I write from time to time. I need feedback on my writing, please. Iām into Star Wars, anything Disney, Marvel, DC, Sherlock, Doctor Who, a lot of anime I canāt list (bc the list grows every day). I write weird AUs that haunt me at night or when avoiding my problems. Iām 20 y/o and tired of dealing with crap
If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me know, so I can give you/them credit.
Gif credit goes to - @mal-zoya (Unless told otherwise.)
Year posted - 2021
Warnings - Heavy subjects, talk of death, and a tiny bit of graphic content. (A broken leg that gets pretty messed up.)
Notes - I just seen this movie the other day, and I had a dream that night, and this is based on that dream. Also I freaking love Edgar Ramirez, I don't care how crazy the character looks, I still love him. Plus this is a fem reader cause I'm a female that really only writes for female readers half the time... (At least when I extended a story that is.) It's totally because I write it with myself in mind like most fanfic writers seem to do.
Tags - @fablelady
----
The storm came without warning, and in the dead of night. Chaos erupt on the small boat, the rapids tossed to-and-fro more so with the storm. And one after another the passengers of the boat, were thrown carelessly into the rapid waters. (Y/n) was among them, the second to be thrown in fact. She kicked and swam as hard as her body could, working with the water as best she could to reach anything stable, preferably land. With a little luck she managed just that, dragging herself through the mud and onto solid soggy ground. She lay on her back a moment, catching her breath, while her mind was reeling from what just happened. Standing to her feet she assessed her surroundings, subconsciously grasping as the bag slung across her body, happy to find it intact. However when she cast her gaze to the right, her heart froze in her chest. Standing in the shadows, waiting for her, was a leopard. As the beast stepped forward (Y/n) quickly spun on her heel and ran for her life, her heart stuttering in fear when she heard the beast give chase.
Her legs burned and ached from the swim, but she wouldn't stop, she couldn't stop. Despite the fact that she didn't know where she was, or that she could hardly see for that matter in the dark jungle. She had to keep pushing, she had to keep running, for her very life depended on it. Had it been day she may have seen the deep hole in which she was running straight for. Had it been day she may have been able to avoid the coming fate, the coming pain, and sorrow. However had she seen the hole, she never would have found him. But she couldn't see, and she couldn't avoid her fate. And without warning the solid ground vanished beneath her feet as she ran straight out and into the whole. She screamed as she fell, landing on the solid ground with a painful thud, her right leg snapping in two with a sickening crack. She lay on her back dazed, her body buzzing with pain, while her mind faded in and out of consciousness. The last sight she noticed before passing out was the glowing eyes of the leopard peering down into the hole at her, the moon illuminating the sky above.
--
Hours later she awoke with a gasp for air, her head pounding and a searing pain in her leg. "Ugh." She groaned as she pulled herself up, sitting in the dirt, looking at the bone sticking out of her skin. Bile splashed the back of her throat, and she wretched what little she had in her belly upon the ground. Afterwards she wiped her mouth clean, and looked for something to make a splint with. Spotting some sturdy looking wood she scooted herself towards the wall. Pulling the pieces of would away from the wall with a hefty tug. Afterwards she removed the scarf from around her neck, tearing the material into three pieces. Then she placed the pieces of wood on either side of her broken leg, and grasped the bit of scarf in the middle, needing to use the splint to set her leg as best she could. Taking a few deep breaths (Y/n) braced herself, tying the material as strong as she could as she exhaled. A scream ripping from her lungs as the bone was painfully pushed back into place. Tears welled in her eyes, and her hands shook as she tied each piece of material off as tightly as she could. The searing pain now a burning aching pain that shot through the entirety of her leg, making her stomach churn again with nausea.
The tears rolled down her dirty cheeks silently, as she worked. Finding a larger sturdy bit of wood, she used it to hoist herself to her feet, the wood acting like a mock crutch. "HELLO!?" She hollered to the top of the hole, jumping subconsciously when a stray raindrop struck her on the cheek, as she peered above. "Johnathan!" She yelled her dry throat cracking at the end, and sending her into a coughing fit. After having caught her breath she cast her eyes to the tall walls around her. Her heart rate increasing when she noticed body's trapped within the vines of the walls. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she limped towards the closest one, breathing a sigh of relief, when she seen that the body's were not body's at all, but stone. Who made them or why mattered very little to her, as she tore her eyes away from the horrified look upon the stone man's face, and again cast her eyes above. "Johnathan!" She yelled again, limping towards the middle of the circular room. "Is anyone there!?" She shouted with despair flooding her heart. "I'm here! I'm alive!" She cried into the silence of the morning sky. "Please." She whispered pitifully, her body giving way in exhaustion and pain, she fell to her left knee. Falling back with a whimper she lay there crying quietly, the weight of the situation practically crushing her, her lungs finding it hard to expand with enough air as she sobbed.
--
Her eyes dry and cheeks sticky from her tears she lay there watching the sky, her stomach growling with need, hunger cramps anchoring her to reality. She needed food, and bad. Her eyes snapped to the left when she spotted movement in the sky, an idea popping into her head as she stared at the birds flying by. "What if?" She wondered aloud, reaching into her bag she was pleased to find her trusty slingshot, and a small bag of marbles inside. "I need to eat." She murmured aloud as she rose to her left knee, pinching a marble between the small bit of leather on her slingshot. "I need to." She encouraged herself as she cast her eyes above, pulling the band back to the length of her arm, the way one would a bow, and she waited patiently. Taking aim as quickly as she could when more birds flew overhead, she took the shot, and laughed with excitement when the bird was struck. Falling quickly right down into the hole with her, landing a few feet away with a soft thud, as dead as a doornail. Looking around (Y/n) made quick work of gathering some wood to build a small fire. After building the fire she removed the small bits of flint and steel she always traveled with from her bag, and easily lit the fire.
Allowing the flames to ignite the wood fully she grasped the dead bird, and began plucking its feathers. And used her pocket knife to cut away the unsavory bits, securing the bird meat onto a stick she dug the free end into the soft ground, angling it so the bird would hang above the flames and cook on its own. With a proud smile she subconsciously turned to show off her accomplishment, only to realize she was alone in some hole in the jungle, with statues to keep her company. "What do you think?" She mused with a sad smile, looking to the closest statue. "Would you be proud of me?" She chuckled softly before tearing her eyes away, and looking back to the fire, a defeated sigh escaping her lungs as she lost herself in her thoughts. Unaware of the effect of her actions and words were having on the unseen souls around her. As the bird cooked (Y/n) began singing to herself softly, in a weak attempt to distract her mind. Her voice echoing softy around the walls, her voice becoming gradually louder as she became more relaxed, loosing herself temporarily in the music.
~
No time for rest
No pillow for my head
Nowhere to run from this
No way to forget
Around the shadows creep
Like friends, they cover me
Just wanna lay me down and finally
Try to get some sleep
We carry on through the storm
Tired soldiers in this war
Remember what we're fighting for
Meet me on the battlefield
Even on the darkest night
I will be your sword & shield, your camouflage
And you will be mine
Echos of the shots ring out
We may be the first to fall
Everything could stay the same or we could change it all
Meet me on the battlefield
We're standing face-to-face
With our own human race
We commit the sins again and than our sons and daughters pay
Our tainted history, is playing on repeat
But we could change it if we stand up strong and take the lead
She closed her eyes, laying back onto her back, tears escaping her eyes.
When I was younger, I was named
A generation unafraid
For the heirs to come, be brave
And meet me on the battlefield
Even on the darkest night
I will be your sword & shield, your camouflage
And you will be mine
Echos of the shots ring out
We may be the first to fall
Everything could stay the same or we could change it all
Meet me on the battlefield
Meet me on the battlefield
Even on the darkest night
I will be your sword & shield, your camouflage
And you will be mine
Echos of the shots ring out
We may be the first to fall
Everything could stay the same or we could change it all
We could change it all
Meet me on the battlefield
Her voice calmed into a soft whisper, her eyes opening to watch the clouds above.
Meet me on the battlefield
We could change it all
~
(Y/n) lay there quietly, her breath shallow and steady. Her mind clear of thought, and her body temporarily numb to the world around her. Her song unknowingly moving the cold hearts of the unseen around her, her pain and sorrow evident in her voice and amplified by her words. After several minutes she snapped back into reality, sitting up with a soft groan of pain. A small smile stretching across her face as she focused on the cooking meal above the fire. Turning the bird over in order to cook it more thoroughly, she seemed in a much better mood, even if it was only temporary.
When the meat was cooked as thoroughly as it could get, without burning the exterior, (Y/n) pulled it away from the fire, and cautiously ate at it, trying to avoid burning herself. As she ate she thought about the others, wondering, hoping that they could see the smoke from her fire, and that they would rescue her soon. But as the day progressed with no sign of another life her wishful thinking withered away. And nightfall approached once more, a light rain accompanying the stars, which was good considering (Y/n) needed the fresh water desperately. While it rained she had propped her canteen out in the open, and hunkered down at the legs of the same statue she kept looking back to, finding it more dry there than anywhere else in the cave like hole. It rained through the night, so (Y/n) slept where she was for as long as she could, her canteen full by morning.
--
Now with the sun high in the sky, (Y/n) limped to the center of the cave. Picking up her canteen she took a much needed sip, then closed it off, knowing she would probably have to ration the water. Looking to the sky she leaned against her crutch, hoping to see something, someone. But it was the same as ever, empty and mocking. The top to far for her to climb to with a broken leg, the injury potentially the doom of her. "Johnathan!" She hollered in a futile attempt, hoping that he was looking for her, and he was close enough to hear her. "Casey!" She called out for another member of her party, then the captain of the boat. "Maurice!" Her voice echoed back to her, followed by the ambient sounds of the calm jungle. "Anyone!" She yelled with frustration, her heart sinking into her stomach. "Please help me!" She cried out. "I can't do this." She murmured in defeat, her hopes jumping when some foliage shuffled that the top of the hole. "Johnathan?" She cried out wishfully, whimpering when instead of a person emerging, it was another Jaguar.
It peered down at her, and she peered back at it. Her mind suddenly filled with anger. "Get down here you beast and kill me already!" She yelled out, her judgement clouded by despair. "Come on then, come kill me!" She taunted the beast, who clearly knew better than to descend into the hole, carelessly turning its back on (Y/n) and walking away to find different prey. "No!" She yelled as she picked up a nearby rock, throwing it as hard as she could to where the Jaguar had been. Huffing in anger when it didn't return to her beckons, she then carelessly flopped to the ground, bumping her broken leg in the process. A piercing pain shooting through her leg elected a cry from her as she grasped her thigh, tears pricking at her eyes as the pain turned to an aching throb. Her anger now gone and replaced again with deep sorrow.
--
Three more days passed with generally the same routine, no one had come to her aid, no beastly creature came to end her suffering. And her despair turned to anger, then determination with each passing day. And today after making up her mind, (Y/n) hobbled to the wall of the cave beside the statue she subconsciously seemed to favor. "This is it." She murmured as she looked up the wall, grasping some vines between her hands. "I have to try, otherwise I'm going to die in here." She added as she turned her gaze to the statues face, a sad smile on her lips. "Or maybe I'll get lucky and the inevitable fall will kill me." She more or less joked, chuckling nervously to herself. "Maybe." She hummed as she grasped the vines more firmly. "This is it." She repeated in an attempt to encourage herself, winching when she pulled herself up, using her left leg, while having to let her right leg hang.
"This is it." She kept repeating as she climbed up the wall ever so slowly, her arms like jelly from exhaustion, and her left leg numbing with every foot she ascended. Closer now, oh so close. Nearly five feet away until she reached the top, what she would do when she reached the top, or where she would go she didn't know. That was something she could figure out once she was free from this prison of a cave. Nearly there! She thought to herself, her eyes bulging when the vine she held in her right hand began breaking. "No!" She cried out, pushing her right leg forward in time to brace when the vine snapped. But the pressure on her broken leg shot an agonizing pain through her body, her body trying to subconsciously lean more of her weight onto the left side, to ease the pain in her leg. Only to have the other vine snap, her hands shot forward as she fell back, trying desperately to grasp more vines, or anything really.
But what she was able to grasp was to weak and snapped with little effort. A scream ripped through the air as she fell once more into the hole. This time however she landed on her back, the wind getting knocked out of her on impact, her ears rang, her head throbbed, and pain was all she could feel. Her vision yet again began fading in and out, this time the last thing she seen was the face of the statue, as she lay at his feet. When she awoke this time, the sky was darker, as the sun began to set. Her body still ached, but her leg hurt the worst. Sitting up with quite a bit of effort, (Y/n) looked at her leg, and whimpered at the sight of it. Again the bone stuck out of her skin, having partly broken the makeshift splint. "Okay." She whispered hoarsely, grasping the material from the middle she repeated the same process as before. Crying out as she tightened the fabric, the bone once more being pushed back into place. Her hands shook again, and her mind went dizzy with pain, but she pushed through the pain and re-binded her leg. Sniffling as she tied off the last piece, (Y/n) jumped when a snake emerged from behind the vines around the statues legs.
She sat frozen as it slithered onto her broken leg, two more snakes following its lead, the three of them wrapping themselves around the fabric of her splint, squeezing her leg a little tighter than the fabric could. "W-what?" She stuttered completely dumbfounded, carefully moving her leg a little to see what they would do, she was even more confused when they didn't budge. Then a forth snake emerged, this one was one she recognized from her book of poisonous reptiles. This one disregarded her leg however, and slithered around her body, until it reached her right arm, which she was leaning on. She sat frozen, expecting it to hurt her, but it simply coiled itself around her forearm, resting its head comfortably on the side of her elbow. "Are you going to bite me?" She asked the creator without much thought, gasping in surprise when it raised its head and shook its small head from side to side.
"Y-you can u-understand me?" She stuttered over her words in her shock. This time it nodded its head up and down, a nervous laugh bubbling from her throat as she fell back. She turned her head, looking down at the snake as it made itself comfortable once again. "My leg must be infected, the infection getting into my bloodstream, and going straight to my brain. Making me delusional, and killing me slowly." She resigned as she looked at the snake, who shook its head in disagreement at her words. "Do me a favor little snake, and bite me in my sleep. Grant me a quicker death than the elements are, quicker than the infection." She mused as she turned her head to look back up at the sky, her eyes growing heavy, unaware of the snakes response to her request.
--
When she opened her eyes the next morning she pouted, still stuck in this hellish hole, the world seemingly mocking her. She turned her head to see the snake in the same place on her arm, still watching her. "You have failed me little snake, I'm still here." She pouted at it, smiling sadly when it squeezed her arm ever so softly, as if to comfort her. "Well at least I'm not alone anymore." She sighed as she sat up, looking at the snakes on her leg, finding this all so strange yet endearing in an odd way. She gasped when the snake on her arm began climbing higher, causing her to freeze up until it stilled once more, this time resting around her neck lazily. "Are you going to bite me now?" She wondered, pouting again when it raised its head into her vision, snaking it's head no once more. "Fine." She scoffed sourly, slowly and painfully rising to her feet, hopping on her good leg until she could grasp the stick from before. Then hobbling around to tend to her new routine, killing a bird for food, looking for anything of potential use, and resting her pained body.
This time as she looked around, she had neared another one of the statues, stilling when three bees flew out from behind it, hovering before her face. "Oh." She gasped in surprise, her attention quickly turning to the snake around her neck, which pulled its body closer towards the statue. Prompting (Y/n) to near the stone man, although she did so cautiously, freezing when she seen a bees hive in the statues head. "I'm not touching that." She stated as the sake peered back at her, it nodded it's head, then pointed at the hive with its nose, as if to encourage her. "No that's a terrible idea." She hissed taking a step back, only to freeze when the snakes on her leg tightened ever so slightly. The one from around her neck, made its way down her arm, prompting her to hold her hand out. "You won't bite me, but you'll let me get stung to death by bees. I seen how it is, you are just as cruel as the things keeping me trapped in here." She scowled at the snake, sighing when it shook its head no once more.
"Fine let's get this over with." She muttered when it encouraged her to move closer, the small reptile surprising her yet again, as it used its tail to grasp a bit of the honeycomb. Going un-bothered by the bees, who continued to casually fly around. "How?" She frowned as the snake placed the honeycomb in the palm of her hand, the honey coating the palm of her hand. The snake then casually made its way back to her neck, leaving a small trail of honey in its wake from its tail. But (Y/n) didn't care in the slightest, slowly pulling her hand away from the beehive, she starred at the sweet treat in her hand. A mix of emotions swarming her mind. Confusion. Gratitude. Child like excitement. And even a touch of fear, because she knew that none of this was natural, or normal at least. From the snakes to the bees paying them no mind, everything was just so wrong, she couldn't help but feel fearful.
Maybe she had died the first time she fell, maybe she had lost her mind, or maybe she was still in the process of losing her mind. Whatever it was she chose not to dwell on it, she had enough to worry about. And weather she was dead, or crazy. She had the treat of a lifetime when in a situation like hers, and she was going to enjoy it, ecstatic about the fact that she could also enjoy the treat, without having to worry about pick stingers out of her skin. Carefully she hobbled over to where she rest each night by her favored statue, and sat down with a grunt of discomfort, the pain lessoned a little with her excitement for the honey. With a content hum she nibbled at the honeycomb, savoring every bite, knowing she might not ever get to have it again. "Would you like some?" She asked the snake as she held the last of it out, feeling silly for offering a snake honey, but feeling that it was only right considering it had retrieved it for her. The snake shook its head, then gently nudged her hand up towards her mouth, encouraging her to eat.
A giggle passed her lips for the first time in a long time, and she happily ate the honey. Holding her hand out so she didn't smear honey anywhere else she watched with curious eyes as the snake neared her hand. It's little forked tongue darting out and lapping at the honey coating her palm, the sensation making her giggle, as it tickled a little. "You are a very strange snake." She commented with a smile, finding a snake licking the honey from her hand like a dog would very peculiar. Although everything in here seemed peculiar, and she giggled when the snake nuzzled her thumb with its face. Making her feel happy for the first time since she fell into the dreadful hole.
--
Days passed with no sign of change, no help was coming and (Y/n) had come to accept that. "Johnathan and I just got married two months ago." (Y/n) mused as she lay on her left side, looking at the snake she's taken to calling Guerrero, the Spanish word for warrior, due to the Spanish soldier statues surrounding them, and one of the few words from her Spanish lessons she remembered. He lay wrapped comfortably around her hand, his head resting on her knuckles. "And we were only out here trying to find my uncle, who was lost sometime before the wedding took place. My uncle Samuel was my Guardian growing up, and while he wasn't a nice man, I still felt that it was my responsibility to try finding him. Johnathan refused to go until after we married, and my affairs were in order." She went quiet for a minute, frowning. "I didn't see it until now, but Johnathan was a selfish man, thinking of no one but himself. He wouldn't come here, until he had the rights to inherent my families fortune. So if he survived the storm, he wouldn't come looking for me... He was counting on something happening to me, counting on me dyeing here." Her voice was soft as she spoke.
"I'm ashamed I didn't see it until now, how blind could I have been?" She scowled at herself, her scowl turning to a small sad smile as the snake nuzzled her hand. "It's sad to say, but you're the kindest thing that's happened to me, the kindest creature to me than anything ever has been." She pet at its head with her thumb. "It's funny considering you one of the most venomous snakes in the world, and there is not antidote to your venom." She chuckled softly, finding it genuinely amusing. Guerrero peered up at her before rapidly slithering up her arm, wrapping himself around her neck, before nuzzling his head against her cheek, making (Y/n) giggle at how cute and sweet he was being. "I'm glad I met you little Guerrero, although I would have preferred different circumstances." She hummed with a grin, bravely pecking a kiss upon his scaly little head.
--
That night a storm much stronger than the storm that landed (Y/n) in the jungle all alone, raged on for hours. By morning it was still raging and when (Y/n) awoke, she was started to see water flooding into the hole from up top. "The river must be flooded." She murmured as fear pooled in her belly, Guerrero and the other snakes were gone, and she was yet again left alone. The water was at her ankles now, and only rising more and more with no end in sight. The thought of piranhas getting in terrified her to no end, the sound of movement outweighed that fear however. And to her astonishment she watched as the statues came to life, one by one they became animate but they were definitely not human, not exactly. The statue at her right began moving like the others, a coil of snakes making up its body before his features dominated the scaly creatures, hiding them beneath his skin.
"Y-you?" She stammered when she noticed Guerrero wrapped around his neck casually, like he normally was on her, a ghost of a smile on her lips. The man nodded his head, but he didn't utter a word, something (Y/n) was unsure of weather or not he even could. He picked her up carefully in his arms bridal style, being mindful of her injured leg. Everything from there was a haze in her mind, they were no longer in the hole, and they traveled for hours through the jungle, staying close to the river the entire way. By the time they stopped the sun was rising once more, and the storm had passed, and at some point (Y/n) had dozed off. Only waking when he sat on the ground with her resting in his lap. "Where are we?" She wondered aloud as she looked around them, taking notice of the others busying themselves with what (Y/n) assumed was them making up a camp. "We are safe." The man stated, his accent thick, and his voice hoarse, but pleasant to her ears. "You can speak!" She gasped her eyes lighting up with joy. "Yes." He smiled softly at her.
"What is your name?" She asked. "Lope de Aguirre." He replied, momentarily stunning her, she had heard the stories of this man before. And that he lived and died almost 400 years ago, although considering everything else that's happened she found herself accepting the news rather quickly. "My name is (Y/n) (Y/l/n)." She introduced for the first time, smiling up at him, not at all disturbed by the way his skin shifted as the snakes moved beneath. "You are a strong woman (Y/n)." He brushed a strand of her hair back, gently cupping her cheek in his hand. "And we wish to protect you, I wish to protect and provide for you." He explained sincerely, making her heart skip a beat. "I'd like that." She muttered softly as he rest his forehead against hers, the feeling of the snakes moving odd, but not uncomfortable.
--
Months had gone by, and the men worked tirelessly, alongside their leader. Building themselves a small sanctuary, a home for each of them, and one for Aguirre and (Y/n) to share. For Aguirre didn't want to be to far from her side, and she didn't want him to be either, finding comfort in his presence. After the houses were constructed, they built walls around their little village, and even began working some agriculture, mostly for (Y/n)'s benefit of course. But Aguirre's men didn't seem to mind, if anything they seemed pleased with the work, finding it better than fighting all the time, or being tortured by the jungles cruel grasp on them. And in that time all thoughts of getting revenge on Francisco had left Aguirre's mind, solely thinking of (Y/n) and protecting her as she continued to heal slowly.
One evening they all sat outside, the old soldiers telling stories from their lives, talking fondly of their families despite the families being long since dead. "HELLO!?" A voice hollered from beyond the wall, the soldiers silenced, and (Y/n) gripped Aguirre's armor tightly. "What's wrong?" He whispered into her ear as he hugged her close, brushing her hair back. "It's him, its Johnathan." She whispered as her body shook, suddenly terrified that he would try taking her away from Aguirre, the man she came to truly love and trust. "Go inside." His voice was low, with a sharp edge to it. She could tell his was angry, and he was going to hurt, if not kill Johnathan. But she was content with obeying his command, limping to the house with the help of her cain, her leg having healed poorly. "Hello I need some help." Johnathan called out again, his voice angering Aguirre more than he could have anticipated. His soldiers looked to him, ready for his command, he glanced back at the house then to his men. "Stay here and protect her." He ordered in their native tongue, the men nodding in understanding.
Aguirre approached the wall, then vanished in a writhing mass of snakes, slipping passed the wall unnoticed by his prey. "Please I know you're in there." Johnathan called out, he looked rough practically skin and bone from clear lack of nourishment. He must have survived that stormy night, and been just barely surviving on his own. Aguirre smirked to himself at this thought, (Y/n) had clearly done better than this man had, all the while Johnathan was oblivious to the larger man now standing behind him. "You are not welcomed here." Aguirre stated his voice making Jonathan jump, but he didn't turn to face Aguirre. "Please I need help." He repeated as he slowly turned back to face the ancient man, a girlish scream erupting from Jonathan's mouth when he laid eyes upon Aguirre. "You are weak, (Y/n) is to good for an unworthy man like you. She didn't even scream when she seen me, she smiled in fact." Aguirre taunted pleased with the confusion that washed over Jonathan's face. "(Y/n)?" He murmured with a frown, having been sure she died some time ago. "You left her for dead." Aguirre hissed before making Guerrero specifically bite the weaker man's neck, a scream emitting from him again as the venom burned through his body. "She is mine now." Aguirre growled before impaling the man with his sword, making sure to strike him where he wouldn't die to quickly, wanting him to suffer.
All the while (Y/n) laid on her side in bed, her hands covering her ears tightly, trying to muffle her ex's screams. She continued to lay that way even after the screaming stopped, her eyes shut tight. So unaware of her surroundings that she jumped when Aguirre laid down behind her, his arm resting securely around her waist, his armor gone and leaving him his his tunic and trousers. "I won't let anyone take you away from me, I'll keep you safe." He whispered his promise against the back of her neck. "Thank you." She whispered out with a quiet sob, turning to bury her face into his chest. "I love you." He muttered in Spanish, not aware that (Y/n) knew that phrase. "I love you too." (Y/n) confessed in Spanish, making the old soldier tense up, but only for a moment. He relaxed and tilted her head up to peer I to her eyes, a smile on his handsome face. No more words were needed as they closed the distance, kissing passionately while some of his snaked coiled around her arms and legs, pulling her against him even more.
--
Years went by before Francisco found them, as they didn't cause trouble or draw attention to themselves unless absolutely necessary. When he did find them, he was expecting a fight to ensue, but he was beyond surprised when Aguirre smiled softly at him, even going as far as to forgive him and ask for forgiveness in return. At first Francisco thought this was some sort of trick, and tried to attack Aguirre, thinking he would have to. But he froze when a woman came limping out and got between them, pressing herself against Aguirre to shield him. She pleaded with Francisco to not hurt her husband, and begged for them to be left alone. Fransisco was beyond confused and quiet a bit conflicted, but he recognized the sincere look on Aguirre's face, and the love he held in his eyes as he looked at (Y/n). So he forgave his old friend and left them be, promising to check up on them every couple years, to insure they weren't doing any harm to innocent people.
And when he showed up one day, a few years after that first meeting with a pink petal in hand, and a woman and her brother in his company. Aguirre was now the one stunned into doubt, while (Y/n) watched with curiosity, knowing what it was Fransisco held, for Aguirre had told her of the story of how he became what he is. Aguirre took the petal with gratitude, and Fransisco watched when a proud smile when Aguirre presented (Y/n) with the petal. Gifting her with everlasting life, so they could live forever together. Though (Y/n) suspected that Francisco's gift wasn't out of compassion for his old friend. But rather for the sake of ensuring that she could forever keep her lover in check.
----
*Woof that was a doozy, that's the longest single piece I've posted on Tumblr. Anyways I hope you enjoyed this "little" tale, please feel free to comment, I'd love to read your feedback! (ā¢į“ā¢)š
Oh and for those of you who might be wondering what that song was (Y/n) was singing earlier, it's by SVRCINA it's called Battlefield. (The link will take you to the song on youtube.)
Hooked - Dr. Brendon āThe Sharkā Park x Reader
Summary: After transferring to the Pitt in the middle of your fellowship, you manage to impress PTMC's meanest surgeon with your bubbly confidence, leading to you both catching feelings.
Tags/Notes: fluffy fluff, silly trope time, idiots in love, grumpy/sunshine, misunderstanding trope, kiss cam trope, getting together, cutesy feminine reader, kind of an airhead outside of medicine, also described as short sorry tall baddies, praise kink, oral (m), fingering (f), size kink, piv, riding/cowgirl, mini hitachi, doggy style, headlock during sex uwu, biting, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, creampie, D/s if you squint, aftercare
Content: medical (and hockey) inaccuracies out the wazoo, canon-typical
A/N: Ā that mean doctor has bewitched me and i actually had so much fucking fun writing this fic
Word Count: 14.2k
While you finish preparing your patient presentation for the incoming orthopedic surgeon consult on the case youāve been working all day, Dennis Whitaker, whoās been assisting you, groans under his breath as he catches an imposing figure approaching. āFuck, our consultās the Shark.ā
āOf course it is.ā Shen, whoās been in the corner half-supervising you since he completely trusts your work as a fellow, tells Whitaker, āThis kind of damage? He eats up cases like this. The Sharkās never gonna let someone else-ā
You turn to both of them, hold up a hand to shut them up, and ask, āWho?ā
āDr. Brendon Park,ā Shen explains like heās telling you about an upcoming horror movie. āHeās the head orthopedic surgeon.ā
āHavenāt met him yet,ā you reply. Drawbacks of circumstances forcing you to change hospitals in the middle of your fellowship; you donāt know the whole team like you did back in your residency. With a final few glances through your dayās meticulous work, you wrinkle your brows and check, āI thought Torres was head of orthopedic surgery.ā
āNo, sheās the nice orthopedic surgeon. The Shark only deigns to come to what he calls āthe butcher shopā for juicy cases.ā Shen shakes his head and says, āIām gonna dip before he gets down here. Iāll grab Robby to supervise.ā
āYouāre leaving? Why?ā
āPark can actually stand Robby.ā Shen shrugs and tosses his gloves in the trash. āI made the mistake of suggesting an amputation when it was possible to salvage a limb and the Sharkās always down my throat when we work together now.ā
āHow long ago was that?ā
āThree years.ā Shen pushes the door open and says before heading over to the hub to grab Robby, āThat thing youāve heard about sharks having three-second memories? Not accurate. PTMCās Shark never forgets. Donāt fuck up your first impression.ā
Your wide eyes turn to Whitaker. āWell, that was comforting.ā
Jesse, whoās been supporting you on and off when you needed more hands than just Whitakerās, tries to offer, āParkās not so bad.ā
āYeah, because youāre a nurse,ā Whitaker replies. āHe likes nurses. Respects them. Itās other doctors he thinks are stupid.ā
You screw up your face with confidence and nod sharply. āThen I wonāt be stupid.ā
āGood luck with that,ā a deep, clear voice says behind you. You turn and nearly bump into the center of a very broad chest. Very broad. With matching biceps and traps threatening at the fabric of his blue scrubs. Heās easily a whole head taller than you. And his face. Oh. Good face. Lots of masculine, rugged angles. Itās not that the ED is lacking in arm candy, but most of the doctors down here arenāt soā¦biteable. Youāre fighting not to ogle as his voice draws your eyes back up to his mouth. Which is a nice mouth. Under a nice nose. And a heavy brow with pretty blue eyes so sharp you feel a little light-headed under their intensity. āYouāre new.ā
Robby slips into the room behind him and hugs the wall, posture much straighter than youāve seen. He doesnāt look scared the way Whitaker does, but thereās a clear expectation about what the interactionās going to be: Efficient, intense, clear. Robby says bluntly, āNew fellow. Recent relocation.ā
Parkās eyes narrow, taking in your pink shoelaces, perfectly applied makeup (including shimmery gloss) despite being elbows deep in the shift, and the pastel-heart-patterned long sleeve beneath your scrubs. āWe havenāt met.ā
You take one quick, deep breath and remind yourself thereās no reason to be scared. You donāt play hospital politics like the residents. Youāre a fellow, a real goddamn doctor. This is your case. Your save. Youāve got it. So you introduce yourself with a friendly smile and explain, āI started here last month. Just havenāt had a big sexy skeletal trauma to dangle in front of you until today.ā
Park cracks what almost appears to be a smirk. Committing your name and your pretty face to memory, he says, āWelcome to the team, pipsqueak. Try not to butcher any bones and weāll get along fine.ā
āNo problem.ā You bounce slightly on your feet. āShall we get started here?ā
His chin cocks slightly to one side. Youāre not shrinking. Not bashful. Youāre smiling. Thatās rare. He doesnāt mind. Arms crossed over that massive chest, he orders, eyes sweeping the room, āTell me what weāve got.ā
Whitaker looks to Robby. Robby looks to you. You nod and list off, āMr. Jacob Westman, thirty-seven-year-old green energy tower technician, brought in by ambulance after falling from an electrical tower. Freak accident. Alert and responsive on arrival but no sensation in lower extremities. Lead doctor on the case ā thatās me; Iāve been point for Mr. Westman all day ā chose to sedate for pain management and stabilization once significant spinal injuries were identified. The most severe salvageable damage is in the cervical and thoracic, but I donāt necessarily agree with the interpretation from the ortho radiologist that-ā Robby clears his throat to stop you there. Sheepishly, you finish, āVitals are within safe range for operation to correct cervical and thoracic fractures and dislocations."
Robby offers, āSo essentially, the approach is-ā
āHold on.ā Park looks up from the chart and focuses squarely on you. āWhat did the radiologist say? Why did you stop there?ā
You glance over at Robby, whoās shaking his head with pleading eyes. But itās your case. Youāre the one who gave up your lunch break to pore over the imaging. So you let your eyes rove back to Dr. Parkās and tell him firmly, āYour radiologist feels that the lumbar injuries causing Mr. Westmanās paralysis are completely inoperable through traditional methods. I was advised to defer to his opinion.ā
Brows furrowed, he eyes you seriously. Almostā¦amused. Like heās watching a puppy try a new trick. āWhatās your opinion, doctor?ā
Behind Park, you see Whitaker shake his head and grimace like youāve just signed your own death certificate. Even Jesse is gripping his clipboard a little more tightly.
āI suggested that, even though it may be riskier, a series of nerve grafts and transfers could return the patientās ability to walk.ā Your voice lowers a bit and you try not to let your wobbly ābleeding heart baby doctorā voice come out. āMr. Westman is a highly-trained, highly-educated specialist in a type of engineering only a handful of people in the country can do. Work thatās absolutely critical for the development of renewable energy sources. When I was going over everything with his wife, Jenna, she told me that he loves his job more than life itself. That he would risk everything to regain use of his legs.ā You swallow hard and pinch back tears. Itās something that always annoys you; whenever you really, really care about something, you start to cry. Eyes averted, you wrap up, āI know that the kind of procedure Iām suggesting would be much longer and much riskier on several levels and that itās not at all my place to-ā
Park shakes his head and cuts you off, āShow me the scans.ā
You quickly brush past him to the nearby screen and blow up the images.
Dr. Park lets out a low whistle as he flips through the X-Rays, head tilted slightly as he gives the scans his full attention. He asks you a handful of questions and you answer them as best you can, all the eyes in the room burning the back of your head. You watch the wheels turning behind Parkās eyes; this is his passion, his favorite thing, his reason to wake up. You love seeing people in that state where all theyāre thinking about is what they do best.
Finally, he turns to you and says, āI donāt care what your title at this hospital is. If a goddamn janitor can propose a valid surgical approach for an āinoperableā injury, I want to hear it. Complex spinal reconstruction with multiple fusions, laminectomy, discectomyā¦fuck, ājust-about-everything-ectomy.ā Plus nerve transfer. Now thatās sexy. I like it.ā Before Robby can thank him for taking over, Park looks you up and down ā just a little slow to be completely professional ā and asks, āPipsqueak, you wanna assist?ā
You stand up straighter and turn your attention to Robby with wide, hopeful eyes. Looking nothing short of shocked, he nods and does a āsure, why not?ā type of gesture. You give a big, adorable grin and say, āYeah, that would be awesome. Iāve always wanted to see autograft harvesting and transfer firsthand.ā
Whitaker shakes his head and mutters, āFreak.ā
āGo to the bathroom, eat a snack, and scrub for OR three,ā Park tells you, ignoring everyone else. As you nod eagerly and excuse yourself, he slaps Robby on the back hard enough to make him stagger and mutters, āCongrats, Mike, you finally matched a competent fellow.ā
Dumbfounded, Robby just says, āAh, thanks.ā
Coming out of the surgery thirteen hours later, youāre glowing like you havenāt been awake for thirty-four hours in a row. Following tight on his heels, youāre practically skipping as you beam, āDr. Park, that was so amazing. I canāt thank you enough for the opportunity.ā
āYouāre good,ā he says simply, walking through the halls of the surgical wing like he owns the place. āGreat calls like that deserve great rewards. Wouldāve given you a gold star sticker, but Iām not as soft as Robinavitch.ā
āI wish Robby gave out stickers,ā you reply wistfully. āThat might actually convince me to stay here after my fellowship is up.ā
Youāre about to say something else when Park turns around and puts one baseball-glove-sized hand on your shoulder. āUnless you want to see my dick on our first day working together, you should probably stay on that side of this particular door.ā
You startle backwards as you realize heās pushing into the menās room. āOh my god. Iām so sorry; I sometimes kinda space out when Iām excited.ā
Park lets out a laugh. An honest-to-god laugh.
He has a handsome smile.
Even though your face is now about a thousand degrees, you still nibble your lower lip, grin, and call through the door, āBy the way, itās technically our second day working together since that was an overnight surgery.ā
Parkās amused, loud voice hollers back, āGo home and get some sleep, pipsqueak.ā
When you clock in for your next shift two days later, Dana waves you over right after youāre done putting your things away. She says, āThereās something in your mailbox, if youād believe it.ā
āReally?ā You worry a hangnail on your thumb. āDonāt tell me Iām getting served or something.ā
āYou? Come on, youāre Miss Bedside Manner USA.ā She nods over to the doctorās lounge and explains, āItās from ortho. Something about that surgery you sat in on last week.ā
āHuh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.ā
You scurry off to your mailbox, which youāve only even looked at once, the day you started. Theyāre a relic from the days of fax machines and printers. Inside your cubby is a blank, hospital-issue envelope. Upper left corner: Brendon Park, MD, FAAOS. In the middle, in his scratchy handwriting: Pipsqueak. With your lips pursed in curiosity, you rip the top of the envelope and remove the contents.
Inside a folded piece of notebook paper, thereās a card-sized sticker sheet with eight big, cutesy stickers on it. A happy sun, baby ducks, a strawberry, a stuffed bunny. All things sweet and girly. The theme is white, baby pink, sky blue, and light yellow, the same colors as the heart-patterned shirt youād been wearing under your scrubs. In between the big stickers, a few pastel stars serve as filler.
With a little squeal, you unfold the note and read. Couldnāt find one with a gold star. Close enough. Good job. Happy youāre here.
Underneath, heās drawn a tiny shark in lieu of a signature.
You melt ā just a little.
Riding the elevator up after your lunch break, itās kind of embarrassing how much your heart is pounding. Youāre really not supposed to be doing this. Itās a total violation of protocol ā not the sort that would get you in real HR trouble, but definitely the kind that could permanently piss someone off.
But you do it anyway. You gently knock on Dr. Parkās door after checking with the ortho receptionist that heās in. He makes a sort of grunting sound that you interpret as āyes, what?ā Pushing the door open just enough to slip into the opening, you say, āHi, Dr. Park. Robby asked me to page ortho down for a follow-up on the Westman case, but I thought it would be nice to ask you directly so that they could have consistency of-ā When Park doesnāt even look at you, eyes staring intently at the file on his computer, you shrink into the doorway and shake your head. āSorry; thatās silly. Iāll get back downstairs and send a page like I shouldāve to stop annoying you.ā
His eyes flick to yours for half a second. His eyebrows go together almost imperceptibly. āYouāre not annoying me.ā
āOh. Thanks.ā You bite your lower lip and stare at your shoes for a moment. Purple sneakers today, Park notices. Matching the lavender polka dots on your long sleeves. āSo, yeah, if you have time today to come down and check his repeat images with me, that would be really amazing. Iām working until six, so no rush. No pressure. I know youāre really busy. And I can definitely just ask Torres if you-ā
āIāll do it,ā he interrupts urgently. āDonāt ask Torres. Or anyone else. Iāve got it.ā Then he adds, hasty, āPatient outcomes improve when they have a consistent care team. Youāre right about that. You can come get me about Mr. Westman whenever you need to.ā
At that, you absolutely beam. His eyes go to your lips. Your cupidās bow and the way it stretches when you smile. A pretty smile, he thinks. Really pretty. You glow, āOkay, perfect, I will. Thank you.ā
You linger for a second, one hand on the doorknob as you debate whether or not to say something. He hasnāt returned to his computer screen, eyes just roaming around the room and occasionally spending a second on you, so you take it as an invitation.
āI also wanted to, um, to say thanks for the stickers, by the way.ā You lift your water bottle and show him the doodle-style pink star youād picked out to grace it among your collection. āI really like them.ā
āGood.ā Heās tempted to lie, say it was someone elseās idea, act like he found them somewhere in the hospital, but he canāt when heās looking at your delighted schoolgirl smile. āSaw them at Target and thought of you. It was nice to work with someone soā¦competent.ā You swear thereās a slight blush in his cheeks, but it must be a trick of the light. It must be. Then he clears his throat and adds, āIāll come down to see you- for Mr. Westmanās follow-up in an hour, alright? I have to finish this report and my dyslexiaās fucking killing me today.ā
Physically unable to stop yourself from being helpful, you offer, āI could type it up for you, if you want.ā
āI didnāt mean to tell you that,ā he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. āYou have this disarming thing about you. Itās jarring.ā
āUm, thanks?ā You tilt your head like a puppy. āAre you not supposed to talk about it or something?ā
He shrugs, definitely blushing now and pretending not to be, and replies, āPeople hear their doctor has a learning disability and get a little antsy. So if you donāt mind, keep that to yourself.ā
āNo problem, Dr. Park, Iām the picture of discretion,ā you assure him seriously. But then you keep spilling out, āBut, yāknow, I actually read this study from the Royal College of Surgeons that showed people with dyslexia make better surgeons than their peers because of their well-developed spatial reasoning skills, attention to detail, and problem-solving ability ā not to mention the resilience and creativity that inherently come from- Aaaand Iām word vomiting. Shoot. Sorry. Itās- itās chronic, my word vomit. I see a specialist.ā
He raises an eyebrow in amusement. āDo you now?ā
āYup. My likelihood of remission is incredibly low. Lifelong struggle, really.ā You swallow hard and tell him gently, āUm, I had this undergrad student I tutored. He was in biology ā pre-med ā but he didnāt think he could do it because he was dyslexic. So I did a bunch of research and presented it to him. Iām not, like, one of those cool photographic memory people who remember every study on earth or something.ā
āPeople with photographic memories freak me out,ā he says with a chuckle. You wonder if youāre the only person in the ED whoās heard him laugh. More than once, even. Then he says something that actually does manage to shock you: āIād love the help, if you have time.ā
āYay!ā You do this little bouncing thing that makes his head spin. āIām still on my lunch, so I have a few minutes.ā
Voice sounding almost protective, he checks, āDid you eat?ā
āYeah, of course. But I get bored if I donāt have anything to do after my leftovers.ā You scooch around his desk and slide between him and the computer, your perky ass directly in his face. With your fingers hovering over his keyboard, you lilt, āAlright, big man, what are we writing?ā
It takes Park fifteen seconds to recalibrate, ten of those seconds spent memorizing the way he can see the outline of your tiny thong when you lean forward slightly, the fabric of your scrubs taut over your ass. Then he hastily stands up and puts himself behind the chair, his nosy dick safe from being seen, and says, āWhy donāt you take my spot? Youāll be more comfortable.ā
You shrug and sit down, throwing your head way back to look up at him with perfect, sweet blowjob eyes. āWhatever you say, Shark.ā
The next time Parkās in the ED, his crush on you is completely and totally solidified. Itās horrifying, the way the feeling swirls around his stomach and makes his cheeks hot. Itās not a feeling thatās ever dared encounter him in the workplace and, honestly, not in a hell of a long time outside of it, either.
Itās because youāve got Ogilvie backed up against a wall, your pointed finger in the center of his chest. Heās a head taller than you, even slouching, but youāre dwarfing him with your energy. Parkās never seen you so brutally animated, eyebrows knitted together and posture perfectly straight. He lingers a bit too close, hugging the corner so he can listen and watch.
Ogilvieās hands are up in the air, waving, frustrated. āI didnāt do anything wrong! All I did was-ā
āOh my god, how many times do I have to tell you to shut up and listen to me?ā With your feet planted firmly in your white sneakers with red laces and your arms crossed in your cherry-printed sleeves, you go on, āI get that Iām a woman. I get that Iām short and cute and girly. I get that you think youāre godās gift to medicine.ā
āI donāt think Iām-ā
āI wasnāt done. I get that you struggle to respect me. Idiotic men often do. But let me make one thing abundantly clear: You are a slug of a man-child, James. You leave a trail of slime behind yourself in the form of problems everyone else needs to clean up, you hide whenever things get hard, and you need to blot the oil from your T-zone so youāre less shiny. And invest in a frizz-control shampoo.ā While Park stifles a snorting laugh, you go on with the most pointed, cruel voice heās ever heard from a woman so painfully adorable, āIf you ever speak to me like that again, you will envy the corpses you practice on. All you will do clinically is change infected necrotic dressings and disimpact bowels and every other moment of your day will be dedicated to administrative scut so monotonous it makes your vision blurry. I will ask to have you on my service every day just so I can torture you until you question your entire career path. Do we have an understanding?ā
Ogilvie is too stunned to speak for thirty seconds straight. Then he swallows and stammers out, āYes, doctor. I- I understand.ā
You nod tightly and add, āIād like an apology now.ā
āIām sorry,ā he says right away. It sounds more afraid than earnest, but thatāll get the job done. āI shouldnāt have spoken to you the way I did.ā
āGood. I forgive you.ā Then you give him a warm, friendly smile and a pat on the head that you have to rock up onto your toes to execute fully. āNow letās get back to Mrs. Andrews so you can get another lumbar puncture under your belt before your next evaluation, alright?ā
Ogilvie manages to get out, āThanks,ā before you turn around and lead him back to the ED. He looks like a scolded toddler, lip pouted and cheeks red, while you have that familiar unshakeable pep in your step.
And Brendon Park is smitten.
The next week, as youāre sending off a list of prescriptions, you hear Langdonās voice from the other side of the ED. āSharkbait, get over here!ā
You turn toward Langdon and point at yourself. āMe?ā
His eyes are big and begging. āYeah, cāmon, I need you.ā
āI have work to do, Frank.ā
āPlease?ā He clasps his hands in front of his chest like a prayer. āParkās going to kill me when he sees the state of these ribs.ā
Exasperated, you cut back, āWhat the hell does that have to do with me?ā
āYouāre Sharkbait,ā he replies, mimicking your expression. āWhen youāre in the room, heās less of a dick.ā
Several craving any time with Brendon, you roll your eyes and stomp over, telling him, āIāll give you five minutes. Get me up to speed.ā
He runs through the patient history with you while you gently palpate the chest.
āJesus Christ,ā you breathe as you feel the myriad of fractures all over the ribcage and sternum. āLUCAS?ā
āOn an elderly osteoporosis patient. Dumbass firefighter meatheads.ā He shakes his head and mutters, āItās basically a bag of bone soup in there.ā
āSounds promising,ā Park announces, always knowing when to cut into a conversation. When he sees you, he sighs in relief, āPipsqueak, thank god youāre on this, too. I donāt have the patience for dealing with Ken on my own today.ā
As Langdon talks to Park with you just sort of standing there as an emotion diffuser, Santos and Whitaker watch in wonder from the hub.
Trinity, whose last interaction with the Shark ended with him saying she should switch to a career with no skeletons involved, scoffs and murmurs, āWhy hasnāt he ripped her head off? Sheās brand new; she doesnāt know how to placate him.ā
āHer aura powers are unknown to us,ā Whitaker mutters back. āShe has some kind of sorcery ability incomprehensible to the masses.ā
āI mean, she has nice tits,ā Trinity reasons. āSheās smart. Made some good calls in front of him.ā
Whitaker argues, āBaranās brilliant and has great tits. He called her an imbecile last week.ā
Amused, Trinity raises her eyebrows. āYou think Dr. Al-Hashimi has great tits?ā
āNot the point.ā A minute later, Park leaves the room with a smile in your direction. You swish over to the hub to grab a new chart and Dennis asks, āWhatās the deal with you and the Shark?ā
Humming gently, you ask him absently, āWhat do you mean?ā
Trinity cuts in to reply for them both, āWell, I mean, he likes you. Are you two fucking?ā
Your eyes startle wide at the idea ā tantalizing but impossibly far away. Park is so wildly out of your league you can barely entertain the thought. āWhat? No! Of course not. Brendonās not as bad as you guys think. You just have to get to know him.ā
Trinity mouths to Whitaker, Brendon?
Whitaker shrugs, baffled, and then muses as the three of you watch Park head toward the OR, āI didnāt realize that was a possibility.ā
You chuckle and tease, āMaybe try being a better doctor next time?ā
āBrutal, Sharkbait. Brutal.ā
That weekend, the Pittsburgh Penguins hosts its annual Medical Worker Appreciation Night. Because Danaās been nominated as a spotlighted nurse, the hospital sprung for discounted tickets in the name of staff morale.
Robby shepherds you and the other newer ED staff whoād gotten their hands on a ticket down to the PTMC section. When he checks seats, pointing everyone in the right direction, he frowns at yours. āKid, do you wanna trade spots with me?ā
Your brows furrow. āWhat? Why?ā
āLook.ā
Your eyes follow Robbyās pointing chin. At the end of the long row, Parkās perched on the edge of his seat, staring down the players doing warmups. Heās wearing a black Penguins hoodie, a black Penguins hat, and a pair of jeans that his meaty thighs battle for dominance with. Youāve never seen him outside of scrubs and itās becoming a problem very quickly. You shrug and tell Robby, āI donāt mind.ā
āYou sure?ā
āWe get along great, actually.ā
āThat explains the new nickname,ā he chuckles under his breath. āI figured it was because youāre a sacrificial lamb.ā
Park catches your eyes and waves you over, his lips flirting with the concept of a smile. He canāt bear to say it out loud, can barely even tolerate the thought in his own head, but heād looked over the seating chart on the HR receptionistās computer and basically threatened Ogilvieās life to switch with him (and then swore him to secrecy on similar conditions).
You plop down next to him and nudge him in the bicep. āHi, Bren, I didnāt think you came to things like this.ā
Bren. Nobodyās used a nickname besides āSharkā for him in decades. He shrugs like his heart rate isnāt picking up at the way your arm has to touch his because of how broad he is. āItās hockey.ā
āItās team bonding,ā you tease. āYou hate bonding. And teams that arenāt sports.ā
āBut I like free Pens tickets,ā he replies simply. Then he notices your outfit. Youāre wearing pants, at least ā leggings, because fuck him, he figures ā but your arms are agonizingly bare from the elbows down, your yellow tee not doing much to protect your skin. He frowns and asks, āDid you bring a jacket or something? Youāre gonna freeze to death in here.ā
You shake your head. āItās not that cold; Iāll be okay.ā
āGive it a period.ā
āIām not on my- Oh. Theyāre called periods in hockey?ā
Biting back a mean joke because of your sweet, innocent eyes, he says, āYeah. Periods. Three twenty-minute periods with intermissions between.
āYouāre gonna have to explain everything to me,ā you say as you stare at the different parts of the stadium. āIām not from a hockey town.ā
āI donāt mind,ā he admits after a second. He adds carefully, āI never get to talk hockey outside of work.ā
āNo gym buddies to gab with?ā
āNo gym buddies,ā he confirms.
āThatās shocking, considering the biceps of it all.ā And the pecs you would honestly motorboat. And the big veiny hands. And the thick thighs you could bounce on for hours. You swallow hard, thankful you donāt have a dick to give away your thoughts. āAre you one of those douchey guys who puts in his AirPods and focuses on his form in the mirror? Oh my god, do you film yourself so you can make sure you-ā
āOkay, okay, thatās enough,ā he laughs, raising his hands in defeat. āYouāve got me pegged, sweetheart. I have to be strong because I crack femurs all day. And you have to focus on form if you want to get strong and donāt want to get hurt.ā
āSo no time for gym buddies.ā You lilt, sweet and easy, āMaybe you can show me some time. I could use a little more muscle and a little less-ā
āNo, you definitely donāt need ālessā anything,ā he protests way too quickly as his mouth goes dry. He can barely tolerate the sight of you in leggings this close to him; heād burst a blood vessel if you were in bike shorts and a sports bra like his brain immediately supplies. With his neck going splotchy pink, he course corrects, āLifting isnāt about losing weight or visible muscle. Itās about building practical strength.ā
And your body is fucking perfect. If you wanted to change it out of insecurity, heād drop to his knees and kiss your feet until you realized you shouldnāt change a thing. Your thighs are just the right thickness, your ass downright juicy, your stomach spectacularly soft, your breasts-
Park sucks in a sharp, deep breath and shakes out the thoughts. āIām gonna grab something to eat before the game starts. Can I get you anything?ā
After a second of thinking, you ask sweetly, āDo they have cheese fries?ā
āThey have every disgusting, greasy sports food you could ever want,ā he confirms. āIāll be right back with some goodies.ā
You occupy yourself by playing social butterfly, introducing yourself to everyone you havenāt had a chance to meet yet. When Park returns, he takes a second to admire you running around spreading your sunshine. Then you return to his side and squeal when you see a mountain of loaded cheese fries that make your mouth water in the best way.
Before sitting down to share them with you, Park shoves a folded garment into your arms. āPut this on. I wonāt be able to focus on the game if youāre shivering next to me the whole time.ā
āAw, Bren, thank you.ā Your voice borders on a whimper as you unfold the classic lacer pullover, black with yellow and tan bars around the lower hem and arms, the iconic penguin himself at the center of the chest. āJust let me know how much I owe you for it ā at least for half.ā
He rolls his eyes. āShut up; itās a gift.ā
āOkay, thank you so much, thatās so sweet, but the suggestion to shut up is incredibly offensive given I disclosed my word vomit diagnosis to you,ā you reply seriously, glaring at him.
Park clutches his chest and tells you, āI apologize for making light of your vulnerability with me.ā
āI forgive you because of the cheese fries.ā You examine the back of the thick, cozy hoodie and observe, āCrosby. Is he your favorite? Or just the cheapest sweater?ā
Park smirks (itās the most expensive sweater) and replies, āSid the Kid. Best player Pittsburghās ever had. Best player in the league, if you ask anyone with a brain. Rumor has it heās retiring soon; I think thatāll be my first true heartbreak.ā
You balk at the idea. āYouāve never had your heart broken? I get my heart broken ten times a month.ā
He raises his eyebrows. āYou go on that many dates?ā
āNo, no, no, no dates,ā you quickly reply. Too quickly. A little desperately. āBut it breaks my heart when I see sad puppy commercials or old people eating alone at restaurants or trailers for romantic dramas at the movies. One time I cried because I could only find one of my favorite socks. I tried and I tried but the second one was justā¦gone. I couldnāt look at the single one without getting so sad it was hard to-ā
āTeam introductionās starting, then the national anthem,ā he interrupts gently. Reluctantly. Like heās actually invested in your rambling. āPut a lid on the word vomit for ten minutes and Iām all yours for a full sock eulogy.ā
You giggle and salute as the whole stadium stands. āYes, sir.ā
He rolls his shoulders and pretends that doesnāt go straight to his dick. When you cheer extra loud for Sidney Crosby as he skates to center, jumping a tiny bit like your smile is too big to hold in your body, Park damn near swoons. He wants to sling his arm around your waist and pull you into him, to kiss the top of your head, to, fuck, put you on his shoulders and parade you around or something. He canāt even name everything he wants to do with and to and for you. Itās agony.
Once the game starts, Park takes care to make sure you understand whatās going on. āThatās Ovechkin. Youāre gonna see one hell of a game. Heās Crosbyās biggest rival.ā
āSo we hate him,ā you reply obediently. āGot it.ā
He smiles at you and confirms, āYeah, we hate him. Mostly because heās really fucking good.ā
You nudge him with your shoulder and tease, āThatās why people hate you, so itās good company.ā
He barks out a laugh. āIs that why?ā
āThat or because you never show off that handsome smile.ā
With a pout, he counters, āI smile plenty.ā
āHe said, frowning.ā
āIāll smile when the Pens win,ā he promises.
But, despite his best efforts, he does, actually, get caught smiling before the end of the game. In a big, obnoxious way. After the end of the second period, with the game tied 1-1, you watch the kiss cam flying around the arena with dopey heart eyes so precious Brendon canāt rip his eyes away from you. Itās too cute of an expression not to memorize.
You donāt notice heās staring, too wrapped up in loving to see people in love, until his face lights up the big screen. Youāre so shocked that you donāt process just how bright and intent his eyes are, his lips soft and slightly upturned, everything about his expression and posture screaming āgod, sheās beautiful, isnāt she?ā Itās the kind of expression kiss cam operators gravitate toward; only men who adore their girls look like that.
Before he can even truly realize that itās you and him on screen, his eyes widening, you grab him and plant a big fat shimmery lip gloss kiss on his cheek. Then you grin, following it up by blowing a kiss and winking to the camera.
And Brendon Park smiles wide enough to power the whole arena, the apples of his cheek glowing neon pink and he drops his eyes and shakes his head in delight.
The video is immediately saved and sent to the ED group chat by none other than Trinity Santos, naturally. One of the nurses proceeds to forward it to the nurses chat, where it makes its way to the ortho chat. By the time the camera even pans away, the moment has been forever cemented in PTMC history as the first time Park the Shark has smiled earnestly ā innocently, even ā in front of his coworkers.
Only the whoops, cheers, and laughs from your nearby ED coworkers drops him back onto earth from cloud nine. Park frowns as he rubs his cheek with a napkin, pouting, āYou got lipgloss on my face.ā
āWhat was I supposed to do?ā You gesture to Trinity and Whitaker, who are pumping their fists in their air victoriously. āLeave my adoring fans hanging?ā
With a sheepish wave in their direction to get them to fuck off, he mutters, āI think youāve permanently damaged my tough guy reputation.ā
But you just reply in a sing-sony voice, āYou didnāt have to blush.ā
āInvoluntary response to relevant stimulus.ā
āWhatever you say, big guy.ā
If heās honest with himself, his smile isnāt half as bright when the Penguins win an hour later. It only warms back up to critical heat when you wrap him in a hug, gleefully jumping up and down as the puck hits the net right as the buzzer goes off. Heād kiss you for real if you werenāt surrounded by the PTMC staff.
Still, with your arms around the back of his neck, he canāt resist doing something. So he keeps it simple and asks, āItās been a while since those cheese fries; want to grab dinner with me?ā
When you say yes, his heart sings.
After the hockey game, thereās a definite shift in your friendship with Brendon. Itās more playful. Less guarded. The two of you grab dinner together after your shifts whenever Park doesnāt have a late surgery and, if you miss out on dinner, he insists on coffee in the morning. He tells you about his personal life and you do the same, not that itās hard on your end. Gradually, you start to notice the differences that everyone else in the ED picked up on months and months ago. The way his face goes from hardened to soft when he sees you entering a room. The way his texts have emojis instead of periods. The way he accepts your hugs instead of turning them into handshakes.
Right when youāve gotten up your confidence to actually ask him out, you overhear him and Robby talking in hushed tones inside Parkās office. The doorās cracked and youād come up specifically to ask him to go out with you in a few days on Saturday because you both actually have a weekend off.
With an X-Ray in hand, Robby pushes, āAre you sure you canāt do the revision yourself on Sunday? I know youāre not scheduled to be here, but the family trusts you now, and it might be-ā
āI told you, man, Iām surprising my girlfriend on Sunday. Iāve been sitting on these ballet tickets for weeks already and I donāt do shit like that,ā Park tells him sternly. No room for argument. āYouāre in good hands with Torres; sheās as good as me any day ā maybe better since people actually like her.ā
You donāt wait for Robbyās response. Losing your ability to breathe, you scamper to the nearby staircase and start stamping your way down to the ED. Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces. No, a million. They fall down the stairs like glass, so heavy youāre surprised you canāt hear them echoing.
Stopping just shy of the ED entrance, you tuck yourself away underneath the staircase to catch your breath, trying not to let yourself cry. Parkās just one of those guys, you figure. Guys with ultra-secure girlfriends who donāt care if they have female friends who drool all over their biceps. Guys who donāt mention their ultra-secure girlfriends because they know what they have at home and they probably donāt even realize youāre flirting because theyāre so enamored with their great, successful, probably gorgeous girlfriend who knows exactly what sheās doing in bed and always satisfies him and-
There are the tears.
Feelings of inadequacy and sadness well up and spill over. Itās hard to keep your sniffles and sobs quiet enough not to draw attention when all you want is to ugly sob over a tub of ice cream and your favorite movie. Only one more hour in your shift. You can make it. Right?
Upstairs, you hear the door squeak open and heavy footsteps traipse down toward you. Familiar footsteps. Of course. He probably saw you running away from his office and is coming to find you because you have the luck of a worm after a rainstorm.
When Park comes closer, he spots your elbow sticking out from behind the staircase. Hiding. Youāre still crying, unable to stop yourself until you get it all out. Silently, yes, but with puffy eyes and tiny whimpers and sniffles that escape every once in a while. Tucked up underneath the staircase, you blot at your cheeks with the sleeve of your daisy-patterned turtleneck.
Rage devours Brendonās insides. He beelines for you and demands with a level of anger in his eyes youāve never seen before, āWhatās wrong? Did someone make you cry?ā
āNo, no, Iām fine.ā You try a shaky smile and wipe your face again even though more tears just fall in their wake. āJust, um, Iām on my period and Iām emotional.ā
Which isnāt not true. Itās the last day or two and you are emotional. Itās definitely not helping the situation. Parkās a little taken aback you admitted that so freely, but heās a doctor, dammit, so he doesnāt let it faze him. Instead he offers, āOkay, well, um, do you, ah, do you need anything? I have some ibuprofen in my office if-ā
You start crying harder, ugly sobs now at how nice heās being when he just unintentionally and unknowingly turned you into a 12-year-old girl having her first heartbreak.
Park stammers, unsure how to deal with this situation. āOkay, ah, maybe just a hug, then?ā
You nod ardently and he pulls you close with his strong arms. You nestle your face in his chest and breathe deep. If this is the closest youāre gonna get to having him, youāre gonna milk it for all itās worth. With your nose pressed to his muscles as you start to calm down, you whimper, āYou smell really good.ā
Still tentative, Brendon murmurs, āItās Dior. My mom bought it for me.ā
Then you start crying even more.
That night, after making some lazy excuse to Brendon for why you canāt get dinner like usual, you curl up on your couch and vow to set some darn boundaries with the guy. Youāre only going to get yourself hurt if you indulge in dinners and coffees and stolen gazes and elevator conversations. So you put his messages on silent, only returning them when you actually have a second instead of carving out time. You make a point of ducking into other rooms when you know heās coming down for a consult, ignoring the desperate calls for Sharkbait from your hapless coworkers.
And by the time youāre clocked out on Friday night, you almost feel better about the situation. Well, thatās a lie. You actually donāt feel better at all. If anything, you feel much, much worse because you donāt have your best friend to hang out with anymore. Youāre going to have to resort to drinks with the Pittlings if you donāt find another attending soon.
But at least you have the weekend to wallow.
Walking to your bus stop with Celine Dion blasting in your ears, you try to focus on the pretty sunset and the wins of the shift instead of letting your brain drift to-
Fuck.
Brendonās standing at your bus stop with his stance wide and his arms crossed like a bodyguard, forearms looking extra delectable in the sunset. Heās not a hallucination from your lovesick mind nor a hologram designed to trip you up on the way home.
You scurry up to him with averted eyes and ask, āWhat are you doing here? You drive a Rolls-Royce.ā
āYeah, and that Spectre is my damn baby, but you take the bus when youāre ignoring my offer for rides. So here I am.ā His eyes drill through your forehead and your resolve. āCan we talk now?ā
Weakly, you mutter back, āMy bus is in five minutes.ā
āYouāre not taking the bus. Iām driving you.ā The firmness of his voice makes your knees wobble. He nods over his shoulder toward the small park next to the hospital. āWeāre talking. Come on.ā
Then he takes your hand ā you want to throw up ā and leads you through the park entrance to a shaded spot under a tree where the light makes his chiseled features agonizingly beautiful. Like a fucking Roman marble sculpture. He doesnāt wait for you to say anything, instead taking charge and launching in, āWhatās going on with you? Why have you been ignoring me the last few days? If I did something to hurt you, tell me and Iāll fix it. I know Iām a dumbass about the feelings stuff sometimes, a lot of the time, but Iām not going to mess shit up with you, so you have to let me know what I need to do better.ā
āYou havenāt done anything wrong,ā you whimper. You hate how pathetic you sound. How downtrodden and heartbroken. But Brendon looks hurt, too, which makes you feel ten times as bad. So you rush out a hasty version of the truth, āI came up to your office on Wednesday to ask you on a date this weekend, but then- then I heard you telling Robby about your girlfriend who youāre surprising on Sunday and it just, like, crushed me so bad even though I know it was so silly for me to think Iād ever have a chance with someone like you in the first place since youāre this sexy strong surgeon and Iām so not but I thought maybe in the last couple months-ā
āWoah, pipsqueak, hey.ā Brendon cups your cheek in his hand to cut you off once the shock of your words wears off. āWhat the hell are you talking about?ā
Unable to meet his eyes, you start to feel the tears coming. Dammit. You stare at your pink sneakers ā the same ones you were wearing when the two of you met, you realize ā and let them fall to the ground. After a minute, you manage to admit, āI just- I donāt think I can be this close to you if you have a girlfriend. Itās great that sheās so cool about you having female friends, but Iām just so sensitive and I know thatās not your fault but-ā
āHold on.ā Brendon places both hands on your shoulders, staring at you like youāre an alien making first contact. Baffled beyond his wildest dreams, he explains slowly, āYouāre my girlfriend.ā
Between sniffles and shaky breaths, you whimper out, unable to process anything, āHuh?ā
āMy girlfriend. Who Iām surprising on Sunday. That would be you.ā
Now itās your turn to go catatonic, eyes wide and shimmery. āWhat are you talking about?ā
āI asked you out to dinner after the hockey game,ā he tells you, exasperated in the cutest way youāve ever seen. Like youāre dumb but like maybe heās also dumb. āI paid for your dinner. I insisted you get dessert. The whole thing. And we- Sweetheart, what do you think all the dinners we eat together are? Why else would I always be inviting you for coffee? Why would I always pay? I donāt just dump a couple hundred bucks a week on casual coworkers.ā
Starting to feel silly instead of sad, you cover your laugh and protest, āI donāt know; I thought you were being friendly! You make $500,000 a year; you should be paying for all your friendsā coffees!ā
ā$650,000, actually, I have a sub-specialty in pediatric surgery,ā he replies as though you wouldnāt drop your panties right here in the park. āMore importantly, I am the least friendly person in the entire hospital. Maybe the entire city.ā He runs a hand through his hair and replies a bit bashfully, āI kind of figured you like that about me or we wouldnāt be dating.ā
The last two months recontextualize in your head in rapid succession. Little moments appear lit up by neon lights that blare, HEY DUMBASS! Brendon tied your shoes last week instead of telling you they were loose, dropping down on his knees right outside the ED where anyone could see just to make sure you wouldnāt trip. He always takes your backpack from your shoulders before walking you to the parking garage and opening the door of his gorgeous navy blue sedan for you. Even the way he looked at you at the hockey game.
God, youāre an idiot.
With your lips parted and your eyes rapidly blinking, you come up with a new protest: āYouāve never even tried to kiss me, Brendon. What the fuck? You should be kissing me all the time! You couldāve been jumping my bones ever since the hockey game; that wouldāve made things pretty clear to me!ā
āJumping your bones?ā He suppresses a laugh since youāre still flustered. He just kind of scoffs and explains with a shrug, āI guess Iām still old-school about that. A gentleman. I wasnāt picking up signals that you wanted me to, yāknow, make a big move. Figured we should take it slow. I mean, youāre new to Pittsburgh, youāve had some big life changes. And I have a history of being too, ah, too intense for some women. I didnāt want to mess that up with you.ā
āThatās actually really sweet, Bren,ā you reply, sniffling back tears. Waving a hand in front of your face to cool down your burning cheeks, you pinch your eyebrows together and point out, āOkay, well, then we never did, like, a āwhat are we?ā talk.ā
āThatās because Iām 38 years old,ā he replies bluntly. āWhen Iām with my woman, she has my full attention. My devotion. Everything. I donāt need to have that talk.ā
My woman. The phrase makes you feel kinda bubbly like soda. You smack him on the chest and poke him, āClearly you do, dummy!ā
After you nudge him, Park catches your hand in his, fingers enveloping yours. Fuck, his hands are so big and sturdy. Then his eyes soften and he kisses your fingers. He leans down slightly to make better eye contact. āOkay, Iāll have that talk if you want it.ā Crystal clear, blue eyes positively sparkling with amusement and adoration, he asks, āWould you like to be my very, very official girlfriend?ā
You let out an absolute squeal. Itās delighted and silly and so cute his stomach turns. God, how did a girl like you get your claws in him? When you throw your arms around his neck and he spins you around, he doesnāt care why or how. He just cares that the first words out of your mouth are, āYes, of course, obviously.ā You nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, feet barely touching the ground, and murmur against his ear, āThis is my favorite night ever.ā
āYouāve got me wrapped around your finger, princess,ā he assures as he sets you down on your own balance. Then he holds your face in his palm and finally bends down to kiss you properly.
But you stop him with your pointer finger in his lips, his eyes widening. āNo, no, no, I canāt have our first kiss be when Iām all puffy and snotty from crying.ā
He gives a pretend growl but concedes, āFair enough. Whatever you want. Cāmon, letās get you home.ā
Before he turns away, though, you step on your very tippy toes (and then some) and kiss his forehead before asking so sweetly, āHow about you come over tomorrow? I know we already have plans Sunday ā by the way, I really love the ballet, so good job ā but maybe we should have a first date that I know is a first date beforehand?ā
āYeah, of course,ā he replies wistfully, still feeling your lips on his skin. On his thick fucking skull. āIāll go anywhere you ask me.ā
Like you asked, Brendon knocks on your door at 3PM sharp. You promised to entertain him and make him dinner and he could absolutely care less about any of the details beyond getting to be with you like he craves. Heād agonized over what to wear to an embarrassing extent, nearly caving and texting his mother for her approval. But that would be a fate worse than death, so he settles on dark jeans rolled at the ankle and a black tee because a little old lady told him he looked hunky when he wore them to the pharmacy a few weeks ago.
You answer the door wearing nothing but the oversized Penguins sweater he bought you, a pair of panties he can barely see under it, and knee-high socks.
Parkās pupils dilate.
In that one look, you can finally see why they call him Shark. Heās a predator latching onto you, ready to devour you alive. You take a step back and he steps forward like youāre pulling him by a string attached to his gut. He doesnāt even notice himself closing and locking the door, too fixated on the expanse of your legs and the Pittsburgh Penguins logo on your chest. He tentatively puts one hand on your waist and sighs reverently, āYup, this is the singular sexiest thing Iāve ever seen.ā
You look away from him, bashful under his praise: āWell, yāknow, I wanted to surprise my boyfriend since heās planning on surprising me tomorrow.ā Then your attempt at a sultry voice goes away and is replaced by your usual glittery one when you see that heās carrying a bouquet of pastel pink, soft orange, and angel white gerberas in the hand not touching you. āBrenny, did you get me flowers?ā
āBrennyā might be too far, but he canāt bear to tell you that. You could call him anything and heād accept it. He lifts the flowers up and offers them to you. āUm, yes. Is that still romantic or is it really, really lame now?ā
āStill romantic,ā you assure him with misty eyes, taking the bouquet and skipping away toward the kitchen.
Brendon toes off his shoes and follows you into the house, not surprised to find the place decked out in pastel colors and soft fabrics and dreamy artwork. You dig through your cabinets to find a porcelain vase you thrifted years ago and arrange the flowers inside of it.
As you place them on the windowsill, you give him a soft gaze, softer than any heās been on the receiving side of. āThis is the sweetest thing any manās ever done for me.ā
Brendon pulls you into a warm embrace, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and says, āBaby, youāre about to have your bar raised, because flowers are the least you deserve.ā When your lips part into a shy smile, he asks, āCan I kiss you now?ā
You nod eagerly and rock up onto your toes, tilting your chin to get as close to him as possible. Brendonās gentle, boyish smile makes your heart pound in your throat in the moments before he closes the gap. He takes a second to admire the slopes of your face when youāre gazing up at him like he means something.
And then he kisses you.
Itās eager and bright, the way you kiss after prom night. You have to fight not to smile when he holds your face between both hands, so much desire in his touch that you can feel his resolve to take it slow with you melting away.
Suddenly, at the sound of you giggling for only a second, Brendonās arms loop around your back. Before you know it, heās lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You hop up, knowing heāll catch you, and lock your legs around his hips. When you feel his smooth, cold belt buckle against your panties, you gasp out a moan at the contact.
Brendon chuckles and buries his forehead in the crook of your neck. He groans quietly, āBaby, you canāt make all those little sounds or youāre gonna kill me.ā
Breathless, you tease back, āThen you definitely canāt call me baby.ā
He smirks, kisses you again, and asks in a lower and more pointed voice, āWhereās your bedroom, baby?ā
āItās right upstairs; if you wanna put me down, I can-ā
He shakes his head and keeps you balanced firmly in his arms, walking back toward the staircase. āNo point in having these muscles if my girl ever has to touch the ground again.ā
As he carries you up the stairs so easily that youāre turning into a person made more of giggles than anything else, you ask him, āAre you gonna carry me around from patient to patient forever?ā
āIf thatās what you want,ā he replies with a laugh as he pushes through your bedroom door. Guiding you down onto the bed, which youāve meticulously made, Brendon murmurs against the pulse point just beneath your ear, āIāll give you everything you want, kitten.ā
At the tender pet name, you canāt help but moan, encouraging him to touch you as he pins you to the bed just by virtue of how big his body is. He pulls back and gazes down at you so gently. Your heartbeat is slow again, comfortable, safe, but the heat between your legs is undeniable.
Brendon lowers himself down to kiss you once more. The energy between you shifts in that kiss, like heās become painfully aware of being in your bedroom, your body pliant beneath him, your eyes full of trust and adoration he hasnāt experienced in years. His kiss is slow and sweet and simple. He shifts onto his side so one of his hands can cradle your cheek while the other gingerly takes your waist. You can tell heās being painfully careful with you, his gentle touch revealing a certain level of fear ā that heāll hurt you or break you or scare you off.
So you reach forward and twine your fingers in the short hair at the base of his neck, gently scratching his scalp, and press your body against his. One leg thrown over his hip so that he can feel the heat of your barely clothed cunt. You arch your back and wiggle a tiny bit so that his hand almost has to move to your ass. He chuckles into the kiss and that makes you whimper. But he doesnāt do more, doesnāt grab or push or demand.
You pull back an inch, stare at him seriously, and murmur, āYouāre not gonna break me, Bren.ā
Mischief flickers in his blue eyes. He knows perfectly well what youāre asking, even if heās tentative to give it to you. āWhat are you trying to say, sweetheart? Use your words.ā
Mimicking his own voice, you bat your lashes and offer, āWhatās the point in having those muscles if you donāt throw your girl around a little? Cāmon, Shark, I know youāre not a shy lover.ā You sit up just enough to reach down and lift the hockey sweater up and over your head. Underneath, youāve got a black lace unlined bra, filled out only by the weight of your breasts, and itās absolutely sinful. āTouch me like you mean it.ā
āJesus fucking Christ, this is one hell of a surprise,ā he rasps as he grabs your tits through the fabric, a rough sting buzzing through your body. The sight of his hands against the lace flips the switch in his mind and heās hunting for blood in the water. āI didnāt know you owned anything black.ā
As he pinches your nipples, mean and certain, the fabric of the lace adding a scratchy friction, you gasp, āItās a special occasion.ā
āYeah?ā His hands run down toward your thighs, kneading the thickness of your waist and hips with a greed that approaches true obsession. You lose the ability to think when he bends down and bites the side of your waist, his teeth quickly becoming less and less gentle as your moans get louder and louder. āWhatās so special?ā
You can only whimper as he roughly manhandles you upwards so that he can unhook your bra, using only one hand. Fucking surgeons. All you can think about is what else those hands of his can do. Youāve noticed how thick his fingers are a million times and now you might actually get to feel them the way you want.
Brendon can see the lust laid bare over you, chest rising and falling faster, eyes wide and waiting, skin prickled with goosebumps. Hooking his fingers beneath the edges of your panties and pulling them down, he teases, āOut of words now, pretty girl?ā
You take five seconds to breathe, swallow hard, and order, āTake your clothes off.ā
He throws his head back and grins. āGood choice of words.ā
While you prop yourself on your elbows for a better view, Brendon steps off the bed and tugs his shirt off first. He even does that thing buff guys do where he pulls it off by the back, his arm muscles offensively large as he reveals his abs. His muscles are less defined than they are sturdy, built not like an Abercrombie model but more like a lumberjack or, yāknow, a fridge. The way his obliques cut down into his hips is downright pornographic.
You let out a long breath. āJesus fucking Christ.ā
Perfectly and completely aware, he gives you a hunky grin. āWhat? Something wrong?ā
You bite your lower lip and physically try to stop yourself from staring, but you just keep failing. Because heās your boyfriend. Sitting on the edge of the bed now, gradually drawing closer to him like a magnet, you attempt to tease, āAre you always this much of a cocky bastard about your hot bod?ā
āMy hot bod?ā His hands go to his belt and he slowly removes it. Then, once heās stepped out of his jeans and youāre blinded by the outline of his, yes, proportionally long and thick cock against his black boxer briefs, he says, āYeah, I always am.ā
Eyes greedily drinking down every inch of his body and imagining all the ways you could play with it, you manage to mumble out, āYou should be.ā
God, he even makes taking off his underwear hot. It must be those damn thighs. Or the everything else. With your eyes trained squarely on his fat cock, mouth actually watering, Brendon steps toward and lifts your chin. āLike what you see, princess?ā
With that same confident smirk on his lips, he takes your small hand and wraps it around his shaft. Suddenly you get the whole ābeer-can-sized-dickā thing youāve read in way too much erotica because you canāt close your hand around his girth. āOh.ā
āWhat? Bigger than you thought? You intimidated?ā
āHoney, I think everyone youāve ever met knows you have a big dick.ā Your eyes flick up to his playfully. āAnd Iām definitely not intimidated.ā
āReally?ā
āYouāve never intimidated me. Not like you do everyone else.ā
āYeah, thatās why Iām so into you.ā As you smile coyly, Brendon thrusts between your fingers, watching every miniscule change in your expression ā which is rapidly growing less patient. He cups your cheek with his hand and asks, āWant a taste?ā
You open your mouth. Obedient, immediate. When his tip touches your tongue, you eagerly lap up a sticky drop of precum and then take him between your lips. Brendon has to grip your headboard hard to tolerate the sight of you sucking him with such a precious, adoring, sweet look in your eyes. It feels like youāre thanking him with your mouth, making the prettiest damn noises for him to memorize and play on repeat.
When you lift your hand to gently tug and roll his balls, Brendon hangs his head and groans, loud and low, gravelly in a way that tickles the back of your mind. āFuck, baby, thatās- thatās perfect.ā Your happy hum in reply makes his toes curl into the carpet. āJesus, you drive me crazy, you know that? Iāve never been this obsessed with someone.ā
You pull off him and beam, lips shiny and slightly swollen now. āReally?ā
Brendon pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you, easily maneuvering you so that your headās back on the pillows and his hands are on either side of your face. He kisses you hard, claiming, and says, āItās actually become a huge problem for me. Youāre all I can think about.ā
You giggle breathlessly and ask, āIs that a complaint?ā
āMmm. Thereās that little laugh of yours. Thatās how you got me,ā he groans before kissing you again. āI made some stupid goddamn joke during surgery and the whole team was exhausted but you laughed. Just like that. And I was done for.ā
You cover your face, embarrassed and delighted all at once, and remember, āThen I said you have a cutting-edge sense of humor.ā
āAnd I thought that was funny,ā he goes on with a fond chuckle. His hands have never stopped roaming over your body, playing with your breasts or digging into your hips. āYouāre so gorgeous and perfect I thought that was funny. You donāt even realize how deep youāve got your hooks in me, baby.ā
Biting your lip, you try to come up with something to say to match his sudden deep sweetness, but he stops you from being able to think at all. His lips drag down your neck, biting and kissing in equal measure until youāre squirming and bucking under him. Then, just beneath your ear, he growls, āCan I leave marks?ā
The sound you make is nothing short of pathetic. You clutch the back of his head, tugging his hair a bit to push his teeth against your neck, and whine, āPlease.ā
āYeah?ā Heās grinning, now, but he canāt bear to let you see. āWant the whole world to know youāre mine now?ā You whimper and nod, tilting your head to the side to give him better access.Ā He murmurs, āGood girl.ā
Fuck, youāre soaked.
As Brendon sucks hard over your pulse, branding you with the dark shape of his kiss, his right hand goes between your legs, pushing them apart. Two of his thick fingers dip between your folds to collect your wetness before smearing it over your clit. āAll this for me? Youāre easy to work up.ā
You laugh and tuck your forehead into his bicep. āAre you surprised?ā
āNot even a little,ā he chuckles. Making sure to kiss you and hold you as his fingers work firm circles around your clit, Brendon purrs, āIāve thought about all the sounds you must make a thousand times. How you must be so enthusiastic to be a good girl. Youāre so easy for me to read; I knew I could get you off better than anyone else.ā
You nod against his arm and moan when he finds just the right tempo on your clit, his fingers ridiculously skilled. āJust like that.ā
āWhatever you need, sweet girl,ā he assures, listening to you and keeping his fingers exactly the way they are. Methodical.
āBrendon,ā you gasp as your pussy pulses wantingly around nothing, āI really need you to fuck me.ā
āI love the enthusiasm, kitten, but Iām not gonna hurt you,ā he replies simply. Reluctantly. Thereās a tenderness to his voice that shouldnāt fit with his harsh attitude and masculine features, but it does. Itās him, beneath everything he shows the rest of the world. He drops down between your legs and nuzzles loving kisses over your sensitive inner thighs, worshipping into your skin, āIf Iām gonna fuck you to sleep tonight, then I canāt leave you sore from the first time. Let me make you cum before Iām inside you, kitten. Can you be good and do that?ā
With your eyebrows knitted together and sweat on your brow, you nod and whine, āIāll try.ā
āThatās all I ask,ā he tells you. Itās insane that a man being offensively cocky with all those smirks and chuckles is so hot. He leans back, sitting between your legs, and begins to plunge his fingers inside of you. Just his two middle fingers have to be as thick as any dildo youāve used before. He bends at the waist so he can keep biting and sucking on your body, the most brutal on your nipples but sure to get ample coverage over your waist and stomach and hips. When he feels you clamping down tight around him, the pleasure so much you canāt come up with any response besides your bodyās natural reactions, he teases lightly, āCareful, baby, my hands are my livelihood.ā
Eyes large and glassy, you breathe, āSorry about that.ā
Brendonās thumb goes to your clit and your walls tighten again. This time, he doesnāt tease you. He works your clit intently, trying to find what heād found before, and doesnāt rest until heās right there. Your delicious gasp gives him all the cue he needs. With his thumb flat and firm, he rubs your clit in time with his fingers curling back toward himself. His eyes focus on your expression, each detail, and heās addicted to your every sound and twitch.
āThere you go,ā he praises while your pussy tightens up slowly, threatening to snap into sparkles. āThatās right. Just trust me. All I want is to make you feel good.
Your orgasm bursts like waves against a hull, building and building until it crashes over you, rocking your gravity and stealing your breath. Brendonās there with you through it, his blue eyes a lighthouse, his stupid smirk your shore. His free hand holds you down by the hip as he lets you enjoy the fluttery aftershocks, not quite forcing you into overstimulation but not letting up until youāve had as much as you can take.
When youāre finally completely breathless and satiated, Brendon slowly withdraws his fingers and then licks them clean. He leans down for a moment and laps at your inner thighs, tasting your tart juices and salty skin. Your hips buck instinctively when he presses one tiny kiss to your clit and then laughs at your reaction, breath ghosting down your hot cunt. With his slick-wet hand, he fists his cock and asks, āHow do you want me, sweetheart?ā
You take a few seconds to think and admire the view before asking, āCan I ride you? Whenever Iāve fantasized about us having sex, thatās what Iām doing.ā
āYou can do literally whatever you want to me, baby,ā he reminds you as he reclines on the bed next to you. He steals one more kiss from you before you start moving to your knees, collecting your balance. āWhat exactly do you fantasize about?ā
āWell, I donāt know if youāve noticed,ā you reply as you climb into his lap, hands going straight to grabbing his pecs with your nails digging deliciously into the flesh, ābut you have these giant fucking tits Iād like to fondle.ā Then, as he laughs, you rub your sloppy cunt up and down his shaft, watching his eyes close and hearing his breath go shaky with lust. āI wanna see your arms when you hold onto my hips and thrust up into me. Wanna feel how strong your thighs are underneath me.ā
Brendon shakes his head and snickers, āWow, I had no idea how much you were going to objectify my muscles.ā
āShut up; yes, you did.ā
You roll your eyes and sink down on him, nice and slow, savoring the way he has to resist slamming up to meet you.
He groans, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist, āYeah, youāre right.ā
Youāre completely forgotten how to talk. The stretch of him is divine. Everything youād imagined and then some. You have to be careful not to get too eager too fast because his length is definitely enough to bruise your cervix if you arenāt gentle with yourself while your pussy adjusts to him. Which is sad, considering the only thing youāve ever wanted in life all of a sudden is to bounce on Park the Sharkās huge cock until you pass out.
Instead, you slowly rock back and forth, your hands flush on his pecs, with your eyes pinched shut and your mouth falling open. Brendon reaches up to hold your chin, forcing you to open your eyes, and checks softly, āToo much? We can slow down and-ā
āShut up,ā you order breathily. He smiles, puts his hands behind his head a moment, and enjoys the view of you being a tiny bit bossy. āFeels so fucking good, I promise. Not too much. Just- just- Jesus.ā
āWell, they do say he was hung.ā
Your laugh is addictively adorable, sounding almost sleepy from the enormous effort of acclimating to him. āYouāre so awful.ā
Dragging his hands down and resting them on your ass, he coos back, āAnd youāre sooooo into it.ā
When he gives you a quick upward thrust, your response turns into a squeak, āYeah.ā
From there, Brendon helps you out. He knows heās not exactly an easy man to take in this position ā beyond the size of his cock, his thighs and glutes are so well-developed that your knees donāt even reach the mattress on either side of his hips ā so he holds you in place and rolls his hips up into yours, slow and precise.
Once he can tell youāre getting comfortable, breaths easy and moans tumbling out again, he murmurs, āHow about you touch yourself?ā
Eyebrows knitted together, you sigh, āAlready so much, Bren.ā
Purposefully missing the point, he sighs back, āI guess I can do it for you, princess.ā
When his thumb goes to your clit, your nails dig into his chest. Mean pink half moons rise in their wake, but you canāt stop yourself ā and he doesnāt mind. So stretched out, your pussy pulses more than it clamps down, each contraction a fluttery thing thatās somehow more intense than the last. Heās grinning to himself as he feels your orgasm approaching fast. Youāre so relaxed with him that he can control your pleasure with the ease of a decades-long lover. Heās going to have to teach you to be less trusting, maybe teach you to fight, but right now all he wants is for you to yield to him completely.
You cum with a long, drawn-out whine, sweat shiny on your hairline, and Brendon has to take over completely as your thighs twitch and falter. Itās impossible to hold yourself up through the roiling pleasure that overtakes you in a deluge. Your wetness drips down his balls and onto your bed and youāre not sure youāve ever been this soaked from how much a partnerās turned you on and worked you up.
āAw, my sweet baby,ā he purrs as you fight to stay upright, your thighs burning for relief in the wake of your second orgasm, ātrying so hard to keep up.ā
While you let out tiny, cute whimpers, Brendon pulls out slowly and stands up, ignoring your complaining whine at the lack of contact. He goes to your bedside table and muses, āLetās see what we have here.ā Your cheeks burn as he thumbs through your admittedly maybe-too-ample sex toy collection. Taking out your baby blue silicone mini wand, Brendon grins. āHot, young, single doctor ā knew Iād find some goodies in here.ā
Youāre totally gone by now, anything but your desire to be with him gone out the window, and he can tell. Itās his favorite thing in the world. When he says, āget on your knees for me,ā your brain is so mush for him that you do it without a single thought or word, presenting your ass beautifully with a placid smile on your lips.
Brendon yanks your hips back so that he can stand at the foot of your bed ā which means he can use all his strength to handle you. Lining up the thick, angry red tip, he tenderly rubs your ass and says, āTell me if you want more.ā
All you can do is nod. Usually heād press you for words just to hear you beg, but the eye contact you make is full of so much pleading that thereās no need for further clarity. You really are so sensitive; there are tears of pleasure and need brimming at your waterline.
āDonāt worry that sweet little head of yours,ā he practically growls as his cock slowly fills you deeper than heād been able to get without being in total control, āIām gonna take care of you, princess. Gonna keep this pretty pussy stuffed. Gonna make sure you get everything you need. I promise.ā
Gripping your pillow tight as you once again adjust to his thickness, you nod and sniffle, āThank you, Bren.ā
āThere she is,ā he teases as he starts to slam into you. Each time he bottoms out, it comes with a weak, needy cry. āThatās my sensitive girl. Love that about you.ā
āThat Iām a crybaby?ā
He picks up speed at the word and all it means to him. Youāre never prettier than with tears running down your cheeks, making your eyes shiny and your lips wobbly. āYou know how much of a confidence boost it is making you cry because of how good you feel?ā
āReally?ā
āYeah, princess, I fucking love it.ā Brendon flicks the vibrating wand onto its lowest setting and reaching one huge arm around your body to press it to your clit. Your corresponding moan turns into a screaming sob, loud and messy and violently sexy. Itās completely overwhelming and consuming. The way your face contorts from the intensity sends Brendonās thrusts into overdrive, almost putting all his force into it now. As sweat falls from his forehead onto your back, he urges, āLet it out. Let it all out for me. I wanna hear how good Iām making you feel.ā
And you weep.
The catharsis of his cock christening you takes over. Youāve cried during sex before, yeah (of course), but this is different. It feels like pure relief and connection. Your mind is totally present in your body, feeling every single place of contact where Brendonās sweating skin slides against yours. The vibrator between your legs is making you shake in his arms, but you trust him to hold you up, to give you what you need, to take you through exactly what he wants to give you.
āCāmon, honey, focus, you can do one more, I promise,ā Brendon grunts when he starts to feel your pussy weakly squeezing him again. He didnāt think he could get you to this point your first time together, but, if he can, heās not going to stop.
He leans over your body, mounting you now, primal and animalistic, and wraps his elbow around your neck. The gesture pulls your cunt tight to him and snaps your head back, forcing you to take a deep breath that lights your brain up. Tears slip constantly out of your eyes and Brendonās drunk on the sniffles and whimpers and moans that choke out of your thickened throat. You drunkenly kiss his arm as it muffles over your mouth.
Then you bite him.
Brendonās hips stutter and his balls tighten up. You bite him again and again. And youāre not screwing around with it. Your teeth are ravenous on his flush, cutting in nearly enough to draw blood. Youāre so thoughtless that youāre just going for whateverās been put in front of your mouth; itās irrelevant that itās your boyfriendās flesh.
āThere it is,ā Brendon groans, the pain of your bites sending him spiraling out into a new height of pleasure. āI can feel it coming on. Donāt you dare hold back, baby. Show me how much you can take. Give me another one and Iāll fill you up. I know whatās what you want, isnāt it?ā
You nod without releasing his arm from your mouth. Drool spills from the sides of your lips, mixing with your tears, and youāre hurtling into the orgasm more than itās welling up within you. The thought that really does it, though, isnāt Brendonās encouragement or the vibrator unrelentingly stimulating your clit. No. Itās the idea that Brendonās going to cum inside of you. Even on birth control, itās a sign that heās claiming you completely, making you his, being totally naked with you in every sense.
Bliss blows your brains out like a volcano finally giving into the pressure. Brendon holds you tight against him with his free hand, so tight that his thrusts are short and deep. The final few, he grinds into you, totally enveloped in your cunt, letting himself feel each millimeter as it grabs down on him and milks it out. When his cum coats your walls, both of you collapse onto the bed into gasping breaths.
Brendon kisses and kisses your shoulders while he goes soft inside of your pussy, gently pulling your chew toy away and shaking it out because it fucking kills in the most satisfying way possible. He makes a mental note to buy himself a long-sleeve to wear to work as he admires the egregious display of total horny thoughtlessness from the cutesy, angelic doctor.
He sits up and then murmurs, rubbing your back softly, āIām gonna carry you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up, okay?ā
You nod lazily, eyes half-lidded. You make no effort to help him, which only makes him smile to himself and shake his head. Heād do anything for you already. Cradling you like a baby, he pushes open the bathroom door with his foot and hits the light with his elbow. Heās absolutely done for. Setting you down on the toilet, he orders, āGo pee, baby. No UTIs allowed.ā
Under normal circumstances, you definitely wouldnāt be able to pee in front of your boyfriend and you would definitely be mortified by the mere thought. But youāre so relaxed. Your whole brain is like a nice cozy hot tub, warm and bubbly and nothing to worry about. So you do as he instructs without question, some part of your brain acknowledging that heās correct.
Brendon leans down on his knees, a posture that would be condescending in most situations but is nothing but adoring right now, and suggests, āNow, you said you were gonna cook, but how does delivery on my tab sound? We can get pizza.ā
You give a hazy smile and nod. āThatās so nice, Brenny.ā
āWeāre gonna have to talk about that nickname,ā he chuckles, booping the tip of your nose.
You pout out your lower lip. āIām gonna call you whatever I want.ā
āYeah, alright, tough guy.ā
āMmm.ā You lean up to kiss him. āGood boy.ā
Brendon laughs and then stands up to fiddle with the handles of your shower until heās happy with the temperature. Then he guides you to your feet and brings you under the water, not too hot or too cold on your over-sensitive skin. Youāre glad you went for the house with the rain shower when you moved, both of you fitting comfortably beneath the stream at the same time. For a while, he just holds you, hands roaming up and down your back, as he kisses the top of your head.
āYouāre so beautiful,ā he murmurs quietly, barely audible above the running water. āYouāre gonna turn me into such a softie.ā
You giggle, āOr youāre gonna make me a big mean gym bro.ā
Brendon shakes his head and reaches for your shampoo. āMaybe we stick to our current roles.ā
āI think they suit us,ā you agree as he squirts some into his palm and orders you to turn around. With his fingers working devotion into your scalp, you hum gently under your breath and trust him to hold you up. During the course of the shower, you gradually come back to life. Once youāre sudsing his abs with your lufah, maybe being a touch too thorough by going over every spot with your hands, you lilt,Ā āYou fucked my brains out. I didnāt know that was actually a thing.ā
āI did set a high bar for myself,ā he concedes with a self-satisfied laugh, ābut Iām guessing itās only gonna get better from here.ā
You stand on your toes and kiss him. āDoes this mean weāre doing paperwork when we go back to the hospital?ā
āI love paperwork,ā he tells you, mock serious. He chuckles and whistles, āMy first time to HR for something besides another doctor filing a complaint because I hurt their precious feelings by ensuring my patients get the highest quality care possible.ā
āBig bad scary Park the Shark,ā you agree as you turn off the water. You gently brush his cheek and coo, āMy softie.ā
Brendon rolls his eyes affectionately, shakes out his hair, and steps out, grabbing a towel and wrapping you up in it before taking one for himself. With a towel hanging low on his hips, heās scrumptious enough to have your mind wandering toward round two even though your body wouldnāt even consider cooperating for a few more hours.
You head over to the mirror for your moisturizer and catch a glimpse of yourself with clear eyes for the first time since your sex brain turned off. Looking at the myriad of bite marks littered over your body, the flesh swollen and indented, you laugh, āJesus, now I know why they call you Shark.ā
āYeah?ā Park bares his left forearm to you, the one that had been in your face while he destroyed your cunt, to show off an absolute minefield of neon pink bites, some deep enough that theyāre bruising already. Your eyes widen with guilt, but he quickly yanks you close and kisses you hard, nothing but lust and gratitude on his lips. He nips your neck and teases, āTheyāre gonna have to start calling you Sharkette.ā
Warnings: This is my interpretation of Parkās character, considering the 30 seconds of screen time he got. No medical knowledge from the writer (sorry :/ )
Summary: Brendon Park feels like heās being haunted by a pretty girl in scrubs who seems to always show up when he needs help.
Brendon Park planned for everything. His day consisted of the same schedule every day. He woke up at 4:30 am every morning. He went to the gym for an hour-long session before work. He ate the same lunch consisting of ground beef, white rice and vegetables. A chicken breast, if he was feeling adventurous. He could time his surgeries almost down to the minute because he planned for everything.
It was no surprise this morningās surgery was a success, most of his surgeries were. His co-workers nodded at him, in silent congratulations, as they breezed past him. Park nodded right back. The only acknowledgment they would ever get from him.
Brendon Park was not known as a friendly man and he was more than ok with that.
Work was work.
Co-workers were co-workers.
They knew him as āPark, the shark, the orthopedic surgeonā and that was how Brendon Park liked it.
His stomach growled as it always did when he finished a surgery. Pace picking up at the thought of his pre-packaged lunch waiting for him in his locker. His back stood straighter somehow. Head held high from the pride of a job well done. Nothing could go wrong when you plan everything.
His lunch bag was missing.
With a frown, he double checked the number on the locker, #47. The same number it had always been since his first day at work. Pulled out his hoodie from his locker and shook it, expecting his lunch bag to magically turn up. Took 2 steps back to look around the floor in case he dropped it.
No.
He forgot it.
He forgot his lunch on the kitchen counter.
What was he going to do now? He had a 30 minute window until the next scheduled surgery. It was going to take him at least 4 hours. He supposed he could skip lunch for once. He had been meaning to try intermittent fasting.
His stomach growled again as a cruel reminder of his circumstances. The only option left was the hospital food.
His eye twitched at the thought.
Fuck. He really forgot his lunch at home.
His heavy steps echoed the hallways as he approached the elevator. He pressed the foreign number of the cafeteria floor.
The descent of the elevator matched his stomachās. Hospital food was usually gross. Heād find something decent. He had a strict regimen to uphold after all.
The elevator ding interrupted his thoughts. He walked out of its doors and kept an even stride towards the cafeteria. From afar, it looked clean enough. Not a terrible option for desperate times. Might even consider making it a weekly thing. He felt someone bump his shoulder from behind.
āShark! You swim these waters?ā Gilroy, the new resident who didnāt know any better, clapped his shoulder.
Park threw him one of his cold, unamused stares. Gilroyās smile quickly dropped. āIāll - Iāll save you a seat!ā He stuttered over his shoulder as he jogged towards the cafeteria.
Absolutely not.
Park stopped in his tracks and turned so quickly his shoe squeaked on the shiny floors. His stride picked up as he walked further away from the cafeteria back to the safety of the elevators.
That was why he never even considered having lunch at the cafeteria. Small talk with annoying co-workers sounded like hell. He couldnāt think of anything worse. Except for forgetting his lunch at home.
On the corner of his eye, he spotted it. A vending machine. Right across from the elevators.
He paused. These were dirty vending machines touched by everyoneās hands in the hospital. Obviously no options that would fulfill his daily protein intake. Should a man swallow his pride and eat with his co-workers? Gilroyās cold hand on his shoulder was enough of a reminder. He shuddered
Fuck it. Vending machine it is.
Park stared at his options. Too much salt, too much sugar. He felt like Goldilocks for a second, trying to find something just right.
A bag of peanuts seemed ājust rightā enough.
He tapped his credit card and pressed the buttons. The machine beeped and flashed the dreaded red letters.
ERROR.
He pressed the numbers again.
ERROR.
āGreatā he muttered under his breath. He put his hands on his hips and stared again at his options. Nothing. āSkipping lunch it isā He stuffed his card in his back pocket and turned around only to almost bump into you
You were right behind him. Counting coins in your palm with a concentrated look on your face.
āOhā. He said softly and quickly moved out of the way. How long was he pondering that he didnāt notice a line had formed behind him?
You smiled at him and started putting the coins in the vending machine.
He nodded at you and walked towards the elevator. Only 4 hours left. He would wait until then.
The double tap on his shoulder made him tense. Fucking Gilroy.
He turned to see you standing there with your palm outstretched. The bag of peanuts in your hand. He stared at your hand, confused.
āHereā. You stretched your palm further. āWas that not the one you wanted?ā
He nodded at you again and finally took the snack from your hand.
āI donāt know how you eat those. Worse than hospital foodā you shrugged. You walked away leaving him before he had a chance to say something. The blur of you disappearing quickly around the corner. Like you were never there.
He stared at the bag of peanuts in his hand and turned it over.
6 grams of protein. Damn it. He was not going to make his goal by the end of the day.
Hours after his final surgery, another successful one, he was finally able to go home to a proper meal. He ate the bag of peanuts you gave him, obviously. You were right, though. They were disgusting.
Driving away from the hospital, he racked through his schedule mentally. He just might try to squeeze in another gym sesh before his dinner. The forgotten lunch on his counter would now be dinner so he didnāt have to worry about cooking something. His car speakers played his House music playlist. The day was back on track. He planned for everything.
At the red light, tapping his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel, he turned to look at the empty bus stop.
Empty except for you. His head did a double take. You. Vending machine girl. Waiting at the cold bus stop by yourself snacking on some chips.
You were staring at the bag suspiciously. Scrunched your nose at it and got up from the bus stop bench. You tossed the bag away and wiped your hands. Getting rid of the leftover salt, he assumed.
As you sat back down, you quickly glanced up, locking eyes with the man who was watching you from his car at the red light.
Brendon Park felt like he had been caught red-handed. He looked away towards the now green light and drove away. His thoughts once more on his overly planned schedule that had been saved. You had helped a bit, he supposed. Those peanuts were revolting, though. He would never forget his lunch again.
As you watched the fancy car drive away, you realized why that man looked so familiar to you.
It was the guy you gave the snack to who didnāt even have the decency to thank you. Terrible manners and terrible music taste! The awful beats could be heard through his windows.
Bastard. You shook your head. You hoped you would never have to see him again.
Summary: You recieve an unexpected text during your shift in the pitt that leads to a downward spiral, worrying everyone the next day when you go for a ride. Alone.
Pairing: Rabbot x Reader, Established Rabbot
WC: 3k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Suicidal Ideations, riding motorcycle without helmet, panic attacks, past parental abuse, past neglect, hurt w/ comfort, eventual relationship, fluff, angst, emotional, Trinity and Dennis are worried, Robby and Jack try to help
authors note: not proofread, please forgive my errors i'm dyslexic. this a continuation of my pervious post and also my first time posting my work! I will be making a part 2 later but lmk what you think and all notes are welcome! enjoy! (also lmk if i missed any tags pls)
It's two hours before my shift ends when I get the text. My phone had been exploding with calls from unknown numbers since 10:27 A.M that morning but none of them left a voice mail. I hadn't had the time to call them back either with different cases rushing in and out of the ED. Robby offered to let me take a moment so I could call back but a small pit that had reopened in my chest begged me to keep working. I needed to keep going because I didn't want to face whatever was waiting for me on the other line. When things slowed in the evening before the night shift began to show asides from Dr. Jack Abbot, Dana urged me to take a moment to myself.
"Kid, you haven't stopped since you got here this morning," She exclaims as she leans towards me across the counter. "Take ten minutes, get your self some coffee and something to eat." She insisted, almost begging. I try to ignore her as I stare up at the board, searching for a patient or two that will take up the last hours of my shift.
"She's right." Jack adds on as he stands beside me. "Robby told me you've been in and out of that trauma rooms all day." He states. I glance at him for a moment and then to Dana only to find Robby watching from the other side of the hub. The three stare at me expectantly. I drop my shoulders and set the pad down on the counter.
"Fine, I'll be outside if you need me." I mutter as I walk towards the ambulance bay. I hear Dana whisper something to Jack about not letting me take any one else for the rest of the night. I ignore them as the door to the bay slide closed behind me and the roar of the ED dies down. I sit against the concrete wall behind where my motorcycle sits beside Robby's and fish my phone out to look at the number of calls I missed. I stare at the numbers for a few seconds, hovering over one as a text message comes through.
Thomas (Brother): Dad has died, please call at your earliest convenience.
The small pit twists into a swirling mass, drawing the air from my lungs and all energy I had left in. I feel my hands begin to tremor as I open his message and tap the call button. I haven't spoken to my brother in almost ten years, as soon as I left for college, I cut contact. The line rings three times before he answers.
"You called." He states, his tone is full of surprise. I take a deep breath and lean forward with my elbows on my knees.
"What happened?" I ask, I hear a few people talking in the background as the wail of an ambulance echos through the city.
"Heart attack and then a pulmonary embolism, we've been trying to reach you all day." He says with little grief. We all shared similar thought about our father but I was the only one to actually leave. Thomas must have stayed with him.
"I've been at work, I'm still at work," I pause to look around and find the bay still empty thankfully. "When did this happen?" I ask. I hear him say something to someone else before he answers me.
"Early this morning, What do you do for work?" He questions, No one knows I'm a doctor, I never told them what I was going to school for.
"I work in a hospital, will you give me more information when you all have a plan?" I ask, I hope they will but I also dread the idea of going to see them. I don't want to go back even if the worst of them is dead.
"We will, I'll text you the details." He says, "You really work in a hospital?"He doubts, they always did. I hum in response as too many emotions boil over. "Well, I hope it was worth it." The line goes dead after his last sentence. I let my phone fall into my lap as I try to calm my breathing. Fear overwhelms me as I rock back and worth on the concrete slab. This has to be a nightmare, something I can wake up from and it will all go away. I startle when a hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I look up and feel myself panting as I meet Dennis's eyes. I shrug his hand off and look back at the ground as I try to focus on him and the things around me.
"Are you okay?" He asks gently as he sits next to me. "Dana sent me out to check on you, it's been about 20 minutes since you came out here." He rambles, I press the heels of my palms into my eyes to stop the stinging of fresh tears as I jump to my feet.
"I'm fine." I say, I look around him trying to avoid his stare as he stands back up. "I need to get back in there." I run a hand over the back of my head and squeeze my neck, trying to soothe any piece of the fear I have away.
"You look like shit." Dennis announces, I finally meet his eyes and see the worry flooding out of him. "Was there a bad case or difficult patient? I can let Dana know and have her move you to another one." He pleads. I shake my head no and look towards the incoming ambulance.
"No, I'm fine, you've got an trauma coming in." I hurriedly say as I pat all my pockets, reassuring myself that I have everything I need to head inside. "I'm going back in." I mumble as I rush back into the ED. Robby passes me on my way in and I feel his stare follow me towards the hub. I keep my eyes forward and rush towards the break room. Dana was right about one thing, I need food if I'm going to make it through the end of this shift. I rifle through my lunch bag in the fridge and quickly open up a protein bar I had stashed in the pocket. I eat in silence and stare at a single spot on the tile, it's been a long day and hopefully if anyone were to see me, they would come to the same conclusion. I hear my name being called from somewhere in the department and it snaps me out of the trance I was in. i shove the rest of the bar into my mouth and leave the break room as fast as I can.
I spend the rest of my shift in a blur of avoidance. Any case I can join, I take up a spot next to the leading doctor. I take anything that can get my mind away from what happened outside. The florescent of the ED begin to wear on me in the last thirty minutes as the stinging in my eyes returns and the immense anxiety presses in again.
"You okay?" I jump as Robby leans into my vision, he stares over his glasses. His gaze darts down to my shaky hands. I fold them in my lap and look back to my screen.
"I'm good, just a long shift." I state, I feel like an echo of my self as I lie to his face. His eye brow furrows as he looks down at me again. I swear he can see through me in that moment but if he does, he says nothing.
"You sure?" He questions gently. I look back up at him and sigh with a nod.
"I'm fine, Robby." I insist. He nods and drums on the counter with his fingers before walking away to bother anyone else. I glance around the ED and briefly catch him talking with Dana and lightly gesturing to me, along with Dennis standing beside Jack a few feet away from them. I look away and stare into the white screen of a patients chart that's suddenly lost to me.
"How's it going, Tex?" Trinity asks as she rolls over to me on a stool. I rub my eyes and look at the keyboard.
"Just ready to leave, Trin." I mumble, she lightly shoves my shoulder. I look up at her and watch as she slowly spins on the stool.
"You seem to be the talk of the town in the ED tonight." She jokes, I glance around again and find everyone I saw earlier quickly dispersing as Trinity catches them. "Any particular reason?" She prods. I shake my head no and stare at the computer screen again.
"Nope." I pop the p as I type out the old man from south 15's chart. "If I find out why, you'll be the first person I tell." I add. She gives me an odd look.
"You alright?" She asks, I scoff and ignore her question all together. She rolls away with a snide comment about my attitude and a promise to cheer me up later.
The time comes finally, Robby has released us for the night and I can get out. I rush to my locker and shove everything I brought to the shift in my back pack and hurry out with a small goodbye to Trinity, Mel, and Samira in our locker room. I catch Dennis watching me again as I speed through the ED towards the ambulance bay. Dana calls out to me as I walk past the hub, I give her a small smile and a wave as I cross the threshold of freedom. I tighten the straps on my bag and straddle my bike. I set my phone on the magnetic phone holder and start to connect my airpods. I fumble with the case and a chill runs down my spine as I feel eyes watching me again. I look up in a desperate search to find them. I come face to face with Robby again. He stands at the head of my bike with my front tire between his legs.
"Where's your helmet?" He asks, he holds his backpack over one shoulder and on hand is shoved in his jacket pocket. I look at his bike and find him also helmet-less.
"I could ask you the same thing." I state. I gesture to his bike and he stares up at the peeling ceiling of the bay. "I was in a rush this morning and forgot it." I add. He shakes his head but moves away from my tire.
"Seriously." I look over and sigh as Jack looks between the both of us with his arms folded over his chest. I lean forward and press my forehead to the cold metal of the gas tank in an attempt to calm the panic rising in me. "I knew he rode with out a helmet and I really hoped you wouldn't follow in his stupidity." He adds as he takes step closer to my bike.
"Like I told him, I was rushed this morning and I forgot it on my porch." I tell him. He glares at me but drops the subject only to bring up a more sensitive one.
"Your day go okay? You've been a little distant today." He observes. I shake my head lightly and huff out a laugh.
"It's been a long fucking day." I exclaim, "I just want to go home, I'm fine." I insist. I fidget with my airpod case as I talk. I see him glance towards Robby as he steps closer.
"You sure?" He asks lightly, "A few people have noticed that you've been off today, Whitaker mentioned that you may have had a panic attack a few hours ago?" He explains. I sit back and stare at my reflection in my phone screen.
"We're just worried about you, kid, you've been acting strange and I don't think I saw you eat today." Robby adds. I scoff and shake my head again as I press my palms into my eyes.
"Did it effect any of my work today?" I question as I look over at Robby. He glances between Jack and I for a moment, as if he's fishing for the words to say.
"No." He says. I look away from him and place my foot on the kick start.
"Then you have nothing to worry about." I tell them both as I kick my bike to life and quickly place my earbuds in my ears to ignore whatever else they have to say. I peel out of the ambulance bay and speed towards my apartment. A few texts come through from varying people, all of them wanting to know I'm okay. I collapse on to my couch when I get home and scroll through the messages. Samira wants to grab coffee, Dennis and Trinity offer a movie night tonight to get me out of the house, Jack asks about lunch with him and Robby the next day, Mel offers to come over and just rot on the couch for a while. I send them each a short message that I'm okay but not feeling good and I want to enjoy my day off alone. Some respond, some don't. Dennis and Trinity respond that if I won't come to them, they will come to me. Jack follows up with a short rescheduling message. I stare at the group chat between Robby, Jack, and I for a while. I want to invite Robby over just to have him near but I don't want to have to explain why. He'll want an explanation. He will want to fix it, Jack will too. They can't fix this.
I don't remember falling asleep but I'm jolted awake but a wave of cold sweat and fear. I launch myself off the couch and scramble to my feet as I look around my living room for any kind of threat. The apartment is flooded with darkness as the sun hasn't even thought of rising. I dig around on the couch and find my phone tucked under one of the throw pillows that stayed on the couch. I see a few more texts from Robby and Jack asking for any kind of check in and Trinity asking where I live. I ignore them all and trudge to my bedroom to try and fall back asleep.
Memories run on repeat in my head for the remainder of the night. Fight's I got into with my parents, times my brothers left me behind just because they could, my father screaming at me on nights when it was just him and I in the house. So many flood back, memories of bruises and the space they took up under my clothes, the deep ache of broken ribs from being kicked by and animal or a person, the throb of a concussion. It all comes back in waves until the early sunlight cuts through my curtains. They aren't exactly nightmares but they feel like it when I roll out of bed and stare at my phone screen.
I need to clear my head. I can't sit here and let it all come back without trying to get rid of it. I need to go somewhere before even more fear settles in my chest. I hurry to change into jeans and a simple shirt as I gather up my backpack and keys to head out the door. I tug on my leather jacket as I speed walk out of my building and towards my bike. It's early enough that no one is out and my phone hasn't started receiving texts from friends waking up and wanting to see me yet. I start my bike and start heading out fo the city. I need to get away from it all.
The ride is around two and a half hours, and thankfully the thoughts and memories from the night before have quieted since I started the ride. I slow down as I start to see Raystown lake rising in the distance. I've been out here before with a few friends to go swimming but I haven't come back. I ride through the twisting roads trying to find a secluded spot to just sit. I eventually find a small cut out on the road and a short trail that leads to an old look out sight that's long forgotten. It's quiet and makes me feel small in a way I haven't felt before. All the trees rising up around me and the lake below the steep cliff. It feels nice.
I'm pulled away from the view when my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the number of texts coming in from Trinity and Dennis.
Trin: Where are you? We're at your apartment and you're not here.
Denny: Are you okay?
Trin: please tell me you just went to get breakfast.
Denny; Did you at least take a helmet?
I sigh and look out at the lake again as I move to sit on the edge of the old brick barrier. I swing my feet as I think of what to say to my friends. I don't want to burden them with all of my family issues and the anxiety that consumes me at the mere thought of calling my brother again. I can't do that to them when they already deal with so much at the ED.
Me: I'm fine, I just went for a ride.
Denny: did you take a helmet?
Trin: Where are you?
Me: I'm okay, I'm outside of Pittsburgh
Trin: share your location.
I hold my phone a little tighter as she asks for my location. Dennis keeps asking if I took a helmet and if I'm really okay. I don't send her my location and I stop responding to Dennis. I need quiet for a little while longer as I dangle my feet over the edge.
i donāt got a single problem with provocative; see the bodies, how they burn, itās just the way it is.
pairing: boyd fowler x f!reader
warnings: unspecified age gap, cheating, insinuations at sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, jordan chase (i know, iām sorry), kidnapping, murder, boydās mustache, smut - bondage, oral (m & f!receiving), fingering, squirting, spanking, gun sucking, mentions of blood, one slap i think, some biting, breath play, hair pulling, mentions of unprotected sex & cockwarming, dom!boyd.
summary: you start an affair with your husbandās friend.
w/c: 7.7k approx.
a/n: Wellā¦ I tried to get around the original modus operandi of these guys as much as I could, but it was a liiittle bit challenging. So at the very least, I tried to ignore it, meaning there are no mentions of any of the original crimes they committed on the show. Boyd isnāt a rapist in this, but they are all murderers. Having said that, I think itās really mostly up to your imagination. Also, I listened to ballad songs while I was writing this, and evidently, I can't write a character thatās not soft for his girl..So, there you go. I hope there are some freaks like me who will enjoy Boyd!
You considered yourself a hopeful person, a woman that believed in manifestation, karma, āwhateverās meant for you will find youā and all that shit. You cruised through life as a survivalist, a mesopredator with opportunistic tendencies, someone who was willing to do anything to survive the wilderness of the world and win the long-lasting competition, while relying on letās see what happens philosophy.
So, when the opportunity to marry Jordan arose, of course you took it, as it was never about love or devotion to either of you. For Jordan, it was always about keeping up appearances, and for you, it was about A) money; but especially about B) hoping that something good would come out of it, something that would get you further in life ā another opportunity. It just never occurred to you that the opportunity would be of romantic matter.
Hate couldnāt quite cut the way you felt about all of them, and that included Jordan. Dan was the sleazeball of the group, they all were, but he held the scepter for sure. Cole had hated you since the moment Jordan introduced you, and you assumed it was because he was one of those guys who believed that their super-tight boyband was the planet Earth, and you were an asteroid responsible for its destruction. You quite liked Alex ā not because he was better than Jordan or Dan, but because he wasnāt an active participant of that circle. He was a bit cynical, had a hard time keeping it together, so he was always sweating his ass off in a cheap suit elsewhere.
Obviously, they all wanted a piece of you ā except maybe for Cole, but the rest of them looked at you like you were prey. Jordan didnāt mind at all, because he was too ignorant to even notice anything. He had decided a long time ago that you were only pretty enough to occasionally hang on his arm at his events, but you could never replace Emily. Thank fucking God for that.
But then there was Boyd. For a long time, you thought that you hated him tooā¦ well, you probably had, but you realized soon that he was the only one who wasnāt making your skin crawl when he called you sweetie or honey as he asked you to bring him some water. You realized that you were pretty quick to fulfill his wishes and too slow when others asked for something.
Boyd observed you. When you caught him staring, he never looked away like Dan. The only thing Dan cared about was your ass, removing his eyes from you as soon as you turned around, but Boyd waited until you locked eyes with him and then slowly and appreciatively dragged them over your figure, squinting when he reached your eyes again as if it would give him an X-ray vision that would allow him to see more of you. Every time you entered the room, he seemed to stop caring about whatever Jordan was saying and focused solely on you, making goosebumps erupt all over your body.
Boyd did make your skin crawl after all, but you loved that feeling when it was caused by him, despite how uncomfortable it was. Jordan was never capable of stirring such emotions in you, but that was okay, he wasnāt obligated to do so.
Jordan also wasnāt the one to notice that you started to dress down whenever the guys were around, that you started to wear a more expensive perfume, that you did whatever you could to get into Boydās proximity. Boyd noticed, and that was everything you wanted ā at the time, at least.
How did you know he had noticed? He started to mirror your actions ā wearing clean clothes, switching his uniform for button-ups unless he arrived straight from his shift, he added belts to his outfits and started wearing cologne. He would also always subtly touch the back of your knee ā the softest brush of his fingertips against your skin when he was sat down and youād just served him with a cup of coffee.
You saw an opportunity.
Boyd had a habit of never locking his car, so one day, when they wrapped up their get-together, you had been already waiting in the passenger seat of his ugly, yellow pick-up truck.
He literally stopped in his tracks when he noticed you through the windshield as he walked to his car, fidgeting with his car keys. He glanced over his shoulder, checking whether some of his buddies were around.
āWhat are you doing?ā he asked, when he got behind the steering wheel.
āI need to pick some flowers for the house. Thought you could give me a ride.ā You smiled.
He sniffed, his mustache twitching as he pressed his lips into a tight line, wheels turning in his head.
āJordan know about that?ā
You frowned. āHeās my husband, not my dad.ā
Boyd laughed at you, his neck finally twisting to look at you with raised eyebrows as if to say seriously? āIsnāt he your sugar daddy?ā
āStill. I make my own decisions. So, will you take me? Please?ā
And Boyd just couldnāt resist you ā sitting in his car like that, wearing a short skirt and a tight baby tee combined with that puppy look of yours. He couldnāt resist the way you said please to him; he simply wasnāt that strong, and he couldnāt pass on the opportunity to be alone with you. So, he started the car and drove you.
He wondered if Jordan would kill him for thinking about you like this. He didnāt think so. Jordan didnāt like to get his hands too dirty, that was mostly Boydās job. Heād lost count of how many people he had disposed of, but there was a time he thought he would eventually be disposing of you, too; that youād become just another lock of hair in his binder.
He was glad it hadnāt come to that yet. But once it did, what would he do? Could he maybe be the one to prevent it from happening? Boyd bit his cheek, glancing at Jordanās CD in the cup holders before he parked the car. Thinking.
āWhy arenāt you wearing any underwear?ā
Your breath hitched, hands hovering over your seatbelt youād just unbuckled. How did heā¦?
āWhat?ā you laughed. āI am wearing underwear,ā you said defensively. But why? You werenāt wearing any. And Boyd was the reason. Why would you suddenly lie?
āI clean up dead animals. My nose is basically trained to pick up all sorts of smells,ā he said, brows quirking as his lips formed a proud smirk.
āShouldnāt it be desensitized, actually?ā Ā
His expression stayed the same, knowing. āAnswer the question.ā
āI donāt know what youāre talking about.ā
For fuckās sake, you wanted to smash your head against the concrete. You felt like you werenāt in control of your own words. What was happening to you? Were you suddenly scared of what he might do? Were you shy? You needed to get it together. You were supposed to be happy he called you out on it.
āYou donāt know what Iām talking about?ā
āNo. I think youāre too in your head.ā
āToo in my head? Should I check myself then?ā
āYou want to harass me? Iāll tell Jordan.ā
āLike hell you will,ā he chortled. āYouāve been bent on slutting yourself out for me the past couple of weeks.ā
āThinking a little too high of yourself, arenāt we? What if it was for Dan?ā
Boyd burst out laughing. āRight.ā
āOr Cole.ā
āYou hate Cole. You hate that heās always taking up your precious space. I can see it in your eyes every time he enters the room.ā
āAlex, then.ā
He tilted his head at you, the corner of his mouth lifting up. āAlex is never around, for a change.ā
Admittedly, you got wetter with each truthful argument he presented, and you were out of excuses. You were finally getting what you wanted. Stars were aligning. And you couldnāt think of doing anything better than reaching for Boydās hand and bringing it to your bare thigh, his fingers automatically spread out to cover as much of your skin as possible.
He seemed hesitant at first, eyes fixed on his unmoving hand and throat bobbing with a hard swallow. He remained still until you coaxed his hand up a little and his fingertips slipped underneath the hem of your skirt. Then, as if you flipped a switch, his fingers squeezed, creating soft dents in your skin.
You let your hand travel upward, gently skimming over his strong forearm, feeling all the different muscles that flexed with his movements as his whole hand disappeared under your skirt, his pinky finger bumping lightly against your bare center. He let out a shuddering breath at the feeling of your sticky juices coating his fingertip, then his face hardened into focus again, lips pursed as his eyes flicked to yours.
āIs this all for me?ā
āYes.ā
āDid you get this wet every time I was around?ā
āAnd every time I thought of you.ā You shifted, trying to get him to touch you more.
āDo you get this wet for Jordan, too?ā
You shook your head. āI donāt think I ever got this wet for anyone.ā
You probably shouldnāt feed his ego like that, but the smirk Boyd gave you pushed the thought away.
āAnd what do you want me to do about it?ā he asked, subtly moving his finger over your clit.
Your chin jutted towards the CD. āYou listen to his crap, right?ā This was the first and only time youād ever say this. āDo what Jordan says.ā Take it.
āHeās my friend, you know. I might as well drive back to the house and tell him what a whore his wife is.ā Boyd emphasized the crude word by flicking his wrist and slipping his middle finger between your wet folds.
You leaned deeper into his space which caused your thighs to squeeze his hand tighter, essentially trapping it between your legs.
āGo ahead. Your word against mine. But a little warning? None of you are his friends. I guarantee you that as soon as the shit hits the fan, heās only willing to save himself.ā
To Boyd, that was old news; he wasnāt that naĆÆve. Ever since Jordan became successful, he wasnāt afraid to use his narcissism and entitlement against others, and lately, Boydās patience had started running thin with him. Maybe jealousy had something to do with that. Not of his fame and wealth, no, but he was jealous that Jordan had a woman at home that he didnāt deserve in any universe.
Boyd withdrew his hand, nails lightly scraping against your skin in the process, and you thought for a moment that heād throw you out of the car. Instead, the same hand made its way to your neck, squeezing just above your pulse points and keeping your face close.
If you had any patience left in you, youād enjoy the way his pupils dilated and his hot breath bounced off your lips, but you didnāt. So you closed the gap and connected your lips with a little too much force that cause the glasses on his nose to shift. His hand around your neck relaxed for just a millisecond before squeezing again as he reciprocated the kiss.
During the kiss, you tried to climb over the console and into his lap a few times, but every time, he tightened his hold on your throat and held you down. Eventually, you whimpered out of sheer frustration and broke the kiss, pouting at him. Boyd fixed his glasses as he gave you an entitled smile, brushing his thumb over you lower lip.
āAre you gonna fuck him tonight?ā
What kind of question was that? You couldnāt even remember the last time you had sex with Jordan.
āMaybe. Since you donāt seem interested.ā
āOh, I wanna fuck you,ā he rebutted while his hand that had yet to touch you landed on his crotch to adjust himself as if to prove his point. Your eyes followed the motion. āNot in a filthy dead animal pick-up truck, though. You deserve better.ā
The butterflies inside your stomach flapped their wings, and you felt your face soften. You wouldnāt peg Boyd for a gentleman.
āSo youāll take me to your place, then?ā you leaned in again, eyes flicking to his lips as you bit yours, eager to kiss him again, but the reply he gave you wiped that smile off your face.
āNo. I donāt think youāre ready for that.ā
ā¦Whatās that supposed to mean?
He didnāt explain, just told you to stop pouting which only made you pout more.
What he meant was that you werenāt ready for the collection of toys he possessed, all the cuffs and ropes, nipple clamps, vibratorsā¦ You were beyond shocked when you saw all the tools, but more importantly, you became jealous and felt fucking stupid. How could you have been so naĆÆve and thought that he wasnāt sexually active?
āIs that why you came onto me? You felt sorry for me?ā His voice wasnāt hurt. Far from it. He was fucking ecstatic to unintentionally play you like that and get such a reaction out of you.
āI didnāt feel sorry for you,ā you were quick to correct him. You wouldnāt fuck anybody who you felt sorry for.
āBut you thought I wasnāt having sex, correct?ā
Your silence was enough of an answer for him.
Boyd was and wasnāt gentle the first time he fucked you. His priority was to learn what made you tick, what your body liked and what your brain liked, what made you uncomfortable and what drove you absolutely crazy and desperate for him. He needed to improvise a bit, because you wouldnāt let him use the toys on you. You told him that that was just gross.
Restraints, you were okay with, but he was still careful to treat you almost like glass. You were young, and Boyd had known Jordan long enough to know that he wasnāt exactly confident when it came to sex. Itās not like you were a virgin, but Boyd could imagine just how far your experience went. So, he dipped a toe in first instead of plunging right in, choosing to tie your hands with his old tie instead of the ropes that were always ready at his bed, coiled around the wooden bedposts.
You were responsive, which made it a hell of a lot easier for him, too. Besides from that, it also made his cock throb ā every little whimper, every twitch of your abdomen, every attempt of your thighs to close and shield your pussy from him. Fuck, he loved everything, and he loved when he got to hold you down with his bare hands. He loved building you up to your orgasm only to tear it away, repeating this over and over until you were crying and shivering, and he was out of breath and sweaty.
He did a number on you the first time, but it was nothing compared to the things he planned for you in the future. And he could see it in your eyes, too; that you wanted more, that you would let him do more. You were so fucked out of your mind that day, your pussy was so sore that he was afraid to touch it, and despite that, you clung to his body afterwards, desperate to preserve the feel of his body against yours.
Boyd wasnāt used to that. He had craved it, of course he had. But every woman he had ever got into his bed up and left right after the act. Not that he wanted them to stay, that option had never even crossed his mind; until you. He supposed it was a good thing, but there was a downside to it ā he hated that at the end of the day, just a couple of hours after heād ruin you, you were going to share a bed with Jordan.
Fucking fraud; he always just fucking blabbed and blabbed but never took his own advice.
He tried not to dwell on it too much while he drew circles into the skin of your shoulder, otherwise he was afraid heād dig his fingernails just a little too deep.
Given Jordanās disinterest in you, it was pretty easy to sneak around. You and Boyd had a lot of sex. You made him throw out all the toys, and using Jordanās money, you helped him build a new collection, meant only for you. The toys helped you recognize Boydās mood ā whenever he was in a good mood, heād use them on you. If he was pissed, heād use anything else but the toys, and that was when he was at his most dangerous.
But then the investigation started, Dan had been murdered, and Cole had disappeared. After that, Jordan limited his contact with Boyd and Alex, they didnāt meet at the house anymore, relocating to a place unknown to you. Jordan also had to cancel all his events, which made him snappier than usual and for the first time, because he missed his audience, he started controlling your life instead ā deciding when and where you were allowed to leave the house, and if you did, you were always to be accompanied by one of his bodyguards. Donāt be fooled ā it wasnāt for your safety; it was for his. He needed someone to keep an eye on you in case you decided to open your mouth and tattle away.
That meant that you didnāt get to see Boyd. On a few occasions, he was bold enough to come by the house, pissing Jordan off, naturally. But he needed to make sure you were okay.
He even managed to steal you away one day, for long enough time to explain to you that even though Jordan had selfish reasons to do all of this, you benefited from it too.
āWhat the fuck are you talking about?ā you asked angrily.
Ā āWell, someone killed Dan. Someone probably killed Cole. You could be next.ā
āOr you.ā
His reply was a scoff, making your eyebrows shoot up.
āOh? That sounded pretty confident.ā You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest. āDid you kill them?ā
āExcuse me?ā
āI wouldnāt be mad if you had.ā You shrugged and it just made him roll his eyes.
āIām sure you wouldnāt. Justā¦ā He took a deep breath, taking a step forward and lifting his hands before he remembered where he was and dropped them back to his sides. āJust fucking hang on. Iāll figure something out. Donāt do anything stupid.ā
āI wonāt.ā
āI mean it.ā Ā
āI wonāt.ā
Wellā¦
It got a little out of hand and one night, you and Jordan got into an argument, because you had managed to sneak out of the house. You only went for a walk, nothing else, but he lost it. And you lost it.
You were dumb enough to tell him you had been cheating on him, in the hopes he would throw you out. That he wouldnāt care. You fucking hoped heād never let you back into that Goddamn house. As you tried to leave on your own, he caught up to you and used his strength to stop you. It didnāt click for you at first what he was doing, but once you realized that he was trying to pacify you, you fought back ā kicking, scratching, elbowing him ā but then there was a wet rug to your nose and mouth, and you fell into a deep sleep.
When Boyd got the call, he knew something was off. He fucking knew. Jordan had this drop in his voice, the tone of a strategist in what Boyd knew was a completely spontaneous situation. Boyd considered the option that he was just being paranoid, but he wasnāt going to rely on hope, and his karmic debt was a little bit too high. Jesus, he needed to stop listening to your bullshit. He grabbed his gun before he left the house and made his way to the abandoned camp.
Every time you let Boyd tie you up, you looked so fucking ethereal. He could never take his eyes off you when you were in his bedroom, offering yourself to him, free for him to use however he wanted. Just the thought of it made him hard, and oftentimes, when he was patrolling the neighborhood, he had to park the car in a secluded nook so he could jerk himself off to the mental image of your naked body sprawled on his bed.
This time? No dead animal had ever made him want to throw up so bad like the sight of you tied to a chair. He was expecting this though, wasnāt he? So, he needed to focus. He wasnāt even sure what had gone down between you and Jordan. You must have pissed him off, thatās for sure, but he didnāt know whether Jordan had a reason to be pissed at Boyd too. He needed to be careful.
āJordan,ā Boyd greeted, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose before his eyes found yours, trying to assess if you were hurt at all. āWhat happened?ā The question was directed at Jordan, but in reality, he wanted nothing more than to hear it from you. You seemed calm, all things considered, Jordan didnāt even have to gag you. Always such a good girl.
āSee this pretty mouth on her?ā Your husband gripped your chin, mockingly jerking your jaw like you were a puppet. āApparently, sheās been using it to suck another manās cock.ā
Boydās eyes bored into yours and you gave him a subtle shake of your head. He doesnāt know itās you.
āSo, I thought, since she likes to be shared ā right, honey? ā That Iād give you guys a few rounds with her. Well, I meanā¦ you and Alex. But Alex is too much of a pussy right now, and he skipped town. So, congratulations. Sheās all yours.ā
āā¦You want me to fuck your wife?ā
Jordan scoffed. āMy wife. A disrespectful bitch is what she is.ā He tapped the back of his hand against your cheek. It was far from painful, but it still made you wince. āCome on, Boyd. I know all of you guys have wished for a piece of ass like that. Iām making it pretty easy for you, so take it. Weāll take care of her later.ā
And there it was. Boyd knew this moment would come, but ever since you two started having an affair, it had just slipped his mind how dangerous Jordan truly was. Now he regretted that he didnāt get you out of the house before he let this happen.
Boyd nodded slowly before walking towards you. Jordan took a few steps back and prepared himself for the show. Fucking freak. You looked up at Boyd, with those big eyes that still somehow managed to sparkle, no matter the circumstances. He tried not to get too lost in them, because otherwise youād both be fucked.
āI want her blindfolded.ā
Jordan chuckled. āYou sure you donāt want to see the tears?ā he asked in a tantalizing voice as he took off his tie and threw it to Boyd who could only offer a small, strained laugh. But then he looked at you again and his nose flared, and his jaw clenched and you knew he was holding back.
Once he blindfolded you, as much as you tried to hide it, your breath became heavier and your nails dug into your palms. You didnāt want Jordan to know that you were scared ā of him, of whatever might happen to you, of anythingā¦ You didnāt want to give him the satisfaction. You flinched when you felt a hand caress the crown of your head, Jordanās laughter bursting your ear drums despite how far he was. It was still coming from behind you, meaning Boyd was the one touching you. Good, that was good.
Another confirmation was when a set of lips pressed against yours, and your brain quickly registered the familiar sensation of his facial hair against the soft skin of your cupid bow. It made you relax a bit, but you didnāt kiss him back, as difficult as it was. God knows what Jordan would do if he found out that all this time, it was his friend who had been fucking his wife.
āWow. Got no fight left in you, huh, honey?ā Jordan taunted, before hissing, āI hope I finally fucking broke you.ā
He wasnāt left wondering for too long, because Boyd reached into the waistband of his pants, swiftly pulling out his handgun and aiming at Jordan. He fired three quick shots, every single one of them startling you.
Everything was rushed after that. Boyd freed you and got you the hell out of there, never letting you even glimpse at the lifeless body.
Thatās how you ended up here, tied up again, only this time, it had been done with gentleness and a sense of professionalism. You were high on your knees, your arms extended above your head and secured to the upper rails of his antique canopy bed with a rope that was also keeping your wrists together. He had the length of the rope precisely measured according to your height so that you were basically hanging from the ceiling, your body forced into a delicious stretch and prevented from lowering your ass to your heels.
Boyd figured that one out after the one time where you couldnāt handle the swats to your ass anymore and had the audacity to hide yourself from him. He thought that if you hadnāt been tied to the bed, he would have had to chase you around the house.
It was his favorite way to spank you, because this position gave him access to every inch of your body ā to touch it, to admire it, to ruin it.
Smack.
Your body arched as pain surged through your body.
āHow many was that?ā Boydās breath tickled your ear before his lips softly touched the skin of your shoulder, a complete contrast to his rough hands.
Honestly, you had no idea. Youād lost count after 18, simply because you got tired of keeping up with the count and he hadnāt asked you in a while, so you just stopped. Heād been playing with you for too long.
You answered anyway, as confidently as you could. Nobody was stopping you from taking a guess. āThirty-two.ā
You heard a huffing laugh, your eyes squeezing shut at the sound as you braced yourself for impact.
Smack.
Fuck.
The rope around your wrists frayed your skin as your torso swung around, and you feared that youād see blood trickling down your arms soon.
āWhere did you learn how to count? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one here.ā Boyd lashed your sore skin again, accompanied by a triumphant: āTwenty-five!ā
The weight of his knuckles against your butt felt too heavy, even though it was just a brush, mindlessly traveling to your hips and back. He kissed along the column of your neck again. āI wanted to leave it at that, but evidently, you think you deserve more. So Iāll give you thirty-two.ā Ā Ā
He gave you five successive slaps, the thirtieth hit making your ass burn so much that you thought you would stop feeling that part of your body altogether soon. You didnāt let the sensitivity keep you from pressing yourself back against the rough material of his cargo shorts, the zipper irritating your bruised skin even more. Your neck also gave up on the support of your head, and you let it fall against his shoulder while his hands resumed their exploration.
They roamed over your sides, felt over your ribs until they finally settled on your breasts. Boyd pinched your nipples between his index and middle finger, rolling the pebbled peaks and giving them occasional tugs. You arched into him and closed your eyes, letting a happy sigh escape your parted lips.
His breath tickled your cheek as he spoke. āRemind my why weāre here.ā
When you didnāt reply, too tired to think of the correct answer, you received another slap, only this time to your tit. It made your head snap upright as you gasped in shock.
āI almost got myself killed.ā
āHow?ā
āI told Jordan the truth.ā
āYeah, and how did that work out for you?ā
You shrugged, but it only reminded you of the ache in your shoulders. āPretty well, actually. Iām here with you, arenāt I?ā
He smacked your other breast, eliciting a sound between a gasp and a laugh.
āYou think this is funny? You made me shoot my best friend.ā
You snorted, right before his hand collided with your ass again.
You waited for the pain to subside before you unclenched your jaw and spoke. āI didnāt make you do anything. I was tied up, remember?ā
āIf you hadnāt decided to be a loudmouth, I wouldnāt have had to kill him.ā
āYou wanted to kill himā Can we not do this? Weāre together, right? Thatās all that matters.ā
It was easy for you to say. You were just trying to manipulate him into fucking you already. That was all that was on your mind in that moment.
But really, instead of not taking the situation seriously, you should be thanking him, because he was the reason that you didnāt have to worry about anything other than him stuffing you with his cock. You knew he was carrying most of the weight of the situation, but that was on him. You told him youād help him with the body, but he didnāt want to hear it.
And the fact that Boyd wasnāt in a rush even though Jordan was still rotting at the camp was turning you on.
āItās not. You need to accept the consequences of your actions and apologize.ā
A scowl appeared on your face. Apologize? For what? For speeding up the process?
āDid you listen to his stupid CDās again?ā You rolled your eyes at the possibility. āI thought I threw them all out. Or are you just pretending you donāt have a brain?ā
Your body jolted with another slap. Thirty-two. Fucking finally.
āApologize.ā
āNo!ā you exclaimed incredulously. Thatās when you heard the clanking of his belt. You shifted on your knees, hoping ā fucking hoping ā he wasnāt going to touch you with it. But you already knew you were dead wrong, and soon, as he wrapped your hair around his hand and yanked on it, he was whipping your ass and thighs with the leather until he saw bloody marks forming on the skin and your face was soaked with tears and snot.
āAre you sorry yet?ā
You nearly sobbed. āYes.ā
āWell, let me hear it.ā
āIām sorry.ā
āFor?ā
āIām sorry for almost getting myself killed. Iām sorry for making you kill your friend. Iām sorry for being stupid when you told me not to.ā
You recoiled when he brought his palm to the tender skin to rub gentle circles there. āGood girl,ā he said, giving you a kiss under your ear.
Boyd untied your wrists then and made you crawl to the foot of the bed on all fours while he stood in front of you. He cupped your chin, slipping his thumb into your mouth, and letting you twirl your tongue around it for a moment before hooking the finger behind your lower teeth and pulling you upwards until your face was level with his. You kissed him then, fingers curling around his neck as he shrugged his flannel off.
You enjoyed the taste of him, the way his soft tongue danced across yours. When your lips disconnected, he pushed you back down, positioning your arms to hang over the wooden footboard, the carved ridges digging into your armpits. He removed his shorts and boxers too, but not before taking ahold of his gun. His throbbing cock sprung free, bumping against his stomach as he grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your mouth forward.
You didnāt even wait for his command. Opening your mouth for him and swallowing him down was like second nature to you.
But he stopped you before you could do any of that and instead brought the gun to your mouth. Your blinked up at him.
He nodded, lips curling inwards, creating a tight line as if to tell you that you understood correctly. āSuck on the gun.ā
āWhat?ā
āSuck on the gun that killed your husband.ā
Those words were the pushing force that convinced you to hesitantly wrap your lips around the barrel of the gun, a taste of metal and gun powder absorbing into your tastebuds as your tongue slid against the underside of the weapon.
āThaatās it, you fucking slut. You like that, huh?ā
You made a sound of agreement, before you moved your head back and forth as if it were his cock that was currently in his hand as he tugged on it.
You frowned, focused on being mindful of your teeth, and you sure as fuck hoped he was being consciously careful too, because you didnāt want them to get knocked out. The metallic taste became more and more prominent with each slide of your soft tongue against the hard barrel, mixing with your saliva that made the gun shimmer under the bedroom lights.
Your focus was disrupted by the clicking sound as he took the safety off, and you couldnāt do anything but glare at him.
āYou better hope my finger doesnāt slip. Donāt wanna be scraping your brains off the ground like roadkill. Are you scared?ā
Your response was sliding the gun deeper into your mouth while maintaining eye contact with him, and you could see the flicker of pride in his eyes.
āGod. Which fucking loony bin spat you out, hm? Youāre so fucking sick.ā
He clicked the safety back on before pulling the gun out of your mouth and throwing it into the heap of clothes, and then finally, he allowed you to taste his cock, stuffing your mouth full of it.
Once you relaxed your throat, Boyd rocked forward, pulling a gagging sound from you before the fist in your hair pulled you off him until only his tip was resting against your tongue. Your mouth stretched to accommodate more of him, letting him fill your throat until your nose was squished against his stomach.
Your nails scraped against the wood as you coughed around him, bubbles of spit making their way out through the corners of your mouth, your eyes fluttering closed as they stung with budding tears.
When he pulled out, you spurted out the spit that had collected on your tongue and ended up on your chin.
He set a pace then, rapidly snapping his hips against your face and fucking your mouth until you were gurgling around him and moans of pleasure fell from his mouth. Then he stilled his hips again, the head of his cock nestled deep against you vocal cords as he tilted your head a little.
āLook at me,ā he ordered, but your gag reflex and eyelids teamed up against you. āCome on, babygirl,ā Boyd cooed condescendingly when he saw you struggle, removing the hair that was sticking to your face. āTry to give it your best. Come on.ā
You breathed in through your nose and stared up at him, your eyes brimming with tears that made your vision blurry. You could still tell that he was beautiful, though.
āSuch a gorgeous, gorgeous girl. It would be a cryinā shame if I had to dump you in a swamp.ā
Boyd pinched your nose, restricting your intake of oxygen and your eyes fluttered shut once again when your brain started to slowly shut off. Your head span faster and faster with each passing second, your back twitching as if you were doing a cat-cow pose, but before you were completely gone, he released you and pulled his cock out of your mouth, your scalp stinging from his grip on your hair. You dry-heaved, trying to come to your senses from all the torture to your body.
The floor under you was wet ā with tears, his precum, but mostly, it was the drool produced by your mouth. Strings of saliva hung from your lips until Boyd wiped them with his palm before squishing your cheeks together as he leaned down to kiss your shiny lips, cleaning his own precum away from your tongue.
āYou can just say you couldnāt bear to lose me,ā you rasped out once he finished licking into your mouth. You didnāt expect him to suddenly go all sweet on you, you knew what would follow. And as soon as you stopped talking, his wet palm collided with your cheek.
āDonāt get cocky now.ā
You just grinned, because you had every reason to be cocky. Your boyfriend killed your husband for you, his childhood friend. Without hesitation. And if that isnāt a declaration of love, you donāt know what is.
You shuffled a little closer, and at the expense of your armpits, you started laying small kisses all around his cock ā his thighs, along his happy trail, licking at his v-line, and eventually taking his balls into your mouth and suckling on them until he whimpered above you. You took the opportunity of free will and licked a fat stripe up the underside of his cock, following the thick vein all the way to the tip where you twirled your tongue in circles. Boyd grunted and tugged on your hair then, with a force that got you sitting high on your knees again, your hands instinctively shooting up to the one in your hair to get rid of the source of the pain.
His eyes glimmered as they danced across your face ā your pretty lips, your pretty nose, those eyes that literally made him commit murder. Fuck, he was down bad, and if he hadnāt had a motivation to keep himself out of prison before, he definitely had it now. He couldnāt let anybody else fuck that face, and certainly not your pussy. If that ever happened, he swore heād break out just to kill the asshole who touched you. You were his. End of story.
āIt was pretty stupid of you, too, to shoot him like that,ā you said, bringing him back to present.
He quirked an eyebrow at you. āIt was necessary. Telling him that you were cheating on him was stupid. I think we established that.ā
You shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin. āWhat can I say? Love makes you do stupid things.ā
He didnāt full-on smile, but it was the wrinkles around his eyes, peeking from underneath his frames that gave him away. Before you could tease him about it, he shoved you and your back bounced against the mattress. You were reminded of the fire your ass was on. Boyd was quick and good at predicting, catching your hand that was already en route to your behind to sooth the pain, but he pinned it down next to your head, your other hand joining too as he hovered over you, glasses gone and revealing the rest of the freckles that decorated his face.
You lifted your hips with the intent of rubbing your pussy against his cock, but he jerked away, tightening his hold on your wrists. āBrat.ā
āWhat? Itās not my fault Iāve been wet since you pulled the trigger.ā
āYou really get off on me killing someone?ā
This time you lifted your head, your noses nearly brushing. āI get off on you killing Jordan.ā Ā
He scoffed. āAs I said. Sick.ā
You giggled and let your head sink back into the pillow. Boyd decided to tease you then, peppering kisses all over your body. You felt the brush of his lips against your biceps, the crook of your elbow, your chafed wrists and your palms. He took his time kissing over your torso, your chest, your stomach that was especially sensitive to the bristles above his lips. He dipped his tongue into your belly button before licking a stripe up to your breast and sinking his teeth into the underside of your mound.
You played with his hair, auburn curls sticking out between your knuckles as you gently ran your fingers through them. God, but all this hair-pulling was always better when his head was framed by your thighs, and his tongue was lapping at your pussy.
āBoyd,ā you whimpered as he kissed along your hips and to the crease between your leg and stomach.
āWhat do you want?ā
āEat my pussy.ā
He gave a kiss to the top of your thigh before he spread your legs and kneeled between them. āYou want me to eat your pussy?ā he asked, leaning down and bringing his face closer to your center.
āThatās what I said.ā
āYeah?ā his hot breath hit your folds, his lips were parted, eyes bored into yours, and he seemed like he was ready to dive in. When he was just a whisker away from kissing your cunt, he turned his head and sank his teeth into your thigh. You cried out, and after he let go of your skin, Boyd crawled up your body, folding you in half as your legs hooked around his arms, his cock brushing against your cunt.
āSay it again.ā
āI want you to eat my pussy.ā
āAgain.ā
He made you repeat it five times, until your cheeks were flushed and the confidence in your voice faded. Boyd knelt between your knees again, sitting down on his heels before he lifted your legs and pressed them together. He told you to keep your feet up, so he could kiss along your thighs, facial hair scratching against the patches of abrased skin and sending stinging sparks of pleasure through your body and into your clit. You loved every bit of it. He took his time, switching from one leg to another, but he wasnāt even trying to tease you this time. Your legs were his weakness, and he wanted to worship them.
You didnāt know how much time had passed before he finally spread your legs and threw your legs over his shoulders as he dipped his tongue into your glistening slit. Your eyes rolled back as soon as he reached your engorged clit, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth. It was absolutely electric, the way he flicked his tongue over your bud before taking it into his mouth and sucking, moving his head from side to side before he released you with a pop.
When he moved lower and stuck his tongue into your hole, his mustache created friction on your clit that made your pussy flutter, and your fingers curl into his hair, nearly pulling them out of their roots. He groaned against you, moving his tongue in and out of your weepy hole in a quick pace, fucking your cunt with the wet muscle and setting your stomach up for fireworks.
You whined above him, arching your back and making yourself look absolutely beautiful. He licked a broad stripe up to your clit again, shaking his head from side to side and making a noisy mess of your pussy before tugging the hood of your clit back to hit every single nerve ending as he rolled his tongue over it.
It made your whole body convulse, your knuckles threatening to tear through your skin as you gripped the sheets underneath you, the gasps getting caught in your throat. When he closed his lips around the exposed nub and suckled, you were done for. Ā Your stomach exploded, and you were cumming right into his mouth, covering his chin, his lips and his facial hair in your juices.
He didnāt ease up, and this time you brought your hands to his head to push him away, but he wouldnāt budge. You moaned out his name, begged him to stop, pushed on his forehead, clawed at his scalp and even tried to twist away, but he was too strong, too persistent. Eventually, he pulled away before you could cum again.
He let you think for exactly four seconds that heād leave your overstimulated pussy alone, and then he was flipping you over and sliding his thigh under your stomach, propping up your ass on his leg as he inserted his thumb into you and quickly pulled another orgasm out of you by driving his thumb into you and rubbing your clit with the rest of his fingers.
His free hand was squeezing the flesh at your hip, his forearm against your back to hold your squirming body down. Your arms flailed around, trying to reach behind you and pry his fingers away from your waist, but that was futile, so you just held onto him, as he worked you through it, fluids spurting out of you like a fountain, wetting his hand and watch as well as the sheets, soaking everything through. Your screams, muffled by the mattress, didnāt stop until Boyd removed his hand.
You sere slumped over him, completely pliant as your chest heaved and stomach still twitched from the consuming orgasm. Fuck. You should have brought a towel. Boyd withdrew his thigh from underneath your body, and you extended your legs, laying yourself flat down on your stomach. He traced lines onto your back, letting you catch a breath.
āYou okay?ā
āYeah,ā you mumbled and turned your head to face him. āJust need a minute.ā
Boyd brought his hand to your legs then, massaging them while avoiding touching the bruised skin. Half of his face was wet, mustache soaked, and his hair was a mess. You let your eyelids fall in appreciation of his digits working the knots out of your calves. He couldnāt resit though, bringing his finger to your quivering pussy and with the lightest touch swiping over the length of your puffy folds. You twitched away, of course, whimpering. He removed his finger but kept his eyes on your cunt.
āYou know,ā you murmured. āJordan didnāt have a will. Weāre sort of rich, now.ā
He snorted. āThatās what youāre fuckinā thinkinā about right now?ā
When he decided you got enough rest, he rolled you over onto your back and fucked you messily to sleep, pulling out just to lay you on your side and situating himself behind you before pushing his cock back inside you, using you to warm himself. You fell asleep like that, filled to the brim, cum leaking out of you the whole night.
You slept for about twelve hours, and when you woke up, you had a hard time getting up, barely walked, barely talked. Literally everything was sore. You couldnāt sit comfortably for days, and Boyd couldnāt take his eyes off your bare ass whenever you lied next to him, admiring his artwork with heaping pride. He hoped that some of it would scar so he could have a reminder of that day forever.
The first time you cockwarm Jack, it's born out of a desperate, amorous, lovey-dovey need rather than trying to humiliate him by making his overstimulated, milked cock rest in the warm cocktail of your tight wet hole and the aftermath of stuffing you with his loads of hot cum. Pun intended.
Well. His overly milked cock rests in the warmth of your pussy, and the creampie he gives you either way...
It's just that the very first time the veiny, thick thing does, you don't want to make him struggle and burn in a fit of post-orgasm playfulness.
...You just wanted to be close to your old man of a doctor. That's it, and when he's twitching inside you, pushing out his ropes of semen, that's where you're the closest to him.
Never let me go, Jack.
It's when Jack's taking ten seconds to hold you with an aching grip after he's finished inside your squishy cunt, you still in the mating press position.
"When did you get this bruise?"
"...M'dunno."
It's Jack's favorite to have you in, if you're not including any position that has your fat ass jiggling and slapping into his balls that are usually still glistening from when you try to guzzle them down, globs of bubbling spit on the fat of him.
He still thinks about when you asked him if you're squishy on the inside. You're perfect. And also, yeah. The guy just didn't think to ever call what waits for his cock past your too-pretty, too-inviting hole "squishy." Kiddo's adorable like that. She's stupid like that.
He manages to place a sweaty kiss on the back of your thigh before he tries to slip out of you, a heavy sigh at his lips.
"Jack--"
And he stills in the hold you're making on his biceps, palms not even making up a quarter of the space on the veined flesh, freckled muscle.
He can't call both the grip you have on him and the tone with which you call out his name playful or teasing.
The first is tight, squeezing the way your needy cunty does. The second...it's not you sounding coy or flirty.
It's kiddo fragile.
Jack swallows, throat burning already.
You watch his head tilt forward, his short curls damp.
"Stay."
You don't mean to make your voice small and bare in the whisper, as it shakes in similiar fashion to the way your legs do when Jack's pounding you to the hilt during the mating press.
He frowns slightly. Do you mean don't get up yet?
He lowers himself, pressing his mouth to your cheek.
āNot going anywhere.ā
You shake your head faintly.
āNoā¦I meanāā Your voice falters. You swallow. āJust stay inside me. Like this. Donātādonāt move yet.ā
You squeeze his bicep, eyes fluttering fast, like you could possibly know what that does to him.
āPlease.ā
Jack stares. Jack blinks.
His pulse spikes through the fucking roof.
...There's not an ounce of that whore-bound lust in your voice, the type that he degrades you to the point of making your little squirting over.
It's just need. You trusting, what he'd call you intimate under him.
So fucking desperate.
Jack swallows.
Desperate little girl. My desperate little nurse. It'd be you to make your slutty, needy pleas something that could make his heart fall apart.
The question he asks comes off as the start to filthy-talk, the beginning of that just-mentioned degradation, but he just wants to know.
"Sleepy, why do you want me to keep myself inside you?"
And what the fuck did you do to be deserving of her wanting you this badly? Nothing.
"You feel...safe."
...Absolutely fucking nothing.
God. Fucking god. Why are you doing this to him?
It's that word that cracks his chest open. Safe. The dangerous things inside of him swell at its use, and he might just swell inside of you again. Your fault. All the perfect whore's fault.
Safety is the only thing he's fixated on giving you. That and his cock. Mouth. Cunt. In between your tits.
I don't believe in God, Kiddo, so let me build a cathedral in your name, and the practice of my filthy religion will be fucking you until tomorrow, keeping you up on the mantle, and never letting you go. Over my dead fucking body.
It's gonna come to that, but that's the least Daddy can do if you're wanting him like this.
"I'm here."
Jack relaxes his hunch from the mating press, lowering to the point he's resting on your chest, and he kisses your jaw and temple as his cock settles in the full, clenching warmth of the cunt he'll need forever.
"Gotta keep her happy, right?"
He puts a finger on your still-swollen clit, just so you know who he's referring to. Well, he's referring to both of you. Kiddo and Kiddo's pussy. It seems like his acceptance has made you both content.
Shouldn't be so easy to keep you happy, shouldn't be so easy to fuse himself to you and erase the air between you. To turn your vulnerability into fuel for his fixations and burning arousal.
But Kiddo's so, so fucking easy. Almost as easy as it is to ruin myself over her.
Jack watches you shut your eyes, a smile coming along your lips dopily.
There's that smile. That's what he's here for. That's what he needs.
"Thank you, Daddy."
Jack coughs, and he can't help that his reply is so goddamned hoarse.
Ohhh, nothing, just thinking about being cream-pied by Hyperspermia!Robby. Hyperspermia!Robby, who has you bent over a gurney, your legs spread apart wide, with your scrubs bundled up at your ankles. Either of his large, sanitizer-scented hands cupping your ass cheeks as he drills into your tight but willing pussy mercilessly. Strained moans and muffled whimpers emit from you as your legs begin to tremble, the feeling of Robbyās thick and veiny cock stuffing you full with every single thrust. Robby begins to cum with no warning, his thick white sperm shooting into you in thick spurts. Robby stills as his orgasm seizes through him, a low guttural moan escaping his lips. āYou donāt have to take it all,ā heāll tell you softly, but you simply shake your head, arching your back deeper before pushing your ass up against him further, attempting to take him deeper than you already are. And when he finally finishes filling your tight cunt up with his seed, heāll carefully slip out of you, watching as a few globs of his cum slide out of you. Bringing his index and middle finger up to his lips, he sucked them briefly before scooping up the cum and fingering it back into you. āCanāt waste any of it, baby,ā heāll coo before bending over, pulling your scrubs back up over your legs and butt. And with a smack of your ass, he slips back to the ED as if nothing had happened.
standing missionary . back against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist
remmick's got you hoisted like you weigh nothing, hands locked under your thighs, your back slammed flat to the wall while your legs cinch tight around his waist. every thrust rocks your whole body, makes the plaster shudder behind you, his hips snapping forward like heās trying to fuck you through it.
his shirtās half off, sleeves bunched at his elbows, chest slick with sweat and heaving with every breath. curls plastered to his forehead, jaw clenched so hard it trembles, lips parted and shaking as he pants through his teeth.
your arms are looped tight around his neck, nails digging in while you moan straight into his ear, breath hot and messy.
heās got you split open, cock stuffed to the hilt, fat and thick and dragging through your cunt like it owns the place. the head keeps smushing against your cervix every time he rolls his hips forward, making your body jolt and your pussy gush around him.
every time you clench, your cunt fluttering tight around him, he lets out this pathetic little whine, like the sound is ripped straight out of his chest. his cock twitches hard inside you, pulsing like itās begging to blow.
āyou feelāyou feel too damn good,ā he stammers, breath hitching, forehead knocking against yours. his whole bodyās shaking now.
you lock your legs tighter around him and he shudders hard, cockhead slamming even deeper into your guts, a strained, broken gasp tearing out of him as his voice pitches high and desperate.
āohhālordādonātādonāt squeeze me like thatāā
but he doesnāt stop. he keeps fucking you harder, faster, hips smacking into yours, sweat dripping down both of you, thighs trembling from the effort of holding you up while he fucks you.
you drag your mouth along his jaw, whisper his name all sweet and ruined, and that does him in.
he moans straight into your neck, loud and breathy and gone, cock throbbing inside you while your whole body clenches around him like youāre trying to milk him dry.
pronebone. face in the sheets, ass arched
youāre faceādown in his bed, cheek mashed into the pillow, spit soaking the fabric while your whole body goes slack under him.
the only thing moving is your assājerking forward over and over from how deep heās fucking you.
your thighs are pressed together, cunt drooling slick, back bowed just enough for him to stay buried at that brutal angle that knocks the breath straight out of your lungs every time he slams home.
heās over you, hands locked on your hips, thumbs digging into your lower back like heās anchoring you in place. his cock is drilling into your soaked, swollen pussy, slow and heavy, grinding in deep enough that you can feel the length of him dragging along that spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes.
āmāgonna lose it,ā he pants, voice wrecked, breath shaking.
his chest is heaving above you, pecs bouncing hard with every thrust, sweat dripping off him and onto your back.
your cunt is a mess. cum from earlier keeps leaking out around the base of his cock and he just fucks it back in, grinding harder like heās trying to get deeper.
āyou hear that?ā he gasps, hips snapping harder now. āhear how wet you got me, sugar?ā
you can barely answerājust a choked whimper into the pillowāand he groans like it hits him right in the gut.
his cock twitches violently inside you, thrusts turning sloppy. one hand leaves your hip and grabs a fistful of your ass, spreading you open wide so he can see itāsee your cunt stretch and swallow his cock.
ālook at this,ā he pants, eyes blown wide. āgodāiām soaked.ā
and he is. balls sticky and slapping your ass, cock dripping, thighs smeared with slick. the whole room reeks of sex and sweat and your bodyās twitching underneath him, shaking so hard you donāt know if youāre about to come again or black out.
laying sideways. your back to his chest, his hand between your legs
youāre tangled together on your sides, sheets damp and wrinkled beneath you, your back pressed flush to remmickās chest while his cock sits buried inside you. one of your legs is hooked over his thick thigh, keeping you open, keeping him deep, and every slow roll of his hips makes your cunt squelch around him.
his arm is heavy around your waist, pulling you back into him, and his other hand stays between your legsāfingers already slick, dragging slow, messy circles over your clit like he knows exactly how long he can keep you right on the edge.
you whineācanāt help itābody going soft and pliant while he pants into your neck, mouth open against your skin as he moans every time you twitch around him.
āso wet fāme,ā he whispers, voice shaking, wrecked.
his cock feels huge like thisāthick and dragging, stretching you slow with every inch as he pulls back just enough to slide forward again.
you feel every ridge, every vein, the way his length pulses when you squeeze. and when you doāwhen your cunt clenches tight around himāhe lets out a broken moan. face buried in your hair as his cock twitches hard inside you.
he starts moving faster then, still deep, still slow enough to feel it, but with more need.
his hand never leaves your clit. fingers keep working you until your hips start jerking back into him, until youāre crying into the sheets and your cunt starts spasming around his cock.
remmick moans when he feels it.
āthatās it,ā he gasps. āthere you goā¦ milk it outta me, babyā¦ā
and then heās gone.
after, his mouth brushes your shoulder, breath warm and spent, voice rough but sweet as he whispers,
āgimme a minuteā¦ then iāll give you another.ā
lotus position. legs wrapped around his waist as he sits
youāre straddled in his lap, knees bent, ankles locked tight at his lower back, chest pressed flush to his. your arms are loosely looped around his neck, holding him there as he rocks his hips up into you.
your bodies sticking together, skin slick with sweat and sex.
his arms are locked tight around your waist, fingers digging in firmly. his face is buried in your neck, as he lets out these ragged, breathy moans every time your pussy clenches around him. and it doesāover and overāfluttering tight around his cock like it knows exactly how close he is.
you feel him throb thereāfeel how hard heās fighting it, how badly he wants to spill.
āyouāre squeezinā me, sweetheart,ā he pants, voice barely holding together. āgonna make me finish too soonāi swearāā
you grind down harder, rolling your hips so he sinks even deeper. your arms tug him closer, mouth brushing his temple, your breath hot in his earāand a moan tears out of him as his hips jerk up into you harder.
your clit drags against the coarse hair at the base of him with every grind, and the sensation makes you shakeāmakes you cry out right into his ear.
his body jolts beneath you, cock twitching violently inside your cunt as he fucks up into you like heās chasing the edge and falling over it at the same time. his grip tightens, thighs shaking, mouth open against your neck as he groans your name like itās the only thing keeping him upright.
bridal-style lay. your back against his chest, while he lifts you
youāre laying on your side across remmickās chest like a warm, panting giftāhead tipped back on his shoulder, legs draped over his thick arm as he holds you up, lets your ass hover just above his hips. one of his hands is hooked beneath your thigh, the other gripping your ass to keep you open.
itās a lazy kind of rhythm. he rocks up into you from below with slow, thick thrusts that make your whole body jolt, hips lifting off the bed just to meet the drag of his cock.
he moans against your temple, breath shaky and hot, sweat dripping from his hairline down onto your shoulder as he murmurs something unintelligible.Ā
you try to say something back, but all that comes out is a moan when he tilts his hips and drives up harder.
āthatās it,ā he pants, thrusting up slow, then fast, then slow again, deep like heās trying to ruin the shape of you from the inside. āgrip me like thatāyeah, jusā like that, i can feel itāā
he shifts his grip, one hand sliding lower under your ass to lift you higher, and you cry out when the angle changes and he slams up so much deeper.
youāre drooling, shaking, slick dripping off both of you and down his balls. heās losing it, chest heaving, hips pistoning up like heās possessed, chasing your orgasm and his at the same time.
and when your body clamps down and you come around him, he follows with a cry, burying his cock to the hilt and spilling everything into you in hot, thick waves. your body jerks with each pulse, filled to the brim, held wide and open and still in his arms.
he keeps fucking into youāpushing it deeper, like he canāt stand the thought of pulling out just yet.
āgonna keep you right here, baby,ā he murmurs, voice rough, lips pressed behind your ear. ājusā like this. plugged up and full ātil you feel me all nightā¦ā
t.w.: Dark-ish fic, Smut, P in V, Oral f receiving, Sex pollen Dub-con/Non-con, Voyeurism, Cucking,Ā Breeding kink (forced pregnancy), Lactation kink (brief), LuthorCorp Secretary!Reader, Mentions of Ultraman x Reader (one-sided), Lex Luthor x Superman (also one-sided and psychotic), Cum play/eating, Reader has glasses, slight spoilers, fuck or die!, angst
a/n: Please read all warnings before interacting with my works. 18+ only!
Summary: Ultraman wasnāt as successful as he expected. Lex Luthor is hoping to breed something new to defeat his nemesis, no matter how long the process may take.Ā
Cloning didnāt work. Ultraman was stupid. Incompetent. A failure.Ā
But he liked you. Lex Luthor would watch as he leaned closer to you. It made you uncomfortable, clear by the way you shifted on your feet and avoided his pointed gaze.Ā
Lex trusted you in maintaining him. Youād lead him, after hours, to his room, to the shower, to eat. You were his caretaker in a way.Ā Reluctantly so.Ā Ā
The cloneās base instincts clearly indicated attraction judging by the hard ons he would openly display as he bathed with you standing by the door to ensure he wouldnāt make a mess.Ā
It gave Luthor an idea, an idea that would ensure the next Superman ācloneā would be as perfect as possible.Ā
Luthor would pay you handsomely for the trouble. You who kept most of his secrets, you who he sends enough flowers to fill up your apartment, you who he has special meetings with while his girlfriend was off on a shopping spree.Ā
He almost feels tenderly towards you. You were a perfect candidate.Ā
ā¦
You bounce on his lap, sinking onto his prick as he leaned back on his office chair. Peering at you as if you were on your knees and praying to him.Ā
You grunt quietly, he watches as you get yourself off, as he does nothing to help.Ā
Your fingers glide diligently over your cunt, the squelching sounds making you whimper as your clit throbs between your fingers.Ā
Heās not good at sex, he likes having it, likes getting himself off. But he is not inept at pleasuring others.Ā
Youāre fine with it. No one has ever made you finish anyway. You only needed his dick. Like a dildo.Ā
You grind your hips against his pelvis, his cock pushes in deep as you pulse around him, your head falling forward to rest against his shoulder in a stifled final moan.Ā
He grips your hips as he pulses inside of you, you groan at the action. He always pulls out. You give him a look as you stand, he pulls your panties up against your cunt and pats your ass.Ā
āKeep it in.āĀ
You snort, he raises a brow, wondering where the joke was in his tone. Thank goodness for birth control. Youād rather die than have his demonic children. Even more spoiled brats and the world's riches would be divided within the Luthor family entirely.Ā
āRemember what the goal is todayā¦ā he says as he points a teasing finger at you.Ā
You nod as you straighten your pencil skirt and button up your shirt. Your hands drag against the wood of his desk to swipe your glasses teasingly.Ā
āIām ready.āĀ
ā¦
Being jostled around the air was irritating to say the least. The clone repeatedly evaded Supermanās moves, causing you to be caught midair several times. One second Ultraman, the other Superman.Ā
It was like tug of war, except instead of rope, your body was being pulled every which way.Ā
Another frightening possibility you didnāt think of before was that hands slip, butterfingers, people fumble.Ā
Superman drops you. You imagine Lex having a laugh.Ā
Superman apologizes as he recatches you, hands tight on your waist as he turns swiftly to take a hit to his back. You could see the way he grits his teeth and shut his eyes from the pain, the way his hands tightened over your body as he cocooned you.Ā
You get it, you realize. Despite the obvious threats around him, his focus was on protecting you, the civilian. It made your chest warm. You almost coo from how selfless he was.Ā
He flees from Ultraman, disguised as a villain of the week, in an attempt to put you down in a safe location.Ā
āYou ok?āĀ
You grip onto his shoulders fearfully, feeling the taught muscle underneath. You get those who swoon. He was even bigger in person.Ā
You nod slowly, eyes wide, a hand pressing your glasses to your face to keep them from flying off.Ā
āYea-āĀ
It was like a train had hit him, the impact of the clone ramming into his side so strong it caused him to lose his grip on you. Again.
Jealousy you briefly wonder, youāre sure Lex didnāt tell him to do that. Youāve never seen that move before.Ā
You each go in opposite directions. You could hear Superman scream out a sharp no as youāre free falling in the air.Ā
The genuine concern won him points by you again.Ā
You think about Lex. About the way he practically begged you to accept the role as victim for his latest scheme.Ā
Youād slap him the next time you see him.Ā
Your attempts to scream are tampered by the rush of air, you couldnāt breathe in or out, the rush of adrenaline making it hard to focus on the action as you see the pavement inch closer.Ā
And suddenly youāre in someoneās arms again, held tightly against their chest. You take a harsh breath in, the rush of oxygen making your lungs burn.
Your eyes stayed unfocused from your lack of lenses. You look behind you to find metal armor facing right back at you. You sigh.Ā
Youāre shaking as youāre deposited to the floor of the lab, located near a small town west of the city of Metropolis.Ā
Ultraman dropped you unceremoniously, making your knees buckle and causing you to fall.Ā
You glare up at him, narrowing your eyes as he refuses to look your way. Unlike him. He was most definitely jealous.Ā
Several lab techs surround you and Ultraman briefly to assess damages. They find none, they leave quickly, leaving you to reorient yourself in your lonesome.Ā
You stand, wiping your hands down your skirt as you grumble about the lack of adequate patient care they offered you.
You try the door closest to you, it was locked. For a moment you stare at it dumbfoundedly. This was supposed to be where Luthor was entrapping Superman. There was a bed in the middle of the room, a toilet to the side. This was a prison.Ā
Surely someone was coming to get you, or one of the doors will lock once Superman arrives.Ā
You try the other door, locked. You knock. Your polite knock turns into a slam of your palm. You shout that you couldnāt get out. That you needed to get out. That you were starting to freak out.Ā
You could hear metal bend. Superman was here. You shook the door knob desperately.Ā
āLex!āĀ
The pounding was getting louder, you could hear his grunts as he attempted to make his way to you. To āsaveā you.Ā
What would he do once he found out you planned to imprison him for testing, then undoubtedly kill him afterwards.Ā
The sound of the panels behind you, curling in his hands like cardboard, made you think he wouldnāt be too happy.Ā
You turn your back against the door, chest rising and falling with each breath as he breaks himself into his own doom. He takes a breath of relief at finding you unharmed. His eyes scan over your form as he jogs forward, hand gently holding your glasses out to you.Ā
You take them shakily, placing them on to see his soft smile clearly. He puts his hand on your shoulder, your expression terrified.Ā
āYouāre going to be ok.āĀ
Alarm bells ring, the room turns red and walls appear, layers and layers of metal sliding atop each other, just to stall him for the next part.Ā
You swallow thickly and shake your head in denial. There must have been a mistake, you werenāt supposed to be in here, no one other than him was. You were fucked. You step away from him, he looks around the room in confusion.Ā
The size of the room is cut in half by the strongest metal Luthor could find. Superman could easily punch his way out, but the amount of punches would be too much for him to get out in time.Ā
A greenish fog fills up the room. He reacts quickly, tugging you from the wall and covering his mouth with his hand, as if urging you to copy the action.Ā
āHold your breath, Iāll get us out of here.āĀ
You stare at his back, hands at your sides, as he turns to pull his hand back and hit the wall. What a beautiful idiot.Ā
He didnāt realize that with each layer he destroyed more and more gas was being pumped into the room. It made you feel lightheaded.Ā
You stay put in the middle of the room, legs turning weak and arms barely holding you up against the bed. Superman calls for you to follow him, almost desperately as he feels himself weakening.Ā
He holds his breath, he could hold it for several minutes. But he was barely leaving a dent now.Ā
āDonāt breathe it in!ā he shouts. It didnāt matter. The smog could be absorbed through the skin anyway.Ā
You fall to your knees. He stops and rushes to you. He could see that he wasnāt as close to breaking out as he liked.Ā
He could only think of one thing. Kryptonite. It was making him feel almost anemic. He starts to shake. But he didnāt feel any pain. He felt a strange rush go through his body.
āDonāt-ā you wheeze out as he kneels over you, hand coming up to touch your shoulder.Ā
The more you inhale the more you feel the effects of the gas. Your stomach clenches, your clothes feel suffocating, your skin sensitive.Ā
Lex said it was going to debilitate him. Make him bend to his knees and writhe.Ā
He grips your bicep, to stabilize you.Ā
Your sharp moan made the hero freeze. It was sensual, pornographic. Not of pain or agony. His breath stutters at the sound, he feels himself start to sweat, his face heating up impossibly in embarrassment and something else.Ā
What the hell did Lex put in this damn cell?Ā
Your stomach cramps. You could hear the room speaker turn on with a sharp crack. Superman stands, looking around the room, attempting to find it.Ā
āHello, Superman.āĀ
āLuthor,ā he says as a response, sounding tired, almost bored of the other manās voice already.Ā
āWhy donāt you or your people ever show themselves?ā he asks after a moment, looking up towards the corner, knowing that a camera was pointed right at him.Ā
āIām closer than you think.āĀ
Supermanās brows furrow. He turns to you and shrugs his shoulders with an incredulous look, obviously mocking Luthorās ominous tone and words. You look away in shame, his face falls as you cower away from him.Ā
āOh! I didnāt introduce you to my secretary. Say hi to my secretary. Isnāt she cute? Great actor too.āĀ
Supermanās eyes connect with yours and you pant as you drag yourself to the far wall. His eyes sharpen and his brows furrow, so deep creases formed in his perfect friendly face. The hint of a smile, gone. He was clearly upset by the setup.Ā
āWhat did you do?ā he asked, voice raised. He stares directly at you, eyes roaming over your body.Ā
Youāre not sure who he speaks to. Lex or you. By Lexās snort, he assumes it was to him.Ā
āDo you feel it?ā Lexās voice reverberated around the small enclosure, you bite your lip to hold in a whimper.Ā
Your breath comes out in short pants. You feel your thighs slicken, each shift highlighting the fact that there was now a building dampness underneath you.
āItāll take a while to set in for you.āĀ
You rock your hips, Superman watches you curiously. You fight the urge to press your hand between your legs. You turn in your embarrassment, your nipples were so hard they stung and pointed out against the fabric of your shirt.Ā
You press your face against the cool wall, it gives you brief relief. Another cramp in your lower belly hits you, you shake and groan.Ā
āItās already set in for her. Youāll see soon enough.āĀ
He could smell your arousal, he exhaled shakily as he felt a warmth travel through his spine at your twitches and small noises. His eyes start to roam over your body, the way your back arches lightly, your ass curving out against the fabric of your skirt, now showing a growing spot of wetness.Ā
He licks his lips before refocusing.Ā
āWhat did you do?ā he shouts with force.Ā
āDonāt worry, itās harmless.āĀ
Superman looks at you, your back to him, he steps forward before stopping. His stomach tightens, his mouth salivates, and he feels his briefs tighten against his growing heavy bulge.Ā
His eyes were intense, pupils fighting between expanding and constricting. He holds a hand up, as if to calm you, maybe even calm himself.Ā
āYouāll be fine-ā he attempts shakily. His knees wobble.Ā
āOh. She will die,ā Lexās voice cuts sharply, humorously.Ā
You moan out into the air, your skin prickles and itches. You refuse to look away from the corner, you didnāt want to give Lex the satisfaction of your tears, your panic.Ā
āYou require the dosage of an elephant. I had to make sure it worked.āĀ
Your lower stomach tightens so much the rest of your body locks into place. You feel a rush like no other and yelp as the feeling makes your cuntās walls constrict around nothing. Your body trembles in sweet erotic pulses, you pant openly as the rush fades into a low simmer.Ā
Did you just have a mini orgasm?Ā
āShe needs an antidote, luckily for you Superman, you have plenty of it.āĀ
The comm clicks as it turns off. You groan as you flop against the metal floor, facing the ceiling, body spread out like a starfish. You could feel his heated gaze, he looked furious, huffing out like a bull ready to charge.
Lex had been testing weird shit on the clone. Heād figured this chemical out a couple of months ago. It affected hormones, made the body crave another.Ā
It wasnāt as bad as this. It wasnāt as intense.Ā
Sure, Ultraman had humped your leg when you were trimming his hair but youāre sure he never felt as if he were dying.Ā
Then again, Kryptonians, clone or not, wouldnāt be affected as fast as humans. You had a feeling this time would be different, you could see Superman pace back and forth, running a shaky hand through his locks almost pulling on it as his chest stutters with each gulp of air.Ā
āBodily fluids,ā you gasp.
A kiss made it better, Lex made you kiss the clone, on the cheek, to test it out. Lex had a boner as he watched the interaction. The freak.
He kissed the clone himself afterwards, right on the lips, to see which method worked best, according to him. Tongue on tongue worked the best for pacifying the chemical.Ā
You were used to seeing Supermanās face. You just werenāt used to him being able to speak back to you. He turns sharply towards you, he growls.Ā
āDonāt test me.āĀ
You roll your eyes, your body was shaking, your heart beating so fast you were starting to feel lightheaded. He could see your heart, so fast he fears youāre going to pass out at any moment now.Ā
Worse, you might get into cardiac arrest. He sighs in frustration.Ā
He kneels beside you, sitting you up against the wall roughly, pressing your shoulders into the metal despite your discomfort.Ā
The touch makes you shiver, you hold back a moan. He cages you in with his arms, hands planted on either side of you.Ā
āWhat can we do?āĀ
You lick your lips, and he follows your tongue with his eyes. His stomach flexes and he grunts.Ā
āIt helps, saliva, sweatā you swallow thickly. He was so warm, your lips part lightly. Youāve never wanted anyone inside of you so badly before.Ā
Your hands weakly lift to grip his bicep, big bulging biceps that were so hard as you squeezed. You bite your lip and suppress a giddy giggle, your hand roaming over his chest.Ā
He shakes you from your daze. You drop your hand to the floor and swallow thickly. Focus. You take a moment, body flushing even further from humiliation.Ā
āEjaculate, arousal fluid, I promise,ā you stutter, you adjust your glasses.Ā
He narrows his eyes, you gush at his stare, a fresh wave of arousal almost squirting out of your cunt at his proximity.Ā
He closes his eyes tightly, his arms flex as he resists the urge to manhandle you. He didnāt know if it was from anger or something else. Maybe it was the half-lidded gaze you gave him, eyes wandering all over his body and lingering on his very prominent bulge.Ā
āSoā¦ what do I need to do?āĀ
You shrug. It was obvious. Your eyes blank as you lean back against the wall.Ā
āJust let me die, dude,ā you mumble. He scoffs. Your head rolls to the side and your neck is exposed. He zeros in on the soft skin of your throat, his jaw tightens as heās hit with your scent of fresh arousal. The musk was enveloping him, his hand cups your face.Ā
He kisses you, face scrunched as if he hated the idea of being near you. You gasp, his tongue swipes through the roof of your mouth before swirling over yours.Ā
You moan, fighting to keep your hands on the floor, curled into tight fists as he pulls your head closer.Ā
āYou smell good,ā he mumbles offhandedly, voice low and tense, as if he could be doing anything other than this. His actions said otherwise, his tongue splays over your skin, lips pecking down your jaw. His hand grips your hips and pulls you forward.Ā
āThanks,ā you groan out.Ā
His head pulled away from you, his pupils were dilated. He was breathing heavier. His body twitches, neck straining. He was starting to feel the effects intensify.Ā
āYou feel better?ā he asks softly, eyes roaming over your face, stalling over your lips.Ā
In fact, you were starting to feel worse. You nod, despite the way your face twisted in pain, the cramps intensity almost debilitating.Ā
āLiar.āĀ
He kisses you again, the make out evolving as he pulls you to his lap. He guides your hands to touch him, sliding your fingers up his chest, over his neck. He guides your fingers to the buttons of his suit, right at the nape of his neck.Ā
Your skirt rides up and he starts to unbutton your blouse. His mind started to cloud, almost as if he didnāt realize that you were being watched, as if you werenāt both trapped.Ā
Lex sits in the surveillance room alone, having dismissed everyone else once the gas had been pumped into the cage.Ā
He has cameras for every angle of the cell, he zooms in between your bodies.Ā
He unbuttons his trousers, palming himself as he focuses in on your ruined panties grinding against the pronounced outline of Supermanās cock and balls.Ā
Superman presses you against his chest, you tug your arms out of your dress shirt, hands going to his face as your tongue caresses his, wanting to be impossibly closer.Ā
Luthor chortles as he hears your underwear rip, flinging to the other side of the room. Your bare cunt was spread open by thick digits. His fingers press into you, making your head fall back in delight.Ā
Supermanās thumb rolls over your clit, you gush around him, so sensitive that a mere touch makes you fall off the edge of pleasure.Ā
Lex jerks his cock in his hand, thumb running over the head as he spreads his spewing pre over his shaft. His cum was inside of you, Superman was playing with his cum already in your cunt.Ā
What a sight.Ā
ā¦
You pant out heavily, he licks up your juices from his fingers and watches as your heart slows, only to start up again. His hand roams all over your body, pressing into your soft skin, groaning as you ground down on him.Ā
āIām sorry I have toā¦ā he trails off. Eyes connecting to your breasts. He rips your bra quickly, hands coming up to squeeze the soft mounds.Ā
His mouth hangs open, he feels himself drool at the sight of your bare body. He was delirious.Ā
āI have to save you,ā he mumbles, as if he were drunk.Ā
āIām sorry,ā he mutters, pulling you closer, his nose trailing down the middle of chest, nuzzling softly between your breasts as he breathes in deeply.Ā
āJes- jeez-ā he stutters. His tongue flicks out to taste your sweat, your breasts smelled like heaven, a certain musk that guided him to suck the soft flesh in his mouth.Ā
His nose sinks into the softness, as his lips suck around your nipple. The other hand cups your breast and squeezes, his fingers holding your nipple in place as he presses the surrounding area. Almost as if urging something to drip out.Ā
And something does. It must be an adverse effect of the gas, you see pearls of white dribble from the nipple he grasps in hand.Ā
You instinctively attempt to push him away, but he holds you in place.Ā
You flush in embarrassment as he groans, sucking harder, having just tasted what youāve seen. He holds the small of your back against him, pressing you closer, his face smothered in your breasts.Ā
You cup his head, mouth wide open as you moan out into the air freely.Ā
You grind against his lap, tugging at his briefs. Your weak pawings towards his cock made him ache further. He stands, your limp body pliant in his hold as he makes his way to the bed in the middle of the room.Ā
You fall harshly against the mattress. Your attempts at unbuttoning your skirt left you feeling winded and weak. You close your eyes and your breath gets caught in the back of your throat. Desperate for him.Ā
He rips your very expensive and very vintage pencil skirt as if it were wrapping paper. In a blink his suit was gathered on the floor in a heap.Ā
His chest rises and falls with each breath. The cool air gave him a bout of clarity.Ā Ā
He was still so upset. He stares down at you, almost in a scowl. He jerks himself, he canāt believe the amount of pre-cum that was coming out of him, almost like a fountain. He pulls your legs, making your back slide towards the edge of the bed.Ā
His eyes soften as you writhe against the sheets. He palms your breasts and squeezes, he swallows thickly at the milky pearls that bead out. He tests the pliancy of your body. He could break you if heās not careful enough. His stomach tenses and his heart quickens, almost making him keel over.Ā
āWe dont have to do this- we can-āĀ
He stares at your cunt as you spread your legs. He swallows thickly. He feels himself fight the urge to sink into you. But his mothers words dig into the back of his skull. Do not get a girl pregnant before marrying her. He stalls.Ā
He could put his mouth on you for hours, heās sure he genuinely could do it for hours. Heād love to even.Ā
But sperm was proven to be the most effective antidote. Who knows what Lex had to figure that out.Ā You glance at his dick, so hard it looked almost painful. He was about to speak again but you cut him off quickly.Ā
āIām on the pill,ā you whimper.Ā
Heās on you quickly, knees digging into the soft mattress as his mouth leads a path up your body to your lips. He thrusts into you. You squeal, a mix of pain and intense pleasure.Ā
āHoly- goodness-ā he groans, mouth wide open as his hips flex into you. Your pussy was so wet, and so tight as if it wanted to milk him for each drop.Ā
Lex didnāt have anything to hold onto. Superman's hair was out of its usual gelled back style, pieces of his hair tickling against your skin as he places his forehead against yours.
Your fingers curl into his locks so tightly you fear if he wasnāt nearly invincible, youād rip them from their roots.Ā
He groans, eyelids heavy as he gazes down at you. You were such a mess, your eyes were wet, body covered in sweat, a pool of your juices staining half of the mattress. With each of his orgasms, he could feel your body calm further, as if his seed were a salve.
His arms were underneath you, lifting you lightly for more leverage. The squelch of his cock, pumping into you as he held your body below him possessively was so arousing to you.Ā
Youāve never had an experience like this, someone so attentive and desperate for your body. Although in the back of your mind you knew that he wasnāt exactly desperate for you. You were both so unbearably horny, chemically enhanced hormonal shifts.Ā
His mouth sucks at your nipple, he groans as you wrap your legs around his waist, your hand reaching to pull his ass onto you.Ā
His weight was pushing you down as he changed position, pulling your legs up in the air and pressing his chest to the back of your thighs. It was obscene, his spunk spews from your pussy, your lower half seemingly covered in the milky white.Ā
Lex Luthor watches the whole thing, it lasts hours. Heās almost impressed. It infuriates him.Ā
Superman did everything in his power to get the chemicals out of your system, through sweat, tears, your cum. And he did everything to feel normal again, to stop craving the feel of your plump heated flesh, the tightness of your cunt, the softness of your lips.Ā
You were pretty for a LuthorCorp goon. Especially with your glasses all slanted as he pounds you into the mattress.Ā
By the end of the day Superman was spent, your heart has finally calmed. The last spurts of his cum pump into you weakly. He falls on his side, facing you.Ā
You both catch your breath, staring into each other's eyes, shifting closer until his arm wraps around you to pull you to his chest.Ā
His fingers press against the curve of your cheekbone as you lay on your side. He takes your lenses off gently, placing them on the pillow beside your head.Ā
You stare at him, finger pressing against his chin, his lips, his brow.Ā
āYouāre so different,ā you mutter. His eyes look over your features, not hiding his confusion. He imagines you mean different from Lex Luthor. You meant a lot of people. His clone was fucked up, cute, but the bridge of his nose and chin were slightly different.Ā
āWhy do you work for him?ā
You shrug. Lex Luthor was a good boss. At least before today.Ā
You had great health care, optometrist, dermatologist, endocrinologist and many more ists included. Pay was great, company products were free. Lex would get you flowers, heād listen to your opinions, heād take you to expensive dinners.Ā
But it was never intimate, not like the way Superman was pressed against you now. He hums, his hand traces over every mark he left on your body.Ā
Your expression was grim.Ā
āYou should find another job.āĀ
You shrug again. He rolls his eyes, disappointed by your nonchalant response. He points between you both.Ā
āThis is pretty messed up.āĀ
You nod.Ā
āI know.ā
He stands, you stare at the ceiling. He gives you one last look as he changes. He feels better, stronger now. He looks down on you. He looks at the length of his cape. He could wrap you in it, fly to his apartment or Kansas. Heād make sure you were safe.Ā
āYou should come with meā¦āĀ
You shake your head, turning on your side. Back turned away from him. He could sense the sadness, the betrayal. Heās sure youāll leave LuthorCorp on your own. Heād find you. To find out more about what happened, to maybe even take you out for coffee.Ā
Heās hoping you would confide in Clark Kent.
You hear him tear through the metal. You cocoon yourself into a ball and finally succumb to your fatigue.Ā
ā¦
You wake up in a hospital bed, the heart monitor beeping loudly beside your ear, making your head thrum with a headache.Ā
Lex was sitting next to your bed, analyzing your face as you scowled at him. He remains neutral. Your hand whips out faster than even you expected, his head whips to the side as your palm lands on his cheek.Ā
He rubs his jaw, amusement in his eyes. He takes your hand.
āHow do you feel?ā
You scoff, pulling your hand away from him.Ā
āIām done.āĀ
He snorts, he gives you a look, as if you were stupid. Class Lex. He always makes you feel so small. So useless sometimes.Ā
āYouāre not done,ā he says, shaking his head as if he were speaking to a toddler who didnāt want to eat their vegetables.Ā
You sit up furiously. āI am done!āĀ
He doesnāt react to your tone. His eyes look over your body as he speaks.Ā
āYou signed the contract. You work for me for another year.āĀ
You fume. Your hands ball into fists. He passes you your glasses but you slap the offer away.Ā
āUnless you want to void the contract. Thatāll cost you 50,000, darling.āĀ
Tears well in your eyes. You couldnāt afford to void the contract, or the NDA. Or pay for legal fees if you want to get a lawyer. You stare up at the ceiling, the pillow is soft.
He holds your hand once again, this time tighter than before, not allowing you to pull away. He pulls in close next to you, he grips your chin to make you look up at him.Ā
āI own you.āĀ
He kisses your lips lightly, you face twitches in irritation.Ā
āYou did good. We got what we needed.āĀ
His lips skim over the marks left by Superman, kissing the bruises and darkened spots so delicately it sent shivers down your spine. Your body soften against the mattress, giving in.Ā
Your hands were planted against the cushion of the medical bed as he lowered down between your legs, pulling your hospital gown up to expose your pussy.Ā
He groans at the sight. You let out a shaky breath and spread your legs. Your mound was swollen and as he spread your folds he could see streaky white slick drip out.Ā
He asked them not to clean you there as medical staff crowded over you after Superman had left.Ā They understood. It would make for a viable pregnancy if the sperm were to last longer inside of you.Ā
He licks you, sucks your cunt, slurping Supermanās cum from your gaping hole. There was so much of it.Ā
Your hands grip the medical bed, his head underneath your soft gown and shifting as he mouths at you.Ā
Heās never touched you like this, fucked you like this.Ā
He almost couldnāt believe it worked. Almost. Your pills were switched out months ago, there was no protection and judging by testing done on his clone. Supermanās sperm was potent. Statistically, way more potent than his own.Ā
He sucks your clit, you muffle a moan with the back of your hand. He stuffs the seed back into you, you succumb to a back arching climax.Ā
He wipes his mouth with a handkerchief and walks out of the room.Ā
ā¦
You sit up in Lexās bed. Itās been a month.Ā
Heād become more caring, in his own strange little ways. He broke up with his girlfriend, he asked you out on a date.Ā
He apologized.Ā
You think something was wrong with you. You stayed. Youād rather reap the benefits of a rich boyfriend than deal with the legalities of quitting your job.Ā
He touches you as if you were a delicate thing. Precious. You moved into his penthouse. You had access to most if not all of his belongings.Ā
It was fishy. Youāve asked him about why he did what he did. He said it was to collect more DNA, which was left all over the mattress.Ā
He wanted to create a better clone of Superman.Ā
You swipe through your phone, ignoring emails of this so-called Clark Kent from the Daily Planet who wants to discuss your kidnapping the month before.Ā
Heās been trying for weeks now.Ā
You trudge through the bedroom door to see Lex in the kitchen. You sniff and your stomach twists. You get closer and you have to stop.Ā
Bile collects in your mouth, and you rush to the bathroom. He calls out for you in concern, rushing towards you as you keel over the toilet bowl.Ā
āWhat were you making that smelled so disgusting?ā you groan. His cooking skills were mediocre at best. You werenāt surprised by the horrible smell.Ā
āEggs.āĀ
He could see the wheels turning in your head. You missed your period, but youāve always had irregular months.Ā
Your ears ring, you want to puke but not from the smell of breakfast.Ā
Now that you thought about it. Your boobs were sore, you brushed it off as a long-term side effect of the chemicals. You were spotting for a few days. You felt off.Ā
You slam the door on Lexās face and scour through the drawers underneath the sink. A fresh box of pregnancy tests was almost gleaming at you.Ā
You curse Lex. The bastard planned this.Ā
You sit on the toilet for more than two minutes. Your legs shake, your hands smooth over your thighs anxiously.Ā
Youāre pretty sure it was Supermanās. You hoped it was just to spite Lex.Ā
You shake your head and put your head in your hands. You hope it wasnāt anybodyās!Ā
You pick up the test and close your eyes tightly. You open them and your heart drops. Your body goes cold.Ā
Lex gleams with joy as you scream in a mix of frustration and pent-up anxiety. You open the door and shove the test to his chest.
He watches you pack your belongings.Ā Ā
It was positive.Ā
āāāāāāāāāā
Baby daddy needs to lock inā¦ Lex Luthor is so freaky I fear he would make a scheme to carry the child himself if he biologically could. Anyways, I donāt feel great about this one. Idk. Let me know if y'all want more of this reader.Ā
Synopsis: Clark brings home some alien tech from the Watchtower to test. You use it to handcuff him to the couchāand spend the next hour using his cock like a toy. But you push him too far. When the cuffs snap and the god in your bed breaks free, he decides itās time to remind you exactly whoās in control.
cw: Explicit sexual content. Bondage/restraints (Kryptonian power-dampening cuffs). Power imbalance (Reader starts in control, then is overpowered). Dom/sub dynamics (dom!Clark, sub!Reader). Rough sex/punishment sex. Degradation & dirty talk. Overstimulation & edging. Spanking, hair pulling, manhandling. Furniture damage (because, yāknowā¦ Superman).
āIām just saying,ā Clark mutters as he sets the silver cuffs on the table, ātheyāre designed to suppress Kryptonian strength. Bruce wanted me to test them. For science.ā
You raise an eyebrow. āScience, huh?ā
He shrugs, broad chest stretching beneath the Henley you bought himācharcoal gray, worn thin. You saunter over slowly, hips swaying, voice dipped in honeyed sin. āSo they work even on you?ā
He nods, a little unsure now, sensing the shift in your tone. āYeah. Temporarily. Once they click, they neutralizeāā
Click.
āOh,ā you grin, settling yourself onto his lap as he stares in wide-eyed disbelief, wrists cuffed behind him, arms pinned awkwardly against the couch cushions. āYou were saying?ā
āWaitāā he starts, but youāre already grinding down, your cunt bare, wet, warm, leaving a slick mess on the outline of his thick cock straining against his sweatpants.
āOh, baby,ā you purr, biting your lip. āYouāre so fucked.ā You straddle his lap, the weight of you pressing into his thighs, your palms pressed to his bare chest. His breath stutters when you roll your hips, slowly grinding over the hard length tenting beneath his briefs.
āBaby,ā he breathes, voice wrecked already, tugging at the restraints. They donāt budge. Not an inch. āYou donāt know what those areāā
āOh, I definitely do.ā You smirk, dragging your nails down his pecs. āKryptonian power-dampening cuffs. Bruce was very chatty the last time I asked.ā
Clark jerks again, involuntarily. āYou asked Batman about bondage equipment? Howād you evenāā
āAsked? No, baby,ā you coo. āI negotiated. Said I wanted to experiment with... control.ā You roll your hips hard against his lap, grinding your dripping cunt down on the thick ridge of his cock. The wet sound it makes is obscene, and the way he shudders beneath you is even better. āBruce was more than happy to contribute to the cause. For science.ā
Clark groans, head tipping back against the cushions, his breath stuttering. The cuffs clink behind him as he flexes againāpure muscle under soft skin, restrained and raging beneath you.
āYou donāt know what youāre playing with,ā he warns, voice hoarse, already straining to keep it together. āThose thingsāfuckāif I canāt move, I canāt stopāā
āExactly.ā You drag your wet folds along his length again, this time slow, taunting. āThatās the whole point you purr, shifting back just enough to pull his cock free. It slaps against his stomachāhard, flushed, leaking already. His thighs twitch beneath you.Ā
Then you sink down, slow and steady, inch by thick, throbbing inch, until your pussy's stuffed full and tight around him. His head falls back, āF-fuckāā
You start to ride him, rougher, wet, obscene sounds fill the room. His cuffs rattle against the frame, arms flexing, knuckles white. You bounce harder, dragging your nails down his abs, feeling every helpless twitch of his hips beneath you.
He bucksātries toāonly for the cuffs to jolt him still. His jaw clenches, muscles twitching. His cock throbs inside you, helpless to the rhythm you set.
āPlease,ā he pants, voice cracking. āPleaseāfuck, justāā
āWhat, baby?ā you mock sweetly, clenching tight. āYou want to cum?ā
He nods desperately. Eyes glassy. Cock pulsing.
You stop. Just sit there. Letting his cock twitch inside your soaked cunt while you drag your nails down his chest, leaving little angry red lines. āYou donāt cum until I say. Understand?ā
He groans loud, full-body shudder rocking through him. His thighs shake beneath you. Sweat beads on his temple, muscles straining uselessly as you ride him harderāgrinding down, taking every inch, fucking yourself stupid on his cock.
His biceps flex behind him, bulging against the cuffs as he tries so fucking hard to obey. His cock is rock hard and soaked, buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt, twitching with every pulse of his heart. You clench againātight, possessiveāand ride him harder, fucking down so your ass smacks loud against his thighs, so every bounce makes him strain and jerk like heās fighting for air.
āIāI canātāā he gasps, the words raw, wrecked. āYouāre gonna make meāfuckāI canāt hold itāā
You roll your hips in tight little circles, grinding down hard against the base of his cock while your pussy pulses around him, āPlease,ā he begs again, the word cracked and high, more needy than youāve ever heard from him. āLet me comeāplease, Iāll do anythingāā
And thenāyou stop. Just. Stop. Sitting there on his cock, warm and tight, full and unmoving. His whole body jolts like heās been electrocuted, a ragged fuck bursting from his chest as he writhes beneath you. The cuffs clink and rattle, but they donāt give. His eyes fly open, wild and ruined and utterly desperate.
āUnlock them.ā
You blink.
āā¦what?ā
His eyes open, slow and seething, pupils blown wide with something unholy. Sweat drips down his temple. His chest is heaving, his cock throbbing inside your dripping cuntāāI said,ā he growls, quiet and murderous, ātake. the cuffs. off.ā
You clench involuntarily. Fuck.
"Clarkā"
His head tilts, slow, predatory. āYou really thought you could edge me, ride me like a toy, tell me when Iām allowed to comeāā he laughs once, sharp and cruel, āāand get away with it?ā
You swallow hard. Your cunt clenches around him again, and he feels it. His lip curls, his cock twitching inside you, āBabyā¦ā you whisper, suddenly breathless, suddenly very aware of the power shift. āIt was justāit was supposed to be funāā
āOh, it will be.ā His smile is fucking feral. āFor me.āĀ
A crack shudders through the airāmetal groaning, splintering. You glance back. The cuffs. Theyāre breaking. āKryptonian-grade,ā he grits out, ānot Superman-proof.ā
With one final flex, the restraints snapāmetal shattering, arms flying freeāand you donāt even get a second to react before youāre flipped, slammed back into the couch cushions, legs wrenched wide open as he growls into your neck.
āOh fuckāā you gasp, eyes wide, breath punched out of your lungs.
He grabs your hips and slams into you, burying himself balls-deep in one brutal stroke. Your scream echoes off the walls. āYou edge me again, you use me like that againāā he growls into your ear, voice molten with wrath and lust, āāyou wonāt walk for a fucking week.ā
āPlease,ā you cry, nails dragging down his back. āIāll be goodāpromiseāIāll be so good for you, Clarkāā
Your legs are shaking, pinned high against his chest now, pushed back so deep you can feel him everywhere. Youāre a wet, moaning mess beneath him, tears pricking your eyes as you try to hold on.
āThatās it,ā he pants, voice wrecked now, slamming into you deep. āTake it. Take my cock. Take what you fucking started.ā
āY-Yes, baby, yes, pleaseāā
āYou gonna cum without permission now?ā he hisses against your cheek.
āN-Noāno, Iāll wait, Iāll be goodāfuck, Iāll be so good, just pleaseāā
No rhythmājust raw, brutal need, cock pistoning into your soaked, stretched cunt like heās trying to break you open. The couch bangs against the wall. Your back arches off the cushions. You scream again, high and choked, nails clawing his shoulders as pleasure courses through every nerve ending in your body. Clark growls something filthy, thrusts twice more, and buries himself deepācock twitching, cum flooding your cunt in hot, thick pulses.Ā
By the time you both collapse, shaking and soaked, Clark pulls you against his chest, panting hard. āYou ever cuff me again,ā he murmurs against your temple, voice hoarse and dark, āyou better be ready to pay for it.ā His cock twitches inside you.āā¦Round two,ā he mutters. āGet on your knees.ā
a/n: trying to distract myself from having more anxietyyyy life is hills and valleys and everything happens for a reason, life is so magical and I swear Iām not having a psychotic break. post grad life is so vacation and existential dread at the same time! anyways love u hoes
pairing: clark kent (superman 2025) x journalist!reader
summary: heās soft. earnest. 6ā4 of midwestern guilt and golden retriever loyalty. and he looks at you like you invented the sun. youāre fine. everythingās fine. itās just friends-with-benefits. you're not a thing. but clark? clark has always been there. warm, steady, maddeningly soft. indulging your commitment-phobic nonsense with quiet patience and those unfairly good dimples. until suddenlyāheās not. listen to the playlist here!
word count: 11.2k (jesus christ, i am so sorry)
content warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, piv sex, they freak NASTY in this one, dom/sub undertones, soft dom!clark, sub!reader, brat/brat taming, oral (fem!receiving), marathon sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, shower sex, eye contact, mentions of bdsm and handcuffs, light marking kink, nipple play, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), then unprotected sex, rough sex, riding, mentions of sex toys, clark picks the reader up, mentions of reader's hair, commitment issues, situationship survivor!clark, ungodly amounts of yearning and denial, angst, happy ending
It doesnāt start with sex.
It starts with Clark.
Which is to say: it starts with Metropolisās biggest, most overgrown corn-fed boy scout, who gets flustered every time you swear, who says things like āgoshā and āwhat the hayā without a trace of irony, and who you once watched spend ten full minutes trying to politely decline a street hotdog but the vendor just ālooked so hopeful.ā
You met him on your third and a half day at the Daily Planet.
He spilled coffee on you. A full cup. Right down the front of your blazer. Frothy iced caramel latte catastrophe. He panicked immediatelyārushed through an apology so fast you barely caught the wordsāthen offered, in complete earnestness, to dry-clean your coat. Not send it to the dry cleaner. Do it himself. Like it was the gentlemanly thing to do. You just stared at him, dripping, blinking. āAre you okay?ā you asked, because someone had to.
He noddedātoo fastāthen proceeded to trip over the recycling bin just trying to get you napkins.
Youāve been friends ever since.
Itās not the cleanest origin story.
But over time, somehow, Clark became your person.
Not in the ācall-at-3-a.m.-while-sobbingā kind of way (thatās Jimmy), or the ābring-wine-and-insult-your-evil-exā kind of way (also Jimmy).Ā
But in a steadier, quieter way. You write your little articles; he helps edit them. You fight with your sources on the sidewalk; he bakes them apology muffins the day after to make sure they don't contact Perry. You cover Metropolis politics like itās trench warfare, and he smiles across the bullpen at you like youāre doing Godās work even when you're calling the mayor a āpower-drunk thumb in a trench coat and a receding hairline you can see from space.ā
Heās your constant. Steady and reliable and always five degrees too soft for this world.
Which is exactly why it doesnāt make sense.
Why, one night, it allā¦ shifts.
.
Youāre soaked.
Not in the steamy, sexy way. Not even in the Charli-XCX-Spring-Breakers kind of soaked.
Just: wet. Unpleasantly. In that half-drenched, trench-foot, what-is-my-life kind of way.
The weather app lied again (seriously, Metropolis Weather has one job), and your jacket is now suctioned to your body like a bad ex. Your boots have crossed the line from āwater-resistantā to a really bad āSwamp Thing cosplay,ā and your toteāhome to your press pass and a sad little Tupperware of soggy couscousāis dripping like itās auditioning for a plumbing ad.
So when Clark offers his placeāsoft-voiced, ever-accommodating, all that big dumb golden retriever energyāyou say yes.
Not because youāre weak. Please.
Because he lives closer.
Logistically. Geographically.
(Okay, maybe emotionally, too, but youāll unpack that when your socks arenāt squelching like a really bad porno.)
So now youāre in his apartment. Standing in the entryway. Leaving a trail of water on his hardwood floors while he gently, gently hands you a towel and fiddles with the thermostat and says things like, āYouāre going to catch a cold if you donāt change out of those clothes.ā
And you, being the self-possessed adult that you are, snort and say, āThank you, Mom.ā
Clark blushes.
Actually blushes. Like a cartoon character. Like a man who has never, in his life, imagined someone undressing in his home, which is hilarious, given that youāve seen the size of his arms.Ā
āSorry,ā he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. āI just meantā¦ yeah. Youāre soaked.ā
His place smells like cinnamon and laundry detergent. Thereās a candle burning on the kitchen counterāone of those $9.99 specials from Bath & Body Works. You imagine him in the store, earnestly reading the label on something called "Warm Vanilla Sugar" while the cashier tries to upsell him on a five-for-fifteen deal.
The image makes your lips curl. Your mascara's halfway down your cheekbones, your calves are cramping from the walk, and you should really, really, really just go take a hot shower and crash on his couch.
Instead, you look at him.
And heās looking back.
Not like most men doānot the bar-stool inventory of what you are and arenāt. Not a scan. Not a question. More like a memory. Like heās already filed you away in some quietly treasured part of his brain and heās just taking the time to make sure the details are right. Like you are known.
You donāt think. You donāt make a plan. You just move.
Step forward. Grab the lapels of his flannel like it owes you money. Pull him down. Kiss him.
Itās not graceful. Not choreographed. You catch his chin at a weird angle, and your nose bumps into his, and the kiss lands too sharp, too fast. Like youāre trying to stun him. Like youāre trying to win a fight.
But then, he exhales.
And he melts. Not urgently. Not hungrily. Justā¦ fully.
Like this is the thing heās been waiting on for months, and now that itās finally happening, heās scared to spook it. His hands hover for a beat, like heās making sure itās real, and then one comes to rest lightly on your waistātentative, patient. The other curls around your jaw with all the softness of a man who has no business being this gentle.
You break the kiss first, of course.
Because you always break things first.
When you look at him, he's staring at you like you invented language. Like he doesnāt know what to do with his hands, so they hover awkwardly at your sides, respectful, warm, and shaking just a little.
Which is when the panic crashes in.
Heās not supposed to look at you like that. Like you hung the stars. Like he knows you. Like he loves you.
Because if he does. If he really, truly does. Then eventually, heāll stop.
They always stop.
People love you in the beginning. They love your bite, your snark, the way you know which part of a politician's background are most incriminating. They love the thrill of earning your attention. They love that you make them work for it. But eventually, the charm fades. The sharp edges cut a little too deep.Ā
You forget to text back. You overshare. You undershare. You get tired. You get real.
And they get bored.
Youāve never wanted to risk that with Clark. Heās been yoursājust yours, in the safe wayāfor too long.
You step back like the floor might collapse under you.Ā
Put space. Justā¦ anything between your body and the soft burn of his flannel. Try not to think about how fucking warm he was. āShitāuh. You donāt have to say anything,ā you blurt, voice too fast, too thin. āWe can pretend it didnāt happen. Go back to normal. Thatās fine.ā
Clarkās brows knit, not in offense, just concern. He doesnāt look hurt. He looksā¦ steady. Like he expected this part. āAre you sure?ā
The way he asks it is soft. Unhurried. Like itās not some ultimatum. Like itās okay if you're not sure.
You open your mouth. Close it. Swallow.
āI justāā You press your fingers to your temple, like maybe that might just reorganize your entire internal filing system. āYou know I donāt do relationships.ā
āI know,ā he says, without hesitation.
You study himāreally study himālike youāre trying to find the catch. Some hint of disappointment or wounded ego. But it isnāt there.
He reaches up slowly and tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, his touch feather-light. āYou donāt have to do anything youāre not ready for.ā
You blink. āEven if Iām the one who kissed you?ā
Clark smiles, just barely. āEspecially then.ā
His hand lingers near your cheek, but he doesnāt push. Heās patient in that maddening, disarming way. Waiting, always, for you to meet him halfway.
āWhatever you want,ā he says again, quiet. āIām good with that.ā
You stare at him. āYouāre really not gonna argue?ā
āNope.ā
āNot gonna psychoanalyze me? Tell me Iām avoidant or emotionally stunted or terrified of my own vulnerability?ā
He huffs a small laugh. āAlready did. Long time ago.ā
Your lips twitch despite yourself. āAnd?ā
He shrugs, like itās the easiest truth in the world. āYouāre complicated. But you care. A lot. More than you let people see.ā
And damn it, you hate how much that lands. How much he lands. You hate that heās always been able to see through you, gently, without ever demanding more than you could give. And you hateāmore than anything, more than all of thatāhow badly you want to kiss him again.
So you do.
Maybe to prove a point. Maybe to blow it all up before it can settle. Maybe because youāre already in too deep and part of you is tired of pretending youāre not.
You didnāt plan for it to go further. You didnāt plan anything, really.Ā
But your hands slide up into the open collar of his flannel, and he stumbles a little as you back him into the bookshelf. His glasses tilt when your fingers brush his temple, and you pull them off carefully, reverently, like theyāre the only thing tethering you both to whatever was before.
His eyes are wide. His mouth already parted. And when he looks up at you like thisāflushed, breathless, undoneāyou think, mine.
And itās terrifying.
Because it means itās real.
It happened.
God.
It happened.
.
You strip him out of that worn flannel with a kind of sick, obsessive care. Button by button, like you were unwrapping a gift, like you were unearthing something youād been searching for in every bad date, every failed talking stage, every mediocre bar makeout that had ever left you cold.
His flannel hit the floor. He doesn't say a word.
Not until you settle into his lap, thighs on either side of his. Thenāquietly, like he wasnāt sure if it was okay to want anythingāhe says, āYouā¦ you donāt have to be gentle. Just, just in case. So you know.ā
But you are. Because he is.Ā
Because even now, even with your mouth to his, your hands fisted in his curls, his hands stay light on your hips. Like he doesn't want to take more than youād give. Like he's still giving you the option to leave.
He makes a sound when your hips tilted forward. Not a groan, not exactly. Something deeper. A noise from his chest, halfway between a gasp and a plea. You kiss more of it out of him, mouths clumsy and desperate, fingers scrabbling at the hem of his undershirt, and it feels like breathing.
His breath's caught between his teeth when you rip a condom wrapper in between yours, slotting it onto him with shaking, shaking hands and trying not think about how he's probably the biggest you've ever had.
Lord have mercy.
You ride him like your life depends on it.
You get a thigh cramp halfway throughālet out an annoyed groan and tried to keep goingāand he, sweet, precious idiot that he is, sits up and says your name like it hurt. Voice quivering like he wants to stop, wants to help, wants to make sure you're okay.
Absolutely no way in hell you wanted that to happen.
āClark,ā you hissed. āChill. I'm okay, dude. Iām fine.ā
āOkay,ā he said, dazed, grinning. āJustādidnāt want you to get hurt. I mean. Youāre, uh. You were very intense. Just now.ā
āYeah, well, youāre the one with the dick that's slowly rearranging my guts,ā you mutter, and he laughs so hard his shoulders shook.
And worseāgoddamn it, worseāhe looks at you the whole time.
No games. No posing. Just Clark. Holding your hips with those handsāgod, those hands, unfairly big and warm and steadyāand looking up at you like he meant it.
Youād told him once, over shitty fries past midnight on the curb at McDonald's, that you didnāt trust men who made eye contact during sex. Called it performative. Manipulative.Ā
āLike theyāre trying to Jedi mind-trick you into thinking itās love,ā youād scoffed, and he'd gone quiet in that way he does, not sulking, just thinking. But that he was filing it away.
So of courseāof courseāwhen you're bare above him, hair a mess, mascara still clinging to your cheekbones, all vulnerable and exposed and teetering over the edge because his dick was doing wonderful, amazing things to your insides and making you meltā
He looks up at you with that open, earnest face and asks, softly:
āDo you want me to close my eyes?ā
You freeze. Like an absolute idiot. Like prey.
And you say no.
"No."
Never.
He nods. āOkay.ā
Then he kissed the inside of your wristājust because it was thereāand you lost ten entire emotional minutes and your grip on reality, grinding down on him like your life depended on it.
You come so hard you forgot your name.Ā
Forget what you were supposed to be protecting yourself from. Forget every lie youāve ever told yourself aboutĀ the depth of your feelings for him.
It was insane. Deranged.
(Perfect.)
Later, three orgasms later, you collapse over him in a ridiculous heap of limbs and half-dressed post-coital delirium, forehead pressed to his shoulder, chest still heaving.
And he whispered something into your hairāsomething low and steady and not quite the word love, but so close it that it scraped through your head.
Then he hums.
You donāt recognize it at firstājust the vibration under your cheek, the low murmur of a tune, warm and unassuming. Youāre half-asleep, boneless, and not fully aware he's still inside of you, pulsing, your fingers curled around his neck.
But you listen.
āYou humming Dolly right now?ā you murmur, voice hoarse.
Clark hums a little louder. āāHere You Come Again.āā Then, almost shy, āSheās good. What?ā
You groan into his chest. āYou absolute dork.ā
āI like her,ā he says, defensive. āSheās smart. You know she gave away, like, a million books toāwait, are you laughing?ā
You are. Full-on giggling into his shoulder now. Giddy and too full and sore in all the best ways.
.
And you really don't mean to keep it going in the morning, let aloneĀ in the shower.
Truly.Ā
You're just trying to get clean.Ā
Wash off the evidence of the night beforeāsweat and come and a whole lifeās worth of repressed emotional distressābut then, Clark steps in right behind you, warm and quiet and too gentle.Ā
And suddenly it was over for you. Just absolutely fucking over.
He offers to join, sheepish and bashful, eyes flicking away like he hadnāt just had his face between your thighs just a few hours ago. āJust to save water,ā he says. ā'Cause of the environmentā¦ and all that.ā
And sure, Clark. You absolute liar. The environment.
Except the second he steps in behind youānaked, dripping wet, glasses still off so he looked all boyish and wreckableāyour resolve crumples like wet newspaper.
He reaches around you for the body wash and that was your downfall. Arm flexing around your waist, that goddamn baritone rumble in your ear as he asks, āThis one okay?ā
Like you're supposed to justāwhat? function when his voice was doing that thing? That was supposed to be okay?
But then his hands are on your hipsāsteady, reverent, hugeāand you tilt your head back just enough to graze his jaw. He flinches. Or maybe you do. And before either of you could process it, your palm's flat against the tile and Clark was slowly pressing himself against your back.
āOkay?ā he asks, voice a little too hoarse, a little too human.
You nod. āYeah. Justādonāt be sweet about it.ā
āBut I'm always sweet about it,ā he mumbles, and then he was, dragging a hand up your stomach, brushing your wet hair off your neck, mouthing at the base of your spine like he was making a wish.
He moves inside you slow.Ā
Like he means it. Like he thinks heād scare you off if he went too fast. And it was disgusting, really, how good it felt. How intimate all of this was.
Your knees nearly buckle. You have to brace yourself with both palms on the glass, forehead pressed against fogged-up safety plastic, biting down on your own goddamn fist to keep from crying out his name like something from a romance novel.
(You still did, eventually. He made sure of that when he pressed one large hand up against your stomach so you can feel him, really feel him, and another down your front, rubbing at your clit like it was a lifeline until you saw stars.)
When it was overāwhen your legs were jelly and your throat was raw and your spine was doing that post-orgasm melt thingāyou turn to rinse the shampoo out of your hair, and he justā¦ helped. Without you even having to say anything.
He lathers it for you, gentle and thorough, massaging your scalp. His cheeks are pink. His mouth is pink. You think about biting him. Maybe.
But instead, you let yourself lean into his chest while the water poured down over both of you, and you didnāt speak, because if you spoke, it would become too real.
So, you just let him wash your back.
He didnāt ask you to stay.
You didnāt ask if he wanted you to.
But when you wander out of the bedroom ten minutes laterāhalf-wet, flushed, wearing his old Central Kansas A&M hoodie like it hadnāt just been folded neatly in a drawerāyou find him in the kitchen, humming again.Ā
Making pancakes.
āYou want blueberries in yours?ā he asks, like he didnāt have his dick in you in the shower ten minutes ago.
And youātraumatized, horny, emotionally compromisedāyou say, āSure."
Then, because your brain has finally rebooted just enough to return to its default defense mechanism:
āAlso, we need to talk.ā
Clark pauses mid-pour, then turns around, spatula still in hand. āOkay,ā he says, unbothered. His voice is calm, casual. Like you didnāt almost combust from having maybe, fourāno, five or six orgasms in his arms over the past twelve hours.
You cross your arms over your chest, over his sweatshirt. āLast nightāand this morning was great. I mean, objectively. A solid eight out of ten. No complaints.ā
He looks amused. āOnly eight?ā
āIām leaving room for improvement,ā you say, defensive. āBut I just want to be clear again that this isnātā¦ this isnāt a thing.ā
Clark nods slowly. āOkay.ā
You squint at him. āYouāre not going to ask what I mean by that?ā
āWell,ā he says, lips twitching, āIāuh, I figured Iād let you finish your prepared statement first.ā
You gape at him. āI knew I was giving Perry's press conference energy.ā
āYouāre even holding your coffee like a mic.ā
You glance down. You are. Damn it.
He walks over, sets your pancake on the table next to you, and then settles into the armchair across from the couch. His legs are way too long. He has to fold them a little awkwardly, which should be goofy, but somehow only makes him look more like someone who could carry you up a mountain and apologize for the inconvenience while doing it.
You sip your coffee. Clear your throat. āSo. Ground rules.ā
He raises his brows. āRules?ā
āYes. Rules. Guidelines. Frameworks for how thisā¦ goes.ā
Clark tilts his head. āYou mean forā¦ us?ā
āNo, for NATO,ā you deadpan. āYes, us.ā
He tries to cover a laugh with a sip of his own mug, but you see the dimple twitch. Smug bastard.
You forge ahead. āOkay. Rule one: this is casual. Very casual. Likeā¦ like āyou can sleep with other peopleā casual.ā
Clark nods, slow. Thoughtful. āDo you want to sleep with other people?ā
āNo,ā you admit. Then scowl. āBut I want to have the option.ā
āRight,ā he says, nodding. āThe illusion of freedom.ā
āExactly. Waitā"
Heās smiling at you now. Soft and fond and dangerously amused.
You plow on. āWhatever. Rule two: no romantic stuff. No dates. NoālikeāValentineās Day cards or surprise cupcakes or, God forbid, foot rubs.ā
āYouāre really against foot rubs?ā
āI just think they set a tone.ā
Clark looks at his plate. āWhat if I just make you pancakes sometimes?ā
You narrow your eyes. āPancakes are a gray area. I'm only allowing it this time."
āNoted.ā
You tuck your feet under you. āRule three: no falling in love.ā
He looks up.
Thereās a pause. A beat of silence so thick it fills the whole room.
You add, quickly, āI know that sounds dramatic, but Iāve seen what love does to people, and itās terrifying. They lose brain cells. They post Instagram captions like āmy foreverā with sparkly emojis. They start making weird couple TikToks where they throw cheese slices at each otherās heads. I canāt be part of that kind of ecosystem. I'm lactose intolerant."
Clarkās smiling again. Not in the ha ha youāre sooooo funny way. In the I think youāre the best thing to ever happen to me way, which is very much against the rules.
āAre you even taking this seriously?ā you demand.
āI am,ā he says, clearly lying. āYouāre very intimidating.ā
You roll your eyes and gesture wildly. āIām just saying! I donāt want this to become something that implodes because IāGod, because I canāt remember your favorite pizza topping one day and suddenly weāreāwe're not friends anymore and splitting custody of houseplants andĀ fucking Cat is stuck writing a gossip column about it.ā
Clark chuckles. A pause. āwell, for the record? My favorite pizza topping is mushrooms.ā
You wrinkle your nose. āThatās a red flag.ā
āYouāre the one writing up a treaty before brunch.ā
āExactly,ā you say, triumphant. āSee? Weāre incompatible.ā
Clark leans forward slightly.Ā
The sunlight from the window cuts across his glasses, but you can still see his eyes, warm and impossibly blue, locked on yours like youāre the only person in Metropolis who matters. āI think youāre scared,ā he says gently. āWhich is okay. I just want you to knowā¦ Iām not going anywhere. Rules or not.ā
And thatā
God. That should not make your eyes burn the way it does.
You shake your head, fast. āDonāt say stuff like that. Itās dangerous. Youāll trick me into liking you more.ā
āIām just being honest.ā
āWell, stop.ā
He raises a brow. āWhat do I do if I want to kiss you?ā
You freeze.
Your heart does a complicated backflip-kick into your ribs.
ā...well, that's allowed,ā you mutter.
He smiles again, dimple sinking deep.
And then, because heās a menace with zero self-preservation, he leans in.
You meet him halfway.
And itās soft this time. Sweeter. Slower. No rain, no adrenaline, just his hand cradling your jaw and your fingers twisted in the hem of his t-shirt like youāre trying to anchor yourself to something real.
.
It's been months now of your little arrangement. And you're already destroyed by the time he even speaks.
Not because heās touched you yet. Not really. Heās just there, mouth warm against the inside of your thigh, hands stroking the back of your knees like youāre something delicate. Something precious.
Which is so fucked. You are not precious.
You told him that that, breathless and still shirtless and sitting on his kitchen counter at midnight while he gently fed you the leftover peach cobbler Martha left for the two of you straight from the fridge.
He just nodded. Wiped away the crumb left on the edge of your lip. Said, āOkay.ā
And then he kissed the inside of your wrist again and said, āYouāre still allowed to want things, you know.ā
Which isāgod, so not fair.Ā
Now heās between your legs, kissing a line up your thigh like heās praying. Heās been taking his time. Like the goal isnāt to get you off, but to study you. Like heās memorizing the exact way your breath catches and the little twitch of your fingers every time he licks just close enough to your center, but not quite.
Youāre panting. Whimpering. Biting your lip so hard youāre pretty sure you taste blood.
And heās grinning. Not cockyājust happy. Which is so much, so much worse.
āYouāre staring at me again,ā you breathe.
Clark hums, kissing just below your hip. āI just like looking at you.ā
āThatās crazy,ā you whisper. āYouāre crazy.ā
āProbably.ā He kisses your navel. āDo you want me to stop?ā
You whine. You actually whine. You feel like you've just set feminism back by centuries. āNo.ā
āDidnāt think so,ā he murmurs, nuzzling into your skin. And then, because heās the devil in a button-up: āYou know, the way you objectify me is honestly very inappropriate. Iām not just aājust a piece of meat, you know.ā
You bark out a laugh, head tipping back against the pillow. āSo bad news, you're actually a mountain of meat, man.ā
āSee? Objectified.ā He presses a kiss just below your ribs. āReduced to myāākissāāridiculous shouldersāākissāāand tragic dimplesāākissāāand stupidly proportionate thighsāā
āI didnāt say anything about your thighsāā
āOh, but I think you were thinking it.ā
You giggle, delirious. Drunk on this man. āGod, shut up and fuck me.ā
Clark goes still.
Not awkwardlyāthis isnāt early-days Clark, the one who used to stammer when you wore red lipstick when you came over and knocked over his own coffee trying to offer you a napkin.Ā
This Clarkāthe one under you now, hands broad and firm against your thighs, spine pressed into the worn couch like itās the only thing keeping him from rising into the skyāthis Clark is different.Ā Ā
Heās grown into himself. Into this. Into you.
Not cocky, not exactly. But assured in a way that makes your stomach clench and your mouth go dry. Youāve seen it happen slowly. Like the sunriseāyou didnāt notice until the whole room was full of it.
This Clark doesn't flinch when you flirt, doesnāt panic when your mouth goes sharp or your eyes go guarded. He justā¦ waits. He sees it all. Lets you burn yourself out. And then lays a hand on your cheek like youāre made of something precious.
Still, he doesnāt move.
And thatās what sets you off.
You squirm, shifting your weight in his lap, irritated now. āWhat?ā
He looks up at you, his jaw tight, hands still splayed over your thighs like he doesnāt know whether to hold on or let go. Thereās something in his eyes, sharp, patient, impossibly tender, and it makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to name.
āYou really want that?ā he asks, voice low.
You roll your eyes. āYou think I climbed onto your face to do taxes?ā
āThatās not what I asked.ā
Your stomach flips. You hate when he does this. Gets all serious and calm and measured while youāre flailing, clearly two seconds away from combusting. You cross your arms over your chestāpetulant, defensive. āClark.ā
āYou say stuff like that,ā he murmurs, one hand slowly dragging up the back of your thigh, ābut then you pull back like Iāve asked for your soul.ā
You glare at him. āIām not pulling back.ā
He lifts a brow. āYou havenāt even kissed me yet.ā
You scowl. āI was about to, but youāre being annoying.ā
His smile is crooked, lazy, maddening. āYeah? Gonna punish me for it?ā
Your heart skips. You hate that you love it when he talks like that. You hate that heās rightāthat youāre the one drawing lines in the sand and then pretending you donāt care when he steps over them.
You lean down, hover over his mouth. āI swear to god, if you donāt do something soon, Iām walking out that door.ā
He catches your jaw in one hand, gentle but firm. āYou wonāt.ā
āWatch me.ā
His thumb drags over your bottom lip. Lets it pop out just a bit, so you can feel the way the wetness drips over your chin. āYou always say that. You never do.ā
Your breath stutters. Your spine goes stiff. You hate how much he knows you. You hate that heās always so calm about it, so damn tender, even when heās calling you out.
āIām not just a warm body, you know,ā he says after a beat, the faintest furrow between his brows. āIf thatās what you wanted, you shouldāve picked someone who doesnāt look at you like I do.ā
You blink. āAnd how is that?ā
Clark tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours. āLike I actually see you.ā
You hate him for that. A little.
But you kiss him anyway.
Hard. Sharp. Like a warning.
And then he flips youāeffortless, smooth, like it doesnāt take more than a breath. One of his hands pins your wrists above your head. The other trails slow up the curve of your thigh. His mouth finds your neck, and you gaspānot in surprise, but because itās too much. Heās too much.
āYou keep asking me to take you apart,ā he murmurs against your skin, ābut you never let me show you what it actually means.ā
āOh my god,ā you groan, shivering under him. āYou are so fuckingāā
āWhat?ā he interrupts, dragging his mouth back up to yours. āSoft? Serious? A buzzkill?ā
You donāt respond. Youāre too busy squirming, too busy arching into him, because heās right. Again.
āToo bad,ā he murmurs, smiling like a secret. āYou donāt get to run the show tonight.ā
And you're already clawing at his back by the time he finally pushes in. And god, fuck, itāsā
Heās so much. Too much. Even now, even after months of attempting to get used to him, after a minimum of one hour of foreplay every time, hours spent fingering you open and devouring you whole and it still makes your spine tingle in the best way possible. The push and pull of it every time, the struggle, the way he looks at you so, so proudly when he's bottomed out and your smiling from under him like you've just won the lottery.
You make a soundāsomething small, strangled, "Clark."āand he doesnāt shush you this time.
He smiles.
āThere it is,ā he murmurs. āNow weāre being honest.ā
.
Then one day, Clark cancels a lunch.
Thatās it. Thatās all. Not the end of the world.
He texts you a sweet apology. Too many words, as always, classic Clark, something about a lead on some money laundering story and āIāll bring dinner to make up for it, promise, anything you want, even that overpriced pasta from the place with the weird chairs.ā He adds three emojis. Two are completely nonsensical (a chicken and a rain cloud?). One is a little heart. You stare at it longer than you should.
You text back something breezy. Casual. āYouāre the one missing out on my lunchtime TedTalk about corrupt city councilmen and their tragic toupees.ā
He doesnāt respond until hours later. Just a thumbs-up emoji.
You tell yourself itās fine. You tell yourself you donāt care.
.
Then it happens again.
This time, you're already standing outside the Planet, coffee lukewarm, watching a construction crew down the block try to maneuver scaffolding around a new billboard. Itās another Superman PSAāthird this month. Something about disaster preparedness and blood drives. His capeās caught mid-whip, expression noble and inhumanly calm. You roll your eyes, but your stomach tugs a little. Something about the stillness in his postureāit looks almost familiar.
Your phone rings.
Clark.
You answer with a smirk, trying to make it light. āShould I be worried youāve joined a pyramid scheme? Please tell me youāre not selling supplements.ā
Thereās a pause, then his voice, warm but ragged around the edges: āIām so sorry. Something came up. Can I explain later?ā
You make some offhand joke about mafia debt collectors and say, āNo worries,ā even as your stomach twists.
He sounds tired. Tired in a way Clark never really gets. Youāre the one who burns out, who rants and paces and flirts with deadline-induced breakdowns. Heās the one who shows up with coffee and an extra pen. Always.
But now his voice has this roughness to it. Frayed edges. Like heās trying not to breathe too hard into the receiver. Like he just ran here. Or ran away from somewhere.
āAre you okay?ā you ask, before you can stop yourself.
Another pause. āYeah,ā he says, and he softens, like he always does when he hears your voice. āI will be.ā
.
By week three, heās dodging plans like itās his new hobby. Youāre not hurt, obviously. Youāre busy too. You have other friends. You go to bars. You flirt with bartenders youāll never text back. You have a whole life outside of this whole thing with Clark.
Itās not a relationship. Itās just a thing. A nice, dependable, sometimes pantsless thing.
Thatās all.
But still, thereās this night.
Youāre at your apartment. Thereās an old movie playing, something black and white and miserable, and Clark was supposed to be here an hour ago.
Youād ordered his favorite takeout. Youād even found that dumb craft soda he likes, the one that tastes vaguely like melted gummy worms. You told yourself you just wanted someone to share the noodles with.
He doesnāt show.
No call. No text.
You sit through the entire movie. Alone.
And when your phone finally buzzesāclose to midnight, just his name and a short, āIām so sorry. Can we talk soon?āā you stare at it for a long moment.
Then you flip your phone over, face-down.
And in the dark, you think, Shit. This is how it starts. The distance. The shift. The slow pulling away.
Youāve done it to people before.
You just never thought youād be on the receiving end.
Not from him.
Not from Clark.
.
Around 11:30, you open Twitter out of boredom. You donāt cry. That would imply something was wrong. That you were hurt. Youāre not. Obviously.
Youāre just a little annoyed.
And maybe, just mayb, youāre thinking about how Clark used to be your safest person. Your sure thing. Your just-text-me, just-call-me, just-walk-right-in-without-knocking guy.
And now heās something else. Something slippery. Something you have to squint at sideways to understand.
Your thumb scrolls through the usual mess. Politicians being embarrassing, memes youāre already tired of, some half-hearted discourse about whether the Metropolis skyline is over-designed or ādelightfully optimistic.ā
Then: a video clip.
No sound. Just shaky phone footage.
A blur of red and blue moving fastāstreaking through the air over Hobbs Bay, pulling someone from a collapsed scaffolding, leaving behind a wake of stunned bystanders and bent steel.
You pause. Watch it again. Retweets piling up.
BREAKING: Superman saves construction worker after scaffolding collapse.
You stare at it for a second longer than you mean to, then snort under your breath.
Must be nice, you think. Some people get rescued. Some other unlucky fuckers just get ghosted.
.
The message comes on a Thursday. One of those weirdly warm spring evenings when Metropolis smells like asphalt and deli grease and the last ten years of your bad decisions.
Hey. You free tonight?
You stare at it for a moment too long. Thumb hovering.
Then:
yeah. yours?
A pause.
If you want.
God, heās infuriating. Polite even now. Careful with you, like youāre made of something breakable. Like you havenāt already cracked half a dozen times this month alone.
Still, you go.
.
Itās not tense at first. Itās easy. Familiar.
Clark opens the door wearing one of those threadbare t-shirts that should be illegal, sleeves barely containing his biceps, neckline just a little too stretched from use. His hairās damp. Thereās flour on his cheek.
āYou baked?ā you ask, stepping past him before he can do that thing where he tries to gauge your mood like a barometer.
He shrugs. āFelt like it.ā
Thereās banana bread cooling on the counter. Two plates. One knife. Heās already sliced yours and left the end pieceāyour favoriteāon the left, like always.
You want to be mad. Or suspicious. Or anything that would make this easier to navigate. But itās hard to keep your footing when heās being like this. Soft. Normal. Like he didnāt flake three times last month. Like you hadnāt spent the last few nights half-dressed and overthinking on your bathroom floor
But them again, you could never really resist him for that long.
So maybe itās no surprise that your dress ends up pooled around your ankles. The lampās still on. Your mouths are moving like theyāve done this a hundred timesābecause you have, but it's not enough, will never be enoughāand youāre both pretending itās still casual. Still nothing.
Except it doesnāt feel like nothing.
And then Clark pulls back.
Not sharply. Not like heās been burned. More like he just remembered something, which, again, not unusual. Youāve seen that look before. That oh shit look.
But tonight, he doesnāt immediately jump up.Ā
He doesnāt mutter something about needing to check in with Perry or help Lois edit her headline.
He justā¦ stares at you.
And not in the usual way, not with those soft, soft eyes like youāre something he stumbled across in a field and decided to treasure. He looksāserious. Scared, even. His hand is still on your hip, but his other is twitching slightly at his side like it doesnāt know what to do with itself.
āWe need to talk,ā he says.
You still have one shoe on. You donāt even remember kicking the other off.
You blink at him. āIāwhat?ā
He licks his lips. His glasses are smudged. He doesnāt take them off.
āSomethingās beenāthereās something that I need to tell you,ā he says, slower now, like heās rehearsing this in real time and trying not to panic.
And thatāthat is when your stomach drops.
Because you know this script. Youāve seen this scene. The music swells, the camera pans in, the guy who smells like safety and Sunday mornings says he āneeds to talk,ā and then boom. Heartbreak, cut to black, roll credits.
You hold up a hand before he can say anything else. āWait. Justā¦ donāt. Yet.ā
Clark pauses. He blinks at you.
āLook,ā you say, backing up a step, scanning the room like youāre looking for your dignity. āIf this is about how Iāve been kind of, I donāt know, evasive or inconsistent or, like, deeply emotionally unavailable, I just want to say ā I know. Okay? You donāt have to do this so gently.ā
His face twists. āWhat?ā
āYouāre trying to break things off,ā you continue, steamrolling him, your voice way too steady for the freefall happening inside your chest. āAnd I get it. I do. Youāve been pulling away for weeks, you disappear all the time, you donāt sleep anymore, you look like youāve been hit by a truck most days, which I assumed was just bad reporting hours, but who knows, maybe itās metaphorical.ā
Clark tries again. āIām notāā
āItās fine,ā you say, voice louder now. āItās fine if you met someone. You donāt have to pretend itās not happening.ā
āI didnātāā
āYouāre allowed to outgrow this. Me. Whatever this is.ā
Your dress is still on the floor, and you suddenly want it back on like itās armor. You crouch to grab it, clumsy with urgency, your hands all wrong.
āI shouldāve seen it coming. You were too good to last. Guys like you donāt stick around for girls like me.ā
āHey,ā he says sharply, stepping forward, but you back away before he can reach you.
āDonāt,ā you say, holding your dress to your chest like a shield. āDonāt be nice to me about it.ā
Clark runs both hands through his hair. He looks like heās short-circuiting. āYouāre not even letting meāIām not trying to end this with you.ā
You stare at him, lips parted.
Heās breathing hard now. His glasses are askew. His shirtās wrinkled, and his jaw is clenched like heās holding something back with both hands.
āI was going to tell you something,ā he says, voice raw. āSomething real. Something Iāve never told anyone who didnāt already know.ā
You freeze.
Because that doesnāt sound like cheating.
That sounds like confession.
āWhat,ā you whisper, suddenly breathless. āLike a dark secret? You have a kid? Youāre actually married? Are you part of a mafia? Are youāOh my God. Are you a stripper?ā
āWhat?ā he blurts, completely thrown.
āI donāt know, Clark!ā your voice spikes, hands flying up. āWhat the hell could you possibly say right now that starts with āwe need to talkā and isnāt a relationship guillotine?ā
His eyes flick to the window. Just for a second. A glance, like instinct. And then right back to you.
And for the first time, you see it.
The quiet panic. The way his entire body is buzzing like a live wire under skin.
Like heās not scared of you.Ā Heās scared for you.
But itās too late. Youāve already built the wall and bricked yourself in.
You grab your dress, yanking it on with the dignity of a raccoon being evicted from a trash can. Somewhere behind you, Clark says your name again, gentle, like a bruise heās afraid to touch. You ignore it.
Instead, you just start collecting your things like a squirrel in crisis.
Becauseāand this is humiliatingāyouāve essentially moved into his place over the last year in the slowest, most passive-aggressive way possible. Not officially. Not āhey, should we get you some keys?ā But enough that the signs are there.Ā
Enough that you now have to do this, which is to say the break-up equivalent of packing a go-bag in the middle of a fire drill.
You grab the mug with the faded āCentral City Gazette Student Press 2013ā logo you refuse to drink out of at home because itās chipped, but which you do drink out of here, because Clark always makes tea the right way ā hot, strong, too much honey. You grab the copy of Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow you stole from his shelf three months ago and meant to pretend was yours all along. The sweatshirt he āforgotā you left here, that you āforgotā he noticed you wore to bed six times in a row.
You jam it all into your work tote like itās a goddamn body bag.
Then there are the smaller things. The stupid things.
The half-used notepad from a city council meeting where someone tried to blame vigilante-induced infrastructure damage on solar panels. The disposable camera from that one weekend in Smallville ā the one you never developed because the idea of seeing his parents smile at you felt too dangerous, too much like you might belong there.
And then you eye the drawer next to his bed. Your drawer, to get that clear, which was never explicitly claimed but which somehow holds one (1) pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs, two (2) half-empty bottles of lube, and three (3) protein bars, one of which is probably from last fiscal year. You shove it all into your bag, zipper groaning like a sad, sad accordion.
Clarkās still standing near the window, looking bewildered. Like he walked into the scene five minutes late and canāt tell who started the fire.
āWaitāare you leaving? You donāt have toājustācan we talk? Please?ā
You donāt look at him.
Instead, you gesture vaguely at your bag. āThis is just me doing a quick inventory of my terrible judgment. Donāt mind me.ā
āCan you stop for two seconds and just let meāā
āClark,ā you say, and your voice comes out quieter than you meant it to. āItās okay.ā
It isnāt. But youāre trying to win the emotional Olympics in the ācool and detachedā category, and youāre not about to blow it with something as devastating as eye contact.
You sling the bag over your shoulder and pause by the door.Ā
You consider saying something devastating and poetic. Something from Hamlet, maybe. Youāve always liked the line about cutting love out with a knife and it still bleeding. But instead, you give him a big, fake smile and an inexplicable hand up, like a contestant leaving Rupaul's Drag Race in disgrace.
āNo harm, no foul,ā you say. āTell whoever you're seeing that I say hi.ā
And then you leave.
.
You are, in every measurable way, unwell.
You donāt call it a breakup.
That would imply there was something official to break. That you were ever really together. That there was something solid under your feet to begin with, instead of months of teasing the edge, hovering over the line like two people too chicken to admit theyād already crossed it.
So, no. Not a breakup.
Justāa recalibration. A pause. A hot minute.
You say this to Jimmy, who narrows his eyes and says, āYouāre holding a spoon like a murder weapon right now, so Iām gonna circle back on the āhotā part of that minute.ā
You even say it to the woman at the corner bodegaāthe one who always gave Clark an extra packet of honey for his tea and once slipped you a protein bar when you looked particularly anemic on a deadline.
She glances up from restocking the gum and says, āHeās okay? The tall guy? With the glasses and the very... polite shoulders?ā
You blink. āSorry, what?ā
āHe always said thank you. For the bag. Like, sincerely.ā She squints at you. āYou were good together.ā
You make a sound of vague agreement and exit before she asks if you want your usual. (You do. But the idea of holding a wrap in your hands right now makes your stomach lurch.)
You take your PTO. Two weeks. You donāt tell anyone where youāre going, mostly because youāre not going anywhere. You lie in bed. You eat cereal out of a mug. You watch a three-hour documentary about the collapse of a bridge in Gotham and cry when a random city engineer says, āWe tried our best, but it wasnāt enough.ā
You don't let yourself think about thatā¦ that stupid drawer by Clarkās bed.
Or the banana bread.
Because there is banana bread.
It shows up on your doorstep the morning of Day Three, wrapped in wax paper and still warm. No note. Just a faint imprint where a palm mustāve rested on the foil, like he wasnāt sure if he should knock. You donāt bring it inside right away.
You stare at it. Then the door. Then back at the bread like it might explode.
Eventually, you take it in. Set it on the counter. Eat half of it standing over the sink with your fingers, because you donāt trust yourself to not drop it.
He texts you the next day. Just your name. Then a minute later: Just wanted to check in. Hope youāre doing okay.
You stare at the dots blinking at the bottom of the screen until they disappear.
You donāt answer.
He calls a few times, a few days later. Your phone lights up with his name, and you let it ring out. Not because youāre angryāokay, maybe you are, a littleābut because you know the sound of his voice will wreck you. Because if he says your name in that soft, patient, Clark way, youāll crack like a fucking fault line.
He doesn't leave a voicemai any of the times l. Just hangs up.
(You spend the rest of the night clutching a throw pillow to your stomach like itās a life raft.)
You tell yourself this is temporary. Youāll get it together tomorrow.
And then tomorrow happens.
And then the next day.
And thenāon the seventh day, like Jesus, you rise.
Kind of.
You pull on the ugliest hoodie you own, some too-large sweatpants with a questionable stain, and a pair of knockoff Crocs. Your hair is doing something that technically defies gravity, and you havenāt worn deodorant since Tuesday. Your soul is gone. Your standards are lower. All that remains is one singular thought:
Hotdog.
.
Which is how you find yourself under the flickering fluorescent lights of a 7/11 at 1:42 a.m., perched on the curb out front like a feral raccoon, holding a lukewarm hotdog in one hand and a Red Bull in the other, actively disassociating while Whitney Houstonās I Will Always Love You plays through a tinny outdoor speaker with all the emotional resonance of a dying Roomba.
You stare off into the distance.
Which is, of course, exactly when Clark walks up.
You see him in your periphery first. Hear the crunch of gravel, the telltale weight of his sneakers.
āNo,ā you say, out loud. āNo. No. Absolutely not.ā
Clark stops short. āHi,ā he says, voice soft. A little nervous.
You hold up the hotdog like a loaded gun. āTurn around.ā
āIāā
āI swear to god, Clark.ā You donāt even look at him. āI am mentally and spiritually clinging to life by the barest thread, and if you say something kind to me right now, I will vomit on the pavement.ā
He nods. Raises both hands. āOkay. Not saying anything.ā
You stare at him. His flannel is wrinkled. His hairās sticking up at the back. Thereās a scuff on his glasses like heās been rubbing at them all day.
Goddammit. He looks like home.
You turn your burning eyes back to the pavement and try to focus on your dinner. Try to remember how this whole dignity thing works.
āWhy are you here,ā you say finally, flat.
He swallows. āBecause I needed to see you. Because Iāve been calling, andāā
āRight,ā you cut in. āThe calls. That I didnāt answer. On purpose.ā
āI know.ā
āAnd you took that as a challenge?ā
Clark exhales slowly. He takes a tentative step closer.
āIāve tried everything else,ā he says.
You roll your eyes. āMaybe thatās because youāre not supposed to fix this. Maybe this is just what it is now.ā
āThatās not what I want.ā
You shrug. āAnd? Sometimes we donāt get what we want. Thatās life. Welcome.ā
Heās quiet. Long enough that you glance sideways and catch him staring at you with a look you canāt name. Doesnāt defend himself. Just stands there, quiet, while a beat-up minivan idles past the edge of the lot and the Whitney Houston outro fades into static. And youāre just about to tell him to cut it outāwhatever this whole tortured-eyes, kicked-puppy thing isāwhen he steps forward.
One arm wraps around your waist.
And thenā
You are no longer on the ground.
You shriek like a B-movie scream queen, clutching your 7/11 hotdog in its sad foil wrapper like it might save your life. āWHAT THE FUCK,ā you yell. āWHATāARE YOU KIDDING MEāWHAT IS HAPPENING.ā
āIām sorry!ā Clark yells over the wind.
āARE YOUāIS THIS YOU?! ARE YOUāā
āYeah!ā he shouts. āHi! Surprise!ā
āSUPERMAN?!ā
āā¦Yes!ā he calls back, cringing midair.
āYOUāRE SUPERMAN?!ā
Clark doesnāt answer that. Justā¦ grimaces. Flying sideways. His arm tightening around your waist like heās half-expecting you to elbow him in the ribs and wriggle free.
You might, honestly. As soon as your brain catches up. Youāre only just vaguely aware of your Croc flying off somewhere over a used car dealership.
āMy toothbrush is still at your apartment!ā you shriek.
āI know!ā
āI HAVE A TOOTHBRUSH AT SUPERMANāS APARTMENT!ā
āI know! Thatās why Iālisten, I panicked! You werenāt picking up! You blocked me on like, four platformsāā
āI BLOCKED YOU BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE GHOSTING ME FOR ANOTHER GIRL, NOT MOONLIGHTING AS A NATIONAL TREASURE.ā
The wind roars past your ears. Your teeth are chattering. Youāre barely holding onto the last few shreds of coherence. And Clarkāno, Superman, apparentlyāheās not even breaking a sweat.
āYou couldnāt have called?ā you snap.
āI did!ā
āWITH WHAT, MORSE CODE?ā
āI showed up at your apartment!ā
āWith a cape, Kent?!ā
āNo! No, the capeās newālook, I didnāt know what else to do. You wouldnāt talk to me. Jimmy said you took PTO and havenāt left your apartment in four days and I justāI needed you to see me. To listen.ā
You make an inhuman noise, somewhere between a wail and a curse. āSo your solution was to airlift me like a stolen asset out of a CIA bunker?!ā
āI checked to make sure no one was looking!ā
āYOU TOOK ME HOSTAGE.ā
āI swept the parking lot, I swear! The cameras at 7/11 are fake, and there was one guy but he was busy dropping a Big Gulp.ā
You blink at him. Wind in your eyes. A foot still bare. Thereās an onion from your hotdog stuck to your shirt. Your heart does a slow, brutal somersault.
āā¦Okay,ā you breathe. āOkay, so this is real.ā
āItās real,ā he says.
āLike, capital-R Real.ā
āYeah.ā
You shake your head once, sharp. āJesus Christ.ā
And then something in you quiets. Something thatās been vibrating with panic for daysāfor weeksāsputters out like the end of a bad engine. Youāre too tired to scream again. Youāre too wrung-out to cry.
So you just say, quietly: āI'm sorry. For not listening. Or giving you the time to explain. But, what the fuck, dude.ā
Clark swallows. His eyes flick to your mouth, then away. He nodsāonce.
āI didnāt want to lie to you,ā he says again, quieter now. āI hated it. Every second of it.ā
His breath fogs slightly in the night air. He still wonāt quite meet your eyes.
āI thought I could keep it separate. You andā¦ that part of me. I thought if I just kept my head down and made you pancakes and let you call me out when I forgot to text back, itād be enough.ā
He runs a hand through his hair, still wind-tossed from flight. āBut then it wasnāt. Because I startedā¦ I donāt know, noticing stuff. Like the way you always get a little mean when youāre scared. Or how you never remember to lock your front door but youāll glare at me for refusing to jaywalk. And every time I had to run off and I saw the look on your faceāI wanted to tell you. I almost told you, like, like, forty darn times.ā
His voice cracks a little. Heās still not looking at you.
āI kept thinking, if I say it out loud, youāll leave. Or worseāyouāll stay, but only because you think you owe me something. Because I have the suit. Because I can lift a building. But I donāt want you to be impressed by me. I just want you to look at me the way you used to. Like Iām justā¦ Clark.ā
He laughs, sudden and shaky. āGod, I sound insane.ā
You say nothing. Youāre not breathing very well.
And then, softly, finally, like heās pushing it out before he loses the nerve: āI love you. Not in a heroic, save-the-day kind of way. JustāI love you. I think Iāve been in love with you since you made me help you tail that councilman with the suspicious hair plugs. And you made fun of me the whole time, but you still brought snacks.ā
He swallows. āI donāt need anything from you. I just wanted you to know.ā
The wind whips gently around you both now, slower, softer. Like the world has dialed down to listen in.Ā
Clark hovers easily in place, arms strong around you, careful and warm, like heās afraid youāll wriggle free again and drop straight through the clouds.
Heās flushed. Nervous. He looks like heās trying to prepare for every possible version of the moment after this. Every soft or horrible thing you might say. Every joke you might make to dodge the weight of it. Every silence.
You lean back a little to look at him.
And then, honestly, you just kiss him.
Because itās easier than saying the whole thing. Easier than listing every moment thatās led to this, every reason you tried not to fall for him and did anyway.Ā
The time he walked (not flew) across the city in the rain because you forgot your keys.Ā
The fact that he never interrupts when youāre spiraling, just waits it out, steady and warm and right there.Ā
The way he let you drag him into that adult store and joked around and made him blush with the pink handcuffs, and then he bought them for you anyway.
Ā The banana bread.Ā
āI love you too, you idiot.ā
His whole face crumples. And then he laughs, messy and relieved and a little helpless, like he wasnāt expecting you to say it back. Like he wasnāt hoping.
āYou do?ā
You nod, eyes stinging. āYeah. In every kind of way.ā
And Clarkānot Superman, Clark Kent, the worldās most ridiculous man, the guy youāve known and kissed and run from and found againāleans in and kisses you silly again.
.
Youāre still smiling when he stumbles through your front door with you in his arms.
Not gracefully. Not like some poised, soap-opera seduction āmore like the two of you crash through the threshold like a couple of drunk fucking idiots who forgot how to use their limbs. You reach back and slap the door shut, barely catching the knob, breathless from altitude and adrenaline and everything thatās been boiling under your skin for months.
Clark kicks over your shoe rack by accident. It topples over with a loud bang and suddenly, all your shoes are on the floor.
āSorry,ā he says, half-choking on a grin, already pressing you to the wall. āIāllāclean that upālaterāā
You cut him off with your mouth. Sloppy, desperate. Fingers tangling in his curls, tugging just to feel him gasp against you. You can feel the way he hardens close to you, and you're really, really liking where this is going.
Itās not like you didnāt know he was strong.Ā
Youāve seen his biceps. Youāve felt the hand at your back steady you when a cab came too close. Youāve watched him shoulder his way through panicked crowds, through chaos, through life, always quietly making space for you.
But this is different.
This is him holding your entire body like you weigh nothing. Like physics doesn't apply to you anymore. Like his hands were made to carry you and his mouth was made to ruin you.
āClark,ā you gasp, because you donāt know what else to say. Your hoodieās already halfway up your torso. His hands are under it, up your ribs, one squeezing your thigh like heās staking a claim and the other splayed wide across your spine. āYouāreāfuckāā
āI know,ā he pants, nosing down your throat, licking into the hollow like heās starving for it. āI know, baby. YouāreāGod, youāre actually killing me.ā
He lifts youāactually lifts youālike youāre nothing, just sweeps you up with one arm under your ass and carries you toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of your jacket, your hotdog wrapper, and one of your slippers behind.Ā
You claw at his shirt, frantic, trying to get it off. Buttons ping off somewhere near the kitchen island and you both flinch, then laugh again, dizzy with it.
He drops you on the bed and follows fast, crawling over you, shedding the remains of his flannel and undershirt like heās being hunted for it.Ā
"Fuck, fuckātake this off," and yank off your hoodie and he groans at the sight, like the skin of your chest is some sort of a revelation, like he hasnāt had it memorized since the first time he saw you in a tank top at work and forgot what day it was.
His mouth is everywhere. On your collarbone, your shoulder, between your breasts.Ā
Hot and open and eager, tongue twisting ruthlessly around your nipples. Heās making sounds now, those broken, happy little gasps like heās surprised every time you let him touch you again.
Youāre squirming under him, soaked and breathless, tugging at the waistband of his pants like it might save your life.
āI am gonna ruin you,ā you manage to say. "Baby, let me fucking ruin you."
Clark laughs again, the kind of laugh that goes straight to your core, deep and bright and boyish, and then he flips you effortlessly onto your stomach, pushing your thighs apart with his knee, dragging his mouth down your spine like heās tracing poetry there.
āOh yeah?ā he murmurs, low and smug and reverent. āGet in line, pretty girl.ā
He pushes into you with one smooth, slow thrust, so much of him, too much, your jaw goes slack, and he just stays there for a moment, his hand curled over yours, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder.
āI love you.ā
Your breath stutters.
He doesnāt give you time to recover, emotionally or physically. Doesnāt let you laugh it off or throw up your usual wall of flippant sarcasm. He kisses your shoulder again, hips moving deeper, slower.
You twist beneath him, trying to turn over because as much as you love doggy, you can't bear to not look at him right now.Ā
But his hand presses gently between your shoulder blades, grounding you. āWait,ā he murmurs, and you freeze. Youāre still so full of him you can barely think. āJust let meācan I justāā
He grinds forward, pushing all eight inches of him inside, and you choke on a moan. Youāve never heard him like this. Not just desperate, not just lost in it ā but open.
āI love you when youāre mean,ā he pants, voice fraying around the edges. āI love you when you roll your eyes at me in meetings and mutter under your breath during interviews. I love you, God, you're so tight," another thrust. "āwhen you wear those socks with the tiny dogs on them and try to pretend youāre not soft.ā
You turn your head, mouth parted, eyes wide. āClarkāā
He leans down, kisses your cheek, your temple, the place behind your ear that makes your thighs shake.
āI love you when youāre being impossible. When you steal my flannels. When you pretend you donāt care. When you kissed me for the first time and then gave me a whole spiel about it.ā
āStopāā
āI love you,ā he says again, brokenly this time, like itās being torn out of him. āI love you even when Iām scared youāll leave. Even if this is all I get.ā
You turn fully this time, eyes glassy, fingers curling around the back of his neck to drag him in.
And you kiss him.
Hard.
Hungry.
Grateful.
āI love you,ā you whisper against his mouth. āI love you, you wonderful, wonderful man.ā
Clark lets out a sound thatās not quite a laugh and not quite a sob.
Then he flips you under him and fucks you like itās a promise.
You say it again when you come the second time, breathless, high-pitched, hands clutching at his shoulders, and again when he follows with a low, shuddering groan, spilling into you like heās got nowhere else heād rather be.
.
The car smells like spearmint gum and way, way too much coffee. Clarkās got one hand on the wheel and the other laced through yours like itās always been there. Which, lately, it has.
Youāre about halfway to Smallville.
āSo,ā you say, tapping his knuckles with your thumb. āHow many embarrassing baby photos am I being subjected to this time? Just give me a ballpark.ā
Clark chuckles. His dimples show. āOh, uhā¦ probably all of them. Again."
You groan. āEven the corn maze one?ā
āThere are multiple corn maze ones,ā he corrects gently. āThereās one where Iām dressed as a scarecrow.ā
You stare at him.
He nods solemnly. āWith face paint.ā
āOh my God,ā you wheeze, turning toward the window. āI donāt know if Iām emotionally prepared for that.ā
āDonāt worry,ā he says, squeezing your hand. āMa loves you. You could commit tax fraud in front of her and sheād ask if you wanted seconds.ā
You snort. āThatās very comforting.ā
He shrugs, smiling again. āItās true. She already set up the guest room.ā
You blink at him.
āā¦The guest room?ā
A pause. Clark glances over. āWell, I didnāt want to assume weādāuhāshare a bed. With my parents in the house.ā
You raise a brow. āClark. We had sex in a supply closet at the Planet.ā
āThat wasāokay, yesābut that was under different circumstances.ā
āWe are dating.ā
āI know.ā
You lean your head back against the seat, grinning. āYouāre so weird.ā
āYou love it,ā he mutters, cheeks pink.
You do.
God, you do. You love him.
It still sneaks up on you sometimes. The clarity of it. The quiet, persistent fact of Clark Kent: the man who once made you blueberry pancakes the morning after you nearly ran out on him, who kissed your wrist like it meant something, who neverānot onceālooked away. Who told you he was Superman in the middle of a 7/11 parking lot, like some fucking lunatic.
And now here you are. In his car. On the way to meet his parents.
Officially.
Not just as the girl who sleeps over sometimes. Not as the coworker who wonāt stop pretending she doesnāt care. Not as the idiot who thought she could get away with loving him and not doing anything about it.
No. Now, youāre his girlfriend.
Which means this is real. Which means youāre going to their farmhouse in Smallville. And Martha is probably going to offer you pie. And Jonathan is probably going to show you Clarkās fifth grade spelling bee trophy like itās the most precious thing in the world.
Which should terrify you.
(And maybe it does, a little.)
But mostlyāmostly it feels like the best thing youāve ever said yes to.
Clark clears his throat. āHey.ā
You turn.
Heās watching you with that expression again. That soft, unguarded, ruined look like he still canāt believe youāre real. Itās so sincere it nearly undoes you.
āIām really glad youāre coming,ā he says. Quietly.
You look at him. You squeeze his hand back.
āMe too, Michigan.ā
His ears go a little red. āDonāt call me that.ā
āOh? I thought you liked when I objectify you by state.ā
āI like it slightly less when it happens in front of a rest stop attendant while youāre holding beef jerky and winking at me. And when it's the wrong state."
You smirk. āNot my fault you were born with that jawline and a humiliation kink.ā
Clark coughs through a laugh. āGod help me.ā
He reaches across the console, dragging his thumb lightly over the inside of your wrist. The same spot he kissed that night. The one you think might still hum a little under your skin.
You let your head fall against his shoulder, smile tucked into your cheek.
āWake me when weāre ten minutes out?ā
āYou sure?ā he murmurs, already lowering the volume on the radio.
āMhm.ā You close your eyes. āI gotta mentally prepare myself for the scarecrow photos.ā
You feel the press of his lips against your knuckles. Gentle. Familiar.
āYouāre gonna be fine,ā he says. āThey love you, you know that. I do too."
Synopsis: You found Remmick hiding in a trash bināhiding away from the sun. He had lingered a bit too long and the sun had taken him by surprise. After feeding him and making sure he was okay, you offered him to stay in your home. And nowā¦you got a vampire boyfriend. But really? The word āboyfriendā could also be replaced by āpetā. Because you realized that sometimes, your boyfriend acts more like an animal than a human being. NO EXPLICIT SMUT. Just vaguely suggestive. But a lot of chaos and Remmick acts like a pet. Enjoy.
You didnāt notice it at firstāRemmickās discomfort.
He was still his usual self: sharp-eyed, sarcastic, a little too mouthy for his own good. But lately, there was something else under it. A low whine here and there. A twitch of his upper lip. And the way he kept mouthing at your skinānot biting, not teasing, just gently pressing his lips and teeth to your shoulder, your wrist, your thigh. Not enough to break skin.
Justā¦gumming you like some sad old man.
āAre you okay?ā you finally asked, halfway through a movie, when he had your hand in his mouth like a chew toy.
He blinked, teeth still resting against your knuckles.
āMā fine,ā he mumbled. āJustāme fangsāre itchinā. Hurts a lilā. Not like a kill me kinda hurt. Just like I wannaā¦chew through a fence post or somethinā.ā
You stared at him. Then at his mouth. Then back at him.
And that was when you made a decision.
The next day, Remmick walked into the bedroom after an errand to find the bed covered in toys. Not sexy ones. Not even remotely romantic ones.
Chew toys. Literal dog toys.
Rubber bones. Freezeable rings. Even one that squeaked when you bit it.
āWhat theāwhat the hell is all this?ā He asked as he picked up one.
You grinned proudly, holding up a red dental rope tug toy. āItās for your teeth, genius. Dogs chew stuff to keep theirs healthyāso maybe thisāll help you too.ā
He just stared at you. You werenāt sure if he was horrified or touched. Probably both.
āAre ye serious right now?ā
āDead serious.ā
āYou got me a treat ball.ā
You picked up the toy in question, which did in fact have tiny slots for filling with snacks. āI can fill it with frozen blood cubes if you want?ā
He stared at you for a long moment. Thenāvery slowlyāhe picked up one of the rubber bones, rolled it in his handā¦and bit into it.
It squeaked.
You froze.
He bit it again. Squeak.
He gave a soft, pleased little grunt. āā¦Aāright. This aināt half bad.ā
Laterā¦
You came back from your shower to find him lying on the bed, shirtless, chewing away at the red rope like a content golden retriever. One of the freeze rings was in his lap, and another toy was tucked under his arm.
āFeeling better?ā you asked.
He gave you a lazy thumbs up, cheeks full like a squirrel.
āYāknow,ā he mouthed around the rope, āI thought thisād be humiliating. But this the best me teethāve felt in centuries.ā
You leaned down, kissed his cheek, and whisperedā
āGood boy.ā
He stopped chewing. Slowly removed the toy from his mouth to stare at you.
āSay that again.ā
You smirked. He growled.
āNo, really. Say it again and I swear, sweetheart, Iāll crawl over there and make it very hard for ye to walk tomorrow.ā
You may or may not have said it againā¦but you INDEED had trouble walking the next day.
A week later
You didnāt think youād ever end up here: standing in the pet aisle of a rural general store at 7 p.m. on a Thursday night with your vampire boyfriend in towā¦trying to pick chew toys.
Again.
Remmick had been unusually fussy the past few daysāgrumbling under his breath, jaw tight, his fangs aching with some kind of ancient, nocturnal tension. So, naturally, youād offered another round of dog toy therapy since his last ones hadnāt last all that long.
āPick one,ā you told him, nudging him towards the aisle. āAnything you want. Go wild.ā
He squinted at the racks of colorful bones, balls, and tug ropes with the uncertainty of a man who just wandered into a boutique and didnāt know what bras were.
āToo many options,ā he muttered. āWhy the hell are there fifty kinds of bones? That oneās shaped like aā¦corn cob. That one glows in the dark. That one vibrates?? Why would a chew toy vibrateāā
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. āFocus, Remmick.ā
He humphed. āThey all got different textures. Different squeaks. Different bounce ratios. What if I pick the wrong one?ā
You sighed and rolled your eyesābut your heart melted a little. Your tough, bloodthirsty, terrifying boyfriend really wanted to get this right. āOkay. What? You wanna try āem then?ā
He glanced around warily. His voice dropped to a whisper. āYou mean, likeā¦test āem out?ā
You nodded. āYeah. Like a bite test. Justā¦donāt let anyone see you.ā
He hummed and looked at you with pleading eyes. āYe gonna keep watch?ā
You chuckled and rolled your eyes. āSure. Whatever. Just be quick.ā
And so, Operation Vampire Squeak Patrol began.
You stood firmly at the edge of the aisle, arms crossed, scanning for witnesses. Anyone turned the corner with a cart and a confused expression, and you gave them the politest ādonātā smile you could muster.
Behind you, soft little sqk sqk sqk noises began. Then the shuffle of rubber. A contemplative grunt. Thenā
SQUEEEAK.
You turned around, ready to hiss at him to be quieter.
And froze.
There he was. Crouched down on one knee in front of the lowest shelf, a bright red rubber bone between his teeth. He chewed slowly, brows lifted, and thenā
A big, satisfied grin.
āI like this one.ā
You couldnāt help it. Your whole chest swelled with fondness. He looked like some overgrown bloodthirsty Labrador. His eyes twinkled. His curls were a mess. He had drool at the corner of his mouth. You shook your head.
āYou lookā¦so dumb right now.ā You muttered, walking over.
āWhat? Iām beinā responsible.ā Chomp.
āYouāre chewing toys in publicāā
āTestinā em,ā he corrected proudly.
You plucked the toy from his mouth with two fingers and kissed his cheek with a smile. āFine. Cāmon, you menace. Iāll get you the squeaky bone.ā
āBetter get me two,ā he advised, nudging you as you walked to the register. āOr Iāll be poutinā all night. Might even gnaw on your thigh instead.ā
You narrowed your eyes. āYou do that anyway.ā
He giggled like the absolute menace he is. āExactly. But this time itāll be vindictive.ā
You rolled your eyesābut still let him pick a second one.
Later that nightā¦
The room was dim, lit only by the flickering blue hue of the TV. Youād picked something stupid and lightheartedāa movie neither of you had to pay much attention to. But Remmick?
Remmick wasnāt watching.
No.
He was curled up on the couch, head in your lap, one leg thrown lazily over the cushions, and the red rubber bone toy firmly clenched between his teeth.
It let out a soft squeak every few seconds as he idly chewed.
You ran your fingers through his messy curls, glancing down at him between sips of your drink. āYou know, thatās supposed to be for stress relief.ā
He gave you a slow look, eyes half-lidded, and squeaked the toy again.
āExactly,ā he agreed, still chewing. āFeelinā relaxed as hell right ābout now.ā
You reached for itājust to test. Maybe it would help you with your own stress?
However, he growled. āThatās mine.ā
You blinked. āRemmick, I bought it.ā
āAnd I claimed it.ā He chomped downāloudly. SQUEAK. āBy tooth and drool. Sacred vampire law.ā
You bit back a laugh. āSacred vampire law sounds fake.ā
āSounds enforceable by bite marks,ā he warned with a lazy grin, adjusting to get even more comfortable on your thighs.
You stared at him. āYouāre seriously not going to let me even see it?ā
He held it closer to his chest like a toddler with a beloved plushie. āYou got two options, sweetheart. Either get yer own, or challenge me to a tug-of-war. And I bite. Hard.ā
You sighed, utterly defeated. Then, you leaned down and kissed his temple. āYouāre lucky I love you, you greedy little bat.ā
He grinned around the toy and squeaked againācontent, smug, utterly relaxed in your arms.
āYeah, yeah. Love ye too, mo ghrĆ”,ā he mumbled, mouth full. āNow hush. Me chew bone and I are watchinā Shrek 2.ā
You rolled your eyes againābut your hand was still stroking his hair.
ā¦
You were already half in bed, fluffing pillows and trying to coax Remmick in with the promise of warm sheets, soft blankets, and actual physical affection. But no. He was having none of it. He was standing stubbornly in the doorway, shirtless, the damn chew toy in his mouth. He bit down on the red rubber bone with purpose. It gave a muffled but obnoxiously cheerful SQUEAK.
āRemmick,ā you called him slowlyāas if talking to a child and not a damn grown ass vampire, āput the toy down.ā
āNo.ā The word came out through clenched teeth. Another squeak followed for emphasis.
You frowned. āYou are not bringing that thing into bed.ā
He huffed. āHeās got a name.ā
You blinked. āNo. No no. We are not naming the dog toy.ā
He proceeded to royally ignore you.
āHis name is Squeaks. He told me himself.ā Remmick grinned, like he was a genius or something for having conversations with his goddamn chew toy.
You stared at him. āYou can have it back at breakfast tomorrow. But in bed? Absolutely not.ā
He pulled the toy out of his mouth with a dramatic sigh and turned his back on you. āYouāve wounded me.ā
āRemmickāā
āWounded.ā He whined and humphed and stomped his footāclearly upset.
āCome along, Squeaks,ā he mumbled, cuddling it to his chest. āApparently weāre too immature to sleep in the grown-up bed. Weāll go sleep in the couch. For WE are clearly unwanted here.ā
You frowned and climbed out of bedāopening your arms wide. āHey, Remmy. Come on, baby. Am tired. Come cuddle. Come cuddle your attention-deprived human.ā
You could see in the slight eye glance he gave you that he was seconds away from giving up, but he finally humphed and refused to turn around. āNo. No cuddles for ye.ā
You blinked. āWait, what?ā
He crossed his arms over his chest and opened the door of the bedroom. āYou made yer choice. Now go cuddle yer cold sheets, traitor.ā
You scowled, arms crossed too now. āI didnāt ban cuddling. I banned squeaky cuddling.ā
LOUD SQUEAK OF INDIGNATION
āREMāā
He humphed. āYou said it again. You wounded me again.ā
You were close from being upset yourself. You bought the damn thing. And now itās stealing your cuddle buddy away? Absolutely not. āSo youāre really not going to cuddle me tonight?ā
He turned his head dramatically, the rubber toy stuffed into the crook of his neck. āTalk to me when youāre ready to apologize to Squeaks.ā
And with thatā¦he left.
You slumped back in bedā¦Did he justā?!
You groaned and buried your face in your pillow.
Should have never bought that damn thing.
Actually? Scratch that. Should have never fallen in love with a vampire. Period.
The next day.
You returned with a compromise. A plush bone. No squeak.
Remmick narrowed his eyes, lips twitching. āIāll allow it. But only ācause heās Squeaksā cousin. Squishums.ā
You tossed the toy onto the bed. āRight. Fine. Whatever, Remmick. Squishy, Squishums, Squishdumb. Donāt care. Now get your dramatic ass in here and give me my goddamn cuddles. Canāt believe you left me all alone in there all night. Likeā¦who do you think you are?! Seriously?! I feed you. I clean you. I buy you toys and stuff and everything you want. And thatās the thanks I get? Truly. Your cuddles better be prime quality, baby. Because youāre cuteābut not THAT cute for me to slave myself trying to please your ungrateful ass.ā
He pounced immediatelyāpressing up against you with a smug grin and a happy hum as he pulled you close, burying his face in your neck. āFineā¦If itās prime quality ye want, Iāll give ye deluxe cuddle package, premium tier. But only if ye say sorry to Squeaks.ā
You glared down at him, deadpan. āIām not apologizing to a rubber dog toy.ā
He gave an offended gasp. āSir Squeaksalot the Third actually. And heās very sensitive. You really bruised his ego.ā
You groaned and shoved at his faceānot hard, just enough to squish his cheeks together. āYou are the worst.ā
āNuh-uh. Iām the best. Yāsaid so when I had ye cryinā into the headboard last week.ā He corrected you with a smug smile.
You flushed immediately and smacked him with a pillow.
He cackled. After a few moments, he went quiet though. His fingers found your side beneath the blankets, rubbing slow circles, and when he spoke again, it was softer.
āā¦Missed ye last night.ā
Your heart twitched. You turned your head slightly. āYeah? Couldāve fooled me, traitor.ā
He nuzzled in closer, plush bone tucked behind his head like a second pillow, his curls tickling your jaw. āCouldnāt sleep. Sofaās too cold. And Squeaksā¦well, heās a good listener, but heās not warm like ye.ā
You melted, even as you tried to stay indignant. āYeah?ā
āMmmā¦ām still mad though,ā he mumbled and bit back a smirk. āYou still owe me and Squeaks an apology.ā
You huffed and pressed him closer to you.āYouāre holding Squishums.ā
āHeās a silent protest.ā He mumbled while smiling and snuggling up to you. He nuzzled your neck and cheek and pressed gentle smooches to themāa silent apology of his own. You tried to be strong and stay mad. But that goddamn vampire was making it real hard for you. Likeā¦you knew he was FAR from innocent. But come on? Gentle smooches? You wanted to melt into his armsā¦Not fair.
You grumbled and buried your face in his curls. āThis is emotional warfare.ā
āMmhmm.ā His voice was a low rumble against your collarbone, mouth brushing your skin between every word. āAnd Iām winninā.ā
Another kiss. And another. Then a slow, deliberate nuzzle that made your stomach flutter. You resisted. For likeā¦three seconds. IT COUNTS, OKAY?!
āā¦Fine,ā you whispered through clenched teeth, āmaybe Iām sorry.ā
He paused. Pulled back just enough to raise a smug brow at you. āMaybe? That donāt sound sincere, mo chuisle. Cāmon. Ye gotta mean it.ā
You groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. āOkay! Okay, Remmick. Iām sorry. Iām sorry I disrespected Sir Squeaksalot the Third, First of His Name, Keeper of the Couch. May his rubber be ever chewed.ā
His grin widened until it practically split his face. āThere she is.ā
āAnd Iām sorry I denied him and you access to the sacred realm of the bed,ā you continued for good measure.
He clutched you and giggled. āApology accepted.ā
āAnd Iām sorry,ā you finished, poking his chest, āthat I ever thought I had control in this relationship when clearly you and your chew toys are running the whole damn operation.ā
Remmick gave a smug little shrug, cuddling back in with a pleased sigh. ā~Love makes fools of us all.ā
You sighed. āYouāre not even a little sorry, are you?ā
He smiled. āMmmā¦no. But Squishums is real proud of ye.ā
You rolled your eyes, but didnāt stop running your fingers through his hair. āYouāre lucky youāre so cute.ā
He pressed another soft kiss to your collarbone. āI know.ā
You let out a reluctant laugh, exasperated and in love, and pulled him tighter. Squeaks mightāve won this round. But you were definitely hiding him tomorrow.
A few days later
You blinked. Then blinked again.
Becauseāthere it was.
Sitting in your hands like it belonged there: a very real, very well-made, very black leather dog collar. Silver buckles, gleaming tag, thick and sturdy. You tilted the tag just a little to read the engraving.
Property of Y/N.
You looked up slowly.
What in the actual heckā?
Remmick was standing in front of you, hands behind his back, his expression uncharacteristicallyā¦bashful.
āThought tāwas only fair,ā he told you with a light shrug. āSince youāve been takinā such good care of me lately. Even when I, uhā¦ā he shifted his weight. āI mightāve acted like a bit of a brat.ā
You stared.
He coughed. āMākay. Big bit of a brat.ā
Your lips twitched but you restrained a smile. āā¦You think?ā
His eyes flicked up to yours, defiant but flustered. āStill. You were patient with me. Even with the squeakinā. Even when I refused cuddles. Even when I forced ye to apologise.ā
Your fingers brushed the tag again. It was cute. Weird. But cute.
āSo, I thoughtā¦ā he finally pulled his hands out from behind his backāpalms up, offering his throat like a wolf showing belly, āā¦if Iām yer mutt, might as well dress the part.ā
You bit back a smile. āIs that what you are now? My mutt?ā
āYeah, Iām yer mutt.ā He grinned. āCāmon, put it on me.ā
He sounded excited. You shook your head. Freak. But you still hesitated.
He wiggled his brows. āPlease, me love? Sun oā me life? Mo chuisle? Me one and only?ā
That did it.
You nearly choked on a laugh, smacking his shoulder lightly as he leaned into you, teeth flashing in a big happy grin. But stillāwhen he knelt at your feet, waiting, throat exposedāyou couldnāt help but feel the weight of it. This wasnāt just a joke. This was Remmick, in his own weird, wild way, saying thank you and Iām yours.
So you clipped it gently around his neck.
He looked up at you with a warmth that was almost shy. āFits, donāt it?ā
āPerfectly,ā you murmured. āMy good boy.ā
His eyes went dark. āSay that again.ā
āNope.ā You stepped back.
āSay it again, I dare yeāā
He tackled you onto the couch.
SQUEAK!
You both froze.
He slowly reached under your thigh. Pulled out his red chew toy. But this time, he only humphed and threw it over his shoulder. āā¦Right. Ignore that.ā
You dissolved into laughter and he proceeded to kiss your lips over and over. He loved the sound of your laughter.
ā¦
Remmick wearing the collar under his clothes all week was not something you expected to affect you the way it did. It started subtleābarely visible beneath the collar of his shirt. Just a peek of leather if he leaned too far forward, or when he rolled up his sleeves and stretched, revealing that silver glint at his throat. But you knew it was there. And worse, he knew you knew. That smug little shit would catch you looking and give you a wink, a flash of fang, and a whispered,
āStill on. Ye wanna check?ā
By the fourth day, it was like a game between the two of youāone that ended most nights with him in your lap or under you, flushed and panting.
But Saturday? Saturday went feral.
Youād been out shopping, minding your own business, when you passed a pet aisle. Remmick followed your gaze. Narrowed his eyes.
Then pointed. āBall. Now.ā
You raised a brow. āExcuse me?ā
He humphed. āYe heard me. Ball me, woman.ā
He didnāt even wait. You barely had time to buy a stupid bright-orange rubber fetch ball before he grabbed it from your hand and bolted towards the open field behind your building. āYe cominā or what?!ā
So here you were now. Standing there. Ball in hand. Staring at your vampire boyfriend, bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking like he might explode with excitement.
āā¦Fine.ā You sighed in defeat. āBut if anyone seesāā
āTHROW IT.ā
You threw. And Remmick flew.
He literally launched himself after that ball like a goddamn missileāarms wide, legs tucked, coat flapping behind him like a cape. He caught it with his teeth, landed in a graceful crouch, and turned back to you, tail-wagging in spirit.
āAGAIN!ā
You were dying and shook your head in disbelief. āYouāre out of your mind! What if someone sees?!ā
āYe made me this way!ā he shouted, ball clenched between his teeth. āNow take responsibility! Donāt care if anyone sees.ā
You threw it again. And again. He bounded back and dropped the slobbery toy at your feet with a proud grin.
āGood throw,ā he panted. āTen outta ten. Would chase again.ā
You shook your head, hands on your knees, wheezing from laughter. āYouāre crazy. Iām crazy.ā
āAye,ā he confirmed, curling his fingers under your chin, voice dropping into something low and molten. āWhy dye think I love ye so much? Ye match me, mo chuisle.ā
He then pounced again, tackling you into the grass and peppering your face with kissesāsloppy, silly, loud ones. You giggled and begged him to stop, but Remmick didnāt. He kept kissing you breathless because he knew he had found his perfect human.
After that, it was a quiet, cool night in the park. The stars glittered overhead, and the streetlights buzzed gently as you and Remmick strolled hand-in-hand beneath the trees.
That peace didnāt last.
A golden retriever came bounding out from behind a bush, tail wagging like a metronome set to āexcited idiot,ā tongue lolling out of its mouth.
āOh my god,ā you gasped, instantly crouching. āWhoās this sweet baby?ā
The dog barked once, joyfully, and practically tackled you with affection. You laughed as you petted its ears, scratched under its chin, and cooed sweet nonsense to it like youād just met your long-lost soulmate.
Remmick froze.
His eye twitched. His hand clenched.
And thenāhe growled.
A real growl. Deep, territorial, throat-rumbling. Not playful.
The dog froze too, ears flattening slightly.
You looked up, wide-eyed. āRemmick?!ā
He didnāt say anything. Just stomped over, scooped you up in one fluid motion, and glued himself to you like an overgrown barnacle. āMine.ā
āRemmick,ā you wheezed, squished against his chest. āI was petting a dog.ā
āDidnāt like how it was lookinā at ya,ā he grumbled, nose buried in your neck. āToo forward. Disrespectful. Tail wagged too hard.ā
āItās a retriever!ā
āSo am I. For your love.ā
You burst out laughing, arms looping around him as he crushed you to his chest, glaring murderously at the now-confused retriever, who trotted away to find his owner.
Still holding you, Remmick mumbled against your neck: āDonāt need no mutt sniffinā at me treasure. I already marked ye. You smell like me.ā
You frowned. āMarked me? When?ā
He pulled back just enough to wink at you, then licked a stripe up your jaw and bit down gentlyānot hard enough to break skin, just enough to make you yelp. āJust now.ā
He grinned, sharp and smug, and you realized with a groan that he was dead serious.
āā¦Youāre the most jealous dog, Remmick.ā
āDamn right I am. Now cāmere and scratch ME behind the ears.ā
You huffed and pressed your face against his neck. Your mutt could be a real pain in the ass sometimesā¦
A month later
You had barely walked through the door when he stiffened. Remmick, curled sideways on the couch in one of his ridiculous positionsālong legs thrown over the armrest, remote loosely gripped in one handāfroze.
His head slowly turned towards you.
Sniff. Sniff.
His eyes narrowed. āWhat the hell is that?ā
You blinked. āWhat?ā
He sat up slowly, a muscle in his jaw twitching. āThat smell. Ye smell likeā¦bloody flowers.ā
You looked down at yourself, confused. āItās a new perfume. Why?ā
He stood. All five-feet-something of vampire annoyance uncoiling to full height. āYouāre covered in it.ā
You grinned and huffed, āWhat? You donāt like lavender?ā
Remmick didnāt smile back. Instead, he stalked forward with the kind of deliberate slowness that sent a thrill up your spine, grabbed you by the waist before you could take a step back and sniffed again.
āRem,ā you warnedābut your voice was already breathless.
He leaned in, nose brushing your neck, lips grazing the spot just below your ear. āYou think Iām gonna let some bottled-up petal shit tell the world what ye smell like? You think Iām gonna let anyone think youāre single enough to smell like some field of daisies?ā
You swallowed. Hard. Before you could answer, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you towards the bedroom.
āWaitā! Remmick!ā
He didnāt say a word until the door slammed shut behind you, until he had you pinned against it, breathing hard, nose brushing your collarbone again.
āYou smell like a stranger,ā he murmured, frustrated. āIām gonna fix that.ā
And he did. Slowly. Thoroughly. Worshipfully.
He took his time, nosing at your neck, pressing kisses to your chest, mouth trailing every inch of youāclaiming every part the perfume had touched.
You never even made it to the bed.
At some point, you felt him biteānot to feed, but just to mark, just enough pressure to leave something behind. And afterwards, breathless and aching, you heard him whisper against your skin: āThere. Now ye smell like home.ā
You never wore that perfume againā¦
ā¦
One evening, the question slipped from your lips before you could stop it. Really dumb question butā¦ āYou donāt really think I would wear perfume to attract anyone else, do you?ā
Remmick stiffened like a stringās been pulled too tight. His eyes flickered upāslow and sharpāand then he turned his head to look at you properly. Like you just told him youāre running off with a priest.
His brows knit together, just slightly. āWhat? No. āCourse not.ā
You barely got a breath in before his hands were on either side of your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, fingers curling behind your ears. āI just hate smellinā anything on ye that aināt me or ye. Seeā¦I got used to yer smell. And when ye smell different? Tāconfuses me. āCauseā¦if ye change smells then I wonāt be able to find ye again. What if ye get lost? What if someone takes ye away? What if I canāt find ye anymore ācause am not sure what scent mālookinā for anymore?ā
He pressed his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes like it physically hurt to say it out loud.
āAināt about jealousy, darlinā. Itās instinct. If ye were a vampire, youād understand.ā
You blinked slowly. His fingers tightened just a little as you whispered with a smile. āSmelling me calms you down?ā
He nodded. āMakes me feel like Iām home. Makes me know that Iād find ye even when youāre far away from me.ā
Your lips twitched, just barely, and you murmured. āAnd the flowers wouldnāt lead you to me?ā
He pulled back half an inchājust enough to give you the most offended expression. āTheyāre liars. One moment I think I found ye and the next I find meself in a field oā flowers instead of at home.ā
You laughed, startled. āā¦What?ā
He mumbled unhappily. āThey lie to me nose. Canāt have that.ā
He leaned back in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. āWanna know I can trace me way back to ye. Always.ā
You swallowed thickly and held back tears. That idiotā¦You were sure he was using his words to make you fall more in love with him. Him and his damn Irish vampire magic. You chuckled and whispered next: āā¦What about my shampoo?ā
He didnāt blink. āIāve already started usinā it. Smells like ye.ā
You deadpanned. āā¦Youāwhat?ā
He smiled mischievously and kissed your jaw. āYeah. Thought itād help me sleep better. I dream better when I smell like ye.ā
Your knees went a little soft, and he grinned like he knew it. Damn Irish vampire magicā¦no other explanation.
āStill mad at me for sniffinā ye every morning?ā He asked knowingly.
You tried. You tried to stay annoyedābut it was hard when he was kissing the corner of your mouth with that lazy, stupid adorable smile.
āWhateverā¦ā you grumbled.
He nuzzled your neckāknowing he got away with it. āYay.ā
ā¦Damn you, Irish vampire magic.
The next day
Remmick had just stepped out of the shower, his curls damp and dripping slightly, darkened to nearly black as they clung to his forehead. A towel hung low on his hips, and he was muttering something under his breathā
You didnāt say anything.
Not yet.
You just crossed the room, calm as anything, narrowed your eyes, and leaned in.
Sniff.
He froze.
You got closer, right up to his collarbone, and sniffed againāloudly.
āā¦Darlinā.ā His voice dipped, warning. āWhat are yeāā
Sniff.
āAh-ha!ā You pointed at him triumphantly, your grin wicked. āI knew it. That is my shampoo! You ARE using it!ā
Remmick reeled back like youād slapped him. āI never said I wasnāt usinā it!ā He clutched the towel for it not to fall. āI confessed! Yesterday!ā
You circled him like a suspicious bloodhound, still sniffing. āThis is the lavender-vanilla one. The fancy bottle.ā
He crossed his armsāstill damp, still dripping all over the floorāscowling like a wet cat. āAnd? It smells like ye. I like it. Makes me feel calm. Like youāreā¦in me bones or somethinā.ā
You paused. A breath hitched in your throat at how serious his tone had gotten in a blink. He looked at you then. Hair curling at his cheeks, drops rolling down the hollow of his throat. Bare, damp, and unashamed.
He smirked and walked closer. āDarlinā, Iād wear yer perfume, yer clothes, yer fuckinā skin if I could. Iām a vampire. I got zero shame about livinā in yer scent. Ye think I bathe for me?ā
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you with heat.
He leaned in. āCāmere. Smell me again. Properly this time.ā
You started to protestābut his arms were already around your waist, towel and all, tugging you against his bare chest.
And yeahā¦you did.
You breathed him in.
Your shampoo. His skin. The cool faint trace of mint from your conditioner. A little like you. A little like him.
You smirked. āFine. You can use it. But if you finish it, you replace the bottle.ā
He chuckled. āAāright, mo ghrĆ”. I promise. Nowā¦unless ye want me to stay nakedāwhich I wouldnāt mindāye better step back and let me get some clothes on.ā
He expected you to obey. But instead, you surprised him by hooking a finger around his dog collar and tugging. He hissed and was about to ask what you were doing until he saw that you were leading him towards the bedroom.
ā¦Yeah. That towel dropped to the floor real fast.
He didnāt want to go.
That much was obvious. Even if he pretended to be casual about it, tossing a half-packed duffel onto the floor and muttering, āJust a few days, darlinā. Nothinā dramatic,ā he lingered by the door like he was waiting for a reason not to leave.
You gave him one anyway.
A kiss. A soft goodbye. A promise youād be fine.
You lied a little.
Because the second the door shut behind him, the silence felt wrong. The apartment lost its rhythmātoo quiet, too still, too lacking in the chaos of your vampire pacing the kitchen barefoot at 2amā¦
So you wandered. Picked up a book. Put it down.
And then you saw it.
His shirt.
Thrown over the back of the couch. White. Soft. Worn a little at the elbows. It smelled like himāclean and wild and cold, the way a forest might smell in a dream. A hint of mint. Faint trace of you, too.
You pulled it on without thinking.
It fit perfectly.
And you nearly cried.
Because suddenly, he was everywhereāwrapped around you, lingering at your neck, warm even though he was never really warm, present. Like heād left a piece of himself behind on purpose.
You wore it all day. Fell asleep in it.
What you didnāt know? Remmick knew.
The moment he stepped back through the front door three days laterācurls messy, boots muddy from travel and his clothes covered with bloodāhe stopped cold in the entryway.
You were asleep on the couch.
In his shirt.
Curled up like a cat in a den, breathing steady.
He stared for a long time. Quiet.
And then? He smiled. That small, soft, barely-there smile that only came out when he was overwhelmed by the size of his own love for you.
He stepped closer. Breathed you in.
And whisperedāso quietly, not wanting to wake youā
āThief. Stole from me, didnāt ye?ā
You stirred, bleary-eyed, murmuring something about being cold. But he just bent down, brushing a kiss to your forehead, arms curling around you as he murmured, āItās alright, darlinā. Ye can steal anythinā from me. Sāall yers.ā
He buried his face into your shoulder and whispered: āI missed ye moreān I know how to say.ā
And he didnāt let go for a long time.
ā¦
You noticed his nails one lazy afternoon.
Remmick was sprawled on the couch againāclassicāand had one arm slung behind his head, the other lazily dangling off the cushions. Thatās when you saw them.
Long. Unkempt. Sharp like tiny daggers at the ends of elegant, bone-pale fingers.
You narrowed your eyes. āā¦When was the last time you trimmed your nails?ā
He didnāt even open his eyes. āDunno. Last centuryāmaybe. Why?ā
You stood, arms crossed. āBecause you look like a haunted Victorian aunt with a murder hobby.ā
One eye cracked open. He stared at you. āThatās offensive. Am sure she was a great woman.ā
You slapped his foot. āSit up. Weāre fixing this.ā
Remmick grumbled the whole time as you pulled him to the table and retrieved a nail kit, lotion, file, cuticle oilāthe works.
āIāve murdered people for less humiliation,ā he informed you, trying to slink out of the chair. You shoved him back down.
āYeah? Well youāll be murdered by me if I catch you scratching me in your sleep again with those talons, Dracula.ā
āNot Dracula,ā he muttered sulkily. āHe was Hungarian. Iām Irish.ā
You huffed. āYouāre a dirty little goblin. Thatās what you are. And weāre gonna make your hands pretty.ā
He blinked and smirked. āā¦Ye think māhands are pretty?ā
You didnāt look up, too focused on trimming his nails. āOf course. Long fingers, good knuckles, kinda veiny. You should be modeling rings or holding wine glasses dramatically for a living.ā
There was a pause. Then a quiet, cocky murmur: āVeiny, huh?ā
You threw a file at him.
Missed.
He looked very pleased anyway. He kept wiggling his fingers like he didnāt trust the process.
āStop moving or Iāll paint them bright pink.ā You threatened him.
He smirked. āYe wouldnāt dare.ā
You chuckled and shook your head. āOh, try me, vampire boy. Youāll be glistening in glitter by sundown.ā
Eventually, he started enjoying it.
Too much, maybe.
Especially when you started rubbing lotion into his hands, massaging his fingers, using little circular motions on the pads of his palms.
He went quiet.
Stared at you.
Eyes dark, voice low.
āā¦Do it again.ā
Your hands stilled.
āā¦Which part?ā
āWhatever black magic that was.ā
You grinned, smug. āThatās called self-care, Remmick. Youāre welcome.ā
You kissed his fingers when you were done. He blinked. Stared at them like they werenāt attached to him. āā¦They look nice.ā
You kissed his palm this time. āThey look loved.ā
He sat back in the chair and wiggled his fingers again. āā¦Can we do this again sometime?ā
You paused. āā¦You want another manicure?ā
He nodded solemnly. āYes. Especially the self-care part. I liked that.ā
You smiled.
But yeah.
Youād do it again.
And the next morning? He was suspiciously careful about how he used his hands. No scratching. No breaking things. No chipping those nailsā¦not even to feed.
A few weeks later
Remmick showed off his nails to the pack he had NEVER told you about with a wide, proud grin after theyād fed and settled around the campfire. His claws were neatly filed, the sharp edges softened just enough, painted in a subtle dark shade with tiny silver stars you had carefully drawn on. āShe did me nails. Neat, right?ā
Bert jumped off the crate he had been perched on for an hour and inspected them. āOooh. Yeah. Real neat. Ya think she could do the same for me? I gotta be honest with ya, sābeen a struggle goinā to the bathroom and shit.ā
Remmick shrugged. āDunno. Iāll have to ask herā¦ā
āYa got a girl?ā Bo asked from where he leaned against the wagon, his eyebrows raised in surprise. āShit. Am surprised anyone would actually spend time with yaāwillingly.ā
Remmick flipped him off. āWhereās ya wife? Right. She dead.ā
Bo growled at him. āWhatya say, asshole?ā
They were about to fight when Mary appeared.
āShut up yāall. AĀ girl did yar nails?ā Mary added, eyes narrowing like she was investigating a crime scene.
Cornbread, who was still licking the last bit of blood from his fingers nearby, looked up slowly. āā¦She do toenails too?ā
Remmick tucked his hands back into his coat but didnāt hide the grin spreading across his face. āSheās not just a girl. SheāsĀ meĀ girl.ā
āOoooh,ā Stack cooed, flopping down onto a pile of blankets nearby. āThat explains it. HeāsĀ smitten.Ā Look at āim! Glowinā heart-shaped eyes and shit.ā
āShut up,ā Remmick grumbled, but he didnāt stop smiling. āSheās got this way ofāof touchinā me hands, real careful, like theyāre worth somethinā. Never rushes it. Even talks to me while sheās doing it. Got me relaxinā so much I damn near fell asleep in her lap last time.ā
Maryās sharp grin softened. āYou let her touch your hands?ā
He nodded.
āThatāsā¦big, sugar. Congrats. She must really be somethinā.ā
Remmick just shrugged like it was nothing, but even Stack could see the truth of it: Remmick didnāt letĀ anyoneĀ near his claws. And now here he was, showing them off like a kid with his first tattoo.
āYeah, wellā¦ā he muttered. āShe treats me gentleāreal nice. She even helped with me teeth problems.ā
There was a beat of silence.
Then Bert asked, totally serious, āWait. She do ya damn teeth too?!ā
Stack cackled and shook his head. āYeah. We definitely wanna meet her now.ā
Bo snorted. āYouāre tellinā me thereās a woman out there whoĀ voluntarilyĀ trims your claws, talks you down from your bitey moods, andĀ deals with your dental hygiene?Ā Is she blind?ā
āOr real patient,ā Mary muttered, still watching Remmick like heād just grown a halo. āAnd probably built like a saint.ā
Remmick puffed out his chest a bit. He didnāt say anything right awayājust stared into the fire with that lazy, smug little smirk of his that only came out when he was thinking about you. Or freshly fed. Or both.
āā¦She file between your fangs or just polish āem?ā Cornbread asked after a moment.
Bert raised a hand. āNo no, Iām serious, is that a service? I chipped one oā mine on a rib bone last week and itās been buzzinā in māgums.ā
āSheās not a dentist,ā Remmick muttered. āBut she got soft hands. Good with pain. Doesnāt flinch when Iām in a mood. Doesnāt treat me like a monster.ā
Mary gave him a look. āBut youĀ areĀ a monster, Remmick. We all are.ā
He met her eyes. āYeah. But she still kisses me.ā
Everyone went quiet for a second.
Stack broke it first, flinging an arm over his face dramatically. āAw, shit. There he goes again. Heās in love.ā
Bo rolled his eyes but didnāt say anything this time.
Cornbread, still contemplative, finally nodded. āBet she feeds ya too.ā
āShe does,ā Remmick muttered, voice soft. āBut I still gotta come back to ye guys every once in a while. To feed and make sure yāall are doinā okay.ā
There was a pause. Then the entire pack groaned.
āOH MY GOD,ā Bo shouted. āYouāre domesticated!ā
Remmick flipped him off again, but it was weaker this timeāhalf-hearted, dazed in thought.
Stack wheezed. āBroās sittinā around a campfire with painted claws talkinā about a girl who feeds him and gives him a bed to sleep in. Next thing we know, youāll be wearing a dog collar I swear...ā
He didnāt answer. Everyone looked at him simultaneously.
āā¦Ya gotta be fuckinā kiddinā me?! Really, man?! A dog collar?!ā Stack askedāflabbergasted.
āIĀ doĀ have a collar,ā Remmick admitted reluctantly. āBut I wanted it. She mine. And Iām hers. And sāall that matters.ā
Mary stood suddenly. āNope. I canāt take it. I gotta meet her.Ā WeĀ gotta meet her. I need to see the woman who de-fanged our cryptid Irish gremlin.ā
Bert nodded. āI agree. You bragged too hard, Rem-Rem. We gotta meet her.ā
Bo grumbled, but even he looked curious now. āYeah. Letās see what kinda saint can handleĀ yourĀ sorry ass.ā
Remmick rolled his eyesābut the smile he wore was soft and unshakable. āā¦Sheād like yāall. Am sure of it. Sheās a bit bossy at times, but I love her. She makes me happy.ā
Stack muttered, āKnew it. Sheās the fuckinā top in whatever fucked up relationship they got goinā on.ā
Mary smirked. āSmart girl.ā
And for the rest of the night, Remmick sat with his hands in his lap, fingers carefully splayed to keep from smudging the silver stars you'd drawn. He didnāt say it aloud, but the look in his glowing eyes said it clear:
He couldnāt wait to showĀ youĀ off.
ā¦
There was a knock at your door.
You wiped your hands on a dish towel, raising a brow as you padded over and opened itā
Only to stop dead in your tracks.
āā¦What in theā?ā
Remmick stood there grinning wide, his sharp teeth flashing under the porch light. But it wasnātĀ justĀ Remmick. Behind him stood five or six other vampires. All of them varying degrees of intimidating and eccentric, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on your front steps like a lost theater troupe with blood on their boots.
He gestured at them proudly with both hands. āMe love. Hive. Hive. Me love.ā
āHi!ā one of them chirpedāwide smile, and waving a hand excitedly. āIām Bert. Heard ya do nails?ā
You blinked. āWait. Remmick, you have aĀ hive? You never said you had a hive!ā
āI have a lotta things, mo ghrĆ”,ā he said nonchalantly, stepping past you casually and motioning for the rest to follow. āBut they saw me claws last week and got all jealous. Figured, hell, we oughta make a night of it.ā
One of them stared at your fairy lights like they might attack him. The round one in the overalls wandered into your kitchen, sniffed a scented candle, and sneezed so hard he knocked it over.
Remmick turned back to you, arms wide. āā¦Surprise?ā
You just stood there. Then sighedāexasperated. āRemmick.ā
He looked at you with the biggest grin ever. āYes, me love?ā
You rolled up your sleeves. āā¦They better be well-behaved or I am making garlic bread tonight and shoving it down your throat.ā
He beamed. āAwwwā¦I love ye too, mo chuisle.ā
Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.
Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hoveringš), so much dirty talk (heās feral but sweet), overstimulation.
Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess aboutšāāļø honestly I donāt even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth š«¶š¼
You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clarkās giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.
A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriendās stumbling body.
āClark!?ā you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.
He doesnāt look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.
Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.
āStop! Donāt move,ā his deep voice comes out strangled, like heās been screaming for hours. āDonāt come closerā¦ please. Justājust stay there.ā
He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like heās been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.
āI didnāt want to come here,ā he whines. āIāI didnāt want you to see me like this.ā
āWhat happened to you?ā You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.
āIāve been infected,ā he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. āSome kind of ā¦ alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... Itās messing with my head, my body, Iā¦ā
He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like heās trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.
āWhat do you need? D-do you have the antidote?ā You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.
He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.
God, if only you knew.
āI tried to wait it out,ā he groans, fists now in his hair. āI swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours ā¦ tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.ā
Your breath catches in your throat, somehow understanding what this was about.
āI can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city ā¦ I can hear you breathing ā¦ your heartbeat. I didnāt want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can seeādammit ā¦ Iām sorryāā
He stumbles backward like heās ashamed of himself, like he canāt even look at you.
āYou know canāt turn it off,ā he whispers. āI never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.ā
Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like heās trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.
āClarkā¦ itās okay. You donāt have to explain, āyou step forward, slowly, gently. āItās not like we havenātāā
āNo you donāt get it!ā He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the block heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. āS-sorry darling ā¦ you just donāt get it ā¦ you have no idea what itās like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you ā¦ I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I canāt think straight,ā he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.
You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course youāve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when heās needy. But this? This is feral. Youāve never seen him like this.
But youāre willing to do anything to help him. Always.
āClarkā¦ you donāt even have to ask,ā you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.
He shakes his head. You donāt even understand the amount of restraint heās having right now.
āI do ā¦ I always do. Especially now. Because Iām not going to touch you like I should. Iām not going to make it about you. Iām going to use you. Because youāre the only one who can fix me ā¦ you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I canāt even think straight unless Iām inside you ā¦ I need you so bad, darling, Iām shakingāā He cries, an actual tear comes out his desperate eyes.
Youāre watching a god fall apart in front of you.
Because of you.
You finally cross the space left, and he doesnāt stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.
You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still canāt let himself go.
āI love you, Iām sorryāā he blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched while he fought the urge to do it again, harder. āGod I love you ā¦ and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore Iād never touch you like this. Unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please ā¦ tell me you want this too. Say yes, or Iāll leave. I swear I will.ā
He nods, frantically, like heās trying to convince himself more than heās trying to convince you.
āIāll leave if you tell me to,ā he breathes. āIāll fly through a mountain. Iāll bury myself in the ocean. Just donāt say yes unless you want this. Iām barely holding onā if you say it, I wonāt be able to stop.ā
You want him. God you always want him.
The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if heās not your Clark now. Even if he wonāt take care of you like he always does. Even if you canāt breathe or move after. Because you love him too.
āI want it,ā you whisper against his lips, nodding. āI want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want ā¦ I can take it.ā
Itās over.
The moment you say yes thereās no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.
His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs your skin on his or heāll die. Your panties donāt even last two seconds before they fly away too.
His lips hit yours. Tongue desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.
āThank you,ā he gasps between kisses. āThank you sweetheart ā¦ Iām so sorry I canāt help you first ā¦ but I need you ā¦ I need to feel you inside, please just let meā¦ā
He knows it hurts you when he doesnāt prepare you properly, when he doesnāt make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you ā¦but he canāt right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears itās dripping on the carpet.
āDo it,ā you pant, hungry for him. āClark just do it ā¦ please.ā
He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. Heāll care about that later.
Right now he is just muscle in front of you.
His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.
Youāve had him before. Youāve barely made it. You still want him to rearrange your guts.
āFeel that?ā he groans. āThatās what you do to me, thatās whatās been driving me insane all day, darling.ā
Heās not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like heās lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming.
You know heās gonna wreck you. You werenāt ready. But at the same time youāve never been more ready.
He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. āIām sorryā¦ā
He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap ā¦ raw, hard, you let out a strangled scream.
One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.
You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers āI love youā āthank youā āsorryā like some sort of chant. Like itās the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you have sex.
Your breath leaves you in a gasp, your bare back against the cold plaster, legs around his waist, and arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.
āJust like that ā¦ youāre taking me so well,ā he pants. āYou can do it, sweetheart ā¦ youāre doing so good ā¦ fuck, you were made for this ā¦ made for me.ā
His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like heās possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.
And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.
āI love you ā¦ Iām sorry ā¦ I love you ā¦Iām gonna ruin you ā¦I need itā¦ā
You think youāre about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize whatās happening.
Heās lifting your bodies off the ground.
Still fucking you.
Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesnāt apply anymore. It never does, not to you, not to him.
So now youāre fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.
And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and heās fucking you like itās the only thing keeping him alive.
His cock twitches inside you. Heās already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But heās holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You canāt.
āFuck Clark ā¦ Iām gonnaāā
āYes? do it ā¦ darling please, youāre doing so well. Iāve got you ā¦ cum all over this cock baby I got you.ā
Your body breaks before you can breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, clenching down on him, while you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.
He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.
āI wanna give you everything,ā he groans, voice cracking. āFill you up, stuff you full of me ā¦ Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you ā¦. let me have youāā
āYes, yes, fill me up,ā you blurt out, still seeing stars.
He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.
He doesnāt pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows youāll fall if he loosens his grip.
Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love youās, he holds you like youāre the only thing anchoring him to this planet.
āā¦Are you okay?ā
You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.
But heās not soft for long. He doesnāt even give you a minute to recover. He canāt. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.
Youāre still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And heās still inside you. Still painfully hard.
Still needing you.
āOne more, please. Justājust one more,ā he begs. āLet me have you again. Please, darling I need it.ā
āTake it Clark, take all you need,ā you nod, absolutely wrecked.
But whatās a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?
He melts.
You usually go multiple rounds, but heās softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he canāt believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.
He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, heās on top of you again. And god heās heavy. Solid. He doesnāt even hold his weight like he usually does because all heās thinking about is fucking you senseless.
He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.
āShhh ā¦ donātāā he coos, he wants to be slow, but he canāt. His hips snap hard without even thinking. āYouāre doing so good, sweetheart ā¦ so good for meā¦ just need one more.ā
You know itās not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.
None of you cares.
āYouāre so wet ā¦ so perfectā he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. āI didnāt even give you time to come down ā¦ didnāt even let you breathe and you still take me so wellā
He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he looses it.
Youāre suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.
You hit his bicep with your hand first, but heās not paying attention, heās too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.
Itās not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.
Your head starts spinning.
āClark,ā you choke out, hitting his bicep again. āI canātācanāt breatheā¦ā
His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesnāt pull out, he just ā¦ canāt.
You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.
āIām sorry ā¦ I canāt ā¦ canāt stop. I tried, I swear I tried,ā his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.
His hips donāt stop moving. You pant between moans. Youāre close again, you can feel it.
āItās okay, youāre just ā¦ youāre so big ā¦so heavy.ā
āIām sorry,ā he breathes. āIām sorry, I know. I just ā¦ I donāt want to let you goāā
āDonāt,ā you whisper. āDonāt let me go.ā
His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. Heās not really letting you go. Not all the way. Heās still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.
He doesnāt know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. Heās not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.
And you like it, god you love it.
āIāI love it when you fuck me like this,ā you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. āI just- I canātā¦ā
āI know darling, I know ā¦ just a little more,ā he groans. āOne more please. You can take it ā¦youāre doing so good.ā He soothes, but he canāt slow down, not when youāre clenching him like that.
He picks up the pace.
āC-Clark ā¦ please, Iām gonna-ā
āIāve got you, darling ā¦Iāve got you, let yourself go for me.ā
You see white this time. Youāre not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and youād give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.
And he does.
He fucks you like youāre his last breath.
Even after youāre wrecked, limp, twitching ā¦ he keeps going.
You donāt even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.
All while he keeps saying, āJust one more ā¦ just let me stay inside you a little longerā¦ please sweetheart, Iām still hard I know you can take it ā¦ this is the last time I promiseā¦ā
Again and again. Youāve never heard him lie so much before.
Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comesā¦
You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.
āFuck me harder.ā
You beg, even when you canāt feel it anymore. Maybe thatās why you need it harder ā¦ deeper.
And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldnāt fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.
āIām sorryā¦ Iām sorry Iām hurting you. I just need you so fucking much ā¦ I love you I love you I love youāā
You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.
You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know timeās passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly itās more like heās just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.
By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you ā¦ you canāt move. Youāre limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.
Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.
Youāre draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didnāt cause all the pain in your body.
Youāre still trembling a little. Just fromā¦ after. Your bodyās still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.
Worth it.
Clark kisses your temple. He hasnāt stopped kissing you every few minutes. Itās like heās trying to apologize without saying it. Like heās trying to prove that heās still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.
Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.
āā¦I broke your window,ā he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.
āClark ā¦ you broke a lot more than my window.ā
You both start giggling ā¦ glowing. Your throat hurts, youāre sore, probably canāt even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.
āI love you,ā he whispers. āSo much.ā
āI know,ā you whisper back. āYou said it like 87 times while destroying me.ā
āā ā” ā ā
Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader
Summary: Youāve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, youāre on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Yāallā¦You know the drillā¦Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and itās hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.
Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didnāt return back to normal in the movie š Also, yāall are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!ā¤ļø Thank you.
Word Count: 14,094
You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.
Three soft taps.
So quiet, they couldāve been the compound settling. It was hesitantāpolite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when theyāre not sure if theyāre allowed to be asking for anything at all.
You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommatesāso when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.
But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.
āY/Nā¦Itās Bobā¦Can I come in?ā You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.
Bob.
Of course it was Bob.
Youād almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the worldās most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldnāt possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.
āAll you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,ā Heād told you. āMake sure he eats. Make sure heās not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Yāknow. Normal people stuff.ā
It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, youād shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled āYou good?ā While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.
But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do listāsomewhere below ādonāt dieā and āget a new tissueā.
āā¦Itās open,ā You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.
The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museumsālike one wrong step might unplug or break something important.
He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too closeābeing mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didnāt want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in itāeven though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe stapleāa dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.
You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.
āYou okay?ā You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.
āYeah. Of courseā¦I meanā¦Iām good, I justā¦ā He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.
He wasnāt just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhereābehind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room beforeā the first time was always an experience for people who didnāt know you were a secret collector of everything.
His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.
There was a flicker in his expressionāsurprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like heād just stumbled into a part of you that he didnāt expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.
āā¦Bob,ā You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didnāt blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, āEarth to Bob. Are you sure everythingās okay?ā He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.
āSorryā¦Sorry,ā He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, āDidnāt mean to, uhā¦Yāknow, snoop or anything. Iāve just never seen your room before, youāve got a lot of cool stuff.ā You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.
āYouāre lucky I feel like death. Otherwise Iād be giving you the grand tour right nowā¦I also include a quiz at the end.ā Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.
āIād definitely failā¦So Iām kind of gladā¦Well Iām not glad youāre sick, Iām just glad I donāt have to do a quiz.ā Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.
āVery smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.ā Bob made a quiet noiseāsomewhere between a breathy laugh and a groanākeeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.
āSoā¦Whatās going on? Whyād you knock on my door atā¦ā You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, āSeven fifty three in the morning?ā Bob sighed.
āWellā¦I need to go to the drug store,ā He admitted, his voice sheepish, āAnd I know Buckyās not really a fan of me going out alone soā¦Thought Iād ask my babysitter.ā You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.
āAre you getting sick or something?ā He immediately shook his head.
āNo, no itās nothing like that. I havenāt really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serumā¦ā You quirked your brow at him.
āSoā¦Whatās the reason for the drug store trip then?ā Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.
āI umā¦I need to buy something. For myself.ā He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.
āIs it serious?ā
āNo,ā He said quickly, āItās not likeā¦Health-serious or anything, Iām fine physically, I justā¦ā He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.
āYou do realize Iām gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?ā Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.
āFineā¦Fineā¦I need to buyā¦Hair dye.ā He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.
āHair dye?ā Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didnāt mean for it to sound like you were judging him.
āMhmā¦ā You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.
āYou woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morningā¦For hair dye?ā You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you werenāt experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.
āItās not justāā He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, āI meanā¦It isā¦But I justā¦ā The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, āI just donāt like what it looks like anymore.ā There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldnāt help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.
āThe bleachā¦ The whole look,ā he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, āIt was for him. For the Sentry. Thatās what they said, anywayā they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighterā¦Like it would somehow separate usā¦But I still have to live in this body when heās not around.ā Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, āI still have to see myselfā¦And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when Iām justā¦Bob.ā You didnāt say anything at firstānot because you didnāt want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.
āItās not stupid.ā You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, āWanting to see yourself again isnāt stupid Bobā¦Itās just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control ofā¦I get it.ā His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this momentā¦It was like he felt seen.
āSo Iāll helpā¦But I need to see what weāre working with first.ā You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.
āW-What?ā You sighed.
āThat hat Bobā¦Just take it offā¦I havenāt seen your hair since we moved you in here and youāve been hiding it like itās some sort of radioactive test subject.ā He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.
āI-I really donāt think thatās necessary,ā He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.
āBob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for helpā¦So let me help youā¦Let me see it.ā The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.
You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.
Bobās fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didnāt want to let go of the safety it provided him.
The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightlyānot in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you rememberedāshaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back ināsoft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.
He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentryājustā¦Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerabilityālike this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.
āItās not that bad,ā You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, āReally. It just needs some love, patienceā¦Maybe a deep conditionā¦And the right shade of brown.ā Bobās head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldnāt believe what you were saying.
āS-So youāre actually going to help? Y-You didnāt just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?ā You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.
āNo I didnāt try to trick youā¦ Iām going to help, but first, Iām gonna need you to come here and make sure I donāt fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like theyāre made of jelly.ā For a split second Bob wasnāt sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasnāt sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.
āAlrightā¦Whenever youāre ready I g-guess.ā He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the āguessā like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.
Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.
āWoahāwoah, okay.ā Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.
Despite everythingāthe fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the wallsāyou still smelledā¦Good.
Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.
It wasnāt some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasnāt perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just youāfresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.
āYou alright Bob?ā You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didnāt say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.
āYeah, yeah Iām okay.ā You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldnāt help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.
You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweaterāfresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.
Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.
āYou can let go now,ā You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.
āIām good,ā You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, āJust give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I donāt scare the public by looking like a corpse.ā Bob nodded immediately.
āYeah, of course, Iāll justā¦Iāll wait in the hallway. Thereās no rush or anything, uhā¦Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.ā He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, āJust call me if you need anything.ā He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.
The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwavedāsweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft heād been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.
You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.
Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passedāyour new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.
āLetās get outta here.ā
āāāāāā
Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.
It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.
Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldnāt decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.
āWellā¦We know what row we need to look at.ā You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning coloursārows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espressoāpushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.
āI didnāt think it was going to be so complicatedā¦ā He murmured from behind you, āI just thought there would be straight forward choicesā¦ā You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.
āItās just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. Seeā¦ā You pointed at one box āThis one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,ā Then pointed to the other one right beside it,āWhile this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesnāt do a lot of damage, but theyāre the same colour.ā Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.
āAlrightā¦But what if I just wantā¦Normal dye?ā You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.
āBobā¦This is normal dye.ā He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.
āW-Well yeah butābut you know what I mean donāt you? It doesnāt have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.ā You let out a small laugh.
āWelcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.ā Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.
āOkayā¦I guess youāre right.ā He replied nervously.
āWeāll find your colour, I promise.ā You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.
āShould I, uhā¦Take my hat off? Would that help?ā You tilted your head at him, and nodded.
āIt would definitely make this a much quicker processā¦But if it really bothers you, Iām pretty sure I could go off of memory.ā Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.
āI donāt mind, itās basically just us in here anyway.ā You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.
āAlright,ā You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, āBend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.ā He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expectedācloser than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.
You smelled like cherry cough dropsāsickly sweet and medicinalāand it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.
You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didnāt know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.
Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves
A soft rattling sound reached your ears thenāthe kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.
āIs the Sentry getting a bit flustered?ā You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. āOr is that just you rattling like a soda can?ā
Bob made a noiseāhalf sigh, half laughāducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. āItās definitely just me. Heās, uhā¦Heās fine.ā
āGood,ā You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. āBecause I donāt think heād let me manhandle his hair like this.ā
āYouāre notā¦Manhandling anything,ā He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. āFeelsā¦Kinda nice, actually.ā You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.
āā¦This is your shade,ā You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didnāt move at first, it was as if his brain hadnāt caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didnāt hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.
āNow we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that Iām grabbing some snacks, cause Iām getting hungry.ā He looked away from you, nodding.
āYeah, okayā¦Conditioner and snack. Got it.ā You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfareāthe shampoo and conditioner areaāand skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.
āThis one,ā You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, āWill do miracles for the damage, youāre gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.ā Bob glanced at the package.
āDoes itā¦Sting?ā Your eyebrows drew together.
āBobā¦It's conditioner, not acid.ā He bit his inner lip.
āNo, I-I know, Iām just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burnedā¦Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just donāt want to go through that again.ā You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didnāt really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.
āI promise this will be way less abrasive.ā You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, āNow letās get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.ā Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bobās chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.
āSoā¦Whatāre you craving?ā He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, āSweet? Salty?ā You hummed.
āMight buy the whole aisle to be honestā¦ā He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the storeās staticky music, but warmer than anything youād heard in days.
āSeems like your appetite has come back.ā You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.
āYeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recoveryā¦Just donāt touch my lower backā¦Itās a little sweaty.ā There was a beat of silence, before you continued āMy stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and Iāll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.ā
āWell that took a turnā¦ā You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.
āI like to keep you on your toes Bob.ā You replied with a smirk.
āāāāā-
Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.
You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training campāfrayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelenaās hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words āI SURVIVED CAMP HAMMONDā on the front of it, a great memory of how long itās been since you were actually training.
You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.
Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasnāt sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.
āAlright,ā You announced as you stepped inside, āYour hair hero has arrived.ā Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.
āYou brought your own bowl?ā He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.
āOf course I brought my own bowl,ā You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, āWhat kind of amateur do you think I am?ā You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.
You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edgeāthe dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.
āOkay,ā You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, āLetās get you situated hm?ā Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.
āGo sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.ā You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.
āUhā¦Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everythingā¦I didnāt mean to be a bother.ā You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.
āYouāre not a bother Bob.,ā You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, āI donāt mind.ā He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.
You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.
It was quiet for a momentāpeaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bobās eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.
āWhatāsā¦Camp Hammond?ā He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didnāt look over at him immediatelyāstill focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like textureābut your mouth twitched slightly.
āDid you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?ā You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, āHate to burst your bubble, but I wasnāt that cool.ā Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.
āSo what is it? Likeā¦A boot camp or something?ā You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.
āKind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.ā He leaned forward a bit.
āWas itā¦Bad?ā You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.
āNo. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.ā At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bobās nature he was observant enough to catch on that you werenāt going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.
āBefore I forgetāyou should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and thereās a really low chance youāre going to be able to get it out.ā You said, motioning with the brush, āUnless you actually want brown splatters all over it.ā You added, seeing him look down at himself.
āOhā¦Uhā¦ā He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, āIām notā¦Wearing anything under it.ā You paused.
āYou could go find something you donāt mind ruining, I can wait.ā Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.
āI donāt really have anythingā¦I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I donāt.ā You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.
āGuess we have a dilemma then.ā You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towelāa solution of sorts.
āI meanā¦I could take it off, I justā¦Just promise me you wonāt laugh.ā You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.
āOkay. I wonāt laugh.ā You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his armsāhe had to peel it upward with a bit of a twistāand then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.
You froze.
The breath you hadnāt realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.
The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.
He wasā¦Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left ribāthin and silvery and healed long agoāand there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admirationā¦
And his armsāJesus Christ, his armsāwere gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.
He wasnāt perfect. But you didnāt want perfect. Thisāthis was so much better.
The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.
You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from youā Or anybody else for that matter?
āWowā¦ā Was all you could say, and you didnāt even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bobās head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.
āYeah I knowā¦ā He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, āI know itās badā¦The serum kindaā¦I donāt know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.ā You raised your hand to stop him.
āWoah woahā¦Donāt even go there Bob. I wasnāt saying wow in a bad way.ā He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.
āā¦You werenāt?ā He questioned, his lips parting a bit.
āBobā¦Youāre built like a fucking house.ā You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.
āThatāsā¦A very generous interpretation, but you donāt have to lie to meā¦ā Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.
āBob, Iāve never lied to youā¦And Iām certainly not starting now.ā Bobās lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, āYou look amazing, and I mean it.ā That was when you heard it againāthe faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didnāt really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.
Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.
āā¦Youāre really not going to laugh at me?ā He asked, almost like he truly couldnāt believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.
āBob, the only thing Iām going to be doing right now is wondering how Iām supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like thisā¦Does that make you feel any better?ā Bob let out a soft, startled breathāalmost like a laugh or like he didnāt know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.
His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexedāthen unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.
āIā¦ā He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light āI think that makes it so much worse, actually.ā
āWorse?ā Bob nodded faintly.
āYeahā¦Because now Iām trying really hard not to kiss you...ā His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.
The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chestānot violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.
And still, somehow, he smiled.
The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.
You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.
āWell,ā You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest āYouāre gonna have to wait until after your hairās done. Iām not making out with someone mid-dye jobāthis stuff stains.ā You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bobās breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.
āRight, right, of course.ā He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.
āNow, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.ā You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.
āY-Yes, maāam.ā He responded breathlessly, without even thinkingāso soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of itāchemical but faintly sweetāmingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bobās hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.
He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frameābut now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.
You worked in silence for a little while. It wasnāt awkwardājust thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment thatās humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.
Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.
āā¦Can I touch you?ā
The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasnāt sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.
āTouch me?ā You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.
āNot in a weird way I justāI need toā¦To do something with my hands.āYour lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didnāt mind one bit.
āYeah,ā You said quietly. āYou can touch me.ā
The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.
They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.
Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldnāt quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw itāhis bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.
You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to himāhow he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.
āYou okay down there?ā You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally openedāheavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.
āYeah,ā He breathed. āJustā¦I think this is the most relaxed Iāve felt in weeks.ā You couldnāt help but smile at the softness of his voice.
āWell, Iām glad I could contribute to thatā¦Even though now youāre going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.ā He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.
āā¦What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?ā He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.
You werenāt going to give in that easily though.
āOh Iām sure we could think of something.ā Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didnāt say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.
You didnāt move much at firstājust enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.
You dipped ināslow, and teasingāuntil your lips were just above his. A hairās breadth away from connecting.
But then you stopped.
Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do itā¦But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.
āā¦Y/N.ā He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.
āWhat?ā You asked quietly.
āY-You know whatā¦Youāre driving me crazyā¦ā He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.
āThatās the point.ā You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didnāt move you closer, even though he couldāve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.
Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.
āā¦You donāt know what youāre doing to meā¦Godā¦You have no idea.ā He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.
āI think I have a pretty good idea,ā You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear āYouāre the one shaking, Bob.ā You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.
āIām t-trying my best to be good for youā¦But youāre making this so hard.ā The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. āā¦You can do whatever you want to meā¦ā He whispered, āJust pleaseā¦Please donāt stop touching me.ā Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.
It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldnāt hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.
āā¦The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,ā You said softly, āAnd I think weāre both a little overheated, arenāt we?ā Bobās eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.
āWāWhat do youāā
āI think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,ā You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, āThat okay with you?ā There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bobās fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.
āIāll rinse out your hair, get the dye outā¦Then maybeāā Your voice dropped into a whisper, āāIāll let you kiss meā¦Think you can manage to wait?ā Bob let out a small broken soundābetween a laugh and a groan.
āI-I can try,ā He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.
The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didnāt step away from him entirelyājust retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel youād need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.
With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.
The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at himāstill seated, trying to play it cool like he wasnāt about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimateālike the air itself was folding in to watch.
You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.
Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.
āWant to undress me?ā You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this timeājust heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.
āY-Yeah, o-of course I do.ā He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.
He took his time with itānot from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.
He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.
Bobās gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holyālike he wouldnāt blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.
He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.
āJesusā¦ā He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.
āYouāre so beautifulā¦ā You whispered, feeling Bobās fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.
āAnd youāre immaculateā¦ā He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didnāt want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasnāt helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.
āIāll meet you in the shower,ā Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint youād been nursing for the last hour.
From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beepābecause what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.
He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.
āRemember, we gotta wash your hair out first.ā Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.
āClose your eyes,ā You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crispāsomething like cedar and citrusāand you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.
Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touchāsoft and barely audible over the rush of waterābut he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.
He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.
āNo peeking,ā You teased, your voice low and sultry, āYouāll get soap in your eyes, and thatāll just prolong the process.ā You added, with a smirk.
āI-Iām not peeking,ā He muttered back, clearly lying.
But while he couldnāt see you, you saw everything.
Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of himācompletely, gloriously bare under the waterās fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.
He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.
It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He wasā¦Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed stillāeyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.
You swallowed, trying not to stare too longābut your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.
The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.
You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.
āThere you are,ā You whispered, more to yourself than to him, āBack to youā¦ā You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.
āā¦W-What does it look like?ā He asked softly.
āLike itās all youā¦Itās perfect Bobā¦ā You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.
āā¦Can I kiss you now?ā He whispered, breath catching in his throat.
You nodded.
And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like heād been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chestādeep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.
His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.
Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymoreāonly quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldnāt quite get enough.
You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.
You gasped softly into his mouth when he did itābecause now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didnāt push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.
āI-I have to touch youā¦Can I p-please touch you?ā His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.
He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shouldersālike it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.
Bobās hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didnāt hesitate.
His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at firstāsoft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.
That was all the invitation Bob needed.
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.
āSoā¦So soft,ā He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, āSo goddamn softā¦ā Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body respondingāarching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didnāt bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.
Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.
You were soakedāslick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.
āF-fuck,ā You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didnāt flinch at the scratchāhe moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.
His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin thereākissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasnāt the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.
āY-You feel so warmā¦ā He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bobās hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.
And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laughāutterly wrecked by how responsive you were.
āYouāre gonna come for me, arenāt you?ā he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. āI can feel itā¦God, I can feel you squeezing meā¦ā
You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.
Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and thatās when you saw stars.
Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of himāclean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise nowāsoft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.
āJust like that, babyāso good for meā¦ Youāre doing so goodāfeels like heavenāfuck, I want to see you fall apartā¦ā
You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.
A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gaspedāloud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.
Bob stilled for a second in awe.
āā¦Oh my God,ā He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.
He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to himāand his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.
āYouā¦You did so good.ā He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.
The kiss wasnāt hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something heād only ever imaginedācareful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadnāt yet broken.
When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absenceābut before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.
He was still in his movements.
Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his handāand then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.
Bob made a sound that almost didnāt make it out of himāa soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.
He could barely breathe.
You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasnāt a power playāit was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.
Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged themāslow and reverentādown your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting youāsmearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.
āY/Nā¦Youāre soā¦So perfect,ā He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower
āDo you want toā¦Still have sex with me?ā You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.
āOf course I do,ā You responded instantly.
Your lips found his right afterāsoft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you werenāt going to vanish, that you really did want thisāwant him.
As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt itāthe soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.
You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldnāt believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didnāt rush. And neither did you.
āI want you,ā You said, your breath warm against his mouth. āAll of you.ā Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.
Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.
Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so muchāthick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.
āIs that okay?ā He asked, voice cracking. āIāI can stop if itās too muchā¦ā
You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.
āNo. Please donāt stop.ā
Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you againāslow, sweetābefore sinking deeper inside.
You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.
It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.
āOhā¦God.ā He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. āYouāre soā¦So perfectā¦ I canātāGodāā
You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. āYouāre okay, Bob. Youāre doing so goodā¦ā
He began to moveāshallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.
He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.
He kissed you everywhere he could reachāyour cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.
āYouāre so beautifulā¦ā
āYou feel so good around meā¦ā
āI want to make you feel everythingā¦ā
Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.
Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.
Then his thrusts started to falter.
You felt it in the way he gaspedāsharp and helplessāthe way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.
āIāY/N, Iāoh God, Iāmāā
You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. āItās okay. Let go. Iāve got you.ā
He came with a broken gasp.
The lights flickered.
Just onceāflicker, flicker, blackāand then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.
And then he went still.
Completely, and utterly still.
He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.
He didnāt move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.
And then you felt itāthe slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.
āI-Iām sorry,ā he whispered, still breathless. āThat was so fast. I didnāt mean to-God, I just couldnāt hold itā¦ā
You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldnāt believe any of this was real.
You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. āYou didnāt finish too fast, Bob.ā
He blinked, lips parting like he didnāt believe you.
You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, āYou were perfect. I loved every second of itā¦Because it was with you.ā His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slowerālike he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.
Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didnāt want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.
He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldnāt quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.
āYou really like touching me, huh?ā You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.
āā¦Yeahā¦I really do.ā He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.
āAs much as Iād love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,ā You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, āIf we donāt rinse off soon, the compoundās water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.ā Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.
āI guess youāre right, but once we get cleaned upā¦I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little whileā¦If thatās okay?ā You nodded.
āOf course itās okay.ā You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadnāt just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.
And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.
You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowlyālike he wasnāt sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.
A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.
You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.
He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lipsābarely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.
āThank you,ā he murmured.
You smiled into him, nose brushing his. āDonāt thank me yet,ā You whispered. āI hope you donāt get the flu from all of this.ā
He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.
āIf I do,ā He said, āItāll be worth every damn minute.ā
To the Sons of Anarchy, you're just Happy's neighbor that doesn't care for drama or the fact that they wear kuttes. But in actuality, you've dealt and probably have done far worse, and it isn't until you're kidnapped that they find out your secret.
Author's Note: Long time no see, huh? Does this mean I'm back? Hell no. This has been sitting in my drafts since mid-2023 and thought it was time to go out.
For never having seen more than a few episodes, I love these SOA boys. I'm not super familiar with the lingo or clubhouse etiquette, so this is gonna take place away from that particular setting. Trigger warning for graphic violence and attempted sexual assault (it doesn't get far). Reader is gonna be a littleā¦ off the rails. Blame all the dark romance I've been reading lmao.
Before moving into your new home, you knew it was going to be a fixer upper. Fortunately for you, you loved working with your hands, and after having beenĀ banishedĀ to Charming in hopes ofĀ calming your inner demons,Ā you were going to have a lot of time to do just that. But the joke was on your family because there was no calming your demons. People just needed to learn to not piss you the fuck off.
When you get to the house, however, you see that a majority of the work has already been done for you. The only thing left for you to do is paint the walls, rearrange furniture, and unbox your belongings. The electricity and water are already turned on, and wifi has been installed with your password on a sticky note.
The master bedroom is huge and you love it, but you don't have nearly enough belongings to fill it. Your queen-sized bed looks tiny and you immediately want something bigger. So heading back outside to your vehicle, you grab your bag that has your laptop inside and head back in. Setting up at your kitchen island, you search for a place that will deliver any type of food and beverage. You find a pizzeria just on the outskirts of town that will deliver to Charming, so you place a quick order. It's a forty minute wait period, so to pass the time you start looking up bedroom ideas.
You run across a California king bed, but none really catch your eye. What does catch your eye, however, are the DIY beds that touch from one side of the wall to the other. You take your laptop back to your bedroom so see if it's do-able, and come to the conclusion that it is. You'll have to add some floating shelves since you won't be able to have bedside tables, but that's perfectly fine with you. You then take the time to get down the measurements of your room because you still have to situate your dresser and mount your TV to the wall, and you need to make sure everything will fit.
Eventually your food gets there and, sitting at the kitchen island, you dig in. You slowly eat and drink your fill, and then place any leftovers in the already cool refrigerator.
Needing some bathroom necessities and sheets for your current bed, you unload your vehicle. You place each box in their respective rooms, but leave them mostly boxed up. And not wanting to get any TV's mounted or bed fully put together since you still have to paint the walls, you remain on your laptop to pass the time and send messages to your family to let them know you're okay.
It takes you a couple of weeks to build your bed frame, get in your special ordered mattress, and paint the walls to your liking. You do most of your building in the driveway, so you've become accustomed to the people living on your street, waving at them as they pass or call out a greeting. But there's one individual everyone seems to steer clear of or avoid eye contact with, and that's your next door neighbor who rides a motorcycle and proudly wears a Sons of Anarchy kutte.
You had first seen the intimidating, bald man when he showed up a couple days after you moved in. You'd looked up when you heard the rumblings of engines and watched two motorcycles pull into the driveway next door. You paused hammering for a moment, nodded at the two men who took a moment to stare back, and then went back to work.
Over the next few days, men came and went from next door. And each time, they were intrigued watching you work. But eventually your bed frame was finished and you had to situate it in your bedroom. Maneuvering the mattress was no easy feat, but you were not about to ask for help, and it didn't take you long to finally finish furnishing your home to your liking.
As busy as you've been, you haven't really had the time to eat a home cooked meal. So after everything, you took a trip to the grocery store and bought hundreds of dollars of food and drink to stock your kitchen with.
The air is finally cool and crisp, so all the windows to your home are wide open. You'd been feeling a little restless, so you opted to cook a meal that would keep you busy. Enchiladas, rice, and beans is one of your favorite meals, so after making sure you have everything, you put a pot of beans to cook. They have to cook for a few hours, so while that's going on you get online to check in with your family.
When the beans are done, you get started on browning hamburger meat. Setting a majority of the meat aside, you use only a bit for the enchilada sauce. You pour in water, flour, spices, and some canned chili until it's to your liking, and then heat up some corn tortillas before you start rolling the enchiladas. After they're in a pan that holds far too many for only you, you pour the enchilada sauce on top before shredding some cheese atop of it. Once that's in the oven, you get started on a pan of rice.
It's when the rice is boiling that your doorbell rings. A little tired and more than a little hungry, you grab up your beer after turning off the rice, and take a swig of it on your way to the door. Since the door is wide open, you can easily see who's standing just on the other side of the screen door. It's one of the Sons, one of the only two with brown skin that you've seen so far. But this isn't the intimidating bald one, this is the one with a shaved mohawk down the center of his head and a killer smile.
You arch an eyebrow at him as he tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and you take another swig of beer as you lean against the door jamb. "Yes?"
The corner of his eyes crinkle as his smile widens. "Hi. Uh, me and my boys are chilling next door and we couldn't help but smell whatever it is you're eating. You mind sharing the name of the place where you picked up your food from so we can go get some too? Smells really good."
Your lips twitch. "Who said I picked anything up?"
"You cooking?" His eyes widen. "Bullshit."
You huff a laugh and nod. "YN."
"Juice."
"Mhmm." You push the door open just enough so you can lean out and peer next door, catching sight of two men sitting sideways on the seats of their bike. "Just you three?"
"Yeah."
You hum again and then back into your home as the screen door shuts quietly. "I've been watching you guys come and go, nodding cordially when our gazes clash," you say. "If you're willing to leave your shoes by the front door, you're more than welcome to pull up a seat at the table."
"Forreal?"
"Sure." You shrug. "I never learned how to cook for one, so I might have made an entire tray of enchiladas that will most likely go to waste if someone else doesn't eat them."
"Oh hell yeah." Juice turns, cupping his hands around his mouth as he says, "Yo! Free meal! Get over here!"
You watch as one man eagerly gets off his bike, whooping in delight of free food. The other, the one you believe actually lives next door, casually gets up at a leisurely pace. You push open the screen door as they're stomping up your porch steps, and Juice introduces you to Tig and Happy. You do your best not to smile because Happy does not look quite so happy, but he grunts a greeting when you tell them your name.
"Ohhh. A Spanish lady," Tig muses as Juice translates for him to sit down as you instructed. When you glance at him, his wild-crazed gaze makes you snort. "I like 'em a little spicy."
"And I like 'em less talkative." Happy and Juice both snort, and Tig beams at your sassy retort. "Beer or soda?"
Tig and Happy take beers, and Juice takes a soda. You serve them each their own plate of three enchiladas, a scoop of rice, and a scoop of beans. You serve yourself last with a glass of water, and finally take a seat to dig into all your hard work.
"Goddamn," Tig grumbles after his first bite of everything. "This is some Mexican restaurant level shit here."
You grin as you eat at your own pace, feeling content at watching three grown men finding your cooking delicious.
"So what's your story?" Juice asks. "In all the times I've come around, it's just you here."
"That's because it is just me here."
"Why Charming?"
You take a moment to swallow your food, washing it all down with a sip of water as you lean back in your chair. Then glancing between each man and the patches on their kuttes, you ask, "Do you want the real story or the story I'm feeding anyone who asks in polite small talk when they see a new face in the store?"
All three men slow their eating, their gazes sliding up to you in surprise.
"What's the story you tellin' the locals?" Tig asks.
Placing a hand over your heart and changing your voice so you sound like a southern belle, you say, "Just that I just left a very nasty relationship and my family thought I deserved a fresh start away from the man who dared lift a fist in my direction."
Tig snorts. "And the real story?"
You chuckle as your voice goes back to normal. "My family thought I needed to calm my inner demons, so they banished me to Charming. Joke's on them, I've made peace with my demons. It's not my fault people keep pissing me off."
Tig and Juice laugh as Happy smirks at you.
"What'd you do to earn banishment?" Juice wonders.
You shake your head at him, eating a bit more before finishing the story. "I was raised to take no shit from anyone. So after he put me in the hospital, I made him believe all was well. Then one night, when he least suspected it, I slipped him a little something so he was conscious, but paralyzed, and set fire to his house."
The three men freeze, but you continue eating as if it was no big deal.
"Did you- did you kill him?" Juice warily asks.
"Unfortunately, no." You pout and then laugh at their awed expressions. "He had nosy neighbors so they were able to get the firetrucks there as soon as they smelled smoke. But when my family found out, they said I was sloppy, so I got shipped out here."
"Yoo.. what the fuck?" A moment of quiet ensues and then Juice is laughing. "That has to be the craziest shit I've heard in a while."
"I highly doubt that." Your gaze drops to the patch on his kutte. "I'm sure you've heard, seen, or taken part of some pretty crazy shit." When you meet his gaze again, you smirk. "Am I wrong?"
Juice grins and then looks at Happy. "Your neighbor is cool as shit. I'm kind of jealous." The air of amusement lingers as everyone continues to eat. "So what do you do for work?"
"I do some IT stuff for my family." You shrug. "I can work from anywhere, so I guess I'll still be doing that. What about you boys? What do you do other than ride?"
"We work at Teller Automotive," Tig says. "Only car garage in town."
"Really? Do you guys have any openings this week? I need my oil changed."
"Sure. We'll leave a number before we leave."
The rest of dinner is spent with the men telling you what there is to do in Charming and asking how long you plan on staying. You're not really sure, but if you end up liking Charming then you have no issues setting down roots. And then when dinner is done and you've seemed to exhaust all the small talk topics, you plate up the leftovers and send the men on their way.
Over the next couple of weeks, you befriend your neighbor. You take your vehicle into Teller Automotive and Happy takes it upon himself to take care of it for you. Tig and Juice had kept you company, and introduced you to a few of their other brothers when they took interest in their new friend. You were invited to one of their parties and, after some pressuring, you went. Nothing shocked you, not even a few members of the club getting head in plain sight, but Happy apparently shocked everyone else by gluing himself to your side. According to the club President, Happy was normally found in the ring outside or fucking his way through croweaters, but that night he made sure that no one bothered you.
Then more often than not, Happy reaped the benefits of your cooking and appeared for dinner before taking leftovers home for lunch.
In such a short period of time, you grow accustomed to the stern biker's company.
One morning, you're startled awake by the doorbell ringing and a fist pounding on the door. You sit up and scoot out of bed, hurrying towards your front door in a groggy, yet panicked state. But before you pull the door open, you peer out one of the thin windows on one side of your door. It takes a moment for you to realize it's Happy and that the sky behind him is still dark.
Unlocking the door, you pull it open. "What the fuck, Hap? What's going on?"
With a duffel bag hanging off his shoulder, Happy looks you up and down. "You always answer the door like this or am I just special?"
You freeze and then glance down, rolling your eyes when you remember you went to sleep in a gray wife beater, that makes it very obvious you're not wearing a bra, and a pair of hipster underwear. "Neither. You're lucky."
"Sure." You narrow your eyes at him and he smirks. "I forgot the bills were due and everything got shut off. Can I crash here until I get it sorted?"
Without missing a beat, you say, "Yeah," and step back from the door, opening it wider. "Shoes off. You know where the bathroom is and I'm pretty sure you can find the guest bedroom." You yawn and lock the door behind your friend. "What time is it?"
"Little after five."
"Happy," you whine. "S'too fuckin' early. M'going back to bed." As you pad back to your room, you don't hear any footsteps behind you. "Stop staring at my ass!"
"Can't help it. Might start dropping by early now."
"Do it and die, Lowman." Stopping and turning, you point an accusatory finger at him. "Do not come in between me and my bed. I will murder you."
His lips twitch. "Worth it."
. .
. .
It takes less than a week for Happy to get his power and water turned back on, and then he's back at his house. Though there are times when he shows up for dinner, dropping off on your couch when he's too tired to walk back home. Normally you would mind, but Happy knew how to clean up after himself, so you didn't mind that it seemed he was practically half moved in.
One night, you get a call from your brother that they need you to come in and work on cracking the passwords on a few laptops they'd gotten their hands on. You agreed, but first you needed to arrange someone to look after your house.
The next afternoon, you show up to Teller Automotive. You find Happy on a smoke break and ask him for a favor. When you ask him if he can keep an eye on your house for two days, he seems surprised, even more so when you give him a copy of your house key. You tell him he can crash there and eat whatever food you have so long as he doesn't trash the place. He readily agrees.
And when you return two days later, you realize you should have specified that he could crash in the guest bedroom. Finding a nearly naked Happy in your bed isn't half bad, nor is the firmness of his ass when you smack a hand down on it to wake him up.
Immediately he jerks awake, twisting his body as he sits up, and pointing a gun right at your face. You laugh and lick the tip of the barrel while wiggling your eyebrows at him. "Wakey, wakey."
"You're a fuckin' pyscho," he grumbles, lowering his gun.
"Yeah, well duh. You should have had that figured out a long time ago." He rolls his eyes before turning to drop down face first back into your pillow, shoving his gun back under it. You grin. "Was there something wrong with the guest room you've been using?"
"No. I just didn't know how fuckin' massive your bed was. It looked lonely without a body in it."
"Mhmm. I'm sure." He grunts and you chuckle as you crawl out of the bed. "I'm gonna go pick up some breakfast from the diner. Want anything?"
"Anything and everything."
"Gotcha. I'll text you when I'm on my way back."
. .
. .
The dynamic between you and Happy ended up changing after that fateful morning. When he slept over, it was in your bed. You hadn't crossed the line past lingering touches or innuendos, but it was a given that he was the only person allowed in your bed. You didn't care for the croweaters at the parties his club put on every Friday night, but the two of you made a statement when he rolled up one night with you seated behind him.
The Sons nearly gaped as Happy amped up his protectiveness, pulling you between his parted thighs as he took a seat on a stool at the bar. Tig and Juice had walked over, and Happy perched you on his knee as you joked with his brothers. The croweaters didn't bother to hide their glares or sneers, but you merely smirked at their cattiness and took to scratching the back of Happy's head with your nails when you'd draped your arm around his shoulders.
"So, is this a thing?" Jax, the club president, had asked.
You shrugged and grinned. "We're friends."
"Friends don't stake claims."
"We'reĀ possessiveĀ friends."
Happy had snorted but didn't correct you.
From there on out, it was known that you were Happy's.
The Sons are relaxing at the clubhouse after a long day's work when blacked out Escalades and BMW's pull up. The atmosphere immediately goes from relaxed to tense, and the Sons flank their President when he walks out to the lot to see what the deal is.
Thug after thug exit the vehicles before opening the doors on two Escalades, ushering out four well-dressed men. None of them look like they'd be a person to fuck with, so Jax is extremely curious as to what the fuck is going on.
"Can I help you?" He asks, eyebrow arches as tattooed thugs flank the apparent important men.
"I hope you can." The one in charge reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a picture. "What do you know about this woman?"
When Jax is shown a picture, he mentally curses. It's Happy's neighbor and a friend to many Sons. He keeps his expression neutral, before shrugging. "Nothing. Should I?"
"She's my baby sister."
"Oh hellā¦"
"YN never misses check-in and she's missed two," the man explains. "It's come to my attention that she's made some connections to Happy Lowman, Juan Ortiz, and Tig Trager- all Sons of Anarchy. Do you understand why I'm here now?"
"Fuck, man, we didn't know. What can we do?"
"You can start by questioning your men to see if they'd heard from her."
At that, Tig steps forward. "I haven't seen or spoken with YN in a little over a week."
"What about Juan or Happy?"
Jax looks at his gathered men, frowning. "WhereĀ areĀ Juice and Happy?" No one says anything, looking as confused as their President when they don't see their familiar faces. Then raising his voice, he asks, "Has anyone heard from Happy or Juice today?" Nothing. No one utters a peep. "What about yesterday?"
"Jax." Opie has his phone to ear, shaking his head. "Both are going to voicemail."
"Shit." Then turning around to face the slowly darkening expressions of YN's apparent brothers, Jax asks, "How can we help?"
. .
. .
When your eyes flutter open, every inch of your body is in pain.
"How the fuck does my hair hurt?" You groan. You try to sit up, but realize you're on your side, on dirt and hay, with your hands tied behind your back. "What the actual fuck?" Clearing your vision, you see that you're not alone. Happy and Juice are with you, but they're in chairs with their hands tied behind their backs and looking a little beat up.
"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Juice tiredly muses.
"What happened?" Maneuvering around some, you manage to sit up.
"Kidnapped," Happy says. "They injected us with some shit, but they gave you too much."
You grimace as you roll your neck. "Dicks." It's dim in the empty barn you're being kept in, but you can see sunlight through the cracks of the walls. There are stalls for animals on either side of you, all empty, and a table filled with various blades and weapons not too far away. Your aching arms are your main priority though, so you move into a crouch and wiggle your tied wrists under your butt. With a grunt, you fall backward and maneuver your hands until they're situated in front of you. "Ah. That's better."
"Get up and grab a blade so we can get the fuck outta here," Happy urges.
You do as you're told, mentally scoffing at the thought that these morons didn't think to bind your ankles. Unfortunately, you're not so lucky as someone had been watching from the shadows. So just as you're reaching for a blade, that someone jumps out at you and roughly pins you against the table.
Bent over with your arms above your head and someone pressed up right against you, you immediately start thrashing and cussing out whoever it is. Happy and Juice shout, and start wriggling in their own seats when a hand then pins you to the table by the back of your neck.
"So close,Ā princesa." A man tuts and you jerk in his hold, but still he persists. Laughter causes you to look up, watching as another two men step out from behind Happy and Juice. "Is that anyway to talk to your host?"
"Fuck. Off."
"Oh, I will." Just then, a hand grips your waist and squeezes, and you freeze. "Just not yet. I have some questions for you."
"Don't you fucking touch her."
When you glance up at Happy, there's a look on his face that you've never seen before. You know what he does for the Sons, but you'd never seen that particular dark look or glint in his eyes, and for a moment it steals your breath away. Then you remember that look isn't meant for you, and you squirm a little as the man behind you laughingly presses his pelvis into your ass. "Or what?"
Juice answers, "Or we'll fucking kill you."
That causes all three men to laugh some more.
"Doubtful. But thanks for the laugh." Then the man behind you focuses on you once again. "Besides, my business isn't with you, but with theĀ princesa de la mafia."
You tense. "I don't know anything."
"Aw. Of course, you don't," the man coos. "I would hope that your brothers are smart enough to never let a woman in on their secrets. But then again, you are the baby sister of one of the most dangerous mafias in the United States. I'm pretty sure you know something that I can use to hurt those brothers of yours."
You manage to angle your head just enough so you can make eye contact with Happy. He meets your stare, and you see it subtly soften, but then he's glaring at the man holding you once more. "I won't sell out my brothers."
"No?" The man releases your neck, only to trail his fingers down from your ribs to hips. "I don't want to mess up such a pretty face, but you do know there are other ways to break you and get you to talk, right?"
And then before you can answer, he's grabbing the back hem of your shirt and ripping it down the middle.
You yelp just as Happy shouts, "You motherfucker!", and squirm to get away. Across from you, Happy and Juice are pummeled a few times until they stop trying to break the chairs they're bound to.
The man rubs a hand up and down your back, fiddling with your bra strap, but never unsnapping it. You feel gross, but it's only when the guy reaches around to fiddle with the button on your jeans does red cloud your vision.
"Hey, Hap?" You manage to meet Happy's livid gaze. "Remember when I spoke about my demons?"
"Yeah."
"They desperately wanna come out to play."
"Shut the fuck up, you whore!" The man slaps you across the back of your head and you grit your teeth, biding your time.
Happy slowly smirks. "Then let them out to play, baby."
The moment the button on your jeans is opened, you scream at a pitch that startles every man in the room. Then pushing up as much as you can, you headbutt the man behind you. As he swears, you reach for the first handle you see and are pleasantly surprised to find a small machete. Then without even thinking, you whirl around and swing the blade, catching your would-be abuser in the neck with the blade.
Blood sprays as you immediately tug the blade free, leaving the man to try and cover his wound as he splutters on his own life force. From the corner of your eye, you see someone running at you, but another swing of the machete finds a home in the second man's face.
As the man falls back with a scream unlike anything you've ever heard, he takes the machete with him. Happy and Juice shout at you, and it's then you remember the third. He's running at you, a small blade in hand, and you reach for the nearest weapon. It's a metal bat and just as you rear back to swing, he swings first. The blade makes contact with your bicep, slicing it open, but you only feel the sting of it after you swing.
The bat clips the man in the jaw, stunning him. As he stumbles back, you advance. He sloppily swipes at you again, but you dodge it. The second hit with the bat hits true, catching him in the temple.
The man falls and you're quick to stand over him, bringing the bat down a third time.
The bat connecting for a fourth time makes Juice cringe, but Happy proudly watches on.
Thwack.
Thwack. A scream.
Crack!
"Shit. I think that was his skull," Juice mutters.
YN screams as she continues to wail on the man with her bat, caving his skull further and further in, to the point there's now a puddle of blood beneath his head and splattering with every pull back.
The barn doors open, and Happy and Juice tense when armed men start to file in, but they exhale with relief when they see Jax, Tig, Chibs, and Opie in the mix. All the unfamiliar men take in the scene with an air of indifference, but it's the expressions of the Sons that almost make Happy laugh out loud. They'd only known YN to laugh, feed them, or threaten the croweaters with violence. None of them, with the exception of himself, Juice, and Tig, knew the violence she was capable of.
"Uh, a little help?" Juice calls out. "My arms are killing me over here."
Tig rushes over, pulling out a blade to cut his brothers free. "What the fuck happened?"
"One of them threatened to rape her and she just lost her shit."
Juice is cut free first, and he immediately stands, rubbing his raw wrists. As Jax checks in with him, Happy is cut free.
"Boss, should we stop this?" Someone asks.
Happy looks over in time to see a guy in a suit grimace when blood is flung onto his pristine boots. "Do you want to get in the middle of that? You know how YN is. Let's just let her run out of steam."
As the guy steps back in line with a nod of agreement, Happy huffs and stands. He stalks over to YN until he's behind her. Then when she raises the bat high above her head, Happy lunges. He manages to grip the bat where it isn't slick and pulls it from YN's grasp.
Still very much livid, especially now that your weapon's been ripped from you, you whirl around to start screaming expletives and pummel whoever it is with your bound fists. Instead, arms are wrapped around you, keeping your arms stuck between your chest and another, and there's a gruff voice in your ear saying, "It's over. It's over, baby. The cavalry's here. You can stop now."
It takes a long minute for the voice to infiltrate the fog of rage, and then a moment to realize who's speaking.
When your struggles cease, Happy leans back a little to look down at you, but with his arms still wrapped around you. "You back?"
"Y-Yeah. M'sorry."
Happy grunts and leans his face closer to yours, and for a moment you think he's about to kiss you. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours as his eyes close, and he exhales with relief. "Don't be. That was hot as fuck."
You huff a quiet laugh as a bout of silence ensues, but then one of your brothers decides to ruin it.
"Hey, Lowman, we'll give you a million dollars if you give her your last name and take her off our hands."
You jerk in Happy's hold, turning to glare at all your smirking brothers. "Fuck off!" Laughter ensues at your disgruntled expression before Juice fills them in on what happened, and then Happy is tugging on your bound wrists so you look back at him before finally cutting you free. "Thank you."
One hand grasps the hair at the back of your head, gripping a little tight as he holds you in place so he can press a kiss to your forehead. "Let's get you home. You're covered in blood, and I need to take a look at your arm."
Glancing at your arm, you shrug. It stings, yeah, but it doesn't seem deep enough. And then just as you go to take a step, Happy swoops you up into a bridal carry.
It's then you notice that you, Happy, and Juice are all barefoot, and it's Juice who answers your unasked question. "You sleep like the dead, girl. Happy and I heard them enter the house, but they still managed to get the drop on us."
"I'm getting you a goddamn dog," Happy grumbles in response.
"Only if you clean up after it." He grunts and you grin. If he wanted a guard dog for you, then he was cleaning up any messes.
Outside the barn, suggestions are made about where to go now. Jax suggests the clubhouse, but at the wrinkling of your nose, Happy says you'll be going home. Your brothers mention not everyone can go because that many vehicles will draw attention, so Jax suggests sending your brothers' men back to the club with Opie and Chibs. They agree, and then you're loaded up into an Escalade with your brothers and Happy.
When you get to your house, Tig mentions that they had cleaned up and straightened your furniture after they figured out what had happened. You thank him and let Happy carry you to your bathroom while Juice takes the guest bathroom.
As Happy sets you on the counter, you watch as he gets the first aid kit from beneath your sinks. "They're gonna talk."
"Let them. The club already thinks we're fuckin'."
You snort. "Please. They should know by now that I'd never settle for a relationship where the guy gets to fuck around when he's on the road." Happy freezes with the antiseptic spray bottle in his hand before shaking himself free of thought and spritzing your arm where you were cut.
"Is that why you haven't given me the go-ahead to slip between your thighs?"
You smile at his blunt question and then wince when he wipes your arm clean. "Pretty much. I'm not a fan of my partner sticking his dick or tongue in some rando pussy, then coming home and doing the same to me." Happy grunts and you arch an eyebrow at him. "Would you be okay with me visiting my brothers and sucking someone's dick before coming home to you?"
"Fuck no."
"Exactly." You grin triumphantly. "So, unless you plan to stop dicking down croweaters or sweetbutts, the most you'll get out of me is some cuddling."
Stepping back, Happy tosses the used gauze pads into the trashcan and then reaches into your shower stall to turn on the water. Then looking at you, he demands, "Strip."
"If I fully strip, there's no going back. You're mine and mine alone." You hop off the counter, slipping off your ruined shirt without batting an eye. "I was calm and collected at your parties before because we're friends, but that all changes after this. I won't take it easy on any woman touching what's mine."
Happy smirks as he eyes you in your bra and jeans, and then strips off his shirt. "Good."
You've seen the man shirtless only a handful of times, but seeing his ink never fails to give you pause. You reach out for the first time, tracing the snake tattoo that takes up a majority of his chest and upper abdomen, before you trace the various happy faces on the side of his waist. You feel his abdominal muscles twitch and then between one heartbeat and the next, Happy's crowding you against the sink counter and angling your head up.
His kiss is as aggressive as you figured it'd be, his tongue sliding against yours and teeth digging into your bottom lip. You give as good as you get, nails digging into either side of Happy's waist as you kiss him. Then when the need for air arises, you pull back and try to catch your breath. "Well okay then."
Moving out from Happy's reach, you strip, uncaring of your nudity and then step into the steaming shower. Happy isn't too far behind you, but you're not too interested in seeing him fully naked as you are cleansing a stranger's blood from your body. Standing under the waterfall, you watch as the shower floor turns red. Happy presses in close behind you so he's under the water as well, and you straighten up before leaning your head back onto his shoulder, smiling softly at his hardness that presses against your ass.
"No funny business, Lowman. At least not until we've eaten a fuck ton and slept for a day or two."
He grunts. "Agreed."
You immediately start washing your hair, and you're surprised when Happy takes it upon himself to lather up some soap on your bath pouf to wash your body. For the most part he behaves himself, but when his thumb oh so casually brushes over your nipples, you slap his thigh and pay him back when it's your turn to wash him. He grunts when you take his dick in hand and thrusts into your soapy palm, but you quickly release him to finish washing his body.
"Fuckin' tease."
"You started it."
You get out of the shower first, smirking as Happy tells you he'll be out in a moment. You know exactly what that moment's going to entail since his hand is already stroking his cock before you can even find a towel.
"You gonna want something to eat?"
"Send Tig to get burgers and fries."
"Alright."
Back in your room, you can hear a muttered conversation from somewhere in your house. Clutching the towel around your body, you stick your head out your door. "Tig!"
"What?"
"Happy said to go get us some burgers, fries, and Cokes!"
"Do I look like a fuckin' maid?!" Tig appears in the hall, hands on his hips.
You grin at him. "No, but I do have a maid's costume. Wanna try it on?" Tig gapes and you laugh at his expression. "Come on, Tig. Please? You can grab some cash from the junk drawer."
"Fine. But only because I know Hap will murder me if I don't, not because I'm picturing you in a teeny tiny maid's outfit."
"Sure, buddy. Thank you!"
Tig grumbles as he turns to march out of your house and then you worry about getting dressed. You dress in nothing but a sports bra and boy short underwear, and then with a reluctant sigh you head to the front. Everyone's in your kitchen, sitting around your table, and your brothers groan when they see how little you're wearing.
"Oh, shut up. You've seen me in clothes like this before."
"In tights, not underwear," one brother grumbles.
"Just be glad they're boy shorts and not a g-string."
All your brothers groan yet again whereas the Sons find the interaction amusing. You take a seat at the table, grimacing a little and touching at your raw wrists.
"Let me get that for you," Juice says. He leaves to, no doubt, grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. Then taking a seat next to you, he asks, "Did Hap disinfect your arm?"
"Yeah. Just spritz it again and wrap it. It'll be fine."
As soon as Juice gets to work, Happy enters the kitchen in nothing but a pair of jeans hanging off his hips.
"Jesus," one of your brother's mumbles. "Are people suddenly allergic to clothes around here?"
You grin as Jax arches an eyebrow at his friend. "You have clothes here?" Happy nods and sits, and you quickly introduce him to your brothers while Jax looks at Juice to say, "You seem to know your way around this place too."
"It's because they practically live here when they're not at the clubhouse," you say. "Hap's moved his shit in my room, and Tig and Juice have slowly taken over my guest room." Then glancing at your brothers as if you didn't just drop somewhat of a bombshell on Jax, you ask, "So what the hell happened?"
Juice taps above one of your raw wrists and you situate them so he can disinfect them.
Your eldest brother meets your gaze. "There's a new family in town- Jimenez. They're trying to make a name for themselves and thought they could intimidate us." You scoff as your other brother's chuckle. "When they didn't get the reaction they were looking for, they came up with the bright idea to target the weak link. They thought they had the perfect candidate when they found out we had a baby sister."
"Joke's on them, you're fuckin' psycho," another brother muses.
"I'm not-"
"We literally walked in on you bashing a guy's head in."
"And let's not forget the whole reason you're in Charming is because you tried to burn down your ex's house while he was still inside."
"Or that one time you wrecked your car into that other girl's car all because she broke your friend's heart."
"That cunt cheated on him. She deserved every bit of karma I dished out."
Jax snorts, shaking his head. "Christ. You and Hap are gonna be a pain in my ass."
"You know it."
Tig shows up just after Juice is finished with your wrists. Juice then dishes out the food to you, Happy, and himself, and you get up to grab drinks from the fridge. As you settle back down, Jax and your brothers watch in surprise at how the three of you go to town on your provided meals.
"So, what exactly does one do as a mafia princess?" Jax wonders.
Chewing the food in your mouth, you only answer him after taking a drink of your soda. "I'm the family hacker. If they need a computer hacked into to gather information or scrub information, I get called in."
"So, in other words, you're female Juice," Tig says.
You laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." Juice grins and you reach over to fist bump him.
You continue eating as Jax speaks with your brothers, listening as this small portion of the Sons of Anarchy are filled in about what business your family gets up to. When you're finished eating, you stand and start gathering up the trash to toss. While you're up, you grab yourself a glass of water and some Ibuprofen. Then after downing four pills, you head back to reclaim your seat at the table, only for Happy to gently grab you by the arm and tug you down onto his thigh.
Your brothers don't care about your new chair, but Jax, Juice, and Tig can't help but raise an eyebrow.
"So, is this a thing?" Jax wonders, gesturing between you and Happy.
As you drape an arm behind Happy's shoulders to settle more against him, you smirk. "What's the matter, Teller? Scared?"
He huffs and then stares at Happy, but the man beneath you merely says, "Gonna start drawing up a crow. Does that answer your question?"
The kitchen goes eerily quiet and thenā¦
"Holy shit. Hap's actually gonna take a woman," Juice says in awe.
"This is a momentous occasion. We gotta throw a rager." The glint in Tig's eyes has you narrowing your own eyes at him.
"You just wanna see a girl fight. Don't you?"
"Hap's been possessive of you since you first showed up to the clubhouse, but now that you're staking a claim, the thought might have crossed my mind."
"Are you sure you wanna see that?" One of your brother muses. "YN might traumatize a few poor souls."
Tig smiles. "I look forward to it."
You roll your eyes at Tig's excitement about possibly seeing you fight and your brothers chuckle. The Sons really had no idea what they were in for when someone tested your patience.
Standing, you keep a hand on Happy's shoulder as you say, "Well as much as I love, like, and appreciate all of you, you need to go. I'm exhausted and I still need to sleep off whatever I was drugged with."
Jax grins. "Is that code for us to get the hell out so you can bang Happy's brains out?"
Snorting, you shake your head as your brothers all grimace. "No. I'm seriously exhausted. The fucking will come later after we're well rested. I have a feeling I'm gonna need loads of energy for Hap."
Your brothers all make noises of disgust as they stand, and you take a moment to hug and kiss each of their cheeks on their way out. You promise to call when you're feeling better and then you're ushering the Sons out as well.
Locking up after everyone has left, you head to your room where you find Happy stripping off his jeans. He's in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs as he pulls your blanket back before sliding under and you pad over to do the same. You meet him in the middle, laying on your side as you drape one arm over his abdomen. With your head on his arm, you snuggle closer and Happy reaches for your leg to have it draped over his thigh so you're as close as can be without actually laying on top of him.
"Were you serious? About the crow?" You ask right before you drift off.
"Does that freak you out?"
"Not really. But if I get your mark, you're getting mine."
Happy huffs. "And just what is your mark?"
"My lips and name." You run your hand across his abdomen before walking your fingers down to one of the few empty patches of skin, below his belly button and right beneath where the snake's tail curls. "Right here."
"Above my dick, you mean?"
"Mhmm."
Happy grunts and then squeezes you a little tighter to him. "We'll see, princess. Now get some sleep."
it was hot. way too hot that your decorated rooms aroma was filled only with the smell of you and clarks sweaty skin sticking to each other, mixed with the breath hitching pants that came out of the two of you. your pleasure was only heightened with the feeling of him on top of you, weighing and pressing you down, making you feel so..caged in. he was unconsciously forcing you to really feel just how deep he was inside of you, thrusting into your soaked walls with his girthy dick and muscular arms. āhaah baby, can feel you squeezing me so tight..ā you were but it was only because of how pressured you were feeling, having to look straight into clarks eyes as he plows into you with his intoxicated gaze. he makes your head so blurry with the way he uses his dick and doesnāt even know it, ā mm sāgood, feel you filling me.. so deep!ā you whine out with your hands resting on top of his neck, hips senselessly flowing along with his as they move back and forth on the bed. āmm wait, t-too deep sāgonna reach-ā you sob, itās like you could feel his dick messing up your insides, overstimulating but all the more satisfying.
you push at his abdomen with weak arms and squeezed shut eyes, getting cut off with a moan being pulled from your throat as clark brings you back with a hand on your jaw. āreach where hm? gonna reach your tummy? huh gonna-gonna let me give you a baby?ā he was basically blabbering at this point, too pussydrunk to think rationally. and you mindlessly nodded your head along with your boyfriend. āyes please clark! gonna make you a daddy!ā the sound of you and clarks skin bouncing off each other was disgusting, the slapping of his balls against your ass and the creaks of the bed under you.
clarks pace gets faster as he keeps thrusting into you, cock almost kissing your cervix while you hear a flow of pleads from above you. āyouāll let me cum inside right? promise it will feel so good angel-you have to let me fill you u-up..ā and he just sounds so cute when he begs like that, of course he can, anything he wants. āyesyes please! wanna feel it so bad daddy..ā that nickname only flustering him more and making your boyfriend bottom out in your pussy, forehead pressing against yours, āfuckfuck-ā seeing his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth in a frown. dick sloppily thrusting into you when you feel ropes of cum shoot into you, warm and in an abundance, you scratch at his back and squeeze your thighs around clarks waist.
āmph makin me feel soāgood clark!ā you say bucking your hips into him, making you feel his length so much deeper in your cunt and only making clarks whimpers louder as he finishes cumming inside. ātoo much-ā he winced, unconsciously still thrusting into you slowly while you rub your sensitive bud, cumming all over his dick with a cry as he holds your back. clark lifts you slightly until your sat on his lap, his face in the warm crook of your neck breathing heavily. you were sure your insides were a mess, filled to the brim of clark and you just finished too. your boyfriend looks up at you with his doe eyes and his slight smile, āwhat?ā you giggle to him and he kisses the skin of your chest. āthank you sweetheart.ā laughing even more when you realize heās thanking you for letting him cum inside.
