rest against the curve of your shoulder. he can feel the warmth of you through the fabric of your turtleneck, can smell that stupidly expensive cologne you pretend you don't care about. when he tilts his head up, you're already looking down at him—and there it is. that fleeting, unguarded expression you only ever wear when you think no one's watching, all quiet wonder and something painfully tender. your knife has stopped mid-chop, fingers frozen around the handle.
"you look relaxed and handsome like this," mark whispers, watching with delight as your ears go pink. you open your mouth, no doubt to deliver some scathing remark, but all that comes out is a flustered huff before you pointedly return to decimating the vegetables. mark doesn't miss how your shoulders hunch slightly, how you're suddenly very invested in making sure each carrot slice is perfectly even. he grins, pressing a quick kiss to your flushed cheek before going back to his potatoes, cheeks warm.
the moment shatters when debbie sighs dramatically from the doorway, arms crossed over. "look at the two of you," she coos, leaning against the counter with a smirk that spells trouble. "peeling potatoes together like some old married couple. should i start calling you my son-in-law now, [y/n], or do i have to wait for the official paperwork?"
you nearly slice your finger clean off. "mrs. grayson," you hiss, voice strangled, while mark chokes on his own spit. but debbie just waves a hand, eyes sparkling as she takes in the way you're both flushed to the tips of your ears, how mark's fingers have tangled unconsciously in the hem of your shirt.
"i'll be looking forward to the day you two get married," she continues breezily, nudging mark with her hip as she steals a slice of cucumber. "that way [y/n] can't make any more excuses as to why he can't call me mom." she pops the vegetable in her mouth with a wink, utterly pleased with herself when you make a noise like a deflating balloon.
mark watches, equal parts horrified and endeared, as you stare at debbie with wide eyes, knife dangling limply from your fingers. your mouth opens and closes several times before you finally manage a strangled, "that's—you can't just—" before giving up entirely, turning back to the cutting board with enough force to worry about the structural integrity of the vegetables.
"mark," you finally grit out after a long pause, shoulders tense, "control your mother."
but mark's too busy pressing his face into your back to muffle his laughter, arms wrapping around your waist as debbie cackles in the background. he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting against his cheek, can feel the way you're trying (and failing) to suppress your own smile. and when you eventually elbow him halfheartedly, muttering something about "insufferable graysons," it's with the same careful gentleness you reserve just for them.
his mom's words echo in mark’s head long after she’s left the kitchen to relax and drink wine. married. son-in-law. the concepts should feel too big, too soon, but they slot into his chest like they’ve always belonged there. the knife slips in his grip, nicking his thumb—invincible, brought to his knees by the mental image of you rolling your eyes at him over shared tax documents.
and that’s when it hits him, sudden and certain as sunrise:
i need to husband him up asap.
because you’re it for him. the way you patch up his wounds after missions with clinical precision but trembling fingers, how you always know exactly where to aim your grapple hook to catch him when he’s falling. the way you pretend to hate his terrible jokes but he’s seen the way you scribble them down later in that little black notebook of yours. you fit against his life like a puzzle piece he didn’t know was missing—grumbling through morning patrols together, bickering over takeout containers in the fridge, your pinky secretly linking with his under movie theater armrests.
mark wants it all. wants to memorize the exact shade of your scowls and loving looks at 6 AM, wants to keep finding your bobby pins (for emergencies like picking a lock according to you) mixed in with his spare change, wants to grow old—
the thought stutters like a skipped record.
because he can't.
you can. you're human—all fragile bones and fleeting heartbeats, temporary in ways that make his ribs ache. the knife slips again, drawing a thin red line across his knuckle, but he barely registers the sting. not when the realization crashes over him like a tidal wave: he'll still look like this when time etches silver into your hair, when laugh lines frame your mouth like parentheses around all your secret smiles. he'll order your stupidly complicated coffee (double shot, chocolate dusting, exactly three ice cubes) for centuries after you're gone, and the weight of that knowledge leaves him breathless.
but then your hands are there—always there—pressing a bandage over his careless wound with that familiar scowl. "idiot," you mutter, but your fingers linger against his pulse point a second too long. and mark thinks—if forever isn't written in the stars for them, he'll carve it into every moment you share. he'll love you with the desperation of a sunflower clinging to sunlight, memorizing the way your eyelashes cast shadows at noon and how your throat moves when you swallow your too-sweet tea.
"what's that look for?" you grumble, swiping a thumb across his cheekbone. there's flour in your hair (from you helping with baking dessert earlier), he notices, dusting your strands like premature gray, and the sight punches a wounded noise from his chest.
mark catches your wrist, pressing his lips to the delicate bones beneath your skin. "nothing," he murmurs against your knuckles, tasting salt and dish soap. "just thinking about how much i love you."
you make that tch sound he adores, but your fingers slot between his like they were made to fit there. "sentimental fool," you mutter, but the way your thumb strokes absent circles against his wrist betrays you.
he chuckles, nosing at the sensitive spot behind your ear—the one that makes you shiver—and you immediately shove at his face with your free hand. "don't you dare—" but it's too late; he's already mouthing at your jugular, teeth scraping just hard enough to make your breath hitch. you taste like home and that bergamot shampoo you pretend you don't carefully select. when he soothes the bite with his tongue, you groan but tilt your head to give him better access, fingers tightening in his hair like you can't decide whether to push or pull. good thing for you (and for him or else you would've kicked his ass), your turtleneck can hide the love bite that was forming.
"asshole," you mutter halfheartedly, but you're leaning into him anyway, the side of your head resting against his when he finally settles for wrapping his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. he can feel your heartbeat against his chest, steady and alive and here.
after a quiet moment, you clear your throat awkwardly. "i... reserved that table at le bernardin. tomorrow. seven sharp." you won't meet his eyes, focusing very intently on rearranging the chopped vegetables into unnecessarily precise lines. "don't be late. again." the unspoken 'i know you've been stressed lately so i got us a table at your current favourite restaurant' hangs between you, soft and vulnerable in ways you rarely allow. good thing mark's good at speaking your language.
mark's throat tightens. this is how you love—in practical gestures and gruff concern, in remembering his favorite comics and hyper fixations and pretending it's no big deal. he presses his smile into your shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of your detergent and that faint metallic hint from your throwing knives. "yes, dear," he teases, just to watch your ears turn pink. now he's thinking if gold would look good on you. of course it would, everything would look good on you. he just needs to find out which one you'd prefer.
and as he watches you meticulously wipe down the counter—always cleaning up his messes, always staying—mark thinks, yeah. he's definitely going to put a ring on it.
heyyy 🌊 anon! finally got to your request and i’m so glad you asked for this because god, we all need more of this soft, domestic fluff in our lives. spent two hours pouring my soul into this 2.8k one-shot and loved every second of it—like, please, i need this. i need markus sebastian grayson’s dumb ahh in my life. and debbie?? absolute queen. would let her adopt me in a heartbeat. would literally lover her as a mother-in-law :']
could i request lost prince gojo who ran away but got lost and now once to go home?
and while trying to find his way back he saw a water nymph(who's the reader? male btw)
and reader lures him in and makes him stay(sexy times)
ik nymphs are girls but shhhhh
𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 — lost prince
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pairing: gojo x nymph male reader
summary: gojo is a prince, he ran away due to an argument and then he found that he was lost. then he found you
genre: smut
TW: male reader, loneliness, running away, arguments, reader is described to have longer hair(not the type), seducing, slight water sex, praise, luring , manipulation, grabbing , obsessive behavior, gojo wears bandaged blindfolds
note: it took me forever to figure out this color thing bro yall don't understand. also reminder, i NEVER proof read. EVER. so if there are spelling errors don't point them out because i won't fix it
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the argument rang through his head about a thousand times. he hadn't even meant for it to escalate, all he wanted to do was go out for a small walk without fifteen guards crowding his personal space. the man could barely jerk off.
"just for five minutes!"
his father would tut, and shake his head.
"no, satorou. there are things out there you just can't handle."
he would shout back, groaning in agitation. "what does that even mean! tell me, what's out there that's so bad?"
his father hadn't said anything after that. so, he decided to check out for himself. he wasn't even so sure how he got past the guards, the maids, the butlers, he was simply that determined to just have a five minute walk on his own.
but then it got a little darker, and he was lost..real lost. he had gotten lost in the woods, trees and cob webs hitting all over his face. he didn't want to admit, even to himself that he was scared. it was getting cold, he was hungry, he didn't know what to do all on his own. a few times he almost caught himself calling for a maid, forgetting that he was still lost.
he leaned up against a tree, his eyesight blurry and all he could truly see was his breath huffing in front of his face. then, he heard it. heard you.
that beautiful humming, it was gorgeous. now, it wasn't an exact song or exact lyrics. but it was beautiful. he urged himself up, going to where that singing was. he peeked around behind a tree, seeing a beautiful pond. and then a man, a man whose skin seemed to glow even in the setting sun, his hair wet and glistening as it cascaded into the ponds waters.
then you'd stop, your head turning. your eyes..oh, those eyes were gorgeous weren't they? your eyelashes long and curling up beautifully around the shape.
your lips curled into a soft smile, your little giggle just as soft. your body turned, and you'd let yourself walk to the edge of the pond and lean onto the grass. your finger curled in a come here motion, beckoning him. everything about you pulled him to you, but that was just it. he staggered forward, falling onto his knees in front of you. you seemed just as lonely as he did, just as needy.
he wanted to touch you, so badly. your skin looked like the cure to his hunger. your arms moved up, your nails tickling his skin as you cradled his face.
"what is this?" you'd ask him, your fingers coming towards the bandages at his eyes. "let me see your eyes," he couldn't stop you, he just couldn't. he felt the bandages along his face loosen, then fall onto the ground. you cooed, with a little click to your tongue. "aren't you gorgeous, hm?" his body swayed, before he caught himself. he was going to get in that water.
he'd move your arms from his body, his own hands ripping his own clothes off and his buttons flying off. he'd kick off his boots, slip his pants off and he'd get himself into the pond. his hands were all over you, impatient. he'd feel you flinch, not even backing away– "don't leave me." his voice broke though.
the air felt like a spell, and your scent was just causing it and making it worse. he was gripping you in all sorts of places, your waist, your arms, thighs, ass. whatever he could reach he wanted it to be his, all his.
your hands came to his chest, then caressed upwards.
he took a moment to take it in.
one moment.
two moments.
three was enough until he threw himself at you. the water splashed, his lips on yours, his hand drawing to your neck- then squeezing. squeezing to keep you there, to send that message that you didn't belong to anyone else.
"you're what i've been waiting for..where have you been?" he didn't even know your name, didn't have to , he could learn it after. his fingers curled at your waist, clutching and then hoisting you up so your legs could wrap along his waist.
"promise you'll never leave.." he said, nipping at your ear whilst his fingers spread you open to slip inside of you. "promise me." you had gasped, feeling him slide inside. "i promise.." you wiggled your hips, as if trying to get him balls deep inside you. he wouldn't let you do all the work, what kind of gentleman did that?
he moved you back, then plopped you back down. "keep hanging onto me," he'd move himself forward to match the pace. your arm slinked over his shoulder, your head falling back as well as your mouth.
"oh– yes, so perfect.." he kept that, kept that in his mind. you said he was perfect. the water beneath your actions splashed, making the claps and skin slaps much more dramatic and your bodies overly wet. his head ducked beneath your chin, biting and slurping kisses dramatically at your neck and collar bone.
"you feel so good,"
"don't stop,"
"i need you."
he stopped, his eyes coming to meet yours. both of your breaths are heavy, mingling as your lips got closer and closer.
he'd flopped you over, having your fingers clutch the grass at the edge of the pond. he could do this forever..he would do this forever, because who would ever want to leave this? leave you.
i’m taking a break from fan fiction. i’m going on a writing hiatus until i really decide i want to come back. i’m taking a break from reading as well. i will most likely withdrawal from tumblr altogether or my interactions will become limited.
it is obvious i’m in the minority of fic readers as a man. i’m tired of scraping the bottom of the barrel for something i can actually read. i’ve seen male fic writers write fem reader just for a few more clicks. even gn isn’t safe; far too many are titled gn and then involve feminine attributes. be better.
i apologize if this comes off as me being whiny. i’ve been around long enough to know that men in the fan fiction communities obviously aren’t treated as well/catered to as much. i apologize to those who actually enjoyed my work and to those who sat here and read all of this and thought it was dumb to announce. i’m very frustrated right now and tumblr is a safe space, so i’ve come here.
fan fiction has helped me meet wonderful people, from my best friend to smaller friends i can rely on for advice and a nice and easy conversation. i appreciate every single one of them. i appreciate every single one of you that read this. i enjoy writing and i’m happy that some people find my writing lovely enough to follow me and support all of my works.
sorry again if i come off as whiny with all of this. i’ll see you all sometime in the future.
Content: when a little chase turns into forced surrender
𐀔Warnings: sub!bottom!reader, anal penetration, edging, crying, begging, Toji is a dick but it's hot, reader gets creampied 𐀔
~ 2.3k words ~ MDNI | JJK Masterlist
Your position is familiarly comfortable; straddling Toji's lap while discussing how you should spend the shared evening. His thighs are warm and soft under you, and his broad chest radiates a relaxing confidence you can't get enough of. Your own is pressed against it as your arms sling around his neck easily. You suggest the cinema, a pastime activity you and Toji occasionally indulge in when there's nothing else to do.
"A movie, hm?" His rich and deep voice alone could make you blush, reflecting the lazy smile plastered over his lips. " Got something in mind?"
You consider for a moment, having a few in mind, although in the mood for something more lighthearted but not boring. "Mickey 17? We saw the trailer when we watched Terrifier 3, remember?"
The laugh that rumbles through Toji's chest should have been expected - he's been teasing you about that movie experience since it happened. "F'course, I remember, babe," he chuckles, "clinging to me the whole time..."
You groan, offering an offended pout, "You're acting like watching someone get chainsawed in half is normal..."
"Don't forget who wanted to watch that thing," he reminds you with a smirk, hand coming up to playfully flick your forehead, smile widening. "You can't handle a bit of gore, baby, ~?" His tone is low, teasing, sending tingles through your abdomen.
"Only a little," you defend yourself, scrunching your face as you remember a few sets from Terrifier, "... not that rat scene, though."
He chuckles again, and you can't help but cherish the sound, not often conversing with him in such a relaxed state, "Hah, yeah... that one's nasty. Even I give 'em that."
You squint at him, gaze reflecting a playful glint, "But you still watched it like it's nothing," you cock your head now, smiling slightly, "Should I be concerned?"
"Why, you gonna tell on me?" His eyes are locked on yours, edges crinkled from his amused expression. Toji's broad hands find your hips, radiating his body heat onto you as he holds you lazily.
You pretend to consider before shaking your head, "I think I'll keep that messed up mind of yours to myself for now."
Toji grins, one hand moving up to hold your face, an amused but affectionate glint in them as he makes you hold eye contact. "'m all yours, hm brat? Can't say I mind."
"Me neither.... as long as you don't shove rats down my throat while I sleep...."
He laughs at your joke, fingers squishing your cheeks before his hand returns to your hip. "Tempting, huh?" Toji muses, his attention darting over your features, "But nah. Think I'll stick to somethin' else to wake you up..."
Your guard is immidiately up, sensing the shift in his behavior - he's up to no good. The instinct proves right when his fingers snap from your hips to your sides, playfully digging into the soft flesh. "Like this."
You yelp out a laugh and lunge yourself off his lap before he can grasp you properly and entangle you in a torturous tickle session, your heart pounding - once Toji starts with this, there's no getting away. You take a few cautious steps back, crossing your arms in front of your chest with an accusing look in your eyes. "Hey, that's almost worse than rats!"
Toji only chuckles, and you can see in his eyes that he's set on getting what he wants. Your limbs tingle with thrill. "Come here, baby," he says, tone low and demanding, just the right cadence to get your heart pumping. He stands up from the cushions, advancing toward you with steady, calculated steps, a dangerously playful glint in his eyes, and you know you have no choice but to run.
You can hear Toji's deeply amused laugh when you take off and exit the room, mind racing with an escape route, although the house doesn't offer too many options. "Think you can outrun me, brat?" you hear him call, your whole body on fire as adrenaline courses through you.
He's right behind you suddenly, an involuntary squeak disturbing your fast breath, and you dip into the room to your right just before his fingers grasp you. Your heart leaps in your chest as you throw yourself behind some furniture, hidden from view when he enters the room. You escaped Toji Fushiguro. Rationally, you know he must have let you get away, but still, the feel of his fingers brushing you before you dipped makes your chest tingle.
Toji is eerily quiet when he enters the room, and you only realize his presence when the shadow of his broad figure darkens the light from the windows. Your lungs ache for air as you hold your breath, moving ever so quietly towards the door, remaining hidden. You have no idea where he is, and you know if you'd check, he'd see you in an instant. You have no choice but to gamble and run for the door.
Toji expected your move, right there in an instant. "Gotcha." For a moment time seems frozen, your heart beating in your throat, mind buzzing with rush when his foot catches yours, making you stumble. Of course, Toji can't catch you like a normal boyfriend but has to fucking trip you. You prepare for the collision with the floor when his foot is once again under you, shin pressing into your stomach to catch your fall and turn you onto your butt.
You still land ruggedly on the floor with a loud groan, glaring at Toji as soon as you're able to differentiate between up and down, "Unfair."
Your heart still pounds heavy, your stomach buzzing from the chase, Toji's mocking chuckle only intensifying the feelings. He crouches down to your level, a grin adorning his lips."You ran, I chased. Nothin' unfair 'bout that, babe."
You glance at the door, considering another escape, the subtle movement of your eyes not unnoticed by Toji. He's above you in an instant, still that menacing grin on his stupidly handsome face. "Besides, I always catch my prey," he growls, trapping you against the floor.
The sudden realization how turned on you are dawns on you, eyes widening as you stare up at the other. His face is close to yours, voice dropping to a familiar depth. Seems like you're not the only one unusually affected by this small chase. "You surrenderin', pretty?"
You press your lips together, first able to hold his eye contact but not for long. Your eyes cast upwards in an overplayed arrogant gesture, "I'm not surrendering to you."
Toji scoffs, his lips finding your chin for a teasing kiss, eyes staying locked on yours. "I can think of a few ways to make you, brat." His hand grips your waist, holding you down for no chance of escape. His hips grind downwards, letting you feel his hardness pressing against your own premature boner.
The feeling makes you gasp, and your lower body pushes against him, seeking the friction embarrassingly desperate. Toji's lips dip lower, trailing along the path of your pulse, rough and demanding as always. He's hungry and you can sense just how hungry he is in the way his teeth nip at your skin impatiently, fingers digging into your flesh.
He pulls back, easily turning you around like a doll he can twist and position however he wants. No matter how often he displays it, Toji's strength will forever amaze you. Your chest pushes against the harsh floor, hips held up by Toji as he pulls them bare in one swift movement. You'd be embarrassed by the sudden exposure but Toji had a habit of being shameless with both of your bare bodies - embarrassment is a concept you left behind somewhere along the relationship.
You hear the familiar crinkle of a single-use lube pack, the coldness of its content soon oozing over your ass. You twitch, instinctively jerking away from the cool sensation, and Toji stops your movement before you even register it yourself.
"Still tryin' to get away, huh," he muses before slipping a finger past your rim without warning.
You gasp, muscles straining against his grip. The stretch makes your cock twitch pathetically between your legs, a gasp splitting your lips. You feel him inside of you, pushing all the way until his knuckles meet your skin, his finger rubbing along your walls like they belong to him. It hurts the slightest bit but wanting Toji inside of you surpasses the pain by much, and in a desperate attempt to make him understand your desire you push your body towards him, ignoring the protesting stretch of your ass.
He chuckles again, his finger lazily beginning to thrust in and out of you halfway. Toji loves being cruel to you. "Haven't heard you surrender yet, babe."
You don't feel like giving him the satisfaction of having your submission, especially not after he tripped you and is now planning to fuck you on the spot you painfully landed. The response he gets is a grumpy hmpf paired with your hips pulling away again, fighting your own burning desperation for more. You don't get far anyway.
"You'll give up soon enough," Toji muses and there's something in his voice that makes your thighs quiver in his ruthless hold. You gasp when you feel the familiar head of his cock press against your entrance, body tensing momentarily before you remind yourself to relax.
He pushes into you, little concern for how thick he is and how sparsely he prepped you. You let out a strangled breath, waiting for him to fill you up completely, compensate for the pain but he... doesn't. Toji laughs when he notices the tension in your body, the anticipation for something he's not planning to give you. He pulls out again, hands tight on your hips to keep you from moving.
"Want my whole cock, pretty boy?" He leans over you, lining his length up once more and pushing in only the head, his voice dropping deeper, "Go 'head and surrender for me."
You can't stop the cry from ripping through your throat when he stretches you again but refuses to go any deeper, frustration joining the lingering pain of the stretch. You try but there's no use fighting his grip, holding you exactly where he wants you, eventually pulling out again. Your dick aches, needy since this chase started.
Toji's eyes are locked on your ass, watching your rim give in once more as he pushes himself into you, his dick lewdly swallowed. "Such a shame you can't take all 'f me, brat," he growls, your muscles yielding under his tone, quivering and caving so you're only held up by his strong arms.
The floor below you is still cold, sticky from the sweat of your naked arms. It hurts, it really does, the constant newly penetrating stretch of his cock, too little to be pleasurable but something about it still feels good. Not in the way you want right now, though.
Something about the humiliation and mixed sensations is overwhelming, a deep turmoil rolling through your chest, making your throat feel tight and bringing a heavy set of tears underneath your eyelids. You groan when he pulls out again, and the fourth time he pushes in is your breaking point, thick droplets of saltwater leaking down your cheeks the same way you feel a cold trickle of lube trail down your balls.
There's a sob you barely register, only realizing what sound left you when you hear Toji laughing. His cock leaves you empty, and you can't help but try fighting him, your attempts stilled by his grip. Your tensing muscles and kicking legs make him laugh harder, humiliation washing over you.
"Fuck! I surrender! I surrender, please, Toji," you finally give in, your voice quivering, raw with desperation.
"Told ya we'd get there."
You scream when he suddenly thrusts into you all the way, his hands keeping you in a bruising grip. Your whole body feels consumed by the feeling of his cock filling you out all the way, a burning spreading through your thighs and stomach, rising into your chest and shoulders. He's rough with his thrusts, your body succumbing to his manhandling easily.
His thrusts blur together, time slurring as your brain mellows out with nothing but insatiable lust. His grunts mix with the continuous strings of choked moans from you, Toji's hips slapping into yours mercilessly. Another strangled scream tears your lungs when the pleasure reaches its peak and your dick spurts long ropes of cum untouched onto the floor.
Toji follows you, hips stuttering as he presses himself into you so deep you feel him in your throat. His hot cum fills you up, paints your insides like they belong to him. There's only the sound of your mixed heavy breathing filling the room before he groans, pulling away.
The emptiness makes you gasp, and your body painfully collapses on the floor when he suddenly lets you go, your own cum wetting your shirt. You groan in annoyance, heavily turning over to glare at Toji, who's already standing again, pants messily pulled up like nothing happened at all. Like you're not heavily panting on the floor, cum sticking to your clothes, and leaking from your ass.
He reaches down, grabbing your wrist and easily pulling you up onto wobbly legs. Toji holds you, smirking down with a way too cocky glint in his eyes. "Y'know, you're slower than I thought, pretty," he muses, referring to the earlier chase like he didn't just fuck you raw.
You're still exhausted, leaning against his strong chest with a huff. "Shut up," you grumble, trying to ignore the icky feeling of cum running down your leg, mentally crossing the cinema off your mind, and planning a bath and movie night at home instead.
Warnings: nude beach, ass eating, ass slapping, daddy kink, top Ryan Reynolds, bottom reader, creampie
Requested!!: Hey there! I'm in love your work quite a lot so I was wondering if it's possible you could write a Ryan Reynolds x m!reader fic that takes place on a nudist beach and the reader runs into Ryan on a restroom, so they just start casually talking about their sex habits or something related to it. Both Ryan and the reader get so aroused by the conversation so Ryan takes the reader to a secluded area on the beach and they start having sex until night with daddy kink involved and ass eating too. The next day they both wake up and snuggle a bit before the reader begins to suck Ryan's cock while he watches, hand's over his head.
Today was a very nice day at the beach..sorry let me be more clear. The nudity beach, yeah you heard me. A nudity beach, a beach where everyone can go fully nude. Who could honestly think of such a thing?? Because if you ever met that person you’d give them a big ol kiss because now you can stare at the naked men with their cocks completely out. You sighed happily going to the beach. Trying to find a spot to lay your stuff down, after finding somewhere to rest you laid down all your stuff and rested on your stomach. Enjoying all the stares that men would give you when they stared at your ass. Some would stare and some would even whistle at you. After an hour you needed to go to the restroom. Being you, you got some hot guys to look after your stuff while you were in the restroom. They were dumb jocks so yeah they would of course look after some pretty boys stuff. Going into the restroom you open the door walking in, you accidentally bumped into a strong chest. “O-oh! Sorry!” You apologised. He lifted his hands and smiled “no no that’s my fault I should’ve looked where I was going.” He said and you both just laughed it off. You stared down his body, he had nice ripped abs, strong looking arms, and his thighs were to die for.
And he had a huge dick. It was still soft and was still huge. He had a nice looking face. To be honest he was kinda hot. You blushed when he waved his hand “Heyy. My eyes are up here.” He tried to get your attention. Looking back at his face your face turned red. “S-sorry! The whole nudist beach always surprises me with hot guys- I mean it’s not like I said you were hot..- not like your not hot I-“ you ramble he just chuckles “no it’s fine I get it a lot. You’re quite cute actually.” You blush even harder, god this was so embarrassing..”yeah..mostly I don’t see anything better when having sex with other guys..” you look down and he blushes “really? I guess when you do it so many times you probably get bored.” You nod. Looking down you see his dick fully hard in a matter of seconds. And wow it was WAY huger than it was. He looks down and back and yours. You hadn’t even noticed you were hard. You both just awkwardly stare at each others cocks and blush. “What’s your name anyways?” He said “uhm it’s y/n..you?” “My names Ryan Reynolds. “Well..are we gonna do something about this?” He said raising his brows. You immediately nod he smirked grabbing your wrists. “My beach house isn’t that far away..we could, y’know maybe have some fun..what do you say?” You agree to go with him. Getting your stuff and waving goodbye to the happy guys with your phone number in their hands. After a few minutes of walking he opens the glass door of his beach house. A bed right beside the door. Dropping your stuff and putting your phone on a table. you wiped the sand off your feet and entered the house with Ryan. You sit down and lay on the bed. The fluffiest blankets you’ve ever felt. And the poofiest pillows ever. You sigh taking in the warmth. Forgetting you were naked the whole entire time Ryan just stares at your ass the whole time. He sits down beside you and rubs your inner thigh. You blush and look up at him. “So..wanna..y’know.” You nod. Straddling his lap, his cock still fully hard and against your ass, you rub your ass on his cock and he moans, you dive into his lips.
Tongues twisting and enter winging with each other. Drool running down both your chins and saliva mixing together. He pulls away a rope of spit connecting from both your tongues before breaking. He pushes you onto your stomach. He lays his hand on your ass harshly leaving a huge handprint on your ass. You yelp while He watches your ass jiggle from just a slap, smirking he spreads your cheeks licking his lips as he watches your pretty pink hairless hole clench on the cold air, he stars to lick the inside of your ass. You moan loudly reaching back to grip onto Ryan’s hair. Pushing him back into your ass, fucking your ass with his tongue to stretch your ass out for his cock, he stops and starts stroking his cock.
“When I fuck you, you call me daddy m’Kay?” You nod gripping onto the bedsheets.”y-yes daddy”
He slowly starts to ease the tip in before completely slamming in your ass. You moaned loudly eyes rolling back, your jaw slacked and drool running down your chin. He continues to slam into your ass on and on. His hips snapping into your ass, he watches your ass jiggle and ripple from every thrust, his thrusting getting even more faster than before, your belly bulging from the pressure of his cock hitting the inside of your stomach, “ngh! H-harder daddy!” After hearing that He grips onto your hips and slams harder in. He flips you onto your back to see your pretty red face. And teary eyes, he keeps slamming into you, moans bouncing off the walls, you guys were getting at it all night and to be honest you wish it didn’t end. His thrusting getting sloppy, he moans thrusting into you until he cums, your hole getting filled with so much cum it practically spilling out and covering your thighs and the bedsheets, he keeps thrusting before collapsing on the bed beside you, you and him cuddled together deciding to rest for tonight.
10:45am.
Waking up to Ryan next to you, you and him snuggle up together in the blankets. “Last night was..amazing.” You said he nods and holds you tight “yeah it was..but I’m still hard. Wanna give me head??” “Sure.” You flip the blankets off him, grabbing his cock and giving the tip kitten licks. He looks down at you petting your head pushing you down slowly on his cock lifting up his hands behind his head to rest, without gagging you suck on his cock. Up and down. He moans cumming yet again, you swallow up all his cum licking the cum off your fingers licking his fat cock clean, you lay down beside him. He kisses you on the lips and you kissed back. Smiling you guys rest for the day.
(FINALLY I FINISHED IT…I hope u guys enjoy this long(if it is) fic love yous :3)
A/N: uhh hi >_< ik i havent been on here since last month and i did promise yall a fic but i never made it,, sorry for having yalls hope up but in the meantime while i get to my requests and other drafts heres this,, enjoy :3
warnings; vidyadhara cycles idk, heats, 2 dingdongs, breeding kink?, restrains? idk he holds ur wrists with his tail, ooc character, doesn't follow hsr lore, vidyadhara reader, my writting is crusty ASF.
PREVIOUSLY you had been mated to Dan Feng, you two were basically glued to the hip. Nobody execpt your friends and loved ones dared to get close to you because dan feng would scare off anyone who tried to get close to HIS husband and mate.
You two were so inlove that you promised to be with eachother in every single life time that you'll eventually have; a sign of love and dedication you both had for eachother.
but when the abominations of the Abundance rose and your husband was convicted of his crimes (idk i lwk forgot the lore) and when he was said to be banished from the Xianzhou Luofu in his next reborn cycle / life you couldn't believe it. you couldnt bare to see dan feng locked up and banished from your home land
you screamed and begged; even threatened Jing Yuan to change this arrangement but your efforts were fruitless, thus your fated mate went through a forced rebirth (i think thats what happened my memory is a bit crusty) and was banished off the xianzhou luofu.
Years had passed and you soon found peace in your life but you always thought about dan feng; hoping you can meet him again in his new life.
though what you didnt expect was that during a grave situation on the xianzhou luofu would you meet him again, ever since you encountered him you followed him and learned that his name was now Dan Heng; you could tell apart of him deep down inside recognized you but he refused all of his old self's memories and distanced himself from you
that obivously hurt you deeply, the promise that you and him would always be together in each life you had was lie. You were deeply sadden and chose to leave dan heng alone because you knew that even though he was a reincarnation of your late husband, he wasn't dan feng.
(time skip to when dan heng fights blade nd turns into his vidyadhara form 😱😱 im too lazy and this is already a lot of background info)
you sat quietly in your house sipping tea and thinking about the recent events that had occurred on the zianzhou luofu, it all happened too fast for your brain to process it
your train of thought was disturbed by a sudden loud bang at your front door— who would come to visit you at this hour? it was almost midnight.
you rushed towards the door expecting the worst, maybe something happened on the luofu and they needed your help— but as soon as you opened your door you were shocked at who was standing there
it was Dan heng but he was in his vidyadhara form, he looked disfigured; heavy panting left his mouth as he stared at you with a certain glint in his eyes
"Dan heng?" you called out, "are you oka-"
a sudden force pushed you inside of your house, pinning you to the closest wall. now you were really confused, what had gotten into dan heng?
"need.." dan heng rasped out in broken sentences, "i need you.."
"huh?" that was unexpected but now that you had a better view of dan heng you saw how he was sweating, a dark pink blush covered his cheeks and thats when it hit you
Dan heng was in heat, it was something every vidyadhara went through every year; this cycle sometimes could last several weeks at a time
now you were really surprised dan heng came to you for help; it was unexpected but it could've had something with you and him being former mates in his previous life
you bit your lip as you thought about helping him— he was desprate for you and it honestly turned you on.. he was getting more impatient by the second.. it wouldn't hurt to help him right? i mean he was your husband in a previous life
"a-alright, i'll help you." famous last words.
squelching along with the loud bang of your beds headboard hitting the wall was heard through out your house as well was your loud moans and screams
dan heng held your hips while he continued to thrust his cocks deep into you without mercy, his tail coiling around your wrists as he held your hands above your head; tears streamed down your cheeks as you cried out for him
"D-dan heng!" you slurred, "ngh! too deep..!"
in a swift movement dan heng leaned down and licked off your tears that were streaming down your cheeks before he focused his attention on your exposed neck, sucking and biting down to your chest
you moaned loudly as you felt like cumming, dan heng thrusting inside of you and kissing your chest was pushing you over the edge.
"mgh..! dan heng.. 'm close!"
Dan heng panted heavily as he deatached himself from your chest, he pounded into you with more force and speed, "cum for me.. cum for me my dear.." he whispered in your ear
feeling his dicks prod at your sensitive spots made you scream as you spurted white sticky cum all over dan heng's chest. Dan heng finished right after you, shooting hot sticky cum inside of you
you whimpered as you felt double the rush of cum enter you, it was too much for you but you knew you couldn't tap out now; dan heng was still horny and you could feel his hard ons inside of you
it wasn't long before you felt dan heng start moving his hips; in and out.
you were in for a long week
WOW this is terrible 😰 anyways.. im working on some sol fics rn and ill probably post them later on sorry for disappearing for so long 🫶
I'm just saying this if you're a woman and you're making/own male reader blogs/posts (not the ones that make just fluff) your sexualizing gay men. It gets worse when it's a ftm post and the male reader hasn't had bottom surgery I just feel like it's weird and more or a wired fetish and a little gross this is just my 2¢ so take it or leave it.
sumarry: Jason is a fan of a series of unknown books, there is only one bookstore in the entire city that has them so he goes every week hoping to find the next volume, the bookstore worker has a proposal in exchange for the third volume .
male reader, word counter: 2,532
masterlist
The tinkling of the bell at the door announced his arrival. Jason crossed the threshold of the bookstore with measured steps, as if he feared disturbing the stillness of the place. Despite having walked this path dozens of times, each visit was still a ritual. His cold, serene eyes shifted from the shelves to the figure behind the counter, where the worker lifted his gaze from an open book.
"Hello, Jason," he greeted with a relaxed smile, setting the book aside. His black hair was messy, as though he hadn't had time (or the will) to fix it that morning.
"Hello," Jason replied with a slight nod, emotion absent from his voice. He couldn’t remember when he had started coming to this bookstore, but the dark-haired worker always made him feel as though they'd known each other for a lifetime.
Without saying more, Jason made his way to the usual shelf. He knew exactly where the book should be, and, as always, the third volume remained a vacant spot in the collection. His jaw tightened. "Ridiculous," he thought, yet his fingers skimmed the spines of the books as if he could will the one he sought into existence.
The dark-haired worker watched him from the counter, resting his elbows on the worn wood. There was something about Jason that always caught his attention, maybe the stiff way he moved or his contained expression, as though he carried a world of unspoken words.
"So?" the worker asked, with his usual light tone of mockery. Jason turned his head.
"So, what?"
"You're not going to ask about the book?" He tilted his head, his carefree smile seeming like a challenge.
Jason sighed, crossing his arms. "I already know you don’t have it. Asking would be a waste of time."
The dark-haired worker chuckled softly, a comfortable sound, as if he had just confirmed something he had been expecting.
"That's new. You used to insist more." He straightened up and pulled something from behind the counter. Jason furrowed his brow when he saw the book in his hands. It was volume 3.
"How...?" Jason started, but the worker raised a hand to stop him.
"It’s a long story. But I’m not going to tell you here." He held out the book, but when Jason reached for it, he pulled it back. "Unless you agree to go with me for a coffee."
Jason blinked, his face remaining expressionless, but something in his eyes reflected surprise.
"What?"
"A coffee," the worker repeated, calm, as though suggesting something as mundane as exchanging a bill. "It’s the price of the book."
Jason looked at him, trying to decide if he was serious. Finally, he let out a brief sigh.
"I guess I have no other choice."
"Of course not," he replied, grinning widely while playing with the book in his hand. "I finish at 5, the café is on the corner, I’ll wait for you there."
Without another word, Jason left with an annoyed look; he couldn't believe what had just happened.
—☆—
Jason arrived at the café five minutes late. For someone like him, that was already unforgivable. He opened the door with a bit more force than necessary and scanned the place until he found the dark-haired worker sitting by a window, playing with the spoon in his cup.
"You’re late," the worker said, smiling with that carefree air that seemed to mock everything.
"Five minutes doesn’t count as late," Jason replied, sliding into the chair opposite him. He adjusted his jacket, a gesture that made him seem even more distant than he already was. "Besides, I didn’t think you'd take it so seriously."
"Of course I do." He set down the spoon and looked at him with squinted eyes, but the smile never faded. "That’s why I brought you here, right?"
Jason raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. Instead, he turned his gaze to the steaming coffee the worker had ordered for him. He took a sip, as though needing the time to decide if it was worth continuing the conversation.
"So?" Jason finally said, placing the cup down with a slight clink. "Why so insistent on the coffee?"
The dark-haired worker rested his chin in his hand, clearly enjoying Jason’s attitude. "It’s not that complicated. I like you."
"Is that all?" Jason tilted his head, his sharp eyes relentless. "I thought there was a more interesting purpose behind it."
"Well…" The worker paused theatrically, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe you’re somewhat cute, and I knew you'd only accept if I gave you the book."
Jason stiffened for just a moment, but he didn’t let the worker see it. "Did you bring volume 3?"
"Maybe."
Jason snorted, resting an elbow on the table and looking at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. "You’re irritating, you know that?"
"I know." The worker grinned widely, as if he took it as a compliment.
They spent a few minutes talking about trivial matters: the weather, the bookstore, the oddities of the regular customers. Jason, though cold and reserved, found himself surprisingly comfortable. After a while, his voice, always sharp, took on a slower tone.
"You know… I’ve read the first two volumes at least three times," Jason said, not looking directly at him, his gaze fixed on the edge of his cup. "It’s rare to find something so... real. I don’t know who the hell the author is, but it seems like he knows exactly how things work. It’s like he’s lived it."
The worker, who had been playing with a napkin, dropped his gaze when he heard that.
"That good, huh?" he asked, his voice softer this time.
Jason shrugged, but his expression was less indifferent than usual. "I don’t care if it’s good or not. What matters is that it doesn’t sound like all those idiots who think they understand the world. This guy... he really gets it."
A silence stretched between them until the worker finally spoke.
"Jason." His voice was laden with something Jason couldn’t identify at first. He leaned forward a bit, pulling something from his bag. It was the book. He placed it on the table, pushing it toward Jason with a casual gesture.
"Here, it’s yours."
Jason furrowed his brow. As soon as he saw the cover, he felt a mix of disbelief and relief. It was volume 3. For a few seconds, he simply held it in his hands, examining it as though it might be an illusion.
"How did you get this?" he asked, his tone more serious than usual.
The worker fiddled with the napkin in front of him, avoiding his gaze. "Let’s just say I have a certain... connection with the author."
Jason looked at him intently. There was something in the worker’s casual tone, in the way he avoided his gaze. His words started to echo in Jason’s head: "It’s like he’s lived it." He remembered the little phrases and details in the books, things that always seemed oddly intimate, as though the author was speaking directly to him.
"Connection, huh?" Jason said, his voice taking on a mocking tone. He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of connection?"
The worker shrugged, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks. "I guess you could say I know him pretty well."
Jason fell silent, observing him. His fingers drummed on the table as he processed the obvious. The worker had that same way of speaking, that same way of looking at the world with a mix of sincerity and mockery. Finally, he let out a snort, a brief laugh, but one with meaning.
"You’re the author, aren’t you?" Jason said, not breaking eye contact.
The worker looked up with a shy but amused smile. "Maybe."
Jason let out a sigh and leaned on the table, resting his chin in his hand. "So all this time, I’ve been telling you how amazing you are. Did you have fun watching me not realize?"
The worker let out a nervous laugh. "Well, it wasn’t that fun. I think this is the first time someone’s talked about my books that way."
Jason shook his head, but deep down there was a small curve on his lips, barely perceptible. "You’re an idiot."
"And you’re a passionate reader." The worker’s smile widened with more confidence.
Jason took the book but didn’t get up right away. "For what it’s worth, your books are good. Don’t change that."
The worker stayed there, looking at him, surprised by the sincerity hidden in those words.
Jason placed the book on the table, his fingers slowly tracing the spine, as though he wanted to mark every word before saying anything. The worker watched him, the tension in the air palpable, but neither of them wanted to break the silence first. Finally, it was Jason who spoke, his tone now a little softer but without losing that hint of disdain that made him unique.
"You know, I never imagined you’d be behind all this." Jason looked up, his eyes cold but with a hint of curiosity. "I thought the bookstore was just a place to... find books, not a place for someone to be both a writer and a bookseller at the same time."
The worker let out a nervous laugh, playing with the empty cup. "Well, not everyone has to be so... direct. Some people prefer anonymity, you know?"
Jason didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he observed the worker, his gaze a little warmer now. Maybe it was the proximity, or perhaps the surprise of discovering that everything he had been looking for had been right in front of him all along.
"What if one day you write something new? "Jason asked casually, almost as if he didn’t care too much, although the question had been on his mind for a while.
The dark-haired man fell silent for a moment, clearly deep in thought, before shrugging. "You never know. Though for now, the third one is the last. "He said this with a wistful smile, as if he had already accepted the inevitability of goodbye.
Jason stared at him, weighing his words. Finally, he let out a low laugh, tinged with mockery, but also a hint of interest.
"Maybe I could accept more outings with you." Jason paused, looking up and watching for the dark-haired man’s reaction. —In exchange for a fourth volume, of course.
The dark-haired man tensed, his face turning a little red, and the confident smile he had was completely gone. Something in Jason’s gaze, that almost defiant glint, made him immediately understand what the guy was truly suggesting. It wasn’t just the book that was drawing him in.
"A fourth... volume? "The dark-haired man murmured, his voice softer, hesitant. "That... isn’t in my plans."
Jason let out a small laugh, a little softer this time, and leaned forward, enjoying the other’s discomfort.
"Yeah, sure. "Jason said, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something else, something the dark-haired man couldn’t quite pinpoint. "But, you know, we could talk about more books... if that sounds good to you."
The dark-haired man blushed even more, desperately searching for words. "It’s just that..." he took a breath, trying to maintain composure "I just... the third volume is the end, there’s... no more."
Jason leaned back in his chair, watching the dark-haired man’s reaction with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. "Are you sure? Because you seem nervous, and not because of the book."
The dark-haired man couldn’t help but blush even more, realizing that Jason’s intentions went beyond books and reading. Jason, with his typical defiant attitude, had put him in an uncomfortable position, and now all he could do was smile shyly, unable to say anything coherent.
"It’s just... the third volume is the end, okay? " he said, his voice much softer and more nervous than before.
Jason crossed his arms, observing the dark-haired man’s reaction with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. "Sure, sure. But maybe there’s something else you could write... in your free time." He let the phrase drop like an insinuation, enjoying watching the boy blushing in front of him.
The dark-haired man looked at Jason for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, as if he were making a decision. Then, with a soft smile, he took out his phone and slid it towards Jason.
"I think it would be a good idea for you to have my number." he said in a casual tone, as if it were something simple, but with a slight spark in his eyes that hinted at a deeper suggestion.
Jason raised an eyebrow, surprised by the offer, but in the end, he said nothing. He took the phone and, after a brief silence, added his number, handing the phone back.
"I hope you don’t bombard me with messages" he said, his mocking tone still present, but there was something softer in his voice than before.
The dark-haired man let out a soft laugh, a little amused, as he put the phone in his pocket.
"I can’t promise anything." he smiled again, crossing his arms, as if already thinking about the next conversation.
Jason made a gesture of indifference, but deep down, the idea of staying in touch with him seemed... kind of interesting. However, before he could say anything more, the dark-haired man, with his usual calmness, said in a low voice, almost like a casual observation:
"By the way, if you ever decide you’re not satisfied with just books, let me know. I’m sure you could enjoy more than one conversation."
Jason looked at him, the surprise of the suggestion briefly visible in his eyes. Immediately, he regained his posture, but the mocking tone faded a little as he tried to remain calm.
"And what do you know about my tastes outside of books?" he responded with some disdain, but there was also a touch of discomfort in his voice.
The dark-haired man leaned back with a calm smile, as if he had won the little battle. "I’ll only know if you decide to let me invite you for coffee again."
Jason snorted, turning toward the door with a half-smile. "We’ll see, then."
But before he could leave, the dark-haired man reached him at the threshold with one last word.
"Hey, Jason..." —he called, and when he turned around, the dark-haired man stared at him with a playful smile. "You don’t have to get nervous, I’m not going to do anything bad to you."
Jason looked at him, confused for a moment, until the dark-haired man, with a soft and closer tone, added:
"It’s just... you’ve already turned a little red."
Jason, surprised, put his hand to his neck, as if trying to hide, but it was obvious. The dark-haired man had already noticed, and, still smiling, turned and left, leaving Jason standing there, blushing with a mix of irritation and amusement.
Jason watched him leave, feeling an odd mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment. "You’re an idiot." he murmured to himself. But he couldn’t help the slight smile on his face.
SUMMARY — Conner Kent, known as Superboy, is a powerful figure, capable of great destruction and widely feared. He is respected for his immense strength and serious demeanor, making him a strong ally. However, to you, he is much more than that. He is Project Kr, a clone of Superman from Cadmus who once helped you escape from captivity. You remember his fierce determination and how he fought for his own identity while freeing you. To the world, he's Superboy, but to you, he's the boy who brought hope and light.
WARNING! 18+MDNI! Swearing.
WORDS! 16.5k
AUTHOR'S NOTE! Conner Kent is that guy, no one can tell me otherwise. The boy is fiooooneeeee, okay! This was a long one to write and it definitely trampled other fics I have planned, but I had get it out for the readers. Anyway, enjoy your reading! 😉 ✨
Acquiring the ability to control cosmic energy was never something you envisioned for your life, but desperate times can drive even the most ordinary person into extraordinary circumstances. For years, your family had been struggling under the suffocating weight of financial instability. Bills piled up like mountains, debts threatened to swallow your home, and your part-time job at the corner store barely scraped together enough to keep the lights on. Watching your parents age prematurely under the strain of endless stress made you feel helpless, as though you were merely a spectator to your family's slow unraveling.
But one evening, as you flipped through the faded pages of a secondhand newspaper, something caught your eye. It was a small, inconspicuous ad nestled between real estate listings and job postings. The bold letters read: "Volunteers Needed: Lucrative Opportunity. Life-Changing Rewards." Beneath it, the fine print offered no real details, just a phone number and one name: LexCorp.
You'd heard of LexCorp before—who hadn't? Depending on who you asked, it was either a beacon of technological progress or a shadowy conglomerate with too many secrets. Whispers about their projects varied from revolutionary to downright sinister. But desperation doesn't allow for hesitation. The promise of financial salvation was too tempting, so you dialed the number that same night.
A calm, professional voice on the other end of the line invited you for a preliminary interview. The process moved faster than you expected. Within days, you found yourself in a gleaming, sterile office building that loomed over the city like a monolith. You answered questions about your health, your resilience, and—strangely—your willingness to take risks. The interviewer never clarified what kind of risks, but when they slid the contract across the table, your focus locked on the reward: a sum so generous it could pay off all your family's debts and still leave enough for a comfortable life.
The contract was a labyrinth of legal jargon and densely packed paragraphs, punctuated by bold phrases like "irreversible effects," "assumption of risk," and "non-disclosure agreement." But the promise of freedom for your family outweighed any doubt, so you scrawled your signature across the dotted lines without looking back.
It wasn't until later that the grim reality set in. The "project" wasn't just experimental—it was dangerous. LexCorp had unearthed a crystalline artifact, a strange cube humming with energy not of this Earth. According to the scientists, it contained pure cosmic energy—an unstable force capable of reshaping matter, bending space, and altering the fabric of reality itself. They theorized that, in the right hands, it could create beings with abilities to rival even Superman.
You weren't alone in the program. A handful of other volunteers joined you, all desperate for their own reasons. The testing began almost immediately, a grueling process that pushed your body and mind to the brink. You were exposed to blinding flashes of the cube's energy, its chaotic currents coursing through containment fields barely strong enough to hold it. Each session felt like standing in the heart of a storm, your nerves stretched taut as the energy seared through your veins.
It didn't take long for the casualties to mount. One by one, the other volunteers fell. Some collapsed under the strain of the experiments, their bodies unable to adapt to the energy's raw intensity. Others met even darker fates as containment breaches unleashed bursts of uncontrollable power. The scientists treated each loss as a data point, scribbling notes on clipboards while their expressions remained disturbingly detached.
And then there was you. Somehow, inexplicably, you endured. Where others withered, you thrived. Your body didn't just survive the energy—it absorbed it, adapted to it, and transformed. You began to exhibit abilities that defied explanation: manipulating matter with a thought, generating bursts of pure energy, and sensing disturbances in the world around you as if you were tethered to something far greater than yourself.
At first, the scientists were ecstatic. You were their success story, their living proof that the experiment could work. But as your abilities grew, so did your unease. This power didn't feel natural—it felt like something alien, a force that didn't belong within a human shell. The memories of the other volunteers haunted you, their faces a constant reminder of the cost of your transformation.
The financial burden that had weighed so heavily on your family was gone, replaced by an entirely new weight—the realization that you were no longer just a person. You were a weapon, a product of ambition and desperation. Your life was no longer your own.
What began as a desperate attempt to help your family had turned you into something else entirely: a walking, breathing experiment. And while your body thrived on cosmic energy, your soul bore the scars of what you'd become.
The madness didn't end with your newfound powers. If anything, it spiraled into a nightmare beyond your darkest imaginings. LexCorp saw you not as a person, but as a priceless asset—an investment they intended to exploit to its fullest. To ensure you would remain under their absolute control, they delivered a cruel, calculated lie to your family: you had died in a tragic, catastrophic accident. There was no body, no closure, just grief. As far as your parents knew, you were gone—a victim of this cold, merciless world.
But you weren't dead. Far from it. LexCorp secretly transferred you to Cadmus, an infamous facility buried deep in classified government records, renowned for its cutting-edge but ethically dubious experiments in genetic manipulation and superhuman biology. The compound itself was a fortress, hidden in an unmarked location, surrounded by layers of security designed to ensure nothing—and no one—got out.
Your new "home" was a specialized containment cell, meticulously engineered to nullify your powers. The walls shimmered faintly with a metallic sheen, imbued with compounds and technology designed to absorb the cosmic energy flowing through your body. No matter how much strength you summoned, the cell rendered you powerless. It wasn't just a prison—it was a tomb for your autonomy.
The routines of captivity weren't physically harsh, but they were psychologically devastating. Each day was a dull monotony, a predictable loop that wore on your mind like sandpaper against stone. You were provided meals on a rigid schedule—nutrient-rich but devoid of flavor—and your quarters, while minimally comfortable, felt suffocating in their sterile, inhuman design. Time blurred into an endless expanse of sameness.
Occasionally, you had moments of interaction that broke the monotony. Conversations with the G-Gnomes, small, psychic creatures employed by Cadmus to probe your thoughts and monitor your mental state, offered a strange sort of companionship, though their eerie, insectoid features unnerved you. Then there was Kraig, a peculiar hybrid being who seemed almost amused by your predicament. He spoke in riddles, dropping cryptic hints about Cadmus's inner workings and the shadowy figures pulling the strings.
They also allowed you to practice your powers, but only under strict supervision. The training arena was a sterile, white void, filled with sensors that monitored your every move. You were tested to your limits—summoning bursts of energy, manipulating objects, even warping matter in controlled settings. But you weren't doing it for your benefit. Every session was another data point for Cadmus, another step in their quest to unlock and weaponize the full extent of your abilities.
The guards at Cadmus ensured compliance at all costs. They weren't your average enforcers. These were genetic hybrids, beings with enhanced strength, speed, and resilience, some of them augmented by alien DNA. Their presence was a constant reminder of the futility of resistance. Every hallway you walked, every glance from their cold, calculating eyes, made it clear that rebellion was not an option. Even if you managed to overpower them—which seemed impossible—the labyrinthine facility offered no clues about its location. No windows, no distinguishing features, nothing that hinted at where you might be in the world. For all you knew, you could have been on another planet.
The isolation began to chip away at your resolve. Days bled into weeks, the walls of your cell pressing closer with each passing moment. You began to lose track of time, your mind slipping into darker places. Dreams of escape faded, replaced by the oppressive reality of your imprisonment. And then, something unexpected happened.
On what seemed like an ordinary day, during one of your escorted walks to the training area, you encountered him. At first, you thought your eyes were deceiving you. Standing before you was a figure straight out of legend: Superman. The same chiseled jawline, the iconic red cape, the unmistakable "S" shield on his chest. Your heart froze in your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to save you?
But Kraig, your enigmatic acquaintance, quickly corrected your assumption. This wasn't Superman. It was Project Kr—an imperfect clone crafted in Cadmus's relentless quest to control the power of Kryptonian DNA. Up close, you could see the cracks in the illusion: his slightly rougher features, the faint aura of instability in his demeanor. He was no savior, but another prisoner, bound by the same invisible chains that held you.
Meeting Project Kr changed everything. He wasn't just a clone; he was a person, struggling with his own identity, his own chains, his own quiet rebellion. In him, you saw a kindred spirit—a reflection of your own suffering and longing for freedom. For the first time, hope flickered in the darkness.
Finding someone to talk to was a relief, even if Project Kr wasn't exactly the warmest conversationalist. At first, your exchanges were brief—fleeting moments punctuated by short questions or observations. He wasn't particularly chatty, and his reserved nature made it difficult to know whether he even wanted to engage. Still, you persisted. Slowly, those terse exchanges began to grow into longer interactions. It might have started with a simple question—something about the sterile facility you both called a prison—but it gradually blossomed into hesitant conversations that carried the weight of mutual understanding.
Project Kr was captivated by your stories of the outside world. His eyes would narrow in quiet fascination as you described the mundane details of life beyond Cadmus. The way sunlight broke through trees in the morning, the scent of fresh rain on concrete, the chatter of strangers in a crowded marketplace—things you'd once taken for granted now felt like treasures as you recounted them. His questions were sharp and deliberate, as though each answer unraveled a world he had only dreamed of but never truly believed existed. You painted him pictures of blue skies and bustling cities, of quiet parks and chaotic streets. And every word seemed to stick, as if he was storing these glimpses of freedom deep within himself.
In return, you tried to nudge the conversation toward anything that might help you escape. You asked careful questions about the facility's layout, its security measures, and anything else that might give you a clue. But Project Kr's responses were vague, fragmented, and often unhelpful. It didn't take long to notice something was off about him. Sometimes, mid-conversation, his expression would cloud over, and he'd grow quiet, almost distant, as though listening to something you couldn't hear.
It was then you realized the truth: Kraig. The strange psychic hybrid who had been a begrudging presence in your life was manipulating Project Kr's mind. Subtly, perhaps even unconsciously, Kraig was twisting his thoughts and controlling his actions. The realization sent a chill down your spine. One day, in a rare moment of privacy, you managed to warn Project Kr. You kept your tone neutral and your words vague to avoid tipping off Kraig, but you urged him to be cautious, to question the voices in his mind. Project Kr didn't acknowledge your warning directly, but his thoughtful silence made you hope he'd understood.
Your chance at freedom came sooner than expected—and from a source you never could have predicted. One day, alarms erupted through the sterile corridors of Cadmus. The red lights painted the walls in flashes, and the normally unflappable guards scrambled like panicked ants. You had no idea what was happening. Then the sounds of muffled combat echoed through the facility, followed by explosions and shouts.
The chaos found its way to your cell when the door hissed open, and three figures appeared: Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. Their presence was so unexpected that you thought it might be a trick or some elaborate test. But there they were, battered but determined, with Project Kr at their side. They wasted no time in freeing you. There was no room for questions or hesitation—only urgency. They needed to move, and you weren't about to argue.
The escape was a whirlwind of chaos. The five of you fought your way through the labyrinthine facility, dodging guards and tearing through security systems. The young heroes moved with reckless determination, their banter sharp despite the life-or-death stakes. You quickly found your place among them, using your powers to blast through obstacles and defend the group as the facility descended into absolute pandemonium.
Along the way, you liberated others—victims of Cadmus's cruel experiments. Some were like you, beings infused with strange powers, while others were creatures whose very existence seemed impossible. Together, you all made your way toward freedom, leaving destruction in your wake. Guards fell, alarms blared, and containment units shattered as the facility unraveled.
When you finally broke free, the night air hit your skin like a long-forgotten memory. You barely had a moment to savor the victory, though, before the Justice League arrived. The towering heroes descended like gods from the sky, their presence commanding. But instead of celebration, you were met with sharp disapproval. Batman's cold glare, Wonder Woman's disappointment, and Superman's shock all weighed heavy on the young heroes.
The League was unimpressed with the recklessness of Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. But it was the sight of Project Kr that truly sent ripples through the group. Superman froze, staring at his clone with a mixture of disbelief, discomfort, and unspoken questions. The tension in the air was palpable as the League tried to make sense of what had happened and what Cadmus had been hiding.
You stood awkwardly amidst the chaos, unsure of where you belonged in this strange new reality. All you wanted was to go home, to finally see your family again and leave this nightmare behind. But it quickly became clear that wasn't going to happen—not yet. Batman's sharp, calculating gaze lingered on you, assessing your powers, your potential. You felt like a puzzle piece he was already trying to fit into a grander scheme.
It wasn't freedom you had walked into—it was the beginning of something much larger. The escape had torn open a new chapter in your life, one where you were no longer just a prisoner but a player in a game far beyond your understanding. And as the Justice League deliberated your fate, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the start of something far more complicated, far more dangerous, than you'd ever imagined.
Returning home should have been the end of your nightmare, but instead, it marked the beginning of a more complicated and harrowing chapter in your life. Batman, true to his word, arranged for your return to your family, but not without strings attached. Standing in the shadows of your old neighborhood, he issued a warning: he would be watching, checking in periodically to ensure you didn't lose control—or endanger anyone. His voice was steady, almost detached, but his presence left little room for argument. Exhausted, you didn't press for details. All you wanted was to go home.
The reunion with your parents was both heartwarming and devastating. When they opened the door, their faces were a storm of emotions—shock, disbelief, and overwhelming joy. The tears came quickly, followed by bone-crushing hugs, as they struggled to reconcile the son they thought they'd lost with the one standing before them now. But as relief gave way to reality, their joy turned to anger.
They didn't hold back, their voices rising as they scolded you for your recklessness. Volunteering for an experiment with LexCorp—of all places? What were you thinking? Didn't you know how dangerous they were? The words hit you like blows, but you understood the source of their anger. It was fear disguised as frustration, born from the agony they'd endured while believing you were dead. And though their scolding stung, it was underscored by a simple truth: they were just grateful to have you home.
For a brief time, it felt like life might return to normal. You tried to fall back into old routines, helping out around the house, making small talk at dinner, and even considering the possibility of returning to school. But nothing about you was normal anymore. The cosmic energy flowing through your veins wasn't something you could hide forever.
At first, the signs were subtle—a glowing fingertip here, a static hum in the air when you were nervous—but it quickly escalated. Your emotions became dangerous triggers. A flash of frustration could send a burst of energy surging from your hands, while excitement might cause objects to levitate or shatter. Despite your best efforts to suppress it, your powers were volatile and unpredictable. You knew you were losing control, and worse, your family was beginning to notice.
Then there was LexCorp. They weren't content to let you slip through their fingers. Just weeks after your return, strange cars began appearing near your house, their darkened windows reflecting nothing but menace. Agents loitered on the edges of your property, their suits sharp and their gazes sharper. They didn't bother hiding their intentions, occasionally knocking on the door with thinly veiled threats, demanding to know where you were. Their intimidation tactics grew bolder by the day, turning your home into a pressure cooker of fear and tension.
The breaking point came during an argument with your father. He had been on edge since your return, and his concern for your future boiled over when you mentioned wanting to go back to school. He insisted it wasn't safe—not for you, and not for anyone around you. But you were desperate for a shred of normalcy, and the argument escalated until it was loud enough to rattle the windows.
And then it happened. In a flash of frustration, you lost control. A surge of cosmic energy erupted from you, sending your father flying across the room. He hit the wall hard, slumping to the floor in stunned silence. Thankfully, he wasn't seriously hurt, but the look on his face—the mixture of fear and disbelief—broke something inside you. He wasn't looking at his son anymore. He was looking at a stranger, someone dangerous, someone he couldn't protect.
You knew then that you couldn't stay. As much as you loved your family, as much as they loved you, you were a threat to their safety. And LexCorp's shadow looming over them only made things worse. You couldn't protect them here—not from yourself, and not from the enemies you'd made.
Desperate and unsure of what else to do, you made a decision that felt surreal: you called Batman. The fact that you even had the means to summon the Dark Knight was a strange reminder of how far your life had strayed from normalcy. When he answered, his voice was as calm and precise as ever. After you explained the situation, he listened quietly before offering a solution.
Batman extended an invitation—or perhaps a directive. He offered you a place at The Cave, a secret base for young heroes and sidekicks under the mentorship of the Justice League. It wasn't just a sanctuary; it was a training ground. There, you could learn to control your powers, defend yourself, and face the enemies who would inevitably come for you. It wasn't a retreat—it was an enlistment into a dangerous new world.
The Cave was unlike anything you'd imagined. Hidden beneath layers of earth and stone, it buzzed with cutting-edge technology and the faint hum of activity. This wasn't just a hideout—it was a hub for covert operations. The young heroes who called it home were unlike anyone you'd ever met. Aqualad, Robin, Kid Flash, and others moved through the space with confidence, their actions precise and their camaraderie sharp-edged. They weren't just kids—they were warriors in training, bearing the weight of their mentors' legacies.
You felt out of place among them, like an outsider in a world where everyone else already knew their role. They were fast, skilled, and experienced, while you were still struggling to keep your powers in check. But this was your new home, your new reality. It wasn't what you wanted—far from it—but maybe it was what you needed. Here, under Batman's watchful eye and surrounded by others who understood the burden of extraordinary abilities, you had a chance to find stability.
This was no ordinary life, but then again, you were no ordinary person anymore. You weren't just a kid trying to fix your family's problems. You were something more—a fledgling hero, a potential force for good. And as you stood in the Cave, surrounded by the hum of advanced technology and the determined faces of your new teammates, you realized this wasn't the end of your story. It was only the beginning.
Among the chaos, one thing brought you a measure of comfort: seeing Project Kr, now going by the name Conner. The sight of his familiar face, stoic as ever, made the adjustment a little easier. For Conner, the surprise was mutual. He hadn't expected to see you again, and though his expression didn't betray much, you could tell he was glad to have someone he recognized.
For you, it felt like a lifeline. You had barely interacted with the team members who had freed you—Kid Flash, Robin, and Aqualad—and they were already deep into their missions and camaraderie. While they were friendly enough, their bond made you feel like the odd one out. But Conner was different. He wasn't a polished hero or an experienced team player; he was just trying to figure things out, much like you. That small connection eased some of the tension.
Not long after settling in, you were introduced to two more members of the team: Artemis and M'gann. Artemis, with her sharp wit and cool confidence, made an immediate impression. She wasn't one to sugarcoat her words, and her tough exterior initially made her seem intimidating. But there was something about her—an edge of vulnerability beneath the bravado—that suggested she understood what it meant to fight for your place in a world that doubted you.
Then there was M'gann, or Miss Martian, who was the complete opposite. Her warmth and enthusiasm were like a burst of sunlight in the dim, serious atmosphere of the Cave. She greeted you with a beaming smile and an openness that immediately put you at ease. Her curiosity about you was genuine, and she made an effort to include you in conversations and activities, even when you felt like retreating into the background.
It didn't take long for you to realize how different each member of the team was. Robin was quick-witted and a little cocky but clearly brilliant; Kid Flash was an endless source of energy and humor; Aqualad carried himself with a calm, commanding presence that made him seem like the glue holding the group together. Conner, however, was still figuring out where he fit, much like you.
Through all of this, Conner remained a steady presence. While he wasn't one for long conversations, his quiet support was reassuring. Occasionally, the two of you would exchange a few words about Cadmus, your powers, or just the strange twists your lives had taken. Those moments of familiarity in an otherwise unfamiliar world kept you grounded.
Artemis and M'gann quickly became part of your routine as well. Artemis was the one who pushed you during training, challenging you to step up and prove yourself. M'gann, on the other hand, helped you feel like part of the team, her kindness and patience making the transition easier. Slowly but surely, you began to feel like you belonged—not just as someone seeking refuge, but as a true member of something bigger.
In your free time, you and Conner began spending more and more time together, falling into an easy, natural rhythm that neither of you had expected. At first, it was just casual conversations, catching up on everything that had happened since Cadmus. You talked about the weeks you'd been apart—how he'd adjusted to life at The Cave, how you'd wrestled with your powers and the lingering guilt of your escape. Those chats were brief but meaningful, moments of quiet connection amid the constant chaos of life as young heroes. But before long, they became something you both craved—moments of solace that grounded you in ways nothing else could.
It was impossible not to notice how much Conner had changed. He was still the strong, silent type, but there was a new layer to him now, a quiet confidence that made him seem more centered. Gone was the unsteady, uncertain figure you'd met in the depths of Cadmus. In his place was someone learning to take control of his life, to find his place in the world. That growth only deepened your respect for him, and soon, your conversations began to shift. What started as small talk about training sessions or team dynamics turned into late-night discussions about your fears, your hopes, and the strange, winding paths that had led you both to this point.
It felt effortless, natural, like you could say anything to Conner without fear of judgment. He listened in a way few others did—quietly, intently, as if every word you spoke carried weight. And when he opened up in return, you could feel the trust he was placing in you, each admission a window into the person he was becoming. The bond between you deepened with every conversation, and it didn't take long for you to realize that what you felt for Conner wasn't just friendship. It was something much more profound, something that scared and exhilarated you all at once.
You couldn't ignore it anymore. How could you, when every glance he gave you seemed to linger a little longer than it should, when every brush of his hand against yours sent a shiver down your spine? Those piercing ocean-blue eyes seemed to see straight through you, leaving you breathless and flustered in ways you hadn't experienced before. And then there was his physique—broad shoulders, a chiseled frame, and strength that felt almost mythical. You'd caught glimpses of him without a shirt during training, and those moments had a habit of staying with you, replaying in your mind at the most inconvenient times.
But it wasn't just his looks. It was everything about him—the way he could calm your nerves with a simple look, the way he listened to you ramble about the smallest details of your day, the way his presence made you feel safe in a way you hadn't felt since before Cadmus. Even his infamous temper, which should have been a warning sign, only drew you closer. You'd seen the fire in him, but you'd also seen the way he softened around you, the way your words could bring him back from the edge when no one else could.
And then there were the little things: waking up in the morning with thoughts of Conner already swirling in your mind, the sound of his voice echoing in your head long after he'd spoken, the way his rare but radiant smile could make your heart race. It wasn't just a crush—it was something deeper, something undeniable. You were falling for him, hard, and every moment you spent with him only solidified that truth.
Unbeknownst to you, Conner was wrestling with similar feelings. At first, he didn't understand what he was experiencing. Emotions were still a foreign concept to him, something he was learning to navigate, but the more time he spent with you, the clearer it became. The way his heart leapt when you smiled, the way your laughter could cut through the anger he so often struggled to contain, the way his pulse quickened every time you touched his arm—it all pointed to one undeniable fact: you weren't just a friend. You were someone who made him feel alive.
He began gravitating toward you without even realizing it. Whether it was during training sessions, missions, or quiet moments in The Cave, he found excuses to be near you. He volunteered to partner with you whenever possible and couldn't help but let his protective instincts take over whenever you were in danger, even though he knew you could handle yourself. It wasn't just habit—it was something deeper, something he couldn't deny no matter how hard he tried.
The rest of the team noticed almost immediately. The chemistry between the two of you was impossible to ignore, and it quickly became the subject of playful teasing. Kid Flash, ever the joker, took every opportunity to comment on the "will-they-won't-they drama," making exaggerated bets on how long it would take for one of you to confess. Robin smirked knowingly but kept his thoughts to himself, while Artemis alternated between amusement and light encouragement, often giving you both subtle nudges to just admit your feelings already.
But not everyone was thrilled. M'gann, who had her own complicated feelings for Conner, watched the growing connection with thinly veiled jealousy. She tried to hide it, putting on a brave face and pretending everything was fine, but her envy was apparent. It cast a shadow over the group dynamic, one that you and Conner both felt but didn't know how to address.
Despite the teasing, the jealousy, and the unspoken tension, nothing could stop what was building between you and Conner. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every late-night conversation brought you closer to the inevitable. The feelings between you were too strong to ignore, and sooner or later, one of you would have to take the leap. Because this wasn't just a fleeting crush—it was something unstoppable, something that had already started to change both of you in ways you couldn't begin to explain.
The weight of your emotions kept both of you tethered in uncertainty. That is, until one quiet evening when the truth could no longer be contained.
It had been a long, grueling day at The Cave. Training sessions had pushed everyone to their limits, and the tension among the team was palpable. You needed a break from the relentless chaos, and as if reading your mind, Conner had suggested a walk along the beach near the cliffs. Without hesitation, you agreed. Wolf, his ever-loyal companion, bounded ahead, his paws leaving faint imprints in the sand as he explored the shoreline. Occasionally, he would stop and glance back, his amber eyes checking to make sure you were both keeping up.
The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange, pink, and gold. The ocean mirrored the colors, its surface shimmering like liquid light as waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. A gentle breeze carried the salty tang of the sea, tugging lightly at your clothes and hair. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft crunch of sand beneath your feet and the distant calls of seabirds.
It was a moment of rare peace, one that felt almost too perfect to be real. For once, there were no missions looming, no training drills to face, no external pressures demanding your attention—just the two of you and the endless horizon.
Conner was the first to break the silence. His voice, quiet and contemplative, barely rose above the sound of the waves. "You know," he began, his gaze fixed on the distant ocean, "a lot has changed since I left Cadmus." There was a hesitance in his tone, as if he were still trying to piece his thoughts together. "Back then, everything was simple. Not in a good way, just... empty. I followed orders. Did what I was told. I didn't think about anything beyond that."
You glanced at him but stayed silent, sensing that this was something he needed to say in his own time. His jaw tightened briefly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his expression flickering with uncertainty. "Since then, I've learned a lot—about myself, about the world, about what it means to... choose who you want to be." He hesitated, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "And about what I want."
The confession caught you off guard, your chest tightening as his words sank in. Conner glanced at you, his ocean-blue eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "Sometimes, it's overwhelming," he admitted, his voice dropping lower. "I feel like I'm always trying to catch up, to figure out who I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to do. But when I'm with you..." He stopped walking, turning to face you fully.
The wind ruffled his dark hair, and the fading sunlight bathed him in a golden glow that made his chiseled features look almost unreal. For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression soft but intense, as if searching for the right words.
"When I'm with you," he continued, his voice steady now, "everything feels... clear. Like none of the confusion or doubt matters. Like I can just be."
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. The air around you felt charged, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you. Before you could respond, Conner took a small step closer, the sand shifting beneath his boots.
"I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to say it," he said, his voice firmer now, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "I love you."
The words hit you like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. He stood there, raw and unguarded, every wall he'd ever built stripped away in this one, vulnerable moment. "I didn't realize it at first," he continued, his voice quieter now, as if the confession itself had drained some of his resolve. "But I do. I love you. And it's not just some fleeting feeling—it's real. It's... everything."
The world seemed to stop. The waves, the wind, even Wolf's distant barking faded into the background. All you could see, all you could hear, was Conner standing before you, his words hanging in the air like the last rays of sunlight on the horizon. He looked at you with a mixture of hope and fear, his hands hanging uncertainly at his sides, as though he didn't quite know what to do with them.
"I love you," he repeated, softer this time, as if reaffirming it to himself. "And I don't care if it's messy or complicated. I just... I had to tell you."
It was then that you realized your hands were trembling, your emotions a whirlwind of shock, joy, and disbelief. You had imagined this moment so many times, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer weight of hearing those words spoken aloud. For the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion etched into his features.
"Conner..." you began, your voice catching in your throat. His name felt like a lifeline, grounding you in this moment that felt too big, too important, to fully comprehend. You stepped closer, your trembling hands finding their way to his. The warmth of his touch steadied you, his calloused fingers gently enclosing yours as if to anchor you both.
Looking into his eyes, you saw everything you needed to say reflected back at you—the trust, the connection, the undeniable truth of what you both felt. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the world in twilight, you realized that this wasn't just a moment of confession. It was the beginning of something new, something real, and something worth holding onto.
"I love you too," you whispered, and the smile that broke across Conner's face was brighter than the fading light of the setting sun.
The confession lingered between you like a fragile thread, heavy with emotion yet pulsing with potential. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the weight of Conner's words and the silent tension locking you both in place. His piercing blue eyes searched yours, as though trying to read your thoughts, his vulnerability exposed in a way you had never seen before. Then, as if something inside him shifted, Conner took a step closer—close enough for the warmth of his body to cut through the cool ocean breeze.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The intensity in his gaze said everything. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his movements careful, giving you every opportunity to step back, to stop what was about to happen. But you didn't. Your feet stayed rooted in the sand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest as the world around you seemed to fall away. The rhythmic crash of the waves, the distant cries of seagulls, even the faint sound of Wolf panting nearby—all of it faded into nothing. There was only Conner, and the way he made the air between you feel electric.
And then his lips met yours.
The kiss was everything you hadn't realized you were waiting for. It was slow at first, tentative, like the beginning of a story you both wanted to savor. But it didn't stay that way for long. As the initial hesitation melted away, the kiss deepened, growing in intensity. There was a passion behind it, a rawness that spoke of everything the two of you had been holding back for so long. His lips were soft yet firm, his movements deliberate but hungry, as though he were pouring every unsaid word, every pent-up emotion, into this one perfect moment.
His hands, rough and calloused from endless training, moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted with the fervor of the kiss, and it sent a shiver through you. It was as though he were afraid to let you go, afraid you might vanish if he didn't hold on tight enough. You leaned into his touch, your own hands instinctively finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as if to anchor yourself in the surging tide of emotions threatening to sweep you away.
The kiss deepened further, and Conner pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. The feel of him—the strength, the warmth, the sheer presence—was overwhelming. His body pressed against yours, solid and steady, making you feel both consumed and protected all at once. You could feel the faint, steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, a grounding reminder that this moment was real, that he was real.
Your own hands slid up to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with everything you had. Each movement, each touch, felt charged, electric. It wasn't just passion; it was love—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to contain. The connection between you seemed to hum with a life of its own, as if the universe had been holding its breath for this exact moment.
Conner tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss further as his hands tightened around your waist, holding you close but still gentle, still careful. His touch sent warmth radiating through you, a heat that spread from where his hands rested to the very tips of your fingers. You felt as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it all, yet you didn't want it to end.
And then, reluctantly, the two of you broke apart, gasping softly as you both remembered the need to breathe. Conner didn't move far. His forehead came to rest gently against yours, his breath warm and uneven as he tried to steady himself. His eyes remained closed for a moment, a soft smile curving his lips—a smile so rare, so full of affection, it made your chest ache.
When his eyes finally opened, they were filled with a tenderness that made your knees weak. He didn't speak right away, and neither did you. Words felt unnecessary in the face of everything that had just passed between you. Instead, he lifted a hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, as if to confirm to himself that you were still there, still real.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time," he finally admitted, his voice low and almost shy, a sharp contrast to the confident strength he usually carried. The vulnerability in his tone only made your heart swell further.
"So have I," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft crash of the waves. The words carried a weight of truth that made him smile again, his rare, breathtaking smile that seemed to light up the darkening horizon.
For a while, neither of you moved, content to stay locked in this moment. His arms remained around you, holding you close as the ocean breeze swirled around you both. Wolf's distant bark brought a faint laugh from Conner, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he finally pulled back, though his hands never left your waist.
Standing there, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, you felt as though the world had shifted. The tension that had lingered between you for weeks, the unspoken feelings that had hung in the air, were gone. In their place was something real, something steady.
And in that moment, as you gazed into Conner's eyes and saw nothing but affection and certainty reflected back at you, you knew one thing for sure: this was only the beginning.
From that day on, everything changed. The kiss on the beach didn't just mark the start of your relationship—it was the foundation for something transformative, something neither of you had fully realized you were missing until that moment. You and Conner became inseparable, building a bond that was as powerful as it was tender. Over the next five years, your lives intertwined as you grew together, navigating the complexities of both hero life and the challenges of adulthood.
The beginning of your relationship was an adjustment period, filled with both excitement and learning curves. Conner wasn't the most expressive person when it came to words, but his actions spoke volumes. He showed his love in the quiet, meaningful ways that only he could. Whether it was standing protectively closer to you during tense missions, slipping you a cup of coffee just the way you liked it after a grueling training session, or silently sitting by your side during long, quiet evenings, his devotion was clear.
Conner wasn't one for grand romantic gestures, but the little things made up for it. He remembered details about you that no one else did—your favorite music, the way you liked to unwind after a stressful day, the exact spot on your shoulder that was always sore after combat training. His love wasn't loud or flashy, but it was steady and undeniable.
Of course, it wasn't perfect. Adjusting to each other's quirks and differences wasn't always easy. Conner's occasional temper and your own stubborn streak led to clashes, sometimes over the smallest things—who forgot to clean up after training, or which of you deserved the last slice of pizza after a long mission. Other arguments ran deeper, rooted in the immense pressure both of you faced as heroes. Sometimes Conner would shut down emotionally, retreating into himself when he felt overwhelmed. Other times, you'd push yourself too hard, refusing to admit when you needed help. But no matter how heated or difficult things became, the two of you always found a way to reconcile, your love proving stronger than any disagreement.
Not everyone was thrilled about your relationship—M'gann, in particular. It was no secret that she had feelings for Conner, and the announcement of your relationship hit her hard. Though she wasn't openly hostile, the tension was undeniable. At first, her actions were subtle: lingering a little too long in conversations with Conner, finding excuses to partner with him during missions, or offering advice that felt far more personal than professional. Her glances toward you were sharp, her words clipped and frosty whenever you were around.
You tried not to let it bother you, but there were moments of doubt. M'gann was stunningly beautiful, effortlessly charismatic, and had a connection with Conner from the early days of his life outside Cadmus. Part of you couldn't help but wonder if she could offer him something you couldn't. But Conner's loyalty never wavered. He made it clear where his heart lay, whether by politely but firmly shutting down M'gann's attempts or simply moving closer to you during team gatherings, taking your hand in his and grounding you in the reassurance of his presence.
Over time, M'gann began to accept the reality of your relationship. Her attempts to win Conner over became less frequent, and while the tension between you two never completely disappeared, it faded into the background. Eventually, her focus shifted toward her own growth, and though your relationship with her would never be warm, it settled into a quiet indifference. She became a minor distraction compared to the love and connection you shared with Conner.
As the months passed, you and Conner faced countless challenges together, each one shaping the bond between you. Life as young heroes wasn't easy—the missions were grueling, the stakes high, and the sacrifices often painful. But through it all, you were each other's constant. You celebrated victories together, no matter how small, and offered comfort during moments of doubt and loss. Conner's quiet strength became your anchor, while your unwavering support helped him find his footing in a world that often felt too complicated and overwhelming.
When life outside the team came calling, you tackled those challenges together too. From figuring out how to balance hero duties with the mundane struggles of daily life to simply learning what it meant to grow into yourselves, you became each other's greatest ally. On the days when it felt like the weight of the world was too much, Conner would pull you into his arms, his steady heartbeat reminding you that you weren't alone. And on the nights when his own doubts crept in, you were there to remind him of his worth, of the incredible man he had become.
Then five years passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. You went from two unsure teenagers navigating the chaos of the team to adults who had found not just strength in one another, but a deep and abiding love that had weathered every storm. There were still challenges, of course—every relationship has them—but the foundation you'd built together was unshakable.
The connection that began in the sterile halls of Cadmus had blossomed into something extraordinary. Conner wasn't just your boyfriend—he was your partner in every sense of the word. He was the person who stood by your side in battle, the one who held you close when the nightmares came, the one who believed in you even on the days when you struggled to believe in yourself.
And you weren't just his boyfriend—you were his rock, his constant in a world that had once seemed so alien and confusing. You gave him a sense of purpose, of belonging, that he'd never known before. Together, you had built a life filled with love, trust, and the unshakable certainty that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you could face them as long as you had each other.
What began as a quiet connection had grown into a love that was steady, powerful, and enduring. Conner was your home, and you were his. And as you looked toward the future, you knew that whatever storms came your way, you would weather them together. Always.
You two had grown into your roles as senior members of the now-expanded Team, a transformation that felt both surreal and inevitable. What had started as a small, tight-knit group of young heroes had evolved into a sprawling organization with dozens of recruits, each bringing their own unique powers, personalities, and challenges. It was a far cry from the days when you and Conner were the rookies, scrambling to keep up with the veterans. Now, you stood among the most experienced, entrusted with leading the next generation of heroes and steering them through the chaos of their missions.
Stepping into leadership roles hadn't been easy at first. The weight of responsibility was daunting, especially when you remembered your own early missteps. But with time, you both found your footing, developing your own distinct styles as leaders. Conner's leadership was natural, almost effortless. His steady presence and unshakable sense of duty made him a rock for his squadron. He commanded respect without demanding it, his quiet authority inspiring trust and loyalty. Conner was the kind of leader who always showed up—whether it was to guide his team through a perilous mission or to quietly offer a word of encouragement to a struggling recruit.
Your leadership style was different but no less effective. Where Conner's strength lay in his consistency and calm, you excelled at connecting with your squad on a deeper level. You had a gift for understanding people, seeing their potential even when they couldn't. Your approach combined empathy with just the right amount of tough love, pushing your team to grow while making sure they always felt supported. You understood the importance of believing in someone, of showing them they could succeed even when the odds felt impossible. Your recruits respected you not just as a leader, but as someone who truly cared about their success.
Despite the demands of leadership, the dynamic between you and Conner remained as strong as ever. Though your duties often pulled you in different directions, you always found time to collaborate. Whether it was during strategy meetings, debriefing after missions, or those quiet moments when you both needed to vent about the latest recruit who thought they could "go solo," you leaned on each other. You balanced each other perfectly—Conner's pragmatic approach grounded you, while your empathetic perspective often helped him see angles he might have overlooked. Together, you made a formidable team, both in and out of the field.
The new normal was a far cry from the uncertain days of your early years with the Team. Back then, you'd felt like you were constantly running to catch up, to prove yourself. Now, you and Conner had become the ones others turned to for guidance. It was a strange realization at first, but also deeply rewarding. You weren't just fighting battles anymore—you were shaping the future, mentoring the next generation of heroes who would one day carry the mantle.
That didn't mean it was easy. The new recruits were a mixed bag, as new recruits always are. Some were eager but reckless, driven by the need to prove themselves in ways that often landed them in trouble. Others were more cautious, unsure of their abilities and hesitant to take risks. And then there were those who chafed under authority, testing the limits of your patience. Each recruit brought their own challenges, and managing them required different approaches.
Conner handled the rebellious ones with his usual no-nonsense attitude. He didn't tolerate excuses or slacking, but he was also fair, quick to recognize hard work and improvement. His squad knew where they stood with him, and while his methods were sometimes intimidating, they were undeniably effective. You, on the other hand, excelled at breaking through the walls recruits often put up, finding ways to reach even the most difficult personalities. You had a knack for making them feel seen and valued, which often helped smooth over the rough edges.
You and Conner frequently swapped strategies, often during late-night conversations in the Cave or on rare quiet evenings at home. These moments were a reminder of how well you worked together, your different styles complementing rather than clashing. You didn't always agree—Conner's straightforward, discipline-focused approach sometimes clashed with your more empathetic methods—but your shared goal of keeping the team safe and prepared always brought you back to the same page.
Conner had just wrapped up one of the most grueling missions he'd faced in weeks, tracking Clayface through the rancid, labyrinthine sewers beneath Gotham City. The mission had been long, messy, and exhausting. With Nightwing leading the operation, the team had managed to corner and neutralize Clayface, but not without a few close calls—and plenty of exposure to Gotham's less-than-pleasant underbelly. By the time they returned to the Cave, the stench of sewage clung stubbornly to Conner, his clothes ruined and his mood sour.
After a quick debrief in the command center, Conner wasted no time heading to the showers. The hot water was a welcome relief, scalding away the grime and the memory of slogging through filth. He scrubbed at his skin with almost aggressive determination, muttering under his breath about how the smell refused to go away. Finally, after what felt like forever, he emerged clean and refreshed, droplets of water still clinging to his short hair and glistening on his skin.
He made his way to your shared room in the Cave, his fatigue weighing heavy on him. The door creaked open, and as he stepped inside, the sight before him made every ounce of stress from the day begin to fade. You were lounging on the bed, wearing one of his black T-shirts, the oversized fabric swallowing your frame and hanging down to your thighs. It was comically large on you, but that only made it more endearing. You sat cross-legged, utterly engrossed in the book resting in your lap, your brow furrowed slightly as you turned the page.
At the sound of the door opening, you looked up, your expression softening instantly into a warm, affectionate smile. "Hey," you said, your voice light and soothing, as though you'd been waiting for him all day.
A small but genuine smile tugged at the corners of Conner's lips. "Hey," he replied, his voice still low and gravelly from exhaustion. Without a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He didn't bother with words, didn't ask for permission—he simply made his way to you, resting his head on your stomach as he settled himself between your legs. His damp hair pressed against the fabric of the T-shirt you wore, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin beneath. His strong arms slid around your waist, pulling you close as though anchoring himself to you.
You didn't need to ask what he needed. Over the years, you'd come to understand Conner's unspoken language. He wasn't one to articulate his emotions easily, but his actions said more than words ever could. The way his body relaxed against yours, the way his breath slowed, and the way his grip on your waist tightened slightly—it all told you exactly what he was seeking: comfort, grounding, and the peace that only you could provide.
Your hand moved instinctively to his hair, your fingers threading gently through the damp strands. You stroked with slow, deliberate motions, your touch light but firm, knowing how much he loved this simple gesture. Conner let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, the tension visibly melting from his body. His arms flexed briefly around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, as though to ensure you wouldn't slip away.
"Tough mission?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers continued their soothing rhythm.
Conner hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes half-lidded as he let himself relax fully against you. "Clayface. Sewers. You can probably imagine the rest," he muttered, his tone laced with weariness.
You chuckled lightly, the sound vibrating gently against his cheek where it rested on your stomach. "Yikes," you teased. "Bet that smelled like roses."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, his dry humor peeking through despite his exhaustion. "Yeah, real refreshing," he murmured, his voice softer now. "Definitely one for the books."
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that came so naturally after years of being together. The sounds of the Cave—distant footsteps, the hum of machinery—faded into the background. You set your book aside, your attention fully on Conner now, your hand never ceasing its slow, comforting movements through his hair. His breathing grew steadier, his shoulders losing the last remnants of their tension as he melted into you completely.
The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a warm cocoon. Conner's grip on you was secure but gentle, his presence grounding you just as much as you grounded him. You couldn't help but smile as you looked down at him, his face peaceful and relaxed in a way that made your heart ache with love. These were the moments you cherished most—the quiet, unspoken ones where words weren't necessary, where just being together was enough to make the world feel right.
As the minutes stretched on, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his temple, your lips lingering against his skin. Conner responded with a barely audible hum of contentment, his arms tightening briefly around your waist before relaxing again.
"You want a massage?" you asked softly, your fingers threading gently through Conner's damp hair. His head rested heavily on your stomach, his body fully relaxed against yours, and the rhythmic motion of your hand seemed to ease away the tension he carried after his grueling mission. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing steady, and for a moment, it seemed like he might drift off completely.
He didn't reply right away, as if weighing the question or simply savoring the comfort of the moment. Then, slowly, a familiar smirk crept onto his lips—the kind that sent a shiver of anticipation through you every time you saw it. His ocean-blue eyes fluttered open, the corners crinkling with mischief as he tilted his head slightly to look up at you.
"Nah," he murmured, his voice low and edged with a playful undertone that made your heart skip a beat. "But I do have another idea."
You raised an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, though your pulse quickened at the teasing glint in his eyes. "Oh? And what idea might that be, Mr. Kent?" you teased, your fingers momentarily pausing in his hair as you waited for his response.
Conner shifted lazily, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could get a better look at you. His smirk widened as his gaze swept over you, taking in the sight of you curled up on the bed, still wearing his oversized black T-shirt that fell just above your thighs. The amusement in his expression was almost predatory, his eyes darkening slightly as they met yours.
He didn't answer right away, letting the silence stretch. His hand moved with deliberate slowness, brushing against your thigh in a way that sent a jolt of warmth through you. His fingertips lingered, tracing idle patterns on your skin, the touch both teasing and intimate.
"Well," he drawled at last, his voice dipping into that deep, gravelly tone that always made your stomach flutter. "I was thinking..." He trailed off, leaning in closer, his face just inches from yours now. The smirk softened into something more tender but no less dangerous as his hand slid up your leg, his palm coming to rest firmly on your hip. "Maybe we could do something a little... more fun."
You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of nervous energy and anticipation. "More fun?" you echoed, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders, your fingertips grazing the solid warmth of his muscles beneath his shirt. "And what exactly do you have in mind, Conner?"
His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He leaned in even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Why don't I show you?" he murmured, the suggestion laced with affection as much as mischief.
Before you could respond, he moved with effortless strength, his arms tightening around you as he shifted your positions in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised gasp as he flipped you onto your back, pinning you gently beneath him. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and the warmth of his body enveloped you as he braced himself above you.
His smirk was back, but there was a tenderness in his gaze now, a softness that made your breath catch. His hand remained on your hip, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of the shirt you wore—his shirt. "You've been taking care of me all night," he said softly, his voice quieter now, laced with gratitude and something deeper. "I think it's my turn to take care of you."
Your heart raced as his lips found yours, the kiss starting slow, almost reverent. His mouth moved against yours with a tenderness that sent warmth blooming through your chest, but it didn't take long for the kiss to deepen. The passion that simmered beneath his calm exterior broke through, his lips pressing against yours more firmly, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back to pull you even closer.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, still slightly damp from his shower, as you kissed him back with equal fervor. Every movement, every touch felt electric, the world narrowing to just the two of you. Conner's weight above you was grounding, his warmth seeping into you, his presence wrapping around you like a cocoon.
He broke the kiss just long enough to meet your gaze, his forehead resting against yours as his breath came uneven. His eyes, now darker with emotion, held a mixture of love and desire that made your heart swell. "You're all I need," he whispered, the words so soft you almost didn't hear them over the sound of your own pounding heartbeat.
You smiled, your hands sliding down to his shoulders as you pulled him back down for another kiss. "Then don't let me go," you murmured against his lips, your voice just as quiet but filled with all the affection you felt.
Conner didn't reply with words—he didn't need to. The way his arms wrapped around you, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he held you as though you were the most precious thing in the world—it all spoke louder than anything he could have said. And in that moment, with the warmth of him pressed against you and the world fading into the background, you knew there was nowhere else you'd rather be.
His rough, calloused fingers slid beneath the hem of the oversized black shirt you wore—his shirt, which hung on your frame like a dress. The fabric bunched slightly as his hands traveled upward, the contrast of his warm touch against your skin sending shivers down your spine.
His movements were unhurried, almost teasing, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the intensity in his ocean-blue gaze making your breath hitch. When his fingers found the waistband of your underwear, he paused, his lips quirking into a playful smile as though silently asking for permission. The anticipation was electric, crackling in the air between you.
You nodded, barely able to contain the heat rising in your body. That was all the confirmation Conner needed. Slowly, he slid your underwear down, his fingers grazing your hips and thighs as he removed the final barrier between you. The sensation was maddeningly soft, yet charged with an undeniable intimacy that left you feeling completely exposed—and utterly desired.
As your underwear slipped away, Conner's hand trailed back up, his touch firm yet gentle as his fingers brushed against your dick. His palm enveloped you, his grip warm and steady, and the simple act sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you. His movements were slow at first, deliberate, as if he were mapping every inch of you, learning the way your body responded to his touch.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw before murmuring in a low, husky tone, "You're perfect, you know that?"
The words made your pulse race, your heart pounding in your chest. Conner's gaze softened, though the intensity never wavered, and his hand moved with practiced care, each touch sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. There was something deeply intimate about the moment—more than just the physical connection, it was the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.
The shirt you wore—his shirt—slipped further up as he moved, exposing more of you to him. His free hand slid around your waist, holding you in place, anchoring you to him as his movements became more deliberate. The warmth of his touch, the weight of his body pressing against yours, and the sheer love in his gaze all combined to create a moment that felt nothing short of breathtaking.
"Conner..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you felt yourself surrender completely to him. He smiled at the sound of your voice, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that was as passionate as it was tender.
His hand moved with deliberate slowness, sliding up and down your dick in a rhythm that was maddeningly precise, designed to make you unravel beneath his touch. The heat of his palm, the strength of his grip—firm but never rough—had your body responding instinctively, arching slightly into his hand as your breath hitched.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his deep voice dropping to a low, husky whisper that made your entire body tremble.
"You're so hard for me," he murmured, his words laced with a teasing edge that sent a flush of heat straight to your cheeks. His tone was rough, raw with desire, but there was also a playful affection in the way he spoke, like he loved seeing how easily you came undone in his hands.
"Look at you," he continued, his voice like velvet, each word dripping with intent. His grip tightened slightly as he stroked you, the added pressure drawing a quiet moan from your lips. "You're so perfect like this—so needy. You like when I touch you, don't you?"
Your heart raced, your breaths coming faster as his words hit you like a spark to kindling. Conner's hand never faltered, moving in a steady rhythm that left you teetering on the edge of control. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear before continuing, his voice filled with a delicious mixture of command and tenderness.
"Every inch of you belongs to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."
His free hand slid around your back, pulling you closer to him, as though he couldn't stand even a fraction of space between you. The heat of his body pressed against yours was overwhelming, and the way his words filled your ear—dirty, possessive, and utterly irresistible—made it impossible to focus on anything else.
"You're mine," he growled softly, the roughness in his voice sending another shiver down your spine. "And I'll make you feel so good you won't be able to think about anyone but me."
Every touch, every word, every deliberate stroke of his hand was a symphony of pleasure, building higher and higher until you felt like you might explode from the sheer intensity of it. Conner's lips brushed against your neck now, his teeth grazing your skin lightly as he whispered one final promise, his hand moving just a little faster, driving you closer to the brink.
"Let go for me," he murmured, his voice a mixture of command and reassurance. "I want to feel you completely lose control—just for me."
And with that, the overwhelming combination of his touch, his words, and his presence pushed you over the edge, your body surrendering completely to the man who held you like you were his entire world.
The tension in your body built to an almost unbearable peak, every nerve alight as Conner's skilled hand continued its deliberate rhythm. His grip, his pace, the heat of his touch—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. Your breath quickened, a series of soft gasps and quiet moans escaping your lips as you felt yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.
Conner must have sensed it, because his lips found their way back to your ear, his voice a low, sultry murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "That's it," he whispered, his tone both commanding and tender. "Don't hold back. Let me feel you."
His words were your undoing. The tension coiled deep inside you snapped all at once, and you cried out softly, your body arching instinctively into his hand as you reached your climax. A rush of heat surged through you, and you felt yourself release, your hot seed spilling over his hand in a wave of pure, unrelenting ecstasy.
Conner didn't stop, his hand slowing just enough to draw out every last pulse of pleasure, his touch grounding you even as your mind reeled. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer as your body trembled against his.
"That's it," he murmured again, his lips brushing against your neck now, pressing soft kisses to your heated skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go like that."
You couldn't form words, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you tried to steady yourself. Conner's touch became gentler, soothing now, his thumb brushing lightly along your hip as his free hand reached for a nearby cloth to clean you up. His movements were tender, his eyes filled with a quiet affection that made your chest ache.
As he finished, Conner leaned back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. The corners of his lips turned upward in a small, knowing smile, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady and warm.
You nodded, still catching your breath, and managed a faint smile in return. "More than okay," you murmured, your voice laced with both exhaustion and contentment.
Conner chuckled, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Good," he said simply, his tone filled with quiet pride. "Because I'm not done spoiling you yet."
Suddenly, Conner had you straddling his waist, your thighs resting firmly on either side of his hips as his hands roamed over your body with an intensity that made your pulse race. His calloused palms gripped your ass firmly, fingers digging in just enough to leave a lingering warmth against your skin. The strength of his touch sent a shiver through you, a perfect mix of control and affection that made you feel completely consumed by him.
He shifted beneath you slightly, his muscles flexing under your weight as he adjusted your position to pull you even closer. His lips curled into a teasing smirk as his hands tightened on your backside, the possessiveness in his gaze making your breath hitch. Without warning, he raised one hand and brought it down with a sharp, deliberate smack against your ass.
The sudden sting was quickly followed by a rush of heat that spread through your body, the sound of the slap echoing in the room. You gasped softly, the mixture of surprise and pleasure making your body instinctively arch toward him. Conner's smirk grew wider, his ocean-blue eyes darkening with desire as he watched your reaction closely.
"You like that?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a teasing edge that sent a thrill through you. Before you could respond, his hand came down again, another firm smack that made your skin tingle and your heart race. The way his strong hand lingered afterward, kneading the spot he had just struck, sent shivers down your spine.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck as his other hand slid up your back, holding you steady. "You drive me crazy," he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with raw affection and desire. His breath was hot, his kisses deliberate as he nipped lightly at your neck before trailing his tongue along the sensitive area.
His hand on your ass delivered another firm smack, the impact sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "I could do this all night," he muttered, his tone both playful and commanding as his lips moved back to claim yours in a kiss that was as consuming as it was passionate. His grip on you remained firm, his hands alternating between soothing caresses and sharp, tantalizing slaps that kept your body tingling with anticipation.
Every movement, every touch, every deliberate action reminded you just how deeply Conner desired you, his actions a perfect blend of strength, passion, and unwavering affection.
Your body pressed firmly against Conner's, your fingers tangled in his short, dark hair as his lips claimed yours with a fiery intensity. The kiss was deep and unrelenting, filled with passion that made the rest of the world fade into insignificance. Conner's hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you impossibly closer, as if the space between you was unacceptable.
A low moan escaped your lips, muffled against his, as the heat between you built to an overwhelming crescendo. You felt his lips curve into a small, satisfied smile against your mouth, his body reacting to every sound you made. Breaking the kiss for a brief moment, you tilted your head slightly to whisper in his ear, letting out another soft moan, the sound raw and unfiltered. His sharp intake of breath and the way his grip tightened on you told you exactly how much it affected him.
Just as Conner's lips trailed down to your jawline, leaving a path of slow, deliberate kisses, a loud knock echoed through the room, startling you both. The sound cut through the intimate atmosphere like a knife, and you felt Conner stiffen beneath you, his grip on your waist momentarily freezing.
A low growl of frustration rumbled in his chest as he turned his head toward the door, his expression shifting into one of pure annoyance. Without letting go of you or breaking the connection between your bodies, he raised his voice, his tone sharp and commanding.
"Go away," Conner barked, the edge in his voice leaving no room for argument.
You couldn't help but smile at the irritation lacing his words, finding his reaction both protective and endearing. His attention shifted back to you almost instantly, his hands moving back to your hips as he resumed where he left off, his lips brushing against your neck now.
"They better not knock again," he muttered against your skin, his voice low and full of barely restrained frustration. The way his breath warmed your neck sent shivers down your spine, and the momentary interruption quickly melted away as Conner's focus returned entirely to you.
The knock may have broken the rhythm for a moment, but the intensity between you two reignited almost immediately, pulling you both back into the heat of the moment as if nothing had happened.
Conner's body was taut beneath you, every muscle coiled with tension as the heat between you both continued to build. His breaths came heavier, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands, and you could feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against you. His arousal was evident, firm and insistent, a clear sign of just how much he wanted you.
The way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, left no room for doubt. Conner's smirk turned devilish as he shifted slightly beneath you, making you acutely aware of the growing pressure. "You're killing me," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire, his ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours with a gaze that felt like it could set you on fire.
As you shifted in his lap, the friction only made the tension between you more palpable. His arousal strained against the fabric of his pajamas, firm and ready to break free from its confines. The way his body reacted to every subtle movement of yours sent shivers of anticipation through you, and the intensity in his expression made it clear he wasn't planning on holding back much longer.
His hands slid up your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as his lips found their way to your neck once again. "You've got me ready to lose control," he whispered against your skin, his tone filled with equal parts affection and raw, unfiltered want. The promise in his voice was enough to make your heart race as you felt the full extent of his desire, firm and eager to join the moment.
Conner removed his hands from your body briefly, his gaze locked onto yours as he reached for the waistband of his pajamas. The tension in the air was almost palpable, each second feeling like an eternity as he slowly pushed both his pajamas and underwear down in one fluid motion. The fabric slid over his hips, revealing the taut, sculpted muscles of his lower body, every inch of his physique a testament to his raw strength.
And then, there it was—his dick sprang free, standing proudly, thick and fully erect. At nine inches, it was impossible to ignore, commanding attention with its sheer size and firmness. The sight alone sent a rush of heat through your body, making your breath catch in your throat. The way he exuded confidence, his body radiating a natural, effortless dominance, only added to the allure.
Conner's smirk widened slightly as he noticed your reaction, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with a mixture of affection and desire. He stepped closer, the tension in his movements now replaced with a sense of ease and purpose. His hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer as his body pressed against yours, the heat of his skin intoxicating.
"You've got me all worked up," he murmured, his deep voice low and teasing as his fingers brushed lightly against your sides. The weight of his dick against you was undeniable, a reminder of the intensity simmering between you two.
The moment was electric, the anticipation thick in the air and before you knew it, Conner's hands gripped your hips firmly, his touch grounding and steady as he positioned himself beneath you. The heat of his body pressed against yours, and his ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Every movement he made was deliberate, filled with purpose, as if he wanted to savor every moment leading up to this.
His dick, thick and pulsing with anticipation, rested heavily against you. You could feel its heat, its weight, as he shifted slightly, aligning himself with your entrance. The sheer size of him made you gasp softly, your body trembling with a mix of excitement and nerves. Conner's hands slid back up to your sides, his thumbs brushing soothing circles into your skin as he leaned in closer.
"Relax," he murmured, his voice low and full of reassurance. His lips found the curve of your jaw, pressing gentle kisses there as he adjusted his position. His dick pressed lightly against your ass now, the sensation sending a spark of heat through your body. The deliberate way he moved, slow and measured, showed how much care he was taking—not just to avoid rushing, but to ensure you were ready for him.
His gaze flicked back to yours, his blue eyes softened with affection but still darkened with desire. "Tell me if it's too much," he said softly, his hands tightening slightly on your hips as he aligned himself perfectly with your hole. The pressure was subtle at first, a promise of what was to come, but it was enough to make your breath hitch and your heart race.
Every touch, every movement felt charged with emotion as Conner held you steady, his body and his presence radiating both strength and tenderness. This was more than just physical—it was intimate, personal, a moment that seemed to transcend words as he prepared to join with you completely.
Your hands gripped Conner's strong shoulders for balance as you slowly began to move, your body adjusting to the fullness of him. The first motion was tentative, deliberate, as you raised yourself just slightly before sliding back down, taking him deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, every inch of him stretching and filling you in a way that made your breath hitch and your heart race.
Conner's hands remained firm on your hips as he guided your movements with subtle pressure, his touch a blend of control and encouragement. His ocean-blue eyes stayed locked on yours, his gaze filled with both awe and desire as he watched you take him, inch by inch. The way his chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths told you he was holding back, letting you set the pace.
As you moved again, the motion became smoother, more confident. Slowly, you began to find a rhythm, rising up and sliding back down, feeling every ridge and curve of him as you did. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through your body, building steadily with each motion. Conner's low groan rumbled through the air, his fingers digging into your hips just enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine.
"You feel so good," Conner murmured, his voice rough and filled with raw emotion. His head tilted back slightly, exposing the strong line of his jaw, but his eyes never left you. His hands began to move with you, guiding your rhythm as you continued to ride him, the intensity between you growing with every passing moment.
The connection between you was electric, every touch, every motion building a tension that seemed to radiate through the room. Conner's quiet groans and whispered encouragements spurred you on, his voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace as you continued to move together in perfect harmony.
Soon Conner's fingers pressed into your skin just enough to ground you. You could feel the subtle shift in his energy, his need to guide you taking over as his hands began to set a rhythm, slowly increasing your pace.
"Let me take care of you," Conner murmured, his voice low and husky, filled with both affection and desire. His eyes met yours, their ocean-blue depths darkened with passion, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he moved you, raising your body just enough before lowering you back down onto him, the deliberate motion making you take him deeper.
The change in pace was subtle at first, his guidance smooth and controlled, but you could feel his need building with each motion. His powerful hands worked in perfect synchronization with your body, lifting and guiding you to move faster, the rhythm between you becoming more intense. The sensation of him filling you completely, again and again, was almost overwhelming, pleasure radiating through you with every movement.
"You feel so damn good," Conner groaned, his voice roughened by the sheer intensity of the moment. His hands slid slightly up your waist, his thumbs brushing against your ribs as he continued to guide you, his strength making the faster pace feel effortless. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by his soft groans and your quiet moans, the connection between you electric and all-consuming.
As he urged you to go faster, his own hips began to rise slightly to meet your movements, the added force sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His head tilted back slightly, his lips parting as he let out a deep, guttural moan that made your heart race. His hands never faltered, holding you steady and ensuring every movement brought you both closer to the edge.
"Just like that," Conner whispered, his voice dripping with both encouragement and need. The rhythm between you built steadily, the intensity growing with every second as his hands guided you faster, harder, deeper. The room seemed to blur around you, leaving only the feeling of him beneath you, his touch on your skin, and the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you both.
Before you could fully register the shift, Conner's strong hands moved with purpose, gripping your hips as he adjusted his angle. In one fluid motion, he leaned forward, gently pushing you onto your back while still buried deep inside you. The sheer strength and control of his movements sent a shiver through your body, the sudden change in position amplifying the intensity of your connection.
Your back pressed against the mattress as Conner hovered over you, his broad shoulders and sculpted frame casting a shadow over you. His hands slid to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he repositioned himself, adjusting his angle with precision. His piercing blue eyes met yours, the intensity in his gaze stealing your breath.
"Hold on to me," he murmured, his voice low and filled with both command and affection. The sound sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and without thinking, your hands found their way to his back, your fingers digging into his firm muscles.
Conner's hips began to move again, the deliberate thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, each motion hitting places that left you gasping. His pace was steady at first, a mix of controlled power and tenderness, as if he wanted to savor every moment of being this close to you. His gaze never wavered, watching your every reaction as if committing them to memory.
"Damn," he groaned, his voice rough with desire as his hands slid along your thighs, pulling you closer to him. His thrusts grew faster, his hips meeting yours with increasing urgency as he surrendered to the intensity building between you. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by the deep, guttural groans that escaped his lips and the breathless moans spilling from yours.
His head dipped lower, his lips finding your neck as he pressed kisses to your heated skin. The combination of his movements and the sensation of his warm breath against your neck left you completely overwhelmed, your body arching beneath him in response. His hands slid up to your waist, holding you steady as his rhythm became more forceful, his need for you evident in every deliberate thrust.
Each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The room felt electric, every nerve in your body alight as he drove deeper into you, his hips moving with an unrelenting pace. Your breath hitched, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders for stability, but nothing could ground you against the overwhelming sensations.
"Conner..." you moaned, his name spilling from your lips without thought, raw and filled with the intensity of everything he was making you feel. Your voice trembled, the sound echoing in the heated air between you. The way his name left your lips seemed to spark something in him, his movements becoming even more deliberate, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.
Hearing you call his name made Conner groan deeply, his breath warm and heavy as he leaned closer, his body pressing against yours. His blue eyes darkened with desire, locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. "Say it again," he growled softly, his voice low and filled with a mix of command and need.
"Conner," you gasped again, louder this time, the sound unfiltered as the heat between you built to an almost unbearable peak. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you closer, his thrusts coming faster now, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your body arched beneath him, completely at his mercy as his name tumbled from your lips over and over, a desperate chant that only seemed to spur him on.
"Just like that," he murmured, his voice thick and ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Let me hear you. I want to hear how good I make you feel."
His pace quickened even more, his hips moving with a raw, unrelenting passion that left you clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. The sounds of his groans, the slap of skin against skin, and your own voice calling his name filled the room, a symphony of unrestrained desire as he drove you both closer to the edge. Conner's strength, his control, and the sheer depth of his connection to you left you completely undone, your moans of his name the only thing you could manage as he pushed you to heights you'd never imagined.
The pleasure built inside you, overwhelming and unstoppable, as Conner's relentless pace drove you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tensed, your breath hitching sharply as you felt the rising heat coil deep within you, ready to burst. Each thrust sent another jolt of pleasure through you, the intensity mounting until you couldn't hold back any longer.
With a sharp cry of his name, you surrendered completely, your body arching against him as you released. A stream of your hot seed spilled out, the sensation crashing over you like a tidal wave. The release was overwhelming, leaving your mind blank and your body trembling in his grasp. Your nails dug into Conner's shoulders, your moans spilling freely from your lips as the waves of pleasure rippled through you, one after another.
Conner groaned deeply, his breath ragged as he held you steady, his strong hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. His eyes flickered down to take in the sight of you completely undone beneath him, your chest heaving, your cheeks flushed, and your release marking the moment with undeniable evidence of the connection you shared.
"You're so damn handsome," he murmured, his voice low and full of awe as his pace slowed slightly, letting you ride out the final tremors of your climax. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he continued to move within you, savoring the closeness and the heat radiating between your bodies.
The moment felt infinite, your body still trembling from the force of your release as Conner's steady presence anchored you. His lips brushed against your cheek, his hands gently caressing your sides as he whispered, "We're not done yet." The promise in his voice sent another shiver through you, and despite the blissful exhaustion settling in, you couldn't help but crave more.
Suddenly, Conner's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin as he buried himself deeper inside you. His thrusts became faster, harder, and more relentless, the sheer power behind them taking your breath away. It was as though he'd reached a breaking point, his self-control unraveling as he chased his own release with an intensity that left you completely at his mercy.
"God, you feel so good," Conner growled, his voice rough and strained, each word punctuated by the force of his movements. His head dipped down, his lips finding the crook of your neck as he kissed and nipped at your skin, his breath hot and uneven against you. The sounds he made—deep, guttural groans that seemed to come from deep within his chest—only added to the electricity crackling between you.
Your body rocked with every thrust, the sheer power of his movements sending waves of pleasure coursing through you all over again. His pace was unrelenting, his hips snapping forward as he lost himself completely in the moment, his need for you driving him into overdrive. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of your bodies moving together, accompanied by his moans and your breathless gasps, the air thick with heat and passion.
Conner's grip on you became almost desperate as his pace quickened even more, his thrusts deep and hard, pushing both of you to the brink. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled beneath your hands as he reached his limit. His breath came in ragged gasps, his groans growing louder and more primal with each thrust.
"Can't hold it anymore," Conner growled, his voice rough and raw as he thrust into you one final time, burying himself as deeply as he could. His body tensed, and with a low, guttural moan, he released, a hot surge of his seed spilling inside you. The heat of it sent a shiver through your body, the sensation overwhelming as you felt every pulse of his release.
Conner stayed buried inside you, his body trembling slightly as he let out a long, shuddering breath. His arms slid around you, pulling you close as he rested his forehead against yours, his ocean-blue eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and satisfaction.
"Perfect," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with a quiet reverence as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. His hands moved to caress your sides, his touch soothing as you both basked in the afterglow, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless and utterly content in each other's arms.
After a moment of stillness, Conner let out a deep, contented sigh and slowly pulled out of you, his movements gentle and careful. The absence of him left a mix of relief and longing, but his warm presence remained as he immediately shifted closer, wrapping his strong arms around you. The weight of his body against yours and the soothing rhythm of his breathing anchored you in the moment, bringing a quiet sense of comfort and safety.
He pulled the blanket over the both of you, tucking it snugly around your shoulders as you nestled into his chest. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, a tender gesture that made your body relax further into his embrace. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, combined with the warmth of his skin, lulled you into a state of pure tranquility. Your eyes grew heavier, the exhaustion from the intensity of the moment pulling you closer to sleep.
Just as your breaths started to slow, the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by a sudden, sharp knock at the door. The sound startled you awake, and you felt Conner stiffen beside you, his body instantly alert. His protective instincts kicked in immediately, and without a word, he reached for the blanket, pulling it up to cover you completely before sliding out of bed.
"Stay here," he murmured softly, his voice low and reassuring as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. He grabbed his boxers from the floor, slipping them on with practiced ease before making his way to the door. His movements were fluid but purposeful, his broad shoulders and muscular frame silhouetted in the dim light as he approached.
Conner placed a hand on the doorknob, pausing for a brief moment to glance back at you. His expression softened when he saw you peeking out from beneath the covers, and he gave you a small, reassuring smile before turning his attention back to the door.
Conner cracked the door open just enough to see who was on the other side, his body positioned to block the view of the room. When he saw M'gann standing there, her expression bright and hopeful, he let out a quiet sigh, his irritation easing into polite patience.
"Conner," M'gann said, her tone light and cheerful as she leaned slightly into the doorway. "We're all about to sit down for dinner. I thought maybe you'd want to join us?"
Conner glanced back toward the bed for a brief moment, his protective instincts kicking in as he ensured you were still tucked away and comfortable. Then, turning back to M'gann, he gave her a polite but firm smile. "Thanks, M'gann, but I'm going to pass tonight," he said, his voice calm and even. "I've already got plans."
M'gann's expression faltered slightly, the smile on her face tightening for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered. "Oh... okay," she said, trying to keep her tone casual. "Maybe next time?"
"Yeah, maybe," Conner replied, his tone kind but noncommittal as he gently closed the door. He stood there for a moment, letting out a small sigh before turning back toward you, his expression softening the instant his gaze landed on you.
Sliding back under the covers, Conner wrapped his arms around you once more, pulling you close against his chest. "Sorry about that," he muttered, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Now, where were we?"
You smiled sleepily, your head resting against his chest as you let the warmth of his embrace pull you back into the peaceful haze of sleep. "Right here," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Conner chuckled lightly, his grip on you tightening just enough to remind you that you were safe and loved. "Exactly," he said, his tone filled with quiet affection. "Just us. Always." And with that, the world faded away again, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms as you drifted back into sleep.
What do you think would be bill's reaction if the reader asked him to dance?
I've had some other requests I'm still thinking on how to do but goddamn if I'm doing this one right ahead 🗿
[Getting these images from random
Google searches btw xd]
Bill Williamson x Male! Reader;
Fluff
ASKING HIM TO DANCE
TW: Homophobic slurs mentioned \ Pretty short
Bill Williamson.
Oh he was the gang's dumb, big, stubborn, lazy man that everyone knew from exactly that description.
And, Bill being Bill, he didn't like it, he hated being seen as someone 'weak', as he for some reason thinks everyone sees him as. But he still couldn't help but live up to those expectations.
It doesn't help that, absolutely every member of his gang, probably even Jack had heard about, knew he liked men. Despite all his claims about "Having done it with Abigail, like any other in the group", no one even believed he could look a woman any way other than with annoyance.
Tonight though, while he sat next to the campfire after having some of Pearson's god awful fish stew, Bill had a beer in hand and was already thinking about spending the rest of the night drinking himself to sleep, as any other night he isn't doing night watch.
Camp was quite calm since they were having one of those nights where they just enjoyed some drinks, talked, sang, and the ones that had anything close to a partner danced to the ambience. Of course Bill, instead, just tried to make himself invisible between the rest like he wasn't feeling miserable about himself, his mind still full of that failed train heist two weeks ago, overthinking it as his fault. It was just what was clouding his mind at the moment.
So of course he didn't hear or see you approaching.
When you almost timidly reached out your hand to him, your other hand behind your back in a respectful manner, and asked him to dance... Well he didn't take it all well.
He thought you were joking. I mean of course, who'd want to willingly even want to touch Bill Williamson? You were a fine man, an attractive one in his own eyes. You were manly, gentle, and all woman in their right eyesight would fall for you, at least in. His own. Eyes.
You must be just putting on a joke to humiliate him even more.
He swatted your hand away with a frown, standing up quickly as he tried to make himself look as big and intimidating as posible so you wouldn't see past his hurt pride, leaving the beer on the log he was sitting on and glaring at you, ignoring his urge to break eye contact and check if anyone around was seeing the situation.
"You must think I'm an idiot, huh? What's with you? You think you can make a fool out of me? Y'see I ain't a goddamn girl for you to ask me out like a fag-" He simply started spitting at you in a low growly voice, his hand on your chest to push you back, roughly.
It made you freak out a little, looking back at him with a slightly open mouth with no words to come out, glancing around as if to double check no one peered. You knew very well how he was, how he'd just have the punch reflect up at any moment.
"No- Hey Bill-..." You rushed your voice quietly to not attract attention, reaching out for his hand to try to make him listen, but he just backed it away with a confused yet almost offended narrowing of his eyes.
"I ain't gon-" He started to argue back, but you quieted him down again and grabbing his hand with both of yours, making him fall in complete silence.
"No I'm- I'm... Being honest, I want to dance with you, it ain't a joke or nothing, I just wanted to ask for... Your... Ehm- H-Honest answer, without anyone around" You cleared your throat mid-sentence after realizing how eager you must have sounded like, and just looked at his eyes with a silent hopeful gaze now. It's like the embarrassment had shifted to you now.
You both just stared at each other for some long seconds while Bill processed each of your words, analyzing every letter you said and trying to mentally guess if you were being genuine or not.
"Uh-... The hell? You crazy...?" He muttered with his gaze down, silence falling between the two. He back at you and raised his eyebrows slowly as he realized you meant it. "Oh, really?- Like?... Now?..."
His eyes darted to your hands on his, and had to clear his throat too after realizing how much like a little boy he had to look like.
He was the type to get all red and flustered over someone brushing his pinky.
He trailed off in a similar manner as you did earlier, eyes widening and then darting everywhere as he nodded frantically, grumbling in a low tone to make up for his stutter just now.
"Yeah of course, uh, just because you want... Uh..."
It made you smile widely seeing his reaction and affirmation, taking the initiative and forgetting your own racing heart, as you guided him a bit farther from the fire to listen to the others singing and have more space, also to avoid the most probable guys from insulting or laughing at you two.
"You just, you know, place your hand on my shoulder and I'll do the same" You spoke below your usual pitch, placing your hand on his shoulder and the other one on his waist.
Him though, was still completely freaking out mentally, looking at your eyes with his wide as plates, noticing how he was acting and, once more, tried to cover it up and did as you said, with a quick "Yeah sure" under his breath, putting his hand on your shoulder while the other awkardly rested on your forearm, looking down at his own limbs like they were alien.
You couldn't deny you two looked like teenagers with a crush on each other holding hands with the way you dumbly smiled and he stood quiet, not an uncomfortable or awkard quiet, but just a flattered and happy one.
His eyes were darting all around you when you two started dancing, trying to follow your feet movements to not step on each other, without realizing how hard he was pressing his lips to not say something stupid or blurt out non sense.
You though, were looking directly at his eyes like nothing else was around, pretty much sharing the same feeling as him as in, nervousness and happiness. Which only spiked up when he was secure enough to not be scared to mess up.
"This is- They'd call me a fag for this one" He grumbled again while his gaze got hopeless and lost in yours.
You instead chuckled, well, more like giggled, bringing him a bit closer while you two danced in a sweet slow.
"While they don't see us... I think we're fine" You said in a whisper.
The dance ended after whatever group of drunks stopped singing from a distance, and you two pulled away. Bill though, couldn't help the detail to take your hand and quickly kissing your knuckles softly, pulling them back like it'd bite him.
But he just went red after you decided to kiss his forehead after tipping up his hat, finding it endearing how he reacted to any small detail.
"What about we two go, uh, do this in Valentine or something next time... If you want to, I mean, less people know us there" He then suggested nervously after forcing eye-contact with you, his lips moving up into a smile as dumb and sweet as yours, just that his, being Bill's, didn't look as friendly. Yet in your eyes it did.
"Of course, yeah... I'll- I think I'm gonna go sleep already anyways... You uhm, have a good night eh" Your voice left your mouth awkwardly, tipping your own hat down as a gentleman wave off, like you usually did, just that this time you swear your hands were trembling slightly, just like Bill's did when you held it.
And like that, you walked off to your personal tent, after hearing his own silent 'See you later'.
It was incredible how it managed to break down a man as Bill's walls, making him a nervous mess and think about this moment for the rest of the night and the rest of the week, until you two met this privately again. At least it wasn't one-sided, it was weird seeing an attractive, gaze-driving man like you get all mushy too...
You'd like sharing a cigarette with him, honestly.
_______________________________________
There it is. YA HAVE IT, PLEASE TELL ME YOU LIKE IT, I TRIED NOT TO BE TOO MUSHY BUT IT CAME OUT KINDA LIKE IT 🦐
content; Jayce Talis x male!reader. modern!au. husband!Jayce. fluff. silly and cloying romance. established relationship. married couple. suggestive!, teasing. just lots of love and kisses. 🙂↕️
word count; 1.3K (I promise that this time I wrote the correct number)
a/n; I had to republish it because, for some strange reason, it didn't appear in the tags. 👀 english is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammatical error !
thank you for requesting! 🤍
You looked at your notes with great satisfaction. You had been working for the last few days on the development and design of a better processor; your beta design had been a complete success, so you decided to exploit your skills and improve yourself even more. Likewise, you knew you had the potential to achieve something much better, and you weren't going to waste an opportunity like that.
The little blue stone moved between your fingers as you observed it carefully. It had been a significant challenge to get Hextech and programming to complement each other without causing an explosive disaster, but it was something you strangely enjoyed, especially the reactions that magic had when coming in contact with computational systems.
Although it was very different for Jayce, who had to take care that you didn't end up losing an important limb.
The sudden touch of hands on your shoulders pulled you out of your bubble. “Can we go home now?” you chuckled, feeling his hands slide down your arms and then get tangled around your waist. “Please?” he whispered in your ear, causing a couple of tickles.
“Just finishing this, then we'll go home and see about dinner.”
You took a worn chalk, started to correct and write new equations on the blackboard in front of you, while you kept fidgeting with the small stone in your other hand.
You glanced sideways at Jayce's hand as it rose to gently take you by the wrist.
“Where is your ring?!” He asked with indignation, observing the absence of it on your finger.
You rolled your eyes, smiling with amusement “It's on my desk, I couldn't risk something happening to it while I work, right?”
“Or maybe you don't love me anymore and you want the divorce” you heard him say in an exaggeratedly sad tone, hiding his face in the gap between your shoulder and neck. “Geez, don't be so dramatic.” you said, laughing, listening to his laughter being muffled by the fabric of your shirt.
His arms didn't move from their place, still hugging you from behind. Eyes following the path that your hand was tracing on the blackboard and a smile on his face every time he heard you whisper unconsciously. He loved watching you work.
There was so much calm and silence that, for a moment, you had forgotten he was still there until you felt him place a soft kiss on your cheek. You smiled, feeling his hands letting go of your waist.
“So, did you manage to convince Viktor to go home early?”
You heard his footsteps, and judging by the sound of a chair's legs being dragged on the floor, you deduced that he had sat at your desk. He took the time to explore your workplace, admiring a beautiful framed photograph resting on it. Jayce never missed an opportunity to look at that frame whenever he could.
It was of you and him, at the beginning of all this dream of his—both were so stupid to notice the love you had for each other. It was as if his heart beat again the same way it did the day he dared to kiss you—a clumsy but sweet kiss.
Your engagement ring was placed right in front.
“Oh, yeah… we should invite him to dinner with us one day, what do you think?”
You placed the chalk at the bottom of the blackboard, giving it one last look before you turned in his direction. “I think it's a great idea.” you smiled as you walked towards him, sliding your hands into your pockets. Once you were there you sat on the edge of the wooden desk—not without first storing the little blue stone in the metal box—, with Jayce next to you sitting in your chair. You yawned, listening to the sound of the light drizzle outside; turned your head to look at the window, where you began to see the small drops accumulate on the glass—tarnishing it almost completely.
You feel his fingers wrap around your arm, forcing you to take you hand out of you pocket. A giggle escapes from your lips as you watch him holding your ring.
“Would you marry me?”
“Are we not supposed to be already married?”
“It doesn't matter, let's get married twice.”
“I told you that we should have brought the umbrellas, Talis”
You sighed as you took off your soaked shoes, leaving them at the entrance. At first, it was a harmless drizzle; then it turned into a complete furious storm that ended up soaking both of you—as you had predicted this morning.
You removed the hair from your face, which was starting to stick in your skin thanks to how wet it was. “I know, I'm sorry, I didn't think it would rain this way” you heard him say between nervous giggles. “Didn't it bring you memories?” he asked you, with a silly and contagious smile. You sighed again, approaching to him.
“Let me think, like the time you fell on your face and—”
“Oh please, no, we've already talked about that.”
You laughed heartily; you knew which other memory he was referring to. But for God's sake, falling while you trying to calm your angry partner in the rain it's not something that you can forget so easily.
But not everything had gone so wrong that day, he had achieved his task after all.
“What am I going to do with you?” you asked, gently removing a small leaf that had gotten tangled in his hair. “I think the real question is, what haven't you already done to me?”
You shook your head slightly, laughing as you ran a hand over your face “My god, shut up.” you murmured embarrassedly as you hit his arm, making him laugh.
“I think I should consider the divorce.”
“Hey!, don't joke about that!”
Your laughter echoed down the hall, as you headed to your shared room. Jayce didn't stay behind, following you some time later.
The rules were simple, the one who lost made the dinner.
Both were curled up on the bed, with a large blanket covering your shoulders, wearing dry and warm clothes. After taking a hot shower, you both had started arguing about who would cook today's dinner; you decided that the only way to know was to leave it to the loser.
Your score was the highest, just for a couple of points. You mocked in silence, listening to his complaints.
“You're making fun of me?”
“Of course not—” you were about to make the final move to win when you felt him kiss your cheek, cradling your face with his hands to turn you completely toward him. “What the hell are you doing?” you said, laughing, as he kissed your whole face.
“I can't kiss my husband's pretty face anymore?” he replied, kissing the corner of your lips and then kissing you properly. Your body fell onto the bed—the control slipping from your hands in the process. The path of his kisses returned once more across your cheeks, gliding down to your jaw and finally reaching your neck. Initially, just were clumsy kisses, tickling you; then they became hungrier, wetter.
You clung to his arm, letting out a soft gasp as your eyes closed— just what he wanted. You were so focused that maybe you wouldn't notice that none of his hands were touching you, as usual.
“GAME OVER.”
You opened your eyes abruptly, feeling him smile against your skin. “What the-” you pushed him away, taking him off you—listened to his chuckle.
“Jayce Talis, you're a damn cheater.” you pointed your finger at him, laughing, after you stopped looking at the screen in front of the bed to turn and see him.
“Don't say you didn't like it.” he whispered, hugging you from behind to lie you down again on the bed, where you two were curled up all day.
SUMMARY — To the world, Clark Kent is Superman—the invincible hero, Earth’s mightiest protector, and a symbol of hope and strength. He’s the one who soars through the skies, battles formidable enemies, and saves countless lives without a second thought. But to you, he’s simply Clark—the shy, kind-hearted farm boy from Smallville you’ve loved since high school.
WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.
WORDS! 10k
AUTHOR’S NOTE! - Here's a little fluff for my favorite farm boy, I recently watched the Superman teaser and got a little inspired.
The early morning sun began its slow, graceful ascent over the towering skyline of Metropolis, sending soft, golden rays spilling through the sheer, cream-colored curtains of Clark Kent’s cozy apartment. The delicate fabric diffused the light, casting a warm, ethereal glow across the room. The gentle illumination danced over the simple but thoughtfully chosen furnishings: a well-loved leather armchair tucked into the corner, a sturdy wooden bookshelf overflowing with novels and framed photos, and a vintage record player resting on a low cabinet—small tokens of a life built together.
Beneath a thick, plush comforter in the center of the room’s focal point—a spacious, inviting bed—Clark and his longtime boyfriend, Y/N, lay entwined in peaceful slumber. Their breaths rose and fell in a quiet, harmonious rhythm, filling the serene space with a sense of intimacy only shared by two souls deeply connected. The soft weight of the comforter enveloped them, shielding them from the crisp morning air that lingered just beyond the windowpane.
Though Y/N remained fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady, calming rhythm, Clark was already awake. His piercing blue eyes, usually sharp with focus and responsibility, now gleamed with tenderness as he quietly admired the man sleeping beside him. For a few precious moments, the weight of the world slipped away—no urgent headlines to chase, no distant cries for help demanding Superman’s strength—just the quiet stillness of their shared sanctuary.
Clark’s gaze lingered, tracing every familiar line and curve of Y/N’s face. His fingertips, rough from years of fighting battles no one else could, hovered just above Y/N’s skin, hesitant to disturb the peaceful spell. He followed the delicate slope of his jaw, the curve of his lips—soft and slightly upturned, as though he were dreaming of something sweet—and the dark, feathery lashes that rested gently against his cheeks. How many times had he memorized these details? How many mornings like this had he silently counted himself lucky?
Here, in this stolen moment before the world woke up, Clark was simply Clark—the man who had fallen in love with his best friend back in high school and never stopped. His heart swelled with the same overwhelming emotion he felt every time he realized he got to spend another day with the person who grounded him, made him laugh, and saw past the cape to the man beneath.
As the sun’s rays grew bolder, stretching farther into the room, the stillness was broken by the sudden, jarring beep of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Its sharp sound shattered the tranquility like glass meeting stone.
“Morning,” Clark whispered, his deep voice warm and soothing, rich with a love that couldn’t be contained. His hand gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s forehead, his touch as tender as the sunlight now spilling across the bed.
Y/N blinked slowly, his eyelashes fluttering. He shifted slightly beneath the thick, plush comforter, its weight a soothing barrier against the crisp morning air. He could feel the solid, steady warmth radiating from Clark’s body beside him, grounding him before he even opened his eyes fully. His fingers twitched reflexively, seeking out the comforting presence he knew was there.
When Y/N’s half-lidded gaze finally focused, the first thing he saw was Clark, lying on his side, already awake. His piercing blue eyes gleamed softly, filled with a quiet intensity that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best possible way. Clark’s expression was open, vulnerable, and utterly disarming—like he was seeing something precious he still couldn’t quite believe was real, even after all these years.
A sleepy, instinctive smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. He stretched slowly, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed and the quiet stillness that lingered in the room, allowing the peaceful moment to settle over him like a familiar melody. His fingers reached up lazily, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his face before his hand drifted down to rest gently on Clark’s chest.
The steady, reassuring thrum of Clark’s heartbeat pulsed beneath Y/N’s fingertips, calm and unwavering, like the rhythm of the earth itself. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing further as he nestled closer, resting his head against Clark’s broad shoulder. The fabric of Clark’s soft, well-worn T-shirt felt cool against his cheek, contrasting with the warmth radiating from his skin.
“Good morning,” Y/N murmured, his voice rough with sleep but laced with tenderness. His words were barely above a whisper, soft and warm like the first light of dawn filtering through the window. His hand idly traced slow, lazy patterns across Clark’s chest—small, unconscious shapes made in quiet affection.
Clark smiled, his hand moving with gentle certainty to rest on Y/N’s lower back, his fingertips drawing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. His touch was familiar yet reverent, a silent promise etched into every small caress.
Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the faint glow spilling through the window, signaling the start of another day. The world outside slowly stirred to life, but inside their shared haven, time seemed suspended—just the two of them in a bubble of warmth and love that felt untouched by the outside world.
“What time is it?” Y/N asked softly, his voice still tinged with sleep and curiosity, though there was no urgency behind the question. His fingers continued their gentle, aimless tracing, not yet ready to break the fragile stillness of the moment.
With a reluctant glance, Clark shifted his eyes toward the worn alarm clock on the nightstand. Its glowing red numbers silently ticked forward, marking the steady march of time. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he registered the hour. “It’s 7:15,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a quiet breeze through the still room.
Y/N groaned playfully at the answer, dragging one hand down his face in mock exasperation before propping himself up on one elbow. His hair was delightfully tousled, a few stubborn strands falling across his forehead despite his half-hearted attempt to smooth them down. “We really need to get up,” he said, though the lack of conviction in his voice betrayed him. His fingers brushed lightly against Clark’s arm, lingering there as though reluctant to break the warmth of their embrace.
Before Y/N could move any further, Clark’s strong arms tightened around his waist with effortless ease, pulling him back down into the secure circle of his embrace. His hold was firm yet tender, a perfect blend of strength and comfort, silently promising that he wasn’t ready to let Y/N go just yet.
“Not yet,” Clark whispered, his voice soft but resolute, filled with quiet intensity. His piercing blue eyes met Y/N’s with such tenderness that it made Y/N’s breath hitch for a moment. There was something profound in that gaze, something unspoken yet unmistakably clear—love, deep and unyielding.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward in mild amusement despite the way his heart seemed to swell in his chest. “Clark, we really should—”
“Do you know what today is?” Clark interrupted gently, his tone playful but tinged with something deeper—something meaningful. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his expression equal parts teasing and expectant.
Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in conversation, before a quiet laugh bubbled up from his chest. He let his forehead rest gently against Clark’s for a moment, savoring the warmth of their closeness, before pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes again.
“Of course I know,” Y/N replied softly, his voice steady but colored with affection. “It’s our anniversary.”
Clark’s smile widened, his eyes shimmering with something unmistakably radiant, though there was still a spark of playfulness there. He shook his head slightly, brushing his thumb tenderly over Y/N’s cheek, letting his fingers trail gently down to his jawline. His touch was reverent, as if the moment itself were fragile and precious.
“Not just any anniversary,” Clark corrected, his voice dipping lower, resonant with emotion. “It’s our ten-year anniversary.” His expression shifted into something more serious, almost reverent, as though the weight of a decade spent together was something sacred—something he still couldn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to have.
Y/N’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into something far deeper, warmer. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he simply cupped Clark’s face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gentle, familiar lines along his jaw. His touch was slow, deliberate—a silent answer filled with love and devotion.
“Ten years,” Y/N echoed, letting the words hang between them like a whispered vow. His voice was quiet but steady, thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
Clark’s expression softened further, his smile turning just a little more playful as he leaned forward, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to Y/N’s forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and reassuring, before pulling back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze again.
“And I’m not letting you out of this bed until we properly celebrate…” Clark whispered, his voice low and teasing but laced with unmistakable sincerity. His arms tightened just a fraction, drawing Y/N even closer. “…Starting right now.”
Y/N laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with both affection and amusement. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice light but affectionate, fingers still tracing slow, loving patterns across Clark’s chest.
Clark only smiled, leaning in to press another kiss—this time soft and lingering—against Y/N’s lips, sealing the promise between them with quiet certainty.
Y/N pulled away, letting out a soft breathy laugh, his lips curving into a playful smirk as he rested his hand gently on Clark’s chest. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the steady, familiar rhythm of Clark’s heartbeat—strong, unyielding, and comforting in a way that felt like home. His fingers absently traced small, lazy circles over the fabric of Clark’s worn T-shirt, savoring the warmth radiating from his skin.
His eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a teasing edge in his voice as he arched an eyebrow. “Clark,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with mock sternness, “if we celebrate right now, neither one of us is going to make it to work on time.”
Clark chuckled, his deep, resonant laugh filling the room like a warm embrace. It was the kind of laugh that made Y/N’s heart swell, as familiar and comforting as the dawn’s first light. His smile widened into that boyish, slightly mischievous grin Y/N had fallen in love with all those years ago—a grin that still made his knees weak even after a decade together.
“You make a compelling point,” Clark admitted with mock seriousness, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze softened as he took in every beloved detail of Y/N’s face—the curve of his cheek, the sparkle in his eyes, the way his lips quirked in that teasing smile that always left Clark feeling utterly captivated.
Before Y/N could fire back with a witty retort, Clark moved with effortless grace, gently shifting his weight as he rolled over, pinning Y/N beneath him in one fluid motion. His strong arms braced on either side of Y/N’s head, caging him in—but his touch was tender, protective, filled with nothing but love. Y/N gasped softly in surprise, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and affection.
Clark leaned down until their faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against Y/N’s skin. His gaze never wavered, tracing every familiar feature with reverence, as though memorizing them all over again.
“I guess I could try to be responsible…” Clark whispered, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, “…but where’s the fun in that?”
Before Y/N could respond—or even fully process the words—Clark dipped his head and captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His mouth moved with unhurried purpose, savoring the connection as though time itself had ceased to matter. The kiss was deep but tender, filled with emotion that words could never quite capture.
Y/N’s breath hitched as Clark’s warm lips trailed away from his, leaving a path of feather-light kisses along his jawline. Clark’s mouth lingered just below Y/N’s ear—his most sensitive spot—his breath sending pleasant tingles down his spine. His lips brushed gently against Y/N’s neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that ignited a warmth deep within him.
A quiet, breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips as he arched into Clark’s touch, threading his fingers through Clark’s thick, dark hair. He tugged gently, earning a soft, pleased hum from Clark that resonated against his skin. “You’re impossible,” Y/N whispered, though his voice trembled with love, his words holding no real bite.
Clark pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, his expression soft but still tinged with playful defiance. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with warmth, love, and something far deeper—something timeless. “Ten years,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently across Y/N’s cheek, his touch reverent and tender. “I think we’ve earned a little celebration… even if we’re a bit late.”
Y/N laughed again, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though he made no effort to move away—he never could when Clark held him like this, when he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. His heart swelled with overwhelming affection, threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of it all.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Y/N whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion as he tugged Clark down into another kiss—slow, deep, and full of all the love and devotion he couldn’t put into words.
Clark’s grin widened against Y/N’s lips, his expression radiating pure joy. “I know,” he whispered playfully, echoing the familiar words that had been exchanged between them countless times—but now, they held a deeper, more profound meaning.
In that moment, nothing else existed—no alarms, no deadlines, no responsibilities. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of their shared breath, the warmth of their intertwined bodies, and a love that had endured a decade and promised to last a lifetime.
By 8:15 a.m., the quiet intimacy of the early morning had dissolved into the familiar rhythm of Clark and Y/N’s weekday routine. The warmth of their shared bed now felt like a distant memory as they moved through their cozy apartment with practiced ease, the comfortable chaos of a typical workday morning unfolding around them.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of toasted bread and the faint trace of Clark’s cologne lingering in the hallway. The kitchen was alive with quiet energy—drawers opening, shoes being slipped on, phones buzzing with notifications. The distant hum of Metropolis traffic outside was a constant, blending into the comforting sounds of home.
Clark stood at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie still undone around his neck. He poured steaming coffee into two familiar mugs—one emblazoned with the bold “Daily Planet” logo, and the other featuring a playful “World’s Best Partner” design, a sentimental gift from Y/N on their fifth anniversary. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, steady and sure, as though even the smallest tasks carried a quiet significance in their shared life.
“Babe, have you seen my laptop charger?” Y/N’s voice called from the bedroom, tinged with mild urgency. His words were punctuated by the sound of drawers sliding open and the soft rustle of clothes being shifted around.
Clark couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head fondly as he set the coffee mugs on the kitchen table. “Check the shelf by the desk!” he called back, his voice warm and familiar. In one smooth motion, he looped his tie into a perfect Windsor knot, fingers moving with expert precision—years of balancing superhero duties and tight Daily Planet deadlines had honed his multitasking skills to near perfection.
Moments later, Y/N emerged from the bedroom, holding his laptop charger triumphantly like a prize. His collar was only half-buttoned, his sleeves still unrolled, but he already looked every bit the driven professional Clark had admired from the moment they’d worked side by side as young interns. His hair was slightly tousled, still settling after a rushed comb-through, making him impossibly endearing.
“Found it!” Y/N announced with mock triumph, flashing Clark a cheeky grin as he hurried toward the kitchen. He grabbed his “World’s Best Partner” mug from the table and took a long, appreciative sip, savoring the warmth that seeped into his fingertips. A contented sigh escaped his lips. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said with sincere gratitude, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.
Clark smirked, leaning casually against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “I try,” he teased lightly, though his gaze softened as he watched Y/N sip his coffee, soaking in the familiar comfort of their shared morning ritual. It was in these small, ordinary moments that Clark felt the fullness of their life together—steady, warm, real.
Y/N gave a quick glance at the microwave clock—8:17 a.m. They were cutting it close but still technically on time if they hustled. He grabbed his well-worn messenger bag from the back of a kitchen chair and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. “Let’s roll,” he said with determined resolve, already mentally running through the day’s to-do list.
Just as Y/N reached for the door, Clark’s fingers gently brushed against his wrist, halting him with a soft touch. “Hey,” Clark murmured, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.
Y/N turned, brow raised in curious question. His expression softened as he met Clark’s gaze, recognizing the quiet emotion shimmering in those piercing blue eyes.
Clark’s smile shifted into something far more tender, his earlier playfulness replaced by sincerity. “Happy ten-year anniversary,” he whispered, his voice rich with meaning, as though he still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to be standing there, sharing this life with the person he loved.
Y/N’s expression melted instantly, the rush of the morning forgotten. He leaned in, cradling Clark’s face gently in his hands, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. The world outside seemed to pause, leaving only the warmth of their shared breath and the quiet rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.
“Happy anniversary,” Y/N whispered back, his tone filled with unwavering love. His fingers lingered against Clark’s jaw for just a moment longer, as though reluctant to let the moment end.
With one last shared smile—intimate, knowing—they turned toward the door, ready to face whatever challenges the bustling city had in store. Whatever the day might bring, they would face it together—just as they always had, and always would.
Clark stepped through the revolving doors of the bustling Daily Planet building, adjusting his signature glasses out of habit as he took in the familiar symphony of the newsroom’s organized chaos. The air buzzed with the electric energy of a new workday—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and conversations overlapping as reporters exchanged leads and debated headlines. The faint scent of fresh ink and brewed coffee lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the newsroom’s relentless pace.
A small, contented smile tugged at Clark’s lips as he strode across the polished marble floor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tile. He felt right at home here, even after years of balancing the double life of award-winning journalist and Earth’s greatest protector. Still, even amid the familiar hustle, his mind lingered on the peaceful morning he’d shared with Y/N—the warmth of their shared coffee, the lingering kiss at the door, the whispered “Happy anniversary” that still echoed softly in his heart.
He was halfway to his desk when he found his path blocked—ambushed, really—by two familiar figures: Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, his closest friends and trusted partners in journalistic crime. Lois stood with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised in playful expectation, while Jimmy hovered just behind her, his ever-present camera slung over his shoulder like he was ready to document something groundbreaking.
“Alright, Kent,” Lois announced with a sly smirk, tilting her head in that knowing way she always did when she was on the verge of uncovering something. “What’s the plan?”
Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her question. He adjusted his glasses again, a reflex whenever he felt caught off guard. “Plan? What plan?” he asked, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
Jimmy let out an exaggerated scoff, stepping forward with wide-eyed disbelief. “The plan, Clark!” he urged dramatically. “Don’t tell me you forgot! It’s your ten-year anniversary with Y/N today!”
Clark’s eyes widened ever so slightly, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of practiced calm. “Wait—how do you two know about that?” he asked, his voice tinged with mild suspicion but tempered by curiosity.
Lois rolled her eyes, her smirk widening. “Please,” she said with mock disdain. “I’m a journalist, Clark. It’s literally my job to know things.”
Jimmy nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m, like, super observant. You’ve had that goofy, ‘I’m-so-in-love’ look plastered all over your face for days.” He gestured dramatically around the newsroom. “It’s practically headline news at this point.”
Clark couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”
Lois stepped closer, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction, though the spark of mischief never left. “Seriously, though,” she said with a bit more warmth, “you do have something special planned, right? Ten years isn’t just any anniversary.”
For a brief moment, Clark’s mind drifted to the small velvet box tucked securely in the inner pocket of his coat—the one he’d been carefully keeping out of sight all morning. The memory of its weight was reassuring, grounding him in the quiet certainty of what the evening would bring.
“Let’s just say…” Clark began slowly, his lips curving into a knowing smile, “…I might have a few surprises up my sleeve.”
Jimmy let out a dramatic gasp, clearly intrigued, while Lois arched an approving eyebrow. “Now this is a story I’m dying to see unfold,” she quipped, already imagining the possibilities.
Clark chuckled, brushing past them toward his desk. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he called over his shoulder. “No spoilers… even for journalists.”
Lois smirked knowingly while Jimmy fist-pumped in silent excitement, already speculating wildly about what Clark’s “surprise” might be. The newsroom’s steady hum continued around them, deadlines and breaking news still demanding attention—but for a brief moment, Clark allowed himself to savor the quiet anticipation bubbling within him.
Tonight would be more than just a milestone—it would be the start of something even greater. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Y/N’s face when he finally revealed what he’d been planning for weeks… and slipped that ring onto his finger.
The day carried on as usual—but for Clark, the countdown to that perfect, long-awaited moment had already begun.
The streets of Metropolis teemed with life far below as Superman soared effortlessly through the crisp morning sky, his iconic red cape billowing behind him like a banner of hope. The sharp edges of the city’s glass-and-steel skyline glinted in the morning sun, casting streaks of light across the bustling streets below. His keen eyes swept across the familiar cityscape, ever watchful, always ready.
The city pulsed with its usual symphony—honking car horns, hurried conversations, the rhythmic clang of construction equipment, and the distant chatter of morning radio shows drifting from open windows. The steady thrum of Metropolis’ indomitable spirit surrounded him, grounding him even as he hovered hundreds of feet above. To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming—chaotic—but to Clark, it was the heartbeat of home.
He had just finished assisting the Metropolis Fire Department with a hazardous warehouse fire down by the docks. The acrid scent of smoke still clung faintly to his uniform, though the crisis was long resolved. He allowed himself a rare moment of pause, suspended in the sky, arms crossed, his cape trailing like a protective shield over the city he’d sworn to protect.
Then something familiar tugged at his senses.
Cutting through the tangled web of urban noise, a voice—distinct, beloved—filtered clearly into his super-sensitive hearing.
Y/N’s voice.
Clark’s breath hitched as he stilled mid-air, hanging weightless against the wind. His sharp focus zeroed in instantly, his hearing filtering out the static of the city until only that familiar voice remained. His heart clenched with longing and quiet relief.
He traced the sound to the upper floors of a gleaming high-rise in the heart of downtown—the unmistakable, foreboding silhouette of LexCorp Tower, its sharp edges and mirrored surface reflecting the cold morning light. The sight alone made his jaw tighten, tension rippling through his frame. No matter how many years passed, Lex Luthor’s presence in Metropolis remained a constant thorn in his side.
But then Y/N spoke again, and Clark’s protective instincts flared.
“Yes, Mr. Luthor… I’ll have that report on your desk by noon,” Y/N said, his voice steady and professional, though Clark detected the faintest trace of exhaustion beneath his practiced tone. “I’ve already confirmed the logistics team’s data… Yes, sir, I’m double-checking it now.”
Clark exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He could see Y/N in his mind’s eye—sitting at his immaculately organized desk, surrounded by gleaming tech and cool, polished steel decor, the harsh blue glow of holographic displays casting soft light over his face. His back would be straight, his sharp, tailored blazer fitting perfectly across his shoulders—a detail Y/N always insisted was necessary to “look the part.”
Clark’s chest warmed with quiet pride. Despite his unease about LexCorp—a company built on moral ambiguity and dangerous ambition—he knew Y/N. Driven, capable, relentless in his pursuit of success, yet unfailingly kind. He trusted Y/N implicitly.
Lex Luthor, on the other hand…
Clark frowned, his protective instincts prickling. Even now, he couldn’t entirely banish the concern that came with knowing Y/N worked within arm’s reach of one of the world’s most dangerous men. He strained to listen for anything out of place—any shift in Y/N’s voice, any hint of tension—but all he heard was focused professionalism.
Then, suddenly, Y/N’s voice softened—barely above a murmur—as though he believed himself to be completely alone. His tone turned warmer, more personal.
“…And maybe after work, I can figure out how to surprise you for once, Clark…”
Clark’s breath caught.
There was the faint rustling of papers, followed by a quiet, almost wistful chuckle that tugged at his heart.
“Ten years… Can you believe it?” Y/N whispered, almost as though speaking only to himself.
Clark’s expression melted into something achingly tender, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest that even the cold steel of LexCorp couldn’t diminish. For just a moment, he allowed himself this stolen glimpse into Y/N’s day—a reminder of the life they’d built together, of love that had endured through battles, secrets, and the challenges of his double life.
He hovered there, suspended in the stillness of the morning sky, wrapped in the memory of Y/N’s voice and the unspoken promise threaded through those words.
Then, from several blocks away, a sudden wail of police sirens split the air, snapping him back to reality. His gaze hardened instantly, his senses shifting back into sharp focus. The city needed him again.
But before he shot off into the wind, he cast one final, lingering glance toward the gleaming spire of LexCorp Tower, his voice a whispered promise meant only for the wind to carry:
“I love you, too.”
And then, in a streak of red and blue, he vanished into the sky—ready to protect the city he called home, and the man he loved more than anything.
The familiar creak of the front door closing echoed softly through the stillness of the cozy apartment. Clark Kent stepped inside, his broad shoulders relaxing as he shrugged off his thick, charcoal-gray overcoat. He smoothed out its fabric with practiced care before hanging it on the brass hook by the entryway, a small detail Y/N had insisted on installing when they first moved in together. The air smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla from a gently flickering candle on the bookshelf, mixing with the warm, inviting scent of home-cooked meals from memories past.
The apartment was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the dimmed overhead lights and the warm sparkle of fairy lights strung along the window. Framed photographs of shared adventures lined the walls—a snapshot from their first vacation, candid moments from friends’ weddings, and even a picture of Clark holding a grinning Y/N on his shoulders at a summer fair.
But tonight wasn’t just another ordinary evening. It was their ten-year anniversary, a milestone woven with laughter, challenges, and countless moments of quiet, steadfast love. Tonight, Clark intended to mark that journey in a way neither of them would ever forget.
With steady deliberation, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and carefully retrieved a small, velvet-covered box. He set it down gently on the cool marble countertop, as though the magnitude of what it held weighed heavier than any feat he had ever accomplished as Superman. His thumb brushed over the soft fabric of the box, tracing its edges with reverence. Inside rested a simple, timeless ring—delicate yet strong, much like the bond he shared with Y/N. He had spent months searching for the perfect piece, envisioning the way it would look on Y/N’s finger every step of the way.
Drawing a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and gently closed the box. The evening wasn’t going to prepare itself. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his strong forearms, and turned toward the kitchen. Fresh ingredients were laid out precisely as he had planned—Y/N’s favorite meal, every detail considered down to the garnish.
Moments later, Clark turned his attention to the living room, the heart of their shared memories. It was a space shaped by comfort and familiarity, where countless evenings had been spent wrapped in warmth and laughter. He moved with quiet purpose, selecting a small stack of their favorite movies from the shelf—classic comedies that never failed to make them laugh, heartfelt dramas that always left them holding each other a little tighter, and those feel-good romances they could recite line for line. He placed the DVDs neatly on the rustic wooden coffee table, arranging them just so, knowing Y/N would smile the moment they saw them.
Draped over the back of their well-loved couch was a thick, cozy blanket—soft, worn, and infused with memories of lazy Sundays and late-night cuddles. He smoothed out its folds, making sure it was within easy reach for when the night wound down, when dinner was just a memory, and only the quiet comfort of each other remained. A few plump, overstuffed pillows rested at each end of the couch, inviting and familiar.
The soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the window added a magical warmth to the room, their tiny bulbs twinkling like distant stars. On the coffee table, he placed a wooden tray holding two mugs—one ready for hot cocoa, the other for Y/N’s favorite tea, complete with a small jar of honey. A delicate ceramic bowl filled with chocolate-covered almonds—Y/N’s guilty pleasure—completed the thoughtful setup. Every detail was intentional, a reflection of the countless quiet nights they had shared in this very space.
But even as the living room felt ready, Clark couldn’t shake the sense that something was still missing.
He stepped back into the kitchen, enveloped once more by the inviting aroma of the special meal he’d worked so carefully to prepare. The rich scent of seared steak lingered in the air, mingling with the creamy, garlicky aroma of the mashed potatoes he’d whipped until they were impossibly smooth and buttery. The sautéed vegetables—green beans with a light char, caramelized baby carrots glistening with honey, and earthy mushrooms kissed with rosemary—were arranged in a serving dish, their vibrant colors promising comfort and warmth with every bite.
On the stovetop, the red wine sauce had reduced to perfection, its velvety richness gleaming as Clark gave it one last stir. The deep, complex fragrance of simmering shallots, garlic, and wine filled the room, tempting him to taste—but he resisted. This was for Y/N.
His gaze drifted to the marble countertop, where the decadent chocolate mousse cake he had picked up from their favorite bakery waited like the final act of a perfect evening. Its glossy, dark chocolate surface shimmered under the soft kitchen lights, adorned with delicate curls of bittersweet chocolate and a light dusting of powdered sugar. Plump, jewel-toned raspberries rested artfully around the edges, a splash of vibrant red against the dark richness of the cake.
Satisfied with the meal, Clark moved to the small dining table near the bay window. He tugged at the edges of the crisp white tablecloth, ensuring it lay perfectly smooth. Their best dinnerware gleamed in the soft light, paired with sparkling wine glasses and polished silverware arranged with precision. He folded two linen napkins into elegant triangles, placing them neatly by each plate.
At the center of the table sat a modest yet beautiful bouquet—soft blush roses, delicate white lilies, and fragrant sprigs of eucalyptus bound together with natural twine. Their gentle scent mingled with the meal’s intoxicating aromas, adding a romantic, timeless touch. Clark adjusted the bouquet slightly, ensuring it looked effortlessly perfect.
Finally, he lit three slender ivory candles in sleek, minimalist holders. Their warm, flickering flames cast a soft, golden glow across the table, their light shimmering off the delicate crystal and creating an atmosphere of quiet elegance.
With everything in place, Clark allowed himself a moment to pause. The apartment felt magical, transformed by love and intention. Yet his eyes inevitably returned to the small velvet-covered box still resting on the counter, its deep navy surface catching the candlelight like a secret waiting to be shared.
He stepped closer, brushing his thumb once again over its soft, textured fabric. Inside lay the ring—simple yet exquisitely crafted, timeless yet personal. He could still remember the moment he had found it, knowing instantly it was the one. Strong but delicate. Elegant yet enduring. Just like what they had built together.
He imagined Y/N’s face when he saw it—his wide-eyed surprise, the way his breath might hitch, the unmistakable light that would fill his eyes when he understood what Clark was asking. The thought made Clark usually steady hands tremble just a little.
It wasn’t about the meal, the setting, or even the ring.
It was about the ten years of shared memories, of challenges faced side by side, of whispered promises in the dark, and quiet mornings filled with warmth and love. It was about their story—one already filled with so much life and meaning—but with so much more yet to be written.
And tonight, Clark Kent was ready to ask Y/N to write the rest of that story with him—forever.
With dinner prepared, the apartment glowing with warmth, and every thoughtful detail in place, Clark found himself standing in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the collar of his white dress shirt for what felt like the tenth time. His fingers smoothed the fabric, adjusting the top button, then pausing as he reconsidered, ultimately leaving it undone for a more relaxed look.
He straightened his tie, only to frown and pull it loose again. His reflection stared back, resolute but edged with vulnerability, a flicker of nerves in his usually steady blue eyes.
With a slow, measured breath, he adjusted his glasses—pointless, really, but the familiar motion gave his restless hands something to do. The thin frames rested perfectly on the bridge of his nose, though he still fiddled with them out of habit. He braced his palms against the edge of the dresser, leaning forward, forehead nearly touching the cool surface of the mirror.
“This is fine,” he murmured, voice low but firm, as though willing himself to believe it. “You’ve faced supervillains, alien invasions… even world-ending threats.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “This is just… one question.”
But this question mattered more than anything else he’d ever done.
He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back as if preparing for battle. His reflection stared back, still strong but undeniably human—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
“He’s already said yes… a thousand different ways over the past ten years,” Clark whispered, almost as though speaking the words aloud would steady his heart. “This is just… making it official.”
He ran a hand through his dark, slightly tousled hair, pushing it back in a way he knew Y/N liked. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against his temple as he let out another breath, more controlled this time. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out the small velvet box once again.
Flipping it open, he let his eyes rest on the ring inside—simple but elegant, timeless yet meaningful. He had chosen it with absolute certainty, picturing Y/N’s hand wearing it, imagining how it would feel to place it there himself. The thought made his chest tighten—not with fear, but with overwhelming love.
For a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. There were no distant cries for help, no looming threats or urgent responsibilities. In this quiet space, there was only the promise of forever, contained in the small, glinting circle of gold resting in the velvet folds.
A soft, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the last traces of doubt. His voice, low but steady, broke the silence.
“You’ve got this, Kent.”
Just then, the familiar click of the front door unlocking echoed softly through the quiet apartment. His head snapped up, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and joy.
Y/N was home.
Clark gently closed the ring box, slipping it back into his pocket with practiced care. His pulse quickened, but his hands were steady now. He smoothed his shirt one last time, inhaling deeply, letting the love he felt ground him.
This was the moment. The beginning of something new, built on ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and promises unspoken but always understood.
Y/N stepped inside of the apartment, already shrugging off his coat after a long, tiring day at work. He reached out automatically to flip the light switch, expecting the familiar glow of the overhead light—but paused, his fingers hovering in midair.
Something was different.
The apartment was already softly illuminated—not by the usual bright lights, but by the gentle, flickering glow of candles scattered throughout the living room and dining area. A delicate floral fragrance, light and fresh, mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of something savory and richly seasoned wafting from the kitchen. Y/N blinked, his eyes widening as he slowly took in the transformed space before him.
The usually simple, everyday dining table was unrecognizable—draped in a pristine white tablecloth that gleamed softly under the warm candlelight. Two polished wine glasses stood side by side, catching the soft light like tiny prisms, while their best silverware lay neatly arranged on elegant dinner plates. In the center of the table sat a beautifully arranged bouquet of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and eucalyptus sprigs woven together with thoughtful care. Their delicate petals glowed softly in the candlelight, their fragrance blending seamlessly with the warm, inviting smells of home-cooked food.
Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a small serving tray waited, holding a carefully plated dinner beneath a gleaming silver cover. Steam still gently wafted from beneath the lid, hinting at something savory and delicious inside. The mouthwatering scent of garlic, herbs, and seared meat hung in the air, making his stomach growl despite the emotional tightness building in his chest.
He took a tentative step forward, feeling his breath hitch as he noticed the living room. There, on the rustic coffee table, was a familiar stack of their favorite movies—the ones they always watched on cozy nights in, when they just needed to be close. A thick, cozy blanket was neatly folded over the back of the couch, inviting and familiar, ready for when the night wound down. Everything was arranged with such intention, such thoughtfulness… such love.
Y/N pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer care and intimacy behind every detail. His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding with disbelief and something deeper, something warmer. Was this really happening? Did Clark… do all of this?
Before he could fully process the scene, a quiet creak of the kitchen floorboards caught his attention. He turned slowly, his breath still uneven, and his gaze landed on Clark standing just a few steps away.
Clark’s hands rested loosely at his sides, fidgeting slightly—a rare crack in his usually steady composure—but his expression was soft, warm, and impossibly tender. His deep blue eyes held an intensity that stole Y/N’s breath—not the intensity of a hero prepared for battle, but of a man utterly, irrevocably in love.
“Clark… what is all this?” Y/N whispered, voice trembling with emotion.
Clark’s lips curved into a gentle, familiar smile—the kind that had always felt like home. His eyes shimmered with warmth, reflecting ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and late-night talks. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured, taking a slow, measured step closer.
Y/N let out a shaky breath, his gaze flickering from the candlelit table to the familiar stack of movies—and finally back to the man who had done all of this. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. “You… you did all this… for me?” His voice cracked, disbelief and affection tangling in his throat.
Clark’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening even further. “For us,” he corrected gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet vulnerability.
Y/N felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his heart swelling so much it almost hurt. Every detail—the flowers, the meal, the movies, the candles—felt like a physical manifestation of the life they had built together. A life filled with love, warmth, and quiet, shared moments that meant everything.
His hands trembled as he reached for Clark, closing the space between them in a heartbeat. His arms wrapped tightly around Clark’s strong frame, pulling him into an embrace filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t seem to say. Clark held him just as fiercely, his face burying into Y/N’s shoulder, breathing him in like he was the only thing that mattered.
Y/N’s breath hitched against Clark’s neck, a soft, broken sound of love and wonder. Neither of them moved for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, grounded in the familiarity and promise of what they shared.
In that moment, there was no world outside, no responsibilities, no distant cries for help—only them. Two hearts, intertwined and steady, standing at the edge of something new, something even deeper than what had come before.
Surrounded by the gentle glow of candlelight and the quiet warmth of home, Clark held Y/N tighter, silently promising that this—they—would always be his greatest adventure.
And tonight, their forever was just beginning.
The warm glow of candlelight flickered softly across the cozy apartment, casting gentle, golden light over every familiar surface. Y/N and Clark sat comfortably on the well-worn couch, plates balanced carefully on their laps while the familiar sounds of their favorite movie played quietly in the background. The soft crackle of the candles still burning on the dining table blended with the movie’s soundtrack, creating an atmosphere of warmth, intimacy, and quiet joy.
Clark had insisted on serving the meal himself, carrying each perfectly plated dish with the care of someone offering up something precious. The garlic-herb steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and perfectly sautéed vegetables looked like something from a five-star restaurant—but tasted even better. Each bite was rich, savory, and cooked exactly the way Y/N liked it.
“This is so good,” Y/N mumbled around another bite, eyes widening with genuine delight. “Seriously… did you take a secret cooking class or something? How do you always nail this?”
Clark chuckled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish but clearly pleased. “I might’ve… practiced a little,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “I just wanted tonight to be perfect.”
Y/N’s heart swelled at the quiet sincerity in Clark’s words. The love behind every carefully considered detail of the evening hit him all at once—the flowers, the candles, the dinner, the movies—all thoughtfully chosen, all crafted with so much care. He set his plate down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on the food when something far more important was sitting right beside him.
Without a word, Y/N reached out and gently placed his hand over Clark’s, his fingertips tracing slow, familiar patterns across the back of Clark’s strong, calloused hand. The warmth of his skin was grounding, comforting, home.
“You are perfect,” Y/N whispered, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “This whole night… the dinner, the movies, the candles… everything. It’s perfect.”
Clark’s breath caught, his eyes softening as he gently turned his hand to entwine their fingers together. His thumb traced slow, reassuring circles over Y/N’s knuckles, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes.
“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Y/N continued, his gaze never leaving Clark’s. “But you did. You always do… You always find a way to make me feel so loved.”
Clark’s breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening just a little around Y/N’s hand. His voice was low but steady, full of quiet intensity. “You are loved… more than anything… more than I could ever say.”
Y/N’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his heart pounding with affection so deep it felt impossible to contain. Slowly, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against Clark’s, savoring the quiet, shared connection. In that small, still moment, surrounded by the warm glow of flickering candles and the familiar hum of their shared life, nothing else existed—only them.
“Thank you… for all of this,” Y/N whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “For everything.”
Clark smiled softly, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips gently against Y/N’s in a tender, lingering kiss. It was slow, filled with all the love and devotion words could never fully express. His hand cupped Y/N’s cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make the world fall away.
When they finally parted, their foreheads still resting together, Clark’s voice was barely above a whisper—but steady and sure.
“There’s still… one more thing.”
Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, curiosity sparking in his expression. “What do you mean?”
Clark’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached for Y/N’s, threading their fingers together with practiced ease, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of that touch. His heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, but the feel of Y/N’s hand in his steadied him, like it always had.
“Come with me,” Clark whispered softly, his voice low but sure.
Y/N blinked in surprise but let Clark gently guide him off the couch and into the softly glowing living room. The flickering candlelight cast a warm halo around them, creating a setting that felt timeless, intimate, and entirely their own. Y/N’s expression shifted from curious to something deeper, something tender, as he felt the subtle tension in Clark’s usually steady grip.
Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe, to be fully present in this moment he’d imagined countless times. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over Y/N’s knuckles—a silent reassurance for both of them. When he finally met Y/N’s gaze, his deep blue eyes shimmered with emotion—vulnerable but unwavering, filled with love so profound it left no room for doubt.
“Y/N…” Clark began, his voice trembling just enough to reveal how much this meant to him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say… something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he stayed quiet, his gaze steady, urging Clark to continue.
Clark tightened his hold ever so slightly, his hands enveloping Y/N’s like a protective barrier, keeping them both anchored in this moment. His voice grew steadier, though still thick with emotion.
“From the very first moment I saw you… back in high school… I knew,” Clark said softly, his eyes shining with memory and meaning. “I didn’t know exactly what ‘forever’ looked like back then… but I knew you were going to be someone important. The someone.”
Y/N’s eyes shimmered, already brimming with unshed tears as the weight of Clark’s words settled over him.
“We’ve built this incredible life together,” Clark continued, his voice deepening with quiet intensity. “Through moves, jobs… everything life’s thrown at us. And through it all… I’ve known one thing with absolute certainty.” He swallowed hard, his lips quirking into the faintest, most affectionate smile. “I want to spend every day, every moment… with you.”
Y/N’s breath shuddered as a tear slipped free, trailing slowly down his cheek.
Clark’s eyes softened even further as he gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I thought about this night so many times… about what I’d say… but I kept coming back to something you said once.”
Y/N blinked, his brow furrowing faintly as he tried to recall.
“It was a long time ago… back when we first talked about marriage,” Clark murmured, his deep voice softening into something reverent, as if he were holding a fragile, cherished memory in his hands. His gaze lowered for a brief moment, lost in the weight of what he was about to say. When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed with something raw and unguarded—love, hope, and nostalgia woven together.
“‘Don’t marry me just because we’ve been together forever…’” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke the familiar words. “You said that to me.”
The memory hit Y/N like a crashing wave—vivid, intimate, and achingly familiar. It had been during one of those long, late-night talks when the world outside didn’t matter, and the future felt like a distant, untouchable dream. Y/N remembered the quiet stillness of that night, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating Clark’s thoughtful expression as they both lay tangled together, speaking from the heart without hesitation.
Clark’s warm fingers brushed gently over Y/N’s, grounding him in the present even as his words pulled him back to that deeply personal moment. His touch was familiar, steady, and reassuring—the same touch Y/N trusted through every joy, every storm, every uncertain tomorrow.
His voice softened even further, dipping into something more intimate, more earnest, as though he were speaking directly to your soul. “‘Marry me because you want to,’” he continued, his thumbs tracing slow, tender circles over the backs of Y/N’s hands. “‘Because you can’t see yourself with anyone else. Marry me… because you love me.’”
Y/N’s breath hitched as those words echoed through him, every syllable steeped in memory and meaning. They weren’t just words from the past—they were a promise him had once made without realizing how much they would come to define his future.
Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, blurring the sight of Clark’s face, but Y/N could still see the love etched into every line, every tender curve of his expression. His gaze held Y/N’s with such fierce intensity that it felt like nothing else in the world existed—just the two of them, tethered by a shared history and an undeniable, enduring love.
Clark’s hands tightened around Y/N’s just slightly—not possessive, but grounding—anchoring them both in the weight of the present. His breath hitched as he whispered, “I never forgot those words… not for a second.”
His voice cracked, just faintly, but he pressed on, his expression resolute and filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want to marry you because of how long we’ve been together… or because it’s ‘what comes next.’ I want to marry you because there’s no one else I could ever imagine standing beside me. No one else I want to build a future with… grow old with.”
He let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening as he whispered, “I want to marry you… because I love you.”
Y/N let out a soft, broken laugh, tears spilling freely now as he clung to Clark’s every word.
Clark’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with emotion. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself onto one knee, his gaze never wavering, his hands still cradling Y/N’s as though letting go was unthinkable. With quiet reverence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he’d carried close to him all night. His fingers trembled only slightly as he opened it, revealing the simple yet elegant ring—a perfect symbol of the love they had built: enduring, strong, timeless.
“I do, Y/N,” Clark whispered, his voice raw with unguarded emotion. “I love you… endlessly. I see my forever… and it’s you. It’s always been you.”
His gaze softened further, shimmering with hope, love, and absolute certainty. “Will you… will you marry me?”
The room seemed suspended in breathless stillness—time stretching endlessly in the space between the question and the answer. Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as a choked, tearful laugh escaped his lips. He covered his mouth for just a second, overcome, before reaching down and pulling Clark up into his arms with a fierce, unrestrained embrace.
“Yes,” Y/N whispered, voice trembling but resolute. “Yes. A thousand times… yes.”
Clark let out a shaky, relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N like he never intended to let go. Their foreheads pressed together, tears mingling as they clung to the enormity of the moment—the life they had already built and the future they were now promising.
Time seemed to stop the moment Clark gently slid the ring onto Y/N’s finger. His large, warm hands trembled just enough for you to notice, though his grip remained steady and sure—like he was grounding himself in the reality of this moment. Clark’s ocean-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, swirling with relief, joy, and an overwhelming depth of love that stole Y/N’s breath away. His expression softened as though the weight of anticipation he’d been carrying for weeks had finally lifted.
For a moment, all Y/N could do was stare at the ring sparkling brilliantly in the soft candlelight. Its elegance and meaning were undeniable, but even its beauty couldn’t compare to the way Clark was looking at Y/N—like he were the most precious, extraordinary person in the world, the very center of his universe.
Emotion swelled in Y/N’s chest, leaving him speechless. Tears blurred his vision, but through the shimmering haze, he could still see Clark—standing there, still holding his hand like he couldn’t bear to let go, his breath uneven as he searched your face for reassurance that this was real.
With every ounce of love, joy, and unspoken promise between them, Y/N closed the distance and pulled Clark into the most heartfelt, soul-deep kiss they had ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—it was steady, certain, and profound, like the turning of the earth, like something that had always been meant to happen.
Their lips met with a softness that carried ten years of shared history—nights spent laughing until their sides hurt, quiet mornings tangled in sheets as sunlight streamed through the windows, whispered promises exchanged in the dark when the world felt too heavy. This kiss held all of that—and more. It was the culmination of a thousand moments, big and small, that had built the life they shared.
Clark’s hands came up slowly, almost reverently, cradling Y/N’s face with a tenderness that spoke of how deeply he cherished this moment. His fingers brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his touch light but grounding, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His lips moved against Y/N’s with aching sincerity, pouring his heart into the connection, into the unspoken vow that they would never have to let go.
Y/N’s arms wrapped securely around Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them—only warmth, only love, only them. He felt Clark’s breath hitch ever so slightly against his mouth, felt the way his shoulders relaxed as though the weight of the world had finally fallen away, leaving only this perfect, timeless moment.
The soft glow of the candles flickered gently around them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar walls of their home. The delicate scent of roses and eucalyptus lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting warmth still radiating from the hearth of the kitchen. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, quiet and still, as though honoring something sacred unfolding in that small, candle-lit apartment.
But the only warmth they truly felt was the steady, enduring fire they had always kindled in each other—the kind of warmth built over years of shared dreams, quiet comforts, and unconditional love.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling as they lingered in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers gently traced the edge of Clark’s jaw, his touch still trembling from the overwhelming rush of emotion. Clark’s eyes opened slowly, his deep blue gaze shining with love, awe, and absolute certainty.
“I love you,” Clark whispered, voice thick with emotion, as though the words weren’t nearly enough but still everything he needed to say.
Y/N smiled through tears that still shimmered in his eyes, his own voice breaking. “I love you… so much.”
Their fingers entwined again, holding on as though they never intended to let go—and they didn’t. They wouldn’t. This was forever.
Their story—already filled with so much life, so many memories and shared adventures—was only just beginning.
And in the soft, golden glow of their home, surrounded by the quiet beauty they had built together, they stood hand in hand—ready to write the next chapter, together.
🇺🇸Pairing(s)🇺🇸 →Chris Evans x thick male reader
⚠CW⚠→ Top Chris Evans, bottom male reader, gay, ass eating, Chris is an ass man, anal rimming, somnophilia, anal fingering, ass worshipping, bubble butt reader, blowjob, Evans is freaky, body worshipping, face-sitting(?) and sort of femboy reader.
🇺🇸Rating🇺🇸→ Explicit
🇺🇸Requested🇺🇸→ Yes
🇺🇸Word count🇺🇸→1.0k
🇺🇸Summary🇺🇸→ You and Evans were watching a movie, your head resting on his lap before falling asleep. Evans couldn’t keep his hands to himself and started groping your ass. He was always an ass type of man.
Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING!
It was movie night when you and Chris would sit down and watch trashy or good movies. You lay on your side with your head resting on Evans’s lap. Throughout the evening, good and hearty laughs were exchanged as the bond strengthened between you two.
Chris on the other hand was fighting for his life. The way you lay down with your ass arched up to its fullest, he was holding back his urges to grope your ass. He could see your bubble butt jiggle with every movement and his hands twitched from the temptation to grab it roughly.
What can he say? He’s an ass type of man.
This time, the only difference was that you had fallen asleep. He could feel and hear your soft snores, and Evans moans softly as you nuzzle deeper into his crotch, his throbbing bulge pressing against your cheek.
His gaze travels down your body. He can see the fitted bodysuit hugging your body, showing all your curves, mainly your fat bubble butt. His erection throbbed more, begging to be freed from the confines of his sweats. He suddenly remembered the conversation he had with you earlier.
You gave him permission to touch and/or fuck you while sleeping. Evans has never acted on that before but now he’s considering it.
Chris’s breathing gets heavier as his hand slowly glides down your body and his rough hand grabs a handful of flesh, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. He let out a throaty groan as he continued to grope your ass cheeks. It was like playing with dough and molding it with his hands.
His erection felt like it was going to burst through his sweatpants. Evans, using his strength, tears the fabric of your bodysuit. As his hands squeeze your bare ass, he groans from the warmth of your skin against his bare hands.
His fingers circle the rim of your hole, feeling the tight ring of muscle puckering and clenching around nothing. Chris’s breath hitches as his fingers pushed past the ring of muscle and into your tight ass. He could hear you moaning and whimpering from the sudden intrusion.
Evans was so caught up in his desires that he didn’t notice you were waking up. You woke up to the rough and desperate touches of a man. Adjusting your vision, you can see a large erection pressing against your cheek.
You started mouthing Chris’s erection, your lips kissing and sucking on the large cock through the sweatpants Chris was wearing. Your saliva seeped through the fabric causing Chris to look down and quickly retreat his hands.
“I… uh. Sorry… I-I didn’t mean-” Before Chris could finish his sentence, you sat up and pulled down his sweats and gripped his cock. Stroking the large piece of meat and fondling the heavy balls, Chris groans as his warm cock was being touched by your cold hands– the sensation made his cock throb intensely.
“Shhh. I gave you full permission to do that. No need to feel sorry.” You said, leaning and pressing your lips against Chris’s, pulling the man into a passionate kiss. His scruffy beard rubbed against your shaved chin. Evans melts into the kiss as he manhandles you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips before moving down.
His tongue dominated yours, his large hands squeezing and kneading your ass. He gives repeated slaps, his groans muffled as he watches your flesh jiggle. Your eyes roll back from the rough manhandling and slaps. It felt like you were suffocating before Chris pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your mouth.
“I love this ass, so soft and fat,” Chris growls as he nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your pleasant smell. Suddenly, you feel your body being pushed onto the couch, forced to lay down on your stomach.
Chris tears your bodysuit further, exposing the entirety of your ass to the hungry man. Evans was drooling as he buried his face between your cheeks. You gasped softly, biting into the couch as Chris ate your ass out like a feral wolf.
His scruffy beard rubbed against your skin, tongue licking around the rim of your hole until pushing inside. You could feel Chris moaning and groaning against your hole. Chris’s desires were further satisfied when you started shaking and twerking your ass against his face.
“You like this?” You teased as you continued pushing your ass into Chris’s face. You could feel Chris nodding his head. The older man pulled his tongue out and started pressing kisses against your soaked hole.
He pulls back with a loud pop, breathing heavily as he tries to regain his breath. After a minute, Chris pulls your cheeks aside, showing your puckered hole before giving a long lick and kiss. He continues this while tightening his grip on your cheeks. Gasping softly from the warmth of Chris’s tongue and his hands, you thought the moment was euphoric.
Evans pulled back and attacked your left asscheek. He kisses and bites the soft flesh, teeth grazing the skin. The movie in the background was muffled by Chris’s sloppy kisses and loud slobber against your ass as he does the same thing to your right asscheek.
The older man grins as he sees your ass red with bite marks and glistening from his saliva. His breaths were heavy as he pulls you by the hips, his aching cock pressed against your meaty ass. Your moans and Evans’s throaty groans fill the living room as Chris slides his large cock between your mounds.
Chris’s favorite position is doggy style.
THE END
A/n: Hello, my little strawberries! Maybe a part two? Who knows! Happy 2025. If you're reading this on a computer/laptop, the emojis are supposed to be the US flag. Very special thanks to my proofreader, @sagethegaywitch
