Eleven at night. The empty apartment was quiet, only the low hum of the air conditioner mixed with muffled sounds from outside.
A knock on the door breaks the silence, interrupting the ambience. Robert cocks a brow, wondering if you had probably left something despite it being about an hour and a half after you had left. He moves to the door and opens it, jaw slack at your appearance.
Your eyes are puffy, dark skin tinting with a slight shade of red, mascara running down your cheeks like a black river. You were slouched, hiccuping silently as you didn't say a word. You couldn’t resist; you dash yourself right into his arms, letting go into his white tank.
He immediately wraps his arms around you as he feels you dragging closer to the floor. “You’re okay. Hey, you’re okay. Everything is going to be fine.”
He had a small feeling he knew what had happened.
You grasp the fabric of his shirt harshly on his back. He lightly grunts, but doesn’t move to push you away. If anything, he pulls you closer. Your comfort was his priority for now.
He carries you to the bathroom and sets you down on the toilet seat in the slightly cramped room. He rips off a piece of toilet tissue from the handle, but before he could give it to you he had a slight change of mind. Here you are, sobbing in front of him, and he was going to only give you a fucking tissue.
He throws the tissue to the side and cups your face, his thumb swiping at the black tears in a slow caress. He doesn’t look away from you; nothing is as important.
For a good 15 minutes, you two don’t talk. You only let the bathroom’s climate carry the mute conversation between your faces.
You sigh, leaning into his hand occasionally. He takes his free one and intertwines it with yours. You hiccup, taking slow breaths.
“I know I just left.” You chuckle in sorrow. He returns a small sympathetic smile before it immediately leaves his face.
“You’re fine, okay? You’re never unwelcome here.” He swipes his thumb once more. “I hope you know that.”
You give a confirming nod.
He sits up from his crouching position and sits on the edge of the bathtub. You feel the need to lay down with the story that is to come, so you stand and step into the tub. You lie back against the tile and look up at the ceiling.
“I walked in on Kieran fucking my best friend who I haven’t seen in 5 years.” You say, not having the time to sugarcoat.
“I text her all the time, and I’m not even mad about the fact that Kieran is cheating on me. It’s about my best friend who introduced us in the first place.” You let out a harsh exhale, rubbing your forehead and closing your eyes. “I thought she said she’d moved, and I don’t know if she actually did and came to visit, or if she’s been here the entire fucking time. They seemed like they’ve don’t this shit before.” You snort in disbelief.
Robert grips the edge of the bathtub before he turns to face you. He takes a look at your exhausted state. “Do you want a drink at all? It may help.”
You shake your head. “Water is the only thing on my mind right now. I’m afraid drinks will be disastrous tonight.”
He gets up and walks to the kitchen, and you can hear the water from the filter filling up a glass. Then you hear the clopping of paws against the tile before they scratch at the side of the tub. A fat Beef excitedly hops in hopes of getting to you over the barrier. You grin and pick the dog up, holding him close to you and petting behind his ears. Beef yips in satisfaction and you give him a quick kiss as Robert comes back with your glass. You finish off with the chihuahua, giving him stomach scratches before putting him back down on the floor. Beef circles around Robert once before leaving out the door.
Robert chuckles and closes the door, holding the cups in his hands. He steps into the tub, causing you to hold your knees to your chest and give him space.
He sits down and hands you the water. You damn near down it, and you set it down on the edge of the tub. You belch, frowning.
“Sorry.”
“Please. It’s natural.” He sniggers. He lets the silence settle the mood before he speaks carefully.
“I don’t know how you feel. And I can’t sit here and act like I do, say that I understand what you're going through when in reality I probably don’t know half of it.
“At first when I told you that I thought you should break off the engagement, I immediately regretted it when you left. It’s hard to believe, but it was the fact that I didn’t think you had it in you to continue. But you went 5 years putting up with his bullshit, and I should’ve recognized it.
“He is less than you. And I believed you didn’t know your worth. But you are stronger than I held you up to be. And for that, I’m sorry that I underestimated you and immediately jumped to conclusions despite my not knowing how hard it is to leave a long relationship.
“Because I know for a fact that I am not better than you, and I don’t want to be.”
He sits up and takes both of your hands.
“I want to be your equal.”
You look at him and your face scrunches up into another upcoming sob. It all came together at once; this entire time, he wasn’t just showing you what you can have. But he was actively trying to help get you out. The kisses you rejected were completely optional, because he knew that as long as you were understanding the way you’ve been constantly wronged then it’s enough for him to be content with you.
So when you became defensive about not wanting to break it off with Kieran, it made him think that you didn’t know how much potential you had for greater things.
Robert pulls you to him, having you lie down on his black, tear-stained tank. You can feel the damp fabric on your cheek and you place one hand on his chest and the other around to the nape of his neck. New mascara stains dot the old ones as you sniffle.
“My shirt is so ruined. Look at what you did.” He says jokingly, smiling gently as he rubs your back up and down.
. . .
The caresses have moved more slowly, and the room has gotten quieter. Robert has been under you for about an hour now, everywhere you turn he would shift to make sure you're comfortable. His back was hurting, but if it means being a pillow for you to confide in him then so be it.
You finally clear your throat and sit back, looking down at his shirt. “I really did fuck your shit up. My bad.” You say, feeling the damp tank top on him. He waves a dismissive hand.
You look down at your own tear-stained clothes, still
In your stupid SDN uniform. “Fuck, I’m a mess.”
You stand up. “Thank you.”
He raises an eyebrow and looks up at you. “Huh? Where are you going?” He says, perplexed.
You lift your leg to step out of the tub. “To go home and confront Kieran. I mean, we gotta talk about it sooner or later.”
“Whoa, hold on.” He stands up quickly in the tub in an attempt to stop you. The scurrying was already enough to make you pause in your tracks. “What?”
“Are you really sure that’s what you want to do? Just…go? Like that?”
You look around before you nod. “Well, yeah.”
Robert responds with a soft glower. “No, look, you can’t just do all of this in one night. You need to take it slow, if you don’t it will not end well. Not only that, but Kieran is probably drunk. Don’t make yourself deal with that.”
He stands up straight and takes your chin, turning your head to face him.
“I will take care of you. I will literally tend to you all night, I don’t care.”
You don’t respond, and he steps closer.
“Fuck, please stay.” He whispers, his face leaning towards yours. If you weren’t sure before whether the things he says have meanings behind them, this one for sure did. Everything boils over, and at this moment you knew it was time to reap the benefits.
You lean into his face, and he takes this as permission. He subtly licks your lips for a taste before diving in, moving his mouth against yours.
You don’t remember his lips being this soft. You sigh into his mouth, pulling him closer against you. He takes one hand and presses it against the nape of your neck, squeezing right enough to make you gasp. His other goes to your waist and under your shirt.
You both pull back, and he instantly moves to pepper kisses to your jawline, the tingling sensation making you shiver. He trails down and places open-mouthed kisses on your neck.
You moan quietly and put your hand into the locks of his hair, leaning your head back to give him more space. Your breathing was heavy and your eyes fluttered. He nips a soft spot, and you jolt with a whine.
“Fuck.” You whisper. This drives him harder, and his hand under your uniform shirt slides up. He pauses. “Can I?” He whispers against your neck.
You nod instantly. Why even ask at this point? It was what you needed all along. He quickly takes off your shirt to reveal your bra holding your breasts nicely. He ghosts your lips just barely to tease you as his hands wrap around your back and unclip the harnesses.
The moment your tits show, he fondles one gently in his hand and swipes his thumb over your nipple. When he gently pinches, you jerk yourself ever so slightly to fill his hand more with your breast. You puff in his face, and when you look down he reverts your eyes to him.
“Look at me, baby.”
He gives your opposite tit love, and his free hand slides down to skim over your ass, squeezing. You swallow thickly. “You’re teasing.” You say, voice hoarse.
“Of course I’m teasing. Wouldn’t you want to be wet when I eat you out?” He asks, biting your bottom lip.
Your eyes widen. “Huh?” You say, noticing he’s already moving down with occasional kisses and sucks to your breast and stomach. He notices a darker part of your skin that resembles a scar on your side. He rubs it softly.
“Based on what you’ve told me, can I say this was from your mom?” He questions.
“Yeah. It left a scar. I was a bit insecure about it when I first had it, but it’s just another part of my body at the end of the day.”
Robert hums in acknowledgment, planting a soft peck to the scar and smiling. “It healed so prettily.”
You, flustered, roll your eyes. “Whatever.” You snicker. You feel a tug on your hips as he brings his hands to hook onto the waistband of your bottoms. He looks up at you, almost like he is in awe of what he can’t even see yet.
Slowly, but surely, he pulls down the clothing, uncovering your already soaked panties. You cover your mouth, hoping he doesn’t see that you’re embarrassed. But, as you knew from the cold night walking from dinner, he wasn’t stupid.
He was on his knees, and he lays his head on your pelvis as he rubbed your sides up and down.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. Do you wanna say that for me?”
You laugh. “You’re being corny.” You say, holding a hand up. You were really just trying to catch your breath, which was threatening to leave you gasping before he could even do anything.
He chuckles. “If it’s worth being corny for someone I love, then so be it. Say it, baby. Tell me you’re beautiful. And repeat it until you can’t.”
You groan and sigh, grinning. “I’m very, very beautiful. I’m so—“
You tense up and your breath falls as you feel his fingers swipe against your clothed clad pussy. Your breath hitches and you stop, your hand shooting for the tile wall of the tub. “Robert—“
“Why’d you stop?”
You shoot a glare at him. He rubs the tips of his digits against your clit. “C’mon, at least three more times.” He quips.
“This is so embarrassing." You mutter before you start, not even clocking him pulling down your panties. “I’m beautiful, I’m so beautiful, I—“
You suddenly choke out a loud moan and look down again, seeing Robert’s finger already probing your entrance. His free hand lifts one of your legs and places it on his shoulder. You lean against the bath wall for balance. But even that didn’t stop you from stumbling when his mouth latched onto your clit.
He laps at you, slowly but so intensely. His hand on your leg moves to hold your hips against the wall, keeping you from squirming too much.
Still, your hips jerk, and your breathing is suddenly so broken as you try to roll against his mouth. When was the last time you even had sex this good?
Your hand finds his hair and you bite the bottom of your lip. You never thought that you were so vocal until now. Moaning, grunting, whining, whimpering. Even trying to form simple sentences that came out incoherent.
You hunch forward, panting heavily as his tongue prods at your sensitive nub.
He pulls his tongue away, but his fingers continue their ministration, brushing your G-spot with that “come hither” motion. “Breathe, baby.”
You gasp, trying your best to reset your breathing. He looks up at you, his eyes dilated with the pleasure of seeing you so dazed. “Good, let me look at you.”
You make eye contact with him, inhaling slowly. You both don’t dare to avert your eyes as he slowly leans back to your cunt to continue working on your mound. You felt him slurp and run his tongue through your folds, and if you weren’t about to orgasm before you were definitely going to now.
“Holy shit, I’m gonna cum…” You whimper, shakily tightening your grasp on his hair. He pulls out his fingers and puts both his hands on your hips now, loosening them to give you room.
“Use me.” He says.
You roll your hips and buck against his tongue. Both of you work together to chase your climax. It suddenly crashes on you as you tremble and wail, losing your balance as the buzz fogs your brain. Your legs fell out quickly, but Robert was quicker. He shoots up and meets you in the middle, holding onto you as he sets you down into the tub. He licks his middle and ring finger before wiping off his mouth, coated in your juices.
“How the fuck…?” You say, laughing breathlessly. You thought Kieran was the only one who could make you cum with enough effort..but you damn near came twice back to back from Robert with nothing at all.
He chuckles. “I just winged it.” He shrugs. You sit up and look up at him.
“No way. Not even a YouTube tutorial?”
“What kind of video on YouTube demonstrates how to eat someone out?”
You shrug. “Search it up.
“No.” He laughs before giving your forehead a series of soft smooches. You look at him hovering over you, and when he pulls back he catches your eye.
You both looked at each other for a good minute. You noticed you could only maintain such contact with Robert.
He breaks the silence. “Would you like me to get a condom?” He soothed. A subtle invite for the main course.
You don’t even think twice. “Yes. Please.” You answer. He nods and gives you a quick kiss, standing up and walking to the bathroom mirror, opening it, and grabbing a packet from the shelf.
You give him space to get back in the tub, sitting up. Your hands skim under his shirt, and you jerk your hands back.
He notices this and freezes also. “Is it my scars?” He says, lifting the shirt himself and revealing his toned bod. You quickly shake your head.
“No! No, I just didn’t expect you to be so fit.”
“You’ve seen me in the gym before, though. Are you trying to say you thought I was all skin and bones or something?” He smirks.
You frown. “Stop.”
He titters and takes off his shirt. “Nah, I get what you mean, pretty girl.” He gestures to you to come over to him. You move to his command, and he grabs your ass to scoot you closer. You were straddling him now, and he kissed your shoulder before enveloping your breast in his mouth, sucking and swiping his tongue around your nipple.
You hissed, your hips automatically bucking against the bulge under his boxers. He groans, snaking his hands to your back and pulling your upper body to him, giving him more of your tits to suck.
After a few minutes, he pulls back with a pop and a small string of saliva. “Lift your hips for me.”
You oblige, and he goes back to momentarily give your breast more love. All the while, he pulls down his boxer to reveal his angry cock. It was already leaking precum, and your jaw slacks at the sight.
“Do you want it?” He coos. You nod, and with that, he applies the condom and holds onto your hips. “Listen, if it hurts or if you don’t think you want to continue, you need to tell me. Okay?”
You nod again.
“Words this time.” He demands softly.
“Yes, I understand.”
He aligns your entrance with his cock. “This is also all about you. I’m fine with whatever pace you go. I’m not here for my pleasure.” He clarifies.
When you are both in mutual agreement, you sink down and his hand holds the base of his shaft to keep it steady for you. You feel the tip push into your entrance, burying him in your warm walls. You grasp his shoulders tightly, your head falling forward.
“Breathe, you’re doing good, just breathe.” His hand cups your face. You hiccup, hunching forward and hugging him as you sink the rest of the way down. His eyes roll a little as he bottoms out. “Fuck, there we go.”
You let yourself adjust to his size, which was definitely bigger than what you’ve experienced. He waits patiently. Then you pull back and take a deep breath. Your hands land on his scar-decorated chest and you continue grinding your hips, your clitoris brushing against his happy trail and your canal hugging his length. You moan softly, kissing his neck in an effort to hear him moan. He sucks in a sharp breath, looking down at your hips working.
“Fuck, you’re so perfect. Ride me just like that.” He huffs quietly. Your slit stretches from his girth, and you slightly start to bounce, letting his cock appear and disappear with each thrust.
You whimper, pumping his cock with your cunt as you go a bit faster. You pant against his neck, muttering words to yourself, though you couldn’t make sense of any of them from the dizzying action. Robert holds your back and you plunge your lips against his. You both moan, the noises echoing in the bathroom.
“You’re so much better than I imagined.” He says, punctuating it with a light slap to your ass. You writhe and let out a sweet sob going even faster. One of his hands grasps your tits as you move in a more desperate rhythm.
“Yes, fuck, Robert!” You whine, now feeling his crown kiss your cervix. You hear him moan as he feels it, too, earning you a slap to your ass again, this time just a bit harder. You gasp, shivering.
His dick hits that gorgeous spot over and over and over. You were going insane. “Please, please, please…” You whine and beg.
“Please what?” Robert asks.
You groan in euphoria. “Please fuck me harder.” You say. You really did want it harder, but you forgot how tedious riding was as you start to slow down
He notices and nods, moving you to lie down on the tub floor. He hovers over you and spreads your legs.
“I love this gorgeous hole of yours.” He states, swiping his finger against the lip before giving it a few gentle pats. You jerk, the sensitivity like an electric shock. “Ahn!”
He chuckles deeply before he pumps his erection and slowly slides into you once again. He first fucks you at the same pace you had left off, your hips suspended in the air and being held by his hands. The more he goes faster for you, the more he leans in toward you.
Soon, your legs were in the air and over his shoulder as he pounded into you like a depraved man. Your and his moans were loud and mixed into each other like a melting pot. You sob as he whispers sweet nothings to you.
Then, as a knife would slice, your orgasm hits you and you cry out. Your back instantly arches and the hands that were on his back scratch, strong enough to open wounds.
Robert holds you tight as he slows his pace when he is sure you are done. “I got you,” he says intimately. “You did amazing. I’m so glad that I got to do this with you.” He whispers in your ear like a lullaby.
Your shoulders jerk as you start to cry. Not even in the face of sex, but the fact that you finally found yourself willing to start something new. Something desirable. You hold him tighter, not wanting him to let go.
“I love you so so much. You don’t have to say it back, but just know that I do.” He says, pressing his cheek against yours.
You sniffle into his neck, your legs still a bit tense from him still being buried into you. You smile and wipe your tears, his hands following suit after.
“I love you, too.”
. . .
The bath water fills the confines of the tub as Robert sits behind you, helping you relax. The wash cloth smooths against your back while he bathes you quietly. You have one leg propped up, the knee poking out of the water. Robert gives you feathered pecks occasionally. You lean back against him and close your eyes as he takes care of you.
You could be here forever. You could leave your apartment in Kieran's name and pack your bags. You can stay here and finally experience something you couldn’t indulge in for the past 5 years.
And to think it took your colleague to finally discover yourself.
Their kiss was so out of the blue (more like only Kiri's kiss). Spider is either so unaware or doesn't care, 'cause after that "kiss" he didn't even mention it once.😂 This is a nonchalant 12-year-old boy who has not a single idea about romance. (That's fine thou I guess)
summary ༺๑ˊ- robert likes your eyes. you don't like eye contact.
pairing(s) ༺๑ˊ- robert robertson x female!reader (gender-neutral)
cws ༺๑ˊ- established relationship, lots of kisses, oral f!recieving, edging themes, lots of coaxing
requested? ༺๑ˊ- yes/no
n/a: my autistic ass ate this rq right up. it got long
"why do you keep doing that?" robert leaned back against the counter of his kitchen, crossing his arms expectantly as he eyes you up.
"doing what...?" you murmured, gazing into his eyes for a split second before looking back at what you were doing. you didn't even realize how little you looked into his eyes.
"that."
you quickly glanced back up at up, before tearing your gaze away. robert chuckled, shaking his head fondly. god, you were so cute.
"look at me," he purred, tilting your chin up with his pointer-finger. you didn't, just looked down at his forearm. he smiled.
"you keep looking away." robert analyzed, his voice particularly gentle, his hand moving to brush his thumb over your cheek, which was warm to touch.
"just... i don't know. it's weird." you muttered, still looking away. "looking into my eyes is weird?" he inquired playfully, kissing the corner of your mouth. "am i that ugly?"
a small giggle emitted from you at his question, shaking your head as you gently 'hit' his arm.
"i guess i just... can't." a sigh spilled from your mouth, looking to the other side now. robert let out a hum, moving to kiss your cheek.
"you can. let me help?"
"okay, y- yeah. fine."
you were sure you were going to die. this was going to kill you. and he's barely done anything yet.
"c'mon look at me, baby." he whispered against your skin as he kissed down your sternum and onto your soft stomach, looking up into those hesitating eyes of yours.
you reluctantly peeked down at him, feeling your cheeks grow hotter as he was already looking right at you. "there you are, pretty." he cooed, slowly travelling lower.
he finally reached the waistband of your underwear, hooking his fingers underneath.
you got excited, tilting your head to the side.
you looked away.
"nuh-uh," robert hummed, releasing your underwear with a small snap, chuckling as it made you twitch and huff at him. "why'd you stop?" you grumbled, furrowing your eyebrows slightly at him.
"is it a crime to want to see your pretty eyes?" he sassed, pressing a kiss beneath your navel, mouthing against the elastic, nosing at your skin.
"i hate you." you murmured, but managed to gaze down at him again, your breath hitching as he finally hooked his fingers into your underwear and slid it down your legs, tossing it somewhere on the floor. a problem for future him.
"yeah? do you, now?" he smiled, kissing at your inner knee and kissing up your inner thigh as he moved to get closer to you, eventually ending up on his stomach between your legs. his favorite place.
as his kisses grew closer to the apex of your thighs, you subconsciously closed your eyes, like how you normally would do.
he stopped. again.
"fuck, robert!" you groaned in frustration, only to be met with his wide grin. you were going to kill him. "it's not my fault, pretty. you knew the rules." he kissed right above where you needed him, an almost apologetic gesture.
he reached up, intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand comfortingly. "c'mon, you can do it," he coaxed softly.
you obliged, meeting those big brown eyes, pupils blown out with lust. lust for you. you whined, your hips twitching.
robert chuckled softly, holding your gaze as his lips moved down. he pressed the flat of his tongue against your wetness, before licking up. he moaned. fuck, he'd be happy if this is how he died. buried in your thighs.
you stared at him with wide eyes as his half-lidded gaze lazily stared right back, the tip of his tongue massaging circles into your clit.
his freehand rested on your lower stomach, gently pressing into the skin. you whimpered, throwing your head back.
again, he paused.
"robert, please! i can't do it!" you complained, begging for some sort of reprieve. some mercy from his cruelness—when in reality his only rule was for you simply to look at him. well, "simply looking at him" wasn't very simple for you.
he planted kisses into the patch of sensitive skin where your pelvis met your thigh, humming. "do you want to cum?"
"well, y- yeah, bu—"
"then you gotta look at me, sweetheart." robert chuckled, nosing at you affectionately.
it took a few long seconds for you to hype yourself up, finally leering down at him yet again.
"hi, sweetie," he smiled, his mouth quick to resume his ministrations, wanting to reward you for being so good for him.
you held his eyes in your gaze as he lapped at you, his brown eyes twinkling in the dim light as he lost himself in you.
he looked so perfect. felt so perfect.
he squeezed your hand as he took your clit into his mouth, suckling gently as his tongue flicked against it, watching as your eyes rolled back.
he didn't mind this time. he knew you couldn't control it when he made you feel as good as he always did.
he went back to massaging your lower stomach with his freehand, little circles amplifying the growing heat.
"i- i think i'm close," you gasped out, thighs beginning to tremble over his shoulders. robert's eyes crinkled slightly in satisfaction.
without much warning, you came into robert's mouth. robert groaned, not letting up as he kept lapping at you needily. like he was the one getting pleasure from this instead.
the post-orgasmic sensitivity began to wrack your body as he kept sucking at you, pushing at his head. he laughed, finally pulling off.
"do you like eye contact now?" he asked, nuzzling into your thigh, looking up at you half-lidded eyes, his lips wet and slightly puffy.
"no." you huffed. robert bit your thigh playfully, making you swat at him.
"one day." he whispered, planting a final kiss to your thigh.
Your washing machine breaks, and Clark Kent—perfect, helpful, devastatingly kind Clark Kent—immediately offers his. The same Clark you've been pathetically avoiding because being around him hurts too much when you're this gone for him. But it's late, it's raining, and he's being so characteristically sweet about it that you can't say no. What could go wrong?
Your washing machine is dead. Not 'making a funny noise' dead, but utterly, stone-cold silent. You’d pressed the power button three times, a desperate little prayer on your lips, before accepting your fate. A mountain of laundry sat mockingly in its basket.
You’re staring into the abyss of your empty detergent bottle (another problem) when your phone buzzes on the counter.
Clark: Heard a suspicious amount of cursing coming from your apartment. Everything good?
Your fingers hover over the screen. It’s mortifying. You should just not answer. All your efforts to distance yourself from him, to slowly ease his warmth out of your life, will be for naught if he gets even the slightest sense of you needing help. Clark Kent doesn’t ignore cries for help. Clark Kent swoops in, with his gentle smile and strong, broad shoulders.
Clark Kent makes it hard for girls like you to get over him.
But if you don't answer, he’ll probably show up at your door to investigate, which would be much, much worse.
You: My washing machine has passed on to the great appliance store in the sky.
His reply is almost instantaneous. A small bubble with three dots appears and disappears before the message lands, and you hold your breath.
Clark: Oh no! Problem solved. My machine is your machine. Come on over whenever.
Shit.
You: Thanks, but it’s OK! I’ll just hit the laundromat. It’s late and I don’t want to bother you.
You’ve already put on your jacket and are hunting for your keys, a grim determination setting in. The walk will be cold. It will be annoying. But it will be blessedly, wonderfully Clark-free, so it’s a small sacrifice in the long run. Your thumb hesitates over the power switch on the machine. Might as well give it another shot. You jab the button with your index finger.
The phone screen in your hand lights up with his name.
He's speaking before you've finished getting the phone to your ear. "You don't honestly think I'm letting you go out at 11pm in the freezing rain to sit at some laundromat by yourself, do you?"
"I..." What were you going to say again? He's turning the concerned voice on and your stomach is flipping. "It’s not raining that much." It is. You can hear the distinct tink-tink-tink of water hitting your windowpane.
"Okay. It’s not freezing rain. But it’s still late. And that laundromat is… not the best. Lois was just telling me about an article she’s editing about how many streetlights are out on that block."
Lois.
The name lands like a small, smooth stone dropped into your stomach. Of course. Lois. Beautiful, brilliant Lois who makes Clark laugh in ways that light up his entire face, who writes the front-page articles and has the world at her fingertips. Who Clark is undoubtedly, irrefutably in love with, if you had to guess. Maybe they’re even together now. You've been so busy avoiding him that you wouldn't even know.
"I’m not gonna be able to focus on my work if I’m worried about you," he continues, blissfully unaware of the small, quiet devastation he just caused. He’s weaponized his own kindness, and it’s ruthlessly effective. "Please?"
You lean your forehead against the cool surface of your dead washing machine. He could convince the moon to come crashing down into Earth with just one well-placed "please", you think.
"You working on something?" you've moved on to stalling for time.
"Don't change the subject. Grab your laundry and get over here before I come drag you myself."
You're a goner. "Clark."
His laugh is bright and warm and reminds you of a lot of what you miss about him. "Come on," he coaxes, and the gentle, cajoling tone is going to make your heart leap straight out of your throat and into his hands. "I’ll order us some pizza. Or have you eaten already?"
"Don't get me pizza," you protest. "You need to work."
"I need to take a break anyway. I’ve been staring at this screen too long. I’ll be braindead if I don’t take a break soon."
"Then have a break. You don’t have to share it with me. I don't want to impose."
"Alright," he says, and you hear the telltale squeak of his desk chair as he gets to his feet. "Then I'm coming over and dragging you and your laundry across the hall."
"Clark!"
"Y/N!"
You laugh despite yourself, despite the way your stomach hurts. He's too good, too much, too kind. You can't keep up. "Okay, okay," you say, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'm on my way."
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
"Come in," he calls before you can knock. Of course he heard you coming.
You push the door open to find him tidying up the living room, shoving papers into neat stacks and fluffing couch cushions. He looks up when you enter, hair falling across his forehead in that way that makes your fingers itch to brush it back.
"Sorry about the mess," he says, though his apartment is immaculate as always. "I wasn't expecting company."
He's wearing his flannel pajama pants and a soft t-shirt, glasses on. You'd have a hard time figuring out whether this or the suit is worse on your heart.
"You don't have to clean for me, Clark. It's just laundry."
"I know, but..." He trails off, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I wanted things to be nice. It's been a while since you've been over."
You feel a stab of guilt at that. You can't explain why you haven't been over in so long. You can't say, I have a ridiculous crush on you and need to save whatever is left of my dignity by keeping some distance between us.
So, you say, "Oh... yeah." Like an idiot.
"I missed seeing your face around."
"Did you?"
It's out before you can take it back. Clark freezes, then turns to look at you.
"Of course I did." There’s something like hurt behind his glasses. "Why would you say that?"
"No... I didn't mean..." you stammer. You want to go hide in a closet somewhere. "That sounded weird. I'm sorry. Just forget it."
Clark is still studying you with that puzzled, concerned look, but he eventually lets out a little huff of a laugh. "I’ll never understand how you don’t realize how much people like you around."
"Maybe I'm just fishing for compliments," you say in an attempt to play it off.
"Mm," he hums, taking your laundry basket with such ease one would think it was full of cotton balls instead of two weeks’ worth of dirty clothes. "Well, you're welcome to fish here anytime."
You follow him to the tiny (immaculately clean) laundry nook. It's not a room so much as a closet off the kitchen, with much less space than you need for a successful Clark Kent avoidance technique. If he stays to chat, you'll be standing no more than an arms' length apart at best, and you're not sure how that’s going to work for the duration of a full cycle.
"Have you eaten?" Clark asks again. He's leaning against the doorframe of the laundry nook, watching you with an easy sort of patience as you start to load the machine. The space feels impossibly small; you have to keep reminding your lungs how to do their job.
"Yeah," you lie, your voice tight as you untangle one of your t-shirts from a pair of jeans and pray that you didn't throw anything too embarrassing into this basket. "I ate."
"Liar. I can hear your stomach from here."
You freeze, utterly mortified. He’s just joking. Probably. "You cannot."
"I can," he insists, a grin spreading across his face that makes your stomach do a nervous little flip. "It’s telling me very sad stories about an empty fridge." He pushes off the doorframe, taking a single, deliberate step into the nook. The fluorescent bulb above flickers once, as if startled. He fills the space completely, blocking the light from the kitchen.
Your hands are suddenly clumsy. You become hyper-aware of the contents of your basket—the worn-out state of your favorite pajamas and, god forbid, your underwear. You try to discreetly bury a pair of frankly embarrassing floral underwear beneath a towel while he leans over your shoulder.
He’s reaching up, his body twisting around you to open a small cupboard above your head. The soft cotton of his t-shirt presses against your shoulder blade as he stretches, and a warm cloud of something clean—laundry soap and fresh air and just him—envelops you. You hold your breath, your universe shrinking to the inches between you, the faint scent of his shampoo, and the solid wall of his chest at your back.
He pulls back just as you think you might pass out, holding out a bottle of detergent. He’s completely, devastatingly oblivious to the five-alarm fire he just started in your nervous system, it seems. His expression is open, friendly, his gaze searching your face. You'd like to curl up inside the washing machine with your laundry and go on a spin cycle right now.
"Laundry detergent for your thoughts?" he asks, offering you the bottle like he hasn’t just driven every rational thought from your head.
You look down at the bottle, trying to remember how words work. "My thoughts are boring."
"That’s impossible." He unscrews the cap for you before passing it into your hands.
You take it, but he doesn't move back. You can see the flecks of green in his blue eyes behind his glasses.
You turn back to the washer, desperate for something to do with your hands and a way to escape his gaze, but your mind has gone completely, utterly blank. What comes after adding detergent? Cold wash? Warm wash? What exactly are you supposed to do with your arms, your legs, your shoulders? How do people even stand normally?
"Let me get that," he says, gently, quietly. His hand brushes yours as he takes the bottle, and he’s pouring the soap in, setting the bottle aside, twisting a dial. The washer rumbles to life, filling with water, and it feels like the air in the tiny nook is being sucked out through the pipes. He closes the lid and turns to look at you. He's so tall you have to tilt your head up to see his face properly.
"There," he says softly, like he's accomplished something monumental instead of just starting a load of laundry. "All set."
You nod, acutely aware that you should probably leave the nook now, give him space to escape back to his work. But your feet seem rooted to the spot, and Clark doesn't seem to be in any hurry to move either.
"So," he says, leaning back against the dryer, arms crossed. The position makes his t-shirt pull slightly across his chest, but at least now he's a full arms' length away from you. "What's really going on with you lately?"
Your heart stutters. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. The avoiding me thing. The way you practically sprint in the opposite direction when you see me in the hallway."
"I don't sprint."
"You do a very fast walk," he says with a small smile. "It's actually pretty impressive. I didn't know you could move that quickly."
Despite everything, you find yourself fighting back a laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe. But I'm also right." He tilts his head and looks at you for a long moment, like if he focuses hard enough, he can figure out what's going on inside your head without you having to say it out loud. It's an unsettling feeling, as if he might somehow peel back all the layers of your walls and see your pathetic little crush sitting at the core.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asks.
Your heart sinks. "No, Clark, you haven't done anything wrong. Jesus." You run a hand over your face, letting out a sigh. "That's not—you're just—"
He's just perfect. He's kind and patient, he helps an elderly woman carry groceries back to her apartment every Thursday night. How do you tell someone like that that it feels like dying every time he mentions the coworker he's clearly in love with?
"We're good," you finish weakly. "You don't have anything to worry about."
He gives you a look that says he doesn't believe you for a second. "You just hate being around me?"
"Oh, yes. I hate you. Absolutely despise you," you joke.
"Hmm."
"Repulsed," you're holding back a laugh now. "Completely repulsed by your very—"
Clark takes another step forward, and whatever words were in your mouth evaporate. The laughter fizzles, turns less playful and more nervous as he invades your personal space like he's been doing your thoughts, 24/7, for maybe a solid year.
Playful Clark is almost worse than kind Clark. Kind Clark can fill your stomach with butterflies, sure. Kind Clark will stay on your mind, will fuel daydreams of late mornings and gentle hands, but you've built up a tolerance. Playful Clark—bold Clark—might actually shatter the very carefully maintained equilibrium you've worked so hard to create around your relationship with him.
"...face," you manage to squeak. He's much too close and much too comfortable, taller than you've ever really allowed yourself to consider.
What a terrifyingly wonderful feeling. If he leaned down, if you got on tiptoes...
"Clark," you say. The word is a weak warning.
He doesn't move, but his eyes flicker down to your lips and back up. You can feel the blush creeping over your cheeks. "What?"
"Clark."
He's smiling. "Y/N."
You can barely hear your own voice over the roar of your blood in your ears. "Are you just... gonna stand here?"
A small, breathy laugh escapes him. "I don't know. I'm enjoying the view."
"Clark."
His smile widens. "It's not my fault. You're cute when you're flustered."
"Stop. I'm not flustered."
He leans in a fraction closer. "So, I could get closer?"
He knows. He absolutely knows. And you know that he knows, and he's playing chicken. "Clark," you whisper, a final warning. If he gets any closer...
"Y/N." He mimics the tone of your voice. He's trying to tease, but he can't keep the soft, warm edges from creeping into it, the gentle affection he can never hide.
Clark Kent wants to kiss you, you think, distantly, as his nose brushes yours. As a big hand reaches up and cradles the back of your head.
"Is this okay?" he asks, breath fanning over your lips. And god, if that isn't just about the death of you.
The air has solidified, turned to glass, and it's lodged in your chest. "Clark."
"Can I?" His fingertips are warm against the base of your neck. The contact sends electricity racing up and down your spine. "I'm tired of waiting for you to catch on."
"Me catch on?! My biggest problem is that you, Clark Kent, you are the most—"
He's kissing you. He's laughing against your lips as he's kissing you, and your mind has been reduced to a collection of sparks going off in a vast expanse of darkness.
"You're so oblivious," he's saying, his lips moving against yours. "You're the most oblivious person on the planet. I swear."
"I'm oblivious? You're—"
But he's kissing you again—this time more insistent, less patient, a little bit needy and a whole lot of something you can't name, but you want to drown in. Any argument you might have made melts under his touch, vanishes like dew on a sunny morning and leaves nothing but this in its wake.
"I hope your machine is dead for good," he murmurs against your lips.
Your answer gets lost somewhere in the shape of his mouth and the warmth of his hands.
i just KNOWWWW bro was so embarrassed when his mom put this up. obviously his ma thinks he looks very distinguished and handsome (which he is, duh doy) but he just thinks he looks like a colossal dork.
“aw, ma… ya had to hang that one? i look like i’m runnin’ for class president in ‘85 .”
How do the LADS men react when they catch you reading smut. 🫣 Part 3
We still had some time to vote but I think my man is going to win this one.
Enjoy!
TW:Smut
Part 1 (Xavier)
Part 2 (Caleb)
Vote for the next LI at the end of the story ❤️
As you settle into the plush comfort of Sylus' bed, your fingers dance across the screen of your phone, pulling up the controversial book that had been the talk of the office. The one your female coworkers had gushed over in hushed whispers, their cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming with a sparkle. You had to know what all the fuss was about.
As you delve deeper into the digital pages, your eyebrows arch higher with each passing paragraph. The book is even more explicit than you'd been led to believe, the author leaving very little to the imagination. You find yourself squirming slightly on the luxurious bed linens, a warmth taking over your cheeks that has nothing to do with the crackling fireplace nearby.
When you reach chapter ten, the scene unfolding before your eyes is downright scandalous. The protagonist and her lover are locked in the throes of ecstasy atop a roaring motorcycle. The vivid detail and raw, primal nature of their fucking is intense, the author paints a picture so vivid it's almost impossible not to feel the heat of the moment yourself.
As the scene unfolds in vivid detail on your phone screen, a familiar but not unwelcome heat begins to pool low in your belly. The author's graphic descriptions of the lovers' frenzied passion ignites something within you. Before long, you find yourself squirming on the bed, thighs clenching together as a tingling ache builds between them.
Your mind starts to wander, the fictional couple's encounter blurring with memories of your own encounters with Sylus. You picture his strong hands roaming over your curves, his kisses trailing down your neck and chest. In your mind, you replace the faceless man on the motorcycle with Sylus himself.
Unable to resist the urge any longer, your hand drifts down to the waistband of your pajamas, your breath hitches as your fingers brush against the slick folds of your pussy.
You know you shouldn't be doing this, but the ache between your legs demands satisfaction. Lost in the lusty fantasy you touch yourself, your own touch a poor imitation of the passionate lovemaking in the book.
Your moans fill the spacious bedroom and you drop your phone onto the plush bedsheets, the device still open to the obscene motorcycle scene that sparked your desire. Your fingers dance over your folds, stroking your sensitive clit with increasing urgency as you picture Sylus pinning you beneath him on his own roaring motorcycle.
Two fingers plunge deep inside your core, pumping furiously as you imagine Sylus pounding into you, his powerful hips driving forward with relentless, hungry need. The sound of your breathing mingles with the imagined roar of the motorcycle engine, spurring you on as you chase your rapidly building climax.
Your fingers pump faster, plunging deeper, as you picture Sylus reaching up to secure his sleek black helmet over his head. The dark visor doesn't completely obscure his eyes and you can feel the intensity of his gaze boring into you. He leans in close, his hot breath fogging up the inside of the helmet as he growls, "Hold on tight, kitten. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name."
With a cry of ecstasy, you come undone, your walls clenching rhythmically around your plunging fingers as a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your body writhes on the bed, the silken sheets tangled around you as you ride out the aftershocks of your climax.
Panting softly, you slowly come back to yourself, a satisfied grin playing about your lips. The ache between your thighs temporarily sated. The phone screen glows, the motorcycle scene frozen in time, a testament to the sinful fantasy that brought you to such a state.
You close your eyes, the events of the day, the provocative novel, and your fantasy of Sylus fade into the background as you surrender to the pull of exhaustion. Your breathing evens out, falling into a soft, steady rhythm as you curl up beneath the plush blankets of Sylus' bed, completely at peace.
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You stir from your sleep, the beep of the alarm clock piercing through the silence of the bedroom. As you blink you become acutely aware of a firm, warm body pressed against your back. A muscular arm is draped over your waist, holding you close to a broad, bare chest that rises and falls with each soft, steady breath. Glancing over your shoulder, you find yourself face to face with Sylus.
You remain still, not wanting to disturb his peaceful sleep, and take a moment to appreciate his devastating good looks. The grayish white hair, usually so perfectly styled, is now slightly disheveled. His brows, normally arched in a state of contemplation or challenge, are now smooth and undisturbed. Even in sleep, there's a raw, masculine beauty to Sylus that sets your heart racing.
As you study him, you can't help but remember the vivid, intimate fantasy that played out in your mind the night before. The way his strong hands gripped your hips as he took you hard and fast on his motorcycle. You feel a fresh wave of heat pool between your thighs at the recollection.
Suddenly, Sylus stirs, his hold on your waist tightening. His voice, low and gravelly from sleep, rumbles in your ear. "Morning, kitten," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "Sleep well?"
You press a quick, chaste kiss to Sylus' lips, feeling the ghost of your intense fantasy linger in the fleeting touch. A rosy blush stains your cheeks as you pull away.
"Mm, yes, I did," you reply softly, slipping out of his embrace and rising from the bed, the cool air of the bedroom kisses your skin. As you gather your belongings and begin to ready yourself for work, you can't help but sneak glances at Sylus as he stirs and stretches like a panther. The sheets pool around his waist, revealing his toned torso and the tantalizing V that disappears beneath the fabric. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry, and quickly avert your gaze.
"Well, I should get going," you say, slipping into your shirt and buttoning it up with trembling fingers. "Can't be late for my shift today, I have an important meeting with Jenna"
You hesitate for a moment, feeling Sylus' intense gaze following your every move. You take a deep breath and turn to face him, your blush still evident on your cheeks. "I'll... I'll see you later, Sy" you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
You turn to leave and are almost out his bedroom door when you hear him call you.
"Miss hunter"
You freeze mid-step and slowly turn to face him, your eyes widening as you follow the direction of his pointed finger.
You hurry over to the bedside table, snatching up your phone and clutching it to your chest like a guilty secret.
As you turn to make your escape, Sylus' deep, smooth voice stops you in your tracks once more. "Pick you up after work," he states. It's phrased as a question, but the steel in his tone makes it clear that he expects an affirmative answer.
"I... yes, alright," you manage to stammer out. "After work." You can feel Sylus' gaze burning into your back as you hurry towards the bedroom door once again, your phone clutched tightly in your hand.
As you step out into the hallway, you can't shake the feeling that Sylus knows exactly what you got up to last night. The way he looked at you, the knowing glint in his eyes. You shake your head, trying to erase the unsettling thought, and fasten your steps towards the front door.
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You step out of the Hunters Association building, your heart already racing at the thought of seeing Sylus again. As you round the corner, your eyes fall upon the very object that had dominated your lustful fantasy the night before, Sylus' sleek, black motorcycle.
And there he stands, leaning casually against the seat with one muscular thigh crossed over the other. He looks every inch the dangerous, alluring man you know him to be. His leather jacket and pants hug his powerful frame.
As if sensing your presence, Sylus turns his head, piercing crimson eyes locking onto yours. A slow, sensual smile spreads across his face, and he straightens up, taking a step towards you. "Ready to go, kitten?"
You nod, your voice catching slightly in your throat as you reply, "Yes, I'm ready." You reach for your helmet, your fingers brushing against the smooth, glossy surface. However, before you can secure it on your head, Sylus' large, warm hands enclose your own, stilling your movements.
He steps closer, his chest nearly grazing your breasts as he leans in, his helmet tucked under one muscular arm. His eyes bore into yours, a glimmer of something dark and hungry flickering in their depths. "Before you do," he murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine, "would you like to use my visor to apply your lipstick, just like you did the other day?"
The memories of that day come rushing back, the way you had applied your lipstick using his visor as a mirror, your fingers trembling slightly as you did so. The way he had looked at you, his eyes burning into yours, filled with a hunger that made your knees weak.
The vivid fantasies that played out in your mind last night flash before your eyes, and you know you can't bring yourself to do it this time. Shaking your head, you take a step back, putting a little distance between your body and Sylus. "No, not this time," you murmur, your cheeks flushing hotly at the admission. You can't help but glance at the helmet tucked under his arm. "I'd rather not," you add, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet Sylus' intense gaze. The air between you feels charged, electric, as if Sylus can sense the forbidden thoughts swirling in your mind. You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away from him.
Releasing your hands, you reach up and quickly secure your helmet on your head, the plastic shell a barrier between you and Sylus' knowing eyes. The visor fogs up slightly as you take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. "We should get going.
Sylus smirks, the expression turning wicked as he watches you squirm under his gaze. He knows, there's no doubt about it. Somehow, some way, he discovered your open phone and read the steamy scene that had left you so hot and bothered. A thrill of excitement and nerves runs through you as Sylus settles his own helmet over his head, the sleek black visor hiding his expression but not the predatory gleam in his eyes. He knows, and now he's playing with you, toying with the knowledge of your secret desire.
A fresh wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as you watch Sylus swing his leg over the motorcycle seat. With a newfound determination, you hitch up your skirt slightly and swing your own leg over the bike, settling yourself behind Sylus.
A slow smile spreads across your face beneath your helmet as you wrap your arms around his waist, your hands splaying over the firm expanse of his abdomen. Two can play this game, you think to yourself, a sense of anticipation coiling in your belly. Sylus may have discovered your secret, but he doesn't know the full extent of the hunger that consumes you.
As the darkness grows and the city lights start to twinkle to life, a sudden boldness takes hold of you. Without warning, you slide your hands lower, your fingers teasing along the waistband of Sylus' leather pants. You feel the firm, muscular flesh beneath the leather, the heat of his skin seeping through the material. Your touch is light, almost feather like, but purposeful in its intent.
His body tenses beneath your wandering hands, and you feel the motorcycle wobble slightly as he tightens his grip on the handlebars. The knowledge that your touch affects him, that you can unsettle the usually unflappable man, sends a thrill of power rushing through you.
Spurred on by this sense of control, you allow your hands to dip lower, your fingers playing with the button of his pants. You trace the line of the zipper, feeling the hard bulge that begins to form beneath your touch. The knowledge that you can arouse him so easily, that your desire for him is reciprocated, makes your head spin with excitement.
Your breath grows shallow, fogging up the interior of your helmet as your hands continue their exploration. The motorcycle rumbles on beneath you, the vibrations adding to the building heat between your thighs. You're playing with fire, but you can't bring yourself to care. You want to burn, to consume Sylus with the same desperate hunger that had you coming undone in his bed.
"How much longer until we get home Sy?"
"Not much longer now, kitten. Just a few more miles to go." The motorcycle speeds up slightly, the wind whipping around you as you race through the darkening streets.
But you are not able to stop yourself and you reach down and slowly unzip his leather pants, the metal teeth parting ways to reveal the straining bulge beneath.
"Y/N" a note of warning laced into the command. But you ignore him, your fingers already delving inside to cup the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of his underwear.
The motorcycle surges forward with a roar, Sylus apparently as eager to get home as you are. The speedometer needle sweeps past the legal limit, the city lights become a stream of glowing lines.
As the motorcycle rolls to a stop at the red light, you waste no time in freeing Sylus from the confines of his underwear. Your fingers dip inside, wrapping around the hot, throbbing length of him, pulling him out into the cool night air. Sylus inhales sharply, his hips jerking slightly as your hand closes around his flesh.
Before the light can change, you're already working on him, your palm pressing his hard cock against the firm plane of his abdomen. Slowly, torturously, you run your thumb over the sensitive head, circling the tip in maddeningly gentle strokes. You keep your touch light, mindful of the delicate skin.
"Kitten" he grits out as the light turns green, and the motorcycle lurches forward again.
“Keep your eyes on the road Sylus, I don’t want us to crash.”
His grip tightens on the handlebars, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road ahead. "Fuck, Y/N," he grits out through clenched teeth, the curse echoing in the confines of the helmet. "Keep this up and we'll end up in a ditch."
You can feel the bead of precum forming at the tip of his cock, the slick fluid allowing your fingers to glide more easily over the swollen head. You take full advantage, rolling and kneading the sensitive flesh between your fingertips until Sylus is gritting out a low groan.
You smear the precum over your fingers, using it as lubricant as you drag your hand slowly down the thick shaft. You can feel it throb against your palm, Sylus' body responding eagerly to your touch. The motorcycle swerves slightly as Sylus struggles to maintain control, his hips rocking involuntarily into your stroking hand.
As he brings the motorcycle to a halt, you glance around, realizing that you're not parked outside his home. Instead, he's stopped in a secluded, isolated spot on the outskirts of the city. A single lamp post flickers weakly, casting a circle of light that illuminates the deserted parking lot. Beyond that, the only light comes from the pale glow of the moon
You're about to ask Sylus where he's brought you when you feel his hand closing around your wrist. In the dim light, you can see the intense, almost feral look in his eyes as he turns to face you.
"Sylus, where are we?" you ask, a hint of confusion in your voice. The air feels charged with tension, the night pressing in around you, isolating you from the rest of the world.
Sylus doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans in close and he murmurs, "Somewhere private, where I can finish what you started without any interruptions."
You know you've pushed Sylus to the brink, teased him until he's teetering on the edge of control. And now, in this secluded spot, he's going to make you pay for it.
Sylus pulls back slightly, his hands moving to the straps of your helmet. With deft fingers, he unbuckles it and lifts it off your head, tossing it carelessly to the ground.
"Get off the bike, Y/N," Sylus commands, his voice a low, husky rumble that makes your toes curl in your boots. "Now."
You find yourself moving on autopilot, Sylus watches intently as you swing your leg over the bike seat, the moonlight casting a silver glow across your skin. The moment your feet touch the ground, he's off the motorcycle too, moving with a predatory grace that makes your heart race. He takes a step towards you, then another, until he's standing before you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his body.
His hands come up to grip your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you against him. You can feel every hard plane and angle of his body, the evidence of his desire, an unmistakable bulge pressing against your belly.
"Did you think teasing me like that would go unpunished? I'm going to make you pay for every inch of skin you touched, for every moan I had to swallow as I tried to keep this bike on the road."
"I won't be able to eat your sweet little cunt like I want to while you sit on my bike, kitten. Not with my helmet on." His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he grinds his erection against you. "But don't worry, I'll leave that pleasure for another day. Tonight, I need to be inside you, now."
With that promise, Sylus spins you around and bends you over the motorcycle seat, your breasts pressing against the leather. He kicks your legs apart, his hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to grip your hips. Then he hikes up your skirt, exposing you to the cool night air.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, the fabric stretching taut for a moment before giving way. He drags them down slowly, the cool air kissing your heated skin as he bares you completely.
"Lift your feet," Sylus orders, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. You comply, lifting one foot and then the other, allowing him to remove your underwear entirely. He balls up the delicate lace, tucking them into his back pocket as a trophy of sorts.
With your most intimate place now exposed, Sylus leans down, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You can feel the thick, hard length of him pressing insistently against your ass. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch, for the feel of him inside you.
He slides his bare cock against your folds, the thick head catching on your clit with each pass. Sparks of pleasure shoot up your spine, your back arching as you press back against him instinctively. The wet sound of his shaft gliding through your arousal fills the air, a melody that makes your toes curl.
"Fuck, you're so wet, kitten," he growls, his voice rough with lust. "So ready for my cock."
You can feel it in the desperate, erratic way he grinds against you, in the harsh, ragged sound of his breathing. It's a battle of wills, a contest to see who will break first. And as Sylus' cock catches on your clit once more, sending a bolt of electric pleasure rocketing through you, you know it won't be long before one of you snaps. The tension is unbearable, the need for release a physical ache that demands satisfaction.
"Fuck, Sylus!" you cry out, unable to hold back any longer. As you feel the thick head of his cock pressing insistently at your entrance, you make your choice. Reaching back, you grab his hips and yank him forward, impaling yourself on his shaft with a desperate scream that echoes through the empty parking lot as Sylus' thick cock stretches your tight walls in one brutal, glorious thrust. The sudden intrusion is a shock of pain and pleasure, your body struggling to accommodate his girth.
"Oh god, you're so fucking big," you keen, your hips buck back against him, desperate for more, always craving that sweet spot where pleasure blurs with pain.
He doesn't give you time to adjust, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace from the start. The motorcycle rocks beneath you with each powerful thrust, the metal creaking in protest at the force of Sylus' movements. You're pinned beneath him, helpless to do anything but take his punishing thrusts as he fucks into you.
You're teetering on the brink, your body coiled tight and ready to shatter. The pleasure is cresting, your walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as he drives into you with wild, desperate abandon. You're so close, your climax just within reach, when suddenly Sylus curses under his breath.
"Fuck!" he snarls, his voice rough and ragged. Before you can react, he's pulling out of you abruptly, the sudden emptiness a shock to your overstimulated body.
You cry out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the motorcycle seat as you feel the cool night air hitting your swollen folds. "Fuck, Sylus!" you wail, your voice a mix of frustration and desperate need. "Don't stop now!"
He's panting harshly, his chest heaving as he fights for control.
"Dammit," he growls, "You feel too fucking good. I'm not going to last if you keep taking my cock like that"
You watch as Sylus sits back on the motorcycle seat, facing the back of his bike, his eyes shining with dark promise as he meets your pleading gaze. With a smirk, he pats his thighs invitingly.
"Climb up here, kitten," he commands "Fuck yourself on my cock until you scream. I want to watch you come apart on my dick.
He grips the base of his shaft, stroking it slowly as he waits for you to obey. The thick length is slick with your juices, the swollen head an angry red and leaking steadily. The sight makes your mouth water, your body screaming at you to take what you need.
You swing a leg over the motorcycle seat, straddling his hips, the thick ridge of his cock nestling against your dripping slit. With a shaky breath, you reach down and grasp his shaft, positioning him at your entrance. His hands find your hips, gripping them hard as he pulls you down. You sink onto his thick length with a low moan, your head falling back as he stretches you wide.
"Fuck, just like that," Sylus grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he guides you into a steady rhythm.
You start to move, lifting yourself up until just the tip remains inside, before slamming back down. The helmet catches your gaze, the sleek black surface reflecting your flushed face and as you fuck yourself on his cock, you keep your eyes locked on the helmet, the fantasy you've imagined playing out before you.
As you feel your movements start to slow, your thighs trembling with exertion, Sylus takes control. He grips your wrists firmly, pushing your hands to the back of the motorcycle seat. "Hold on tight, sweetie," his voice a low, intense rumble. "Because I'm going to fuck you now."
Then, with a powerful thrust of his hips, he's slamming up into you, burying his cock deep inside you.
"Oh god!" you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the leather seat. The helmet blurs before your vision as Sylus pounds into you, the force of his thrusts rocking the motorcycle beneath you. He sets a brutal pace, each powerful drive of his hips forcing the air from your lungs in a sharp gasp. The we sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the night air, mingling with the creaking of the motorcycle and your wanton moans.
"Fuck," Sylus snarls, his breath coming in harsh pants fogging the inside of his helmet "You feel and look so fucking good. So perfect around my cock."
His hand tangles in your hair, gripping it tightly forcing you to maintain eye contact with him through the helmet as he fucks you.
Suddenly he changes the angle of his hips, tilting them up as he slams into you, the thick ridge of his pelvis grinds against your sensitive clit with each thrust. Sparks of electric pleasure shoot through you, making your back arch and your toes curl.
"Oh fuck, Sylus!" you scream, "Right there! Don't stop!"
Your nails dig into the leather seat, gripping it for dear life as Sylus pounds into your g-spot. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body shaking and trembling with the force of your impending climax.
As the pleasure crests to an unbearable peak, you force your eyes open. Through the visor of his helmet, you meet Sylus' gaze, and what you see steals your breath away.
His crimson eyes are locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. In that moment, you see a man utterly consumed by desire, a man who would move heaven and earth to claim you, to possess you completely. It's a look of pure worship. A believer seeing his god, his reason for living. Sylus is lost in you, lost in the feel of your tight heat gripping his shaft, lost in the way your body responds so perfectly to his touch.
Your body seizes, your back arching as your orgasm crashes over you.
"Sylus!" you scream, tears of pleasure streaming down your face as your climax tears through you. Your walls spasm and clench around him as you come harder than you ever have before.
His eyes widen as he feels your walls clamp down around him, "Fuuuuuck!" Sylus screams, his voice echoing through the night as he erupts within you. His hot, thick seed floods your insides, painting your walls with his essence as he grinds against your cervix. You feel each twitch and throb of his cock as he empties himself inside you, your body shaking with the force of your mutual climax.
You both collapse against each other, chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. Sylus' arms wrap around you, holding you close.
After a long moment, Sylus lifts his head, his crimson eyes finding yours through the visor once more. "Was that everything you imagined it would be, kitten?" Sylus asks, his voice a low, sensual purr. "Riding my cock on the back of my bike, fucking yourself stupid?" He reaches up, his finger tracing along your jawline before tilting your chin up "Because I can assure you that for me it was even better than I could have possibly imagined."
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest as he watches you laugh. He reaches up and unclasps his helmet, pulling it off to reveal his handsome face, flushed and gorgeous in the moonlight. Leaning in, you press a soft, quick kiss to his lips, savoring the taste of him.
"Let's go home Sy, I still have a few ideas"
Sylus grins as he pulls out of you and helps you off the bike, his hands lingering on your curves. "Next time you go to a bookstore make sure to pick out the nastiest, most depraved books you can find. Spare no expense, kitten. It's my treat."
His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his eyes glinting with mischief and dark promise. "I want to know all about the filthiest things you imagine us doing together, before acting them out in ways that will make those authors blush."
He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "And maybe, if you're a good girl, I'll even let you read them to me while I worship your body, Would you like that, baby?"
He pulls back slightly to gauge your reaction, one eyebrow cocked expectantly as he waits for your laughter to fill the crisp night air once more. The way his eyes shine makes it clear that he's already imagining all the deliciously depraved things he wants to do to you, inspired by the pages of those naughty books.
Why Namor x Shuri makes sense in terms of story structure
So if we go off context, Nashuri was already planned by the writers, as seen in interviews and the og script. Which isn't surprising because viewers picked up on their chemistry and romantic undertones in the movie already. The only reason this was changed is because they wanted to focus on the theme of grief and dealing with loss. Which has been the main theme for phase 4 in general since we're moving on to new heroes.
Also not sure if people are aware of this but the choice to kill Ramonda was more or less a last minute decision by Ryan. Angela only agreed to it after Ryan brought up how often it is for characters to come back.
So this could mean Ramonda's coming back to life or will continue to make appearances. If she does come back to life this more or less weakens the "but he killed her mom!" Argument.
Now let's talk about Shuri's story and Namor's role in it. Because at the end of the day this is Shuri's story.
Shuri's story in WF is her journey from childhood to adulthood. Tenoch has said this is his favorite thing about her story.
In the beginning she is a girl by the end she is a woman.
The particular kind of story structure Ryan used is called "The Heroine's Journey" a popular method to use in storytelling with female leads.
You'll find similar stories following this method in movies like "Star Wars, Labyrinth, The Hunger Games, The Wizard of Oz etc."
"The Heroine's Journey" is a female version of "The Hero's Journey" which is used for male leads. T'Challa actually goes through his hero's journey during "Civil War" and "BP" so im not suprised Ryan used the female version for his sister.
If you look at the structure of the heroine's journey Shuri pretty much hits all of these.
Distancing herself from her mother, venturing out of Wakanda (both in America and in Talokan) aka leaving the nest, and having her time to shine.
Both the hero and heroine's journies are a method to mature your lead in a way that makes sense and is relatable since hey, we all gotta grow up some times.
Also a subtle thing Ryan incorporated was how both Ramonda and Okoye treat Shuri like she's a child while Namor treats her like an adult, because she is.
Now something that is not always included but is common in both, is the hero or heroine's being presented with sexual incitement, at times for the first time. This signifies them coming into sexual maturity which is why you won't see it in every story or may just get subtle hits of it.
Now if it wasn't obvious Namor is ment to be Shuri's expirence with sexual enticement. Possibly her first encounter since we don't know her history.
And this isn't a "maybe" situation he literally just is. Firstly, this role usually is presented when the hero leaves the nest, not to mention Namor takes up every single trope of this role.
-Invades the hero's space (hut scene)
-whispers to them (again hut scene)
-touches or caresses them (First holding her hand then putting his mother's bracelet on her)
-shows them something new and exciting (Talokan)
-Is usually older then the hero (20s vs 500)
-Often times wears clothing that is either tight fitted or very little clothing (bro is literally walking around in nothing but jewelry and booty shorts)
Secondly, sometimes you'll straight up get subtle hints and/or introductions of sex it's self.
-In Star Wars there's a scene where Leia has to sit on Han's lap and the ship starts bouncing up and down...
-Again, in Star Wars Kylo Ren wipes his mouth which we see has water on it after meeting with Rey through the force...
-With Shuri in Namor, their fight has a weird amount of grappling and holding, not to mention the back scratching...
Namor treats and speaks to Shuri like she's a grown woman. He doesn't handle her with kid gloves like everyone else, he respects her as an adult who can make her own decisions.
In a dark sense even when it comes to either raging war after Ramonda's death or the alliance. He leaves it up to her to decide.
Also Riri, just isn't this to Shuri. This is not to say people can't ship it cause you can ship whatever you want, their all fictional. But Shuri refers to Riri as "a kid", "a child" or "a girl" depending on what translations you watch. This is to show the audience that Shuri does not view Riri as an adult. They're confirmed to have a sisterly bond. Shuri lost a sibling and gained a sibling.
But back to Namor, he also is noticeably kinder to her then he is to literally anyone else in the movie besides his people. Not to mention it's canon that he finds her charming and interesting. He also likes her smile.
It's confirmed by Ryan that he never wanted to kill her even during their fight which some fans noticed, he never tries to kill her even when he has an obvious chance.
And lastly, he sees Shuri as an equal by the end of the movie, showing he has respect for her as a protector of her nation and possibly even views her as a god now but we have to wait and see on that one.
As quoted by Ryan, Namor is ment to be a Peter Pan archetype and when you think about it he really is. He's black and white way of thinking is very childish, he's incredible stubborn, he's arrogant and cocky, yet at the same time, curious and charming. Like Peter he's a father to his people (he literally refers to them as his children) and their sole protector.
There's innocence to his character that's very compelling and shows how young he is in mind.
-he collects (maybe steals, very Killmonger of him) Mayan artifacts from the surface since he never got to see Ancient Maya.
-speaking of collecting things, he even collects random surface world stuff. He has 2 gramophones in his hut, which he most likely got from a ship back in the day.
-he's suprised and charmed by Shuri's kindness. Which makes session since she's the first surface person he's ever spent time with.
-and hey, he got his love of drawing from his mama.
Now what does all this mean for Namor and Shuri in the future? Well for one you got a good amount of back up for them no longer being enemies.
1. Shuri's heroine's journey is over now.
2. Namor was the one who forced her into womanhood.
3. We concluded the story at her finalizing her grief
4. It's canon that Namor was humbled by Shuri after their fight.
5. Wakanda and Talokan will be working with each other.
6. Namor may play a mentor like role with Shuri
7. Dispite many romance scenes being removed they still chose to keep enough hints for people to pick up on.
8. Their fight is described as "intimate" by both writers.
9. Namor and Shuri are described as "two sides of the same coin" and "twin flames" (these are the same descriptions that were used for Rey and Ben Solo in Star Wars)
Why does them having a possible relationship make sense? Well the most basic answer? They're the only two people that can understand what the other is going through.
Their both protectors of great nations that are centered around a resource unique to their land and have a culture and ancestry untouched by colonization. They both know grief of losing people they love. (Namor's mother and his two handmaids, Shuri's brother and mother) Their both EXTREMELY intelligent. (Namor build a vibranium sun underwater and I don't remember where I read it but he learned English in a week.) They both find each other interesting. They both see each other as equals. They both have alot of growing to do.
So will they have some kind of relationship? Most likely. Will it be romantic or platonic? Who knows. But we know they won't be enemies so we have to wait and see.
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