ALIEN!GOJO abducts a human whom he's developed a pathetically fat crush on. You don't mind letting the six-eyed freak have a crack at the human pussy he's been so curious about — and truly, his dick is out of this woooooorld!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ──── wc; 4k
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ──── tagz; ADULT content intended for 18+ viewers (MDNI), smut smut smut, crack, fluff, Sukuna, alien abduction, alien fucking, double/big dick Gojo, double penetration, dumbification, size difference, degradation & praise, experimentation (he's curious how many times he can make you cum on toys), multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, fingering, slight breeding kink, toys usage, name-calling, pet names, he's very silly, he cries a little at the end because he doesn't wanna return you to earth but Sukuna is like PUT HUMAN BACK. NOW.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤMORE ME!
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO has been dying to try human pussy for a while now. He needs to know what it’s like, to feel something different gripping his cock. So he bought himself a ‘human-like’ fleshlight somewhere in Andromeda (totally a knock-off btw) — and he finds out quickly that it’s wayyy too fucking small to fit on his cock. Whatever, he tries to squeeze every fat inch in anyways, stretching it wiiide open, stuck on the delicious idea that this is a close replica to a real pussy. Such a pity that his upper cock droops so lonely over it, precum pearling off the bulbous head, while his thicker lower cock gets to feel the tight squeeze of the fleshlight around its pulsing girth. “Too tight.” he grunts to himself, glaring down at the place where he’s slipping in and out of. He tuts in annoyance when his cock keeps slipping out on each hefty drawback — so he gets rougher with it, pins it down and tries really hard to keep his cock inside.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO whose cock is simply too fucking big to fuck the human pussy fleshlight; it keeps slipping out when he hits the stroke wrong. “Fuck, nn, wowww — is human pussy really this tight? There’s no way... fffuck! So annoying... can’t even stay inside for long...” and out pops his swollen cock from the tight fleshlight yet again, so he growls and shoves it back in with one hard, base-to-fucking-tip thrust. Glutes flexing as he repeats the feverish motions of rolling his hips, drawing back, and fucking the tiny pouch full of his curvy, ribbed cock. Pulsing in jealous agony, his upper cock keeps oozing precum; it’s much to his annoyance. Because he likes to keep it clean while pleasuring himself — a bit of a neat intergalactic freak, he is.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO whose ethereal white lashes flutter so softly when he cums, releasing a shaky ‘ahhh...~!’ as he orgasms hard — spurt after spurt of thick, milky cum shooting from the bulbous tips of both his cocks, painting the insides of the toy white and — oops, okay, so he didn’t check the fact that his upper cock wouldn’t fit, and now there’s a goopy puddle on the floor that he has to shamefully clean up.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who claims to Sukuna, “I’m bored of zoomin’ round Ass-dromeda. Why can’t we visit Milky Way?” to which he receives a quizzical look and gruff grunt in reply,
“Because the last time you were in Milky Way, you had a milky day, you slut. And I vowed to never let you near that planet ever again.” Sukuna answers, but Satoru persists, “Butbutbut that was one time! I’ve changed.”
“Nope. You’re still a horny dumbass.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who ‘accidentally’ projectile-launched Sukuna’s MOST PRIZED POSSESSION through the vacuum of space right towards earth. Two legs kick up on the spaceship’s dashboard as Satoru acts like he’s got no clue why the radar is picking up the object on the third rock from the sun. “Weird! I guess we’ll have to go retrieve it. Ahem.” then he booty bumps the dumbstruck Sukuna so he can take control of the cockpit.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who is so cringe it nearly melts Sukuna’s face off sometimes, “Oh-Em-Gee.” breathes Satoru in delight upon exit of the WAP-69 (don’t ask). “What the fuck does that mean?” Sukuna asks, bulky arms getting goosebumps at the cool temperature on earth during this fine evening. “It’s human-talk.” Satoru replies snootily.
“Uh-huh... and do you know what it means?”
“Well, I don’t have a direct translation BUT humans have said it when they’re surprised, when they’re praying, and when they’re fucking.”
“Cool. Now stop saying it.”
The radar device which Satoru holds starts bleeping, bright green dot blinking. “OMG I just got a signal for your teddy bear.”
“—it is NOT a teddy bear, that’s a VERY rare human artifact. Now, where is it?”
“This residence.” he rears his head up at your apartment complex.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who snoops around a hot pink bedroom, opening and closing drawers, scouring for the Hello Kitty plush very rare human artifact that is impossibly important to Sukuna. “Ooo! Nail polish — I don’t have pink in my collection.” Sukuna ignores the Nuisance and searches high and low, but the Nuisance keeps yapping. “Lacey pussy-protectors... mine now.” he smirks as he pockets them. “They’re called panties. And stop stealing shit!” Sukuna hisses, but Satoru? Doesn’t hear him, because his eyes land on an unopened box.
“—ooo, is this a plastic noodle? Oh. No, wait,” he reads the label of the sex toy (that you just bought and were very excited to come home from work to ride your brains out on, btw), “‘galactic cock’...? Haha, check that... humans are freaky.”
“Yeah, like you didn’t just get ripped off on a ‘human’ pussy in Andromeda, of all places. Seriously, isn’t that thing too small?”
Suddenly, Satoru stiffens, Six Eyes acting like his personal sensor as he detects a human nearby.
“Someone’s at the door.”
“OMG.”
“This is not the right context for OMG. We need to GTFO.”
They snatch the Very Rare Human Artifact That Is Definitely Not A Hello Kitty Toy and make for their ship.
But Satoru hesitates when his Six Eyes gather the details of your soul. His mouth hangs agape, as if he’s been struck in the back by a thousand cupid's arrows. Why? Because the shape of your soul is so similar to one he knew before... yeah, that human who dumped him.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO once fell in love with a human named Geto Suguru but he got DUMPED — that’s right, DUMPED — by him. And he has yearned to find someone like Geto Suguru but alas, has found no such similar soul in all the galaxies he had traversed. All fruitless missions, those were. But isn’t it fucking funny that he got dumped by a human? Sukuna will never not laugh at that.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who observes you, all Six Eyes dewy with tears, from the invisible UFO that’s parked on the rooftop one apartment block away from yours. “Wow, she is just so beautiful, it almost hurts to stare.” Satoru sobs softly, sweetly, making Sukuna curl his lips in abject disgust. “Don’t even think about it.” Sukuna warns. “I wasn’t! God, I’ve learned my lesson...” he trails off, sniffling as he wipes a tear off that’s been dramatically clinging to his lower lashes.
ㅤㅤㅤ──── 🛸
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who totally abducts you when Sukuna is asleep. Well, maybe don’t let the weirdo who’s been fucking a knock-off ‘human’ pocket pussy from Andromeda take control of the ship? Because obviously he isn’t gonna chart a course for home before beaming you up.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who stares at you — waiting for you to wake up — with two entrancingly blue eyes, the rest just small slits on his cheek and above his brows. He doesn’t wanna freak you out. And see! You don’t freak out when you wake up and look at him. Instead, you stare fondly back at him... glaring? No, no... he read in a book somewhere that glaring is sometimes affectionate. Oh, god, his heart throbs at you.
And you’re curling your lip at him, sprawled on the soft white sheets of his pod-bed, half admiring his ethereal beauty and half cowering at how massive he is as he arches over you — so giant, yet so docile. Adoring, even, puppy tilt of the head as you slowly blink at him.
“Uh... gleep glorp?”
“No, English.”
“What’s going on?”
Satoru’s lips spread into a toothy grin, “Surprise! You’ve been abducted, baby!”
He watches your mouth fall open — brows flattening over your eyes. Are you scared? Well, he inches backwards just in case. But then you speak again.
“Are you... are you fuckin’ kidding me...?”
“I’m sorry!” Satoru bursts into apology mode, “Listen, I’m not evil or anything, I just really liked the shape of your soul — OK fuck that sounds weird — ”
“I have CLASS tomorrow.”
“—wut?”
“It’s FINALS, you gleeb glorp motherfucker! I don’t have TIME for an alien abduction right now. I will get my degree NO MATTER WHAT.”
His antennae droop. There’s a hot blush burning atop his cheeks and he looks utterly embarrassed — seriously, this is not how Abduction: Suguru Geto went. Oops.
Satoru pops his lips. “Ah-haaa... sorry?”
“Sorry my ASS. This SUCKS. I wanted to come home, study, ride my brains out on my new dildo, watch memes, and go to sleep BUT NOOO! I had to get abducted by — by!”
He blinks at you with an endearing head tilt, and that’s when you’re sooo taken by his charm.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who you find out is really good at kissing — what? Okay, shame yourself for kissing an alien you literally just met. So what! He’s hot. He’s friendly. And he cups your cheeks as he kisses you more gently than any human man ever has, okay! Damn.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who is muttering little praises against your saliva-glistening lips, “You’re sooo soft. This is crazy.” he feels loopy, antennae glowing at the tips as he continues kissing you. Tilting his head, deepening the kiss, flushing hot when you presss your aching chest up on his huuuge pecs.
One intergalactic kiss and then oh no, suddenly your bra and panties fall off and you’re clawing at him to strip, too. Crazy.
ㅤㅤㅤ──── 🛸
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO can’t believe that asking “Wanna fuck?” in his most polite voice was all it took for you to hop on that alien dick.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who pinches curiously at your pussy, sniffing it out like it’s some exotic food. “Hmm, is it a bad idea to give it a taste? Surely not, when it smells this good, right? I’ve heard humans put their mouths on it juuust liiike this...” you feel his buttery soft tongue poking at your sensitive clit, throwing your head back, releasing the cutest noise he’s never heard before.
His buttery-soft lips melt against your soft pussy as he figures out what makes you feel good, finger prodding at your entrance as you instruct him to do so. Six-inch fingers (or more...?), thick and filling you up, Satoru’s grinning in amazement at how you feel inside.
“Wow, so different... really tight, I don’t think I can fit you on my cock, but we’ll see...”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO doesn’t mind that you’re soaking the palm of his hand with your pussy juices, in fact he’s lapping it up like it’s his new favorite dessert. “Oh my, now this I could get addicted to. Mm, like fuckin’ honey. So sticky, too. Aw, I bet your pussy would just melt around me so nicely like it did around my fingers.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who is ecstatic, to say the least, when you agree to let him run some experiments on you. Um, and by that I mean, he tests your pussy with vibrators that he totally stole from earth. He’s just trying to figure out how human females orgasm, and how many times in a row, ya know? That’s why he’s pressing a buzzing toy against your clit while working a thick dildo in and out of your beautifully gushing pussy — okay, so he totally stole your ‘galactic cock’ toy, too. But hey, on the bright side, you got to put it to use after all. “Is this too much? N’aw, but you look like you enjoy it... I wonder how many times in a row I can make you cum before I break you.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO edges you on your best orgasm just to see what it does to you. A rough, calloused hand plants a harsh slap on your sensitive pussy that’s honestly gone through so much abuse and yet still craves to be filled — toys have never been enough for you and he can clearly tell.
“So pretty when you’re a slutty little mess like this. Want me to fuck your brains out, right? Mhm, that’s all you can think about; getting fucked and filled with cock that’s wayyy too big for you. Yeah, you bet it would feel reaaaaaaaally good. And I’ve just been dying to get a feel for human pussy myself, so... why don’t we put ourselves out of agony?”
Big hands grasp at either side of your hips, cock wedged between your pussy lips. He’s teasing his bulbous cockhead at your slit, testing to see if it can actually fit in such a small space.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO whose pupils literally dilate the moment he slides his raw cock into your bare pussy, “Fuck, nn, wowww — so fucking tight. Stay still, please, I want to get deeper inside you.”
He arches over you, shadow stretching well over yours and putting you in dark shade.
He would be menacing, if not for the lip-nibbling cutiepie temperament he has; “Are you okay? Does it hurt?” he asks, genuinely concerned. “This is sooo crazy, I’ve never had to hold back this much for anyone, can’t even fuck you as hard as I want ’cause I’d break you... ahah, why does that make you smile?”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who fawns, “Fuck, human pussy feels sooo weird, ’s gonna get me addicted... fuck, nn!” aaaaaand his cock pops out. Oops.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who is tenderly eyeing out your little reactions and adoring the noises you make while he plunges his monster cock deep inside your abused pussy, pinching at your pert nipples and playing with your body like he’s known it for a century. “Mm, I feel so good, don’t I? Yeah, are you in love, yet? Because your pussy sure is. Look at how she hugs me.” He pushes your head down to make you watch him fuck you into a creamy mess.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO taking over the world? No. Taking over your pussy? Yessssssssssss. Now that’s what I’m talking about.
Fat tip prodding at your cervix, Satoru’s cock feels like it’s trying to mould your tiny cunt to fit his shape and him alone.
He presses a palm down on your tummy, “Feel me here, don’t you?” he grins, “That’s where I’m gonna put my babies.” Feeling him pulse against your walls so hot and hard that it makes your head spin so much you have to claw onto his beefy biceps for stability.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO whose imagination could have never accounted for the scent of your pussy, nor the pulse of its untried walls around him as he stretches you open, nor the endearing noises of pleasure that humans make during sex.
“Oh, does this spot feel good? Interesting. So, what happens if I fuck you right here... over n’ over n’ over again?”
“Ohhh, fuck! Ngh! Yesyesyes, please do that again, feels so good!!” you babble, tears escaping your twitching eyes.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who can’t help but blurt out; “Nn, fffuck — would it be a bad idea to fuck a baby into you? I think our kids would look kinda cute if they have your eyes. And I have strong genes! Wanna make a baby with me? Is that cool with you? Use your words. I’m close... cumming inside is how earthlings get pregnant, right? I have to cum... deeeeeep inside your pussy for my seed to take.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO whose second cock rests heavy and meaty on your pulsing clit, each stroke rewiring your brain with how good it feels to effortlessly cum. You don’t even have to do anything, just let him cradle you as he fucks you full of his cum repeatedly, until it’s frothy and getting whipped up with each new thrust.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who has a crazy toothy smile on his face that makes all his six eyes squinty, the entire time he’s fucking you. Eagerly manhandling you into a mean bulldog doggystyle, “You’re so fucking pretty in every position I put you in, I’m almost jealous — never met anyone who looks prettier than me getting filled with cock.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO can’t believe that earth has hidden a slutty gem like you from him — “You love getting fucked like this, like a little dolly; cumming ’till you can’t anymore — right, right? N’awww, you’re such a dumb babbling mess already, and I’ve just gotten started.”
You feel his thick, ribbed cock pulse against your taut walls, he’s licking affectionately at your earlobe, casting a long shadow over your frame, “Such a slutty human, so fucking weak... but you’re super cute, w’nna keep you here forever.” he says this — choking you up with how balls deep his fattest cock is right now, btw — while his upper cock is throbbing against your puckered asshole like it’s contemplating stretching that inviting hole open right now. It’s not like you’re that weak; you can take cock like a real champ in all holes at once — you’ve proven that to yourself plenty times, but those were just toys. Alien dick is a whole different story.
But he’s going craaaaaaaaazy at the thought of feeling both his cocks getting milked by your warm ass and pussy, literally drooling over your back as he coos against your earlobe, that syruppy voice feels so tingly in your stomach; “If you beg nicely, I’ll fuck both your holes~ wouldn’t that be fun?”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO releases feathery — nearly whimpering — moans fall as he finally slides both of his cocks inside your warm, welcoming holes — “Fuuuck, finally; my lil’ guy was getting jealous.”
Ethereal lashes fluttering at the sensation of his monster cock stretching out your tiny human pussy and ass. It’s crazy. Out of his world. He ruts into you like a beast, moaning over your shoulder, firm torso melding with your sweat-slippery back.
“So good, sooo good... nobody’s made me cum this much, fuck! Ahah, haha... I’m close again. Gonna fill up both your pretty holes, my sweet doe — are you gonna take what I give you, like a good girl? N’aw, yes you are. Yes you fuckin’ are.”
He picks up the pace, pounding you so hard that his massive, plump balls thwack loudly against your clit with each thrust. His arms are vined tight around you, feet stomped either side of your hips, lifting your ass so high up in the air that your knees don’t even touch the bed anymore — they’re hovering above the sheets, a steady stream of yours and his releases make a gloopy puddle.
He’s feverish, nipping at your ears, obsessing over how his massive cocks plug you so perfectly, “That’s it, that’s it; don’t use that silly brain of yours, just let me fuck you into bliss. F-fuck... I wanna be inside you forever, fill you with my babies just like this every day — fuckfuckfuck, ngh! Ahhh, I’m gonna c-cum... I’m c-c-c—cuuuuuummmmmminnnngggggg~!”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who’s got seemingly endless stamina, so you’ve got to be the one to tell him to finish. And he cracks a guilty smile, head bowing in shame, “Sorrrryyyyy, I got carried away.” he mumbles. “I just really like you.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who cuddles you so closely afterwards, giggling to himself — “You’re sooo cute.” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, “Never met such a slutty human before. And you take it so well, I’m honestly surprised.” he praises. You’re practically smothered by a bulk of sweaty muscle, and he has not withdrawn his cocks from your tired, cum-leaking holes.
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who cooks for you after, something ‘gourmet’ and ‘very exotic, from earth’ and it’s just fucking toaster pizza. The most sinful kind, too (SQUARE toaster pizza with PINEAPPLE). But he’s being so nice, you have to take a few polite bites.
... and it’s when Satoru scurries back to the kitchen cabin, that a grumbling double-armed, Sukuna trumbles out after his thick slumber. He could have sworn he heard moans and other such weird noises from Satoru’s bedroom, but he assumed it was just him watching his stash of human porn and then fell right back into the pillow.
But then his eyes land on you, mouth halfway choking down a toaster pizza.
You draw your gaze to him, blink innocently, and quite simply don’t know what to do except greet him by raising a peace sign — that’s a universal sign, right?
“I cum in peace.” you mumble.
Satoru’s humming from the kitchen cabin. Sukuna lets out... a sigh? A really defeated sigh.
“Satoru. Did you. Abduct. The Human?”
“... noooooooooooooo...”
He palms at his face — why does it seem to you like this isn’t the first time this has happened?
“Satoru... throughout heaven and earth, to the galaxies beyond; you alone are the dumbest fucking alien to ever exist.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who pouts — yes, POUTS — when Sukuna demands that he returns the human home. “You CANNOT keep the human.” he reiterates for the nth time, then Satoru babbles, “But she LIKES meeeeeee! See?” but Sukuna is NOT having it. “SATORU. PUT. HUMAN. BACK.”
“LALALA.... you reek of JEALOUSY. You just WISH you had a human who liked you. Loser!”
Very reluctantly, Sukuna convinces Satoru to chart a course back to Milky Way — “And step on it, she’s got collegs at 8 AM tomorrow.”
“College.” you correct.
“Time is, like, so relative...” Satoru grumbles, “By tomorrow, do you mean next lightyear?”
“No. Tomorrow.”
Satoru groans.
Sukuna’s at the wheel, maneuvering the ship through the stars — taking a very scenic route so that Satoru can enjoy just a little more time with you. He’s been clinging to your side, like, his limbs glued around you and didn’t budge.
The bulky... creature? Man? Alien? What was Sukuna? Shifted uncomfortably when you looked at him, probably because he didn’t like humans very much. But he tried hard to talk to you.
“So, how’s earth?”
“Good. Kinda dying.”
“Damn. That’s crazy.”
“Yup.”
“Ahem. Okay. Milky way is just over there.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—”
“Satoru, stop.”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO whose antennae droop gloomily when he has to return you home, skin glassy and eyes a translucent glow as he very dramatically cries about having to say goodbye to his favorite human. He nearly smothers you to death with just a hug, sniffling out, “You smell so nice. I’m gonna misss you so much. I’m literally gonna throw up.”
“Please don’t.”
“I-I could give you such sweet tours of the universe! Conquer any galaxy you want! C’mon!”
He persists, so you strike a deal, “You can pick me up on the weekends, just don’t make it obvious that a UFO is zooming around — I really don’t want the government to shoot my alien boyfriend down.”
“Okey :3”
ㅤㅤㅤALIEN!GOJO who sulks, dragging his feet around the space ship, dearly missing you. He only had you for, like, under 24 hours.
“Satoru, stop wallowing.”
“I’m not wallowingggg...” Satoru garbles, curling into a tight ball of self-pity and star-shuddering misery.
“Yes, you are.” Sukuna grimaces as he tries with all his might to convey sensitivity, “Listen, you need to get over it.”
“Easy for you to say! Have youuuuuu ever been heartbroken by two humans in a row!”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ──── an; gleeb glorp, this is an alien invasion if you know what I mean... 👽💗 I don't know why but I wrote this with fervency. A girl just needs that otherworldly dick sometimes. To scratch that freaky itch. Sorry if this is a bit of an incoherent mess and ridiculously goofy, I wrote most of it on a whim at 2 AM.
Summary: Jack finally meets the pretty baker everyone’s been talking about.
Warnings: 18+ (MDNI). Dry humping. I got inspiration from “Yes, Chef.” Jack Abbot having some dirty fantasies about reader. Making out (not too bad, but it’s Jack, so…). Soft!Dom!Jack? I dunno, maybe. You guys are in charge of your media consumption. Slow burn. Language. Older man x younger woman trope (unspecified age gap). No use of Y/N. There may be a few pet-names sprinkled in. Pining. Soft!Jack. Insecure!Jack. Loss of limb mention. Loss of a spouse mention. Some hurt/comfort. Some angst. Some fluff. The story switches POV (I’ll try and make it mostly Jack’s POV, but we’ll see). Medical inaccuracies. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
I decided to do some changes. Instead of this being one, long fic, it’s probably going to be a two-parter, maybe more. I’ll see how the next part goes! Hopefully you guys like it.
Word Count: 9,258(ish)
Series Masterlist || Masterlist
Next Chapter ->
Jack liked getting in to work early. It gave him time to settle into the rhythm of the place before it fully woke up—or, more accurately, before it tipped into the strange, electric chaos that came with nights at the Pitt. He thrived on that rhythm, even if it was unpredictable by nature. There was still a pattern to it, something he could anticipate, something he could brace himself for.
Routine mattered. It was one of the few things that kept everything else from slipping too far out of his grasp.
His therapist had called it grounding. Jack just knew it worked.
So he walked in like he always did—backpack slung over one shoulder, coffee half-finished, running on too little sleep but already feeling that familiar, steady rise of adrenaline. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. The air smelled like antiseptic and something faintly metallic. Normal. Expected.
Until it wasn’t.
Jack slowed as he approached the nurses’ station, something in the atmosphere just…off enough to snag his attention. Shen, Crus, and Ellis were clustered together—but so were a handful of day shifters. Santos. Whitaker. Perlah. Princess. Even Dana.
That alone was unusual.
What made him stop entirely, though, was you.
You stood at the center of it all like you belonged there—like you’d always been there. Simple outfit, nothing flashy, but it suited you in a way that made it hard to look anywhere else. You were smiling, laughing at something Santos had said, the sound easy and unguarded, like you weren’t trying to impress anyone.
Jack frowned, just slightly.
You weren’t staff. He would’ve known.
And yet—everyone else clearly did.
His steps slowed without him meaning them to, his usual beeline to the back room faltering as his attention snagged, held. He watched the way your expression shifted when Whitaker spoke, attentive and warm, like you were genuinely listening. The way you nodded when Shen jumped in, a soft laugh following like it had been pulled from you without effort. The way your features gentled at something Dana added, something quieter, more grounded.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
You fit.
That was what threw him.
Jack’s grip tightened slightly on the strap of his backpack. This—this wasn’t part of the routine. This wasn’t something he could immediately categorize or file away or prepare for. You were a variable, dropped right into the middle of a system he relied on staying at least somewhat predictable.
And still—
You were pretty.
The thought came uninvited, blunt and immediate, and Jack exhaled quietly through his nose like he could dismiss it just as easily.
He couldn’t.
He took another step forward, slower this time, his attention still fixed in a way that felt…inconvenient. Unnecessary. He didn’t do this—didn’t linger, didn’t get caught up watching strangers like he had nothing better to do.
But then he caught it.
Something soft threaded through the sharp, sterile scent of the hospital—warm, faintly sweet. Subtle enough that he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t already been paying too much attention.
It lingered in the air around the nurses’ station.
Around you.
Jack paused again, just for a second, his brow furrowing as something in his chest shifted—not dramatic, not overwhelming, just enough to register. Enough to feel like something had…clicked slightly out of place.
Or maybe into place.
He wasn’t sure which bothered him more.
His jaw set as he finally stepped closer, pulling himself back into motion, back into something resembling normal.
Still, his gaze flicked back to you—brief, measured, like he could get one last look without it meaning anything.
It didn’t work.
Because now you weren’t just a disruption.
You were a question.
And Jack had never been very good at leaving those alone.
Shen noticed him first.
“Hey—there he is,” he called, lifting his ever-present Dunkin’ cup in greeting, a grin already forming as he waved Jack over. There was something almost knowing in it, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
Jack resisted the urge to hesitate.
He stepped forward anyway, adjusting the strap of his backpack, posture instinctively straightening as he slipped into something more professional, more contained. Whatever this was—whoever you were—he could handle a simple introduction.
He always could.
“Jack,” Shen said easily, gesturing between the two of you. “This is—”
But Jack barely registered the rest of it.
Because you turned.
And for a second—just a second—everything in him hit a quiet, abrupt pause.
Up close, it was worse.
Or better.
He couldn’t decide.
Pretty had been an understatement. An oversimplification. Something convenient he’d told himself so he could move on. But there was nothing convenient about this—the way your expression softened as your eyes met his, the faint trace of exhaustion beneath it that didn’t dull anything, only made it more real. More human.
More—
Jack swallowed, grounding himself before his thoughts could drift any further off course.
“Nice to meet you,” you said, your voice gentle, a little worn around the edges but still warm. The kind of voice that didn’t demand attention, but held it anyway.
Your smile followed—small, almost tentative, but genuine.
It did something to him. Something subtle and immediate, like a shift in pressure he couldn’t quite adjust to.
Jack nodded once, a little sharper than he intended. “Jack Abbot.”
It came out steady. Good. Normal.
You didn’t seem put off by the brevity.
“I hope you don’t mind,” you continued, your tone softening just slightly, like you were easing into something you’d said before, “but I brought some goodies for everyone.”
Jack blinked, the words taking a second longer than they should to settle.
“Goodies?” he echoed, faintly, like he needed to hear it again to place it properly.
You nodded, and there it was again—that easy, unforced warmth. “I run a bakery not far from here. Whatever we don’t sell for the day, I bring here for the night shift.”
For a moment, Jack just…looked at you.
A bakery.
Of course you did.
It made an odd kind of sense—the softness he’d already associated with you, the faint sweetness in the air he hadn’t imagined, the way everyone here seemed just a little more at ease around you. Like your presence smoothed something over without trying.
God.
You were nice, too.
The realization landed heavier than it should have, settling somewhere just behind his ribs in a way that felt inconveniently permanent. Pretty was one thing. Pretty was easy to dismiss, to file away as a passing observation.
This wasn’t.
This had weight to it.
Jack shifted slightly, his grip tightening again on his backpack strap before he forced himself to let go, flexing his fingers like he could shake off the feeling.
“You do this often?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more measured—not out of disinterest, but the opposite. Like he was being careful with something he didn’t fully understand yet.
Didn’t want to mishandle.
His gaze flicked over your face again, quick but deliberate, like he was trying to memorize something without being obvious about it.
It didn’t work.
Because even as he stood there, trying to keep everything in its proper place—routine, distance, control—he could already feel it shifting.
Just slightly.
Just enough to notice.
And enough to know that whatever this was—
It wasn’t going to stay simple.
Your smile widened—just a fraction, but enough that he noticed.
“You guys are my best customers.”
“She’s a godsend, Abbot,” Ellis chimed in, already halfway through a muffin, crumbs catching at the corner of her mouth.
“I can’t get through my shift without her,” Santos added, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Truly.”
Jack barely acknowledged them.
His attention had already drifted—first to the boxes scattered across the station, then to the contents inside. Muffins, cupcakes, croissants, all in varying states of being picked over, like the staff had descended on them the second they’d appeared.
They did look good.
Better than good.
His gaze shifted back to you, almost automatically—and found you already looking at him.
That same soft expression. That same quiet, knowing smile, like you were waiting to see what he’d say.
Or maybe just…waiting.
Jack held your gaze a second too long.
Long enough for his eyes to dip—brief, involuntary—to your lips.
And then he caught himself.
His jaw tightened slightly as he looked away, clearing his throat under the guise of casual thought.
“You could just save them to sell tomorrow,” he said, his tone measured, bordering on practical. Safe.
You shrugged, easy, unbothered. “I could,” you agreed, tilting your head just slightly. “Except I know how you doctors and nurses are.”
That pulled his attention back.
Jack arched a brow, something faintly skeptical threading through his expression. “Do you?”
There was a challenge in it. Mild. Curious.
You didn’t miss it.
“My mom was one,” you said, and just like that, something in your tone softened—not heavier, not sad, just…grounded. Real. “A doctor. Emergency department. I grew up seeing how exhausted her shifts made her. I grew up knowing she barely ate anything, if anything at all.”
The answer settled over him, quieting that instinct to question—at least a little.
Still.
“So you opened a bakery?” Jack asked, his voice lower now, more intent. Like he was trying to trace the line between then and now, find the logic in it.
Find you in it.
You met his gaze without hesitation.
“I like feeding people.”
Simple. Direct. No performance, no over-explanation.
And then, just slightly, your smile returned—warmer this time, edged with something that felt almost playful.
“Especially my favorite hospital.”
Jack huffed a quiet breath through his nose, something close to amusement flickering across his face before he could stop it.
“Your favorite, huh?” he echoed, tilting his head just a fraction. “That sounds like bias.”
“Maybe,” you said easily. “Or maybe you just make it easy.”
There it was again—that subtle shift. Not overt. Not enough for anyone else to call it out.
But enough.
Jack’s gaze lingered on you, sharper now, more assessing—not in a clinical way, but something quieter. More personal. Like he was trying to figure out if you meant it, or if this was just part of your charm, something you offered to everyone who walked through these doors.
“Do you say that to all your customers?” he asked.
It could’ve come off dismissive.
It didn’t.
Not with the way he was looking at you.
You didn’t answer right away.
Instead, you held his gaze, that same soft expression settling in again—but this time, there was something more deliberate beneath it. Something that made the moment stretch just a beat longer than necessary.
“Only the ones I like,” you said finally.
Jack stilled.
Just slightly.
Something in his chest shifted again—that same subtle, inconvenient pull from before, only stronger now. Harder to ignore.
Around you, the station carried on—Ellis talking, Santos laughing, someone opening another box—but it all blurred at the edges, dulled by the quiet focus settling between the two of you.
Jack exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself against something he hadn’t planned for.
“Dangerous business model,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to it.
If anything, it sounded…almost like a warning.
Whether it was for you—or for himself…even he wasn’t entirely sure.
You laughed softly—and it did something to him.
It was subtle, but immediate. His eyes fluttered once, his shoulders tightening just slightly as something prickled along his skin, like his body had reacted before his mind could catch up. It was ridiculous. Over nothing. Over a sound.
And yet—
“Good night, Doctor Abbot,” you said, your voice gentler now, like you were easing him out of the moment rather than ending it. “I hope you have a good shift.”
Jack nodded, slower this time. “Yeah. You too.”
It didn’t make sense. You weren’t even staying. You weren’t even a doctor.
But the words came out anyway.
He watched you leave.
Didn’t mean to—but he did. His gaze followed the line of your movement, the easy way you slipped out of the controlled chaos of the station like you’d never disrupted it at all. Like you hadn’t just…shifted something.
His throat felt oddly tight as he swallowed, forcing himself to look away, to move, to do something normal—like putting his bag away, like starting his shift.
Like you hadn’t lingered.
“She’s cute,” Shen said, entirely too pleased with himself, taking a long sip of his coffee as he shot Jack a look.
Jack didn’t respond.
Didn’t need to.
“I wonder if she’s single,” Ellis added with a cackle.
That earned them both a look—flat, unimpressed, just shy of a warning.
“Don’t you guys have work to do?”
They laughed it off, of course.
But Jack was already gone—mentally, at least—dragging himself back into the structure of the night.
* * *
The shift unfolded the way they always did.
A steady rotation of the expected and the completely unexplainable. Minor injuries patched up and sent out. Major ones that demanded everything he had. And then the strange ones—the ones that made you pause, made you wonder what kind of night had led someone here in the first place.
Night crawlers, he called them.
You had to be a little strange yourself to thrive in it. Or at least comfortable with it.
Jack had learned to be.
Still, somewhere between cases, between the noise and the movement and the constant pull of responsibility, his mind wandered—briefly, inconveniently.
A flash of a smile.
A voice, soft but steady.
I like feeding people.
He pushed it aside every time.
It didn’t stick.
* * *
By the time day shift started filtering in, Jack felt it.
The exhaustion. The dull, persistent ache in his leg, in his shoulders, in places he didn’t have the energy to name. He’d made it through on caffeine, a granola bar, and one short breath of fresh air that hadn’t been nearly enough.
Routine kicked in again.
Handovers. Notes. Mentally mapping out the next few hours—food, shower, maybe yoga if he could convince his body to cooperate. Check the police monitor. Sleep, if it came.
“Anyone want to do a Sugar run?” Shen called out, already halfway to grabbing his things.
Jack shot him a dry look. “You guys cleared out all those boxes and you’re going back for more?”
“This is for day shift,” Shen said easily. “Sug’s opening around this time.”
“We’re not total monsters, Abbot,” Ellis added, giving him a look of mock offense.
Jack’s nose crinkled slightly. “‘Sug’?”
“We call her Sugar,” Robby said, leaning casually against the nurses’ station. “I think Santos or Whitaker came up with it. Maybe Javadi—I don’t remember.”
“She’s sweet and brings us sweets,” Crus added, like that explained everything.
Jack huffed quietly. “That’s…”
“Corny? Yeah,” Robby cut in with a grin. “We know. She hasn’t told us to stop.”
Sugar.
Jack glanced down at the edge of the station where a few crumbs still lingered, remnants of what you’d brought. His thumb brushed absently against the surface, like he was checking for something that wasn’t there anymore.
“She’s not even on shift,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
“She doesn’t need to be,” Shen said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Her place is, like, ten minutes out. You could walk it if you really wanted to.”
Jack didn’t look at him.
Didn’t take the bait.
But something in his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough to give him away if anyone had been paying close attention.
Ten minutes.
Close.
Convenient.
Too convenient.
He exhaled slowly, straightening, already turning back toward the work he still needed to finish.
“Yeah,” he said, flat, dismissive. “I’m good.”
Shen hummed like he didn’t believe him for a second.
Jack ignored it.
But later—when the station quieted, when his hands finally stilled, when the weight of the night settled into something heavier and harder to shake—
His thoughts drifted again.
Uninvited.
A bakery not far from here.
Warm. Sweet. Familiar in a way the hospital never was.
Jack’s jaw tightened faintly as he grabbed his things, pushing the thought down as he headed out.
He had a routine.
And he wasn’t about to start changing it now.
Even if, for the first time in a while…
…he was actually considering it.
* * *
After handovers, Jack should’ve gone home.
That had been the plan—always the plan. Food. Shower. Maybe yoga if his leg cooperated. Sleep, if his mind allowed it.
Instead, he found himself walking in the opposite direction.
Shen had given him the name. Directions, too—casual, offhand, like it meant nothing. Like Jack wouldn’t actually use them.
And yet.
By the time Jack fully registered what he was doing, he was already halfway there, moving on instinct more than intention. Like something in him had already decided, and the rest of him was just catching up.
It was…irritating.
That lack of control.
Or maybe just unfamiliar.
When he finally found the place, he slowed to a stop just outside.
The bakery was simple, but thoughtfully put together—clean lines, warm light spilling through the windows, a display case near the front already half-filled with pastries. Not overly polished. Not trying too hard.
It felt…real.
Lived-in.
Like you.
Jack exhaled quietly, running a hand briefly over the back of his neck before stepping inside.
The soft chime of a bell rang overhead.
“Good morning,” you called, your voice carrying easily through the space as you finished packaging something for an older woman at the register. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Jack nodded, even though you weren’t looking at him, and moved toward the display case.
Up close, it was worse.
The smell hit him first—warm, sweet, layered. Sugar, butter, fresh bread, something faintly citrus underneath it all. It settled around him, softer than the sterile sharpness of the hospital, and for a moment, he just…stood there.
Taking it in.
Letting it settle.
He scanned the pastries, more out of obligation than anything else, his attention already drifting.
Because he could feel it.
That awareness again.
And sure enough—when he glanced up—
Your eyes met his.
Recognition sparked instantly.
“Jack Abbot,” you said, your smile coming easy, like it had been waiting for him.
Something in his chest tightened—subtle, but definite.
“Yeah.” He nodded once, shifting his weight slightly.
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
There was no accusation in it. Just curiosity. Maybe a hint of something else.
Jack held your gaze a second longer than necessary before answering.
“You were highly recommended.”
Your laugh was soft, familiar already in a way that didn’t make sense.
“That’s very nice,” you said, brushing your hands lightly together. “But I should be thanking you guys. I’ve no doubt I’d be out of business if it wasn’t for your hospital.”
“I doubt it,” Jack replied, quieter now.
There was a certainty in it that made your smile shift—just slightly, just enough to show you noticed.
“You seem pretty sure,” you said. “Did you try any of the goodies I left last night?”
Jack hesitated.
Not visibly—not enough for most people to catch—but you were watching him, and that made it harder to hide.
A faint warmth crept up the back of his neck.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t get the chance.”
Not entirely a lie.
You didn’t call him on it.
Instead, your expression softened again, like you understood more than he’d said.
That did something to him.
More than it should have.
Because it wasn’t just that you remembered him. It wasn’t just the way you were looking at him, like he was worth remembering.
It was the way it felt.
Easy.
Too easy.
Like something in him had been…quiet for a long time, and you’d somehow found it without trying.
Jack shifted, grounding himself before his thoughts could spiral into something he wasn’t ready to examine.
“What can I get for you today?” you asked.
He let out a slow breath, forcing his focus back to something tangible.
“What do you recommend?”
You hummed, brows knitting slightly as you considered, your attention fully on him in a way that felt…deliberate.
“I just made some almond-paste croissants and chocolate chip muffins,” you began. “But if you’re not looking for anything sweet, I’ve got regular croissants, lemon poppyseed muffins, bagels if you want something practical—”
“Practical?” Jack echoed, one brow lifting.
You looked at him then—really looked at him.
Not quick. Not surface-level.
Assessing.
“You seem like the practical kind,” you said softly.
It wasn’t judgmental.
If anything, it sounded…thoughtful.
Jack tilted his head slightly, something almost curious flickering in his expression. “Is that bad?”
Your lips curved faintly. “No. Not necessarily. Practical can be good.”
A beat.
“It can be comfortable.”
Jack’s gaze sharpened just slightly. “What’s wrong with comfort?”
“Nothing,” you said easily. “But sometimes it’s good to mix things up. Spice of life and all that.”
For a moment, he just looked at you.
There was something in the way you said it—not pushy, not trying to convince him. Just…offering the idea. Letting it exist between you.
Like you were testing the edges of him.
Jack felt it again—that quiet pull, stronger now. Not overwhelming, not reckless. Just…persistent. Curious.
Inconveniently compelling.
The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but close.
“You pick,” he said, his voice lower now, roughened slightly by exhaustion—and something else.
Something warmer.
Your eyes flickered, catching the shift.
A soft laugh slipped out of you, quieter this time.
“Risky choice, Doctor,” you murmured.
Jack didn’t look away.
“Yeah,” he said, just as quietly. “I’m starting to get that.”
He didn’t sound like he minded.
* * *
It became a routine.
Not all at once—nothing with Jack ever did—but gradually, in the way habits formed when you stopped questioning them.
You showed up at the Pitt like clockwork, boxes in hand, a familiar warmth threading through the sterile air as you made your rounds. You never stayed too long—just enough to greet everyone, to exchange a few words, to catch Jack’s eye across the station.
Just enough to find him.
And he always noticed.
Even on the busiest nights, even when he was elbow-deep in something complicated, there’d be a moment—a flicker of awareness, like something settling into place—right before he’d look up and see you there.
Like he’d been expecting it.
Like he’d been waiting.
“Morning, Abbot,” you’d say sometimes, soft and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Morning,” he’d return, just as steady—but there was something different in it now. Less clipped. Less distant.
Your name came easier to him, too.
He used it.
Often.
More than he needed to.
And then there were the mornings.
Jack told himself that part was about convenience.
Your bakery was on the way. The food was good. Better than good. It made sense to stop in after a long shift, to grab something warm before heading home.
It made sense.
What didn’t make sense was how long he stayed.
At first, it had been quick—an order, a nod, a quiet thank you before he left.
Then it turned into a few extra minutes. A question about what was fresh. A comment about something he’d tried the day before.
Now? Now he lingered.
Leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, watching you move through the space with practiced ease. Taking orders, remembering names, slipping into conversations like you belonged to all of them and none of them at the same time.
And still—
You always came back to him.
“What’s good today?” he asked one morning, voice rough from a long shift, though there was something lighter underneath it now.
You glanced at him over your shoulder, already smiling. “Depends. Are you feeling practical, or are you finally ready to take my advice?”
Jack huffed softly, shaking his head as he stepped closer to the counter. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
There was something in your tone—playful, but pointed. Like you meant more than just pastries.
Jack’s gaze lingered on you a second longer than it should have.
“You always this persistent?” he asked.
“Only when I think I’m right,” you shot back, setting something down in front of him. A cupcake. “Try this.”
He glanced down. Not what he usually ordered.
“Thought I didn’t get a say,” he muttered.
“You said ‘you pick,’” you reminded him lightly. “I’m just honoring your wishes.”
Jack almost smiled.
Almost.
“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “Starting to think that was a mistake.”
Your eyes met his then—steady, searching, like you were trying to read something beneath the surface.
“Is it?” you asked.
It should’ve been an easy answer.
It wasn’t.
Because somewhere between the routine, the conversations, the way you looked at him like you saw more than just what was in front of you—
It didn’t feel like one.
And that was the problem.
* * *
Jack noticed things.
He couldn’t help it.
The way your smile shifted when he walked in—just slightly, but different than it was with anyone else. The way you remembered his order before he said it, but still asked sometimes, like you were giving him an excuse to stay longer.
The way you stood a little closer than necessary when you handed him his coffee.
Small things.
Easy to dismiss.
Except they kept happening.
And Jack—
Jack didn’t trust easy.
Didn’t trust things that felt good without a clear reason.
Because he knew better.
Knew what it meant to get used to something—to someone—and then lose it.
Knew what it meant to carry things that didn’t just…go away.
He was older than you. That much was obvious. Worn in ways that didn’t show at first glance but settled in if you looked long enough. A widower. A veteran. A man who woke up some nights with his heart racing and no clear reason why.
A man who had learned how to function around the absence of a limb like it was just another part of his routine.
You—
You were light. Not naive, not untouched by life—but lighter. Softer around the edges in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.
You had options.
You had time.
You had no reason to look at him the way you did.
And yet—
“You’re staring again.”
Jack blinked, pulled from his thoughts as your voice cut through them, gentle but amused.
“I’m not,” he replied automatically.
You hummed, unconvinced, leaning your elbows lightly against the counter. “You do that, you know. Get this look on your face like you’re trying to solve a problem that doesn’t exist.”
His jaw tightened faintly. “Habit.”
“Dangerous one.”
Jack exhaled through his nose, studying you now instead of pretending he wasn’t. “You always this observant?”
“Only when I care enough to be.”
There it was again.
That subtle shift.
Not a confession. Not anything he could call out.
But enough.
Jack’s grip tightened slightly around his coffee cup.
“You don’t know me well enough for that,” he said, quieter now—not harsh, but firm. Grounding. Drawing a line before something crossed it.
You didn’t pull back.
Didn’t get offended.
If anything, your expression softened.
“I know enough,” you said.
Simple.
Certain.
And somehow, that unsettled him more than anything else.
Because a part of him—one he didn’t like acknowledging—wanted to believe you.
Wanted to lean into it. Into you.
Into something that felt…dangerously close to hope.
Jack looked away first, shaking his head faintly like he could clear the thought.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That makes one of us.”
But when he reached for the bag you’d packed for him, his fingers brushed yours—
And neither of you pulled away right away.
Just a second too long.
Just enough to feel it.
That quiet, steady tension that had been building for weeks now—
No longer easy to ignore.
And definitely not as one-sided as Jack kept trying to convince himself it was.
* * *
Jack avoided you.
Not by accident. Not because he was too busy or too tired or because something had come up.
It was deliberate.
Two weeks of adjusting his route home so he didn’t pass your bakery. Two weeks of ignoring the instinct to turn down that street anyway. Two weeks of telling himself it didn’t matter—that you didn’t matter, not like that.
It was easier this way.
Cleaner.
Familiar.
Because this—whatever this had been becoming—wasn’t.
Jack flirted. That was nothing new. It was easy, automatic. A deflection more than anything else, something to keep things light, to keep people at a distance while making it seem like he wasn’t.
No one expected anything from it.
No one looked too closely.
Except you did.
That was the problem.
With you, it hadn’t felt like deflection. It hadn’t felt like a game he could step out of whenever he wanted. You met him there. Pushed back. Paid attention in a way that made it harder to keep things surface-level.
You saw him.
And Jack didn’t know what to do with that.
So he did what he always did when something edged too close to something real. Something familiar.
He pulled away.
* * *
“You’re being weird.”
Jack didn’t look up from the chart in his hands. “I’m always weird.”
“Not like this,” Shen shot back easily, leaning against the counter. “This is…broody weird. It’s different.”
Ellis snorted from beside him. “He’s been like this all week. It’s depressing.”
“I’m right here,” Jack muttered.
“Yeah, and you’re killing the vibe,” Ellis replied without missing a beat.
Jack flipped a page a little harder than necessary. “Don’t you two have patients?”
“Don’t deflect,” Shen said, pointing his coffee at him like an accusation. “You haven’t done a Sugar run in, what, two weeks?”
Jack stilled—just for a second.
Barely noticeable.
Ellis caught it immediately. “Oh, it’s about her.”
“It’s not about her.”
“Mm,” Shen hummed, unconvinced. “So you just…what? Forgot where the bakery is?”
Jack exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’re always busy,” Ellis said. “You still went before.”
“That was different.”
“How?” Shen pressed.
Jack finally looked up, his expression flat, edged with something that made it clear the conversation was over.
“Drop it.”
There was a beat.
Ellis and Shen exchanged a look.
“Okay,” Ellis said slowly, hands lifting in mock surrender. “But for the record? You’re being a downer.”
“Truly tragic,” Shen added. “We miss the version of you that brought back pastries.”
Jack didn’t respond.
Didn’t need to.
Because they weren’t entirely wrong.
* * *
The shift dragged.
Not because it was particularly bad—but because everything felt…off. Like he was moving through it a step behind where he should be.
Distracted.
Which wasn’t like him.
Jack prided himself on control. On focus.
On not letting things bleed into places they didn’t belong.
But his mind kept circling back anyway.
A voice. A smile.
The way you’d said, I know enough.
He hadn’t gone back.
And you hadn’t come in.
That shouldn’t have bothered him.
It did.
* * *
It was late—technically early morning—when he stepped outside for air.
The cool hit his skin, grounding, familiar. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake the restless energy sitting under his skin.
“You’re avoiding me.”
Jack froze.
Your voice.
He knew it instantly.
He turned, slower this time—and there you were, standing a few feet away, arms crossed lightly, not angry but not exactly casual either.
You looked…tired.
Not in the same way he did. Not physical.
Something quieter.
Jack’s jaw tightened faintly. “I’ve been working.”
You raised a brow. “So have I.”
A beat.
“You stopped coming by.”
There was no accusation in it. Just fact.
Which somehow made it worse.
Jack looked away briefly, dragging a hand down the back of his neck. “Been busy.”
You didn’t let it go.
“Jack.”
Just his name.
Soft.
But firm enough that it pulled his attention back to you.
“You don’t seem like the type to just disappear on people,” you said. “Not without a reason.”
Something in his chest tightened.
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
He didn’t answer.
Couldn’t—not without saying something he wasn’t sure he was ready to put into words.
You stepped a little closer—not crowding him, just enough to close the distance.
“If I said something,” you continued, quieter now, “or did something that made you uncomfortable, you can just tell me.”
That stopped him.
Because that wasn’t it.
Not even close.
Jack let out a low breath, something heavier sitting behind it as he finally met your gaze again.
“You didn’t,” he said.
“Then why—”
“Because you’re—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening as he looked away again, frustrated now. With himself more than anything.
You waited.
Didn’t push.
Just…stayed.
That made it harder.
Jack exhaled sharply, like he was forcing the words out before he could stop himself.
“Because you’re young,” he said finally. “And you’re…you.”
That didn’t explain anything.
He knew it.
Your brows knit slightly. “Okay…”
“And I’m not,” he added, quieter now.
There it was.
The edge of it.
Jack let out a humorless huff, shaking his head. “I’m not what you think I am.”
You didn’t respond right away.
Which, somehow, gave him just enough space to keep going.
“I’m older,” he continued, voice rougher now. “I’ve got…baggage. More than you probably realize.” A pause. “More than you should have to deal with.”
His gaze dropped briefly—toward his leg, then away again like it was nothing. Like it was everything.
“I’m not—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “I’m not the kind of guy you build something easy with.”
The words sat heavy between you.
Honest.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then—
“You think I’m looking for easy?”
Your voice was softer now, but steadier than he expected.
Jack looked up.
Really looked at you.
There was no hesitation in your expression. No awkwardness. No polite backing off.
Just…you.
“I think,” he said slowly, “you could have it.”
“And you think that means I should want it?”
That caught him off guard.
Just enough.
You stepped closer again—not enough to overwhelm, just enough that he couldn’t pretend there was distance anymore.
“I noticed you pulling away,” you said. “I noticed you thinking too hard every time I said something even a little personal.” A faint, almost teasing edge slipped in. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
Jack huffed quietly despite himself.
Then you softened again.
“But I also noticed you kept coming back,” you added. “Until you didn’t.”
A beat.
“I didn’t imagine that, right?”
Jack’s throat felt tight again.
“No,” he admitted.
You held his gaze.
“Then don’t decide for me what I can or can’t handle,” you said gently.
It wasn’t a challenge.
It wasn’t pressure.
Just…truth.
And somehow, that made it harder to argue with.
Jack exhaled slowly, something in his shoulders easing—not completely, not even close—but enough to feel it.
“You don’t make this easy,” he muttered.
A small smile touched your lips. “I thought you didn’t want easy.”
Jack almost smiled back.
Almost.
This time, he didn’t look away.
“I wanted to see everyone first,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Let them know I didn’t forget them.”
Jack watched you for a moment, something cautious settling back into his expression—familiar, instinctive. “Then what?” he asked, quieter now.
There was a part of him that already knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.
Your smile shifted—just slightly, just enough to give you away.
His mouth closed, the rest of his protest catching in his throat before it could fully form. His jaw tightened faintly, more out of habit than resistance.
“I’m not asking,” you said, softer than your words implied. “I need some outside perspective.”
Jack exhaled slowly through his nose, studying you.
You looked…hopeful.
Not pushy. Not expecting him to give in.
Just waiting.
There was a flicker of something in your eyes—something that edged close to uncertainty, like this mattered more than you were letting on. And paired with that quiet excitement underneath it, it did something dangerous to his resolve.
Because Jack was good at saying no.
He just wasn’t good at saying no to you.
Not when you looked at him like that.
Not when it felt like he’d already taken enough steps back.
His shoulders dropped slightly, the tension easing out of them in a way that felt almost involuntary.
He gave a small, wordless nod.
Your smile softened immediately—warmer now, relieved in a way that settled somewhere low in his chest.
“Thank you,” you said, and before he could think too hard about it, your hand came to rest on his forearm.
It was brief.
Light.
But it lingered just long enough to register.
Warm.
Intentional.
Jack stilled, his breath catching just slightly before he forced it back into something steady.
Then you were gone again—slipping back inside, drawn immediately into the orbit of the station.
And just like that, the space you’d occupied felt…different.
Quieter.
Jack stayed where he was, leaning back against the wall, his gaze following you despite himself.
He watched the way you moved through the nurses’ station, like you belonged there—like you always had. The easy familiarity, the way people lit up when they saw you. The quick hugs, the laughter, the effortless way you folded yourself into their conversations without ever taking too much space.
You fit.
Not just in the hospital—but in his world.
That realization settled in deeper than he expected.
Because it wasn’t just that you were welcome there.
It was that he liked that you were.
Liked the way you softened the edges of a place that rarely allowed for it. Liked the way people relaxed around you. Liked the way you’d somehow carved out a space that was entirely yours—without forcing it.
And…he liked the way you looked at him.
Even if it still unsettled him.
Even if part of him kept waiting for the moment it would change.
Jack dragged a hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly as he tried to shake the thought.
Didn’t work.
Because when you turned back toward him, smiling like you knew he’d still be there—
He felt it again.
That pull.
Stronger now. Harder to ignore.
You stepped back outside, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft chime, and for a second, you just looked at him.
And Jack smiled back.
Not guarded.
Not forced.
Just…real.
Small, but there.
Like something in him had finally stopped fighting it.
The walk to the bakery was quiet.
Not awkward—never that—but easy. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled, that settled naturally between steps and breaths. Jack stayed half a pace beside you, aware of you in that quiet, steady way he hadn’t quite learned how to ignore.
When you reached the door, you unlocked it and pushed it open, stepping aside slightly.
Jack gestured for you to go in first.
You did—of course you did—but not without that small, knowing smile, like you’d clocked the instinct behind it.
He followed, slower, taking in the space again as the door shut softly behind him.
“So why do you need my perspective?” Jack asked, his voice low in the quiet.
“I came up with some new recipes,” you said, moving to flip on the lights. Warmth filled the space almost immediately, chasing away the dim early-morning gray. “Sundays I start later than usual. I just wanted someone’s opinion…”
“And you asked me.”
It wasn’t disbelief.
Just…something close to it.
You turned to him then, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “I trust you.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Jack nodded, but something in his chest tightened—just slightly, just enough to notice. Trust wasn’t something he handled lightly. Not from anyone.
Especially not from you.
He followed when you motioned him back, setting his bag down where you suggested, his movements more deliberate now—aware of himself, of the space, of you.
“You got anywhere I can sit?” he asked.
You paused, like the thought hadn’t fully clicked until that moment. “Here—” You disappeared briefly, returning with a chair from the small office off to the side. “You’ve been on your feet all night,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Didn’t think about that…”
Jack watched you for a second before sitting, careful as he extended his leg. The familiar ache pulsed up from the prosthetic, dull but insistent. Taking the pressure off eased it almost immediately, and he exhaled quietly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
A few minutes later, you came back with plates.
More than a few.
Jack blinked at the spread, a quiet huff leaving him as he leaned back slightly. “Sweetheart, I don’t think I can taste all of this.”
The word slipped out easily.
Too easily.
And the reaction it pulled from you—immediate, visible—didn’t go unnoticed.
Your cheeks warmed, your gaze dipping as you shifted your weight. “I know, I just…” You exhaled, a little self-conscious now. “I got this urge to bake last night. I usually bake when I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I got carried away.”
Jack studied you for a moment.
There was something there—something you weren’t saying—but he didn’t push.
Instead, his attention dropped to the desserts, then back to you.
“You pick,” he said softly.
Your lips curved faintly, like you’d expected that answer.
You handed him a plate and a fork, fingers brushing briefly against his again. This time, neither of you commented on it.
“It’s caramel apple cake,” you said, leaning back against the counter, watching him.
Jack took a bite.
And for a second—just a second—everything else dropped away.
A low sound slipped out of him before he could stop it, something instinctive, unfiltered. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes closing briefly as the flavor settled.
It was—
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.
“You like it?” you asked, quieter now.
He opened his eyes, looking at you like the answer should’ve been obvious.
“It’s delicious, sweetheart.”
There it was again.
And this time, you reacted even more.
A subtle shift. A breath you didn’t quite hide. Your gaze dipping for half a second before returning to him.
Jack noticed.
Of course he did.
He took another bite, slower this time, more deliberate—and didn’t miss the way you watched him.
Not just casually.
Intently.
Like his reaction mattered.
“I’ve—uh, got some more if you’d like to…” you offered, your voice just slightly uneven now.
“I’d love to.”
The next plate was a blueberry cream cheese cinnamon roll.
Messier.
Softer.
Jack barely got through the first few bites before you tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
“You’ve got—” You gestured vaguely toward your own mouth. “Right there.”
Jack paused, glancing at you. “Where?”
“Corner,” you said, stepping just a little closer. “Here—”
You didn’t touch him.
But you got close enough that he could feel it.
Your presence. Your warmth.
Jack held your gaze for a second longer than necessary—then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his thumb to the corner of his mouth.
Wiped.
Not rushed. Not careless.
Measured.
His tongue flicked out briefly, catching the smear of frosting from his thumb, and he didn’t look away from you when he did it.
The shift in the air was immediate.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
Your breath caught—just slightly—and your gaze dropped, then lifted again, something different in it now. Something heavier.
Jack’s chest tightened.
Not with hesitation.
With awareness.
Of you.
Of how close you were.
Of the way the moment had shifted into something neither of you had named—but both of you felt.
He set the fork down slowly, his hand lingering near yours on the counter.
“You gonna tell me how it is,” he murmured, voice lower now, roughened by something that had nothing to do with exhaustion, “or just watch me eat it?”
A small, breathy laugh escaped you, but it didn’t break the tension.
“It's good,” you said. “Really good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moved.
Not away.
If anything, closer.
Just slightly.
Jack’s gaze dropped—briefly, unmistakably—to your lips.
Then back up.
A question.
A warning.
Or maybe both.
Your fingers shifted against the counter, just brushing his.
That was all it took.
Jack leaned in—slow, careful, giving you time to stop him.
Plenty of time.
He didn’t rush it.
Didn’t assume.
But he didn’t pull back, either.
Not until the space between you narrowed to almost nothing—your breath mingling, your presence overwhelming in the quiet of the bakery.
And there—
Right there—
He paused.
Held.
Like he was giving you the choice.
Even if every part of him already knew—
He didn’t want to stop.
You were the one who closed the distance.
It wasn’t rushed—wasn’t reckless. Just a quiet decision, made in the space he’d left open for you. Your lips brushed his, soft, testing, like you were asking a question without words.
For a split second, Jack didn’t move.
Then you pulled back—barely an inch—and that was all it took.
His hand came up instinctively, steady and sure as it found your jaw, and he pulled you back in.
The kiss wasn’t careful anymore.
It was still controlled—because Jack was always controlled—but there was something underneath it now. Something that had been building for weeks, pushing against restraint. His lips moved against yours with a quiet kind of hunger, tempered by hesitation, like he was still trying to be sure this was real.
You could taste the sweetness of the frosting, the lingering blueberry on his lips, but it was the way he kissed you that made your chest tighten—grounded, present, like he was anchoring himself in the moment.
When you tilted your head, deepening it just slightly, the sound that left him was low—rough, pulled from somewhere deeper than he meant to let you hear.
It sent a shiver down your spine.
His grip tightened—just a fraction—before easing again, like he was catching himself even as he leaned into you.
Weeks of tension folded into it. The teasing, the distance, the way he’d pulled away just when things had started to feel too close—all of it surfaced in the way he held you now.
Like he didn’t quite know what to do with it—
Except this.
When you finally pulled back, it wasn’t far.
Your foreheads rested together, your breaths uneven, mingling in the quiet space of the bakery.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
Jack nodded, but it wasn’t immediate. Like he had to come back to himself first.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice low, a little rougher than before.
You hesitated, searching his face.
“Why did you think I wouldn’t want you?”
The question settled between you, heavier than anything that had come before it.
You pulled back just enough to really look at him—to catch the shift in his expression, the flicker of something guarded slipping back into place.
“I don’t care that you’re older,” you added, your voice quieter now, but steady. “I don’t care if it isn’t easy. I just…want to know why.”
Jack swallowed.
His hand came up again, slower this time, more deliberate as it cupped your face. His thumb brushed along your cheek, rough against soft, grounding himself in the contact.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then—
“I was married.”
The words were simple.
But they carried weight.
You felt it immediately, your throat tightening as his gaze dropped briefly—not away from you, but inward, like he was seeing something else entirely.
“For a while,” he continued, quieter now. “She died…not that long ago. A few years.”
A pause.
“I didn’t handle it well.”
There was no self-pity in it. Just fact.
Honest. Unvarnished.
Your chest ached.
“You built a life with someone,” you said softly.
Jack nodded once.
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
His thumb kept moving, absent, like it was the only thing keeping him steady.
“I was in the military before all this,” he added after a moment, like it was part of the same story—because to him, it was. “That’s where I lost it.”
His gaze flicked down, briefly, to his leg before returning to you.
“Not exactly a clean exit.”
There was a faint edge of dry humor there—but it didn’t hide anything.
“After that…it’s not just physical,” he went on, voice lower now. “Some things stick. You learn how to function around them, but they don’t just go away.”
You didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t try to soften it.
You just listened.
Jack exhaled slowly, his hand still warm against your face, though his grip had loosened slightly—like he wasn’t sure how much of himself to hold there anymore.
“So yeah,” he said finally. “Older. Widower. Missing a leg. Doesn’t always sleep through the night.” A faint, humorless huff. “Not exactly a great pitch.”
Your brows pulled together, something almost pained crossing your expression.
“That’s what you think this is?” you asked quietly.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
It was all there.
In the way he looked at you—steady, but guarded. Like he was bracing for the moment you’d see it the way he did.
Like something that came with too much weight.
Too much history.
Too much to ask.
Still. His hand hadn’t left your face.
And he hadn’t stepped away.
Jack leaned in again.
This time there was no hesitation.
The kiss deepened immediately—messier, fuller, everything that had been held back finally slipping loose. It wasn’t just want anymore; it was relief, tension unraveling, something like acceptance woven through it. His hand tightened at your jaw, anchoring you there as your lips moved against his with growing urgency.
When your tongue brushed along his bottom lip, Jack exhaled sharply—something low and rough escaping him before he could stop it. His mouth opened, and the kiss shifted again, slower in some moments, then suddenly hungry the next, like neither of you quite knew how to pace it.
At some point, the distance between you disappeared entirely.
You were in his lap—he didn’t even register when it happened—just the sudden awareness of your weight, your warmth, the way you fit against him like you’d been there all along.
Jack’s hands found your hips instinctively, gripping, grounding himself as your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. The sensation sent a sharp line of heat down his spine, something electric sparking under his skin.
He felt it everywhere.
Too much and not enough all at once.
Your body pressed to his, warm through layers of clothing, but it still wasn’t close enough. Not for what was building, not for the way his pulse had started to pound, not for the way every nerve in him seemed to light up at once.
Jack broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath—only to trail lower, his mouth brushing along your jaw, slower now but no less intense. His grip shifted, one hand steady at your side as the other pressed more firmly at your hip, keeping you right where he wanted you.
A soft sound slipped from you—barely there, but it hit him like a spark.
Jack stilled for half a second.
Then he leaned in again, his lips finding your neck, slower, more deliberate this time. Not rushed—focused. Like he was learning you through touch alone.
“Jack—” you breathed, his name soft, unsteady.
That did something to him.
Something dangerous.
His jaw tightened faintly as he exhaled against your skin, his forehead briefly pressing to your shoulder like he needed a second to steady himself.
Because this—
This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.
Not just the attraction. Not just the pull.
But how fast it escalated. How easily it got under his skin. How quickly it stopped feeling casual and started feeling like something he couldn’t just step away from.
His hands flexed at your hips, grounding, but not pulling you closer—not yet.
Like he was holding himself right at the edge.
“You’re not making this easy,” he muttered, voice low, rougher now.
But he didn’t move you away.
Didn’t let go.
If anything, his grip lingered—firm, certain—like he was still deciding how far he was willing to fall into this.
And not entirely convinced he hadn’t already started.
Jack’s mind started to slip the longer he held onto you.
The more he kissed you, the more he let himself feel it—the warmth of your body, the way you responded to him so easily—it became harder to keep things contained. His hands moved almost without permission, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing against bare skin.
Soft.
Warm.
Real.
His breath hitched quietly at the contact, like even that was enough to undo him.
You arched into him instinctively, and Jack’s hands spread along your sides, palms firm now, grounding himself in the feel of you. Like if he focused on that—on something tangible—he wouldn’t drift too far into everything else pressing at the edges of his mind.
“Jack—” you breathed, your voice unsteady, pulling his name from him in a way that went straight to his core.
It wasn’t just the sound.
It was the need in it.
The trust.
The way you said his name like you wanted him there.
Jack exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing briefly against your shoulder, his lips dragging along the curve of your neck again—slower now, but no less intense. His nose brushed your skin, his breath warm, uneven.
This was dangerous.
Not just because of how badly he wanted you—
But because of how fast it was becoming more than that.
His grip tightened slightly at your sides when you shifted against him, your body pressing closer, seeking friction, seeking him. A low sound rumbled up from his chest before he could stop it, his control slipping another inch.
He wasn’t used to this.
To wanting something this quickly. This strongly.
To not being able to shut it off.
Jack dragged in a breath, trying to steady himself, but it did nothing. If anything, it made him more aware—of the heat between you, of the way your bodies fit together, of how easy it would be to keep going.
Too easy.
His eyes squeezed shut for a second, his jaw tightening as his hands flexed against your skin.
He could feel the edge of it—the point where this stopped being something he could pull back from cleanly.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, his breathing uneven, his gaze darker now—heavy with everything he wasn’t saying.
“Hey,” he murmured, quieter than before, but no less intense. “Look at me.”
His thumb brushed lightly along your side, grounding, steadying—more for himself than for you.
Because this—
This wasn’t just heat.
It wasn’t just want.
It was something deeper. Something that had been building since the moment he first saw you at the nurses’ station, smiling like you belonged in a place that rarely allowed for softness.
And now you were here.
In his arms.
Looking at him like you chose to be.
Jack let out a slow breath, something shifting in his expression—less frantic, but no less intense. If anything, more certain.
Summary: did you know live tweeting through a crisis is a great way to get laid
Warnings: reader has a job, hostage situation, dealing with customers omg scary, dry humping (the suit stays ON), oral (f receiving), lowkey awkward at first, piv sex, missionary, he’s a lil rough but a sweetheart for a moment, creampie
a/n: accidentally made this long asf whoops
Part 1
The ballroom hums with expensive laughter. The room is filled with crystal chandeliers fracturing light across the polished marble floor, gliding accents, and too many politicians congratulating themselves in the same breath they butter dinner rolls.
The champagne never stops flowing. Neither do the egos.
But here you are, on autopilot. Balancing a try of flutes, smile stretched cheek to cheek, weaving between mobs of suits that smell like entitlement and overpriced cologne. But every time there’s a moment, a break in the routine, every time you slip into the kitchen to refill your tray, your hand strays towards your pocket.
Your phone.
Your thumb swipes over the screen, instinctively, pulling up that tiny, obscure instagram handle. His handle. The one he gave you, that no one else seems to know exists,
@ supe.in.motion
His posts are mundane, it’s almost laughable. Metropolis skylines, sunrises from odd angles, a blurry shot of some pigeons on the Daily Planet. But you scroll through it like it’s scripture. Searching in every picture, reading and rereading the simple captions he left behind.
And it’s replaying in your mind. Especially tonight.
That low voice in your ear, fraying throughout the call. The way he called you sweetheart. Your little secret.
“—oooh, what’s this?”
You jolt, angling your phone away, but it’s too late. Your coworker, Jesse, leans in with a grin, balancing the plate of hors d’oeuvres on his arm away from you.
“You’re smiling at your phone, who’s the lucky guy?’
“Nobody,” you hiss, turning the phone from his view, and trying to will away the bright red creeping its way your cheeks.
Jesse peeks anyway, catching a glimpse of the profile. His eyes light up. “Oooh, is that his profile? Is he your sneaky link? Lemme see—“
“Nope.” You shove another tray into his prying hand, and sidestep out of reach.
“You wanna help me survive this shift? Keep moving, pass those out to someone else before Senator ‘Im-the-most-important-here’ throws a fit and starts yelling about the food service again.”
He laughs, tossing a “Heard!” over his shoulder as he heads back onto the floor.
You exhale, pressing the phone to your chest before forcing yourself to put it away. No more distractions. Not here.
But your fingers betray you one last time, pulling up twitter in a quick swipe, already flying across the keys:
Stuck at work on a Friday night surrounded by old men in suits
0/10 don’t recommend
You toss the phone into your apron pocket before grabbing another tray of champagne flutes, mind already swirling, and slip back onto the floor, back into routine.
Theres clusters of tuxedos and sequin gowns, the sound of champagne flutes clinking, and posh laughter. You balance the tray against your palm, passing carefully through the crowd, offering your practiced smile that never reaches your eyes to passersby.
From a distance, you probably look effortless. Gliding between the gaps of guests with your tray held steady. But up close, you’re starting to feel the strain in your shoulders, the ache in your wrists from the weight of glasses, the low hum of irritation at the way no one ever really spares you a second glance. Not as a person, just as part of the event.
Still, you wear the smile. Keep your head down. In and out. Its just easier that way.
“Champagne?” You murmur, smooth but neutral customer service voice coming forward.
A senator you vaguely recognize, now tie loosened, eyes glassy, and face flushed, snatches a flute from your tray a little too eagerly.
“Well, don’t you look serious,” he booms, sloshing the contents of the glass around dangerously close to the rim. “Whys a pretty girl like you working on a Friday night, huh? Should be over here, having fun with us?”
You blink, smile tightening. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you though.”
He doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he does, but the drink in his hand is more interesting. He claps a hand on another politicians back, launching into another story about golfing on Sundays. Your response is brushed off quicker than the laws they should be signing.
You hover for a moment, though. Tray balanced, waiting to see if he’s going to drop the glass. Then, when it’s clear you’ve been dismissed as quickly as interrupted, you slip away. Your shoulders tight but smile still plastered on for the next bunch of guests.
Back in motion. Back in autopilot.
And all the while, you can’t help but think. Maybe if you’d tweeted something like, “currently stuck serving champagne to drunk politicians, send help superman”
He might actually read it.
You keep your steps smooth, gaze forward as your mind drifts farther than the gala.
The senators voice fades into the background noise as you coast further into the party, drowned out by the echo of another mans. That low, velvety voice. Sweetheart. You can almost hear the way it escaped his lips. Heavy with hunger, like he was pressing the word into your skin.
Your tray wavers slightly as you step. In your head, he’s still there. Whispering what he’d do to you if he were with you instead of hovering god knows where in the city. His mouth on you, drawing sounds from your pressed lips like confessions. His quiet command, touch your clit for me.
Heat flares in your stomach at the memory, causing you swallow hard. Your pulse skips and you’re suddenly aware of the weight of your phone in your apron pocket. Tethered back to him if you dared to touch it.
“Hello?”
The voice cuts in, sharp and nasally, snapping you upright.
A woman in a bedazzled gown, rhinestones catching every bit of light, is staring at you like you’ve committed a personal offense. Her perfectly manicured nail jabs downward.
“Are you even listening?” She snaps
Your stomach drops.
On the marble floor at her feet, lie a champagne flute in ruin. Bubbly liquid spreading in a golden puddle around the jagged shards. The woman sniffs, tilting her chin high.
“I reached for one and it just slipped. Someone should really be more careful.”
Shit.
Before you can sputter a response, Jesse appears at your side like some blessed, tray bearing angel. His brow lifts in a silent, ‘you good?’ but he doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes your tray smoothly from your hands with a wink.
“Go,” he mutters only to you.
You exhale in relief, already digging for the folded towel tucked in your pocket. Dropping low, you press the cloth against the spill. Collecting bubbles and splinters of glass as quickly as possible.
The marble is cold under your knees, even through the dark work pants you adorn. The woman’s perfume is clouding above you, and it’s almost suffocating. Your heart still hasn’t settled from the memory of the voice that called you mine just days ago.
But right now? You couldn’t feel farther from it.
You’re still crouched low, blotting the fizz and sweeping shards into a neat little pile with the folded towel, when an empty appetizer plate catches your eye. Perfect. With careful hands, you scoop the broken glass onto the plate, balancing it against your palm as you rise to your feet.
Thats when the shouting starts.
At first, it sounds like some entitled donor being louder for attention, but then an unmistakable crack of glass breaking against stone rings through the ballroom. A sharp scream follows.
Your stomach drops.
The crowd shifts, waves of sequins and tuxedos pulling back as masked men in all black tactical gear storm the floor, their weapons glossy against the chandelier lights.
They begin barking orders. Money, artifacts, leverage. You can’t even track it all over the sudden roar of panic from the crowd.
“Everybody down!” One shouts, rifle waving high.
The senator from earlier drops to the floor, clutching his wife’s arm, the pair wide eyed. The woman who chastised you is sobbing behind her jeweled hands. Staff scatter instinctively, pressing themselves against the walls or frozen in place.
Your heart goes wild.
But even was your hands shake, your response is automatic. You’re reaching for your phone.
The first tweet is quick, almost detached.
Omg this night just got so much worse. Men w/ guns. Horrible way to end my shift
The second comes before you could second guess yourself.
Should’ve stayed home and thirsted over superman instead smh
Your heart hammers as you press your back against the wall, sliding low as your coworker shoots you a startled look. But you’re still typing a third with a shaky smirk, half a joke and half a plea.
@ Superman there’s a situation over here at halcyon. Kinda need ur help??? lol
The plate in your other hand feels oddly fragile compared to the chaos unfolding around you.
One of the gunmen is sweeping his gaze across the crowd, barking at servers to drop their trays, and forcing guests down into trembling groups. Your throat tightens, but in the confusion you spot a gap.
Clutching the plate, you weave quickly between the waves of horrified guests, keeping your head down to match the crowd to get to a service hallway. Jesse and two other coworkers are already there, faces pale, holding each other. When they spot you, Jesse reaches for your arm and pulls you into the huddle.
“What the fuck is happening…” One whispers, voice shaking.
You’re still holding the plate like it’s a lifeline as your chest heaves. Your phones still burning in your other hand.
And somewhere in the city, you pray someone saw your tweet.
But for now, the hallway is suffocatingly quiet. Jesse presses a finger to his lips every time someone even so much as shifts their weight. The others sit stiff against the wall. White knuckled and pale.
Your phone buzzes in your lap. Jesse shoots you a look.
You almost drop it, heart beating hard in your ears. Until you tilt the screen and see the notification.
Superman liked your tweet.
You clamp your lips shut to smother the laugh that threatens to come out, this is hysterical.
Jesse glares at you, are you seriously on twitter right now?
But you can’t look away from the little glowing heart.
The minutes stretch. Out in the ballroom, the masked men prowl. Voices sharp and ugly, shouting something about wire transfers, ‘make the call!’, ‘well bleed you pricks dry!’ Every shout ricochets off your ribs.
Then, your hair stands on end.
Theres a shift in the air.
At first, it’s subtle. A faint vibration you feel more than hear. A low thrum in your bones. The crystal chandeliers above the hallway give the faintest rattle. A shiver of wind licks at the cracks in the windows.
You know that sound. You know.
The room hushes all at once. Then, from beyond the door, a collective gasp rises in the ballroom.
The skylight above explodes inward, raining shards of glass onto the floor below.
He drops through like judgement itself. His cape blazing behind in a deep red against the glare of the lights. The impact of his boots on the marble reverberates through the floor beneath your knees. It’s steady, grounding, even as broken glass rains down around him.
“Superman,” someone breaths. It’s a sob, but also a prayer.
The masked men scramble, their careful demeanor quickly slipping into raw panic. One man swings his gun towards him, but the rifle is swiped away like a toy, quickly being bent into a useless twist of metal. Another makes a run for the side exit, but heat vision, burning red flashes, and the door hisses as the metal morphs. A third lunges at Superman, only to be shoved back with one hand to his chest, sent barreling into a catering table.
It’s over in minutes.
Police sirens wail outside as they get closer. Officers rush in, guns drawn as they sweep the building. Superman speaks briefly with them, his voice calm yet commanding. Directing people to safety and handing over the disarmed men as if it’s just another Tuesday.
You’re still clutching that plate of broken glass like an idiot when the police get to your group. They do a once over, and move on to the next bunch. You’re stuck watching him with your heart caught somewhere between your throat and your stomach, though. Because now you know him not just as a speck on the skyline, or the voice on the other end of the line. But as someone who came when you called.
And maybe, just maybe, because it was you that called.
The chaos finally sizzled out. The ballroom humming with the frantic relief of survivors as they file out into their private limos. You spot him standing off to the side, speaking to an officer as the cuffed men are led to cars outside.
Your legs carry you forward before you can stop and rationalize.
“Uh.. hi,” you manage, clutching the towel uselessly against your front.
His head turns, and it’s almost worse seeing him up close. His eyes are brighter, steadier than you imagined. They flicker across your features, thoughtful.
“You’re…” you swallow. “I mean— I just wanted to say thank you. Im—“ you give him your name, a bit awkward and rushed. Like you’re afraid your voice will betray you.
He tilts his head, gaze softening on you. “I know that voice.”
The words punch you in the chest.
Your throat goes dry. He knows.
“Oh…” you blink awkwardly, feeling the flush crawl up your throat. “Yeah.”
It comes out smaller than expected, like you’ve been caught. You instantly regret it, shoulders curling in as though you can physically tuck the memory of that late night phone call out of sight.
Superman, Superman, chuckles softly. The sound is warm, low, and far gentler than it has any right to be.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He says, cocking his head to the side slightly, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Im glad I remembered someone like you.”
Your heart does something complicated and stupid in your chest. He’s not even really flirting, but the way his gaze holds yours, as if you’re the only other person in the room. It makes it impossible to breathe like a normal human being.
You force a laugh, nerves turning it sharp around the edges. “Someone like me? Should I be flattered, or worried you keep tabs on all your twitter fans?”
His grin widens, playful and amused at the same time. “Maybe both”
You can’t help it. You laugh, genuinely this time, shoulders loosening for the first time tonight. For the briefest moment, you forget the wreckage of glass littering the ground. The chaos of the hostage situation. The fact that you’re still in your apron and probably smell like hors d’oeuvres. It’s just you and him, in this hazy ballroom. Standing close enough that you can see the faint glint of glass dust caught in his hair from his entrance.
Then a sharp voice cuts through the bubble around you two. “Superman!” An officer gestures him over, clipboard in hand. “We need a statement before transport.”
You jolt. “Oh! Yeah, of course, you’re busy—“
But he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he dips his head ever so slightly, voice soft enough that only you can hear. “Wait. Before you go… can I see you later?”
For a second, the words don’t register. Your mind blanks and catches on every syllable like a broken record.
“Uh,” Your face is burning so hot you’re shocked you don’t burst into flames on the spot. “Yes. Yeah. Definitely.”
His smile this time is unmistakable. Brilliant, pearly whites flashing with that kind of grin that sells news papers and saves worlds in the same breath. “Good.”
And then, as smoothly as if your entire universe hadn’t just tilted on its axis, he tuns and strides toward the waiting officer.
You’re left standing there alone. Gripping your apron like a lifeline, trying to remember how to walk properly.
When you finally do turn, Jesse’s staring at you from across the room, mouth hanging open so wide you’re pretty sure a fly could set up camp there.
“Holy shit,” He hisses the second you’re in earshot. “Was superman just flirting with you, girl?”
You nearly choke on your own laugh, smacking him lightly with the towel still balled up in your hand. “No! No, he wasn’t, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” He repeats, eyes bugging. “Ridiculous? He smiled at you like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket and asked if he could see you later. Babe, that man was ready to risk it all.”
“Stop, stop, my cheeks hurt” You cant stop laughing, cupping your face with your palms, cheeks aching as you brush past him. Your heart won’t stop going crazy. “You’re just imagining things now”
But Jesse keeps muttering to himself as you head back toward the hallway, something along the lines of ‘Holy fuck’ and ‘I saw that with my own eyes’
Before you get the chance to defend yourself again, your boss’s voice cuts through the chatter, sharply commanding, “Alright, everyone back in! Grab your things, stay together. We’re shutting down for the night.”
Just like that, the spell breaks. Staff shuffle into line, exhausted and shaken up. Collecting their coats and bags under your managers watchful gaze. You sling your bag over your shoulder, apron tucked inside, and fall into step with Jesse as the group filters toward the employee exit.
The adrenaline is still flowing through your system, leaving you buzzing. You tell yourself you’ll process it all later, but his smile, his words, are swirling around your head despite it all.
Can I see you later?
You hug your bag a bit tighter as you walk out into the crisp night.
The subway car is nearly empty when you step on, just the rattle of the tracks and fluorescent hum of lights overhead filling the space. You sink into corner sear, bag tucked to your chest, and let your head rest against the window. The night outside is a blur of tunnels and passing darkness, and your mind wont keep up as it keeps skipping back to everything.
His grin
His voice, low enough for you to hear, ‘can I see you later?’
The way your name sounded in his mouth, on his lips. Like he’d always known it.
You bite back a smile, pressing your lips to your knuckles like it’ll keep it contained.
Then your phone buzzes.
Not a text this time, not just a notification
A call.
You freeze when you see the name, his name, the one attached to the tiny instagram account.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” your voice is a whisper in the empty train, equal parts disbelief and hysteria. You hesitate for a moment, then swipe to answer before your nerves completely take over.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice is quiet in your ear, phone pressed close. And it’s him, no doubt in your mind. “I hope this isn’t too forward. I just… didn’t feel like waiting.”
Your stomach does a flip. “I wasn’t exactly expecting you to call,” you admit, a laugh coming out nervous and airy.
“Would you rather I hadn’t?”
“No,” you say too quickly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, though no one’s around to hear you trip over yourself. “No, I… I’m glad you did.”
There’s a pause from him, heavy yet warm. It’s filled with the sound of him breathing faintly on the other end. “Where are you?”
“On the train. Heading home from work.” You shift in your seat, glancing at the dim reflection of yourself in the window between passing lights. “Im a few stops away. Getting off at—“ you name the street. “It’s not too far from my place.”
“Good,” he says, something sure and almost relieved in his tone. “I’ll meet you there. Don’t hang up.”
Your mouth does dry. “You’re… what?”
“I’ll meet you when you get off the train.”
It’s ridiculous, you think. Impossible. And yet, when the train finally screeches to a stop, your heart starts hammering so hard it’s almost drowning out the scratchy announcement of the station name. You tuck your phone against your ear, throwing your bag over your shoulder, and climb the stairs two at a time.
The night air sweeps down the steps, against your flushed cheeks as you step out of the station. The city is quieter here, side streets half lit and sleepy at this time of night. Nothing like the chaos of the gala earlier.
Still, you spot him.
Leaning casually against the lamppost at the corner of the street, cape stirring gently in the night breeze, like this is the most natural thing on the planet. He straightens when you catch his eye, the faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
There’s an awkward pause between you two, before you inhale sharply.
“My place is that way,” you motion behind him.
“Right, right,” he nods, a bit too eager.
You begin to make the trek, and he falls into step beside you like he’s done it a million times before. The sight of superman, actual superman, walking casually through your quiet neighborhood is enough to make you short circuit. His cape barely whispers against the pavement, hands tucked loosely at his sides. You sneak a glance here and there, acting like this is totally normal. Like you didn’t sext him into oblivion a few nights ago.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a block, voice low but almost amused.
“Im… processing,” you admit, cheeks warming. “It’s not everyday Superman shows up to walk me home.”
His grin is quick, sharp against the dimples in his cheeks. “Guess I’ll have to make it a habit.”
You almost trip over a crack in the sidewalk.
By the time you both reach your building, your nerves are humming, buzzing so loudly you can barely hear yourself think. You fumble with your keys, trying not to drop them, and push the door open.
“Um. Come in?”
He nods, ducking slightly under the doorframe, stepping inside like he belongs here. Your apartment suddenly feels five times smaller, his presence filling every nook and cranny.
The air feels thick, a bit uncertain as you hang your jacket. You can’t help but blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Okay, so, uh… welcome to my humble abode! This is the living room-slash-kitchen. As you can see, very chic, very tiny apartment I’m overpaying for.” You smile sheepishly.
He chuckles, following your half dramatic wave as you point to the small couch, the little table with mismatched chairs, and sink piled with dishes you definitely should’ve done earlier.
“And over here,” you continue, leaning into the bit because if you don’t, you think you’ll explode. “Is my cat. The real owner of the apartment. Be nice, he’s the landlord.”
Your cat blinks up from his perch on the arm of the couch, tail flicking, and completely unimpressed. Superman crouches slightly, extending his hand toward him.
“Hi there,” he says softly, baby voicing your fur baby.
He sniffs for a long moment, then headbutts his knuckles.
“Wow,” you say, jokingly mocking him to cover up the fact that your chest is tight. “Even my cat likes you. Thats... annoying”
He looks up at you with a slow smile, making it even harder to breathe properly.
“Well he just has good taste,” and shrugs playfully.
You laugh, and it comes out more nervous than witty. But you keep moving, heart hammering, pointing vaguely toward the short hallway. “And, uh, the tour concludes with the world’s smallest bathroom. No need to see that. And, um, my bedroom.”
You nudge the door open, trying to make yourself sound as normal as possible, like of course I’m just casually inviting the most powerful man on earth into my bedroom, totally normal thing to do!
The room is dim and cozy, a little messy from your rushed morning. Books stacked on the nightstand, a half finished glass of watery ‘iced’ coffee, your fuzzy blanket draped carelessly over the edge of the bed. He steps inside, eyes scanning the space with quiet interest as you point out random objects.
You linger in the doorway, fiddling with your bag. “So yeah… thats, uh, pretty much it. End of the grand tour.” You pull out your apron, folded and still faintly smelling of alcohol and appetizers. You shove it into the hamper.
When you turn back, he’s by the bed.
His fingers ghost over the edge of the blanket, petting the soft fabric almost absentmindedly. His expressions unreadable for a moment, then, his mouth curves, and he glances over his shoulder at you.
“So…” his voice dips low, that velvety tone you know all too well. “This is the bedroom you were touching yourself to me in, right?”
The words hit you like lightning, straight through your core. Your breath stutters, body freezing mid step, closet door still in your grasp.
“…Oh my god,” you choke out, heat flooding your face. “You...you can’t just say that—“
“I can’t?” He turns fully toward you now. Hip pressed against the bedpost, and arms crossing over his chest in a way that makes his shoulders look unfairly broad. There’s that gleam in his eyes again, mischievous, teasing, and playful, but edged with something heavier.
“Because I remember every word you said on the phone. And now I can picture you, right here, making those pretty sounds for me.”
Your knees almost give out.
“Okay, wow.” You force a laugh, high pitched and quick. As if you’re trying to stop the room from tilting. “So you’re just gonna what? weaponize my horniness against me?”
His grin deepens. “Seems to be working.”
And it is. God, it is. Your whole body feels fuzzy. Heat brewing low in your stomach. You clutch the closet door like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded, every nerve ablaze with the fact that he’s here. In your bedroom, of all places. Giving you that look you’ve only ever imagined.
You can’t bring yourself to move from where you’re half perched against the closet door, hand twitching uselessly at your side as you pick at the wood with the other. The room feels heavier, air humming around you with need, and you’re hyperaware of every breath you take.
Your eyes keep flicking to the door, the wall, your blanket, anywhere but him.
“You keep staring at that door,” he says, tone light but lined with amusement. “Is it really that interesting?”
Your gaze snaps back to him. He’s still leaning on the bed frame, one hand tracing the fuzzy blanket like he’s not the least bit rattled. But his eyes, they’re steady, pinning you in place.
“It’s a nice door,” you mutter weakly, defensive heat crawling up the back of your neck. “Very reliable. Solid wood.”
He laughs again. That soft but low one, already knowing what game you’re playing at. “You’re nervous.”
“Im not nervous.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, the pet name curling through the air like smoke, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re holding onto that doorknob like it’s gonna save you.”
Your fingers instantly unclench from the metal. “Shut up.”
He pushes off the bedpost, taking a slow step towards you. The space shrinks. You don’t breathe. You can’t.
Another step, and then he’s close enough that the edge of his hand brushes yours, feather light, delicate.
The contact is nothing, barely there, and yet it sets your entire body alight.
You glance up at him, startled by the intensity of his gaze. There’s no smirk, no grin. Just a quiet hunger simmering under the surface, waiting for your permission to pounce.
Your pulse stutters
“See?” He murmurs, vibrations practically thrumming through your chest. “Not so scary up close.”
In a flash, he shifts. Already lowering himself to sit on the edge of your bed before you get a chance to reply. The mattress drips beneath his weight, grounding and dreamlike all at once. He settles easily, relaxed, but his gaze still makes your buckle.
Then, like gravity itself is pulling you, you find yourself stepping forward.
Closer.
Closer still, until you’re standing between his knees.
His cape drapes across your comforter, and his thighs are brushing against yours. He tilts his head back slightly, looking at you from this new angle. the corners of his mouth twitching as he’s fighting a smile.
You can feel the heat of him burning up through the gap between you, your nerves screaming with awareness. Knees brushing the edge of the wooden bedframe as you hover. The space is impossibly small, yet you can’t make yourself move any closer.
“Better than the door?” He asks softly.
Your laugh catches in your throat, shaking, “little bit.”
He notices. He always he does.
His big hands rest lazily on his thighs, but after a moment, one shifts. His fingers ghost upward, tracing the outside of your leg in a slow, absent minded path. Barely a touch. Just enough to make your skin prickle in its wake.
“You’re trembling,” he says, almost to himself.
“Im not,” you whisper, though your voice betrays you with an uneven crack.
That damn grin curls at the corner of his mouth. “You were braver on your phone.” His thumb presses just slightly into your thigh before retreating, teasing you with pressure and release. “Quicker with your words. But now?”
Your breath hitches.
“Now you’re shy.” He leans in, close enough that you can feel the faint brush of his breath against your wrist. “Cute.”
You can’t bring yourself to look at him. Your gaze fixes stubbornly on the ceiling fan, then the window, anywhere but his piercing blue eyes. But every time his fingers skim your leg, it drags you back down to him.
“Hey,” he says gently, pausing mid touch. “Look at me.”
It takes everything in you, but you finally oblige. And when your eyes lock, you see not sarcasm, but patience. Warmth. As if he’s daring you to believe he actually wants this, wants you.
Your heart lurches.
He tilts his head, eyes scanning your face, then lets out a soft laugh. “Thats better. There you are.” His hand resumes its slow pace, fingertips drawing lazy shapes along your thigh. “I like this view much better.”
Your insides do a twist, a storm of nerves and excitement washing over you. He’s too much. Too close. Too... him.
“You always this talkative?” You manage lowly.
“Only when someone makes me curious.” His smile deepens. One hand slides just a smidge higher, brushing the edge of your hip before retreating again. “And you make me very curious.”
You swallow hard, pulse pounding in your head. He makes you dizzy, so dizzy. His teasing is unraveling you piece by piece and he knows it. He’s enjoying it.
But within a second, something shifts inside you. A warmth spreads in your chest. A spark of courage flaring inside by the way he’s looking at you, knowing what he’s trying to play with you.
And you can’t help but think, two can play this game.
So you lean in, just enough that your knee presses firmer between his legs. Your lips twitch upward as you murmur, “what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue now?”
For the first time, he falters. His grin freezes, eyes widening slightly at your boldness.
“Oh?” He breaths, leaning back just a hair, as if he’s reassessing. “Thats new.”
You let your smirk linger, encouraged by his reaction. “What? Didn’t expect me to bite back?”
His tongue sweeps across his lower lip, and his hands flex on his thighs. His laugh is lower this time, rougher. He tilts his head like you’ve just rewritten the rules of this game.
“Careful,” he says, dark and promising. “You might like where that gets you.”
And all at once, the tension is stretched tight. The rope tugging you closer to him is seconds from snapping.
You arch a brow, playing braver than you feel, “maybe thats the point.”
His grin returns, slow, deliberate, almost dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart…”
His hand slides higher, warm against your hip now. Thumb peeking just under the hem of your shirt. “You really shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
Your inhale sharply, refusing to look away this time. “Who says I don’t?”
For a split second, he just stares at you, unblinking, like he’s weighing the truth of your words. And then he moves, swift but unhurried. A large hand cupping the back of your neck, tugging you closer until your forehead is brushing his.
His breath fans across your lips, but he doesn’t kiss you yet.
“You’re staring at me like you want something?” He teases, voice low and almost smug. “What do you want?”
“You know exactly what I want.”
Thats all it takes. His mouth claims yours in a sudden, hungry kiss. Lips firm and hot, drawing a muffled gasp out of you. The world tilts when he pulls you closer, guiding your hips forward until you find yourself straddling his thighs. Your knees braced against the edge of the bed.
He deepens it, tongue brushing yours with that measured patience he showed before. Tasting you, teasing you, pulling back just when you try to chase the feeling of him.
“God,” he murmurs against your lips. “You taste better than I imagined.”
You laugh a bit shaky, letting your fingers in his hair ground you. “You imagined it?”
“Constantly,” his hands grip your hips harder, holding you steady in his lap. His grin turns wicked. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been living in my head the past few days, sweetheart. Rent-fucking-free.”
Heat blooms across your chest, stomach flipping in return. You try to hide it with a smirk. “Guess I’m unforgettable then, huh?”
His lips brush against yours again, touch feather light. “More than unforgettable.” He nips at your lower lip, making you gasp. “Addictive.”
You shiver, trying to keep control. But your body betrays you. Pressing closer, thighs tightening around his hips.
“Mm.” he pulls back slightly, eyes half lidded, searching your features. “See. Told you you’d like where this gets you.”
“And you’re awfully smug about it,” you whisper, smile giving you away.
He laughs softly, the sound low in his chest, then tugs you closer until your noses brush again. “I can’t help it. Not when you’re finally where I want you.”
Your kisses turn messy fast, tongues tangling, teeth knocking against teeth. You can’t tell if you’re trying to kiss him or consume him. His hands are roaming your body greedily. One anchored on your ass, the other skimming up your back like he’s memorizing your curves.
Your fingers twitch where they clutch the front of his suit, tugging and tugging, until you finally dare to reach around the back, searching for a way to get him out of it. You find the zipper, fingertips wrapping around the cool metal and pulling slightly. Just enough to press your palm against warm skin and pull him closer. His mouth doesn’t dare tear away from yours in the process, groaning low against you, sending the feeling through your bones.
“Christ,” he mutters against your jaw, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re driving me insane.”
You giggle, fingers numb with nerves. “You’re one to talk”
Then he pulls back, eyes low, pinned to where your top gapes open slightly. He fiddles with the buttons gently as the curve of your bra shows, delicate lace against flushed skin.
“Baby…” his voice is rough. A warning, a prayer, its not quite clear.
“Don’t stop looking at me like that.”
Something in him snaps. He shrugs his broad shoulders and his hands release you, unclipping his crimson cape, letting it fall to the side in a heavy pool of fabric. The sight makes your throat dry.
Before you could start, he’s on you again. Mouth finding yours desperately, while his hands slide down to grip your thighs, pulling you flush against his pelvis. You gasp as the hard line of him presses perfectly where you’re aching, hips moving instinctively.
The friction sends jolts through you both. He groans into your mouth, the sound ragged, fighting to hold himself back.
“Fuck,” you whisper, grinding again, feeling bolder this time.
He tilts his head back, eyes shut and jaw clenched tight. “You don’t know what you do to me. How hard it is to hold back.”
“Oh” you gasp, fingers tying into his hair as you roll your hips. “I think I do.” You lean forward, taking advantage of his open neck, planting kisses along the tender spot. Sucking hard enough to leave deep purple marks in their place.
The air is thick, tension becoming unbearable. Your shirts bunching up as his hands fumble higher, body arching as his chest presses flush against you. Every moment is slow but desperate, like you’re both drawing it out just to savor how close you are to falling apart.
When his thumb drags over the edge of your bra, teasing the swell of your breast, you stifle a moan. He smirks against your lips, proud of how you’re wearing thin.
“Careful,” he whispers, breath mixing with yours as you whine. “You keep giving me that look. Im not stopping until there’s nothing left between us.”
Your blouse is hanging loose now, his fingers brushing against skin every time you move, dragging the pad of his thumb just under the band of your bra. He’s taking his time with it, unwrapping you like a gift he doesn’t want to tear the paper off too quickly.
“Relax, let me take my time with you.”
The words swirl in your head. Breath stuttering as you slide your palms down his chest, the press of textured fabric brushing against your skin. The ’S’ on his chest is close enough to kiss, but you hold back, savoring the way his eyes darken as you tease him.
You shift in his lap, sliding your knees out further until you’re as close as can be, core impossibly close to the bulge in his suit. The hardness beneath the fabric twitches, solid, sending sparks through you. A shaky laugh escapes you as you grind down, feeling the unyielding strength of him beneath your core.
He moans your name softly, a warning slipping out low and strangled, ruined by a groan that follows.
“What?” You murmur, breath feathering against his jaw. “Am I… distracting you?”
His hand tightens on your hips, but he doesn’t push you off. “I can’t wait much longer”
Your gaze flicks past his shoulder. The bright streak of red, his cape, has slipped halfway off the bed, pooling across the floor. You reach for it, tugging the heavy fabric up and around your shoulders, swirling it dramatically before hooking it into place on the shoulders of your open blouse.
You smirk, settling back down against him. “Huh. It fits better than I thought.”
For a moment, he just stares at you, lips parted. Then one dark brow lifts.
“You’re really going to wear my cape while grinding on me?” His voice is husky, threaded with both disbelief and amusement..
You shrug innocently, rolling your hips with calculated slowness. “What? You left it lying around. Finders keepers.”
He laughs, and its dangerous now. Reverberating through his chest. “Sweetheart, you don’t know what you just started.”
Before you can sass back, his arms hook under your thighs. The motion is so fast, so smooth, you gasp, clutching at his broad shoulders.
“Hey!”
“Hold on,” he says, eyes sparkling. He rises so effortlessly, lifting you as though you’re weightless, and carries you two short steps back to the bed. Your legs twitch as he plants you on your back, his body caging yours, the cape draping around you on the sheets.
Pinned beneath him, your chest rises and falls against the emblem on his suit, the golden mark scratching against your bust.
He smirks, pressing you into the mattress. “We’ll see how long you get to wear it before I take it back.”
His fingers skim up the inside of your thigh, slow but dedicated. He leans down, capturing your lips with a kiss. He’s steady, trying to burn the shape of your mouth into his memory. When he pulls back, his eyes linger, then dip down your body with hunger.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about since the other night?” His lips brush your jaw as he whispers. Moving down to your throat, sucking lightly until you gasp and squirm. His hands trail down, unfastening the final buttons on your shirt to expose more skin for his lips.
“the sounds you made on the phone. Sweet little noises… begging me to tell you what I’d do.”
Your heart races, face burning as need spreads across your skin. “And?” You whisper, already breathless.
“And now I get to show you.”
He kisses down your chest, pausing to nose against the lace edge of your bra, before moving lower. By the time his mouth traces your stomach, your hands are clumsy on your pants button, fumbling to undo it. He beats you to it, though. Fingers slipping past yours as he opens and drags the zipper down with a low rasp of metal.
You shiver as he eases your work pants down your hips, tugging until they’re off and forgotten. You’re left in your undergarments, sprawled beneath the man of steel, his cape half wrapped around you like his claim on you.
“Perfect,” he breathes, eyes darkly roaming you. He kisses the inside of your knee, then your thigh, and higher. It’s slow and driving you mad. His hands spread your legs open, fingertips leaving prints on your skin.
By the time his mouth hovers a breath away from the damp heat of your panties, you’re practically shaking.
“Please,” you whisper, more desperate than you meant to sound.
His grin is wicked, eyes peering up at you filled with sin. “Begging already?”
“Don’t… don’t tease”
But he does. He drags his mouth over the thin fabric, inhaling, groaning against like he’s the one coming undone. The he hooks a finger into the band and slides your panties aside, allowing the cool air to fan over before lowing his mouth to you.
The first touch of his tongue has your back arching, a choked cry escaping your throat. He moans into you like he’s been starved, feasting on you, flattening his tongue against your clit and lapping slow and thorough. Then fast enough to make you whine.
Your hands find his hair, tugging, guiding. “God, I can’t…”
“Thats it,” he mumbles against you.
“Yes, yes. Don’t stop—“
And then, at the very edge, right as your body trembles and tightens, he pulls back.
The sudden emptiness makes you gasp, your climax fizzing away before it hits. You blink down at him, dazed, chest still heaving. “Wh—what...?”
He smirks, chin glistening with you. His eyes dark as he peers up at you. “Not yet.”
You tremble as his hands brush up your sides, the ghost of your orgasm denied leaving you flushed and aching. His hands pause at your hips, pale bruises left from his prior grip on them. A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth as he drags one last teasing lick up your folds before pulling away entirely.
“Why would you stop…“
His thumb presses into a purple mark. “Because I want to hear it.” His voice drops, dark, commanding. “You want me to make you come? Say it.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the desperation burns hotter. “I… I want you to...”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Louder.”
Your pride cracks. “Please, please make me come.”
He flashes you a grin, “Thats my girl.”
He doesn’t waste another second. In one fluid motion, he’s climbing back over you. Tugging your panties down the rest of the way, tossing them aside like nothing. He frees himself from the suit, just enough to bear the length of him. Its thick, tip flushed a deeper shade as it strains in his hand, as he lines it up with you. The press of his cock at your entrance makes you inhale sharply, eyes going wide at his size.
Then he pushes in, inch my inch. Filling you until you’re stretched tight around him, nails clawing at his shoulders.
“Fuck!” You choke out, legs trembling as he bottoms out. This was more than you’d expected.
“God, you feel so good,” he groans, forehead knocking against yours, breath ragged against your cheek. “So damn tight.”
He doesn’t start slow. He pulls back and slams into you, hard enough that the headboard rattles against the wall. You gasp, throwing your arm up to brace the wood, shielding your head as the force rocks you.
You gasp as he scrambled your insides, “Slow— down!” You choke out.
He growls low in his throat, lowering himself, palm sliding protectively to cradle the back of your head as he thrusts harder, deeper, angling until sparks shoot up your spine. His other arm hooks your leg over his shoulder, pinning you open as he drives his cock into you mercilessly.
Each thrust punches sweet, helpless moans from your throat, his rhythm relentless. His mouth finds yours again, teeth knocking together, swallowing each sound you make like he can’t get enough.
When he pulls back, sweat dampens his hair, and his eyes are wild, blow with lust.
“you’re mine,” he rasps, fucking into you deeper.
You’re already unraveling once more, voice breaking as you whimper in between strokes. “Please—“
He grits his teeth, then suddenly shifts, wrapping both arms around your thighs. In one quick move, he drags you away from the headboard, hauling you back to the center of the bed. You gasp, dizzy, clutching at the sheets as he settles above you again.
This time, his thumb finds your clit. Pressing hard and circling the bud with precision as he slams into you.
“Come for me,” his voice is hoarse as he demands. “Come on my cock, sweetheart, I want to feel you.”
The coil inside you snaps. You crumble beneath him, back arching off the sheets as the orgasm courses through you, walls twitching around his cock. Your voice breaks with moans, body trembling as he fucks you through it, chasing his own.
“God, thats it,” he growls, thrusts growing sloppy. “So perfect— so fucking perfect”
Your orgasm grabs at him, walls pulsing tight and greedy around his cock and it nearly unravels him on the spot. His pace grow wilder, hips snapping forward in a punishing way that has you gasping for breath beneath him.
“I— I can’t—“ you whimper, nails raking down his arms.
His eyes squeeze shut, jaw tight, a deep noise vibrating in his chest.
“Fuck— ‘m so close” his thumb keeps working your clit even as his hips stutter, trying to drag every last tremor from your body before he lets himself go.
Your thighs shake, overstimulated but still clinging to him, urging him deeper.
“Please, baby, want you to let go”
Thats all it takes. His thrusts slow, stutter, then he buries himself to the hilt with a strangled groan. Heat flooding inside you as his release rips through him, cock twitching as he pumps you full. His forehead drops to your shoulder, breath fanning over your skin as he shudders.
For a long pause, there nothing but the sound of his ragged breathing, and your pulse pounding in your ears. He stays buried deep, holding onto you like you’ll vanish if he lets go.
Finally, with a low exhale, he eases back just enough to look at you. His hairs damp and shiny, curls plastered against his forehead. But his eyes, bright blue and blown wide, are nothing but soft. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness there, then presses a slow, tender kiss to your lips.
His thumb runs over your hip, easing the tension in your joints from the position you were in. But eventually his touch softens.
His chest rises with a deep breath, “I should go,” his voice is soft above you, low and reluctant.
You blink at him, still fuzzy from everything thats happened tonight. There’s a quick flash of disappointment that crosses your face before you can hide it. He notices, of course he does, and smiles, apologetic.
“Duty calls,” he adds, brushing a few wet strands of hair off your forehead.
You nod weakly, even though you wish the world could wait for him a little bit longer. “Right. Superman stuff…”
His chest puffs with a quiet laugh, leaning down to capture your lips once more. Slower than all the others, lingering a little longer that tells you everything he can’t put into words right now. When he pulls away, he presses one last peck to your forehead, then gently shifts you down against the sheets.
“Stay,” he mumbles, replacing his cape with your plush blanket. He wraps it snugly around your bare shoulders. “Get some sleep.”
You melt into the softness, a faint hum slipping past your lips as you watch him rise. He gathers his belongings, moving with the same demeanor as someone who’s lived here for years. The familiar click of his cape fastening back into place makes you smile, it’s the most surreal reminder of who he is beyond this room, beyond you.
At the window, he pauses. The city’s quiet below, but sirens wail in the distance. the warmth streetlights paint his silhouette in gold. He looks back at you over his shoulder, and flashes a grin, not the practiced one, the one for you. It makes your chest burn.
“Sweet dreams,” he says softly.
“Yeah, yeah, go save the world,” you whisper back, already drowsy.
Before you can blink he’s gone. The rush of cool night air comes in, the soft sound of glass shifting in its frame. You catch a glimpse of red and blue across the skyline, eyes dipping as they struggle to focus.
The sheets smell like him. Your skin tingles where he touched you. The last traces of adrenaline fade into fuzzy exhaustion. You find yourself rolling over, smiling into the pillow, phone long forgotten as he stays on your mind.
Summary: After falling in love with you, Valarr wants nothing more than to be close with you. To have every part of you. And when he sets it up, he tries to make it as perfect as possible, but things don't always go according to plan.
Pairing: Modern!Valarr x virgin!fem!reader
TW: 18+ MDNI, NSFW it's a sex scene which includes oral f receiving and p-in-v.
Credit: GIF by @borgialucrezia; story requested by Anon: here
Valarr has loved you since he met you at university, since he saw you in the library, your brow furrowed over the textbook, glancing over at notebook every so often, comparing and contrasting ideas that existed in your head with reality.
He has loved you since the moment you looked up, catching him staring and you waved. You actually waved, you didn’t react badly, rather you saw an opportunity to be kind. As you always are. Have always been.
He will continue to love you for years, for the rest of his life, his wallpapers on every device, your face, your smile. The way you look haloed by the sun, but it cannot capture the sound of your laugh, of your voice. It just can’t.
He needs you. He always has, he always will.
And he wants every piece of you. You have every piece of him and he will have every piece of you.
It’s why he’s changed his room, changed his sheets from the stark white linen to these dark red silks, candles burning low, flowers on the end tables, everything ready. It was just a few days ago, after a date, the two of you pushed against the back of your front door, his hands roaming, lips against yours, hungry and desirous that you pushed him away.
“I’m a virgin,” you had said, your voice quiet, still. Unsure. “I want to, but…not tonight,” you’d continued and he’d felt two warring things inside of him.
“Do you not want it with me?” he’d asked and your eyes had widened, your head shaking vigorously as you reached for him, your hands on his shoulders, eyes peering into his deeply, assuredly.
“I do want it with you, Val,” you’d told him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted it with. Just not tonight.”
Which was why his room now looked like this, every inch for comfort, planned and prepped. Prepared.
“Val?” he hears you call out, your voice questioning, the door closing behind you, your keys jingling as your footsteps sound through the hall. “Val?”
“In here!” he calls out and he watches the doorway from his seat on the bed, waiting for you, waiting to make this easy and light and good and proper. Waiting to be your first, your last, your only.
That’s the thought that had him jerking off in the shower that night, thinking about how he would be the first and only person to ever have you like that. And he wanted that. More than he’d ever wanted anything before.
“Val…what the hell?” you ask, stepping into the room, taking note of the candles and the flowers and the changed linens and the way Valarr is laying on the bed in a robe, attempting to look seductive and sexy and failing. “I don’t want it staged, Val.” Your lips press together as you look away from him, head shaking as you turn.
“Darling?” he calls out, climbing off the bed and following you as you walk away, your hand reaching into your coat pocket, drawing forth your keys, the ones that rest on the fancy, glittery key ring. “Why are you leaving?”
“Because Val,” you cry, spinning around, your throat bobbing with a hard swallow, “I have seen this happen before! I don’t want to be another fucking virgin on whatever belt you have!” There are tears lining your perfect eyes and it hurts him, an ache in his heart as he crosses the hall to you, his hands reaching for your cheeks, cupping them gently, wiping away the errant tear that slips down.
“You’re not,” he whispers.
“Really? Then what was with that room? I want it to be real, Val. I want it to be…” you trail off, nostrils flaring as you look up and away from him.
“Special?” he asks and you look back at him, surprise flitting through your eyes as you nod and he smiles, that soft, half-smile he has. The one reserved for you. “That’s what I was trying to do,” he tells you and your eyes close for a moment, the way they do when you’re irritated in an affectionate way.
“You’re so idiotic sometimes, Val,” you whisper and he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours.
“You love me anyways,” he replies and you nod against him, your forehead hitting his.
“Yeah,” you whisper, “I do.”
“But not now?”
“Not now.”
—
Your lips are feverish on his, movements frantic, your hands working his coat from his body, your back pressed against your bedroom wall. He doesn’t quite remember how the two of you ended up here, only that you went to a concert and came back and ended up like this, your hands now working on his button-down shirt while his hips grind into yours, slow and sure.
“Are you sure?” he whispers, pulling back from your lips, a line of saliva connecting the two of you still, glimmering in the dim light of your bedroom.
“Yeah,” you breathe and it’s all he needs, helping you rid of him of his button-down, tossing it aside like the coat, his hands pulling his belt buckle free and tossing it to across the room before his hands find your waist, your hips, your ass.
Your hands tangle in his hair, one tugging hard on his silver streak and the sensation is a bolt straight to his gut, his cock already impossibly hard, pressing against your clothed cunt right now, grinding nice and slow, aching in the best way.
Because this is about you.
He trails his lips over your jaw and down your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin below your ear, your body arching up and into his as his hands free your shirt from your skirt, pulling it up and over your head, your body following his orders completely.
He undoes your bra, letting it slip from your chest, down your arms to land on the floor, his lips hot as they continue their trail down your neck, to your chest, pressing a kiss to each breast before trailing down, tongue tracing a path, his eyes on yours as he pulls your skirt and underwear from you, letting it pool around your feet, guiding one leg up and over his shoulder, his attention on your glistening pussy.
“You do want it,” he murmurs and you let out a broken sort of chuckle, one that cracks into a moan as he presses a kiss against your inner thigh, guiding your other leg over his shoulder, your body help up by his and the wall, his tongue darting out to press against your clit as your gasp, a jagged sound. “Shhh,” he whispers, the sound against your pussy as he adjusts himself, licking from your entrance to your clit, circling your clit once, twice before sucking it into his mouth.
Your hands tangle in his hair, your body shuddering with moans as he licks and sucks, tasting the sweetness, the earthiness of you. The one he loves. The one he’ll have every piece of.
“Valarr,” you cry and he pauses, pulling back, your arousal on his face.
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. Just let me take of you.” He leans back in, pressing a kiss against your mons before sucking your clit into his mouth again, hands resting on your thighs, broad extremity spanning the expanse of your thigh, fingers curling around them, holding you tight to him as his tongue dives through your folds and teases your entrance, pushing in little bits and little bits.
It’s not long before you’re coming around him, the taste even earthier than your arousal, every on his tongue as he steps back, setting your legs back on the ground and guiding you back to the bed, laying you down as carefully as he can, arranging you off the side of the bed as he drops his trousers and boxers, freeing his erect cock, spitting into his hand and pumping it a few times, getting it ready.
“This will hurt,” he whispers, but you nod and he steps forwards, lifting your legs up and onto his shoulders as he lines up with your entrance, pushing in just a bit and pausing, waiting until your walls relax and he can push in more and more and more, inch by careful inch until he’s seated inside of you.
He waits, pausing while you nod, shifting up and onto your elbows, looking at him with a pupil-blown stare, moans leaving your lips as he begins to move, slow and rhythmic, his cock dragging along your walls in differing angles each time, designed to have you stimulated like you are now, crying out his name.
“Val,” you cry, your hand reaching and he pauses, half-in and half-out of you.
“What’s wrong, love?” he asks and you pout at him, lower lip pushing out as you gesture for him.
“I need you closer, I can’t kiss you like this,” you whisper and he’s shifting, moving both you and him, hips still moving, his body now on top of yours, lips and tongue tangling with yours as he moves in and out, in and out in a speeding rhythm.
A rhythm that’s now sloppy, his one hand between your legs, applying pressure to your clit, enough that you come around him again, the clench of your warm, wet walls around him, pulling his own release from him and it’s then that he remembers that he forgot to put on a condom, his cock twitching inside of you, spilling in hot spurts.
“I forgot a condom,” he whispers when he pulls out and you laugh, just a little laugh as he collapses beside you.
Could you write an ao’nung x metkayina reader who’s been his ‘enemy’ since childhood (one sided enemies) where reader is resentful to Aonung because she thinks all he ever really does is to upstage her. And one day, he claims a part of the clan’s open marui spot where he can build his own marui and bring his mate in that marui. And that very marui is the one she’s been wanting almost all her adult life. And doesn’t notice his obvious courting rituals. Which leads to confrontation and a confession to everything (and a happy ending + smut is allowed and if there is I hope its okay to add the tsaheylu part)
Public Enemy #1
Summary: You think he’s trying to upstage you every chance he gets; he’s trying to prove he can be a good mate. It all comes to a head when he takes the spot you wanted for your marui and begins building his own
Pairing: aged up!Ao'nung x metkayina!Reader
Word Count: 4,613 (unedited)
Warnings: Smut in the second half, fluff, one-sided enemy to lovers
You ignore the ache in your lungs and push yourself further. Your tail cuts through the water as you dive deeper, to underwater rock formations that hide the best shells, and the thickest reeds for crafting the strongest nets. With every inch that you swim, you are reminded of why you’re going so deep, of why you are pushing yourself until you feel the burn in your lungs.
Ao’nung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan, the son of the Olo’eyktan, has made everything you do in your efforts to prove yourself to the clan seem pointless. The arrogant prince of Awa’atlu had instigated a competition that was entirely unspoken but was felt indefinitely. The Metkayina had the absolute gall to try and outdo everything you did, in order to show you up.
You hadn’t known if it was to boost his already incredible ego, to prove that he was better in the water, or that he was a better hunter than you claimed. Whatever it was, it was driving you to the point of absolute exhaustion from your vital attempts to knock him down a peg. Which is how you found yourself diving farther than you had before, to find these damn shells.
Obviously, they had served a purpose as decoration for clothing and had been coveted by a few other females in the clan. The shells themselves were rare and valuable; they hadn’t just been useful for decorations; they could be ground into dust for healing or turned into dye. It was your personal mission to bring back a cluster of these shells to rub it in that arrogant Na’vi’s face and prove that he wasn’t as great as he thought he was.
The further you dove, the less sun broke through the depths of the water which had made your task harder. Although you counted yourself lucky that there were bioluminescent algae that lined the rocks, illuminating the crevices that would lead to these shells. With your skills spurning you on, you had used your natural senses to find a crack in the rock wall.
You shoved your hand into the space between the edges of the crack and fished around until you could grab a handful of the circular ridged shells. You removed your hand as carefully as you could, securing your find in the pouch settled around your hips. With your success riding on your shoulders, you had begun the ascent to the surface. You swam slower, admiring the beauty of Eywa’s creation—made especially peaceful without Ao’nung.
Sunlight refracted on the water above, cutting the rays of light into breathtaking pieces that scattered below the surface like diamonds. You prolonged the pace of your ascent from the depths of the sea and stretched out your hands. You couldn’t escape the feeling of small-boned fish, which were no bigger than your fingers, swimming by your outstretched hands. It was another level of serenity that you experienced only after your task was complete, and you had something to throw into Ao’nung’s face.
Regardless of how peaceful the water around you was, you knew you had to return to the surface. With that eventuality hanging above you, you had finally emerged from the depths of the water and stepped upon the sand. Cool saltwater rolled down your skin in small beads and you’d taken a deep, clearing breath before you gathered your hair over your shoulder. Your hands squeezed your wet curls to wring out the excess water, and you basked in the feel of the sun on your skin.
Your eyes were fixated upon the rattan pathways of the village that stretched out across shallow water. You were watching the few Metkayina who were busy on the pathway fishing, repairing nets or taking care of the ilu in their pens. You hadn’t inherently been searching for Ao’nung. However, you couldn’t deny that showing him how many of those rare shells you found would be worth seeing his stupid face.
Eywa, as if she could read your mind, had intervened on your behalf. You hadn’t even been able to take a step past the low waves lapping at the beach, before you heard a sharp whistle. The indemnifying call of the stupid boy you both longed and loathed to see, had been a sharp knife that cut your good mood down to an indescribable low.
“Fishing without a net? Can’t catch much that way.” He appeared out of the water like one of the monsters’ humans told their children about, and you were remiss to think that he was watching you without you knowing.
“I was not fishing, skxawng.” You grit your teeth and brush your hair over your shoulders to your back and start reaching for your pouch to show him your haul. “I was looking for shells-”
“Distracted by shiny objects like a little eveng. Cute.” He breaks through the shallow water and starts walking toward you. That stupid familiar smirk on his face growing with every step he took. “You and my sister have that in common, skxawng, only Pril is better at it.”
“Don’t call me a skxawng!” You huff and shift your position, turning almost entirely to the right to face him, your hand still hovering above your pouch. “I was busy searching for rare shells, not flirting on the beach with Käyll!”
“Are you jealous, paskalin? It’s not enough that I’m better than you at hunting, now you are jealous of who I talk to?” Ao’nung walks behind your back and leans over, his chest pressing against your bare shoulder, his lips aggravatingly close to your neck as he peers down at your pouch. “You went to find shells?”
“Get away from me.” You use the force of your elbow to nudge him away from you. Pushing him back to give you space, narrowed eyes casted over your shoulder. “You think you are better at me than everything, you are always trying to outdo me.”
“There is a reason for that, if you’d ever let me tell you.” He shrugs off your claims, not denying them but also letting the possibility of the truth hang above you, if you were ever interested in it. “But your mouth is too big-”
“By Eywa I have no idea how you can function with such a big ego and such a stupid brain.” You bare your teeth and hiss at him, your tail whipping behind you as a bold testament to your irritation. “Stupid boy.”
“Don’t be mad because I am better at you than most things, being the second-best hunter in the clan is just as impressive.” Ao’nung quips coolly, taunting you with his words and that damned smirk that reflects how naturally annoying he can be.
“You are such an arrogant—” You raise your hand and point one of your fingers at him, silencing the rest of your words while your lips purse and your nose scrunches.
For the entirety of your lives since you and Ao’nung were set into the same group of hunters in training, he has been one-upping you and throwing it in your face.
Whenever he went out fishing, he would bring back his big catches and flaunt them at the cooking fire. Offering to show you how to clean and take care of a real fish “not a minnow like whatever you caught”, which had only further insighted your feud with him. Nevertheless you could have overlooked his stupid flaunting if it was just fish, but it was never just fish.
“I’m a better weaver than you are. Look at my net, look how strong it is. Do you want to borrow it?”
“Look, skxawng. I have big clams and crabs that I caught in my traps. Don’t they make you hungry?”
“I have a better method for throwing spears. Let me show you.”
You stare at him with a rising compulsion to knock him upside the head with your pouch, instead of acting on those incredibly tempting urges, you scowl at him and turn sharply on your heel.
Ao’nung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan has got to be the most vexing Na’vi in the entire clan, and you know he knows it. From the time you were a child, he has done nothing but try and outshine you and every other hunter in everything he does. While the two of you may have been friends at some point, or at least had the potential to be, you were long past that point.
Ao’nung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan was your enemy, your personal and convictable enemy. And you would never this competition with the arrogant prince.
Ao’nung had outdone himself, truly. He had never felt more pride than he did when he watched you storming up the beach like a child throwing a tantrum. With your stomping feet and your thick tail whipping back and forth, you were an angry gale-force that was going to be invading the village. He continued to watch you from the beach until you were out of view and then he had lifted his hand and ran it down his side until he had come to the ties of his tewng.
You were indescribable. Ao’nung had spent his entire childhood competing with you in the hopes that you would see him, truly see him. In the way he intended you to notice him—not as the son of the Olo’eyktan but as a strong warrior. Ao’nung only competed with you because he wanted to prove himself to you; to have you look at him like he was someone you could depend on in the future.
As a mate.
You were stubborn, by Eywa he had chosen to fall in love with the most obtuse and clueless Na’vi in the entire clan. Every attempt he made at trying to give gifts to the girl he had a crush on, had only goaded you further. He was trying to show you that he was capable of providing for you, of taking care of you so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger if you didn’t want to.
But no, you had to look at everything he had done for you like it was him being an egotistical idiot who was trying to make you feel incompetent. Instead of you thinking of him as a future mate, as a good hunter blessed by Eywa to care for you, you saw him as an enemy.
You were clueless, you were so obstinate about everything he showed you, all the acts he had done for you. It was vexing to the highest degree, and Ao’nung would have given up on you had it not been for how maddingly in love with you he was.
Eywa had both blessed and cursed him.
He wasn’t going to give up on you or let your cute stubborn ass get away from him. If all those other attempts had failed at getting you to see him than there was one more thing he could do.
The grand gesture of being your future mate was to build you a marui, even if you hadn’t known it was for you. And Ao’nung had the perfect spot already picked out and reserved, a place that you had your eyes on since you were a child. Up until recently it was occupied. The previous family had decided to take down their marui and move it to the other side of the village, leaving that prime spot open for the taking.
He had acted before you even knew, reserving the location and stealing it out from under you. Ao’nung knew that you would be pissed off when you found out; however, he would take all of your anger and ire and turn it into something productive.
Ao’nung was waiting for your rage and your unquenchable anger. He had started the process of building a marui for his mate, you, and he had tactfully told one of the gossiping weavers that this place was his. The news would undoubtedly get back to you, and your appearance would be as inevitable as it was volatile.
He didn’t have to wait long until you showed your face at the conveyed location. The sight of the future marui was at the cusp of the village at a quiet corner. It was overlooking the picturesque expanse of shoreline that was always rich with smooth shines and fine shells. The sun in the morning hit the water with a gleam that would be cast into the marui with a gentle sweep, decorating everything it touched in opalescence.
It was a beautiful place to have a marui, and it was no wonder why you were so keen on having it. The section of the village that his marui in, and by extensions yours, was going to be perfect for when you were mated.
And if you had little ones, they would be running around in the glow of the morning, terrorizing Ao’nung. If you chose to have babies, he would be a proud father that built all of this for you and them.
“Ao’nung!” You appear on the small hill that will lead down to the site, an aggressive and angry aura hanging around you like smoke. “Nga hiyìk paywll!”
Ao’nung’s chest rumbles with a chuckle as he hears your insult bouncing off the foundations of the marui. You had called him a dirty water creature with every conceivable amount of anger you could conjure up. And you’d stalked down the hill leading to this marui with a certain deadly beauty that stole his breath.
“What angered you now?” He waits for you to step into the foundation of the marui before he moves, meeting you halfway with a languid gait.
“You took this spot. THIS spot!” You wave your hand around with an exaggeration, drawing your gaze away from Ao’nung. “You know how much I wanted this, you skxawng!”
“I’m building this for my mate, suylang.” He cocks his head to the side, speaking to you with a tone that he knows will only spark your anger.
“You are such a…an asshole!” You raise your voice and place your hands on his chest, shoving at him. The force you use does send him back rocking on his heels, but he’s got enough strength and quick reflexes to correct himself.
“I can deal with every other time you had tried to show me up, to take a win away from me but this—!” You shove him again, and again, pushing him until his back hits the support beam of the marui. “You know how much I wanted this!”
“Fnu, tuté!” He smacks your hands away to stop you from counting to shove him, and when you try to strike him again, he reaches for your wrists.
His hands hold them tightly, keeping your arms stretched partially in front of you. He holds them to prevent your assault, though your fight isn’t over. You try to pull your wrists away and he counters your fight with his own. He yanks you toward him, your chest crashing against his. He’s using the element of surprise to hold both wrists in one hand while the other hand slips to the small of your back, holding you tightly against him.
“Skxawng.” He leans in and hisses at you, one of the first and only times he has ever been more than amused by your presence and fire. “You are as oblivious as a child.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” You try to pull away again. Struggling to yank your wrists free only seems to further the tension that’s growing between you.
“I’m talking about you being stupid. You think all I’ve done is to show you up? To be a competitor for you?” Ao’nung leans in, his gaze zeroing in on your lips. He’s raking his eyes slowly over the formation as if they are the source of his crazed desire.
“You have been, you’ve been nothing but-”
He silences you. He crashes his mouth against your own and when your lips part in surprise, Ao’nung takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. It’s a kiss that is boiling over with tension and desire, heightened lust that has been building for years.
“I’ve done all this for you. For you.” He emphasizes his point by sliding his hand up your chest to rest over your heart. “Eywa, I’ve been trying to court you for years and you’re too blind. All those times you thought I was trying to prove I was better than you, I was to show to you I could be a good mate.”
He watches the emotions roll over your face, watches you trying to process exactly what’s going on. You are having a hard time understanding what he’s saying. He knows, because there was never a realm of possibility where you thought Ao’nung would want you as a mate.
“You didn’t…you don’t-” you stutter and stumble over your words, your eyes searching his before they falter—and you look around the marui that’s being built.
“I do.” He snatches your chin in his hand and makes you look at him; makes you feel the sexual tension and inescapable need to mate. “Damn, I almost wish I didn’t.”
“This is for…me?” Realization hits you dead in the chest and for the first time in a long time, your solid outer guard crumbles.
You are quiet; you are exposed.
He takes the opportunity of your silence to pull your face closer, to press his lips against yours again. The momentum behind this kiss is softer, it’s more tender and affectionate, it makes you melt against him. All the previous fight you still held had completely fallen short and had been eradicated, replaced by the deeply hidden feelings you obviously had for each other.
“I want you as my mate.” Ao’nung lets the truth hang out in the open air, he confesses the desire that has been eating at him. “This is all for you, yawntu.”
“You’re a stupid, stupid boy.” You smile when he kisses you again, and Ao’nung slides his hand from your back to your tewng.
His fingers trail across the band that’s resting against your hips to keep the loincloth on, and then they dip further. His fingertips move along the base of your tail, teasing you with every stroke and every lingering touch. Your insult becoming soft exclamations of the beginning tendrils of pleasure that act like vines crawling up your calves to consume you.
Ao’nung’s hands shift for the second time, drawing away from the base of your tail and your chin, falling to your hips. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as he lifts you from the ground, your legs naturally wrapping around his waist. You hover above him, arms wrapped around his neck, keeping you flush with him.
Your lips find the others, tongues and teeth clashing as the kiss builds and becomes further driven by need and want. There’s a brief pause when he pulls his lips off yours and leans back, only to see you—to study you. And then he turns you both and presses your back against the thick and sturdy foundation post of the marui.
You are given no time to mouth off, no opportunity to make any comment about how desperate he is, because your head falls back and any protest becomes a moan. Ao’nung is taking every opportunity to give you exactly what you don’t know to ask for, starting with his mouth suckling your neck.
His teeth and tongue work in tandem to mark your flesh beneath your jaw in a path that ends near your collarbone. While he’s busy marking you with his mouth, his hands are busy in their own right. One hand is slipping beneath your top to play with your puckered nipple, teasing and pinching the taut nub.
The other hand pushes aside your tewng, and then is between your legs, fingers rubbing up and down your pussy lips, coating your thighs and clit with the evidence of your arousal. That sweet honey is sticking to his fingers and to your thighs, enticingly beckoning him with the delectable scent.
“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” He mumbles against your neck, nudging your jaw with his nose to give him more room and more access to your skin. “You can admit it, paskalin.”
“You have such a big ego, even when you’re supposed to be focusing on other-!” Ao’nung pushes two fingers into your seeping cunt, a slight burn and ache coming from the intrusion that quickly gives way to pleasure. Your head falls against the thick post, your back arching and your thighs falling further apart as your hands falter to his shoulders, nails digging into his muscles.
“What was that?” His voice is muffled by his lips suckling your neck, between his lips, fingers in your pussy and his hand playing with your nipple, he knows he’s driving you wild. “Did you say something?”
“Need more.” You speak two words and lean your head forward in order to look at him. “I need more.”
“You’re demanding, muntxate.”
“I’m not your mate yet.” You remind him and Ao’nung responds to your quip by slipping his hand beneath your top, to reach behind his head. He grabs hold of that thick braid that protects his kuru and drapes it over his shoulder. While his fingers are still lazily thrusting in and out of your pussy, his free hand exposes the feather-like veins of his kuru for you, holding them out for you.
“I’m offering it to you.” He sees your attention drop to the kuru while your breath hitches in your throat, a painful clench that makes you rigid from head to toe. “It’s yours if you want it.”
The lust that was passing back and forth between you, that was driving the need to consume each other, becomes less about just having sex. It’s not just the act of pleasure; it’s a promise that he’s offering you without reservations that will last a lifetime. It’s Ao’nung willing to do everything he can to make you happy, to be the kind of mate who would give his life to you if you wanted it.
“Are you sure?” You ask him and you feel the loss of his fingers from inside your pussy, although he doesn’t leave you without some manner of intimacy. Rather than his fingers inside you, Ao’nung leans forward and brushes his lips against yours.
Another kiss, but this is softer than every other he has given you. His lips dance slowly against your own and you reciprocate the kiss with your own outpouring of emotions, your own desires meeting his somewhere in the middle. Without speaking, you have committed yourselves to each other and there will never be another.
Ao’nung hears you whisper a yes against his lips, and he is wastes no time in removing his loincloth. He tosses it aside and adjusts his stance, bringing the swelling head of hic cock between your thighs where it’s nestled against your heat. He pulls back from your lips in order to search your eyes that bore into his own, silently asking again if this is what you want.
“Yes.” You verbally give him a response, a physical nod of your head following your confirmation.
That’s enough for him, that’s enough for Ao’nung to continue the start of your first time together as mates. He goes slowly, pushing only the head of his cock between your soaked and sensitive pussy lips. He’s holding you as you squirm and adjust to the thick protrusion that begins to fill you, feeling a pleasurable ache.
Inch by inch he fills you, slowly completing the physical bonding. He’s gentle and slow, he’s not giving you more than you are comfortable with. But when he bottoms out and you have taken every inch of him, he offers you soft whispered praises against your forehead.
“I want this.” You reach behind your head for your own thick braid, and like Ao’nung, you drape it over your shoulder. “I want you, stupid boy.”
“Good.” He kisses your forehead and holds his kuru out for yours. The feather-like tendrils search for each other until they meet, and when they have intwined with each other, a rush of electricity passes through you both.
It spurs you, the bond and its synapses that are snapping into place. You feel Ao’nung’s hips beginning to move, this cock thrusting in and out of you. Your hands on his shoulders run down to his back, feeling the smooth expanse of his muscles beneath your palms, and then they slide back up. Your back is arching against the support post of the marui, chest pressed tightly against his own.
Through tsaheylu, the connection between you two is running deeper than you could have imagined. You can see everything he does, feel every emotion he feels—including the long-standing affection he had held for you. It’s clear, it’s coming through your connected kuru’s. Ao’nung had spent years trying to impress you, trying to win you over and prove himself to a stubborn Na’vi girl who thought he only had a big ego.
“I love you.” He whispers against your neck, rocking his hips against you to drive his cock further.
Pleasure is thick, it’s a density that grows when Ao’nung confesses to his feelings while he’s spearing his cock into your dripping, aching cunt. It’s overwhelming and you can only try to meet his thrusts and the jolting of his hips as he takes you against the pole of the marui that’s yet to be built. Your nails dig into his shoulders; your brain and tongue are experiencing a disconnect because your mind is completely scrambled.
You moan, you whimper and whine for him, while your brain is trying to process the new foundation forming in your mind. You are mating; you are mated.
“I love you.” He whispers again, pulling out just enough for you to feel the throbbing head of his cock against the entrance of your cunt. “Eywa, I love you.”
“I love you too.” You return the sentiment and when Ao’nung pushes his cock back into you, fully, you bite down on his shoulder to prevent yourself from screaming his name and drawing unwanted attention.
With your kuru’s connected, through tsaheylu and the fullness you feel from Ao’nung, you are being broken down and rebuilt. You feel whole and perfect.
“I’m close.” He draws his lips back to your neck, whispering against your skin. His tongue slips from his mouth and he drags the wet muscle against your, following a path of your bioluminescent freckles to your jaw.
“Please.” You beg for it, using a single word, and Ao’nung complies.
He would never deny you, his mate.
There’s a stuttering of his hips; his thrusts are getting sloppier. He pulls his lips away from your neck, instead choosing to rest his forehead against yours. He breathes you in while you feel each other—orgasm’s crashing against the other until you are both blissfully overcome with pleasure. He pushes his hips further, just once more while the head of his cock twitches. There you feel it, the thick and warm release that begins to coat your sensitive walls, filling you with his seed.
He doesn’t pull away; he doesn’t pull out. He looks down at you while you’re still connected through your kuru’s, his eyes search yours with deepening, maddening devotion.
He cups your chin; he tilts your head back to slate his lips against yours as he speaks softly. “I have always loved you.”
nerdy stalkers reader and satoru whose favourite obsession is alt!suguru.
who would've thought, the two nerds who sat in the back of class had a plain, unsuspecting black journal dedicated to secret photos of alt!suguru plastered all over with all the dirty, filthy things they wanted him to do them scribbled inside.
sure, some of the pages are sticky, but when they get together in satoru's overly decorated dorm at night and have some fun thinking about their muse... they just can't help it!!!
but.. what happens when silly, stupid satoru forgets the book on his table during their english lecture.
the english lecture that they share with suguru...
Summary: You tried to leave. Toto makes sure you understand why you never will.
Part 2 of "You Were Never Going Anywhere."
Warnings: Unprotected p in v sex (reader assumed to be on birth control), daddy kink, breeding kink, cock warming, mild mind break, more Yandere!Toto, age gap (reader early/mid-20s, Toto mid-50s), power imbalance, obsessive behavior, forced restraint.
Dark Content Warning: This fic contains explicit sexual content and explores obsessive, coercive dynamics and psychological manipulation. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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Scheiße, you look so fucking beautiful like this, mein Liebling, Toto says to himself, his eyes devouring your unconscious form.
You lay vulnerable and exposed across the Egyptian silk sheets of his king-sized bed, dressed in a delicate black lace babydoll he’d so carefully chosen for you. The fabric barely clung to your curves, your breasts threatening to spill from the low neckline and your matching panties doing little to hide the glistening heat between your thighs.
Toto’s breath hitched as he felt his cock throb. It took every ounce of restraint not to take you right then and there—unconsciousness be damned.
“You don’t understand what you do to me,” he murmured, propping himself on one elbow as his fingers traced the side of your face. “How much I crave you, obsess over you–how deep this need runs, Liebling.”
His hand slipped down to your throat. He applied the faintest pressure with his thumb—not enough to wake you, but enough to feel your pulse flutter beneath his grip. The sedative dose had been generous, but Toto didn’t take risks---not with you, at least.
“It’s always been you, Schatzi,” he whispered. His eyes, so dark and fervent, gleamed with desire, devotion, and just a flicker of mania. “You’ve infected every thought, every choice, every breath I take. You are the obsession.”
He leaned in closer, lips grazing your temple.
“Soon, you’ll understand why I had to do this. Why this is the only way. I won’t apologize for loving you this much—I’d rather die before letting you go.”
His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You’re mine. You were mine the second I laid eyes on you, and you’ll stay mine. If I have to play dirty, I will—ground you with no-fly lists, renounce your citizenship, collar you like the good little pet you are and keep you locked in this penthouse forever. Try all you want, Liebling. Run, fight, scream—none of it matters.”
Toto’s fingers tightened ever so slightly.
“You’ll never leave me. Much like how I’ll never leave you.”
When you finally come to, your head throbs and your vision blurs. Everything feels too bright, too sharp. Your mouth is dry and a harsh cough escapes your throat.
As the fog begins to lift, panic blooms in your chest.
You never made it to the airport. You never left Monaco. Not only that, but Toto fucking drugged you before you could even think of making a run for it.
You're still here—trapped inside his sprawling, multi-million dollar penthouse. His gilded prison.
Worse still, you’re no longer dressed in the sweatpants and hoodie you had on earlier. No—this fabric is unfamiliar and far more revealing. You glance down and feel your stomach drop.
A black lace babydoll clings to your curves like it was tailored just for you, delicate and obscene. The sheer cups do little to hide your breasts, your nipples peeking through the translucent fabric. The panties—if they can even be called that—barely veil your cunt. You feel stripped, displayed, and vulnerable.
“I see you’re finally awake, Schatzi,” comes that low, gravel-edged Austrian voice from beside you. “You were out for quite a while. I might’ve been a little generous with the sedative.”
You turn your head—slowly, fearfully—and meet the smoldering gaze of your would’ve-been ex-boyfriend.
Or rather, your captor.
Toto sits at your side, his dark eyes blown wide with hunger and satisfaction. There’s no remorse. No hesitation. Just the wild, possessive glint of a man who has what he wants.
“Did you really think I’d let you leave?” he asks, voice calm but laced with disbelief, a dry scoff curling at the edges. “You should know me better than that, Liebling. I’m not the kind of man who loses what’s his.”
“Holy fuck—I need to get out of here,” you mutter, shoving the down comforter off your body as you try to swing your legs over the side of the bed. However, you freeze when only one leg budges but the other doesn’t move at all.
Your breath catches. You rip the blanket back the rest of the way and your blood runs cold.
A length of black silk rope is tied tight around your ankle, its other end knotted to the bedframe. You’re not just in Toto’s penthouse. You’re bound inside it.
“Oh my God,” you whisper, fumbling at the rope with trembling fingers. “Are you—you’re fucking crazy? What the hell are you thinking tying me up like this, Toto?”
Your panic rises with every failed tug, but Toto only laughs, low and amused, like he’s watching a child throw a tantrum.
“I told you I’d do anything to keep you with me, didn’t I?” he says, his lips curling into a smug, cruel smile. “I’m not above restraints, Liebling, especially if it means keeping what’s mine exactly where she belongs.”
Before you can even try to undo the knot around your ankle, Toto pulls you back down onto the bed before moving to hover over you. He now has you pinned down underneath him, looking up wide-eyed and afraid.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you the love and reassurance you deserved, mein Liebe,” Toto murmurs, lips hovering inches from yours as his thumb strokes your cheek with reverent tenderness. “I was too blind, too self-absorbed to see how much pain you endured just to stay by my side. I hate myself—every single day—for not doing something sooner.”
He exhales slowly, the warmth of his breath brushing your lips.
“But now that I know better, I can’t let you go,” he adds, his gaze darkening with something far more dangerous than guilt. “It’s not safe for you out there, Schatzi. You need my love, my protection, my guidance—and I’ll gladly shield you from the world that failed you. If that means stripping you of your autonomy and keeping you tied up in this penthouse forever, then so be it.”
You can barely breathe.
It’s not just the rope. It’s not even the fear.
It’s the suffocating realization that the man looming over you—the man you once trusted—believes this is love.
This isn’t the warm, stoic partner you met years ago. No. This is someone else entirely:
A man driven mad by obsession—a man so powerful, so in love, he’d rather kill than be left behind.
“You’re scared of me, aren’t you, Schatzi?” Toto teases, smirking as if your terror only fuels him.
“Just know this,” he adds, his hand trailing from your cheek down to your throat, where he gives it a gentle squeeze, “I would never want to hurt you, but I’m not above getting my hands dirty to keep you here. If you try to leave me again, I’ll break both your legs myself and tie you to this bed forever.”
“You’re fucking insane,” you spit out, your voice ragged with disbelief and horror. “This isn’t love, Toto. It’s not devotion—it’s a fucked up, psychotic obsession.”
“But obsession is a kind of love, is it not?” he replies smoothly, almost amused.
His finger drags across your bottom lip before pressing into your mouth, flattening against your tongue like a makeshift gag.
“I am so irrevocably in love with you, Schatzi. You’re all I think about. Everything I do, every breath I take—it’s for you. You’re not just an obsession, mein liebe. You’re everything.”
“No more long distance. No more letting the public’s opinions hurt you,” Toto adds, his gentle whisper masking the possessive undertones of his voice. “This is what you wanted though, right, Schatzi? Just you and me, against the world.”
Moments later, your babydoll and Toto’s nightwear are strewn across the bedroom floor.
The sound of skin against skin fills the large, spacious master bedroom of Toto’s penthouse, with only the lights of the Monte Carlo skyline illuminating your bodies as he has you nearly folded in half in a mating press.
With your ankles thrown over his broad, firm shoulders, you can barely breathe as he pistons into your shamefully dripping cunt. Despite everything that’s happened tonight, you’re unable to stop the way your body betrays you, gushing around his cock with every thrust.
“Look at you,” Toto taunts, grabbing your chin and forcing your eyes to meet his—even as they flutter back in delirium. “You say you want to leave, but your greedy little pussy is strangling me. What is it that you really want, Liebling?”
Before you can even respond, he slams harder, angling perfectly to pound your g-spot until your voice breaks into needy whimpers.
“You may lie to me, but your body won’t,” he growls, sliding his thumb past your lips and pressing it down onto your tongue. “So be a good girl and take Daddy’s cock. Let me stretch you open and remind you who you belong to.”
“Fuck—right there!” You whimper, drool slipping down your chin as your eyes roll back. “Daddy, you—you’re gonna kill me. I’m gonna–I’m gonna die…”
The sight of you falling apart underneath Toto makes his smirk turn cruel. He knows every weakness of your body: how you liked your clit rubbed, the angle that abuses your g-spot, and how a mating press makes you break like a bitch in heat.
“Oh no you don’t, Liebling,” Toto chides, forcing your jaw up to face him. “You’re going to take every fucking inch of me until you break, and until your pussy aches for Daddy’s cock.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he adds with a dark chuckle, not missing the way you involuntarily whimper at his words. “Becoming daddy’s full-time cum slut? To spread your legs whenever I want you? Scheiße, I could even make you wear short skirts without panties every race weekend, just so you can hold my cum while smiling for the cameras—and then I’d bend you over my desk and fill you up again.”
When your silence stretches, Toto halts his thrusts entirely. You cry out at the unbearable stillness, but he only clicks his tongue, grip tightening on your jaw.
“Respond when I’m speaking to you, Liebling,” he commands, “or you don’t get to cum.”
“Y–yes, Daddy,” you weakly stammer, voice wrecked. Your eyes are glazed, submissive, and full of devotion. “I–I wanna be your dirty little cum slut. Wanna–wanna let the whole paddock know who I belong to…”
“Good girl,” Toto purrs, resuming his relentless pace. His smirk sharpens as your walls continue to spasm helplessly around his cock. “Fuck—you’re so good for Daddy, mein liebe–my everything.”
Even though your brain was screaming at you for enjoying this, you couldn’t help the way your body caved at his touch. Your walls fluttered around Toto’s cock, and each sinful, patronizing taunt from his lips only caused your cunt to greedily tighten. Every word and movement was made strategically, all with the intention of not only bringing you to an earth-shattering orgasm, but to also break you.
Using your pleasure-filled stupor to his advantage, Toto grabs your jaw with his hand and pushes your cheeks together.
“Open,” he grunts, barely giving you time to comply before pressing his thumb against your tongue and spitting on it. “Now swallow.”
You dumbly nod and comply, closing your mouth momentarily and swallowing Toto’s saliva as if it were nectar from the gods.
“Oh fuck,” you moan, involuntarily clawing your nails into the skin of Toto’s back, “Daddy, I–I’m gonna cum soon…”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Toto patronizingly chides, halting his movements inside of you completely. “You don’t cum until Daddy says so. I’m nowhere near done with you, Liebling.”
“I won’t stop until I’ve fucked all the defiance out of you,” he grunts, briefly pulling out to flip you onto your hands and knees before pushing your hips down at an angle, “break you down, and build you back up again into my perfect little girl who won’t even think of running away.”
With that, Toto slams into you with one sharp, heavy thrust. The air is knocked out of your lungs as his cock stretches you out from a new angle, but you can’t help but scream into the pillow from pain and ecstasy.
“Oh my God—fuck!” You exclaim, clawing at the pillow as Toto fucks you stupid from behind. The new angle and roughness of his movements hits your g-spot with calculated accuracy, causing your walls to flutter around his cock. “It’s too much, Daddy–your cock is gonna kill me…”
Toto can’t help but smirk when you begin babbling nonsense, content with himself for having broken you entirely.
Scheiße, you look fucking wrecked like this, he thinks to himself. Gone is the hurt, stubborn woman who tried to storm out of his penthouse all those hours ago. Now, she was completely replaced by a broken, compliant little girl who would die without her Daddy.
“Cock drunk already, Liebling?” he taunts, grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull your back flush against his chest. “You’re finally understanding what happens when you try to leave me?”
All you can do is dumbly nod, your resolve crumbling entirely as his cock continues abusing your g-spot.
“Y–yes, Daddy,” you weakly reply, eyes rolling back in their sockets as focusing on anything other than the feel of Toto stretching you out becomes nearly impossible. “I–I’m sorry for being a bad girl…”
“That’s right,” Toto mutters, his lips ghosting over yours as one of his hands reaches down to place slow, calculated pressure on your clit, “you’re doing so well, mein liebe. Now be a good girl and come for me, ja?”
As if on command, your body involuntarily spasms underneath Toto’s cock, walls milking him of all his worth as your orgasm washes over you. It’s impossible to speak—with the sensations of his tip abusing your g-spot and the pressure on your clit, Toto makes sure you’re fucked stupid.
“Fuck,” he grunts, not even letting you come down from your high before rapidly picking up his thrusts, “I’m going to breed you, Liebling—gonna fill this little cunt and have you dripping for days.”
With a few final movements, Toto finally comes inside of you with an animalistic grunt—making sure he’s buried to the hilt as his cum floods your overstimulated walls. Even while he’s breeding you, he doesn’t stop thrusting–if anything, his movements become even more aggressive.
Even after you both have come down from your highs, Toto doesn’t pull out. Instead, he simply turns to lie down on his side, pulling your back into his chest as his semi-hard cock remains deeply buried inside you.
Too dazed, tired, and fucked absolutely stupid, you don’t respond. Albeit involuntarily, your body relents to Toto’s manhandling as you let him surround you.
“You’re mine, Schatzi,” he whispers, his arms tightening just enough to remind you they’re there. “And if you ever think about leaving, I’ll take everything that makes you think you can.”
“Your independence. Your certainty. Your sense of self—until coming back to me feels like the only thing you remember how to do.”
His arms close around you, warm and unyielding, pinning you to the mattress as exhaustion seeps into your bones.
Your mind tells you to run. Your body no longer remembers how.
And in that quiet, suffocating stillness, you understand the truth you’re too overwhelmed to confront out loud:
Toto Wolff would lose his sanity long before he ever let you leave.
☆ divider credits: @cafekitsune (MDNI + star text dividers)
☆ A/N: First off, thank you so much for all the love and support from Part 1 of this fic---my heart is so warm!! I'm sorry this took so long to publish---I pushed this off for the longest time because of writer's block and a bunch of other personal obligations that came up :')
Please feel free to leave any feedback and suggestions for future projects---I love hearing from you all, and I hope you enjoyed reading!
Series Title/AU: My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character
<<read the synopsis and content warnings first>>
Featuring: Jichang Kwak
Trigger Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, rough sex, slapping, oral sex (female on male), use of a sex toy, masturbation, mild exhibitionism, breeding kink, degrading names used on Reader, bratty Reader, horny Reader XD
Author's Note: Fuck the Kims (except for Jake and Minseon), let's focus on this beautiful specimen~ it took a few months but I finally decided he was worthy of the harem
You've always known that time moved weirdly within Lookism compared to your original reality. Or maybe how the people perceived time was whacky.
Daniel Park, the big one, was missing and yet no one—not Zoe or Zack—has brought it up. When you asked the teachers, they acted like he was out sick for a few days instead of months.
And Little Daniel lost weight in what, weeks?
You rest your elbows on your desk. You were forgetting something important.
You could chalk this up to your typical memory issues, but to be honest, so much crap happened in this comic that you forgot most of it before your death.
You racked the inside of your head for the truth.
"Mm…" Think! This was one of your students. "…"
"Ah, whatever."
You gave up.
Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
"Let's not think about it. I'm sure he's fine—he is the protagonist," you reassured yourself as you grabbed your wallet and headed downstairs.
You didn't like eating in the canteen with the rest of the staff and the students, so you were going to buy some strawberry milk and come back to the infirmary in a jiffy.
That was the plan, but…
"Unnie!"
You gave her a polite nod but before you could walk away, she was suddenly in front of you.
"It's rare to see you here, Miss Nurse!"
"That's on purpose. I'm just here to—"
"Come on, I'll treat you to lunch."
"You don't have to—h-hey!"
Zoe hooked your arms together and dragged you to her table, where Mira and Joy were eating. For some reason, Zack and Jay were seated with the Burn Knuckles' and Duke.
"Unnie, you're glowing today," Joy, Jay's little sister, complimented.
"Thanks, um, I need to—"
Someone put down a tray of food in front of you. It was Yui Kim. "It's our treat, so dig in, Miss Angel!"
"Don't call me that—"
Mira pushed a carton towards you. "Here's your strawberry milk, unnie."
"…okay, what's going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"Zack is looking over here with tearful eyes. I know you guys eat together so what's the deal?"
The girls aside from Mira exchanged glances, then they leaned towards you. "Unnie, please teach us!"
"Huh?"
"How can we be more popular with guys?"
Right.
You chuckled and picked up your spoon. "This again, huh? We've had this talk separately and dozens of times. Crushes and boyfriends are okay, but you should really be focusing on your studies right now. Did you think ganging up on me will get you a different answer?"
They flinched, looking like puppies left in the rain.
"I don't understand why you girls keep coming to me for tips, I'm not a celebrity or anything, I'm not popular." Not with worthwhile men.
They exchanged doubtful looks.
Yui spoke up, "I-it's just that…"
"Just that what?"
"Well, please don't be offended but… we have seen you with plenty of guys, and—I'm not insinuating anything! We're not calling you a slu—"
Zoe covered her mouth. "What she means to say, unnie, is that we know how charming you are and only a dummy would be blind to your beauty! Right, girls!?"
The rest bobbed their heads.
Ugh.
"First of all, you can't go around thinking that two people of the opposite sex are in a romantic relationship simply because you've seen them together. Secondly, even if I were—hypothetically—in a more-than-friendly relationship with these men, you can't go around gossiping or judging me. That goes for anyone else. You could really ruin someone's life, is that clear?"
They nodded nervously. "Yes!" "Yup!" "Understood, ma'am!"
You sighed.
"We're sorry, unnie," Mira piped in, cheeks flushed with shame, "we didn't mean it to sound like we were judging you."
"It's okay." You shouldn't be too hard on them, and you would be an idiot to expect teenagers to be wise about their life choices. "But… fine, I shouldn't be saying, but I'll share my experience with you."
"Really?"
"I don't know if it would make you popular or anything, but from personal experience, the men I've been with preferred women who knew themselves. These guys are vastly different from each other, with different preferences, but they all liked me because I didn't go for them hoping to complete myself. I have a life outside of my relationships and most importantly—" you pointed a spoon at them "—when I'm with a man, it's because I like him, not because I want him to like me, got that? Don't ever lower yourself to make someone like you back. If a man expects you to change or degrade yourself to be worthy of his attention then he is someone you should be running away from.
"I don't expect you to be satisfied with my answer, but stuff like changing your hairstyle or the way you talk is no solid solution either—hey, are you listening?"
The three were on their phones.
"Don't worry, Miss Angel, we totally understand!"
"We're sharing your knowledge in the group chat right now."
You shrugged and started eating your free jjimdak[1] and rice.
From the corner, Mira watched you.
"…yes, Mira? Is there something you want to ask me?"
"Oh, um, it's nothing, please keep eating."
"All right."
"…"
"…"
You put down the spoon. "Just spit it out."
"!!!"
"I can tell that you have something on your mind."
The other three looked at her, curious, surprising Mira. After several seconds of intense staring from her friends, she capitulated.
"You don't have to answer, unnie, but I was just wondering… have you… ever been in a serious relationship before?"
Huh. Well that's a first.
Mira was too shy and polite to ask about your personal life.
You smiled. "Geez, is that all?"
"You don't have to answer—"
"I have one." In this world, you had a relationship that could've been more. "Someone I thought I could love."
Jichang Kwak's cock slapped against your cheek. You kissed its side gingerly as you maneuvered backward until your lips met the tip. Smiling, you gave it a peck, then a kitten lick.
Your man grumbled. You looked up and found him glaring at you behind his glasses. His displeased expression sent electricity through you.
"I'm sorry," you said with a giggle.
Staring back at him, you stuck out your tongue and gently guided his head into your mouth.
Without warning, his rough hand grabbed your head. His entire length went inside you, the tip hit the back of your throat as tears welled up in your eyes.
"You're such a tease," Jichang groaned.
You began to move, feeling him stiffen inside you.
He whispered your name, his fingers moved to the top of your skull, petting it sweetly as he struggled to keep looking at you.
You ached to be touched, but instead of satisfying that need, one hand touched his thigh—his muscles straining under you—and the other groped his scrotum, eliciting a grunt from your lover.
You pulled back with a loud, wet pop before peppering his balls with fleeting kisses.
His gentle fingers left your hair and clenched over the sofa cushions.
He's so cute.
You continued sucking him. The normally calm and composed Jichang Kwak's sounds echoed in this hotel suite. Every trembling pant, every suppressed whimper set fire to your loins.
"S-slow down…" he muttered, throwing an arm over his pink face.
His weak plea only spurred you on. You rubbed his shaft, now completely hard, as you took his balls in your mouth.
He drew in a sharp breath, "You little—!"
Your ministrations intensified, urging him to let go.
Against his better judgment and glanced down.
You were focused on his pleasure, your lipstick smudged from making out with his manhood. Then, feeling his gaze, your lashes fluttered and you raised your head, flashing him with those temptress eyes.
You gave him a taunting smile and Jichang threw his head back—
The hotness inside him unraveled all at once.
Jichang cursed. His entire body jerked as strings of white squirted from his tip and onto your face and dripped down to your chest and staining the champagne-colored negligee he bought for you.
His musky scent permeated the air.
"My, that's a lot more than usual," you said, standing up. "Anyway, I made you cum in less than five minutes. Guess I win again—"
The world swung as you were tossed onto the sofa.
Jichang hovered above you.
"You're not angry, are you, baby?" you teased, taking his glasses off him. "You just looked so stressed, I wanted to help you relax as soon as possible."
He slapped your face.
The sound of his hand hitting your skin hung in the air.
For a moment, you were quiet, and then, as you relished the heat and the pain, you pressed your tongue against the cheek—and smiled. "Is that it?"
He smacked your hands, sending his glasses flying across the room.
You two stared at each other in silence before you grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. Your teeth grazed each other. Rough. Sloppy. Desperate. Nothing like the usual Jichang Kwak.
"Hurry," you panted, "put it in."
"Always so damn impatient," he scolded, but he was already sitting up, your ankle in hand.
He sneered when he saw the pink egg vibrator inside you, its cord and remote hidden inside your stocking.
"I knew something was off when you didn't start touching yourself earlier, you little cheater." He yanked the vibrator by the cord.
You gasped and wiggled at the sudden emptiness.
Jichang dropped the still-vibrating egg on the floor, drenching the carpet with your juices.
"I heard the buzzing the moment I picked you up for dinner, you slut. How did it feel to get off surrounded by complete strangers?"
He shoved two long fingers inside you.
You cried out—
"You were pretty mouthy a minute ago, what happened? Hm?"
He curled his fingers, playing with your special spot.
Your back arched.
"Come on, sweetheart, answer me."
"I-I'm sorry, okay? Just—just—ahn!"
"I can't hear you, bee."
"I-I'm sorry f-for pissing you off, Jichang, I—ah—I'll be good I promise so please—please, baby—" you clenched around him "—put your cock inside me."
"That's my girl." He slung your calf over his shoulder and rammed his cock inside you.
Your eyes rolled back.
"F-fuck, how is a little whore like you still so tight?" As he pistoned in and out of you like a man possessed. "You're squeezing me."
You couldn't retort even if you wanted to. Drool leaked from the corner of your lips, your tongue lolled out as short, shallow breaths escaped you.
"I'm so close—fuck…"
Jichang put a hand over your stomach. "I can tell you're close, too. You're clenching down harder on me, it's like you never wanna let go. Do you want me to finish inside?"
You didn't answer. You couldn't answer.
"Hey." He bent over and squeezed your cheeks with one hand. "If you don't answer I'm really going to finish inside you."
With glazed eyes, you could only pant in response.
He gritted his teeth and dropped your leg from his shoulder. "Fine. I'm gonna put a baby in you, then you'll really be mine."
As if finally hearing him, your expression changed.
Jichang's jaw twitched as you gave him a half-hearted cry, "Oh, no~ Please don't finish inside me."
Your face was twisted into a deranged smile that only knew pleasure.
You locked your legs behind him.
"Oh, please, no—" you "cried" out "—I might really get pregnant."
Jichang smirked and groped your thighs. "You're one crazy bitch."
***
You awoke to pungent smoke.
You rolled to your side and found Jichang Kwak with a cigarette.
"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't smoke when I'm with you," you said, pulling the duvet to your chest as you shimmied up the headboard, touching your bare shoulder with his.
"I'm sorry, bee," he breathed before putting it out on the nightstand. "I've had a lot on my mind lately."
He offered you a bottled water, which you accepted gratefully.
You took a few sips before giving it back. "Spill."
Instead of answering, he cupped your face.
"I'm okay," you reassured him.
"It's going to bruise."
"That's the point."
He narrowed his eyes.
"If it were a real problem I would've yelled 'cucumber.'"[2] You rubbed his wrist. "Trust me, this is nothing, especially compared to the other stuff guys have done to me."
He tensed briefly before letting go. "I called the front desk, the ice will be here soon."
"Appreciate it." You pulled your knees to your chest. "So, what's been giving you trouble?"
"It's not what but who; my brothers are being a nuisance." He finished the rest of the water before tossing the bottle in the trash bin.
"They're not hurt, are they?"
He smiled. "No."
"Jail?"
"Not yet."
You laughed. "Good."
Jichang was silent for a moment. "Actually, they've been pestering me to introduce you."
You sighed at the memory. "Anyway, I can't tell you the sordid details, but he was handsome, smart, funny and reliable." He was also rich and was your perfect match in bed.
All four girls listened, their eyes sparkling.
"And then?"
"Did he cheat on you?"
"Did you find out he was already married?"
"Geez, your imagination is something else."
You then realized that you haven't heard any background noise since you started this "counseling" session.
You turned around and saw that everybody else—students, teachers and even the lunchladies—was looking at you. The principal was somehow sitting right beside you now. "Go on, why did you break up?"
"…No comment."
"Aw, pooh."
"I'll sue you for harassment."
"You're so mean, Miss Angel!"
"Not you too!"
***
Somewhere in Chungcheong, Jichang Kwak sat by the rice paddy, lighting a cigarette.
"I thought you quit a long time ago." Bakgu Noh, his benefactor, strolled in with his arms crossed behind his back.[3]
"I suddenly had the urge."
"You don't have to explain anything to me. Boss Gapryong was a big fan of pipes and cigars, too."
Jichang forbade even his own brothers from smoking near him so this was his first hit in years. The bittersweet, familiar burn in his lungs brought back a distant memory:
"If you're gonna participate in self-mutilation, kindly do it when I'm not within smelling range."
"That looks fancy," said Mr. Noh.
Jichang stopped his daydreaming. "Pardon?"
The older gentleman gestured at his metal lighter.
"Oh. This. I guess? It was a gift."
"Can I see it?"
"Of course, sir."
Mr. Noh examined the lighter and then read the inscription, "'When you die from lung cancer, I want this back. XOXO—'"
The man chuckled as he returned the lighter.
"Hilarious, right?" Jichang wryly mumbled.
"So," Mr. Noh's eyes twinkled as he asked, "who is she?"
"Huh?"
"I swear, you brats must think I fell off the turnip truck yesterday. I know that face—and that smile? Some woman from the city has you wrapped around her pinky finger."
"It's that obvious, huh…"
Mr. Noh sat next to him on the bench. "Well, I did spend a lot of time with Boss Gapryong Kim. That man—"
"—loved his ladies'? I mean no disrespect, sir, but my relationship with this woman isn't that shallow."
Mr. Noh paused. Then a lightbulb went on in his head. "Oh, right! I forgot that your generation doesn't know."
"Doesn't know what?"
"It's true that the boss became…wilder with the fairer sex as he got older, but he wasn't always like that. If anything, it was the opposite: that man devoted his body and soul to one woman." [4]
"What?"
Mr. Noh gazed at the clouds. "You know, he didn't used to smoke? And he wasn't a big drinker, either. He hit on a lot of girls, but that was just an act. Everyone who was close to him knew that he was just doing it to make her jealous—not that it worked, haha."
"Sir, didn't Gapryong Kim cheat on his wife a lot?" No one was surprised when rumors of his illegitimate children popped up.
But Mr. Noh shook his head. "I'm not talking about his wife."
"!?"
"I don't know the details regarding Boss' marriage to Ms. Minseon Kang, but she's not the one who has his heart."
"Who…"
"Boss Kim gave his everything to one woman, and when she died, she took half of him with her. He was never the same after that." Mr. Noh pointed at the lighter in Jichang's hand. "I told you that he didn't smoke or drink much before, right? One night, he got so drunk that he confessed something to me—
'Noona stopped showing up in my dreams long ago, she doesn't even show up in my nightmares anymore… But… sometimes, when I feel like I'm going to die from all the booze or when the stench of my pipe gets too strong, I can hear her voice telling me to knock it off. If I—if I sleep with more girls, do you think she'll finally show up and scold me for cheating on her? Maybe she'll even slap me for disgracing Minseon—Oh! I hope she slaps me. She loves Minseon and she would have loved Jake… She'll definitely… definitely hate me… I miss her, Bakgu… I miss her so much… '"
Jichang was speechless.
"I can't help but wonder, maybe he was happy to finally die? If only so he could be by her side."
"Mr. Noh…"
"Haha, sorry for the rambling. You do that once you get old."
"Not at all. I never realized the truth."
"Well, it's not like the truth changed much. He did cheat on Ms. Minseon, his legal wife, and neglected the young master. Still, despite his flaws, he didn't deserve to go the way he did."[5]
"Of course, sir. I'm just surprised that I've never heard of this before. For such an influential woman to disappear from history is…"
"It's not like we tried to cover it up on purpose. No one intended to erase her relationship with the boss, but we were all afraid, you see."
"Afraid of what?"
"I told you, when she died, a big piece of him died with her. We were afraid he would try to join her so we refrained from even mentioning her name. Ms. Minseon isn't the type to emote and she would shut down whenever noonim was brought up. Even Reporter Kim refused to write an article about the legendary Gapryong Kim's first love, out of respect for her fallen friend."
"I see." That's a lot to unpack. "It's still hard to believe, for him to change completely because of a woman…"
"You say that now but you make the same face he used to make, you know?" Mr. Noh rose to his feet. "Be careful."
"I'm not going to change or kill myself because of some woman."
"I meant be careful not to have regrets. Take it from an old man, life is short and cruel. You might die tomorrow without ever patching things up with the lady who has you sneaking a cig after all these years."
[1] Jjimdak. Korean. Braised chicken and vegetables in a sweet and salty sauce.
[2] Cucumber is Jichang Kwak and Noona's safeword.
[3] Bakgu Noh. He's from the Pre-Generation and was Gapryong Kim's driver.
During the Holidays arc (Ch. 434 - 442), it's revealed that he moved to Chungcheong, where he and Jichang Kwak tried to find and release evidence regarding Gapryong Kim's murder.
[4] Once again, here is a link explaining the timelines and Noona's reincarnations.
[5] Bakgu Noh refers to Minseon with "Ms." instead of "Mrs." because she hates being reminded she was married to Gap (in this AU, there's a reason for their marriage, and it ain't romantic love) and everyone, including Minseon, knows that the real Mrs. Gapryong Kim is Pre-Gen!Noona
🫵 a/n: DO NOT ask me whether Noona and Jichang got together before or after Mexico or where in the plot are we or what's gonna happen next, because I don't even know anymore.
We had sex with Jichang Kwak, that's the takeaway here. Stay focused. Oh, and the Gap stuff too, I guess lol.
