I’m KC, I’m a 23 year old black writer with she/they pronouns. I’ve been writing as a hobby for around 7 years, though the world of fanfiction and 18+ writing is pretty new to me. I’m so lucky to have found a community with interests similar to mine, and am hoping to expand my writing horizons with the help of critique and feedback.
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This was always my favorite part of the week, despite the trek up to the highest hill in the village. Silent, peaceful, and most importantly, full of the mysterious green giants that had plagued my mind since I’d discovered them. I’d woken up early once weekly and skipped morning service to come here since I’d discovered this place. The green giants seemed to get up earlier than we did to start their day, and their town was in motion while ours was wasting hours away. I almost felt apart of them when I watched them stomp to their respective places of work. There was something so personal about watching them, just awoken, most of them with messy hair still. If I only knew what they were. What language they spoke. Why my village never spoke about them. The fact that my village had no stories about them means they probably pose no danger. We had stories about every creature in the world they deemed evil. Witches, fairies, sirens. But nothing about huge green people in the very same forest of us. I wonder if th-
A twig snapped behind me, yanking me from my thoughts. I spun around and searched, buy could find no one. The village elders would punish me if they knew I was skipping service.
“Who’s there?” I stood. “Hello? Who’s there?” I took a step towards the woods. “I-I…I was just taking a break on the way to morning service”
“What?” A masculine voice came from the woods, almost deep, but not quite. I couldn’t make out a body, however, not even a shadow. “…morning service?” He sounded curious.
I took an involuntary step forward. Who wouldn’t know about morning service? It’s mandatory. This must be an outsider, but where from?
“Why are you so tiny? Some kind of fairy? Elf?” I gasped incredulously at his words.
“I am perfectly normally sized, maybe you’re just too big. Let me see you.” I crossed my arms across my chest.
I heard shuffling, and eventually noticed the bushes were moving, getting closer and closer to me until finally a body emerged from the heavy wood.
Not just any body. A giant, green body. A gaso escaped my lips and my eyes widened considerably. My lips formed words, but nothing came out. I snapped my mouth shut, and considered his height to mine. I was only at his chest, which was still a lot, but he’s much smaller than I considered his kind to be. I looked up at his face and took in his features. They looked almost…human? I’d never gotten a close enough look at them to see their features before, but this isn’t how I’d pictured them. He had monolid eyes, the top lid folded over in the inner crease. It gave him a sharp look, along with his cheekbones, but his wide lips, fuller on the top than bottom, gave him a natural smirk. He didn’t have the tusks like the others, but he was dressed like them, in mostly leather and metal fixings. It clashed harshly to my village, who wore mostly silks and light cloths.
I’d been partaking in his culture from a far for months now. This was my chance to finally figure out who-and what-he was.
“Just as I thought, you’re too big. What are you, some kind of…earth giant?”
“I am an orc.”
“ Orc?”
“ Yes. And you are…”
“ Human.”
“ Ah. I might have known.” He nodded familiarly. “ Why are you alone in the woods? I thought humans liked to shelter their women.”
“ I don’t need sheltering, thank you.”
“ Clearly not.” I caught the hint of a smirk on his lips.
—
We spent the next hour or so talking, or mostly bickering, to each other. He was compelled to stay, curious about humans, as I was curious about orcs. I noticed the motion in my village picking up, and sighed, beginning to stand.
“I have to go.” I mumbled, earning a frown from him.
“ But we just started talking. Can’t you stay?”
“If my village finds out I’m talking to you I’d get in trouble.”
“ Why? We’ve never done anything to hurt your people. I only just learned of their existence.” He seemed almost disappointed, and slightly hurt. I shrugged. “Say you’ll come back.”
“I come back every week.”
“What day?” I shrugged. “ You’ll actually come, won’t you?”
“This is my spot, I come every week. That won’t change.” I looked back at the village. “ I really have to go.” I ran away before he could say anything.
–
The orc and I had met weekly for at least a month. I’d grown fond of him, in more ways than one. I’d learned his name was Drudun, and he was 21. 3 years older than me. The past few weeks he’d been bringing me gifts from his village, including an orcish corset. I loved it, but I knew I’d only ever wear it in the confines of my home. This week as we sat on the hilltop, a bit closer than we should’ve, I presented him with a pie I’d baked myself.
“I made this all by myself, crust and all. It’s a cherry pie, do you have cherries in your village?” He shook his head “ well, I hope you like it. I didn’t bring anything to cut it with, though.” This brought a smile to his face and he dug through his bag, pulling out a leather pouch that held a short knife, carved beautifully. I stared in awe. I’d only ever seen kitchen knives so close before.
“It’s a dagger. We usually give it to the kids in our village, but it seemed about your size.”
“ It’s for me?!” He smiled and nodded, putting it in my hand and holding his palm under my hand. “Thank you so much. I’ll cherish it.”
I cut him a huge portion of the pie, as I’d learned his appetite is astounding. He’d tried a bite and groaned in satisfaction, signaling he’d liked the taste. I had to swallow the lump in my throat and look away.
“So, what does your husband think of you visiting me every week?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t like it if he existed. What about you? How does your orc wife feel about you hanging out with a human girl?” I teased.
“ She also doesn’t exist.”
“ Why not? I’m not sure about orc standards, but I think you’re pretty handsome.”
“ Well, I’m actually only half orc. And half human, so…I think women fear I won’t be…up to par. Why haven’t you accepted a proposal yet?”
“ I don’t want to lose my freedoms. I love being able to be myself. If I get married, I’ll be reduced to what my husband thinks of me.” I shrugged. “ I wish it didn’t have to be that way.”
“You should marry an orc. It’s not like that in my village.”
“ I wish I could see your village. What would the orcs think of me?”
“ They would think you’re tiny. Probably be wary at first, they wouldn’t want to frighten you. My village is pretty accepting, though. It’s not like they’d have a problem with…” he trailed off.
“ With me and you?” I whispered. He nodded. “Wish I could say the same”
“I know. I just wish they could see…how much I love you.” He cupped my face with his huge palm. My lip quivered.
“I love you, too.” I threw myself into him and he hugged me tightly. I looked into his eyes, but only got a quick look before his lips were on mine.
He leaned in, connecting his lips with mine. It was a deep, passionate kiss. All of our feelings had come to a head, and our urges had gotten too strong for us to resist.
He moaned into my mouth and flipped me softly into the grass. I gasped when I felt his large hand rest on my ribcage, just under my breast. This is the first time I’d ever been touched by a man. He pulled back for only a second, long enough to open his mouth and reconnect, deepening our kiss. I tangled my fingers in his hair and tilted my head to the side. He pecked, kissing along my jaw and neck. I turned to expose my neck to him, whining when he hit certain spots.
“Run away with me.” He breathed between kisses. “ Come to my village, we can be together there. What’s holding you here?”
“ Nothing.” I shook my head. “ Absolutely nothing.” I turned to look at him smiling and holding his face. “ I’ll meet you here tonight, after sundown. I’ll have everything you need.”
Pairing: Clark Kent (Superman 2025) x f reader
Summary: Clark’s super-powered ejaculation has denied him the joy that comes from the normal human experiences of sex, dating, and family that he yearns for—until you become his girlfriend, and help him experience more intimacy in sex and emotional connection than he ever thought possible for him.
Tags: smut, oral (f and m receiving), thigh fucking, finger sucking, hand job, jacking off, super-powered ejaculation, so much making out on the couch, yearning, Clark on his knees for you, virgin Clark, cute Clark won’t cuss, you don’t know he’s Superman…yet
Word count: 5.3k
Read below or read on AO3
Clark Kent is a virgin. Technically. If you buy into that whole concept, which he doesn't, of course, because of the way it perpetuates harmful gender norms and stuff, but the point is that his penis has never been inside a vagina in his 30 years of life on planet Earth.
It's not that he hasn't wanted to. Oh golly, has he wanted to! And it's not like he hasn't found any ladies who wanted it from him either. Not to brag, but that part has been pretty easy.
Which is why he's done plenty of other stuff. He's eaten women out, gosh, hundreds of times. That's probably his favorite thing, because not only is she enjoying herself, and that makes him feel good, but he can just stroke himself at the same time to get off, and then she never has to deal with his…issues.
He has let women use their hands on him, sometimes, carefully. Even mouths a time or two, though he wouldn't let himself come inside, or even get close to it. Couldn't risk that.
Because here's the thing: every part of Clark's body is capable of moving at super speed with super strength. He can hold it in check on almost everything he does, but not on something that he's not in conscious control of. Sneezing, for instance. Or ejaculating.
Thank goodness he learned this about himself on his own, not with a girl around. He was maybe 12 when it happened. By then, he'd masturbated plenty of times, so he already knew how far he could shoot. (He wouldn't learn until much later that it was not a normal distance for human guys. Human guys don't have to deal with cleaning semen off the ceiling above their bed, apparently.) But he didn't know how powerful it was until this time at age 12 when he was sitting upright on his bed and happened to shoot in the direction of his nightstand. It hit the side of his glass of water and sent it flying off the table to shatter on the floor.
He experimented with this some more, to see if it was a fluke, but of course it wasn't. He then tried to see if he could control it, soften it like he softened all of his movements all the time, but no luck there either.
Add super ejaculation to his list of powers, he supposed.
There was no way that that could feel good happening inside a human woman. Probably not even against her skin, though he hadn't tested it. How could he ever do that? “Hey honey, I want to know if it hurts or even bruises your skin when my semen hits it, so can I come on you real quick? Gee thanks!”
So yeah, Clark is technically a virgin. He figures he always will be. Just another part of the human experience he'd have to accept never getting to experience, like what it felt like to get tired and sweaty from doing farm work or getting brain freeze from eating a slushy too fast or that exciting swoop he'd heard that people get in their stomachs when they go on a ride at the carnival.
It hadn't been easy to accept at first. When he had his first real girlfriend, he was tempted to just try sex with her and pull out before he came (condoms couldn’t contain it; he’d tested that too). But if there was even the tiniest possibility that he wouldn't make it out in time, he couldn't bring himself to take the risk. He had super speed, but that didn't mean he could beat the speed of his own body doing something out of his conscious control. So, he didn't try it with that first girlfriend, and that time, the sacrifice had hurt.
By now, he’s used to sexual deprivation. He really doesn’t mind it, for himself. The problem is that he is yet to find a woman who doesn't mind it. At some point in every dating relationship he's had, his girlfriend would want sex, full on sex, not just grinding against his erection through his pants or something. And then that was when they'd inevitably break up.
That’s the part that’s hard for Clark to accept. Feeling alone is not something he is unfamiliar with; it's pretty lonely being practically the last of your species. But he'd always figured he'd have a wife to share his life with, a home and family like his parents had given him. He’s not very used to wanting things just for him alone, but what Ma and Pa have together is something he wants, very badly, all for himself.
That's why he keeps dating. Clark's not the type to give up hope, even when everything seems impossible.
When he starts dating you, though, he has no expectations. It's a one day at a time sorta thing, and that's fine. He loves spending time with you right here and now, even if it's not going anywhere. Making dinner for you at his apartment, watching a movie with his hand idly playing in your hair, just seeing how cute your face looks when you laugh at memes on your phone and then hold it in his face all excited to share it.
The first time he escalates things a bit, it’s on your couch. He prefers doing everything sexual on couches, chairs, kitchen counters—he’s found there’s less expectation that what he does will be followed by penetration if you’re not on a bed.
So he’s kissing you there on the couch, like he’s done a bunch of times by this point, bent over you from where you sit beside him, a hand cradling your soft cheek, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. This would feel better if he could pull you onto his lap, but he's not going to do that. Best you not feel what's happening in his pants right now and get ideas.
Unfortunately, your hand lands right in the danger zone anyway, and he grunts softly at the touch. That’s his cue. “I'd really like to go down on you, if you want that,” he murmurs.
He’s been listening to your heartbeat this whole time, the way it’s gradually been speeding up, and he can actually hear the rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of your blood rushing through your veins straight to your core, feel the heat radiating off you there, so he knows you’re aroused. It makes him want to beg, but he won't pressure you.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He slides to the floor and helps you pull off your jeans and panties, then tugs you to the edge of the couch to spread your thighs. He gives himself a moment to just look at how delicate and pink and glistening you are. “Golly you're pretty,” he breathes, and you laugh.
“The way you talk!”
He knows full well that the way Ma and Pa taught him to speak is not the norm here in Metropolis, or, well, pretty much anywhere, but he can't turn it off by this point. “My gosh you're effing hot—is that better?”
You laugh again, and reach down to muss up his curls. “You're cute, Clark.”
He presses gentle kisses to the inside of your thighs, and you let out soft little hums of pleasure with each one. “You're the one who's cute, the way you sound right now.”
Your breath catches when he kisses your outer lips, still dragging this out, until he can’t take it anymore—he’s so hard, so hungry—so he spreads you with his thumbs and licks, long and slow, dragging over every swollen, hot inch of you on his way up to your clit. “Ohhh god yesss,” you moan over his wordless one.
From up on the couch, you can’t see how inhumanly fast he gets his pants unfastened and frees his erection. But he doesn’t move fast when it comes to eating you. He takes his time licking through your soaked folds, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit, savoring since it's been a long time for him, and he doesn’t know how many more times he’ll get to do this before your inevitable break-up—not that he’s at all consciously thinking about that with the taste of you luxuriating on his tongue and your whimpers of pleasure in his ears.
He doesn't move fast on his dick, either, pacing his strokes to you. His hand is getting just as messy as his chin as he leaks precum and spreads it over his swollen length. He looks up at you through the hair fallen over his forehead, wanting to see your face as you come, especially if he’s not going to get many chances at it. Gosh, you really are pretty, how he's got you flushed and panting, arching your back to push your breasts up. He only wishes he’d gotten you completely naked so he could see them bare. (You haven’t given him permission to use x-ray vision on you because, you know, you have no idea he’s Superman.)
He hears your heartrate picking up, knows you’re close, speeds up his pumping fist to stay with you, and then you're coming, pulsing against his tongue, crying out, and he lets himself go too. He groans and cups his hand over his head a split second before his cum rockets out, catching every spurt, mostly so he won’t make a mess on your floor, but also so you won’t hear the sound it might make on impact.
You flop your arms beside you on the couch. “Oh my god, Clark, that was amazing.” You smile down at him. “Come back up so I can do you now.”
“No need. Already done.” He kisses your thigh. “I got too excited tasting you, couldn't wait. Um, but, my hands, do you have some tissues or something?”
You help him clean up, and then he’s back on the couch with his arm around you again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to reciprocate.”
“Don’t be. I love making you feel good, and obviously I loved how it felt too—I think I owe you a whole box of tissues.”
You chuckle, but he can’t throw you off that easily. “Next time I’ll do you.”
But the next time, he gets on the floor before you even have a chance to touch him over his pants. Another time, he lays you out on his kitchen table with your legs slung over his shoulders. Once he even eats you while you’re standing up, his hand spread over your belly to pin you against the wall in the hallway. You tell him you feel bad that you never return the favor, but he insists he loves doing this for you, which is completely true.
It doesn't mean it's not hard to keep himself from doing other things too, though. One time, your makeout session gets more heated than usual, and you end up on your back on his couch with him caged over you, grinding his bulge into the softness between your legs as he kisses you like he's starving.
He feels your hands tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls himself back. “Here, I'll get on the floor—”
“No,” you say, grabbing his shoulder to hold him in place. “I want to stroke your cock, baby, please.”
He drops his head with his jaw clenched. Darn it. You just had to call him baby, huh?
“Okay,” he exhales. “Just…be careful.”
You smile. “What—is it, like, a bomb?”
Something like that. “I'm…sensitive.”
“I'll be gentle, baby,” you say softly as you pull his waistband down. “Tell me if I get too rough or hurt you.”
He feels bad that he can’t assure you that that’s impossible.
He holds himself up with one hand to help you push his sweats down to his thighs, then his underwear over his erection. He's still propped over you, so you can't really see it between your bodies, but you get your hand around it and slide. You exclaim about his size, and he mumbles something to deflect the compliment so he can just focus on the feel of you stroking him for the first time. You’re being so careful, touching him far far lighter than he prefers, but it still feels wonderful because it’s you.
In no time, he’s dangerously close to the edge, and he can't come in your hands, between your bodies, that's impossible. “Wait!” he gasps. “You need to come first, you first.”
He gets himself to the floor to eat you out while pumping himself, yet again. You don't actually come first, he does, just seconds after he starts stroking, which just means that in the several minutes it takes you to come, he's gotten hard all over again. Darn it.
“Now you,” you say, pulling on his shirt to urge him up onto the couch again.
“I already came,” he deflects.
“But you're hard again.” He put his dick away before he got back on the couch, but the tent in his loose sweatpants is undeniable.
“That's okay, I don't need to come again, sweetheart.”
He tries to kiss you, but you back away from him on the couch. “Why don't you want me to touch you, or even see you, Clark?”
“I just let you do both.”
“Why not now, then? Do you not like how I touch you?”
“No, that's not it! I do like it, so much, I just…” He can see that you're hurt and confused, and realizes this might be it, the start of the breakup discussion. And he refuses to let that happen, not today. He's going to put up a fight to keep you—he's not ready to lose you yet.
He pulls his t-shirt over his head and shoves his bottoms off, and now he's sitting on the couch completely bare to you, his erection curving toward the ceiling. “I love how you touch me, so if you want to stroke me, or suck me, whatever you want, I'd love it if you did. But—I don't want to come in your mouth, or on you, okay? It's just, you know, a thing I have. I can't get any on you.”
“Okay,” you say softly. “Is that what you meant about being sensitive?”
“Yeah. So you can touch me harder, you won’t hurt me—only if you want, or do it like before, anything you do to me I’ll like, it’s just the coming part that’s an issue.”
He feels embarrassed trying to explain this in such bumbling half-truths, but you look at him without any mockery, just gentle compassion. “Whatever your limit is, I respect it.”
He feels a bloom of affection for you. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
You bend over his lap and take his erection in your hands again, then look up at him as you lick over his crown. “Oh that's good,” he moans.
You smile, and get to work taking him between your lips. It's a stretch, that's for sure, but he murmurs encouragement at you as you ease more of him into the delicious warmth of your mouth. “Just take it slow, only what feels comfortable to you, you're doing so well. Oh my sweet girl, look at you stretching open for me, yes, that's so good.”
You bob your head over the first few inches of him, your dainty hands stroking what your throat can't take, and Clark is floored by how great it feels, not just because it's hot and wet and tight, but because a little bit of him is inside you. It's probably that lonely-alien thing rearing its head again, making him treasure this connection so much, but he's not psycho-analyzing himself right now, he's just enjoying it.
Well before he gets to the edge, though, he asks you to stop, and takes over himself, pumping his fist over his cock while you sit back on your knees and watch. He feels his balls draw up, that thrilling tightening sensation in his gut, and covers his glans completely with both hands to hide how powerfully he ejaculates. And golly, is it powerful! It makes him shout and tense all his muscles and jerk his hips into his hands. It's been a good long while since he's come this hard.
When it's over, he slumps back against the couch and sighs with a smile. He lolls his head to the side to look at you. “That looked intense,” you say.
He grins. “See how good you make me feel?”
You lean into him to press your thumb against his dimple. “Yeah. Thank you, Clark.”
“I should be thanking you.” He places a kiss on your lips, and you hum happily against them.
After this, things between you are better than ever. You don't push for more than oral sex, and he feels more at ease with you, more open, not having to hide as much from you.
Of course, he's still hiding the biggest thing from you. Superman.
He wants to tell you. He trusts you, likes you so strongly that it might be more than just liking, but that’s getting ahead of himself. First he needs to tell you about Superman, but doesn't know how to say it, since he’s never chosen to do this with a girlfriend before. Everything is so good right now, and he doesn't want to mess it up and scare you off. So he waits for the perfect opportunity to do his reveal.
It falls in his lap when he gets this text from you:
> excited to see you tonight! 😘 after dinner, do you want to spend the night?
That sets his heart racing like flying at top speed. He has never slept with someone before. For one thing, that would require taking off his hypno-glasses. And for the other, it implies there's going to be sex. Like, intercourse sex.
He can't do anything about the second issue. But the first one he can.
Gee, does it make him both excited and scared to text you back:
> I'll bring my toothbrush and stuff. See you at 7!
He has a small duffel bag on his shoulder when he shows up at your place, 7pm on the dot, and your eyes zero in on it instantly and light up. He sets it down right inside the door instead of carrying it to your bedroom—he doesn't want to be presumptuous that he's actually going to use it, because you might freak out at what he has to tell you.
But that's a problem for later. For now, he's just gonna kiss you.
Eventually, the two of you manage to stop long enough for dinner to get made and then eaten, and then you're snuggling on the couch, kissing once again. “Do you want to go to bed?” you finally ask, and your voice sounds so eager even though you ask it quietly, like it's a juicy secret.
Speaking of secrets…
“Can we talk first?” he asks.
“Of course.” You sit up from where you've been lounging against his chest to look directly at him.
He takes a deep breath. “I really like you. So I need to be totally open with you, and then you can decide if you actually want me to spend the night.”
Your face looks alarmed, like you’re expecting he’s going to tell you he’s married or something, so he doesn’t pause, just keeps going.
He takes his glasses off in front of you for the first time ever, folds them, and sets them on the coffee table. Then clasps his hands in his lap and looks back up at you.
You’re squinting at his face, clearly confused at how the lack of glasses has affected his appearance so dramatically. He sees the exact moment you figure it out—your eyes go wide and mouth falls open.
“I’m Superman,” he says simply, because even though he spent a ton of time thinking about this, and even though he’s a writer and good with words, this was the best he could come up with.
You lean toward him. “No. You can’t be. You just look like him.”
He thought you might say that. With super speed, he jumps from the couch, runs to the kitchen, grabs a glass of water, runs back with it, sets it on the coffee table, sits back down—all in the millisecond it takes your hair to float down from the blast of wind from his body darting past you.
Then, for good measure, he turns his head to the coffee table and blows on the glass of water there, freezing it instantly.
He looks back up at you.
You cover your mouth with your hands and lean away from him. “Oh my god,” you whisper.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. It’s important to my parents’ safety that no one knows who Superman really is. Almost no one knows this. But I trust you, and I…I care about you. A lot.”
“You’re Superman,” you whisper under your hands, like you’re testing out the words because they make no sense. You take your hands away. “How are you Superman?”
He smiles at that. “Um, I was born this way?”
You shake your head. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question, I’m just…Oh my god, you’re Superman!”
He’s still smiling. “Yeah.”
“I’m dating Superman.”
“You’re dating Clark; I’m still Clark.”
“Yeah, but Superman could—you, you could have anyone. Why are you with me?”
“I’m with you because you’re wonderful, and I really like you.” He reaches for your face, tracing an arc over your cheek with his thumb. “And I most certainly could not have anyone. There are a lot of downsides to dating Superman. Like those times I was late to our dates, or had to cancel our plans altogether? That was always because of some emergency I had to deal with as Superman. And, um, there’s another big thing.”
You wait with a look of wide-eyed curiosity.
“We can’t have sex. It would hurt you. So I understand if you don’t want me to spend the night anymore. Not that I expected sex from you tonight,” he rushes to add, “but, I mean, if you expected sex, I can’t do that for you. I’m sorry.”
Your brows furrow together in confusion, so he explains his whole ejaculation thing. It’s uncomfortable to talk about, but also feels good to be honest after so long keeping secrets.
After you’ve asked him every embarrassing detail, you say, “We can put intercourse off for as long as you need, I don’t mind at all.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s going to be put off, it’s never going to happen.”
You shrug. “Then it never happens.”
He blinks at you. “You’d be okay with that?”
“I’d be okay either way, with or without. I’m with you for you, not for sex.”
He crashes his mouth into yours as relief and gratitude bubble up inside him, and pours it into a long kiss. “Can I still spend the night, then?” he breaks away to ask.
“I kind of feel like I’m cheating on Clark, but yeah, I want you to spend the night.”
He laughs and loops his arms around your back. “Do I really seem that different?”
You trace your fingers over his eyebrows and down his cheeks. “I can tell it’s you when I really look, but at first glance it’s hard to see. And even your voice is different.”
“Oh, yeah, I make it deeper when I’m Clark. I didn’t even realize I stopped. I guess it’s just a force of habit when I take off the glasses.” He pitches his voice a bit lower then, the fake Metropolis Clark Kent voice you’re used to. “Do you want me to talk like this?”
“I want you to talk like the real you, whatever that sounds like.”
He feels incredibly lucky to have you. “My gosh, you’re great,” he says in his real voice, the one he uses both as Superman and with his parents.
You giggle. “Okay that right there, has that been a fake Clark thing all along?”
“What?”
“The gosh golly gee stuff.”
“That’s not fake, that’s just how I talk, Clark and Superman. I don’t like cussing. That’s not how Ma and Pa raised me.”
“Have you ever said a swear word in your life?”
“Um, sure,” he says, his voice pitching even higher in his embarrassment. It’s true, but it takes a lot to get them out of him.
“Like what?” you smirk.
“Any of them, the s-word, the f-word, you know.”
Bright laughter tumbles out of your lips, and he doesn’t care that it’s at his expense, because you look so beautiful when you laugh.
He and you end up in a bed together for the first time, clothes discarded on the way. At first, you’re both very careful with each other, now that his anxieties around sex have been aired. But the heat builds and builds until you’re writhing together, mouths and hands wildly groping at anything they can find. He’s still not rough with you, but there’s a greedy edge to the way he’s caressing, pinching, nibbling at your skin.
“Do you want to fuck my thighs?” you pant out.
Oh that sounds wonderful!—but he’s never done it before. “I shouldn’t. I might come between them and hurt you.”
“You won’t, I know you won’t. You always catch yourself way before you come. Just do it from behind and push all the way to the front and it will shoot away from me. I trust you.”
It feels like his hands have a mind of their own as he flips you to face away from him, spits in his hand to stroke it over himself, and positions his tip against the seam between your thighs. Then he’s easing his hips forward slow as honey, the flesh of your thighs parting for him, enveloping him in velvet warmth, dragging him over your wet folds, and he thinks nothing, absolutely nothing can feel as good as this. “Ohhh sweetheart,” he moans.
He pulls back, pushes in again, nice long glides. Somehow it’s both tight and soft at the same time, all of you always so soft, so delicate to him. He tries different angles to find the best way to coax pretty sounds out of you, and when he tilts his hips up so that his tip rubs firmly over your clit on each slide, you gasp. “Is this good, sweet girl? Am I doing it right?”
“Yes, baby, that’s just right,” you moan. “Feels so nice to have you fucking my thighs. God you’re big! Seeing your cockhead slide out in front, fuck, it’s so hot.”
He leans over you to see it too. “Oh gosh, that is hot,” he rasps out. It makes him drive against you a bit faster, and he shoves an arm under and around to grope at your breasts as they shake with the force of his body colliding with yours on each thrust.
“Harder!” you tell him.
“Are y’sure?”
“I can take it, Superman”—and boy oh boy he had no idea it would sound so good to be called that during sex! So he gives it to you harder like you want, squeezing your hip tight to hold you in place while he pistons his cock through the clutch of your messy thighs, rutting against your drenched pussy lips, pounding his hips against your ass, thwap-thwap-thwap!
He’s still holding back, of course, he’s always holding back, but this is the roughest he’s ever gotten, and he’s gotta admit, it feels fricking fantastic to be this free. Judging by the way you’re keening and babbling incoherently, you’re loving it too, and that excites him even more, knowing he’s doing this well and pleasing you.
The only thing that could make this better for him would be to have part of him inside you—and since he can’t put his dick in, he presses a finger into your mouth. You immediately start sucking, and he grunts at the electric shock of pleasure that sends down his spine. Although his hips keep going hard, he pumps his finger gently through your petal-soft pursed lips, as if it were his dick using your mouth, and groans your name as he imagines it.
You whimper and whine around his finger, voice climbing higher in pitch and volume until you squeal and shatter. He’s felt your pussy pulse against his tongue so many times, but never against his dick, and the sensation is so glorious that it sends him hurtling to the edge too. He yanks his hand free of your mouth so he can use both hands to hold you even closer somehow, shouts “I’m going to come!” as a warning, shoves his hips tight against your ass to get as much of his cock through to the other side of your thighs—and then he lets go with a cry, his cum spraying out in long spurts that hit your dresser on the wall across from the bed with an audible thump on impact of each.
“Fuck,” you gasp, “that really is super semen,” and he huffs out a shaky laugh through the tail-end of his orgasm.
When he’s sure he’s got no more in him, he relaxes against your backside, pulling back only far enough to get his glans nestled right in the middle of your soft, sticky thighs, and there he lets himself rest. “Holy moly that was incredible.”
You reach behind your head to find his and sink your fingers into his hair. “Not incredible enough to say ‘holy fucking shit that was fucking incredible’?”
He cranes his head over yours. “The mouth on you!” he teases, though he actually likes it. He might not be comfortable saying such things, but boy is it exciting to hear you say it.
You turn your head to meet him in a clumsy but sweet kiss, both of you still wobbly with pleasure. When he breaks away, he lets his head flop back down on the pillow behind you. “Sorry about the mess on your dresser,” he says. “I’ll clean it up, just give me one more minute to relax first.”
You snort. “Leave it—it’ll keep ‘til tomorrow. Let’s just go to sleep.”
But he’s too responsible for that, so a few minutes later, he forces you to get up to pee and brush your teeth—you do the last one side by side, and Clark thinks this is so sweet in its domesticity that he’s grinning with a mouth full of toothpaste bubbles.
“Do you even need to brush your teeth?” you ask him after.
He shrugs. “Food can still stick to them. And I like doing it.” Because it’s normal, human. This is the sort of stuff he never wants to super away.
That’s part of what makes him giddy to climb into bed with you that night. He’s 30, and for the first time ever he gets to feel like a normal human boyfriend sharing a bed to sleep in with his girlfriend. You’re both all smiley and giggly about it as you snuggle up together. You press your finger to his dimple and say, “I can’t believe you’re in my bed,” and he assumes you mean Superman, but you continue: “I finally get to sleep with my boyfriend Clark.” Hearing that, he’s pretty darn sure he’s never felt so happy.
As he’s falling asleep, he starts planning out when to tell you the next big reveal: that he’s in love with you.
I might have a part 2 in me if enough people encourage my new obsession 🙈
Final Clark-isms tally:
Gosh = 5 / Golly = 4 / Gee = 3 / Darn = 3 / Boy oh boy = 1 / Holy moly = 1 / Fricking = 1
Pairing: Swat Uniform/Gear!Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!
Summary: When Bob returns from a mission dressed in swat gear you can’t help but lose what little composure you have around him.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Reader and Bob are in a sort of established friends with benefits relationship (reader has a fluctuating libido with Bob, but Bob is always down when she’s down)
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up friends), Oral Sex (female receiving), Fingering, Semi-Public Sex? (kitchen sex?), The Gear Stays On ™️, Biting, Marking, Rough Sex (it’s a quickie lol), Breast Squeezing, Finger Sucking, Bob is a messy kisser (so spit and drool are present), Choking (just a little), Dirty Talk, Cum Play/Cum Eating, Is Bob a little dominant here? Yeahhh, Aftercare and cleaning up the kitchen lol
Author’s Note: SWAT GEAR BOB Y’ALL! I fucking loved writing this whole scenario and honestly…Fuck yeah for swat gear Bob lol. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and I hope it meets expectations! <3 I was half asleep when I wrote this (I got drawn up on writing two other stories)
Word Count: 7,154
The kitchen was quiet, suspended like a glass jewel above the city. The Watchtower’s walls were more window than steel, a near-panoramic sweep of New York spread out below, its veins of light glimmering against the dark. From the 84th floor the world felt impossibly far away, the headlight below being nothing more than faint threads of gold, and skyscraper signs flickering light constellations against the night sky. Inside, everything was modern and sharp–a smooth marble island at the center, cool under your fingertips, and brushed stainless steel appliances gleaming faintly along the walls.
The overhead lights were dimmed to their lowest setting, no more than a soft amber suggestion, leaving the city itself to do most of the work. Neon reds and blues seeped through the glass, casting themselves across the marble countertops and polished floors in shifting ribbons. The kitchen breathed with a kind of hushed intimacy, lit by a skyline that seemed to pulse like a living thing.
And tonight, it was all yours.
You had claimed this rare silence, luxuriated in it. The day had been a gift–the television flickering with shows you never had time for, groceries being unpacked at your own pace, and the simple, decadent ritual of catching up on news like a civilian. You had sunk into a bath hours ago, pouring in the lavender oil that Bob had bought you months back, the scent still clinging faintly to your skin. Your muscles had melted into the steam, your lungs filling with the floral calm until you thought you’d never resurface.
Even when Bucky called thirty minutes ago–gravel-voiced and gruff–inviting you to join the team for drinks, you smiled and declined, because tonight belonged to you. To the hum of silence filled by a random Top 40s radio station playing on your phone and to your voice barely audible, humming along under your breath as you worked.
You stood at the marble island, with your knife in hand, slicing three mini cucumbers into quarters and laying them neatly onto a plate. A pint of strawberries waited nearby, their glossy and seeded skins catching the light like droplets of blood against the white marble. Two clementines sat beside them, glowing soft and orange, waiting to be peeled. The rhythm soothed you. Slice, place, hum. Slice, place, hum. It was the kind of rhythm that felt indulgent in its mundanity.
So indulgent, in fact, that you didn’t hear him until his voice cut through the music.
”Ha-Having a dance party for one?” Bob’s voice made you jump out of your skin, a knife-tip pause catching against cucumber flesh as the blade nearly nicked too close for comfort. Your head snapped up instinctively, and your jaw parted in a small, soundless exhale when you saw him.
He wasn’t wearing the Sentry’s suit.
Gone was the celestial blue and gold, the gleaming figure that carried godlike weight into every room. Instead standing there in the muted light of the Watchtower’s kitchen he wore something utterly mortal–and somehow infinitely more devastating.
The SWAT gear clung to him like it had been built for him alone. Thick, fitted black fabric stretched across his chest and shoulders, padding sculpting every line of muscle with merciless definition. The vest sat heavy across his torso, fronted with segmented plates that accentuated the breadth of him. Tactical webbing and empty holsters hugged his hips, the straps tightening across his thighs so that even his legs looked broader, more dangerous, and more muscular. The sleeves of the uniform were snug against his arms, making the rise of his biceps and forearms look like carved stone under black paint. Even stripped of weapons, he looked armed with nothing but himself.
His light brown hair was damp, strands curling forward to stick slightly against his forehead, as though the mission had wrung the last clean breath out of him. His face–still flushed from exertion–was open in a way it never was in Sentry’s suit. Bare skin. Sweat-darkened hair. Eyes sharp and impossibly blue in the dim amber wash of the kitchen, lashes already damp and low with that faint, nervous flicker you’d learned was his tell.
Your pulse spiked, hot and disobedient. Your hand on the knife tightened just enough to ground yourself, and you suddenly became achingly aware of your own softness in comparison–bare legs bare in short shorts, an oversized shirt sliding off one shoulder, the lavender scent from your earlier bath still clinging faintly to your skin, completely and totally underdressed.
“What’re you doing back?” You asked, your voice pitched low, quick, as if to cover the way your body betrayed you. Your wet fingertips left tiny, star-shaped stains across your phone screen as you tapped around to pause the music. He shrugged, a small half-smile tugging crooked at his mouth.
“I wasn’t really in the mood to go out and be the de-designated babysitter… That’s usually your job.” You hummed at the comment, biting down lightly on the inside of your cheek to keep the smirk away from coming up at the corner of your mouth.
”Yeah…Yeah it usually is.” You replied. And still, you couldn’t stop staring at the way the uniform framed him and at the way the straps and gear pulled your eyes down, making your body hum with a heat that crept steadily up your chest, your neck, the tips of your ears. You busied your hands, reaching for a strawberry, slicing the top away with practiced precision.
“What’s uh…What’s with the SWAT gear?” You tried to keep your voice smooth and casual, but the tremor of heat beneath it betrayed you, and you knew he noticed, because that’s what casual sex did to two people–it brought out tells and made it easy to spot.
From out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift closer to the marble island, the faint scuff of his heavy boots echoing against the polished floor. His shoulders rising with another shrug.
”Se-Sentry decided to disappear mid-mission, so everyone thought it was a good idea to make me wear this just in case we got ambushed.” You smirked despite yourself, imagining the chaos of Yelena and Bucky barking orders at him, trying to wrangle Bob out of his divine garbs and into black tactical gear.
“Did he get stage fright or something? He never does that…” You pointed out, your knife making another careful slice, the strawberry’s red flesh gleaming wet under the blade.
And then you saw it–just barely in your periphery. Bob lifted one of the clementines off the counter, his gloved hand taking a hold of the fruit, as he bent forward to drag the leather of it between his teeth. You froze, the image searing itself against your mind like a brand. The sound of his teeth tugging the glove free was faint, but the sight–his jaw flexing, his lips pulling, the raw intimacy of him using his mouth like that–had your stomach clenching hard, heat pooling low in your body. He peeled the second glove the same way, slower, letting it hang from his mouth for a beat before tugging it free with his free hand.
You had to force yourself to breathe, to lower your gaze before he caught you staring too openly.
“I don’t know…” He went on, oblivious to what he had just ignited in your body, his voice soft, thoughtful. “He’s been off la-lately, honestly. I’m not going to make it worse by forcing him to come out though…You know how he gets when you push him too hard.” You huffed a laugh, trying to shake off the way your body was buzzing.
”He’s such a lazy god sometimes…” You commented, hearing his nail pierce the delicate skin of the clementine he was holding, as the air filled instantly with its sharp sweetness. The mist rose, and the citrus oiled lifted into the dim light, tangling themselves with the lavender scent that clung to your skin, and with his own scent that you couldn’t quite catch yet due to proximity.
“Yeah,” Bob murmured, eyes casting down as he peeled back the rind carefully, fingers precise and gentle, “He just wa-wants to be treated like he’s royalty.”
“Yeah…Yeah, royalty.” The words left you flatly, as though you were trying to shoo them out of your mouth before your body gave you away. His head tilted up at the tone, blue eyes catching yours instantly, his attention snapping like a cord pulled taut.
”Are you alright? You seem di-distracted.” You shook your head too fast, knife hovering above another berry.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I was just…Thinking about whether or not I put a meeting with Val in my calendar.” He didn’t look convinced at your lie, as his lashes fluttered faintly, his nervous twitch betraying him even as he studied you and had the upper hand in a way.
His voice softened, giving you a soft warning, “Well…Just be careful, you almost cut your hand…” You nodded quickly, tightening your grip on the knife, determined not to look at him again.
“Will do…” You murmured, keeping your eyes pinned to the strawberries, slicing carefully, almost too carefully, as though precision might shield you from the awareness of him standing so close.
Silence stretched for a breath, thick and charged, before you heard it–the steady approach of his boots against the polished floor. The sound was slow, deliberate, each footfall reverberating up your spine until you straightened instinctively, your shoulders drawing taut. He moved around the island, closer, and closer still, until you felt the atmosphere tilt. The cabinet door creaked open, and the faint thud of discarded clementine peels echoed from the trash. Then, the soft scrape of fruit being set upon the marble–he’d placed it beside your plate. Such an ordinary act, yet the air around it pulsed, thick with his nearness.
And then he breathed you in.
It wasn’t subtle. His chest swelled, the tactical vest straining across the breadth of him, and the sound of it–low and deliberate–burned hotter than any touch. His lashes dipped as he angled his head toward you, eyes half-lidded, his expression caught between curious and hungry.
”“Oh…You smell nice…” His voice rolled low, threaded with something unguarded. He leaned closer, lips grazing the space near your ear, breath stirring the loose strands of your hair. He inhaled again, deeper, pulling you into his lungs like he needed proof. “Mmm…Is it that la-lavender oil I got you…?” Your throat bobbed, a faint shiver prickling over your skin. Yes, lavender lingered faintly from your bath–but it was his scent that seized you.
The mission clung to him. Gunpowder–sharp, acrid, almost metallic–wove itself into the fabric of his SWAT gear. Beneath it was the tang of copper, a faint reminder of steel or blood, as though violence still hummed just under his skin. And under all of that, the man himself: sweat, thick with salt and heat, musk darkened by exertion, earthy and heady. It mingled with something uniquely his, something you’d known since the first time you brushed past him in the Watchtower’s halls and caught yourself inhaling–warmth and weight, like the ghost of cedar and skin baked under sun. The scent was sinful now, drenched in effort, but it was him, and it sent heat lancing straight down your body.
“Yeah…” You managed after a beat, your voice catching in your throat. You swallowed, clearing it quickly. “Haven’t been able to use it until now…” He hummed low, satisfied, the sound vibrating through his chest like a growl muffled under velvet.
“Do you li-like it?” He asked, the words trembling through you, thickening the air in your lungs. You nodded, eyes still on the strawberry beneath your knife.
“It’s great. Really relaxing.” You replied.
And then, without warning, his hand reached out to you.
Large, warm, steady–his palm enveloped your wrist and eased the knife away. The motion was unhurried, intimate, as though stripping you of the blade wasn’t about safety, but about peeling away the last thin shield between you. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, lingering a moment too long before he set the knife aside. The sound of metal on marble was faint, final.
“Why won’t you look at me?” The question cut deeper than the knife ever could. Your stomach dropped, a weightless plunge that had your teeth sinking into the meat of your cheek. Saliva pooled in your mouth, thick and hard to swallow. Slowly–like turning toward the edge of a cliff–you shifted, meeting his gaze.
“I’m lo-looking at you now… See.” The words came out shaky, a whisper dressed as bravado. His eyes narrowed, squinting slightly, the sharp blue burning through yours. He leaned forward, breath brushing your lips with warmth and citrus. His stare locked you in place, his lashes dipping low before snapping open again, studying every flicker of your face.
“You’re nervous…What’s going on with you? Hmm?” Your pulse stuttered in your throat, hammering. And then his hand was on your cheek. Hot and calloused, the weight of his palm against your flushed skin sent a shock racing through you. Your breath hitched audibly. His thumb dragged slowly across the curve of your cheekbone, and his mouth curved–smirk sharp but teasing
“You’re bo-boiling too… Now I’m really curious what’s going on…” The smirk that followed his comment was a knife and a caress all at once, slicing through your composure even as it stroked your need. Heat gathered low in your stomach, pooling heavy in your shorts. Your thighs pressed together unconsciously, your oversized shirt slipping further down your shoulder as you shifted restlessly.
Then he inhaled again. Lower this time, angled deliberately toward you. And something flickered in his eyes–recognition. He’d caught it. The faint, telltale musk of your arousal curling in the space between you. He knew it. Of course he did. He’d smelled it on his own fingers before, on his skin after nights tangled with you, and most potently when his face had been buried between your thighs. The memory of it flashed through him–you could see it in the way his gaze darkened, the desire beginning to build up within his own body now as well.
His free hand slipped down, fingertips grazing along the bare side of your thigh, as the calloused pads skated upward, light, teasing, until they reached the hem of your shorts. He lingered there, tracing the edge slowly, maddeningly, the ghost of pressure sending electricity straight to your core. His mouth ghosted your cheek, his lips not quite touching, voice a whisper of heat.
“It’s been a while…Since we…Y’know.” His breath fanned across your skin, his tone careful, not pushing–gentle, respectful, but edged with want. “Are you in the mood?” He was always considerate of your needs first, especially because your libido fluctuated way more than his, and tonight seemed like the right night to truly ask–because you nodded immediately without hesitation. And you surged forward.
Your mouth crashed against his in a kiss that was wild, unrestrained, and filthy with the kind of hunger that had been gnawing at you for too long. His lips parted instantly, no hesitation, a groan rattling out of his chest as if he’d been starving for this very thing. It was sloppy, spit-slick, your teeth knocking his once, or twice, before you both angled better, deeper, and then there was nothing left but heat and tongues and the hot, damp slide of mouths desperate to consume.
Bob wrapped his arms around you with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of you. The weight of his SWAT vest pressed into your chest, cold plates and straps digging as if to remind you that it was him you were kissing–all sweat and muscle and trembling restraint wrapped in black tactical armor. You melted into it, clawing your hands up into his damp hair, tugging until he groaned brokenly into your mouth. His moan was low, hoarse, vibrating against your tongue, and it only dragged you deeper.
The kiss was feral, obscene, spit spilling to the corners of your mouths as you licked and bit and sucked. His faint stubble scraped your skin, rough and raw, making every drag of his lips across yours sting in the best way. You broke only to breathe, and even then, your foreheads crashed together, your mouths brushing still, too unwilling to separate fully.
He pulled back just far enough to suck in some much needed air, chest heaving beneath the heavy vest. His hand–still cupping your cheek–trembled faintly as his thumb dragged along your heated skin. He stared at you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, lips red and wet, panting through parted teeth.
“Can I ask,” He rasped, voice shredded with want, “What’s go-gotten you so worked up though?” You let out a small laugh, breathless and shaky, tugging lightly at the thick webbing of his vest as if to ground yourself.
“It’s the SWAT gear…” You confessed, your grin crooked, embarrassed but shameless all at once. “But then again, I just love when you’re in any sort of uniform…This has definitely done something to me though.” His laugh cracked out of him, disbelieving, half-choked by the way you immediately dragged him back into another kiss. This one was filthier, wetter, spit-stringing between your mouths as you pulled back just far enough to pant against his lips, “You just look so fucking hot in it.” That earned you a sharp inhale, his eyebrows shooting up, surprise flickering through his darkened eyes before it was swallowed whole by desire.
“Wha-“ You didn’t let him finish. You devoured him again, your lips pressing, parting, biting, your nails scraping up his nape into the sweat-damp curls. His hands slid down your sides, broad palms catching your waist, your hips, until they found your ass. He squeezed hard, and greedily, dragging a groan out of you that he swallowed whole, pressing you tighter against the blunt heat of his thigh. The two of you were everywhere at once, hands grabbing, pulling, tugging–his touch rough and desperate, yours just as wild, clawing at the armor that trapped the furnace of his body beneath. He ground against you once, slow and deliberate, the weight of his gear making the movement harder and heavier on you. When he finally wrenched back for air, his forehead slammed against yours, sweat dampening your hairline. His chest heaved, vest clanking faintly with the force of his breaths.
“Should we…Go to the be-bedroom?” He asked, the words gasped out, his mouth brushing yours as if afraid to lose contact.
You shook your head fast, your voice a hushed plea. “No…No…I need you right now. We’ll clean everything afterwards.” The way his eyes darkened at that answer–it was pure sin. He groaned, a low, helpless sound, before nodding once, sharp and certain. Then he bent, his hands gripping under your thighs, and lifted you with the ease of a super soldier. Your gasp broke against his lips, but he was already moving to the other side of the island setting you down on the marble counter. The cold shock of it on your thighs made you hiss, but it was gone instantly as his body crowded you again, filling the space between your parted legs, his heat and weight eclipsing everything else. Your hands flew up to his hair again, yanking hard enough to make him groan ragged into your mouth. The sound was guttural, his need bleeding into every edge of it, and he pressed harder against you, his vest scraping and the straps digging deliciously into you. He broke the kiss long enough to look down at you, eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing blue. His lips glistened, spit smeared, chest heaving.
“Help me take th-this off?” He panted, fumbling at the edge of his vest.
You shook your head, your voice dropping low, molten. “Keep it on…I want you to fuck me in it.” That undid him. You saw it–the flash of shock, the way his pupils went impossibly wider until there was barely any blue showing, his jaw dropping just slightly as though your words had hit him in the gut.
Then he laughed, breathless, broken, almost whiny with disbelief. “Fu–Fuck… I should wear a uniform like this more often.” You dragged him down again before the words had even finished leaving his mouth. The kiss was sloppy, spit-filled, his groan swallowed between your teeth. He kissed you back like a man unhinged, his desperation spilling out in every rough drag of his tongue, every bruising press of his lips.
When he tore back again, his breath was hot against your lips, his words trembling with something raw, and wanton, his mouth barely moving as he confessed against you:
“I’m going to go down on you st-still though,” He panted, voice ragged with pure lust, breaking like it cost him to hold back, “I fucking missed tasting you so much…Been craving you so badly.” Your hands came up, trembling, and you cupped his flushed cheeks. His skin was hot beneath your palms, damp from exertion and fevered with want. You tilted his face closer, your thumbs stroking along the strong lines of his jaw, forcing him to look at you with those darkened, desperate eyes. Your lips parted, and you gave him something sharp, filthy, teasing:
“Always so eager to keep me satisfied with your mouth, Bob…Like it’s all you think about.” The words lanced through him–his chest stuttering under the weight of his breath. A smile broke across his spit-slick lips, small and crooked, a smirk that made your stomach clench hard. He kissed across your face like he couldn’t stop–your jaw, your cheek, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth–before finding your collarbone. His teeth caught the delicate skin there, a gentle nibble, enough to sting, to brand. You gasped softly, the sound spilling against his ear.
One of his hands came up, large and rough, squeezing your breast through the thin cotton of your shirt. His palm molded around you, his thumb dragging across the peak with slow intent. He leaned in, his mouth brushing your ear, his voice dropping low and feral:
“I’m go-gonna ruin you on my tongue…Make you scream for me till they hear it two floors down. You’ll never fo-forget how good I can make you feel.” Your answering moan was small but sharp, punched out of you without resistance. The heat pooled low, dragging your body toward him like a tide.
Then he began to lower himself. Slowly, yet trembling with hunger, he kissed his way down your body through the fabric of your shirt. He pulled you toward the edge of the marble counter, his broad palms firm under your thighs, guiding you exactly where he wanted you. His breath came heavy, audible, each exhale fanning hot across the skin of your stomach as he went. You felt the wet heat of it even through the fabric of your shorts, the anticipation unbearable.
With one tug, he peeled them down. The soft cotton slid over your hips, down your thighs, pooling around your ankles before he hooked them free and tossed them aside carelessly. You barely registered the sound of fabric hitting the polished floor before his hands returned–spreading your thighs wide, framing you like you were something holy and obscene all at once.
“Fuck…” He breathed, staring at your arousal with a hunger that was almost painful. He gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling them over his broad shoulders. The edges of his vest dug into the soft skin of your calves, rough straps biting faintly–but it only made it dirtier, more intoxicating. He hauled you closer until the heat of his breath ghosted directly over your slick folds, the proximity dizzying. His eyes flicked up, catching yours just once. His lips were wet, parted, trembling with the sheer restraint it took not to devour you instantly.
“Smells so good…Been dreaming about this,” He muttered, voice shredded and feral. “Gonna ea-eat you till you forget your own name.”
And then he buried his face in you.
The first lick was broad, greedy, dragging from bottom to top like he wanted to take everything you had in one stroke. His tongue was hot and wet, the sound obscene as it lapped through your arousal. A moan ripped from him–unfiltered, raw–and it vibrated straight into you, making your hips jolt.
You cried out softly, your fingers tangling into his damp hair without thought, pulling, urging him closer. He groaned against you, the sound swallowed in your flesh, and dug deeper, his mouth working like a man starved. His tongue circled, stroked, flicked, each pass filthier than the last.
Your breath caught in your chest, back arching as your hips rolled against his face. He didn’t fight it–he wanted it–he pressed his mouth harder to you, letting you grind yourself over him, letting your wetness smear across his lips and chin. He moaned again, louder, the sound muffled and desperate.
His nails dragged gently along the outside of your thigh, a faint scrape that sent sparks racing through your skin. Then his hand shifted, his thick fingers sliding inward, pressing into your slick heat while his mouth never left your clit. The stretch made you gasp, your walls clenching instantly around him.
“God, you’re so tight…And so wet…All fo-for me,” he groaned against you, his words guttural, broken by his own panting. He curled his fingers perfectly, stroking deep as his tongue worked fast and relentless. “Love this…Love the way you taste…Love the wa-way you pulse around my fucking fingers.” You couldn’t hold yourself upright anymore. Your body trembled, shuddering too hard, your arms giving way as you laid back on the marble island. The stone was cool against your overheated skin, grounding you only barely. From this angle you could see the faint glint of city lights overhead, fractured and shifting, and the shadow of Bob between your thighs, eating you like it was his last meal.
You moaned, louder now, each sound spilling out without thought. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his mouth, your thighs trembling around his head. He groaned every time you pulled at his hair, his own pleasure wound tight with yours, until his fingers pressed harder, deeper, scissoring, and curling hitting your sweet spot every time.
”Th-That’s it…Squeeze my fingers, Y/N…Be a good fucking girl and soak me.” He panted into you, the filth of it muffled by his lips sucking your clit.
And then you broke.
Your climax hit sharp and hot, your thighs clamping around his head, pulsing uncontrollably as your walls spasmed around his fingers. You cried out, your voice catching high and ragged as your whole body shook. He groaned into you, greedy, swallowing every drop, his tongue lapping, licking, prolonging the waves until you were trembling too hard to move.
Your thighs quivered against his broad shoulders, your chest heaving, sweat slicking your skin and soaking through your shirt. His fingers moved lazily inside you, coaxing, and drawing out every last pulse, until you whimpered and pulled at his hair in surrender.
Bob let out a low, guttural moan against you, the sound muffled by your trembling flesh as he finally, reluctantly, lifted his face from between your thighs. His lips glistened, his chin soaked, streaks of you shining under the fractured ribbons of neon light that spilled in through the windows. The sight alone made your pulse stutter, your thighs twitching with the aftershocks still tearing through you.
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, chest rising and falling unevenly. When your eyes met his, he smiled–crooked, and toothy his voice raw and hushed. “Fu-fucking perfect as always. An absolute masterpiece.” The words struck you, filthy and praise filled at once, and you swallowed hard, heat blooming at the base of your throat. He slid his fingers out of you with aching slowness, watching the way your body clenched around the loss. Your slick coated his knuckles, dripping down the tendons of his hand. He lifted one finger to his mouth, lips closing around it with a slow, deliberate pull. His eyes fluttered as he sucked himself clean, savoring you with a moan low enough to vibrate in his chest.
Then he stood, towering again, and reached down with his free hand. His grip was warm, steady, pulling you upright until you were pressed against the hard, unyielding planes of his vest. One arm cinched around your waist, holding you tight against him, while his other hand–still shining with you–rose slowly. He traced his finger along your lips, smearing wetness across them like something sacred and obscene all at once.
Your breath shuddered, your lips parting under the command of his gaze. He pressed the finger between them, slow, insistent. Your tongue met it eagerly, curling around the digit, sucking it down as you hollowed your cheeks. The taste of yourself mingled with the heat of him, thick and intoxicating. His eyes stayed locked on yours, blue and blown black, his breath trembling as he watched you drag your mouth along his finger. The atmosphere thrummed, the kitchen filled with the wet sound of you sucking him clean until you finally released him with a lewd pop.
“Christ…” He hissed, his hand shaking faintly. Your hands moved immediately, urgent, dragging down to the thick belt strapped around his waist. The metal buckles clinked faintly as you tore at them, undoing the utility belt with frantic fingers.
“I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t think straight,” You growled, feral, your voice shaking with need. The words made him groan ragged, his hips jerking as though you’d tugged at strings buried in his spine.
”That ca-can be done…” He replied, as you shoved at the button of his pants, then the zipper, tugging hard. He grunted and pushed them down the rest of the way, his boxers with them, until the fabric bunched at his thighs.
His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, swollen tip angry red and slick with pre-cum that glistened in the muted light. He wrapped a fist around himself, stroking once–slow, obscene–as he dragged you closer to the edge of the counter.
“Go-Gonna fuck you right here,” He rasped, his voice shredded with want, “Gonna fill you up on this fucking counter till you can’t make a so-sound that isn’t my name.” You could feel yourself clench around nothing just at the sheer filth of his words, your nails biting into the straps of his vest.
”Then shut the fuck up and do it,” You snapped, breathless, “Make me your mess, Bob.” His groan broke into a laugh–disbelieving, desperate. His cock dragged through your folds, the hot head smearing pre-cum into your slick. The blunt tip slid along your seam, catching on your clit with every pass, making your hips jolt helplessly. Your wetness coated him instantly, his length shining as he pressed harder, teasing the entrance of your body.
“Look at that…” He panted, his eyes glued to the way you spread for him. “You’re fu-fucking dripping. Begging for me.” The thick crown breached you, stretching you wide. You both gasped, your moan catching sharp while his voice broke into a growl. Inch by inch, he sank into you, your walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper. Your arm wound tight around his neck, your hand burying in his damp hair, tugging hard to ground yourself against the stretch.
“Fuck…Fuck…” He groaned, his forehead pressing against yours, sweat smearing between your temples. His gaze dropped, watching himself disappear inside you. “God, yo-your pussy looks so good taking me…Swallowing me whole.” The sound you made was broken, choked.
”You fill me up so fucking well…I’ve needed this.” You whispered, closing your eyes tightly. He bottomed out, fully seating himself inside you, the weight of him heavy and perfect, twitching against your walls with no space left between. You both stilled, gasping, clutching at each other as though afraid to lose the moment. Your lips crashed together again, messy, spit-slick, sucking kisses that felt more like possession than tenderness.
Then he pulled his hips back and thrusted forward. The counter jolted beneath you, the marble cold against your thighs as he slammed into you again, harder. His pace built quick, brutal, feral–every stroke driving so deep you thought you’d break open around him. You threw your head back, your mouth falling open on moans that echoed off the steel and glass of the kitchen.
His hand slid up, strong and unyielding, wrapping around your throat. His thumb pressed into the hollow there, his palm squeezing just enough to tilt your head forward, forcing your gaze down into his.
“Look at me wh-while I’m fucking you,” He grunted, his eyes wild, his voice breaking with command. “I want to see those desperate little fuck me eyes.” You obeyed, your gaze locking on his as your body jolted with every thrust. His cock slammed into you, stretching you mercilessly, wet sounds filling the air as your arousal smeared over him and the counter beneath you. Your hands clawed at his vest, dragging him closer, the plates biting into your chest. You wanted him pressed into every inch of you, wanted the marks of his gear burned into your skin.
Your walls clamped down, pulsing wildly, your thighs trembling against his torso. He groaned ragged, one hand gripping your leg hard to hold you open as he pounded into you. You dragged him into another kiss, sloppy and wet, spit spilling to your chin as your teeth clicked, tongues colliding. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts turning uneven, sloppy.
“I’m gonna fucking fill you up…I ca-can’t hold it in anymore,” He gasped, his forehead coming to bump against yours, desperation bleeding through every word.
“Do it,” you begged, your voice wrecked, filthy, your hand wrapping tight around the wrist of the hand at your throat. “Cum in me, Bob…Fill me till I’m dripping, till all I can feel is you.” That broke him. He slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt, his cock twitching violently as his release hit. He bit down on your collarbone, hard, marking you as he groaned loud enough to shake the air. Heat spilled into you in thick, hot waves, flooding deep, overflowing until you felt it leak down your thighs.
Your walls spasmed around him, milking every pulse, your body seizing in another ragged climax. You moaned high and broken, clinging to him with nails digging into his vest, pulling him closer as though you could fuse him to you.
The kitchen blurred into neon streaks and shadows. All you knew was him–his cock twitching inside you, his cum filling you so warm and thick it made you dizzy, his mouth biting, sucking, groaning against your skin. Every pulse of him dragged another shudder from your body until you were both shaking, gasping, wrecked together.
The both of you clung to each other as though you might dissolve if you let go too soon. Breathless and trembling, every inhale and exhale dragged across the other’s skin in ragged counterpoints. His forehead pressed against yours, damp hair clinging to your temple, the faint sting of his bite on your collarbone still pulsing like a brand. Your bodies were welded together–his cock still buried deep inside you, still twitching faintly in the overstimulated cradle of your heat. Your muscles fluttered helplessly around him, refusing to let go.
His hand around your throat finally eased. Fingers uncurled, sliding down the length of your chest in a languid, reverent sweep. He pressed his palm flat between your breasts, feeling the frantic beat of your heart as though checking if it still raced for him. Then, unable to resist, his hand closed over one of them. Through the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of your shirt, he gave your breast a firm squeeze–possessive, indulgent–before letting go just enough to lean back an inch. His eyes drank you in, and for a moment the city lights caught the sweat on his face, turning him into something sculpted in amber and neon.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t like the wild, spit-slick mauling from earlier. This was soft, warm, almost reverent. His lips moved slowly over yours, parting gently, savoring you like he couldn’t bear to lose the sweetness of the aftermath. You sighed into it, tilting your head, your arms still locked around his shoulders. When he tried to pull back, you nipped at his bottom lip, playful, tender, refusing to let him go entirely. He chuckled against your mouth, a broken little sound, and whispered, his forehead still brushing yours:
“I’m definitely going to keep this SWAT ge-gear.”
You laughed softly at that, the sound caught between the exhaustion tugging at your body and the flush of heat still rolling under your skin. He laughed too, both of you dissolving into breathless giggles that clashed with the filthy reality of him softening slowly inside you. You stayed pressed together, unwilling to move, savoring the strange, feral tenderness of it all.
After a long, quiet beat, you murmured against his damp neck:
“We should get everything cleaned up…” His chest rumbled with a hum, his lips brushing your hairline as he agreed.
“Yo-You’re right.” Reluctantly, he drew his hips back. The slide of him pulling out of you was slow, dragging, leaving you empty in a way that made you gasp faintly. His gaze dropped instantly–and what he saw made his pupils flare wide.
Thick cum leaked from you in hot rivulets, sliding down to smear against the marble. He groaned low, guttural, like the sight itself undid him all over again. Without hesitation, his hand was back on you, two fingers pressing into your swollen entrance, fucking his seed back inside you. The stretch made you whimper, your thighs twitching helplessly against the counter’s edge. He worked his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching the creamy mess disappear back into your body with eyes dark and heavy-lidded.
“God…” He whispered, almost to himself, “You ke-keep me so well.”
When he finally slid his fingers free, they glistened thickly in the low amber light. He lifted them without shame, bringing them to his mouth. His tongue wrapped around them greedily, pulling them between his lips. He moaned–a deep, long sigh that vibrated up from his chest–as he cleaned himself of both of you.
“We always ta-taste so good together…” He murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a second, savoring. “It’s like our bodies just know we’re compatible.”
Your lips curved into a sly, flushed smirk. “We are.”
His eyes snapped open, blue and dark as the ocean at midnight, and he bent down to kiss you again. This kiss was wet, lingering, his tongue sliding against yours so you could taste exactly what he had–salty, musky, rich and intoxicating. It was filthy and intimate all at once, and it had you moaning faintly into his mouth before he finally pulled back.
With a small, boyish grin, he stooped to collect the shorts he’d tossed aside earlier. He held them open for you, steadying your trembling legs as you stepped into them. His touch was careful, almost tender, as he guided the fabric back up your thighs and hips, smoothing it into place. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple as he finished, then buttoned his own pants back up, fastening his belt with practiced, efficient movements. The small clink of metal sounded strangely domestic after the chaos of minutes before.
When he finally helped you lean away from the counter, your legs wobbled slightly, your body still boneless from release. His arm steadied you, firm around your waist, his thumb stroking the small of your back before letting go.
The two of you turned to the kitchen in unspoken agreement. The marble island bore the evidence of you: smears of arousal, forgotten fruit, a knife still lying abandoned. You grabbed disinfectant from under the sink, spraying until the citrus tang filled the air, sharper even than the clementine still sitting uneaten. Together you wiped down the counters, rinsed the knife, and discarded the cucumbers and strawberries into the trash, knowing that you didn’t want to feel guilt by returning them to the fridge after knowingly having sex on the counter where they were cut up and prepared. Neither of you said much–there was no need. The silence felt warm, steady, a rhythm as grounding as the act of cleaning itself.
When the last streak of marble shone spotless, you leaned against the island, suddenly aware of how exhaustion pressed down on your bones. Your appetite was gone, devoured by what you’d already shared, and all that remained was the buzz of satiation and the steady thrum of him beside you.
Bob straightened, wiping his hands on his thighs, his damp hair curling against his forehead. His gaze found you, and his lips tugged into that crooked, devastating smile.
“How about we go for a ro-round two,” He suggested, voice still ragged, playful now. He tipped his head toward the hall. “Only this time we’ll do it in my room.”
You looked up at him, biting the inside of your lip, heat pooling low again despite your exhaustion. A small laugh escaped you, breathless. “I really can’t say no…”
His grin widened, boyish and hungry all at once. In one smooth motion, his arms slid under you again, lifting you effortlessly from the floor. You gasped, your arms flying around his shoulders, clinging instinctively as he carried you. His chest rumbled with a low laugh, the sound vibrating against you as he muttered, low and reverent:
Holy shit I assume everyone is doing an up and down jiggle and maybe a side to side jiggle but if you jiggle your phone forward and backwards he jiggles in and out, too
Summary: Adrian stumbled home late and incredibly hard thanks to the strange sweets Chris sold him. Neither of you realized it was an aphrodisiac chocolate, which sent Adrian into a frenzy and completely derailed your romantic evening.
Warnings: MDNI, PURE SMUT AND NO PLOT, switchy!Adrian, aphrodisiacs, food play (Adrian is a little lad who likes berries and cream), oral (both ways), throat fucking, cum eating (literally), penetration, early ejaculation, nipple play, Adrian’s a biter, crude language
Word count: 5k
Masterlist of my works
Note: But Nicks, this fic was requested more than a whole month ago! Listen, I know I’m tragically late. Exams were kicking my ass, work is kicking my ass and I simply didn’t have the energy to transfer my thoughts into words. I’m really sorry. BUT it is here now, so mystery anon, this one’s all yours. I hope it hits the mark, at least a little. Have fun :)
Lights were out, candles were warming up the room with their dancing flames and casting ever-changing shadows around the small living room. Prepared strawberries, champagne, melted chocolate, and whipped cream were taunting you from their place on the coffee table in front of you.
Despite some scratchy lace on your new lingerie hidden underneath a silk robe, you were comfortably lounging on the couch and flipping through playlists that would set the mood just right.
It was a perfect evening in almost every aspect.
Almost.
The most crucial thing was missing - your boyfriend.
Adrian’s eyes were sparkling at the time he promised he would come home right after his shift for a romantic evening just for the two of you. Yet, he wasn’t there; it was almost 10 p.m. and every call fell right to his voicemail.
He won’t even see it coming when you murder him one day for ditching on you all the time.
Jingling of keys snapped you out of your angry thoughts, front doors being slammed shut ignited the fire again and even more than before. “Where have you been, Adrian?” you shrilled, head snapping towards him.
You could have seen his muscles tensing up upon hearing your accusing tone, his eyes widening, fist closing around a little zip lock bag with something strange inside. “Listen-“ he started with a choked-up voice before waddling to the kitchen.
He walked… strangely. Legs apart, swaying from side to side, nearly tripping over his own feet as he practically lunged for a glass of water. Adrian gulped like a man freshly out of the desert, water cascading down his chin, neck and staining his shirt.
Just after he partially quenched his thirst, he took a proper look at you, “Peacemaker needed a lift from a bar. He was fucking wasted, you should have seen him.”
“And he sold me this!” Adrian announced with a wide grin and held up the zip lock bag. From a distance, it didn’t look like anything good, and when he limped closer, it looked even worse.
“Looks like shit in a bag.” You grimaced as you got a better look at Adrian’s latest prized possession. The bag was half full of small brown chunks that resembled chocolate, but they were coated in a bluish, dusty grain that gave thema strange look. A faint, bitter smell filled the air, enough to spoil the sweet tooth you had for the strawberries with cream.
“Just because Chris is broke doesn’t mean you need to buy everything he offers, babe,” You patted the spot beside you with a sigh. “Chris called me a few days ago to see if I wanted to buy dead mice Eagly brought him, in case I wanted to learn taxidermy. Do you see any dead mice around here?”
Adrian wasn’t listening, though. His eyes shifted from your lace-clad form, along with not-so-subtle adjusting of his crotch, to the glass full of champagne on the table. Despite the dark you were able to catch a glimpse of the tent he was pitching, along with the licking of his lips before he downed the glass in two big gulps.
“You could stuff mice and make them look like us. I would do that. I would- I would stuff you… as a mouse I mean.” He babbled, still fidgeting with the bag in his hands, shifting restlessly where he sat. “Fuck, I would love to stuff you.” he murmured under his breath.
Finally, you noticed he wasn’t quite alright. You weren’t sure if he was still wet from his reckless drinking of everything in sight or if he was sweating like a pig. With a closer look it became clear just how dilated his pupils were, combined with the shallow inhales and exhales it became rather concerning.
“Are you okay, baby?” you asked quietly, care resonating in your voice, while the back of your hand touched his forehead and cheek.
Seething hot, just as you thought.
Adrian let out a shaky little moan when he felt your bare skin against his face. He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes like he was physically in pain. “Chris told me this will make me last forever in bed and… And I wanted to make this night good for you.”
“And you trusted him?” Of course he did. If Chris told Adrian to jump out of the window, he would do it. The biggest flaw of the sweetheart in front of you is his never-ending loyalty to people he definitely should not trust.
Adrian just meekly nodded at your question and with a trembling breath he tossed the bag on the table, flinching when it thudded heavily on the wood.
You felt bad for him, truly. Adrian kept shifting on the couch, hissing whenever his jeans created friction that made his cock jump unwillingly. Looking like a poorly stitched-up ragdoll, his head rolled to the side to stare at you with half-lidded eyes and parted lips.
Your hand moved to brush a few stray hairs from his forehead, fingers traveling down the side of his face and cupping his cheek along with a pitiful smile. He nuzzled into your touch almost immediately, seeking that familiar warmth of your palm. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”
Maybe Chris did it on purpose. Perhaps he did want to get back at you through your boyfriend just because you didn’t help him with the money laundering scheme involving dead animals. Perhaps he wanted to punish Adrian for saying something too out of place. Or maybe he was just that stupid and genuinely believed this would make the night more romantic.
In the end, it didn’t matter how or why Adrian ended up with shady chocolate sprinkled with Viagra. Gods, you would be lucky if it was just Viagra and not some powdered madness Chris stole from his one night stand.
“N-no,” he stuttered out before his attention shifted from your caring expression to the beauty you were hiding underneath the robe “I’m just so fucking thirsty.”
Adrian caught your wrist in a firm grip before you could properly stand up and get him the water he seemingly craved “I don’t want water.” He muttered lowly, tugging you down to sit back down beside him.
His thumb was running oddly soothing circles on the inside of your wrist while he gulped audibly. That damned Adam’s apple bobbing was sure to be your undoing, distracting you from the matter.
“Do you want tea? Coffee?”
“Just you.”
Whatever combination of drugs was in the chocolate, it surely clouded your boyfriend’s mind. Not only was he aroused to the point of pain, but his brain also seemed to malfunction. Glassy eyes with blown pupils only added to the pathetic pleading look on his features.
You thought he was close to begging for you. For your pussy. For your touch. Anything.
But Adrian snapped, almost like his actions weren’t his, driven only by the uncontrollable need.
Before you could react, Adrian dropped low, hooked arms under your thighs, and swept you off balance with a yelp. In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back with your legs folded and your hips lifted off the couch.
While you were struggling to steady yourself with just your upper back on the soft plush of couch, Adrian pulled you up, legs on his shoulders, ass resting on his heaving chest, head dangerously close to your core. “You even bought new lingerie for me.”
The touch of his calloused fingers running over your thighs was nice, to say at least, but goddamn… Adrian was determined. His face dove right in between your thighs, the rims of his glasses digging into your skin.
He began mouthing at your lace-covered cunt, too eager to pull it to the side. Adrian was grasping at your hips and waist, absentmindedly helping you stay in the uncomfortable arched position while his mouth, open as far as it was possible, enveloped your pussy.
Adrian’s eyes nearly rolled back as he began to suck on the fabric, trying to drown himself in the smell and faint taste of your arousal coating the lace.
“So sweet, always so sweet…” Those barely coherent praises reverberating through your folds made you gasp out his name in that oh so nice pitch the man between your legs loved so much.
The more he thought about the whole evening, the more guilty he felt and the more aroused he became. He got voluntarily spiked and came home late with a boner. And you? You bought new lingerie, created a nice atmosphere, and prepared romantic snacks to go along with it.
He loved the taste of strawberries mixed with whipped cream…
And he loved the taste of your pussy…
Come on, Adrian, think…
Then, his eyes narrowed with malicious intent, fingers grasped at the crotch of your panties, harshly pulling them to the side, and reached for the can of whipped cream.
“Ade, don’t you dare.” You warned him and tried to stop him, but with the position you were in, it was almost impossible to grab the whipped cream from his grasp.
“I don’t want the food to go to waste!” He argued back and shook the can in his hand.
The sudden coldness of the milky topping being sprayed on your privates made you flinch, even more so when Adrian also ran the tip of the strawberry through it, making sure he would get all the cream from you and the can.
“Savage.” You muttered with a smile after you saw Adrian plop the whole strawberry in his mouth, moaning at the taste while his fingers dug into your skin even more.
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re the best dessert in the universe.” His mouth soon found home back between your legs, this time with no fabric in the way to stop him from directly attacking your heated flesh.
Although Adrian's balls posed an active bomb threat, his mouth continued to move at a leisurely pace. Slow dragging of lips, reverent sucks and deep licks into your entrance were the sinful things that coaxed low, soft whimpers out of you.
There was greed in his eyes, you could see it. For a moment, it wasn’t clear if the reflection of dancing lights was from candles on the table or his very own lustful flames burning in his eyes.
And for that moment, everything was peaceful. Just like you imagined this night would go. After some giggling whilst feeding each other strawberries, chatting about nonsense and a few sensual champagne-drunk kisses, you would end up in this exact position nonetheless.
In reality, you had to add one little thing to the equation of love, Adrian’s wildness that came along with erotic refreshments.
It was a usual sight of your partner with a lower face all messy with wetness and his own spit, except this time he made a mess with melting whipped cream, some of it even coating the bottom of his glasses.
Not that he minded.
Because all he cared about was to prepare you to finally take his dick deep inside so he could fill you up with gallons of sperm that miraculously spawned in his balls.
And also because he loved munching on some juicy pussy. Like a true gentleman.
Adrian stuck his tongue inside your dripping channel, seeking more of the sweet nectar he would drown in if you allowed him to. Your thighs tightened around his head when you felt the muscle swirl and flick around, making you mewl.
Minutes ticked by and Adrian’s patience was running thin. He was enjoying himself more than he might have let on, but the maddening throb between his legs was getting too much.
He pulled away seconds before stars could explode behind your eyelids, leaving your body humming with unsatisfied heat. You wondered if he had simply overlooked the signs of your close undoing, or if it was a calculated torment to leave you aching for him the same way he ached for you.
“I can’t take it anymore,” He slurred the words together, not that you were really listening to him while he manhandled you, lifting you with strong arms and settling you on his lap. “I need to fuck you, can I? Please, can I fuck you?”
Perhaps you were as needy as he was when your hands dropped down to the button of his jeans. There was simply no time to spare. “Yeah, yeah… Of course you can. This night was leading to that anyway.”
Adrian matched your urgency, helping you peel the denim and underwear down his legs and strip the shirt over his head, revealing skin that ached for your touch.
“You can take it, right, baby?” He asked a second too late, his throbbing cock was already being positioned at your entrance, the tip of him prying its way inside.
“You can take it.” He whispered against the skin of your shoulder before biting down.
Your longing matched his with each breath, oh, to be one conjoined being once again. Lose all those sharp edges and bounding formality, both of you needed to be one again. Melting of warm flesh, intertwining wanton hearts.
The slick of melted whipped cream, combined with your arousal, helped Adrian slide in with no real trouble and so you both could enjoy every millisecond of his dick inching inside your warm pussy.
Adrian was barely halfway in when you felt a familiar throbbing, echo of his steady heartbeat, and a sudden, never-ending rush of warmth filling you up.
You didn’t see it coming, literally. He gave no warning, no signal, no chorus of moans and guttural sounds. His canines stayed rooted in your shoulder; the only sound he made was the ghost of a whimper lost deep in his throat.
You had to wrench him off your shoulder, fingers tangled in the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “‘m sorry,” he murmured, barely audible. “Felt too good.”
And how could you not forgive him? Not when he looked like that. With blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears, mouth agape, eyes glassy and unfocused, veiled by the mess of his hair.
That charming look of surrender and complete submission, so rare to see.
It didn’t matter if he came home tired from work or beaten up from patrol, Adrian always had some energy stashed away to pound you into the mattress.
Without breaks, without complaints, he would always turn you into satisfied well-fucked jelly. And then, only then, would he allow himself to fall on top of you with a huff and rest his aching muscles.
It didn’t happen as often, but it was twice as rewarding when Adrian let you be in control. There was just something so magical about seeing a strong man, the Vigilante, whining, tossing and turning.
Whenever that meant you would be on top of him, under him, on your knees or just helping him tug one out after a bad dream while he lies cuddled to your side.
Each and every time he seemed like a fallen god, all he needed was a wreath in his hair, for he was already glowing. A radiant celestial being, now touched by a hint of human frailty.
Like the way skin around his eyes wrinkled from constant smiling, that stubborn curl that never stayed in place, the freckles scattered across his face and body like constellations.
Like that old saying, your freckles mark where past lovers kissed you. You were certain you had placed them there.
Perfect imperfections.
Maybe in your next life, you’ll have freckles wherever Adrian sank his teeth into you. Because while he pressed his lips to you, scattering love all over your skin, his bites came with an unyielding hunger and determination hard to overlook.
As if he was trying to pierce through flesh and bone, trying to suck out the marrow, desperate to get as close to your core as he possibly could.
“You’re still so hard, Ade. Are you sure you’re okay?” No matter how rewarding it felt to make him crumble so fast, you needed to make sure he wasn’t passing out on you or something.
After all, he just spurted a huge amount of cum, you could feel it seeping out around his still-hard length. Adrian did have stamina, but not like this.
His strong arms locked tighter around your waist, voice cracked and trembling, as he buried his face back into your neck. “Please… please, please, please, please…”
“Don’t stop, please, fuck me.” The words spilled from him like a prayer while he forced you to finally bottom out. “Ride me,use me. God, use me.”
Despite initial wariness, you started to roll your hips, enjoying the discomfort he gave you even after all this time.
Strong hands encouraged you with pushes on your lower back for a moment before they slid down to the globes of your ass to knead and dig fingers in the soft flesh.
Open-mouthed kisses were scattered over your shoulders, throat, and jaw, leaving heat in their wake. Raspy and whiny pleas buzzing through your skin.
And then he bit down again.
Right at the tender junction beneath your ear. On that delicate little spot. Adrian didn’t hold back this time; his jaw clenched as if he was trying to bite part of your face off. His teeth lingered on that spot even after you hissed from pain and grabbed him by the back of his neck. Not necessarily prying him off, just squeezing.
“If you’re hungry,” you said with a low tone, “there are still strawberries and chocolate on the table.” You were hoping the promise of actual food might deter him from gnawing at you like an unhinged cannibal.
He let go of your jaw and silently admired the imprint of his teeth on your silky skin. Then, still cradling you in his lap, he leaned forward and plucked the strawberries and half-melted chocolate from the coffee table, setting them down beside him on the couch. Casual, like he hadn’t just marked you with pure hunger.
Despite his lust-crazed mind he still cared, at least to the point where he put a juicy strawberry to your lips. But when you slowed down your little bounces to take a bite, sweet nectar smearing across your mouth and his fingers, his initial whining came back.
“No, no, no, please? Please don’t stop.” Fingers of his hand grabbed more harshly at your ass again, trying to coax you into a faster pace.
Strawberries be damned, no matter how tempting you looked savoring each bite from the sinful red fruit he held with trembling fingers. You could have thought you were in control however you wanted, but the moment Adrian threw caution to the wind and wrapped you in a tight embrace, keeping you in place, you were done for.
Chest to chest, sticky from both sweat and fruit, eye to eye, clouded with need. Adrian looked at you like you were his whole world, something precious to protect, even when his hips began snapping upwards with brutal pace.
You should have been embarrassed by how wet you were from experiencing this desperate, broken version of your partner that needed just one thing: release.
Well, to be fair, Adrian’s cum slicking up your cunt to the end and beyond was the biggest reason for his dick to be sliding so easily in and out.
And at this point, you didn’t care about his release dripping down on the couch and neither did you care when he put his fingers in the melted chocolate, pulling down the cups of your new lingerie, and painted your chest with it. Still warm sweetness coated your nipple as he plucked at it, circled his forefinger around it with fascination.
Neither did you care when he opened his mouth as far as it would go, almost mimicking a snake trying to devour poor prey, and then latched onto your chest with a heat that instantly spread through your veins.
Greedy, greedy, greedy.
Greedy for you, greedy for more, greedy to fuck away the insatiable need.
He licked off the chocolate with a low hum, pulled away, and repeated the process. Adrian was just a simple man enjoying mortal sins; gluttony and lust.
His noises buzzed through your chest when he refused to let go of your breast. There it was again, the starving urgency to mark you up with his teeth and to make you remember his presence days after.
If only his canines weren’t so sharp.
Rather than scolding your boyfriend, latched onto your tit, you focused on riding him good and hard. His hands helped you move up and down, meeting his frenzied thrusts from below.
Every clash echoed with wet squelches and the deafening sound of skin slapping. What a beautiful melody.
Your body went rigid after Adrian’s fingers found their way between your bodies, determined to make you finish this time. “You gotta cum, I need to feel you squeeze my cock.”
“No, you have to cum. We need to get that shit out of your system.” You argued with no real bite.
“I’m gonna cum if you cum.”
“Deal.”
If only arguments with dear Adrian Chase were as easy as this. Often, you argued about the stupidest thing in the world for the whole night. Like… No, baby, milk does not come before cereal.
Same as Adrian does not come before you. He just could not do it under normal circumstances. He had to make sure your pretty little brain was empty of all those unnecessary thoughts that distracted you from the most important part. Being filled up to the brim like a cream donut.
Few more bounces, few more grinds. A couple of high-pitched moans from your side and whiny grunts from Adrian and then…
And then… Those small sparks of electricity caused a full-on fire in your lower belly. Seizing everything in its wake.
A chain reaction caused your lover to throw his head back and grit his teeth as he let go for the second time tonight. Twitching, spurting, until he had nothing left.
Or so you thought.
“You gotta be kidding.” Adrian was still hard; you could feel it.
His dick was still snuggled tall and proud in your overstuffed pussy.
Carefully, you lifted off his lap, letting his cock plop from your insides, followed by a straight-up waterfall of his release. “Don’t even think about it.” You scolded him after you caught him zeroing between your legs and licking his lips.
The last thing you could take was his prying tongue, trying to compensate for the lack of dick in your cunt.
This was no time to give up though, you were sure he could get rid of that goddamned drug from Chris. So you did what you did best, sliding down between his legs, kneeling before him. His hand immediately dropped down to caress your blushing cheeks, then moved up to tangle in your hair and bring you closer to his erection.
You exchanged quick smiles; one that said ‘Don’t worry, I will take care of you’ and one with the simple message ‘Thank you’
Lingering kisses were pressed along his shaft, you could taste the tangy essence sticking to the velvety skin. It coursed through you like a narcotic with unsettling sweetness. Two lovers intoxicated by fairy dust and the ache of longing, spinning thoughts into one tangled mess.
With light touches you patted his strong thighs on each side of your head and without breaking eye contact, you took him in your mouth. Adrian let out a shuddering breath the second he felt the familiar welcoming heat.
You couldn’t help but smile with your mouth full. How many times had you found yourself in this exact moment, watching that familiar reaction? Countless times, yet it was still marvelous to see.
“My balls are so fucking full,” Adrian whimpered above you, leading your hand from his thigh between his legs. You silently marveled at the weight and pitied him at the same time. “Would you help me? Please, please help me.”
Even though he begged and pleaded with you, he was already shallowly thrusting into your mouth. Cock sliding along your tongue, aiming for your tight throat he intended to fill.
Inching deeper and deeper, with each push he made you swallow more of him.
You applied pressure on his balls whenever you gagged around him, a silent reminder to tone it down a bit.
Slowly but surely, he stuck his shaft down your throat, stopping only when your nose pressed against his abdomen, where his inner muscles twitched and stretched. You swallowed around him, tightened that little stuffed channel, and watched with glee when Adrian’s eyes fluttered closed and mouth fell open in a moan.
“You feel so fucking good,” his voice was strained, words barely making it out of his mouth. “Can I fuck your throat, baby? Yeah? Will you let me?”
He wasn’t asking for permission, not exactly, his hips already started moving at a leisurely pace. He knew you wouldn’t be against his cock sliding in and out past your lips, all shiny with spit.
“You always take my cock like a good girl. So good for me.”
Adrian never held back with praise once he got into the right mental place, once he regained control over his own body. And you did deserve it with the way you were gobbling his cock and helping him thrust away with hands on the back of his thighs.
He was in the right state of mind to pull away when you just briefly dug your nails in his leg. You gasped for air when his cock slipped out of your throat and made space for the precious oxygen to fill your lungs. “You good?”
Oh, of course you were. After a break you nodded and opened your mouth again, inviting him in.
Adrian slid home and shuddered at the feeling, “You have the perfect throat for me to fuck, you know that?”
His words may have sounded confident, though it did not take long before his moans grew faster, his breath shallower, and his thrusts more frantic.
His cock jumped in your mouth, throbbing and making itself known, as if you weren’t fully engulfed with it already.
“Don’t swallow, baby,” Adrian whimpered out in a strangled voice.
At first, your mind barely registered what he was saying. He normally asked for the exact opposite.
Tonight his thoughts, hazy with desire, wandered into uncharted territory, and somehow his slack-jawed mouth managed to speak the words. “P-please don’t swallow.”
And you did not.
Gosh, you did not.
His nails dug into your scalp, causing the most delicious pain to roll through your body while Adrian’s frame above you shook with ecstasy, hips stuttered as the force of his orgasm overtook him. “F-fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
The salty, bitter taste of him filled your mouth until you couldn’t hold it in and remnants of your boyfriend’s pleasure started making their way past your lips.
He pulled his finally softening cock out with a wet plop before he grabbed at your jaw and forced you to open for him. There it was, white and viscous liquid sitting neatly at the bottom of your mouth.
“Fucking hell, baby,” He sighed as his thumb rubbed along your jaw in appreciation. “You look so good with your mouth full of me.” Corners of your mouth twitched upwards in a lousy smile while meeting his green eyes that no longer radiated fiery lust, only the usual warmth and love.
“Keep your mouth open for me,” Adrian ordered as his hand tightened its hold on your chin. He grabbed another strawberry from the plate and turned to you with a wicked gleam.
Both of your breaths hitched in your throats when he dipped the strawberry in your mouth, making sure he gathered enough of his cum on the tip before he brought it to his lips, humming at the taste like it was the finest meal he had ever eaten.
“Thank God for strawberries,” Adrian murmured with a faint smile, placing the half-eaten fruit in your mouth. With a gentle nudge, he coaxed you to chew. Just minutes ago, he'd been unraveling before you, but now he quickly fell back into his usual demeanor.
And yeah… Thank God for strawberries.
They were one of the reasons the night went so off the rails. You were sure no other fruit would taste so good combined with Adrian’s cum in your mouth, complementing the bitter taste with its sweetness.
“Are you alright now?” You raised a question while Adrian rubbed your jaw in an attempt to ease the stiffness in your facial muscles. He sure as hell seemed alright, more than that, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Stomach full. Balls empty. A satisfied man.
“Yeah, I think so, thank you.” It was such a simple answer and yet it lifted a heavy weight off your shoulders. Partly because you were happy your beloved was no longer feverish and partly because you earned a break from the overbearing passion.
By the end of the night you weren’t sure if you were sticky from the sheer amount of whipped cream, strawberry juice, melted chocolate or Adrian’s cum. In the end, none of it really mattered. What mattered was your sweetheart lying beside you, no longer hard, freshly bathed, wrapped in the warmth of your shared space, being truly sated and deeply loved.
The real dilemma was what to do with the aphrodisiac chocolate Adrian brought home. You should throw it out, hoping raccoons won’t sniff it out in your garbage and you won’t have to take care of millions of raccoon babies.
But a quieter voice in your head suggested something different. After all, that unexpected disruption had added a certain spark to the evening.
summary: An off night, a hotel room, a bottle of peach Jim Beam, and Vigilante. What could go wrong?
words: 9.8k
cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, oral sex (f receiving), some dubcon elements, shower sex, praise kink, sub!adrian, technically switch!adrian but (gestures vaguely), alcohol consumption, drunk sex, blood kink, mentions of contraception, cowgirl position, choking, gagging, friends to lovers, character study disguised as smut, james gunn said the visor is prescription and i took that as canon, reader uses prescription lenses, yes i did name this after the pitbull song
a/n: we are so fucking back
ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
“Working hours” with this black ops group are loosely defined at best, and entirely nonexistent at worst. And don’t even get started on pay, because you think at this point that you’re only getting comped whatever the pay is for your cost of living, and that’s only really when you’re on the clock. They’ll pay for the hotel room and sometimes the food, but besides that, you’re on your own.
But, back to those working hours. You don’t know when they stopped, but maybe it was around the time your roomie decided to crack open a bottle of whisky and pour out half of it for you into one of the plastic solo cups they provide with the coffee pot. God knows you’re not working anymore, you’re just sort of sitting idle while he rambles about the room, gesticulating with the bottle. Like he does.
(Plus, you don’t think he’s even being paid for this? Adrian is just here for the fun and because he’s available, and the rest of the team just let him tag along because he’s useful. The thought makes you smirk a little bit.)
You admire his profile as he talks, one finger pressed to your smiling lips as your eyes trail him back and forth, thinking he might eventually hypnotize you. He’s so… expressive. And he has dimples and curly hair, which you’ve always been a sucker for. He hasn’t even taken off his suit; blue on silver on black, with a red visor on the mask discarded on the table. You had watched him remove it, and carefully tried to hide the fact that you were staring as he pulled his wire-rimmed glasses out of a hidden pocket.
You’re very pointedly staring now, sizing him up like your next fucking meal (alcohol does that to you), and Adrian keeps on blathering in one long spiel, pacing in circles like hasn’t even noticed your hungry gaze (alcohol does that to him).
“Is that prescription?” you ask, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence, which you’d barely been paying attention to. Something something Twilight, something something cultural reset.
Adrian stops pacing, looking at you with a deer-in-headlights expression. “Huh?”
You nod at the mask laying on the table by the door. “The visor. Is it prescription?”
He swivels to look at the mask, and then back to you with an almost bashful laugh. “Uh… yeah?”
“That’s sick.”
“Really?” Dimples. You take another sip of your whisky to calm yourself, and it burns at the back of your throat. Objectively, you should not be feeling this way about your pseudo-coworker, who also happens to be somewhat of a lunatic. But, y’know, he’s… sweet. To you. Which is the odd thing, but you’ve gone beyond worrying about the details at this point. You’re hunting alien butterfly creatures that live in people’s brains, you can get past a couple character flaws.
“I mean, yeah.” You lick your lips, which have taken on the flavor of the peach liqueur in the whisky. “I wear prescription lenses, too, but they’re a bitch to keep clean on the job. If I could afford prescription hardware, I would. Good on you.”
“Yeah, I mean… yeah, it is fucking cool, thank you!” He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners and making you clench your jaw with how badly you want to reach out and kiss him long and hard at that exact moment. “I was starting to think no one else would notice how genius it is. Y’know, I don’t even think Peacemaker’s noticed, which is totally not very best friend-like of him, but it’s fine, I’m sure he’ll come around eventually, the guy constantly has a lot of shit on his plate. Like I remember one time, me and him got stuck in a Winnebago that was rolling downhill toward a cliff like something out of Looney Tunes because some idiot crack dealer locked us in there with his load, and-”
He’s pacing again, and the amber colored liquid in the square bottle he grips by the neck sloshes against the glass as he continues waving it around emphatically. And you’ve zoned out again, because now you’re thinking about his hands, and how nice they’d feel on your body. You’ve seen him beat the shit out of people, you know he’s packing some major force in those fists, but you haven’t felt them on your own skin, or had the experience of having them wrapped around your throat for yourself.
“-then, y’know, Eagly’s a fucking badass, I don’t know if you’ve seen him in action, but the little dude can take a guy out in like one peck. Like do not get caught on the wrong end of those talons is all I’m saying. Anyways, he swooped in and yanked the fucking wheel, so the Winnebago flipped. I mean, can you imagine! A bald eagle rolling a camper. That shit’s gotta be, like, legendary-”
And his quads as he walks, Jesus Christ. You’ve never been super partial to burly, buff guys (sorry Chris), but there’s something to be said for muscle in the right places. Adrian’s legs are nice, you can tell just by the way the fabric of his pants stretches around them when he turns, and fuck his ass is so tight. You nearly salivate just staring at it, thinking about how much you’d love to dig your heels into it, or squeeze it to urge him on as he fucks you.
Your eyes snap down to your solo cup of whisky, and you frown. When did you drink half of it?
“-but like I’m sure you know Eagly pretty well because he loves you, I can tell. He kind of scooches closer every time you sit near him, it’s really cute actually, I mean, I would scooch closer whenever you sat near me too except I feel like you’d punch me in the dick, good thing my suit’s got a reinforced crotch-”
“Wait, what?” You blink up at him, your brain sort of fizzling out and then rebooting as you stare at him. What did he say?
Adrian doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, the guy who made it was like, ‘That makes no sense, you’re gonna have the worst time trying to take a piss in this,’ and I said, ‘No, dude, have you ever been karate kicked in the nuts before? Shit hurts.’ I still had to pay extra-”
“No, no, what was that shit about scooching closer? To me?” You squint at him. “Babe, are you trying to tell me something?”
He blushes. You know he’s joked about not feeling emotions like other people do, but you wonder how true that really is, because he goes beet fucking red like he’s having trouble breathing as he stares down at his shoes. “I, uh- well, I mean, yeah, I’d scooch closer to you. Theoretically. If- if you wanted me to. And if you weren’t going to punch me in the dick.”
“Why would I punch you in the dick?”
“I don’t know, it’s like… it’s an understandable reaction to someone getting in someone else’s personal space!”
“No, it really isn’t…”
“Well, how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t punch me in the dick?”
You throw up your hand in an exasperated gesture. “When have you ever seen me punch someone in the dick?”
He screws up his face. “UM, I don’t know, you punched Peacemaker in the dick!”
“What? When?”
“When he tried lifting you onto the truck that one time!”
“That was a misunderstanding, I kneed him because he didn’t give me a heads up!”
“But you did it!”
“Well, the last thing I would want to do to your dick is punch it, all right?”
You both stop and stare at each other for a long moment. You think you might have stopped breathing, too. Yeah, you are definitely tipsy at this point, but you raise a slightly shaking hand to take a casual sip of your drink, as if you aren’t staring at him with bulging eyes like you’re possessed.
He opens his mouth and closes it a few times before he comes out with a response. “Okay.”
You blink. “Okay?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I mean, what other stuff would you do to my dick?”
“Uh… stuff.” You jerkily stand, nearly sloshing your drink as you try to get your bearings. You set the cup down on the bedside table and turn to look at him with the most awkward, pin-straight posture you could possibly muster, like a high schooler trying to pretend they aren’t drunk in front of their parents. “I’m going to take a shower now. Yeah. I am. I’m going to do that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Adrian looks down at the bottle in his hand, and then shuffles a bit to the side so that you can pass him.
“I mean, unless you wanted to shower first?” You pause at the end of your respective bed, and turn to see him turning down the covers on his own by the window. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting in bed,” he says flatly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He reaches up and undoes a latch on his armor that frees the chestplate, and lifts it over his head in one swift move, leaving him in his tight fitting black undershirt.
You stare at him, scatterbrained until you manage to scowl at him, and the two knives he wears crossed against his lower back. “You’re going to sleep with all your weapons?”
“Yeah.”
“With all the dirt and sweat and fucking blood from fighting?”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t just… you can’t just get in bed with your outside clothes on, dude!” you splutter, leaning your thigh against the end of the mattress before you, and slow your speech carefully as you declare, “It’s… unsanitary.”
“Oh, and who are you, the sleep police?” Adrian turns to sneer at you. “I thought you were going to take a shower.”
“Well I was, but that was before I knew you weren’t planning on it!” You throw your hand out at him. “Why?”
“Because! If I go to sleep with wet hair it dries all weird, okay? Get off my dick!”
“I’m sure you’ll look just as pretty regardless, Adrian,” you tut condescendingly at him, rolling your eyes as you turn on your heels toward the bathroom. “Do what you want, or fucking join me if you change your mind, I don’t care.”
You don’t register the full weight of your words until you turn on the tap. But, by that time, you also don’t get to see the way Adrian stares at the door to the bathroom like you’ve just presented him with the key to the city.
You very rarely opt for lukewarm showers, but you certainly do now. With the way your blood is humming through your veins like electricity, and you feel hot just from the sight of Adrian’s muscles in that tight fucking shirt, you feel a cold shower is in order. Well, colder, anyways.
The water pressure is complete bullshit, of course. It pathetically trickles out, and it takes longer than usual for your body to get completely soaked. In that time, you lean against the tile and hold your head in your hands as the water drips down your face. How the fuck are you supposed to sleep in the same room as this guy? Between the way you’re just aching to jump his bones, and his inability to stop talking, you don’t think it’s a possibility tonight.
You wonder what he would sound like when you ride him. You wonder if he would finally shut up, or if he would switch to talking to you like a lover instead of a drinking buddy. You wonder if he would beg, or if he’s more dominant than that.
You’re imagining his head between your thighs. You’re imagining what he’d look like with your hands tangled in his hair. You’re imagining the feeling of his mouth on your skin, the calloused planes of his palms on your breasts and beneath your thighs. You’re… you’re shaking.
The white shower curtain rips open, and Adrian steps in beside you, naked as the day he was born. “Hey, can you pass the soap?”
“What the fuck?” You turn your head to look at him with a bewildered expression, simply refusing to tear your eyes away from his face because you do not want to cross that line and have the image of his dick imprinted in your brain while you try to get to sleep tonight. “Adrian, what are you doing?”
“Well, you said to join you if I changed my mind.” He shrugs, his smile the absolute picture of innocence, but his eyes still rake slowly down your body before finding your face again.
You blink, searching for a proper response to that. His eyes are green. Jesus Christ, that’s three for three: dimples, curly hair, and green eyes. He’s trying to kill you.
“I was being sar-” you cut yourself off with a sigh, “yeah, you know what, I did say that. Shit. Fucking… okay. Whatever. Here.” You fumble with the tiny complimentary body wash tube and thrust it toward him. “Go apeshit.”
“You have a really great ass by the way.”
“Adrian.”
“What? You do. I’m just being honest. I’m not even saying that because this is the first time I’ve seen you naked, I always thought your ass was nice, there just wasn’t a good time to say it.”
Your face is burning. You turn your back on him and try your hardest not to clap your hands over your eyes or do something equally embarrassing. You don’t think Adrian is even fazed by any of this; he wasn’t wearing his glasses, either, and you don’t know how strong his prescription is. You imagine pretty strong, if he needs it in his visor. Maybe there’s a good chance he can’t see the exact details of your tits. Maybe-
He touches your shoulder, and you feel lather running down your back as he starts massaging circles into your skin.
“Are you washing me?” you wheeze, your voice coming out an octave higher, and you really do cover your face again this time. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and you can’t focus on anything other than the touch of his hand on your shoulder blade.
“Uh, yeah? I wash your back, you wash mine, right?” He sounds cheery and completely content with everything that’s happening and, despite the sheer oddness of all of it, you don’t really want him to stop. You guess that’s why you haven’t told him to get the hell out, yet.
Maybe you’re just as much of a lunatic as him. “‘Scratch,’ Adrian. It’s fucking ‘scratch.’”
He pauses. “What?”
“It’s ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine.’”
“That makes no fucking sense.” He shakes his head in your periphery, his hand resuming its circular motion against your back, moving across to your other shoulder. You feel the soft, wet glide like a molten lava trail.
“Of course it makes sense! Why would it be ‘wash?’”
“Why wouldn’t it be ‘wash?’”
“Because it’s about doing your friends favors,” you argue in a wobbly, strained voice as you shiver while his fingers slide down your spine. It raises goosebumps on your skin, despite the heat in your veins and the cool of the water. “Friends don’t wash each other’s backs, genius.”
“So, we’re not friends?”
His hand pauses again just at the curve of your lower back, where it extends down into your tailbone. You bite your lip, and you can feel his eyes on you, the touch of his gaze almost as real as his hand is. Your thighs clench together involuntarily. You simpering little… weak, desperate thing, you are not going to beg for him to touch you. That’s not it. That’s not how this should go.
But, you could turn around and touch him, too. You could probably kiss him, if you were feeling really adventurous. He just basically implied that he wouldn’t be opposed to fucking you, right? That was where the conversation had been going earlier, if you hadn’t been such a pussy. Neither of you is nearly as subtle as you think you are.
You manage to chew your lip enough to tear a gash in it, and salty, coppery blood hits your tongue. You’re losing it, standing on the precipice of something way bigger than the two of you. You’re just an inch away from becoming more than just friends with Adrian, if you don’t reel it in quickly. Your hand comes up to slam against the wall when his fingers, which seem to be discontented to remain idle, start tracing little shapes on your lower back. A star. A diamond. A heart.
“N… No, I- I mean, we are. But I don’t think we’re going to be, if you keep it up.”
He grunts carelessly. “I’m having a hard time not keeping it up, really.”
“What do you mean?” You turn around, and his hand glides across your lower back and to your hip, because he refuses to stop touching you now (not that you want him to stop, either, if you’re being honest with yourself). Your eyes flick down, and you know exactly what he means, because he’s hard as a rock.
And also thick, and long, and veiny, but hey. What did you expect?
Your eyes linger on his erection for a long time, and drag your gaze slowly from the burst of dark hair at the base of his cock, up the line of his torso and to his chest. His pale skin is riddled with little scars here and there, from small injuries that weren’t serious enough to slow him down. He has a faint spray of freckles on his shoulders, suggesting that he spends at least some time in the sun. It makes you inordinately flustered to think of him doing some sort of outdoor activities to get that toned body of his.
You clear your throat as you find his gaze again. “Next dumb question,” you say, and he gives you a wide-eyed, vaguely awestruck look that makes you way more confident than it ought to. “Are you gonna fuck me, Adrian?”
His eyelashes flutter. His cheeks are painted with that sweet pink blush again, like he’s been entirely oblivious to the fact that he’s had you melting for him since he cracked open the bottle of Jim Beam. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s a fucking fantastic idea, do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” And he grabs you by the face to kiss you, and crowds you back against the wall. You give a surprised yelp into his open mouth, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as your back hits the cold tile. He grunts and brushes his soap covered fingers across your cheeks. “Did you bite your lip?”
“Yeah.”
“...Was that because of me?”
You whimper weakly as he slowly, and very purposefully, traces the length of your bottom lip with his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of your blood. “Yeah.”
“That’s so fucking hot.”
He yanks you up off of your feet, making you squeak and hold in a nervous laugh. Your leg bumps the faucet handle, and the water turns ice cold just as Adrian scrambles to hook your legs around his waist.
“Shit.” Adrian hisses and smacks the wall beside your hip once or twice before he finds the faucet, because he doesn’t stop kissing you. He’s sloppy and rushed and overexcited, but at least he gets the water running warm against as he presses you up against the wall. “I’ve never done this here, have you?”
“Shower sex? No.” You bite his lip as he hitches you up by the back of your thighs, and he groans as his hips jerk up toward yours. “But I think you’re doing a good job.”
“Wait, fuck. Do we need, like, a condom…?” He blinks at you with a glassy look in his eyes.
“IUD. I have- it’s all good, you’re fine.” You knock your head back against the wall with a whimper high in your throat as he brushes his cock against your entrance. You can feel the world spinning as you tangle your fingers in his wet hair, giving it a small but sharp tug. “Now, if you don’t fuck me I’m gonna-”
You choke when he drives the full length of his cock into you, pushing your hips back against the wall. Your nails scratch down his neck and across his shoulder blades as he splits you open, your legs tightening around his waist while simultaneously trying to spread wider to accommodate him. Adrian spits a curse into your neck, his teeth grazing a vein there as he ruts up into you, filling you so completely that a cry dies in your throat.
“God, fuck, Adrian,” you sob toward the ceiling, only too aware of him moaning loudly against your skin. He feels better than you had imagined, stretching you out so perfectly that your toes curl as you try your hardest to draw him forward with your legs alone.
“I knew you’d be perfect,” you catch him whispering into the crook of your neck, just barely audible over the trickle of water over your head.
He doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he starts pistoning his hips into yours, jolting you up the wall. Your skin squeaks against the wet tile, and his grunts echo in the curve of your neck. Tears might actually be streaming down your face, but you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the warm water coming from the showerhead.
Adrian’s hand comes up to brace against the wall beside your head, and he surprises you. “You really think I’m pretty?” He asks with such a genuine note of hope in his voice that you think he must be serious.
“I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” you breathe, whining when he nips at your jaw with his teeth. You interrupt your train of thought with a series of hoarse cries, because Adrian picks up the pace with less precision, and more just forceful thrusts that drive all the way to the end of you and make you see stars, regardless.
“You’re the most perfect person in the world and I wish I could paint because the only thing I’d be painting is just you over and over and over-”
He’s blathering into your shoulder, his mouth brushing your skin as it moves and his hips slamming yours back against the wall hard enough that you’re definitely going to be feeling it in the morning. Every bit of desire you have for him surges up inside you like an inferno catching on, like every stroke he makes is stoking that fire within you.
“-so pretty everyone wants you I can’t believe you would let me touch you or even kiss you but you’re letting me do this to you and it’s all I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you-”
It occurs to you to tell him that you’d let him do anything he wants to you at this point, as long as he just doesn’t stop fucking you- but that’s yet another line you refuse to cross for the sake of self preservation. You’re already drunk, and confessing the true scope of your feelings to him in this state would just be a recipe for disaster.
Oh god, but he’s like a reckoning. You shake your head to compose yourself and scratch your nails along his neck before you take his face in your hands and draw him up to you. His pupils were already blown out, but you think they nearly eclipse his irises when his hips falter and he sucks in a sharp breath. His dark hair is thoroughly drenched, and water drips down his face in little rivulets that you trace with your fingers just before you draw him to your lips.
You feel his small moan vibrate on your lips, and that’s enough. Your legs spasm, and your orgasm suddenly snaps within you like a rubber band, every muscle in your core tightening down on his cock as you see a burst of white behind your closed eyelids. It snuck up on you just as much as it did him.
“Holy fuck-” Adrian loudly gasps against your lips with a startled jolt of his hips, his full weight crushing you up against the wall. His nose nuzzles yours, so intimate in a way that you hadn’t expected from him, and with a few shuddering huffs of breath you feel him come with a rush of warmth deep inside you.
You’re floating somewhere above awareness when he slouches forward, his forehead resting against yours and his eyes closed as he takes deep, steadying breaths. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s just holding you, with his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s just trying to ground himself in your body.
You raise a shaking hand to smooth his wet hair back from his face. “Earth to Adrian. You still with me, babe?”
He grumbles something entirely non-coherent directly in front of your face, and blinks his eyes groggily open at you.
“The alcohol’s catching up with you, huh?”
He nods.
“Guess I’m washing your back, anyways. C’mon.” You wiggle out of his grip, and you’re only too thankful that you’re smushed up against the shower wall, or else you may have easily slipped and ate shit on the tile. The alcohol is fucking with your head quite a bit now, too, and your movements are a little jerky and uncoordinated as you try to help him get cleaned up.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet. The rest of the shower takes place in complete silence, actually, with the exception of the little grunt he makes when you urge him to bend down so you can get his hair for him. You catch him looking a little dazed as you turn off the water, and he gives you an unfocused stare when you toss a towel at him. You wonder if you actually succeeded in frying the guy’s brains just by fucking him.
But then, back in the room as you clumsily dig through your bag to pull out a night shirt and a pair of underwear, Adrian shuffles directly to his bed and tosses his towel aside before clambouring into it, bare ass to the wind. He flops down face first, and shoves his feet under the turned down comforter.
“Adrian… what are you doing?” You say for what feels like the millionth time this evening.
“‘M going to bed,” he drawls into the pillow. His entire body shakes as he hiccups, and then turns his head to the side to look up at you with his big green doe-eyes that make your heart do a somersault in your ribcage. “You should tooootally join me. There’s-” hiccup- “lotsa room. We could go again.”
You blink at him as you semi-stagger, semi-walk toward the bed, stooping to pick up pieces of his uniform strewn across the floor as he had, presumably, just ripped everything off as he made his way to the bathroom. “Mm, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Uh, you said it was a great idea,” he argues as you toss his clothes into a pile at the end of the bed.
“That was before the whisky kicked in and we were both staggering… fuckin… drunk-” you accidentally whack your foot against the corner of the bed and bite your lip as you fight not to crumble to the floor. “One of us has to be responsible.”
“I’m-” hiccup- “responstable.”
“Uh-huh.” You stop as your eyes land on the mostly empty Jim Beam bottle on the bedside table. You’re almost positive it had been at least quarter full when you left him to go take a shower. “Adrian, did you drink all that?”
He blinks his eyes open and follows your pointing finger to the bottle. “Oh, yeah. Hhhuuuhh… had to… I lost the cap so we can’t keep it.” When you march forward to snatch it off the table, he grunts dismissively. “Gotta… get rid of it.”
“Guess that’s why you’re worse off than me.” You shake your head and drop the entire bottle into the trash bin. “Aren’t you gonna put something on to sleep in?”
“I don’t have anything.”
You snap your head towards his sprawling, naked form. Your eyes linger on his ass for way too long. “You didn’t bring a single thing to wear?”
“Why… why would I bring a change of clothes to kill bad guys?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know! Anonymity!”
He grumbles into the pillow, “I have a mask.”
“Fuck the mask. You can’t sleep in the mask.”
“Sure I can. I fuck in the mask, I can sleep in it. S’a free country.”
You blink, your eyes flicking between Adrian and the mask on the table. “Dude, you fuck in that thing?”
“Hell yeah I do. I could fuck you in the mask. Could do it right now. Go get the mask.” Despite the conviction of his words, he’s slurring them, and his face is still pressed into his pillow as he lies motionless on the bed.
“I… don’t think that’s gonna happen tonight.” You sigh as you toe forward and grab the end of his comforter, drawing it up over his body. “We’re both way too drunk. We probably… probably shouldn’t have…”
Adrian flops over to look up at you as you, essentially, tuck him in. There’s a note of hurt in his voice when he mumbles, “You regret it?”
You pause, staring down at his expression of confusion and betrayal. Do you regret it? You can’t deny that you hadn’t been hesitant to have sex with him for a litany of reasons- one being that you work with him, and another being that he’s a loose cannon on the best of days. Not exactly relationship material, you think.
Or, you thought, but now he’s gazing up at you with these wide, dumbfounded eyes, and you’re tucking the comforter up beneath his chin, and he turns his face down and kisses your knuckle even though he looks mildly hurt. And yes, you liked the sex very much. You liked it so much that you can’t trust yourself not to do it again if you don’t shuffle off to your own bed immediately.
“No,” you tell him firmly, combing your fingers through his wet hair as you draw back. “I don’t regret it, but I think we both need to sleep this off.”
“Okay,” Adrian says quietly, his expression relaxing, but his arms come out from under the comforter and he reaches for you with grabby-hands. “Sleep with me?”
You catch one of his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “G’night, Adrian.”
You hear him sigh in disappointment when you shut off the bedside lamp. His hands audibly plop down onto the mattress as he rasps, “Night.”
You wake from a dreamless sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, and your throat is bone dry. Smacking at the nightstand a couple times, your phone manages to illuminate and tell you that the time is only 1:30.
You blink sleep away from your eyes and try to see through the dark as you stumble into the combination vanity, closet, and kitchenette. You knew you brought a water bottle or two, it can’t be that hard to find-
“Hey, what’cha doing?”
You hardly even startle at this point. You’re slowly becoming acclimated to the idea that Adrian is just constantly awake and witness to your every move, which isn’t as disconcerting to you as one might think. “I’m looking for the water. Did you see where I put it?”
“Uhhhhh mini-fridge?”
You reach blindly under the counter and yank the little fridge open, once again smacking around until your hand lands on the shape of a water bottle. “You want some?”
“Yeah, you could spit it into my open mouth-”
“Adrian.”
“What? It would be fucking sexy.” Adrian grunts, and the light clicks on from the main room. Then, he wolf-whistles just before you straighten up from where he’d caught you, bent over in front of the fridge. “Y’know, I was right. You have a really great ass.”
You grumble a half-hearted thanks under your breath as you approach his bedside and thrust a water bottle at him. “I see you’ve sobered up a bit.”
He waves a hand at you dismissively. “Pshh, I wasn’t that drunk.”
“You were drooling all over your pillow.”
“Maybe I always do that.”
“Yeah, okay.” There’s a long pause, wherein you perch on the edge of your mattress and chug an obscene amount of water. Adrian watches your throat work until he, too, succumbs and lifts his bottle to his lips.
An uncomfortably heavy silence settles between you two, only permeated by the quiet sipping of water and the cheap motel AC unit kicking in. It’s entirely unlike him to be silent and still for more than a couple of seconds, but he’s just sitting there looking despondent and running a hand back and forth over the white comforter, periodically lifting his bottle to take another drink. He doesn’t even really look tired, and you wonder if he ever got to sleep in the first place.
You know that the tension in the air is so thick because you have yet to address the giant fucking elephant in the room; and to address it is to have the most awkward and intimate conversation you can possibly imagine with Adrian, of all people. As much as you love his sense of humor, the idea of baring your soul to him is almost enough to have you running into the bathroom again, and locking the damn door this time.
But, in true Adrian fashion (because damn it all to hell if he ever lets something be), he beats you to the punch. “So, are you? Sober now, I mean.”
You chew your lip again, and reopen the gash you’d put there before. “Yeah. I am.”
He nods, pursing his lips as he looks down at his lap. He was right, his hair does dry… well, not weird, but just rather unruly if he goes to bed with it wet. Dark curls stick up at odd angles, a cowlick on the back of his crown standing straight up and begging you to come over and smooth it down. More curls fall across his forehead and nearly touch the top of his glasses. He blinks slowly, and severe shadows from his lashes cross his face in the golden light of the bedside lamp. You snap your gaze away, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.
“So… was that a lie? About just needing to sober up?”
Your thumbs twitch on your bottle. To tell the truth, or to lie? You feel like your mouth just stays dry, no matter how much water you drink. “Look, Adrian, I-”
“Also, I have, like, no pride and a ridiculously thick skull, or- or whatever Peacemaker calls it. So, you don’t have to beat around the bush or anything for my sake, you probably won’t even hurt me-”
“Adrian, I like you too fucking much, don’t you get it?”
That fully shuts him up, and he locks his jaw as he fixes you with a startled look. You suck your bottom lip through your teeth, perturbed at the taste of blood still apparent on it, and dig your heels into the carpet.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You’re… one of my closest friends, all right? But I’m afraid that if we keep going like this, I’m not going to want to be friends anymore. And I think I’ll fall in love with you really quickly, and that might be a really bad idea for both of us. You just…” You shake your head, your voice dipping in volume as you stare bashfully down at your feet, “you have no clue how much I want you all the time, baby.”
“Why would it be a bad idea?” he asks you plainly.
“What?” You pick your eyes up off the floor to squint at him, finding him staring at you challengingly, a flush already on his cheeks.
“I mean, honestly. Name a single reason why it would be a bad idea. Bet’cha can’t.” Adrian throws his empty water bottle across the room, and it makes a gentle tap against the side of the television before skittering to the floor. “I think we’d fuck like rabbits and then I’d wake up every morning and make you pancakes, because I’m really fucking good at those, but you’d have to make the eggs because I always burn them. And I think we’d kick ass together as a cool superhero power couple, and I’d carry your gun for you if you got tired, and I could show you where all my hidden knives are. And you could also do anything you wanted to me, like any time, and I’d be totally fine with it and probably also turned on by it, as long as you call me baby like you just did.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m super hard right now. Probably should’ve warned you, I have a thing about that-”
“No, smartass, I mean are you serious about the other stuff?” You tilt your head at him. “I never really took you for the domestic sort.”
“Tsch- yeah! I’m, like, super domestic. I’m like one of those domestic...ated... cats?” He trails off as you step forward and crawl onto his bed, up his legs to straddle his lap.
“Cats?” you repeat with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m… I…” Adrian’s eyes flick across your face, down to your shirt and bare thighs on either side of his, your knees pressing the comforter taut across his lap and (very prominent) erection. “I don’t know, I have trouble thinking when you’re on top of me-”
Nodding, you reach forward and take his glasses by the wire earpieces, and pull them from his face. He goes stock still, his lips parted in awe as you slide them onto your own face, and give him a sweet smile. “I like your glasses. They look good on you.”
“They look good on you.” His voice cracks. “Can you see in them?”
You blink at him, and then turn your head to look across the room. “A lot better than I thought I would. I think our prescriptions are similar.”
“That means you can also wear my mask.”
You look back at him, and find that he has his million-mile stare on, like he’s completely lost in thought. You smirk. “Do you want me to wear the mask?”
He blinks, and it’s like you’ve flipped a switch and turned his focus back on. “Uh… no. I mean, yes. Maybe later. I want to look at you.” His eyelashes flutter so fast you think he might take flight for a second. “You’re so fucking beautiful I could stare at you all day.”
“You can touch me, too. Don’t be shy.”
He practically vibrates with anticipation as his palms glide up your thighs, hot and big and just a bit rough. His eyes are everywhere at once; your lips, your eyes, your chest, your thighs, where your hips disappear under your oversized shirt. His fingers catch the hem, and he curls it between them.
“You should totally get naked, too. It’s super unfair that I’m the only one naked right now,” he says breathlessly, nodding the whole time like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.
“So, do it.” You shrug, trailing a finger up his chest. “Take it off, baby.”
Adrian fists the hem of your shirt and rips it in half up the middle with a loud tear. You gasp, shivering as the garment falls from your shoulders and leaves you in just your panties. “Adrian!”
His eyes are trained on your tits. “What? It’s not like you need it tonight, anyways, and tomorrow we’ll be home…”
“What if that was my only shirt?” you retort.
He looks up at you. “Was it?”
“Well, no-”
“Then there’s your answer. Now, can I go down on you? Because I’ve wanted to for a really long time and I think it’s super hot that you’re wearing my glasses so it’s like I’m watching myself eat your pussy.”
He has such a hopeful expression on his face that you have to hold in a manic string of laughter as you nod at him. “Yeah, sure. Are you going to tear up my underwear, too?”
“No, I wanna keep those.”
“That makes perfect sense.” You shake your head before you kiss him deeply, and his tongue dips into your mouth as he rolls over with you, briefly getting tangled in the sheets before he roughly kicks them off.
You run your fingers through his hair, snickering as he climbs between your legs and his hands deftly tug your panties down. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Depends on how incriminating it is.”
“I’ve never come from someone eating me out before,” you admit quietly, a blush furiously heating your cheeks until you fear that if you touch your face you might burn yourself.
Adrian fixes you with a deadpan stare, and a slew of emotions cross his face before he lands on something relatively serene and says, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He nods and grins, like this is the most casual conversation in the world, and his green eyes bore into yours. “Yeah. You should probably, uh… hold on, though.”
You frown in confusion. “To what?”
He rocks back on his knees, picking up your arms by the wrists, and he very simply places your hands on his head, with a little smile that conveys, ‘it’s no big deal,’ but the tenderness with which he does it sends another message, altogether. Your fingers weave between soft, unruly curls, your fingernails digging in just a bit when he lowers himself down between your thighs, and you come to the conclusion that this is just how he is. Tenderness, closeness, hidden behind casual sighs and dismissive shrugs.
You’re learning. Slowly.
His breath finds you before his lips do, where you’re wet and swollen and slippery like you haven’t been touched in your fucking life. But he has once already, and still his mouth feels like a searing hot brand between your legs. In fact, you nearly jump out of your skin at the first brush of his tongue through your folds, your hands tightening on his hair and tugging as you buck your hips up against him.
Adrian grasps your hips and slams them down against the mattress. Sometimes you forget how fucking strong he is. His slight frame really doesn’t give justice to the force behind those lean muscles, because he holds you in an iron grip that you can hardly wiggle out of. It makes you feel small, in a way, that he holds you hostage to his tongue and won’t let you move away from or towards him.
A long, miserable whine rips out of your lips before you can stop it, and you could blush at how pathetic it sounds, except that Adrian mimics it with a groan against your cunt. Your head is flung back against the pillows, but when you just barely tilt up to glance down at him, you find his green eyes trained directly on you. They start off wide as moons, and then narrow like he’s challenging you to look away as he drags the flat expanse of his tongue slowly over your clit, curling the tip just as it skims the mark.
“Oh, fuck you, Adrian, you’re so fucking good,” you grit out through clenched teeth. Your nails dig into his scalp and he shudders, briefly nuzzling his head up into your touch before he dips down to give you his tongue again. Your breath hitches, and your eyes flutter shut when he sucks on your clit long and hard. “So… s-so good… good boy…”
The moan that Adrian makes is overtly pornographic, and his hips snap once against the mattress so hard that the bed shakes beneath you. He breaks away from you to rest his forehead against your thigh, squeezing your hips tightly in his hold as his hot breath billows across your sweat-damp skin.
You loosen your fingers in his hair to stroke it softly, subconsciously struggling to flatten the cowlick at the back that you’d noticed earlier. Adrian’s eyes are squeezed shut, his shoulders heaving while he tries to steady his breath through his nose. “Did you just come?”
The tips of Adrian’s ears glow pink. He gives you a little nod and then a feeble, “Couldn’t help it.”
So, he can’t just take his praise in stride, he has to react to it with fervor. “That’s really sexy of you,” you blurt out, your voice ragged and just this side of adoring.
He returns with a quiet mmm, rumbling across your skin as he drags his open mouth along the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his eyes drowsily shut. It takes him another moment to catch his breath, but once he does, he’s right back at it again. Dipping his head down and absolutely going for it with no signs of letting up, and you have to suck in a deep stream of air and scramble for a hold on him somehow.
“Oh- oh my fuckin-g god-” your voice comes out without thinking, wrung thin and anguished, as your foot plants itself in his shoulder. Adrian simply grunts, paying no mind to the fact that you’re effectively kicking the living shit out of him as he sucks so hard on your clit that you threaten to break his vise-hold on your hips.
He was right that you needed something to hold onto, because you feel like you might leave the ground. He works at you relentlessly, devouring you with his lips and tongue and teeth like he can’t get enough of you, his fingertips pressing so hard into your hips that his nails are turning stark white.
“Fuck, you’re so squirmy,” Adrian groans when he pulls away from you for half a second, and struggles to hold you down when you try to chase his mouth. “Should I tie you down?”
“Do you have anything to tie me down with?” you mutter breathlessly toward the ceiling.
A beat. “Nope. Stay still.”
You fight not to jolt as the next touch of his mouth on you. He dips his tongue into your channel, seemingly trying to draw your arousal out of you that way. You start whining when he finally nuzzles his way back up, giving you soft, teasing licks to your clit that edge you closer and closer to the release of the swell of heat you feel building in your core. Your volume turns up a notch when his tongue starts drawing little circles around the swollen flesh.
And when his lips come down to latch onto it and gently suck, you know you’re just shy of howling. His soft groans vibrate onto your skin as you scratch at his head and pull on his hair, and you eventually find yourself babbling, “Adrian, please, I’m gonna come, please pleasepleaseplease-”
He sucks harder, moaning like it turns him on just to hear you say it. You heave a few rapid breaths, and then come against his face with a cry that crackles and breaks in your throat as your head arches back, baring your neck forward. Your heels digging into his back, hands scratching, hips flailing like you can somehow escape the barrage of hypersensitivity he’s putting you through.
You really fucking hope no one is in the room next to yours.
His fingertips stick to your skin once he releases his grip on you. He’s practically glowing, grinning from ear to ear at you from between your legs, and it’s a better image than you had imagined.
You drop your head back with a breathless chuckle. “Okay, Mr. ‘I Have No Pride.’”
“I made you come,” he chirps happily.
“Yeah, you did. It was really good, too.”
“So, why didn’t anyone else?” Adrian pushes his head toward your touch when you stroke your hand gently through his hair.
“I dunno. They weren’t applying themselves, I guess.”
“That’s stupid. You’re, like, the hottest person ever. Hotter than Doja Cat,” he grumbles petulantly, and you can tell by the look in his eye that he’s dead serious. “Want me to kill them? I should kill them.”
“No.” You trail your fingers down the curve of his face, going for his chin, but he turns his face and sucks your two fingers into his mouth before you can manage it. You stop dead as the pad of his tongue swirls around the digits, and he blinks up at you innocently, despite the lewd connotations of the act. “N-no, I… hhhhh… you’re distracting me.”
He bats his eyes at you, and he slowly pulls back along your fingers until they pop out of his mouth, covered in saliva. “How am I distracting you?”
“You’re- you… you little shit.” You grab him by the chin and draw him up from between your legs. He clumsily crawls up the length of your torso with his cheeks smushed between your fingers as you hiss, “I’m going to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, I swear to god.”
“You know, that sounds slightly menacing when you say it like that,” he slurs, his jaw working against your hold.
“On your back, Chase.”
He grabs you before you can protest, and rolls back over so that you plop down on top of him, your hand still jammed up against his jaw. A blast of air comes out of your lungs in lieu of laughter, and Adrian snorts, shuffling his hips so that he moves back against the pillows.
“Okay, look, I really really really like you,” he says as you pick yourself up, straddling his lap, “but if you’re too good at this I might accidentally fall in love with you. Just to let you know what you’re getting into here.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah, and I think I might actually, um, ask you to move in with me, like, immediately. Like tomorrow. Do you rent or own? Doesn’t matter, I can put your name on the lease. Maybe if you own a house it can be income property-”
You cast your eyes down and find him, remarkably, hard and leaking precum as he continues babbling about living situations. You tilt your head, letting him get his stream of consciousness out there in the open, as your eyes catch on a dark wad of fabric beside his pillow. Your underwear, which he’d gingerly set aside instead of tossing across the room like you thought he would.
“Hm, Adrian?”
He blinks up at you, his eyes wide and dilated. “Yeah?”
You pick up the wadded up underwear. “You wanted to keep these, right?”
He licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”
“Hold them for me, then.” You grab his jaw and stuff them in his mouth, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he makes a noise of protest, but then actually moans when, presumably, he tastes you on them. “You’re so fucking cute, I haven’t even tied you up. You just want my taste in your mouth, huh?” He nods. “Yeah. Pretty boy.”
He predictably moans again, his hands grasping at every part of you they can reach; your arms, your breasts, the expanse of his palms gliding down the curve of your waist and settling on your thighs. You grab one, lifting it and settling his palm against your throat.
“Hold this for me, too?” You ask him sweetly, giving his bewildered expression a devilish smirk in return. You rock forward, sliding your dripping pussy along his erection, and his hand tightens on your throat just a bit. “That’s it.”
You pick your hips up, reaching between your legs to position him where you want him, and when you sink down onto his cock, the underwear in his mouth does nothing to muffle the obscene groan that he makes. His hand flexes on your throat, and his eyes close and open a few times as he tries to maintain a certain amount of control. Something tells you that he’s not really used to taking it lying down.
You’re already decently sore from the way he effectively fucked your brains out in the shower. This is just ensuring that you’re going to be feeling it for the rest of the week, but you can’t help yourself. You take him in all the way, making agonized noises the entire time, and then jolt your hips down a little more so you can feel him bottom out.
“Fucking hell, baby, you’re something else,” you snarl down at him, and his eyes go wide again as you squeeze him, every bit of your aching strength bearing down onto his cock until he whines loudly through the fabric and his fingers tighten on the sides of your throat. “Oh, god, I could ruin you. You could ruin me. I want you to, it would be so easy for you, I wouldn’t even be able to walk in the morning.”
And you’re moving, picking up your hips and letting them fall back down in slow, deep strokes that have him writhing, his free hand in a death grip on your thigh. You raise your hand to press against the back of his on your throat, your fingers weaving in between his, and he flexes them back a bit to make room.
Even when he’s gagged, he’s noisy. Keening and grunting at you, his jaw tightening every once in a while and the tendons of his neck jumping out at you when your hips meet his. Dark curls hang down his forehead, damp with sweat, and you can’t help but feel like the shower was useless.
No, not useless. It brought you here.
Adrian bucks his hips up suddenly, meeting you halfway when you take a particularly long time on the downstroke. You gasp, tightening your hand on his, and your nails dig into his chest.
“Oh, you want me to ruin you, don’t you?” You murmur at him, baiting him to do it again. And he does, just like you hoped he would. You pick up the pace in retaliation, letting the lewd sounds of your skin hitting his fill the room. “Silly boy, I knew you would.”
He whimpers, blinking up at you slowly, his face screwing up and tightening in earnest when you rake your nails up and down his chest. He makes a couple pathetic, weak groans in the back of his throat like he wants to convey something to you, but he’s not reaching up to remove your underwear from his mouth.
(You wonder if he even remembers that he can.)
“You gonna come for me?” you ask as his whimpers increase in volume. His cock is so hard, twitching and dragging thick inside you, and his chest jumps with every desperate, ragged breath he takes. “Yeah, you are. Go on, baby, make a mess.”
Adrian gives you a curt shake of his head, and paws at your thigh for a second before his hand slides forward, and his thumb touches your clit.
“Oh fuck, Adrian-” you lurch forward, pressing your throat hard against his palm, your legs seizing up on either side of his hips. He makes you come again with a single fucking touch, and it burns through your core like fire, almost more satisfying than the first because you’re able to feel him inside you this time, something warm and hard and thick to come on.
Apparently, that was all he needed in order to let go. His back arches a bit as he jerks his hips up into yours, and he fills your pulsing cunt until his shallow breaths rattle in his throat, his eyes squeezed so tight that you see a tear collecting in the corner of one. He lays with his head driven back hard into the pillow, whimpering and whining like he’s been mortally wounded.
Too sore to move just yet, you pull his hand away from your throat and kiss his palm. Adrian’s eyes flutter open, and he finds you with a glazed-over stare, like he might either see you or see through you. Still letting out soft whimpers with each harsh exhale.
“Oh. Sweetheart,” you giggle, and reach forward to pull the wad of underwear from his mouth. It comes out with a long string of his spit attached to it, and you give him a cheeky smirk as you break the string with your finger and lick it off, rather than wiping it on your skin.
“You… you’re…” You swear his eyes nearly roll back in his skull before he closes them, trying to collect himself. He takes a deep, long breath, and then splutters, “Willyoumarrymeactually?”
You give him your biggest, goofiest grin, a little bubble of laughter wedging itself deep in your chest. “Get a little more whisky in me, and we’ll see what bright ideas I have then.”
“Okay.”
You lift yourself off of his softening cock, and the release comes with a dribble of his cum sliding down your thigh. He groans, but with one look at him you know that there’s not going to be any more action for the rest of the night.
You shift to the left, and his hand smacks down onto your thigh. “Mmmm no, you sleep with me.”
“Yeah, obviously. But you came all over the sheets earlier, genius.”
“Oh.”
He takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes in time to see you taking his glasses off. You blink a few times, your eyes having adjusted to the slight difference in your prescriptions, and refocus on his face to find him gazing up at you adoringly.
“I’m gonna take a guess and say you don’t sleep in these, too?” You wiggle the glasses at him.
He licks his lips. “No, not… not usually.”
You set the glasses on the bedside table, and then slowly slide off of him, off the bed and onto shaky legs. You take his hand and tug just a bit. “C’mon, pretty. Into my bed.”
He follows your lead without a fuss, making the two step journey to the other bed and plopping down face-first.
“D’you wanna get pancakes when we wake up?” he asks around a yawn as you nudge his ass, prodding him to scoot over.
You nod furiously, even though you know he can’t see you as you switch the light off and climb in beside him, curling up against his warm back. “Pancakes sound fucking delicious.”
main masterlist | note: as the trope includes smut, all of the fics include +18 content. also since at least one party is under the influence of some kind of a chemical, this is dubious content. please proceed with caution and minors dni. enjoy!
toxic heat • bucky barnes x reader | by @nyletac
summary: while waiting for the extraction team after a successful mission, bucky leaves you and runs into a greenhouse room in the mission building with strange plants. accidentally breathing in the gas from the plants he returns to you, but something is off. (smut) (6,4k words)
take you there • bucky barnes x reader | by @heli0s-writes
summary: sam plays a game called fuck or die. it's like he willed it into existence as you and hucky explore the basement of an old hydra lair. (smut, dub-con) (3,8k words)
louder than fear • bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @godmadeaterribleerror
summary: missions involving hydra often go very wrong. this is different. this is worse. this is a strange bioweapon, nobody telling you exactly what's wrong, and staring at the ceiling as bucky roars you name. it’s echoing in your brain. and you love him. (smut, light angst) (8,5k words)
lustful agony • bucky barnes x plus size!reader | by @fatecantstopme
summary: after getting hit in the face with a pink dust during a visit to an old hydra lab, you are confused as to what happened. thankfully, your mission partner knows what it is, and thankfully he knows the solution. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, masturbation)
what was rule number #2 again? • tfatws!bucky barnes x reader | by @satinestales
summary: messing around in banner's lab, the night before your mission wasn't as good an idea as you thought, and you begin to question your actions the moment you step out of it. things worsen when you realize the super soldier serum isn't immune to an unknown contagious disease. (smut)
delirium • bucky barnes x reader | by @flowersforbucky
summary: stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, angst, friends to lovers, avenger!reader) (4,1k words)
play pretend | part two • bucky barnes x reader | by @wkemeup
summary: when bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. (smut, dub-con) (7,8k words)
summary of pt.2: in the aftermath of munich, bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. but now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. (smut, mutual pining) (5,8k words)
strawberries • bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @ellemj
summary: bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months? (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, size kink, fuckboy!bucky) (7,5k words)
does it hurt? | bonus chapter • bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @ellemj
summary: bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that hydra was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. when you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. anything. (angst, smut, unprotected sex, abduction, violence, voyeurism, mentions of sa) (24,3k words)
summary of bonus ch.: when you're finally out of hydra’s clutches, the recovery process drives you and bucky farther and farther apart. you can't decide if what you felt between you was real or chemically-induced. what will it take to sway you? (smut, angst, non-descriptive smut) (12,4k words)
untitled • bucky barnes x reader | by @myfictionaldreams
summary: it was your first mission out with your mentor, bucky, but not all goes to plan when you stumble across an old hydra laboratory and accidentally trigger a trap. (smut, dub-con, grumpy x sunshine, rough sex, praise kink)
high for this • new avenger!bucky barnes x reader | by @buckysleftbicep
summary: during a mission, you and bucky are exposed to a gas meant to strip away restraint. he resists, and well, you try. but when the heat fades, it’s not the mission that haunts you both, it’s what happened behind that door. (smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, angst, regret) (3,8k words)
desperate | uncertain an sure • bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @buckets-and-trees
summary: enemies? rivals? it's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the winter soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered. (smut, kidnapping)
desperate measures • bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader | by @simplyholl
summary: when you encounter a mysterious substance during a mission, it forces you and your mission partner to get closer. (smut)
petals • bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @biteofcherry
summary: it was supposed to be so simple. a boring reckon mission. just to check the cabin and secure any samples of the ongoing experiments the former hydra doctor ran the place. however the unexpected comes in the form of a flower. (smut, dub-con, fingering)
unleashed • avengers!bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @veltana
summary: during a mission, bucky is exposed to something that removes his inhibitions and all he wants is you. (smut, slight fluff, possessive!bucky, unprotected sex) (4,2k words)
crimson fever • bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @mandoalorian
summary: in the icy shadows of 1944 occupied europe, you uncover a dangerous hydra secret that could shift the war’s tide. but hydra’s ruthless scientist, arnim zola, marks you as a threat, unleashing a sinister drug—“crimson fever”—that set your body and soul ablaze with an unrelenting desire. as you fight to protect vital intel, your path collides with sergeant bucky barnes, your childhood friend from brooklyn, whose unspoken love for you burns brighter than the war’s chaos. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, violence, torture) (6,7k words)
Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken
Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language
Word Count: 2,187
> **A/N:** AHHHHHH this is my first character fic, and only the second one I've ever been brave enough to post! I also had to post this on mobile because my browser was being wild so sorry for any formatting issues!
The sound of senseless fucking had never seemed to bother you. Easy to filter out, truthfully, and not as traveling as one would think it to be. No, there are many things worse, like for instance the smell. One never takes into account the smell of sex, much less the smell of alcohol fueled, desperate, old haggard men driving the last of their life-force into some disinterested cunny eager to make a coin. Eager to spend a coin, as well.
That's where you came in. Whores work up quite an appetite, one you are all too happy to satisfy, no pun intended. You'd been with Sylvi for years, after you'd run from your family in the dead of night, afraid of the life they'd planned for you.
"Everybody must eat," Sylvi sighed the night she met you, disinterested. "If you will not fuck, you will feed. We earn our keep around these parts, you'll do well to learn quickly."
That was the start of a very standoffish, albeit maternal, relationship. Sylvi had never truly cared for your company, but she cared for you, and that was more than many could say, and more than you could say of any kin. She had taken you in, given you shelter among her girls, and had asked very little of you, knowing your past. She'd seen you into young womanhood, and taught you all you wished to know about life. She was not coddling, nor cruel. She was just what you needed, and it seemed many shared the sentiment.
You were in a daydream as you went about your nightly tasks. The brothel would be closing in a few hours, the girls would need food, and you had really set into it, working quick and messily, spinning and turning about in an attempt to do too many things at once.
Just as you'd turned from the broth and made way to the oven, a wall had manifested itself and blocked your passage. No, not really a wall. Moreso a tree, in it's slender and sharp way. The branches had reached out to hold you, wrapping around your waist and breaking you from your reverie. Suddenly before you was a bare chest, pale in color and smooth like silk. He was taught with muscle, cut like marble. The kind of statue kings pay fortunes for, just to place in their hallway and walk past every morning.
"Sir, no one is meant in the kitchens." You had spoken before you'd had the chance to understand what you were saying, turning from him and back towards your oven to retrieve the loaves. "You'll need to return back to the brothel, Sylvi will not have men in her kitchen."
"'Twas Sylvi that sent me. I've come for wine." The voice was quiet, but in a way that made the ears strain to hear him, instead of drown him out.
Wine? Why would he not stop at the many*tables he'd have to pass to get here?You'd thought. This man must have ill intentions.
Slowly grabbing your bread knife, you turned your head to the side to face the intruder.
Prince Aemond Targaryen.
"My Prince! " The sound of metal rang through the room as you dropped the blade unto the table to turn fully towards him. "My sincerest apologies, my prince! Please forgive me, I had no idea!" You did your best curtsy, and prayed to the Seven that he wouldn't find me impertinent, and would be in a forgiving mood. What you'd just done could be viewed as treason, an attempt on the prince's life.
In the state he was in, which you had noticed, you surmised he just might be in a forgiving mood. He was nude from head to toe, his brow beaded from heat and, hopefully, exertion. The hook of his nose looked sharper as his purple eye followed it to look down at you. He was beautiful, almost overly so. It could only have been Prince Aemond, the eye patch gave him away, even though you'd never seen him before, you'd be a fool not to know the stories of the one-eyed prince. And you'd known him to be a rather fond client of Sylvi's, as she boasted often to the other girls at dinner.
His presence there in your safe haven was unnerving, and once again the sounds of debauchery were drowned out, but now it was as if he'd sucked the noise from the room. He was too tall for the room, it was not made for him. What would a kitchen made for a God even look like? The very notion to build such a thing seemed almost blasphemous to you. He was looking at you like you didn't even exist, almost through you. His stare was too deep for that of a stranger, but perhaps he had to look so intensely because his lack of an eye.
He finally cleared his throat, as if it would've pained him to repeat himself.
"The wine, yes. We are a humble establishment, so you will have to be forgiving with our selection. I'll have our best sent to you at once!" And with that, he let out a low hum and left you to your duties.
You'd quickly managed a carafe and two goblets, and sent it through with a boy, with strict instructions to deliver it to the prince. You'd have delivered it yourself, but as you did not know where he was, and did not have the time searching the brothel for him, you'd relented to send it through a lord's boy, and hope he was competent enough to manage it.
As the sounds died out from the front of the house, you'd began shuffling out with bowls of broth and loaves for the girl. They took it gratefully, each dropping two coins in your hands and sitting to eat, sharing small talk and whatever gossip they had learned from their clients.
"Ser Lannister had quite a bit to share tonight. He speaks of war. Do you know what war means?" Lauryn spoke excitedly.
"Rapers." Another girl, Cate called from farther away, monotone. "Foreign men coming into the city in siege, taking over the villages."
"It means more clients, Cate." Sylvi's voice quickly silenced the small talk, as she walked to the table and sat, ready to be served her complimentary meal. Her place at the table, as always, was already set, and she reached for her wine immediately. "War means the king calls for more men. They leave their wives, and with no one to warm their bed, they come to us."
"Precisely." Lauryn agreed readily. "If war comes, I welcome it. I don't give a shit who sits the throne, as long as the crown prospers enough to put gold in my pocket." She lifted her goblet, a smirk on her face at her own clever musing.
"I'll drink to that." Another girl called from the back, which caused an rupture of quiet laughter through the room.
As you passed to fill an empty cup, Sylvi grabbed you arm, and pulled you in close enough to whisper.
"I require a moment with you." At your confirming nod, she raised from her seat and left to her room. You were quick to follow, leaving the carafe with the girls, who took it readily and saluted your departure.
Once in her lavish rooms, Sylvi sat at her vanity and peered at you through the mirror, an air of drama filled the room and caused you to rock on your toes in an attempt to soothe yourself.
"I see you've met the Prince."
Oh. You'd thought surely this would be a serious conversation, but as you had spoken so few words to the man, you could not see how possibly she could have taken issue with your conversation. Unless the prince had told her about your grabbing the knife, in which you were in deep shit.
"Yes, ma'am." You sat in an armchair and folded your hands in your lap. "He came to ask for wine, and I had some sent with a squire, I believe."
"He seemed to take a liking to you." She brushed off your words just as she now did her hair, her lips pressed into a tight line that betrayed her nonchalant tone. "He asked for you, the next time he graced us with his patronage."
Your throat tightened and your stomach lurched. This can't be. Your conversations were short, and you had nearly insulted him, and then only half obeyed his order by sending someone in your stead with the wine. Perhaps he hoped for a moment alone so he could punish you for your insolence. Perhaps he was just playing at a joke, and Sylvi had taken it for more than he had meant it. Though he did not seem to you a joking type, and Sylvi seemed sure in her words.
Would she sell you to the prince? It hardly seemed as though you would be in a position to refuse, should he insist on a private meeting with you. But perhaps Sylvi had a sway with the prince that others did not.
"I...don't understand, ma'am. I do not-"
"Of course, I told him you were not that type of girl." She reassured. "He listens to me, you know. I'm one of the only he bears his heart to." Her voice took on a dreamier tone. "I'm the only woman he's known."
"I had no idea." I spoke distantly, still reeling at the idea of being asked for personally, and by a man of such high standing.
"What did you say to him? When he came to the kitchens. I sent him for wine, and he comes back without wine, and with a sudden interest in you" She turns around now, her eyes appraising and scrutinizing.
"I did not say anything, ma'am. I had mistaken him for a mere lord at first, I told him to leave. And then he ordered the wine, and I told him it would be done! I promise, there was nothing untoward, and no advances."
You spoke at a mile a minute to plead your case. It was clear this woman had an attachment to the prince, and you would not give the impression that you were there to threaten it. Sylvi was a kind woman, but a burn so scalding might just scorch her heart enough to cast you out.
"I swear it to you, ma'am. I've no interest in the prince, and he none in me. If anything, he only wishes to punish me privately for the way I behaved before I knew he was the prince." She nodded at your words.
"Nonetheless, I let him know you were not available. He did not take the refusal well, but such is his way. Dragons are not used to the word 'no'." She readjusted and smiled at you. "It's nothing to worry at, my dear. Just go about your duties, and do not speak to the prince again. He'll forget you in time." You nodded and stood to leave.
"Thank you. You've done such a kindness for me, and I owe you my life. I would never make such a slight against you, please know that." Her dismissing nod and small tired smile was enough for you to turn and take your leave.
The women had filled their bellies of wine and broth, and some began to make way to their beds, others staying around to gossip. You approached the lingering girls, grabbing a loaf from the table and sitting on a chair to eat.
"So, will you?" Lauryn, who still remained, asked you, as if the incomplete question was all you needed to know. When you only responded with a questioning look, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Will you fuck him? Everyone here heard the prince and Sylvi's clash. He wanted you. He begged for you!" The other girls began giggling and wiggling their eyebrows at you. "It drove her mad! He doesn't want her anymore."
"Not wanting Sylvi is one thing, but wanting you is another." Another girl, Maria, a Dornish delicacy, played with her hair as she spoke with a natural coolness. "If you don't want to, of course you shouldn't, but you should consider it. A prince would pay handsomely, perhaps even enough for you to move on."
"I would not do that to Sylvi, I would not do it at all. I wouldn't even know how, I'm not versed in the...fetishes of men."
"She told him such, but he would not hear it. He asked for an exception to be made, perhaps a private arrangement. If anything, it seemed to appeal to him more, knowing you were still untouched." Lauryn jumped back in, eager to return back to her teasing.
"I would only lay with a man I chose. I did not have the option before I left home, but I do now, and I will choose myself who I bed." And with that, you stood to leave, retiring to your room for the night.
Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken
Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Smut, Explicit Language, P in V,
Word Count: 1,547
> A/N: I FINALLY finished this series, my first ever series! So sorry for the delay, I had some major emergencies that took all my time and energy for a while!
Walking towards the light in the Godswood had set your nerves on fire. You were panting, shaky, and even fighting some dizziness. Your mother whispered reassurances to you, which helped urge you to the opening.
The weirwood tree was stunning, its branches stretching out at least seven feet, the leaves a bright shade of red. It didn’t hold your attention for long, as your eyes fell upon Aemond, who was already looking at you. He glanced at your mother, his eye widening in panic for a second, and looked to you in question. A small smile was enough to ease his worry, and he straightened himself up and turned to Aegon, who was rested against the Weirwood tree and reading from an old book.
“Who comes before…the Old Gods this night?” He slurred, clearly disinterested. Your mother announced your name and title, and what your intentions were that night.
“Who comes to claim her?” Your mother turned to Aemond, who had stepped forward taken you from your mothers reluctant embrace.
“Aemond Targaryen, Prince of the seven kingdoms. Who gives her?”
Your mother recited her title, though the ringing in your ears made it hard to make out. You’d fallen silent, and Aemond turned back to Aegon, who was struggling to catch up to the line we were currently reciting.
“Do you take him?” Aegon smiled, seeming proud of himself.
“I take this man.” You said proudly, and Aemond leaned in to kiss your lips. “That is not tradition.: You whispered smugly.
“I could not help myself, Lady Wife.”
“Well, now that that’s done.” Aegon stumbled his was from the Godswood, in search of fun and debauchery, to be sure.
Your mother stood a few steps from you and Aemond, staring as if to appraise the two of you, deciding if she approved the match. Finally, the corners of her mouth tightened in a resigned smile, she sighed and reached out to pet your head.
“My sweet girl.” She leaned in to place a simple kiss on your temple. “My son.” She raised her head at Aemond, who bowed his head respectfully. “I hope you are ready for what comes tomorrow. For now, enjoy this night together.” And with that, she turned to leave.
There was a contented silence between the two of you, and it wasn’t long before Aemond was leading you out of the Godswood.
“People will notice us here if we remain. We should go back to our chambers for the night. I’ll prepare for our family’s ire, I’m sure there will be hell to pay tomorrow.”
“They will approve, won’t they?”
“It doesn’t matter. The wedding was witnessed, and performed by the king himself. Who could refute it?” He ran his fingers through your loose hair, brushing it from your shoulder. “I’ll escort you to your chambers to not raise suspicion.”
You nodded and followed arm in arm to his chambers. There was a difference in the way he held you now, something that wasn’t there before. A possessiveness. Servants’ gazes lingered in the halls, as if they could see the union between you like some universal aura. The halls were pretty abandoned, only lingering maids and servants coming to snuff candles and feed fires for their masters.
When you came upon your chamber door, you both stood there in silence for a few seconds, though it felt like much longer. There was only one other maid in the hall, and your eyes followed her until she retreated before addressing Aemond.
“I can’t believe we did that.” Your eyes were alight with mirth, your lips turning up with a half-hidden smile. “It will be a scandal tomorrow. It’s like people already know.”
“There is nothing that could keep me from taking you as my wife.” He leaned in, planting a soft kiss to your lips. He tried to retreat, but you followed him with your mouth, lengthening the kiss until he fully straightened so you could not reach him. “You’ll need rest for tomorrow.”
“Stay with me.” His eyes looked over your head, looking at your chamber door.
“I do not think it wise, we are in enough trouble as it is.”
“It is our wedding night…” His gaze shot down to yours. “Should we not…consummate?” His eyes drifted close at the mere thought, a shiver running down your spine as if the words left a chill in the air. “You mentioned earlier…that if we consummated it they’d have to recognize the union.”
“So I did.” He smirked and reached around you for the knob of your chambers, opening it and herding you inside quickly. He closed the door and locked it, moving to take his coat off. “I know you are naive in the ways of husband and wife, so I will do my best to teach you.”
“It will hurt.” You offered your limited knowledge. “All the women say it hurts.”
“I’ll make it pleasurable for you. I want my wife to enjoy her wedding night.”
“With my husband here to hold me, I can’t imagine not enjoying it.” He began stripping himself, and you did the same, pulling the strings of your gown until it fell, pooling at your feet.
You had just stepped out of it when he reached for you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you close. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he guided you towards the bed, tossing you onto your back and kneeling over you.
“Forgive the lack of ceremony, wife. I’ve waited a long time for this night. You’ll have to excuse my eagerness.”
“A lack of eagerness would be most disrespectful, I think.” Your giggle was silenced by his lips on yours, your body melting into the bed with each touch.
When his hands made their way to your hip bones, you jerked in anticipation. You felt alive, in a way you had never experienced before, like white hot coals, you were still, but with one small touch you came alive.
His calloused hands massaged into your hip bones, soothing you enough to finally breathe again, a relief you didn’t know you’d been deprived of. When one of his hands made its way towards your chaste flower, you gripped his forearm in a bid for control.
“Breathe, my love. Allow me to have you, to take you. You must give yourself to me, wholly.” His words were breathy, and with your nod, he removed your hand from his arm and placed it by your head, where you grasped at the pillows in an attempt to ground yourself.
His touch returned, and as his fingers massaged and prodded the most forbidden parts of you, your ardent sighs floated through the still night, the only accompaniment were the crackling of the fire. You weren’t sure just what he was doing, only that you enjoyed it tremendously. Was this what it always felt like? How could all those women bitch about their duties, when it felt like this? His finger slid down your canyon, following the slick down to the hole, where he dipped only the tip of his index in, sinking until your sighs cut to gasps and your hands indented the pillow.
It was a slight, stinging pain, not unbearable but enough to surface you from your sea of pleasure. His fingertip sank into your tight hole, until you felt the rest of his knuckles rest against you. He resumed his massaging motions, gliding in and out against the fading resistance. When he seemed satisfied with his work, he removed his fingers and pushed himself up your body, resting a hand by your head and grasping himself with the other.
His fist stroked his hard cock, rubbing it against you to collect your slick. As he rested the tip against your entrance, he looked to you for approval. A jerky nod was all he needed to push himself into you.
The pain was minute, only a slight burn quickly overshadowed by the all-consuming flames of pleasure he had doused you in. Your moans called to him as he set his pace, groaning with the wet sounds of your bodies meeting over and over again.
“I won’t last, wife. Not this night.” His voice pleaded for something, though you weren’t sure what. A tightening in your gut made your legs squeeze his waist. “Let go for me, wife. Have your pleasures, and feel my seed fill your womb.” His pace increased as the knot tightened within you.
You called out his name as the knot snapped, your legs trembled and your eyes clamped shut. He moaned out, continuing his thrusts until he finished, stilling inside you and groaning as his seed filled you to the brim.
The two of you were silent for a long while, he laid beside you and pulled you to his chest as you tried to catch your breath. He rubbed your back in circles and kissed your forehead.
“Did you enjoy yourself, wife?"
"Very much so. I can understand the passion of whores, if every night is spent in such bliss.” You smiled at his chortled response.
“I love you, my dear sweet wife."
“And I, you." He sighed in content as you both drifted to sleep, enjoying the serenity you were sure to relish come tomorrow.
Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken
> A/N: I did a crazy amount of time jumping, and also I had to cut the last part into two more parts SO SORRY
Aemond had taken much longer than a week, and things had certainly not been peaceful in the house ever since. The girls had lost their mind upon learning that not only had you finally accepted Aemond, but you were to marry. Of course, you’d explained the past betrothal and the reason behind his insistence, and they’d swooned at the idea of a prince searching for his long lost love, to which you reminded them you had never met when this first proposal happened.
That didn’t deter them one bit, and when he sent word of when he’d come to get you, they’d passed the letter around to read it and gushed.
According to witnesses, Sylvi broke a goblet upon hearing the news, and locked herself in her room to avoid others ever since. She was not the type to cause a scene, but she would not play nice to keep the peace, either.
When that day finally did arrive, the girls had insisted on trying to make you look presentable. Brushing the knots from your hair, applying a light rouge and smelling oils. They’d each given you something of theirs. Necklaces, trinkets, things to remember them by.
“As if I could ever forget you girls.” You’d said when Maria insisted on you having her favorite hair pin. “Thank you so much.” She pulled you into a deep hug, squeezing as if to commit the feel to memory.
“You know you’ll never see us again, when you marry?” Zora’s flat voice made the girls shoot her annoyed looks. “It won’t do for a princess to visit a whorehouse, and we can’t exactly go to the castle at leisure.”
“My situation is unlike other Ladies, I’m sure they would make an exception for me. I’ll come back, even if I have to sneak away.” They smiled, but they didn’t reach their eyes. There was something very final about this goodbye, even with the promises made.
“Sylvi made sure to be busy today, didn’t she?” Maria joked with a dry chuckle, likely an attempt to change the subject. “She’s probably in some back alley, crying herself to death.”
“Have compassion, she’s losing her two favorite people in one day.” Lauryn’s sarcastic jab at you made you sigh and look away.
“I’m sure I won’t be missed in that regard. Besides, it’s probably for the best that we leave things as they were. Before all this.” You gestured to your packed bags.
Sounds of hoofs on the cobblestone brought everyone’s attention outside, where a carriage was pulling up to the entrance. The girls crowded the entryway, looking on to see if someone would step out of the carriage. When only a footman appeared in front of you, you had to swallow down the disappointment you felt at Aemond not being present to take you to the castle.
“My Lady, the Prince sends his deepest apologies that he could not be here himself to retrieve you. Urgent matters have kept him at the castle, but be assured, he is there awaiting your arrival. If I could grab your things.” The girls began lugging out your trunk. You’d not accumulated much over the years, and what you had, you couldn’t use in the keep. Most of what you were bringing were gifts from the other girls.
You’d thanked the footman for loading your luggage for you, and turned to say your final goodbyes to everyone before he helped you into the carriage.
“It won’t be long, ma’am.” He’d reassured you, and you’d nodded and smiled before settling into the seat as he closed the door and set off.
The ride hadn’t been long, though it had felt like an eternity. When you stopped to let the gates open, you’d considered jumping out and making a run for it, but you knew that was just jitters.
The carriage pulled in to the gates, and made its’ final stop, the footman stepping down and opening the door to let you out.
You immediately began searching for Aemond, but to your dismay he wasn’t there, only who you’d assumed to be Dowager Queen Alicent, and Queen Helaena. You walked to greet them, bowing as well as you’d remembered.
“It’s a shame your parents couldn’t be here with you. Aemond sent for them days ago, so they should arrive within the next few days.” Alicent’s voice was stressed, as if she carried the weight of the seven kingdoms on her shoulders, and you could tell she was not happy to be the one sent to greet you. “I’ll have a maid show you to your chambers, I’m sure you’ll want to prepare yourself for dinner.” You spoke before she could turn away.
“I had hoped to see Aemond.”
“Yes, well the prince is kept very busy around here, his brother, the king, keeps him close. Especially with the war coming, as you know Aemond is invaluable in our efforts.”
Something in her words told you she meant to say you’re here to keep Aemond happy. You nodded, showing the disappointment clearly on your face.
“He’ll find you before dinner, I’m sure.” She turned to walk away, stopping to order a maid, which you followed to your chambers.
The chambers were grand, as expected, but you were not overwhelmed by them. You were more concerned with your betrothed and his presence. Or absence, moreso. You’d been left to your devices, choosing to sit on a settee and twiddle your fingers, sigh, and huff in frustration. In reality, it had only been about half an hour before your door opened, revealing the one person you had been waiting to see.
“Aemond!” You jumped up from your seat, meeting him halfway and pulling him into a tight embrace. “You did not come to retrieve me this morning. You did not even greet me.”
“My apologies, my lady wife. The King has kept me very busy, I would’ve put off your retrieval again so I could get you myself, but I could not wait to have you here.” He kissed your scalp, inhaling the scent curiously. “You smell nice, I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you.” He pulled away to hold your hands in his before leaning in for a kiss, which you happily reciprocated.
Aemond’s hands met your waist, pulling you against him and wrapping his arms around you to hold you close to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hands tangling with his snowy hair, and pulling him to deepen the kiss. Your lips moved in sync with one another, a display of passion and desire so strong it could stop the world. Your tongue reached out to meet his, rough and unlike his smooth lips, and you would’ve heard him groan if not for the sound of your heart thumping in your ears.
He pulled away to catch his breath, resting his forehead against yours and panting.
“I’ve missed you, too.” You smiled up at him, pulling away to sit on the soft bed. You patted the spot beside you, and he quickly joined at your side.
“The wedding is in two weeks, I’ve made the necessary arrangements, I hope you find it to your liking.”
“I don’t care what the wedding looks like, only the groom.” His lips turned up at that. “Your mother said my parents will be here soon, I can’t wait to see them again. Will there be many other guests?”
“Likely our allied houses, but they shouldn’t arrive for at least a week’s time. I’ve tried my best to clear my schedule after the wedding, but it seems the war is coming faster than any of us had anticipated. I had even thought to steal my bride away on Vhagar, even for a short while.”
“I understand, Aemond. You’re needed here.” Your words were meant to be reassuring, but the lilt in your voice betrayed you. “I had only hoped we’d have more time to know each other, and…to make up for the lost time.”
“We’ll do plenty of making up, don’t you worry.” His sly smirk sent a shiver down your spine, both of fear and desire. “My mother had requested to have you checked to see if you were still pure, but I assured her of your innocence. She did not believe me, of course, but she had dropped the matter. I think she is just happy for me.” He leaned in to place a soft kiss on your jawline, his large hand going to the nape of your neck, to massage the tight muscle, earning a grown from you. “I like that noise.” His kisses traveled down to your collarbone, and his hands began massaging your waist.
You were nervous to explore Aemond more than you already had. To explore anyone, really. You’d never even thought about what would happen on your wedding night, because you’d never considered you’d have a wedding night. Years of rejecting any sense of affection had left you uneducated in the personal ways of lovemaking. Of course you’d heard things, and even seen things, but that was just sex. You and Aemond were meant to make love, and sire heirs. How different was that from what you’d seen in the whorehouse? Did he expect you to have much experience because of where you’d been? He knew you were a virgin, but perhaps he thought they’d taught you things.
Your thoughts were beginning to blur as you felt him begin to push you back on the bed. You pulled away from him in a panic and stood, pacing away from the bed.
“Are you alright?” He was breathless and obviously a little taken aback by your sudden retreat, combing through his hair and rubbing his lips together.
“Yes! Yes, I am fine. I just think…” You scanned your brain for some reason that wouldn’t seem like rejection, finding none. “I am afraid, Aemond.”
“Of me.” He nodded in understanding.
“No! Gods, no. Of…well, yes, of you. But, not of you, of…you know…you.” You gestured towards his groin, unable to force the words out of your mouth. It was embarrassing to have lived among whores and not even be able to say the word sex, and even more embarrassing to have to explain your situation to Aemond, of all people, who you had met in a whorehouse. His chuckle only served to further your mortification. “Well, do not laugh! I am a lady, after all. I should not know of these things, or how to speak of them.”
“I mean no offense, my lady. Only that I had not expected such bashful demeanor from you. Especially after our night in your rooms.”
“That was just kissing. And I was…swept away, in your passionate words and gestures. This would be different, it would mean…well, I could get pregnant.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Now, or in two weeks' time, when we consummate our marriage. Either way, I’m happy to wait, lady wife. But you must not be so alluring in these coming weeks. You can hardly expect a man to resist you.” He stood from your bed, and stepped over to the settee in front of the fireplace. “Perhaps we should avoid the bed as well.”
“I was not being alluring, I was simply being myself. A woman should do that in front of her betrothed, so he knows she is a match.”
“Yourself is the most alluring thing you could be in my presence.” That struck you speechless, and you elected to just walk over to where he was sitting, too awkward to sit with him normally. “Perhaps a tour of the keep.” He sighed, standing up to guide you out of the room.
The next two days had passed rather dully, with Aemond holding you at an arm's length, and preferring to meet you in public. You’d been on walks, dined together, and made a few last minute wedding decisions for the upcoming nuptials.
You were sitting in the garden with Aemond when you heard the gates to the red keep begin opening. You could only assume it was your parents, as no other guests were set to arrive any day soon. You quickly rushed to welcome them, leaving the flowers you had been weaving on the ground along with Aemond, who rose to follow you.
Reuniting with your parents had been a dream, they had taken you into their arms and sobbed, as had you. Your mother had a few choice words about your disappearance, but understood the reasoning of a scared young girl. Besides, things had seemed to work themself out in the end.
You’d stayed with your parents all the way up until after dinner, when they both showed signs of fatigue, at which point Aemond had elected to walk you to your chambers, taking deliberate slow steps to prolong the moment alone.
“Are you happy with your reunification?”
“Oh, Aemond, I don’t know how I could ever thank you. They’re just as I remember them, but so much more. I can tell how my leaving hurt them, and I don’t think we can ever get that time back. But now, thanks to you, they know I am well and safe. I am truly in your debt.”
“Consider it a wedding gift.” He had shrugged as you reached your doors. The guards immediately opened the door for you, and you stepped in slowly before turning back to him. “Might I come in? Just for a moment, there’s something I wanted to discuss about our wedding.”
He came in at your nod, the doors closing behind the two of you. You had began undoing your hair from the tight wound updo. Aemond had watched in silence for a while, until you reminded him of his needed discussion.
“I had been giving thought to our wedding night.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.
“What of it?”
“Will you not find it difficult to bear a bedding ceremony?”
“Are those not outdated?”
“They’re tradition. My mother has been rather insistent on it.”
“But it is not your mother’s wedding, it is your wedding. Do you want a bedding ceremony?” As your hair was finally let down, you began brushing out the knots. Aemond had hummed in response to your question, causing you to sigh. “I do not wish to be subjected to the eyes of strangers on what is supposed to be our night together. I want to be alone with you, we so rarely are anymore.”
“That is because I find it hard to be near you and not want you.” You rolled your eyes. “My mother will put up a fight over the ceremony, she wants to know that you are still a maiden. If it’s not a bedding ceremony, it could be the maesters. I do not know which one you’d find more unpleasant.”
“I will not do either, Aemond. I have lived a very difficult life off the premise of my own autonomy, and I will not turn my back to it now. Your mother will have to see reason. Or perhaps you should tell her you’ve already had me.” He looked stunned at this.
“Why would you say that?”
“If she thinks you’ve already…defiled me, there’ll be no question of my maidenhood, and no way to know if I’ve only had you, or others, so checking will be fruitless.” I set my brush down and turned towards him from my vanity chair.
“You would have me dishonor your already sullied name?” He seemed offended even at the thought, his voice shaking.
“As you said, my name is already sullied, what difference will it make? They think I’m a whore, Aemond!” I stood from my vanity and walked to stand before him. “They wish to make a mockery of me with these invasions. They don’t want to reassure themselves, they want to confirm what they already believe. I am not good enough for them, and they want a reason to reject this union.” His jaw ticked and his head shook slightly at the thought.
“I won’t let them reject it.”
“And how would you stop them?” I asked sarcastically.
“We simply do the ceremony! It is a woman’s expectation to be pure for her husband, and you are marrying a prince. It’s sound reasoning to expect this.”
“Well, perhaps that is another reason I ran away in the first place!” I turned from him, but he grabbed my arm and forced me to turn back around.
“I do not want to fight with you about this.” He sighed. “If you truly will not have it, we’ll just have to figure something else out.”
“They won’t let us marry, Aemond, I told you this. It was a fool’s dream to think you would have your way in this.”
“I’ll marry you now. Tonight. We’ll sneak to the Godswood and get married in the old way. They’ll have to recognize it, especially if we consummate.”
“You really want to fuck me, don’t you?” The joke was ill-timed, and a sad attempt to break the tension.
“I want to marry you. And I shall. Let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“They’ll not expect it. By the time anyone notices we’ve left, it’ll be too late.”
“But who will marry us? Do the old ways not call for the head of your house to consent?”
“Aegon?” He snorted. “That piss-soaked sack is probably deep in his cups tonight. It will be nothing to convince him. I’ll get him, and meet you in the Godswood. Wait a bit after I leave, and pretend as though you’re on a walk to clear your head. I’ll be there under the heart tree, waiting.”
You did as Aemond bid, sitting in the settee for a short while, finishing brushing through your hair and electing to wear it down. Finally, you decided to head towards the Godswood.
The walk there was relatively short, so you paused outside the entrance to the Godswood and took a few deep breaths.
“It is quite cold tonight for King’s Landing, no?” The voice of your mother made you turn around quickly, eyes wide and mouth agape.
“Mother! What are you doing out here?” The panic in your voice obviously raised suspicion.
“What are you doing out here? Unchaperoned, standing outside the Godswood?”
“I needed some air. Aemond and I had a fight, I needed to clear my head.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, so saying it only made you feel half as bad.
“Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yes. His mother wants to force a bedding ceremony, but I don’t want one. Aemond says if I don’t do it, she’ll likely want a maester to confirm my maidenhood.”
“She questions your integrity?” She was obviously irked. “And what did Aemond say?” Her eyebrow quirked, and you could tell she already knew the answer, glancing into the Godswood before sighing.
“Mother…” You whispered.
“It’s not my place to tell you what you cannot do. If your Father knew…” She shook her head. “You are a woman grown now, and I can’t stop you if this is what you truly want to do.”
“It is. And I’m going to marry him anyways, this is just…a way for us to do it on our terms.”
“And will you forbid your mother from witnessing the union of her daughter?” You smiled, shaking your head and pulling her into a deep embrace.
I'm having SO much trouble with this last chapter UGHHHH!!!!! I keep writing and deleting and starting over, there are just so many ways to tie everything up.
I absolutely adores unbroken betrothals part 2. Can't wait for part 3. It's a beautiful series
Thank you so much! Y'all have no idea how much it means to have my work validated in these ways, it is so fulfilling and I'm so thankful. That said, part 3 is up now!
Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken
Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language
Word Count: 2, 031
> A/N: Catch the corny tie-in at the end of the chapter. I think maybe one more chapter will wrap up this story.
You were in a bout of disbelief. You'd not left your room in days, taking your meals and guests in the rooms. Sylvi was obviously angry with you, because she’d said nothing about you not cooking. She likely had already hired a new cook to replace you, no doubt planning to kick you out the moment you stepped outside again. Where would you go? Back to the Riverlands was always an option, but you were afraid of what you might find if you returned.
How could you not be? Your entire life you had thought of your parents as betrayers. You'd thought they'd wished to sell you off to some disgusting man, to rid themselves of the burden of you. In reality, what choice had they truly had? To reject the king would be dishonorable, not to mention impossible. They would’ve had to respond immediately, to agree in your stead.
How could you ever think so lowly of them? They'd given you so much love in your youth, how would they ever do something so cruel if they'd had the choice not to? Were they heartbroken at the loss of a daughter? Did they think you dead? Or did they accept that you just didn't want to be with them anymore, and you'd left for a better life. Were they still looking for you? You didn't know which was worse.
And then there was Aemond.
Why had he cared so much? You were of no great house, and your marriage would be of no benefit to him. Your running away should've been to his relief, not his anger. Then, for him to track you down, and push his intentions on you. What was the purpose?
The knock on the door did not make you rise from the bed as it would've a week ago, and you did not call to the visitor like you would've a week ago. Instead, you waited for whoever it was to either let themselves in, or go away. You'd be happy with either one.
The creak of the solid door told you they'd chosen the former.
"Are you awake?" Lauryn's voice pulled a sigh from you.
She'd come with more questions, or to gossip about what was happening outside of your room.
"If I was not before, your presence has brought me a sense of invigoration." You smiled sadly, patting the bed for her to enter.
She stepped inside the room, but did not cross the distance. Her absence in the door frame was filled with another. A much taller, blonder, guest, that put much more dread in you than she had.
"Lauryn, what is this?" You sat up, crossing your arms and pulling the blankets up to cover your nightclothes. He stepped into the center of the room, hands behind his back, looking around to take in the sight.
"He's demanded to see you." We can not deny him, is what she said with her eyes. You nodded at her and she quickly fled the room, closing the door behind her.
The silence was not comfortable, nor was it unwelcome. You knew if he spoke, it would be about the betrothal, and that would make you think of your family, and you would be back to worrying for your dear family and how they were fairing. You felt so vulnerable, wrapped up in your blankets and nightclothes before him, all alone.
"My prince, you wanted to see me?" You propped your knees to your chest, sure you looked like a big pile of sheets with a head on top to him.
"I wanted to see you were well." He finally took his eyes off your meager decorations, and looked at you. "Have you had any more spells?" You shook your head.
"I'm quite well."
"And have you thought any more of my words?" You sighed, exasperated, but relenting to the fact that he simply would not let this go.
"Of course I have. It's all I've thought about, holed up in this room. That, and where I'll go once Sylvi casts me from my home. Because of you." You wanted to yell, but you just did not have the energy.
"Me?"
"If you'd just accepted my answer, she would have gotten past it. But you pursued, and chased, and you would not relent."
"I'd relented the first time you rejected me, how many rejections did you expect I would take?"
"Relenting would've been leaving me be, not seeking me out here when you knew I was content."
"I did not come here for you, you happened to be here." You rolled your eyes.
"I *happened* to be in a kitchen, hidden away from everyone where *you* found me in search of 'wine’? There was wine everywhere up front, it is a whore house! You knew I was here, and you found me, because you could not accept the rejection. You sought me out, you said so yourself." He blanched at you repeating his words to him. Perhaps he thought you did not remember your last conversation.
"So I sought you out. What is the crime in it? You were my betrothed, and I would not have you running about the world any longer. I demand to know why you rejected me so long ago, and why you reject me now. I am more than suitable for you, and you should have been proud to serv-"
"I did not know it was you!" You silenced him with your yell. "I did not run away from marrying you, I ran away...because I thought my parents were to send me off to some gray man I did not know, and force me to wed him, and I would spend my whole life with some old Lord who did not love me, and I would never live! I was a child, and I was afraid, Aemond."
He was silent for a moment, before sighing and coming to sit at the edge of your bed.
"And why do you refuse me now?"
"I guess I thought if I married you, then I might as well have married the first man. It would've saved me a lot of trouble, and made my family proud, at the very least." He nodded at that and looked away. "Why do you want me so badly?"
He tilted his head, thinking for a second before shrugging his shoulders. You scoffed at that and stretched your legs to leave room for your crossed arms, not believing that he was just pointlessly pursuing you.
"I've had enough rejection for one lifetime. I'll not have any more." It was a simple answer, and given the past you knew of him, you supposed it made sense. He'd been refused a dragon, friends, a father, a crown. You could see how when you, a simple girl from nowhere, rejected him, it might have confounded him, and tipped him over the edge. He seemed deep in thought, or perhaps deep in memory, and before your eyes you saw him regress into the young boy he'd been, when all he knew was hurt and rejection.
In a way, you pitied Aemond. He had led a sad life, but he'd also led a privileged life. and that privileged life often made people overlook the hurt he'd faced as a child. He was a prince, and that made him revered and respected in many aspects, but he was also a scared, hurt little boy, with no respect from his peers and no one to truly turn to.
"I suppose I can understand that." He turned to you, his lips turning up in acknowledgement before he gently laid his head in your lap.
It surprised you, though it shouldn't have. He was desperate for appreciation and affection. That was why he was here, after all, begging you to reconsider marriage to him.
You had reconsidered it over these past few days. You'd thought it over in a hundred different ways, and truthfully, without the added angst of your parental situation, you really had no reason to say no to his proposal. He was a perfectly respectable husband, and with his doting nature, you'd thought he'd treat you quite well. You could see yourself content with him, if not happy.
"I suppose marriage wouldn't be so bad if my husband were agreeable." You gently found yourself petting his hair, making him close his eye.
"Hm." Was his simple answer, a hum of content, yet it prompted you to elaborate.
"He would have to be kind, of course. And perhaps handsome, though not superficial. I would like him to be strong, and brave. Though, not to the point of recklessness. Perhaps a Stark." You looked down at him with a playful smile, and he responded with a chortle. "You're right, I do hate the cold." You scratched at his scalp.
"You'll make an exceptional wife, and I'll make you happy." He turned onto his back so he was looking up at you, his soft eyes gazing up at you.
He truly was beautiful. His features were in total opposition, his long, soft hair, sharp jaw, and sweet eyes all combined to make a statuesque deity laid before you. His hair was almost pearlescent in the way the fire flickered across him, changing the hues in a second, and blending in oranges and reds and magnificent yellows.
You could not think of a way to tell him you were conceding, and he'd finally won. You just smiled down at him and nodded.
"I need to see my parents." Your voice broke at the mere idea, and he nodded immediately, sitting up and turning to hold your face.
"I'll see it's done. We'll call them to King's Landing."
"Thank you, Aemond.”
He tilted himself just slightly, enough for you to understand what he was asking for. You leaned in enough to meet your lips to his in a soft and gentle kiss. You rest your hand on his jaw, and the other on his chest. He pushed himself against you more to deepen the kiss, pushing you back onto your hands.
His kiss was desperate, and held an air of pure satisfaction. It was not overly rushed, but deep and passionate. You could feel him pour his soul into it, like a beautiful piece of poetry. Every suckle was a sonnet, every sigh a sestina. He pulled your body to his, and it was a haiku, consisting of syllables only spoken in physical language. And you hung onto every single word.
You pulled away for air, but he didn't let you get far, holding his hand to the back of your head, your forehead pressed against his. Your bodies still moved in sync, rising and falling with breath, slowly calming yourselves back down.
"We'll marry as soon as your parents arrive. The very same day."
"Shouldn't you ask the king? I’m sure your family won’t relish the thought of a prince marrying a common cook. You could marry at a much higher advantage for the war."
"There is nothing common about you. And besides, my father already approved the marriage all those years ago. My brother won't deny me." You nodded.
"I'll see you again? Before the wedding? Promise you'll come see me." He raised his eyebrow at that, clearly confused about something you'd said.
"You're coming to the castle with me, are you not, my Lady?" The title made you chew your lip, you had not heard it in a very long time. “I’ll not have my wife sleep in a brothel any longer, I’ve suffered it long enough.”
“This brothel is my home, and you’ve had no trouble turning in a night or two if I remember correctly. Besides, I wouldn’t want to offend your family by assuming I was welcome. You should confirm the betrothal first with the king.” He sighed and turned away, but came up with no argument.
“I’ll be back for you, in a week’s time-at most. Say your goodbyes, pack your things. Prepare to be a princess of the seven kingdoms.” He stood and leaned for one last kiss.
“I’ll be waiting, my prince.”
And with one more lasting stroke of your cheek, he left to unbreak the betrothal you’d abandoned so long ago.
I had planned to post tonight Tumblr is not letting me post part 3 for some reason, so we'll try again tomorrow!! So sorry to everyone but I'll try to have it up tomorrow evening!!
