#i think...there was a lot of ways to help him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeybunnyale · 3 days ago

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All Pent Up l C.K.

w.c.: 8.2k

t.w.: Smut, size kink, cum eating, p in v, oral f receiving, light choking, Clark has a big cock, some technical stuff about darkrooms and film developing, Photojournalist Reader, Reader is short, at least shorter than Clark, lots of fluff, lots of sweet silliness, some angst, established relationship (ish)

a/n: Please read all warnings for all works before reading. 18+ only! Lowkey y’all should search up what a darkroom revolving door looks like lol. I loved my old campus’s darkroom and lab.

Summary: Clark has been utterly perfect, smart, kind, cute and witty. But a woman has needs and doubts were starting to lead you to a detrimental decision. A breakup. But this Clark guy shows you that he fucks hard and checks all of your boxes.

The hand on your back was warm and so utterly large you wanted to jump out of your skin.

Clark was nice. Clark was kind. Sure, his suits didn’t really fit him right, and his hair was a mess half of the time. His glasses were garish and his awkwardness was on the edge of endearing and repelling.

And yet you still decided to go on a date with him. Many in fact.

It was Lois’ idea, Cat’s too but she was less intimidating than Lane’s expectant stare. She was his friend, she spoke highly of him once she found out about his little crush on you, one of the Daily Planet’s esteemed photojournalists.

Clark had been looking through the zines you’ve published independently, enamored by the way you captured people in their everyday lives.

A mother holding their child in the subway was turned into a beautiful mosaic of color as passengers walked past. Another of a dog playing in a park close to the Daily Planet, droplets of water paused in motion, the puppy mid-shaking as children nearby roared in laughter.

You had no idea how he found your gallery. But you think it was the journalist in him. He liked your older ones too, the ones you made in college. Punk shows and protests, some of your neighborhood and of urban explorations done with friends.

The scenes you created were insightful. He could imagine the sounds, the feel of the light as it angled to the focal object, the smells.

Your writing appealed to him. So human, natural, slice of life as you dug into emotions people couldn’t name.

He fumbled over himself as he discussed this over your first date dinner. You looked so pretty in your dress, he couldn’t help but make a slight fool of himself. You decided he was more endearing, but maybe the next date you would give him the tough talk and finally let him go.

You’ve been saying this to yourself the past five dates.

Now you’re waiting for your dinner reservation. His hand at your waist, the other holding your clutch as you stood in the overcrowded waiting area.

His thumb soothes over your hip, you exhale shakily as goosebumps rise from your skin. He was warm, he smelled clean, slightly like the ink of a newspaper. You noted a woody and earthy cologne. His hair more swept back than usual, giving him a put together look. He had his suit jacket resting on his forearm and his sleeves were rolled up because of the heat and humidity that unfortunately lasted deep into the evening.

The need for sex was growing with each date. An unfortunate need to get laid thrumming through your chest and gathering down south to your pelvis and lower belly.

Damn it, you needed his hands elsewhere, as if you wanted him to hear the sickening squelch of your cunt as his fingers dragged against your walls.

But you had a feeling that the farm boy didn’t have it in him to give you what you wanted no- needed. You debated within yourself, feeling the tug of his hand at your waist as you got seated, seeing the way he pulled the chair out for you and pushed it in as you sat, if you should end both of your miseries tonight.

Surely, you couldn’t lead him on, no matter how kind, how gentlemanly or thoughtful he may be. You needed a rough being, a rough pounding to be satisfied. His eyes narrow slightly as you absentmindedly order, your finger tracing the stem of the wine glass, filled with water. It was amusing, in a way, seeing you zone out.

In your head you go through the pros and cons. The more you spent time together the more he opened up. And you quickly discovered that he was perfect. He was smart, quippy, funny and cute. He was a good man. Although a little sassy at times, you knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

But he must be a virgin. He’s never made an effort to do more. Not even a simple kiss. There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all. But you needed something to help you sleep at night, like horse tranquilizer and not 5mg Melatonin gummies. Did he even know about sex? Who knows if his parents even spoke to him about the birds and the bees back home.

You overthink about his inexperience and about the way you might react to it. It would be bad, you’re not good at keeping your faces in check, much less your own words. It was a miracle you haven’t said anything before. The sun that always seemed to be following him had seemingly stopped you.

Clark’s hand lays on top of yours, his fingers sliding further into your wrist feeling your heart race at the touch. His thumb presses against it, moving side to side. Your head lifts to meet his gaze, you shiver.

God, when did he get so hot? You could see the veins in his forearms, his biceps bulge from the sleeves. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe for a second.

“You okay?”

You nod, your lips pursing in a tight smile as he squeezes you in his hold. You take a sip from your water, the server arrives with the appetizers.

You were telling a coworker about this exact problem that very morning.

Superman was spotted and you happened to be in the area as you both witnessed him stop a robbery in a convenience store nearby. He was greeting people on the street that had witnessed the crime, children coming up to him and wanting to be picked up or talk. It was an opportunity for a candid picture you couldn’t ignore.

“How’s your boyfriend, Clark, right?”

You had been talking about Clark, the man that was taking you on dates and just hasn’t made the move. You turn the aperture ring as you attempt to focus on him, the sun’s glare had you inching closer, huffing as you circled around him, your companion in tow, still keeping the conversation going.

You groan at the title.

“He’s not my…”

You groan again, you didn’t know what he was. The relationship hasn’t been defined yet.

“He’s fine,” you mumble. You pause, remembering that he came over to your desk the day before while you were uploading some negatives to your computer. He’d gotten you coffee, a bagel. You showed him some of your shots and he showed you the newspaper, his name on the first page, grinning from ear to ear. He was confident that day, even going as far as to tease you, groaning exaggeratedly at the fact that you had spilled some sauce on your blouse.

His thumb swiped it off, ever so lightly pressing into your breast, feeling the softness briefly before he sucked it into his mouth. You’d given him a wide-eyed look. It was the most action you’ve gotten from him.

You lower the camera, sighing lightly as you recall the moment. If only he could see the way you shifted in your seat and wet your underwear at his cocky look. You swore his eyes drifted to your lap for a moment, his throat bobbing in a thick swallow.

“He got on the first page,” you say plainly.

You shoot. You didn’t think it was good. You try to adjust. Your colleague scoffs next to you, clearly wanting more gossip.

“I heard.” Silence. They clear their throat. “So. How is he in, ya know…?”

You sigh, you shoot, you sigh again.

“Damn”

“Yeah.”

“So, no good?”

You give them a look. You speak your thoughts, almost as if a plumber had found a leak and cut open a spewing pipe.

“Nothing’s happened yet. We haven't even kissed. The man has no sexual bone in his body. I’m pretty sure he’s a virgin and I cannot deal with that- I mean- I need to be dicked down- and in a good way. At this point who knows if he even knows how to put it in- ”

Your breath catches in your throat. You swore Superman just looked directly at you, his face neutral, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The conversation ended as he spotted you both, your camera lifting quickly to get the shot.

Perry liked it, he said Superman looked righteous, his face serious, looking deep into the lens of the camera, the audience. Ready to serve. Ready to prove himself.

Whatever that meant.

…

He walks you home, like always. It was sweet, so sweet you felt your heart chip away with each step as you got closer to your apartment. Your arm was wrapped around his, halfway through the journey he placed his jacket over you.

You were too focused on the sidewalk, at your feet, to notice his wandering eyes. The way his chest puffed at how large the jacket was on you, how he could see your cleavage whenever he glanced down.

You rehearse it in your head. Over and over again, finding something new to say, to soften the blow. You felt like the devil. Maybe a demon. A sex fiend?

A woman has needs. You couldn’t deny it any longer. It was a comparability thing.

‘I just don’t think we’re compatible. I love sex and orgasms and you don’t give me the vibe that you’d be able to give it to me. We must part ways dearest Clark.’

You barely noticed you were at your door. Your heart races. He notices, he somehow always does. His hand moves to your waist. Something’s he’s been doing more of lately. You attempt to find your keys in your clutch. He leans against the wall, watching you.

It felt like you two were in a bubble. His hand on your waist, you in his jacket, his large chest blocking everything else around you. His scent consumes you, his warm hand burns into your skin.

Your fingers find the keys and you drop them to the floor, he leans down to pick them up as you do. He was quicker. You straighten awkwardly as he holds it up to you, as he rises, he’s suddenly a step closer, his eyes level with yours as he bends to your height.

Your back was pressed against the door. Did his eyes just flicker to your lips? Did yours? Your face feels as if it’s on fire, his hand on your waist goes lower, to your hip, then the small of your back, his palm resting on the curve of your ass.

You imagine him grabbing a handful, squeezing with his big, strong, sturdy hand…

“Hi,” he says lowly, he could hear your heart beat out of your chest. He’s never been this close. You could cup his face. You do.

He smiles, leaning closer. You should be backing off, he should be walking back to the subway with his head down somberly because you broke it off with him.

“Hey,” you respond back, almost in a whisper. You grab the key, it digs into your hand as he moves in on you predatorially. He looks down on you teasingly, as if he knew something you didn’t.

You swallow thickly, your mouth parting as you attempt to find your words. His eyes again are directed to your lips.

“Clark, I need to tell you something-“

He slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you close into him. His lips move languidly against yours, your cheeks prickles in pleasure and your eyes widen.

His eyes were closed as he parted your mouth to stuff his tongue in with yours. You yelp, he groans, and pulls your head closer, his nose smooshing against your cheek.

You get lost in it, eventually your eyes flutter closed as he sucks in your little sounds, his hand moving under your ass, squeezing it and causing you to moan lightly. He lifts you, scooping you up by the back of your thighs. You didn’t notice how your feet were off the ground, in a haze, in your apartment's hallway.

His mouth pants in hot wet breaths, nose smoothing down your jaw and neck. He starts to kiss down your throat, your hands move to his head, feeling his soft hair, urging him further, your back lightly pressing against your front door.

He stops suddenly.

He puts you down quickly, almost making you collapse to the floor from how wobbly your legs had gotten. Your hands tighten over his shoulders in a mix of shock and panic as you land on your feet.

A door opens a second later, the next-door neighbor sliding past you both. You watch silently, eyes wide. You’re pressed against his chest as he attempts to make more room in the tiny hallway.

He grimaces, nodding apologetically at the old woman who trudges an overfilled trash bag as she attempts to move past him.

You didn’t notice that he was so big before. You’re sure his shy demeanor made him seem so much smaller. You were sure he wasn’t that tall before, or his shoulders, you swallow thickly the more you think about it, his shoulders were so broad, his arms tight against his dress shirt.

You watch with your fingers twisted tightly in his coat sleeves. He went to help the older woman, lifting the trash bag and pushing it into the trash chute for her.

You feel your pussy throb. He was so nice. And so… dirty. You watch as your neighbor woman pats his chest and he smiles sheepishly down at her.

She leaves, but not before winking at you from her door.

You think Clark had awakened something in you. You almost glare at him, your stare intense as he pecked your lips good night, leaving his jacket with you because ‘It looked good’ on you. He turned back with a boyish smile as he walked away, your heart beating out of your chest.

Your new kink was Clark Kent.

…

You shift in his gaze.

You’ve been avoiding him the whole day, flustered, your heart racing whenever he were near. You couldn’t focus as you presented photographs to a reporter you were working in collaboration with that week.

Some heartfelt story of an old woman being helped across the street by a local shop owner every morning. Who gave a shit. You kept on thinking of Clark’s tongue shoving itself down your throat, exploring your mouth and making you melt against his thick, hard, body like softening butter.

You could hear him from across the large open media room, chatting with Lois or Jimmy at his desk. He texted you good night, sending you a picture of a midnight snack, as you knew, he always likes to snack. It showed off the obvious bulge in his grey sweatpants, and damn it, you could tell he was soft despite its size.

Fuck his handful of grapes and ritz crackers, he should have sent a picture of himself shirtless with a hand holding his dick.

You curse him mentally, you could tell from the moment you walked into work he was going to make the day hellish. His eyes followed your every move as you wandered around his floor. You were usually a floor down, in the photo lab with other photographers who worked in the darkroom just as much as you.

Jimmy stops you, yelling for you to come hang out for a bit. Damn you, Jimmy, you mumbled under your breath, your boots clicking with each step. Clark had sharply turned his head in your direction, an amused look of confusion in his face as if he had heard you.

You turn your back to him, ignoring the way he stood up. You were wearing lacy black panties underneath your jeans. Clark could see the way your asscheeks wobbled with each step. He felt an almost possessive feeling in his chest, as if everyone else in the room had x-ray vision. He makes his way over to you, his hand makes its way to your waist briefly and squeezes, causing you to shiver as it slid away.

He looks down at you, smiling with a shrug of his shoulders as Jimmy continues talking about this ‘vintage” camera he found on eBay. The seller was sketchy, he wanted your opinion you guess by the way he was describing the bid.

“Hey…” Clark whispers, albeit a little loudly. You act as if you couldn’t hear him, pretending to be focused on Jimmy’s computer screen. You could smell him, it made your stomach curl pleasantly, your thighs shift.

Jimmy looks up, he smiles up at Clark.

“Oh, hey Clark…” Jimmy continues, starting his explanation all over again once he sees him standing next to you. You twitch, adjusting yourself to cross your arms as Clark's fingers tease along your back, like little spiders crawling all over your spine.

You give him a sidelong glare, refusing to say anything in front of Jimmy. Everyone knew that you were seeing each other, Clark would spend his lunches on your floor at times, Cat always pressed him about dinner locations.

He’s never been so bold. Jimmy’s eyes flicker to the touches, the way his finger plays with the belt loop of your jeans, tugging lightly. You inconspicuously slap his hand away. It was unprofessional, others thought it was cute.

Clark, so awkward. Clark, shy. Clark, the goddamn tease.

You walk away before he could continue, leaving them watching as you practically stomped out of the room. Jimmy raises his hand exasperated at your sudden departure. You didn’t even give him an answer.

You disappeared the rest of the day, your fellow photographers mentioning that you were in the darkroom, not coming out, not even for lunch. Clark was shitting himself at your sudden enclosure. What if he went too far, he curses himself and his damn recklessness. He just knew that midnight snack picture was too forward. Shit.

He makes his way to the photo lab. It was the end of the day, most of the building empty for a select few who wanted the quiet to finish up some report or project.

He stands, shifting on his feet, his hair a mess from how much he attempted to smooth it back. His curls were gone, he places his suit jacket on the laboratory table’s stool. The room smelled like chemicals, the solution baths by the sink almost making his head spin. Your bag was under the workbenches, the only one in sight. He sighs.

You were the only person in the lab.

You heard footsteps, coming closer to the darkroom’s revolving doors. You lift your head from where you were focused on the timer when you hear an attempt to slide the door open. Clark didn’t know how things worked in the lab. Jimmy attempted to teach him once, he just didn’t grasp it.

“Just keep on sliding it to the left, hop in, and slide it again.”

You were switching printing paper from one tub to the next, your eyes focused on the timer on the side of the sink. He could see all of your stuff set against one of the desks behind you, a large projector in each desk. The darkroom looked haunted, the light casting a red hue over everything inside.

He looks you over, you were wearing a tank top, no gloves on even though he thinks maybe you should have some. You shake the picture with your tongs, the excess liquid dripping onto the tray. You clip it on the hangar, waiting for it to dry as you go back to the enlarger and pack up.

“It’s pretty late,” he mumbles.

You hum in response, he gulps. You were aching not to turn around, all you could think about was that kiss, the way his hands felt against you, his smell, the feeling of him. It was driving you crazy. The darkroom was the only place you could clear your mind and he was invading it.

He walks around the sink, moving close to you, leaning his shoulder against the shield that divides the space between each enlarger. You glance at him briefly. He looked so handsome, you're sure he didn’t even know it judging by the way his eyes were so sincerely attentive to you.

“I’m walking you home.”

Not a question, a statement. It sent a chill down your body. You look back at your workstation. Clark watches as you pause, your shoulders tense and square off in a sigh. You nod, slamming your negative contact sheet binder closed.

He could tell you were pent up and it was all his fault. He almost felt pity, a little guilty from the way he nudged you the past two days. But based on what he overheard from your discussion with your friend yesterday morning, his chivalry had not been as appreciated as he thought it was.

He had become determined.

You were waiting for him at the door, urging him inside the tube.

You push the revolving door, succumbing you both to the darkness as he steps in. The glow in the dark paint and plastic stars shine, not enough to illuminate you both, but visible enough to elicit a simple pleasure from your chests.

It looked really cool, so he mumbled under his breath. You snorted, keeping you both there to admire the darkness. You thought it was too when you first saw the brush on swirls of green glowing paint.

“I did this one,” you say softly, blindly reaching for his hand to press it against the side of the metal door. It was a star with your initials inside of it. A lot of the Daily Planet’s photographers placed their marks on the entrance to the darkroom. A rite of passage, even for the interns.

You slide your fingers against his palm tentatively as he traces along the star. He intertwines your hand together at the light touch, stepping closer to you.

You feel his breath on your cheek, you grip your folder tightly, tingling from the feel of his other hand resting against your shoulder, his thumb tipping your jaw up. You couldn’t see him, but he could see you, your eyes wide, but somehow meeting his even if you couldn’t see.

The air was getting thinner, his fingers squeezed yours and raised it to kiss the back of your hand. Your lips purse, your brows raising at the affection. It feels ten times warmer than when you first entered.

“We’re going to lose oxygen,” you say shakily, stepping back and letting go, dragging your hands against the revolving door to open it up to the other side.

Your eyes adjust to the change of lighting. The harshness of the white lab lights makes you wince, the back of your eyes burning for a second before unblurring.

He watches silently as you place the finished printing papers in the tub of water by the sink, shifting them lightly around the liquid to completely coat and rinse off any fixing solution left. You were so focused like this. In your zone. Your eyes briefly glancing between your pictures as if looking for any tiny mistake, a blur, a crease, a blob.

You let them sit there, walking over to the long metal table. You point to the pictures you had ready, sitting in piles with the rest of the finished works that the intern took out that morning as they mixed up solutions and trays.

He stands behind you, peering over your shoulder, the scent of your musk and chemical, something human and stinging, made his head tip ever so slightly to inhale deeper.

You felt his breath against your neck as he leaned down against the table, his hand resting against the cool metal as you showed him photograph after photograph.

He mumbles approvingly with each thwip and slerk of printing paper sliding against each other. The glossy finish soothing against his ears and his tired state. You feel a pleasant shiver trickle down your spine as you feel his chest rumble against your back.

“You have a good eye. You always capture so much movement,” he mumbles, shifting ever closer. He had taken off his glasses, which confused you slightly. But it seemed as if he took in the image you showcased better without them.

He was so strange. He smelled like warmth and sunshine. His presence was always comforting. God, you wanted it bad.

Your last picture feels heavy in your hands, the rest stacked beneath them, the corners and edges pinching your skin as you hold them. You lift it closer to him as he rests his chin against your shoulder. You feel yourself melt against his chest slightly before leaning forward, creating a centimeter of space between you both.

“Superman. He’s a wonder. Almost looks angelic,” you say quietly.

Your finger traces the figure reverently. He was surrounded by rubble, creating puffs of grey clouds around him, the light shadowing his face as he floated in the sky with the monster of the week lying unconscious beneath him. A crowd had been forming around it, as if coming out of hiding from the buildings at the edges of the frame, all clapping and cheering.

He hums, his gaze now directly on you. He studies you, you glance at him, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed at your words. You clear your throat. You weren’t a fangirl, not really. Everyone loved Superman. Everyone appreciated Superman. You hope he didn’t think of you as being part of his fan club.

He just happens to be around you, maybe you attracted criminals. You're not completely sure, but you always managed to get his attention. He’d look into your cam, almost as if he were waiting for you to take a picture. Perry even seemed to notice that your shots have become more and more about Superman than your usual stuff these past few months.

It brings in the big bucks, so you don’t mind.

You turn to your side, facing Clark, tipping your head as you give an inquisitive brow and he looks at you with a half lidded dazed smile. It was shy, intimate, wholly endeared. His eyes pry deeply into yours, as if he knew something you didn’t and was waiting.

You just didn’t know what for. You offer him the picture, extending it out to him.

“Could you give this to him?”

You give him a wanting look, eyebrows creased into the middle of your forehead, almost pleading but not enough to be considered a real beg. You knew he interviewed Superman all of the time. The only other person being Lois. Unfortunately, you didn’t believe Lois had the inner strength to not keep a hold of the picture, she easily swayed with success.

Not that you blamed her.

Clark straightens up, in utter surprise as you offer him the photograph. It was good enough to be a front-page image. You were willing to give that up.

“You know him, right?”

He nods wordlessly, gently taking a hold of it, his fingers lightly skimming across yours. A shot of electricity fluttered over your hand, heat spread across your face as he looked you over. As if in awe of you. As if you had personally gifted him the picture.

He hears you swallow thickly as he places the photo in his laptop case. You point a finger at his chest.

“Don’t publish it with one of your pieces, alright?”

His lips quirk up in amusement. He snorts.

“Superman’s eyes only.”

You nod firmly. “Good.”

Clark bites his lip, looking down at the floor and huffing out loudly. He shakes his head in astonishment, fighting back a grin. You give him a look as he crosses his arms and leans towards you, bending down right in your face.

“You’re fucking amazing.”

He says it so sincerely, you let out an awkward laugh, fighting back a smile at the butterflies that he was making you feel from the sudden and exaggerated praise. His large hands cup your face, making you look up at him.

“What-“

He kisses you, your hands grip his wrists and you gasp as he presses his body into you.

His lips were soft against yours, your hands move over his forearms, his hand cups the back of your head, his fingers pressing against the nape of your neck.

“You’re-”

A peck.

“Fucking-”

Another kiss, this time deeper, his thumb smooths over your jaw, your legs wobble and your eyelids droop.

“Amazing.”

Your back hits the metal walls of a door nearby, your hand entangled in his hair, pressing his back towards you to bring him closer. He kissed you harder, groaning as you bit his lip, watching with drunken lust as you pulled back slightly. His cheeks were cherry red, hair a mess, glasses thrown on the floor from when he hoisted you up, his hand palming your ass as he held you up by one arm.

He tasted like coffee and that tres leches cake he liked from the bakery around the corner. He was so sweet, everything about him was so sugary sweet. You feel his bulge, rising and pressing against the seam of your jeans. Your eyes almost roll back from the size of him, your hips twitch onto it, grinding, your panties were a mess already.

He kisses you harder, like a starving man, his hand sliding over your hip possessively and underneath your top, his palm against your bare skin and fingers splaying across your ribs, right underneath your breasts.

You bite your moan back as he pushes your bra up, his fingers finding their way to your nipples.

“Clark,” you groan out, feeling your body stiffen in pleasure from the stimulation. They were sensitive, his hand squeezing your breast roughly.

He trails kisses down your throat, shushing you, pushing your strap away to teeth at your skin. He imagines getting you in his bed, tasting you, spreading you out on his sheets and getting on top of you.

His cock pulses. You feel it and your brain short circuits. You start to unbutton your pants, hands then rushing to his chest to unbutton his shirt.

He stops you, his head shooting up to face the door. Before you could question him, he opens the door behind you and rushes inside. It was pitch black, you couldn’t see a thing as he closed it.

“Clark, what are you-”

“Hello?” someone calls out from outside.

You tense. A fucking intern. You move to buckle your pants, but his hand stops you quickly. Your bags and your stack were out on the table. Your legs tighten around his waist, his hands press you tighter against his chest, his palm resting on the small of your back.

He was still hard, you had to bite the back of your hand to stifle a moan as you moved against it.

The intern, Micah, you think, calls out your name. You wince. You were in the negative developing room, where you would take out the film from your camera and load the film into a developing tank.

The process had to be done in complete darkness if you didn’t want to risk ruining your film. It was a rather tedious step, annoying if you couldn’t get the roll in place.

“In here,” you shout. You feel Clark’s chest vibrate, a silent chuckle or snort. You move to slap his chest but miss and hit his collarbone. He makes a hushed ow in response.

“You ok in there? I’m about to head out.”

“Yup.” You pop the p. He snorts and you somehow manage to cover his mouth with your palm. His hand squeezes your ass teasingly.

“I’ll clean up, go home, Micah, have a nice night.”

A long pause.

“Ok… good night.”

You could hear the intern open and close the front door. You breathe out a sigh of relief. Clark barks a laugh, and you sigh in irritation.

“You sounded out of breath.”

“I did not-”

“Yeah, you did.”

You huff. He puts you down, cracking the door open. You both stand out in the light, his chest peeking through, showcasing his defined pecs and collarbones. Your zipper exposes your panties, a little bow at the front making him smirk.

“Your place or mine?”

He doesn’t think much about the answer.

“Mine.”

His place was closer, he wanted to see you in his clothes and he wanted to make you breakfast in bed the next morning. It was Friday after all.

…

You barely had a chance to look around his apartment before he picks you up and walks over to the bedroom. He had a nice city view, open, tall windows that allowed you to see the buildings overhead.

It was nice and very modern. A completely different homestead that you imagined for the farm boy. Then again, you think you might have a lot of wrong ideas about him.

Your back lands on his mattress. The sheets were soft and fluffy, the pillows silky. He takes off his shirt quickly, taking up all of your attention.

His hand unbuttoned his pants as he watches you squirm in his bed. He crawls over you, a leg kicking off his pants his cock springing forth from his boxers.

You moan at the sight. He was out of the ordinary. Long, about seven inches, girthy, you don’t think you could touch your fingertips if you wrapped around him and…

You swallow thickly as it slaps against his ripped stomach. His tip spittles and dribbles pre-cum as he jerks it. Your mouth waters.

Uncut.

You’ve never felt need like this. So desperate you felt as if you were underwater, a beast inside of you attempting to claw its way out of your chest and latch onto his expansive one.

He casts a shadow over you, as he crawls closer. Eyes watching you as if you were his prey.

His hands make quick work of your clothes, leaving you in panties and your bralette. He touches, presses, squeezes all over your body.

“Have to get you ready.”

You pause. He kisses your cheek, pecking down your jaw, his hands briefly squeezing your breast.

“What?”

You’re not a size queen, by any means. But you’re sure you could take him. Sure you’ve never had anyone as big as him but…

You could take him.

You whine from the back of your throat as he kisses down your belly. His palm pressing against your panty covered cunt. Your thighs close around his forearm, back arching at the stimulation. He could feel your clit through the fabric, pulsing, swollen, ready to be touched.

He presses his face against your pussy, licking erratically, wetting the fabric further with his spit. He could smell your cunt, he groans, his cock throbbing.

He’s always had a thing for wet pussy. Something in his biology got him so hard at the scent, sometimes enough for him to have to go to the restroom and fix it during your dates. When you were ovulating, his cock stiffened, his body reacting to yours without you even trying.

Your pussy was so sweet, like it was calling to him. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he finally gets a taste. You smother your mouth with the back of your hand as he pulls your panties to the side, tongue laying flat against your folds, nudging against your fat clit.

It twitches as he sucks. His fingers pressing against your opening, curling upwards and spreading inside of you. Your gummy walls squelch, a wanton moan escapes you as his tongue enters with his fingers, flicking upwards and pressing against the spongy spot right near your hole’s rim.

His saliva pools on the sides of his mouth, gliding down your folds and between your asscheeks. You stare at the ceiling in complete disbelief.

The sheets were getting soaked, as if he were a slobbering animal, so hungry for your pussy he started to drool. His hips flex against the ends of the mattress, you take off your bra and start to pinch your nipples as he brings you to the cusp of orgasm.

He sucks your nub as if there were no tomorrow, tongue circling around it quickly, his fingers pressing upwards and applying pressure.

Your fingers grip his hair tightly as your thighs start to shake. You feel your lungs start to collapse.

“Clark.”

He moans, open mouthed, lips shining with your juices. He looked drunk on it, he swallows thickly as he looks at you from his position between your legs.

“Say it, say my name again.”

Unbelievable heat courses through your body at his slack jawed expression.

“Fu- “ He starts to lick and suck again, keeping his eyes on you. “Fuck-Clark”

One long suck brings you to ecstasy. Your body shakes as an uncontrollable squeal escapes your throat. Your thighs lock around his head, his fingers fuck your through your climax, opening you up, spreading.

He pulls your panties down your legs as he moves up your body, watching as you twitch and pulse, your mouth open as you panted.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

He shrugs. He gives you a smile, soft as he runs a hand over his head, waiting for you to calm down. You feel lightheaded, the world blurs for a moment.

Your hands shake as they lift to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing against his chin, covered in your slick.

“Let me suck you off, baby.”

He shakes his head at your request, head flicking down to lick your thumb clean. He hums and closes his eyes. You gasp at the action. So fucking dirty.

“C’mon,” you whine. He nibbles on your neck, you melt into his soft comforter. He brings both of your calves to his shoulders to have your thighs press on either side of your torso. A mating press.

He closes his eyes tightly and shivers at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening, your hole gaping and twitching.

“Tonight’s about you.”

He kisses you tenderly, slowly as he licks at your bottom lip, willing you to open up for him.

“All for you,” he murmurs into your mouth.

He shifts forward, you let him manhandle you, putting you in any position he wanted. You peek between your bodies, he guides his cock to your folds, rubbing his shaft over you, lubing himself up. His balls were heavy, full.

His tip pushes into your hole, you constrict around it. You throw your head back as the head pops inside of you with a slimy squelch. Your hands tighten into fists.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out shakily.

He knew how abnormally large he was. But he loved watching you squirm and whine. He kisses your cheek.

“Relax. I’ll go slow.”

You nod, leaning your head back, watching as he focuses on controlling himself. His eyes move across your body, watching as goosebumps rise along your skin, smiling lazily at the sight of you so pliant underneath him.

“Clark-” your words come out garbled, he watches you intensely as your cunt swallows his cock inch by inch. Your hands fist his sheets, your hole twitches and pulses, your walls squeezing so tight it felt as if they were attempting to push him out.

He shushes you, kissing down your neck and to your breasts, taking one into his mouth and sucking. His thumb circles over your clit, urging you to open up.

“You're so fucking huge,” you say out of breath, sweat collecting over your furrowed brow. He pushes in another inch, he groans into you and bites your nipple lightly.

“You can take it.”

You felt a building pressure in your lower belly, you took deep breaths in. You felt like you were on the verge of overstimulation, your senses surrounded by Clark, his scent, woody and warm, his touch, his mouth, his monster cock.

You close your eyes and rock into him, moving your hips from your compromised position. Your cunt produces more slick, tinges of pleasure as his cock drags along your walls and makes your mouth open in half moans and half whines.

He holds your hips in place.

“Let me take care of you.”

He straightens up, you could see his upper body, flexing as if willing himself to not push you further than you could handle. Your nipples tighten, pinched and sensitive in the cold air.

They jiggled with each flex of his hips.

He looks further down, his eyes focused on your cunt, watching the way it squelched with each press and drag of his cock. You bit your lip to hold in your moans, the headboard starting to rock against the wall loudly.

He could see himself inside of you, your walls stretching wide and straining. He lightly nudges your cervix, your body locks up. Your eyes well up in tears.

“So pretty, just a little longer and it’ll feel so good. Already drunk on my cock, uh?”

His voice was deeper than usual, raspy with want. The tremor of his tone digging into your skin and burying into the marrow of your bones. Your brain is turning to mush, lips parted, almost making you drool.

“Yeah- yes.”

He quickens pace, his balls pressing against your ass, the base of his cock kissing your folds. He presses his body weight against you as your slight winces of pain turn to full on moans of mind-numbing pleasure.

Each thrust feels like a punch in the gut, your lungs compressing and releasing your breath all in one go. A good punch, a sexy punch. His head rests besides yours on his pillow, his grunts feral as he erratically ruts into you.

He grinds against your pelvis, the pleasure shooting through you from your clit, making your body shake. Your words slurred into mumbles, walls so tight around his cock he almost felt as if it could stop him from moving forward entirely.

Your feet jostle, the backs of your thighs wobbling against his solid chest.

“Cum for me, baby.”

He sits up, releasing his hold on your legs and wrapping them around his waist. His palm presses against your lower belly. The pressure mounts again, you close your eyes tightly, but his hand grips your jaw.

“Hey, look at me.”

He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips squish together, moans escaping you freely. He seemingly gains control over most of your body as he pounds into you.

You nudge his hand lower, it lands on your throat. He sees you lose it completely. Your hips move to meet his with each movement, he feels his cock brush against your cervix each time, the soft tissue almost pushing him back like a wall made of Jello.

It sends a delightful shiver up your spine each time. Your body throbs, clit pulsing.

He’s only ever held the throats of bad guys. If that. It felt so aggressive, so demanding.

This was entirely new for him. He feels his chest tighten at the sight of your utter enjoyment, almost convulsing against his mattress as each flex of his hips presses you further into it.

He puts the slightest pressure along the sides of your neck, your cunt tightens so much he had to soften his thrusts. He fears he might actually lose control if you continue, but fuck if it didn’t feel good for him too.

It felt like your insides were being ripped apart, in a good way. You’ve never felt anyone reach so deep inside you, first emotionally and now physically.

You were on the verge of orgasm, his squeezing in pulses helping you along. He had a gentle hold over your entire body, sturdy and firm but not pushing further.

The headboard cracks against the walls, his bed creaks.

“C’mon, cum for me.”

He leans forward, kissing you with all that he has, your wet pussy makes an even wetter mess, each thrust producing gummy sounds to resound around the walls of his bedroom, your juices dripping to the sheets.

You swore you saw colors across your eyelids as you came. You could feel his hips twitch, body shuddering and mouth stilling against yours as he spilled into you.

It went on for a few seconds, both of your bodies wrung tight, molded perfectly against each other as you both shook in pulses.

He came a lot. You could feel the warmth of his seed spew from around his cock, dripping down your abused hole as he pulled out of you.

His hand smooths over your twitching thighs as he lightly shushes your groans and moans of utter fatigue.

He licks you up, moving his lips around your folds as if he were making out with them. The overstimulation made you push on his head weakly, but he didn’t move an inch.

It was like attempting to move a brick wall. You lean back against his pillows as he laps at you, the sounds of his feast making you cover your mouth and bite down your palm.

His hips flexed against the mattress, and he paused to give out a long moan. You turn your head to see him at full mast, cock still slick with his cum and your juices.

It was a long night.

…

You woke up in a cloud, your body seemingly floating atop a cumulonimbus. You feel deeply satisfied as you laid in Clark’s bed, nuzzling into the sheets and smelling his laundry detergent on them.

He changed them as you went into his bathroom to freshen up, right before going to sleep.

Your eyes finally open and you gaze around his room. He had his front-page paper hung up, a framed picture of everyone from the Daily Planet. A picture of you, cut out from who knows where, stuck into the corner of the frame of a candid of his parents, presumably a baby Clark held between them.

Your heart soared at the detail.

You hear him in the kitchen, it smelled like bacon, eggs and warming bread.

The scene was perfect. The sun’s rays were shining in through the wall to ceiling windows, his kitchen was illuminated by the warmth of the sun. He almost glowed from it.

You pick up your bag, attempting to be as quiet as possible. He pauses as if he could possibly hear you near silent movement for a second but continues. He was quirky you thought, your hands digging through your cam bag to fish out your camera.

His shoulders and back flex with every movement, his hand stirring the pan full of eggs, you presume, with a spatula.

You take a picture of him, with your personal digital camera. You feel a giddiness inside of you as you trace his figure in the image, his exposed torso, the sweats low on his hips.

You narrow your eyes. He looks sort of familiar. The toaster goes off and he picks up the bagel as if it were nothing, holding it in his palm as he coated it with cream cheese.

You almost want to tell him to drop it on the plate from how long he holds it like that. You wince, he must have tough hands. But they didn’t feel that calloused.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks without turning.

You swallow thickly, you could feel the bruises left on your hips, he held onto you fiercely throughout the night. Your back was covered in love bites, breasts too.

You slept like a baby.

“Good. You?”

He turns, food plated. He smiles widely as he makes his way to you.

“Great.”

Your stare makes him almost miss his step, you pull the sheets over your chest as you sit up. He bites his lip and swallows thickly at the sight of you.

You were gorgeous, he could see darkened spots over your body, his work.

You look through the camera roll in your digi cam, ignoring him as he places breakfast beside your legs. He sits next to you, peering over your shoulder.

You glance between him and the picture you have in your tiny screen. It was Superman, grinning widely, after he saved a girl’s cat stuck in a tree. He had waved at you, pointing to your camera and posing.

Clark didn’t have his glasses on. You look up at him with wide eyes, mouth parting in shock. Same dark hair, same broad shoulders and chest, same goddamn smile.

Clark hears blood rush through your veins quickly, your heart beating like a hummingbird’s. He gives you an almost pleading look as you stutter.

He says your name softly; you slap a hand over your face exasperatedly. How could you have not noticed? You curse under your breath as you cross your arms.

“Don’t-“ Clark attempts.

You narrow your eyes. He says your name again, this time in a light warning, pointing a finger at you. Clark Kent who wouldn’t hurt a fly and would actually go through hell and back to save it.

He makes sounds as you attempt to speak, interrupting you each time. You blurt it out quickly, leaving the room in stilling silence.

“You’re Superman.”

---------------------

David Corenswet’s voice is sexy and Superman has been freaky and horny since 1978. This is inspired more on the Lois and Clark dynamic from the 80s movies. Like wdym Lois’ underwear is pink, Clark???? Also, I will fight back against any babying of this man!

Requests open! Plesss give me Clark Kent ideas plesssss

-Alejandra 💋 🐇

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark kent x you #superman x you #superman (2025)#clark kent fic #kal el x reader #superman #clark kent #david corenswet superman #ale's fics <3

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destinysbounty · 13 hours ago

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One thing that kinda chaps me about how the Ice Emperor is typically characterized by a lot of the fandom is that if you really pay attention to how he behaves in the Ice Chapter, he isn't the aggressive, confrontational villain he's often made out to be. In s11, most scenes we see of the Ice Emperor actually depict him as a very passive and sedate character, preferring to rest on his throne and contemplate rather than taking action. He never acts unless Vex implores him to do so, and even then he usually defaults to the less ruthless choice until Vex cajoles him into opting for something more brutal. The first time we see the IE defy Vex in any capacity is when he chooses to spare Lloyd rather than killing him instantly. Judging by Vex's surprise at this, and IE's unabashed trust in his advisor, I would hazard to guess this is the first time Zane has ever pushed back against one of Vex's suggestions.

This is not to say the Ice Emperor is without cruelty or brutality. He is still a very menacing presence in his own right, and he absolutely has gallons of blood on his hands. That cannot be understated. But on his own, without a wormtongue whispering in his ear, I personally think the Ice Emperor would have been...well, not necessarily a kind person, but significantly less ruthless. He's a passive and dare I say tired person who prefers to sit on his throne and wait for orders rather than taking any form of initiative on his own. He's barely even a leader or a tyrant in any true sense of the term, really -- he's just a glorified weapon Vex keeps stored on a shelf until he's needed.

This actually makes sense when you consider Zane's element. Ice is in its very nature a slow and sedate thing. Temperature is shaped by the speed and movement of particulates -- the faster molecules move, the hotter things are. Whereas when things get colder, molecules move much more slowly. (That's perhaps a bit of an oversimplification, but I'm not going to give a lecture on thermodynamics in a post about silly lego people). And the Ice Emperor...well, he's very much encased in ice. He has to physically pry himself off his throne, and the staff has long been frozen to his hand. The whole world is in a similar state as well. Entire swathes of the population have been cryogenically frozen, and the world is so cold that it's exceedingly difficult for fire to thrive. And many other fans have speculated that the reason Akita is able to look the same age despite decades passing is because Zane's corrupted ice has overwhelmed the land so profoundly that everyone is more or less frozen in time.

Ice is a slow, sedate, passive thing. It does not demand anything of you except that you cease movement. Likewise, the Ice Emperor in his truest state is a sedate, passive character, only stirred out of his meditations when Vex compels him into action.

True, he's often depicted as a generically ruthless tyrant in most iterations after s11, but those can usually be chalked up to Zane's unreliable self-perception. This is how Zane interprets his behavior as the Ice Emperor, rather than the actual reality of how he truly behaved. Zane resents that part of himself, and that resentment has warped his understanding of who the Ice Emperor truly was. Which in itself is rather tragic considering Zane's identity issues. That is to say, Zane is so terribly blinded by his trauma and self-loathing that not even he can see himself for who he truly is.

(Cough cough that one quote in Dragons Rising: "Zane had such impressive shoes to fill. No one could ever live up to him, perhaps not even Zane himself.")

Anyway, even if people disagree with this interpretation of the Ice Emperor's character, I personally find it much more compelling to view him not as a generic murderous tyrant...but as an old, tired machine who cannot conceive of his personhood outside of his own weaponization.

By extension, this actually makes Zane's post-s11 coping process a lot more complex as well. The popular narrative is that Zane needs to learn to accept that what happens wasn't his fault, that he had a whole chorus of extenuating circumstances working against him, and that it's actually quite impressive just how many things had to go wrong all at once for him to become evil. And that's fair, but I also think the truth of the matter is more complicated than that.

Zane knows, deep down, that the Ice Emperor's actions weren't his fault -- and that's exactly what terrifies him. Because if he accepts that he was little more than Vex's mindless weapon, then he has to admit that his greatest fear has come true. He spent decades as a mindless, soulless machine, only ever acting on the will of another person, all while being endlessly manipulated by a cursed artifact, rather than having any true agency of his own. When his friends tell him it wasn't his fault, it's not a comfort but rather a painful reminder of how long he spent as someone else's drone. When the people of the Never Realm forgive him and let him return home unobstructed, a part of Zane resents it because it means they, too, acknowledge his absence of free will.

In my eyes, Zane post-s11 is someone who feels that he needs to be blamed, needs to be hated and despised and shunned -- because if people hate him for what he did, then that means it really was his fault. And if it was his fault, then that means he didn't lose his free will after all. It means he didn't spend 50 years as someone else's empty plaything. It means he didn't spend more of his life as a mindless weapon than as a true person.

Yes, Zane needs to learn to stop blaming himself for the Ice Emperor's actions...but how can he let go of the blame when it's the only thing keeping him sane?

#i also disagree with the popular narrative that lloyd would be afraid of zane post s11 -- imo his feelings would be way more complicated #lloyd is no stranger to having loved ones be magically corrupted and try to kill him #yet despite his efforts to talk each of those loved ones back into their right mind #he never succeeds #kai was able to help him snap out of morros control but lloyd himself cant seem to do the same #the only time lloyd has ever been able to snap someone else out of their control is when he cleansed his father of evil in s2 #and every time thereafter he failed #kai let go of the staff of elements not bc of lloyds insistence but it got knocked out of his hand #garmadon didnt snap out of his determination to kill lloyd despite lloyds desperate attempts to reawaken the goodness in his father #and zane didnt even regain his memories because of lloyds efforts. he only remembered because vex happened to say the right thing #(true zane wouldnt have started thinking for himself and disobeying vex if lloyd hadnt showed up but lloyd wouldnt see it like that)#heck even appealing to harumis 'true' self didnt work either #so i dont think lloyd would be afraid of zane just like he wouldnt be afraid of kai post-staff of elements #if anything i think hed be racked with a lot of guilt #zane wants lloyd to hate him. to be afraid of him. to resent him #but lloyd cant. all lloyd can see is the loving nindroid who raised him. the nindroid he thinks he failed #both fuelled by equal and opposite guilt. such that it threatens to drive them apart #and the only way to restore their friendship is to learn how to forgive themselves #woah someone should write a fic about that <- said by a fic writer who will probably never do that #anyway i hope everyones having a good day <3 #ninjago #ns11 #ninjago ice chapter #ninjago ice emperor #ninjago zane #zane julien #lloyd garmadon #destiny post

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far-off-flower-fields · 15 hours ago

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There's also the complications that can come from there being multiple people living with the dog or regularly interacting with them. If they're being trained but a lot of it is being undermined by other people and there's not enough consistency in what they're being able to do and being taught, it can really mess things up, especially for a dog that is prone to getting over-excited, over-stimulated, or overwhelmed. They can still be trained but it can be less of a sure thing that they'll behave how they're expected to in various situations in part because they have more options on the table and often less clear motivation. I'd imagine that makes matters worse when they're overwhelmed to begin with.

Other people also introduce a bunch more components into a situation or environment and you often can't really control what other people do, if they're willing to cooperate or listen then that's great and they can sometimes become useful, but if they're not (which might not even be malicious sometimes) it can make things complicated if you can't just go somewhere else. It's not just distractions either, things like refusing to be mindful of where they leave things, or acting in ways that are potentially scary to the dog.

Other people can be really helpful or really harmful (and vary somewhere between the two day to day), it's just one of those things, but when it's an issue you're dealing with, it can be hard and people shooting you dirty looks and saying shit (especially if you're not at any risk of affecting them directly) makes it feel worse because you know you're doing your best, and the dog is too, and you know what could help but you can't always just make it so. Sometimes it's even worse and the other people close to the dog don't see that the dog is trying (or improving), they just want to sigh, and yell, and complain, which isn't helpful, especially around a more sensitive, or high energy dog.

man it´s so easy to talk shit about how other people "don´t train their dogs" if you never worked with a hard to train dog

#My parents blame the dog for his own behaviour like he's a misbehaving 21 year old frat boy but refuse to change anything they do to #He's a dog ffs and not a remote controlled one of course he'll do a self-rewarding behaviour if you leave it possible for him to do it #I've worked hard with him and he'd probably always be a bit zany but he could be doing much better if not for my parents #I could get over it if some of the issues weren't potentially unsafe and if their attitude wasn't still so bad about it #Imagine asking someone to help with your dog and train them then not listening refusing to do stuff and then blaming the dog #There is a lot that goes into training a dog and then reliably being able to use that training it's easy to forget that #It has been 3 years and the dog has made more progress than they have even with them screwing things up #I'll never forgive my parents for how they've behaved the last few years and how selfish they've been #You'd think I'd get over them being true to form eventually but it always finds another way to sting #That dog deserves better

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indouloureux · 2 days ago

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take a breath, and let the rest come easy

— clark kent x fem!reader

— synopsis: sometimes sunlight just isn't enough for superman to heal. so there's a reason why he comes home to you every night.

— a/n: title taken from dear maria, count me in by all time low. just a little domesticity for u guys

his feet meet the ground of the alley lightly, like a feather falling. clark sighs in relief, placing his suitcase on the ground and unclasping it to see the work clothes he'd worn earlier today.

and he thinks of how he just can't wait to see you tonight.

how he could finally untauten his muscles, let himself melt into your skin, feel like he didn't fall from space on a random day and deem himself a normal human being who was tired from work.

well, he is tired from work. just not the kind of work other people do.

clark changes behind a dumpster and hopes no one would look out a window and see a half naked man holding superman's suit. though if the situation does happen, he'd already thought of an excuse: "i'm his assistant and i do his laundry."

(he does, in fact, do his own laundry.)

when he arrives at your home—the one you share through combined salaries and scraps of savings—he gives you that all too familiar knock that has you opening the door not even a second later.

his heart flutters at your smile when you see him—that all so welcoming gleam that comes with a hug; clark wraps his arms around your waist, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck and doesn't care that he'd have to bend down uncomfortably to do so. he inhales your scent, eyes fluttering shut as he did so, letting your fingers wander into his tangled mess of curls.

"you're home," you beam. clark pulls back to look down at you, his dimples deep from a soft smile. you twirl the sweat doused curl in your index, flicking your eyes back and forth from his right to left. clark's eyes twinkle the way a sun ray would. "i cooked your favorite."

"breakfast for dinner?"

"yep!" you pull away from him. he gently kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot before toeing his shoes off. "eggs, bacon, toast; still slicing the avocados, though."

"i'll handle it." he rolls up his sleeves up to his elbows, entering the kitchen. you dangerously hand him the knife—slinging it back with a lazy wrist, blade pointed directly at his chest. clark's eyes widen, carefully taking the knife from you. "how's your day?"

you push yourself up the counter, taking a bacon and biting, the crispy meat kissing your taste buds. "filtering pictures, as usual." you say, semi-muffled.

clark turns to you and wipes the oil off the corner of your mouth. "got any pictures of me mid-fight?"

"it's hard to take a picture of you when you're flying here and there, y'know?" you playfully roll your eyes. clark gapes, slicing down the middle of an avocado, twirling by the time he reaches the bone. "all i get is a blur of red and blue."

"well sorry, maybe i should stop mid flight and pose for you." clark holds two avocados in his hands. he walks to stand between your legs, nuzzles his nose against yours, before giving you a quick peck. "thank you for dinner."

when the toast is popped up, he takes it with ease like the heat doesn't burn his fingertips. you take an avocado from him and replace it with a butter knife, each of you spreading the fruit onto the toast.

"how was yours?" you ask him. clark helps you down the counter even though your toes have reached the floor, leaving one hand on the dip of your spine, the other taking his plate.

"entertaining," he begins, guiding you to the living room. "today, krypto led me to a testing lab that had a lot of beagles in it."

you look up at him in shock the moment you plop yourself back down onto the couch. "where'd you take them?!"

clark sets his plate on the coffee table, sitting comfortably beside you, arm behind your head and a hand on his lap. "local shelter. scientists weren't pleased, though."

"should've taken me one."

"i don't know, honey." he leans forward, putting an egg on his toast before taking a bite. "taking care of a dog is a huge responsibility."

you give him a deadpanned look, taking a bite of your own. "you sound like my mom."

"you'd have to take them out on walks, clean their poops, feed them. i mean it's just a huge responsibility, my love."

"you're saying that because you can't take care of krypto."

clark frowns, waving his hands in the air like he doesn't have a toast in his hand. "have you even been with that dog? he's a menace. he peed on my cape."

you laugh lightly, leaning back to rest your head on his shoulder. he sets his plate back on the table, and tilts his head down to look at you.

"i missed you." you sigh out. "even though we were together at work earlier."

he kisses the space between your eyebrows, placing his arm again behind your head, hand reaching down to scratch your shoulder. "you can keep missing me. but at the end of the day–"

clark tilts his head sideways, to give himself a better look of your face. his heart beats in a rhythm he can't describe– it's like the feeling he gets when he flies into space; exhilarating, freeing, euphoric. like his soul is dancing with peace.

and then there's your ever gentle smile. it's the kind of smile that's only tilted upwards just a little, your chin digging on the muscle between his chest and collarbone. your lashes flutter from each loving blink, pupils dilating slowly, irises akin to the shades of a flower field. and god, clark could just stare at you all day if he could.

"i'll always come back home to you."

you kiss him.

kissing you was clark's most favorite form of intimacy. the way that even if his lips were a little bit bigger than yours, they fit perfectly against his mouth. the way it was just the right amount of innocence in its ardor and the neediness that's been born from constant yearning.

he loves the way kissing you would orchestrate every fibre of his body to create sparks of energy to kiss you even more. he loves the way your face would fit in his palm perfectly and the way your hands would move from his neck to scratching the back of his neck.

and he loves the way all the tension in his body would unclasp themselves, letting him soften and melt in your touch the way a doting man would. it's one of the ways he shows you how much he loves you. and if he could find more, he would.

he will.

clark sighs lovingly, pulling you up to straddle his lap. his head falls back to the back of the couch, tilting his head slightly. the soft clicks of your joint mouths tickling his ear the slightest. and with his eyes closed, he could feel every single part of you.

"clark, baby," you whisper against his mouth. you only want him to hear your voice. "dinner."

"technically it's breakfast." he chuckles against your mouth. he rubs circles on your mouth. "do you want me to make you some hot cocoa?"

"could you put ice cubes on them?"

he pulls back and gives you a befuddled look, kiss bitten lips forming an amused grin. "but it's hot."

"it helps it warm up just a little."

your eyes travel upwards. they settle on the dried blood just above the worry lines and below his hairline. you tut, wiping the blood with your thumb.

"gotta be more careful out there, clark." you scold lightly. "i can't heal you the way the sun can."

clark snorts. "darling, you don't know how much stronger you are than the sun."

your eyes meet his. they look surprised in a way that your heart seemed to have crawled it's way out and onto the palm of his hand.

"maybe you just gotta rest with me," you reply, pushing his hair behind his ear. clark's hands run up and down your back, keeping you warm. "they're being really mean to you out there."

he chuckles and kisses the tip of your nose. "yeah well, i have you anyway. who cares if the whole world hates me when i have your love?"

your eyes roll. you settle your hands just above his heart, scratching the skin. "well how 'bout you make me some hot cocoa to keep this love?"

though tired, clark comes home to you for a reason. he wraps your legs around his waist and walks to the kitchen. you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

he just can't seem to let you go.

a/n: james gunn made a playlist for clark and god it's so cute

#superman #clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman x reader #david corenswet x reader #clark kent fluff

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deakyjoe · 2 days ago

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Size Kink with Clark Kent

A/N: I can’t get him out of my head.

Clark who is so big you gasp when you first see his hard cock. He only smiles, slightly goofily, at your shocked expression. You shouldn’t be surprised really. He was a big guy in general - tall, broad, large hands, wide shoulders, biceps bigger than your head… it only made sense that his dick would accompany all of that in its size. You just hadn’t expected it to be so large.

Luckily Clark is big on foreplay, loving nothing more than making out until you’re a writhing mess begging for him to take the next step. He is also a big fan of making you come at least twice before he even considers taking off his own clothes. Because of his overall large state, it means his fingers fill you pretty well. So that usually comes first, him pumping his thick digits in you until you whine his name. Then he cleans up the mess you’ve made with his tongue, getting drunk on the taste of you and making you come again. Only then does he consider himself.

It still catches you slightly off guard every time you see it, just how big he truly is. You love it though. Staring at him and thinking about how he couldn’t possibly fit all of that inside you but knowing that he’ll find a way. And most guys are cocky about their size, usually offering you a patronising “you can take it” but Clark is different. Clark will whisper sweet nothings in your ear to relax you, maybe offer a pet name or two to make you feel good. Then he’ll ease into you, willing to stop and prep you some more with his hands or tongue if he notices you’re not quite ready yet. You’ll insist you’re fine, willing to be absolutely wrecked by him. But Clark won’t take that, he prefers if your pussy is as slick and pliant as possible. He likes having that effect on you.

But he finally sinks into you, bottoming out to the hilt, he finds it hard to hold back. You feel so good around him after all, squeezing every inch of him. And boy, are there a lot of inches. His large hands will grip tightly at your waist, your hips, your thighs, your tits, anything he can reach and engulf the plains of your skin. His strength means he can bounce you up and down on his cock easily, either to help you ride him, to make you rock back and forth when you’re on all fours, or to slide up and down the bed. The force of his thrusts always make the bed shake, the headboard hitting the wall repeatedly, no matter what.

Never does he cover your mouth when you start making the noises he loves to hear. He lets them echo around the room as he continues to pound into you. You’re so easy to move around, he could have you in any position he wanted. But he doesn’t care about that, his main focus is your pleasure and what you want. He isn’t ignorant to the fact that you love how big he is, in every aspect. So he makes a point of it. He wraps an arm around your neck if he’s hitting from behind so you can feel his bicep flex against your throat. He crowds himself over you so your vision is obstructed by the width of his shoulders. He’ll tap his cock against your wet pussy and show you how deep he goes into you by resting it against your tummy. He loves the way your eyes practically bulge out of your skull at the sight of that.

And due to his stamina, he won’t stop until you’ve orgasmed multiple times. Only then does he give you a break before tempting you into another round a little while later by showcasing the sheer size of himself to you. You’re always happy to jump right back on him after that.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #superman x reader #superman x you #clark kent #superman #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent smut #superman fanfiction #superman smut #ej’s fics #ej’s writing #deakyjoe’s fics #deakyjoe’s writing #superman 2025 #dc #dc comics

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shortnspidey · 1 day ago

Text

BED CHEM

Bob Reynolds X Female!reader || WC: 10.4K

SUMMARY: Thanks to your ever-so-helpful teammates, the charity Gala is long forgotten. Now, all you and Bob can think about is getting back to the tower, to finish what you started, with every intention of making up for lost time… over and over again.

WARNINGS: INCLUDES SMUT (18+) Essentially porn with a plot, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), fingering, body worship, multiple orgasms, lots of sexual tension, cursing, slight praise kink, lots of pet names, possessive!Bob, oral (fem receiving), slight dirty talk, lots of fluff, slight angst if you squint, lovesick idiots making up for lost time!

A/N: The long awaited part two to miss possessive, but can still be read as a standalone! Second time writing smut, I’m still on the fence about it… I am open to suggestions and recommendations on how I can make this better! Also, I'm way too single to be writing this! Thanks for all the love on the first part!! Divider by @luxifrv <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob reynolds masterlist

The sexual tension between you and Bob hung heavy in the air, thick and humming with electricity, the kind that made the skin prickle and the breath catch. It was the kind of tension that made conversations falter and eyes linger too long. Anyone paying even half attention could see it; anyone oblivious might chalk it up to flirtation, but this was something far more dangerous, far more desperate. It was need, barely caged.

After being caught on the balcony, flushed, breathless, clothes just slightly disheveled, you and Bob had mustered just enough restraint to play it cool. At least on the surface. But it was a performance, and not a very convincing one. You sat side by side back at your table, posture composed, smiles polite, but beneath the surface, it was chaos. Bob’s hand had migrated beneath the white linen of the tablecloth, firmly anchored to the bare skin of your thigh through the slit in your dress.

His touch wasn’t subtle, not really, fingers splayed possessively, thumb occasionally pressing into the soft curve of muscle like he needed a reminder you were real. Every now and then, he gave your thigh a slow, deliberate squeeze, as though testing your resolve. The action earned him a sharp inhale from you each time, barely concealed by a sip of champagne or a forced laugh at some irrelevant conversation.

His eyes, usually such a calm, clear blue, had darkened, smoldering with gold under the warm lights of the gala. The glint of restraint flickered in them like a fuse burning toward the end. You saw it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his tongue flicked over his bottom lip, the way he blinked just a second too long when your skin shifted beneath his hand. Your own hand was lazily sprawled atop his, manicured nails lightly dragging over the thick veins that snaked across the back of his hand.

Your fingers dipped beneath the cuff of his suit jacket, brushing just above his wrist, feeling the thrum of his pulse, fast, heavy, barely contained. That midnight black suit hugged him in all the right places, tailored to perfection and doing absolutely nothing to cool the fire raging between you. “Oh my god.” Yelena scoffed under her breath, tipping back the rest of her champagne with the finesse of someone deeply unimpressed.

Ava snorted beside her, trying and failing to contain her laughter. “They’re gonna combust before dessert.” Walker grimaced, eyes darting between you and Bob. “Do they even remember we’re here?” You heard the whispers, barely. Something about eye-fucking and what have we done, but none of it mattered. Bob’s fingers had flexed just a little tighter against your thigh, and your focus had tunneled down to just him.

His hand on your thigh, his scent, and the faintest growl in his throat when your fingers ghosted over a particularly sensitive spot near his wrist. Then came the unmistakable sound of keys jingling, the break in your lust-drunk haze. Your eyes flicked up, still hazy, to find Bucky on the other end of the table, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was physically in pain. “For fuck’s sake,” He muttered, digging the car keys out of his pocket like they personally offended him.

His tone had the weary edge of an exasperated dad catching his kids making out at a dinner party. Bob didn’t even flinch. He just kept his hand on you like it belonged there. “It’s blatantly obvious neither of you want to be here,” Bucky grumbled, eyes narrowing. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but do not have sex in the SUV.” He tossed the keys across the table, a smooth arc of silver and sound, and Bob snatched them out of the air with an effortless one-handed catch, his eyes never leaving yours.

The way his fingers closed around them, all calm and sure and controlled, sent a thrill down your spine. That shouldn’t have been hot. But oh, it was. Walker groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Please, for all our sanity, just get it out of your systems before we get back to the tower. I’m begging you.” You opened your mouth, a biting retort halfway to your tongue, but Bob moved first. Smoothly, he rose from his chair and reached for your hand, lacing your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The keys disappeared into his pocket with one practiced motion as his other hand settled on the open back of your dress, the heat of his palm searing against your bare skin. “C’mon, pretty girl. We have a lot of lost time to catch up on.” He coaxed low, voice brushing against the shell of your ear like velvet-wrapped in sin. Your heart slammed against your ribs as he guided you away from the table, past the stares, the laughter, the not-so-quiet commentary. His grip on your back was firm, possessive, leading you through the crowd with one goal in mind.

As soon as you made it to the car, Bob’s self-restraint snapped like a rubber band stretched to its limit. Before you could blink, he was on you, all heat and hunger, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was searing, raw, full of all the want he’d been choking down for hours. He pressed you against the side of the SUV, one hand cupping your jaw, the other planted firmly on your hip, dragging you flush against him. Your back hit the cool metal, but the chill didn’t register.

Not when he was devouring your mouth like he’d been starved for you. His lips were soft but demanding, moving with a kind of desperation that sent your pulse skyrocketing. You gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue past your lips to deepen the kiss. It was messy and intoxicating, a perfect reflection of the tension that had been simmering between you all night. His tongue moved with purpose, sliding against yours in a rhythm that had your knees buckling and your fingers digging into the lapels of his suit.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest when your hands slid up and tangled into his hair, gripping the soft, thick strands. You tugged, just enough to tilt his head back, to pull him away for a breath of air and a half-second to think straight.“B-Bob,” You muttered between kisses, breathless, dazed, your lips swollen and tingling. You looked up at him through heavy lashes, trying to speak, trying to anchor yourself in the chaos of his touch. His lips ghosted along your jaw, trailing hot kisses to the corner of your mouth, to the pulse hammering in your throat.

“Sweetheart,” You finally breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The car.” The cold metal of the SUV groaned faintly beneath your back, the frame flexing under the sheer force of him. You could feel the weight of him, the power behind his restraint, the way the vehicle almost yielded to it, and God, it made your breath hitch. His forehead fell to yours, and for a moment, he just stood there, panting, trembling slightly, trying to collect himself.

“S-Sorry.” He muttered sheepishly, though the arm still wrapped around your waist betrayed zero intention of letting you go. You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers still threaded through his hair, tugging just enough to make his eyes flutter shut. "We’re still in public, and you look about two seconds from taking me right here.” He groaned, pressing a kiss to your neck, one that lingered a little too long to be innocent. “Two seconds is generous.” You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “Take me home, Bob."

He didn’t need to be told twice.

It was a miracle the SUV didn’t end up wrapped around a streetlight on the drive back to the Watchtower. Every red light was a special brand of hell, a cruel interruption in a ride already strung so tight with tension it felt like the air itself might snap. Bob’s hand never once left your thigh. It slid up, then down in a slow, maddening rhythm, each pass of his fingers dangerously close to the hem of your dress, skimming the soft skin there like he was memorizing it.

Your breath hitched with every movement, your jaw clenched tight to keep from moaning out loud. You bit down on your lower lip until it stung, desperate not to make a sound, knowing that if you did, it would all be over. You’d climb into his lap and Bucky’s warning would become a distant memory. You could feel the restraint radiating off Bob, and you could see it too. His knuckles were bone white against the steering wheel, veins raised and pulsing. His jaw flexed again and again, clenched so tight you worried he might crack a molar.

Every time a car in front of him slowed or braked unnecessarily, he swore under his breath, chest heaving, thigh jumping beside yours like the tension was crawling beneath his skin. The SUV dipped into the underground parking garage and the second the tires cleared the ramp, Bob was throwing it into park, slightly crooked, barely between the lines, and unbuckling with a speed that bordered on reckless. He was out of the driver’s seat before the engine had fully shut off, the slamming door echoing against concrete walls.

You blinked, dazed and burning, as your door flew open. Bob stood there, tall and flushed and wrecked, his tie askew, hair mussed from your fingers, eyes blown wide with hunger. He extended a hand toward you, palm open, fingers twitching like he needed to be touching you again. You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers slid into his and he pulled you from the seat like you weighed nothing. The moment your feet hit the ground, regret surged, your heels bit into the soles of your feet, muscles screaming from the long night.

You winced, hissing under your breath as your ankle wobbled slightly. Bob didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss anything when it came to you. Before you could protest, his strong arms wrapped around you, and with effortless grace, he scooped you up bridal style. “Bob! I can walk on my own!” You gasped, half-laughing, half-mortified, fists lightly pressing against his chest. “You’ve done enough of that tonight.” His tone was low, rough around the edges, frayed from everything he was holding back.

One arm cradled your back, the other slipped beneath your knees, holding you securely against his chest as he strode toward the elevator. His scent was everywhere, clean soap and something sharp and male that made your thighs clench involuntarily. Even inside the elevator, he didn’t let you go. You took advantage of the moment, snuggling deeper into him, arms thrown around his neck as your lips found the warm skin beneath his jaw. You nuzzled into the hollow there, open-mouthed kisses marking a trail from the hinge of his jaw to just below his ear.

You felt his pulse quicken beneath your tongue, the throb of it hammering against your lips. He cursed under his breath, his grip tightening around you. Your smirk deepened against his skin as you continued your assault, slow and deliberate, your teeth scraping just enough to make him groan, low and barely audible, the sound echoing in the small space between you. By the time the elevator chimed for the eighth floor, both of you were practically vibrating.

The doors slid open. Bob stepped into the hallway with purpose, but before he could take another step, he paused. Carefully, he lowered you to the floor like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling, lips still parted from where you’d been about to kiss him again. Then he dropped to one knee. Your heart stuttered, but it wasn’t what you thought. His hands found your calves, large and gentle, and he slid them upward slowly, just until he reached the buckle of your heel.

He undid it with quiet precision, then repeated the action on the other side. The shoes dropped to the floor with twin clatters, and the relief in your feet was immediate. But your breath caught for a different reason. He rose slowly, until he stood at full height, towering over you again, body solid and commanding, eyes molten. One hand found your arm, sliding up slowly, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When he reached your cheek, he cradled it, thumb sweeping over your flushed skin as if grounding himself with the feel of you. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His other arm circled your waist, and before you could inhale, your feet left the floor again. You gasped, arms tightening around his shoulders, instinctively wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. “Bob!” You squeaked through laughter, your voice high with surprise, but laced with something else, want, thick and trembling in your throat. He didn’t stop. His hands found your thighs as he adjusted your weight, pressing you tighter against him. You could feel him, hard and hot and pulsing through his slacks, pressed right up against the very center of your aching core.

You swallowed a moan, head falling forward to rest against his. Your bodies molded together as he moved down the hall, pace steady, steps heavy with intent. The door to his bedroom loomed ahead, and the second it swung open, there’d be no holding back. The second Bob crossed the threshold into his bedroom, the last threads of restraint disintegrated. The door slammed shut behind him with a solid thud, and before you could even gasp, your back hit it, hard enough to rattle the frame.

A startled breath flew from your lungs, but it was immediately swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours. His hands were everywhere. Hot, greedy palms slipped beneath the slits of your gown, fingers splaying wide over your thighs, dragging upward, bunching the silky fabric at your hips. The grip he had on you was filthy, possessive, almost primal, like he needed to remind himself that you were here, in his arms, wrapped around him with no more interruptions.

You moaned into the kiss, arms clinging to his broad shoulders, nails digging through the material of his suit jacket. Your fingers found his hair again, thick and soft, brown strands slick with sweat from the heat between you, and you yanked, desperate to pull him even closer. He groaned into your mouth, deep and wrecked, hips bucking forward as your legs locked tighter around his waist. The movement ground his hardness right against your aching core, and the jolt of pleasure that shot through you made your entire body tremble.

“This dress…” His voice cracked as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze raking down your body like it physically hurt him to not be touching every inch of you. “Fuck, Y/N. It’s been torturing me all night.” You rolled your hips against him, slow and deliberate, the friction igniting sparks behind your eyes. “You like it?” You ran a hand slowly down the front of the gown, over the curve of your breast, down your stomach, to where the slit exposed your thigh, as his eyes tracked every movement.

“I do,” He whispered immediately, reverently, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “But right now?” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, hot and needy. “I want it on my bedroom floor.” Then he kissed you again, and this time, it was filthy. There was no hesitation, no careful build-up. His mouth crashed into yours, tongue sliding deep, claiming and demanding. He kissed like a man drowning, all teeth and tongue and panting breaths between moans.

You answered with equal fervor, lips parting willingly, tongues tangling as your hands clawed at his jacket, yanking it off his shoulders. He groaned when your nails scraped down his arms, leaving raised lines in their wake, and he practically ripped the dress up over your hips, hands groping your ass with both palms as he lifted you higher. Your back arched, pushing your chest into him, and his mouth broke from yours to trail down your jaw, then your throat, where he bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, a mark left behind as proof.

“You don’t even know,” He growled into your skin, voice dark and trembling. “How long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you like this. To taste you. To worship you.” He pressed you harder against the door, hips grinding up between your thighs, and your head tipped back with a moan that echoed off the walls. His mouth found the swell of your chest, exposed where the neckline of your gown dipped low, and he licked a path across your skin before biting down lightly, tugging the strap down with his teeth.

You gasped, hips bucking into him. “I’ve got you.” He breathed against your collarbone, licking the mark he just left. The dress slipped off your body like it had been waiting for this moment, pooling at your feet in a ripple of midnight silk, forgotten the instant it left your skin. Bob took a single step back, just enough to look at you, really look. The breath caught in his throat like it hurt to hold it. You stood there, back pressed to the door, bare but for a pair of barely-there baby blue lace panties, the delicate kind that clung to you like a whisper, nearly transparent.

The gown had been backless, which meant no bra, your breasts exposed to him in the soft amber light of the room, nipples peaked and sensitive from the friction of the dress and the weight of his stare. Bob’s gaze raked over you like he might die if he blinked. The blue in his eyes vanished, swallowed by molten gold as pure hunger overtook him. His chest rose with a slow, shaking breath, and then all at once, the dam broke. A low, feral growl tore from his throat, and he was on you again, pinning you back against the door with his full body, heat radiating from every inch of him.

One hand grabbed the back of your thigh, hiking your leg around his hip, while the other moved to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the soft skin, then circling your nipple with aching slowness. “Fuck—” He breathed, voice wrecked, eyes never leaving your chest. “No bra. You were walking around all night like this.” You smirked, breath hitching when he bent his head to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle. He growled, switching sides, giving the same treatment to your other breast, his tongue lapping over the sensitive bud.

You whimpered, fingers threading through his hair again, holding him close as he devoured your skin. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your ribs, down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He dropped to his knees in front of you, big hands dragging slowly down your thighs, lips brushing over your stomach with featherlight kisses that made your belly twitch. His mouth hovered just above your waistband coming face to face with the baby blue lace.

His nostrils flared, the gold in his eyes burned. “Were you trying to kill me?” He rasped, voice thick with disbelief and pure, unfiltered lust. Your head hit the door with a soft thud, chest heaving, hands still buried in his hair. “Maybe a little.” He exhaled a shaky breath against the inside of your thigh. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged the lace down your legs slowly, reverently, like it was a sacred act.

He kissed the inside of your knee as he helped you step out of them, then trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses all the way back up, tongue flicking teasingly across the crease where your thigh met your core. He stood again, eyes roaming every inch of your bare body, worship in every line of his expression, even as lust darkened it beyond recognition. “I’ve waited months for this,” He muttered, voice trembling as he reached for you. “To touch you. To taste you. To make you come so many times you forget your own name.”

You didn’t resist when he picked you up again, just wrapped your legs tight around his waist and kissed him like you were starving, moaning into his mouth as his hands roamed over every inch of you. His lips broke from yours only to mouth down your neck, teeth dragging gently across your collarbone, over the swell of your breast again, like he couldn’t get enough. Then he was laying you down on the bed, lowering you onto the cool sheets like you were something precious.

He hovered over you for a moment, eyes drinking you in, chest shuddering with the effort it took not to lose control. But that control was long gone. All the tension of the last few months, the glances, the brushes of hands, the stolen moments and the aching silence, it all snapped loose in a flood of raw need. Bob settled between your thighs like he’d done it a thousand times in his dreams. His large hands slid under your thighs, hooking just beneath your knees to gently tug you closer to the edge of the bed until you were right where he wanted you, legs parted, exposed, breath stuttering in anticipation.

He paused for a moment, not out of hesitation, but reverence. You felt the weight of his stare like a touch, his golden eyes devouring the sight of you spread out before him. Lips slightly parted, brow furrowed like he was trying to memorize every detail. “You’re perfect,” He murmured, voice hoarse, wrecked. “So fucking beautiful.” Before you could even process a response, his mouth was on you. It started with a kiss, soft and slow, lips parting over your center, tongue flicking out to taste you like he’d been starved for it.

He groaned low in his throat the second he did, the sound vibrating straight through your core. It wasn't rushed. Bob kissed you like he had all night to be between your thighs, like the only thing on his mind was unraveling you with his mouth. One of his arms wrapped under your thigh, hand splayed across your stomach, keeping you grounded as he began to work. His tongue moved deliberately, broad strokes through your folds, gathering every bit of slick, savoring it.

Every now and then, he pulled back just to blow a soft breath over your soaked flesh, smirking when you whimpered and bucked your hips toward his face. “S-Shit!” You breathed, hips lifting instinctively. He growled again, the sound raw and full of pride, before diving back in with a new kind of focus. His mouth closed around your clit and sucked, hard, pulling a cry from your throat that echoed off the walls. He circled the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, relentless and devastating, alternating pressure and speed until your back arched completely off the bed.

One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers digging in deep, trying to ground yourself, but he didn’t falter. If anything, it only spurred him on. Bob shifted slightly, flattening his tongue and lapping at your entrance, slow and filthy, like he was drinking you in. Then he slid two fingers inside you without warning, thick, calloused, curling just right as his mouth latched back onto your clit with unwavering purpose. Your moan shattered into a broken sob. The stretch was perfect. The rhythm was deadly.

His fingers pumped in time with his tongue, and the wet sounds filling the room were obscene, echoing between your own breathless cries and the soft curses spilling from his mouth between licks. “That’s it,” His voice was nearly feral. “Give it to me, baby. Let me have it.” Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. The knot in your belly tightened so fast and so hard it nearly hurt. He flicked his tongue faster, precise and merciless, while his fingers curled with every thrust, pressing against that sweet, devastating spot inside you that made your entire body clench.

“I’ve got you,” He growled against your clit, the words muffled by how tightly he kept his mouth on you. “Let go, pretty girl. Give it all to me.” You shattered. The orgasm tore through you like lightning, stealing the breath from your lungs as your hips jerked off the bed, thighs trembling around his head. You cried out, legs threatening to close around his face, but Bob didn’t stop. If anything, he held you open, arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you spread, tongue still lapping at you gently as you rode out every last pulse of pleasure.

He groaned, pressing kisses to your twitching inner thigh, breath hot against your soaked skin. “Fuck, you taste heavenly.” Your chest heaved as you tried to blink your vision back into focus, muscles trembling, heart pounding somewhere near your throat. And when he finally rose up, mouth still glistening, hair wild from your fingers, eyes burning molten gold, he looked completely wrecked. “That,” He rasped, voice like sin, dragging his mouth along your thigh as he slowly climbed up your body. “Was just the beginning.”

You collapsed back against the pillows, body still trembling, lungs working overtime to drag in oxygen. Your bare chest rose and fell in uneven waves, skin dewy with sweat, tingling from every place his mouth had touched, every place he hadn’t yet. Your thighs were slick, still twitching from the force of your orgasm, but Bob was nowhere near finished with you. He knelt at the edge of the bed like he was praying, gaze dark and heavy, locked on your naked form sprawled out across his sheets. He hadn't stopped looking at you since he'd dropped to his knees.

There was awe in his eyes, like he couldn't quite believe you were real. Your mouth curved into a dazed, breathless smirk as your eyes dragged down to take in his clothes. The rumpled white button-up still clung to his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, top few buttons undone from the drive over. The charcoal slacks hung low on his hips, belt gone, zipper down, the outline of his cock still straining against the fabric beneath. “You’re sill wearing too many clothes,” You murmured, voice rasping in your throat. “Not exactly fair.”

You gestured lazily to your thoroughly ruined, fully nude body. That grin, the slow, crooked one that always made your stomach flip, spread across his flushed face. “Guess I am.” He pushed off the bed and stood at the edge, hands moving to loosen his already-untied tie, slipping the silk from his collar and tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist. Next came the shirt. One button at a time, deliberate, teasing, he undid it, eyes locked on yours the entire time. When he shrugged it off his shoulders, the fabric fell to the floor like a whisper.

You sat up slightly, unable to stop your eyes from drinking him in. God. You’d seen Bob shirtless before, a handful of stolen glances during training sessions with Bucky or Walker, but never like this. Never for you. His chest was broad, golden skin stretched tight over firm muscle, each line cut with effortless definition. His abdomen was all ridged planes, dusted with a trail of dark hair that led down past the waistband of his slacks. His forearms flexed as he moved, thick with muscle and veined, the kind of arms you wanted wrapped around you forever.

You licked your lips without thinking. “You’re staring.” He teased, voice low, pleased. “Can you blame me?” Your voice was hoarse, eyes slowly trailing up from the sharp V of his hips to the deep curve of his pecs, the freckle on his left shoulder you always wanted to kiss. “You look like sex and sin and everything I’ve ever wanted.” That grin faltered, only slightly, replaced with something deeper. Rougher. His eyes darkened again, chest rising with a sharp inhale. Then he dropped his slacks, leaving only his boxers between you and everything.

The bulge there was impossible to ignore, thick and heavy, pressed tightly against the fabric, a dark wet patch beginning to form where the tip strained. But he didn’t rush. He climbed back into bed like a man approaching holy ground. Kneeling beside you again, his hands found your ankles, thumbs sweeping slow circles along your skin as he gazed up at you, hair wild, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. “You know…” He murmured, voice roughened to gravel. “No one else will ever make you come like that.” You arched a brow, both intrigued and ruined. “Confident, are we?”

He climbed up your body with delicious slowness, kissing a path up your leg as he went, calf, knee, thigh, inner thigh, skipping your core just to hear you whine again. When he reached your stomach, he lingered, tongue flattening to lick a hot stripe up the center of your torso, before placing open-mouthed kisses between your ribs, across your hip bones, over the softness of your belly. “Not confidence,” He murmured, lips brushing over your sternum. “Just stating a fact.” He hovered over you now, forearms bracketing your head, his weight suspended but radiating heat.

One hand trailed up the length of your arm until his fingers laced with yours, grounding you. His other hand slipped down between your bodies, cupping your core again, this time with reverence. “Only I know what you sound like when you fall apart,” He rasped, fingers finding your slick folds. “Only I get to taste you, hear you beg, feel you clench around my tongue.” His fingers circled your clit slowly, featherlight, maddening. “Only I get to watch you lose your mind like that.”

Two fingers slipped inside again, this time smoother, easier, the afterglow of your orgasm leaving you soft and warm and wet for him. He pumped slowly, deliberately curling them deep inside you, watching your expression shift as he mapped every reaction. You gasped, hips twitching, nails clawing into his bicep as his mouth returned to your breasts, this time slower, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his fingers worked you with aching precision.

He pulled back just far enough to watch your face, to see every tiny twitch of your mouth, every arch of your back, completely drunk on your pleasure. “Yeah. That’s it. You’re mine like this, baby. No one else gets this.” You nodded, barely coherent, thighs already starting to tremble again. The pressure inside you curled hot and tight, your body helpless to resist him. He kissed up your chest, your neck, your jaw, finally claiming your mouth in a kiss that was slow and deep and intimate. His fingers didn’t stop.

They moved faster now, finding that perfect spot again as his palm ground against your clit, relentless, wicked. “Come for me again,” He whispered against your lips, voice thick with devotion. “I need it. Need to feel you fall apart around me one more time before I lose my fucking mind.” And you did. Harder than before, messier, deeper, thighs clamping around his hand as your vision blanked out completely. Your second orgasm hit you like a freight train, tearing through your already-used nerves, your entire body curling into his.

Bob didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t stop worshipping every twitch, every moan, every breathless sob of his name. Your body was still trembling when his fingers slipped free, slow and careful, as if he were afraid to overstimulate you, but the look in your eyes said otherwise. Lashes fluttering, lips kiss-bitten, breath still ragged in your throat as you blinked up at him. “Your turn.” You breathed, voice saccharine sweet, laced with every ounce of affection and hunger you felt for him.

Your hand moved between your bodies, fingers brushing his abs, dipping lower toward the waistband of his boxers. Bob caught your wrist before you could get there. Not rough. Gentle. But firm. Your brows lifted, confused, until you saw the way he looked at you. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, warm and grounding. “Next time,” He promised, voice low and full of something deeper than just desire. “You’ll have all of me. Every inch. But right now, I need to be inside you before I combust.”

The promise in those words, next time, made your stomach flutter. Your lips parted around a soft gasp, eyes flickering down to where his hand held yours. You bit your lip, smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as anticipation sparked in your chest. You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his jaw, letting your lips linger against his stubbled skin. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” His body shifted, slow and deliberate, hovering over you as he finally, finally, peeled down his boxers, freeing himself.

Your eyes dragged down between your bodies, and what you saw had your breath stalling in your throat. Thick. Long. Hard. Flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. You whimpered, spreading your legs wider as he settled between them, your hips tilting up to meet him. Bob grabbed his cock, ran it through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. His hand gripped your hip, the other fisting the sheets beside your head, knuckles white. “You ready for me, pretty girl?” His voice cracked around the edges, like even he couldn’t believe how long he’d waited for this.

"Please," You nodded, breathless, lips parting. “I need you, Bob.” His mouth crushed against yours as he pushed in, slow and thick and deep, stretching you open inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you, buried to the hilt. You both moaned into each other’s mouths, the sound ragged and desperate, bodies shuddering at the feeling of finally being connected like this. “Fuck,” He groaned, lips dragging down your neck. “So tight. So fucking wet.” Your nails raked down his back, thighs tightening around his waist, holding him deep. “You feel so good,” You whimpered.

“So full. Bob, please move.” His hips rolled, long and slow strokes that filled you to the brim, each one dragging against your walls with devastating precision. The pace was steady, deep, designed to feel. To make it last. To make you feel everything. The moans spilling from your lips were helpless, loud, and unfiltered. Each thrust had you gasping, praising, crying out his name like a prayer. He swallowed every sound with kisses, mouth trailing over your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “Who’s this pussy belong to?” He rasped, hips pistoning into you so deep your vision blurred.

“Say it. Let me hear it.” You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. “You. Only you, Bob, fuck, it’s yours.” He growled, pace picking up slightly, the angle changing just enough to make your back arch. “That’s right, nobody can fuck you like this. Nobody can have you this way but me.” Your mouth dropped open in a broken moan as his hand slipped between your bodies again, thumb finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight circles as he continued to fuck you deep, steady, relentless.

“Takes me so fucking well. You’re perfect.” Your entire body tensed, pleasure building fast again, his praise pushing you closer with every filthy, worshipful word. “Look at you,” He breathed, mouth brushing yours. “So beautiful, taking every inch of me like you were made for it. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and all mine.” Your moans turned into sobs, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the heat, the emotion. “I love you,” You gasped, tears pricking at your eyes as your walls clenched around him. “God, Bob, I love you.”

He froze for half a second, cock twitching deep inside you, then he kissed you with everything he had. "Fuck, baby, I love you too,” He whispered into your mouth, voice shaking. Your legs tightened around him, holding him impossibly closer as his thrusts turned frantic, deeper, harder, your release barreling toward you like a wave. “That’s my girl,” He groaned, thumb pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it, one more time.”

You came with a cry of his name, full-body shaking, toes curling, nails clawing down his back as you shattered underneath him. Bob’s rhythm faltered, thrusts turning sloppy as your orgasm clenched around him, dragging him right to the edge. With a low growl, he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you, body trembling, mouth locked against your skin as he moaned your name over and over. When the tremors faded, he collapsed onto you, bracing his weight on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush you.

His forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and tangled up in sheets and each other. Bob stayed inside you for a long moment after the last shudder rolled through him, his chest flush against yours, breath warm on your cheek. Neither of you moved, both unwilling to let go just yet. You could feel his heart pounding against your breastbone, still racing, as if he were stunned by what just happened. Your own body was limp beneath his, legs still wrapped lazily around his waist, limbs boneless from the overwhelming pleasure and emotion.

His thumb traced slow circles along your jaw, eyes never leaving your face. The softness there was disarming, no less intense than before, but quieter now. A reverent kind of peace. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, lips barely brushing his damp skin. “Don’t move yet.” A low hum rumbled in his throat as he buried his face in your neck, nuzzling the spot just below your ear. “Not going anywhere.” You stayed like that, joined, still, warm, until your breathing evened out.

When he shifted, it was slow and careful, hips rolling back just enough to slip from you, a low groan caught in his throat at the overstimulation. You whimpered softly at the loss, the emptiness making your thighs clench instinctively. Bob pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before slipping from the bed entirely. “Hold on, baby.” He murmured against your skin, voice low, thick with affection. Before you could ask what he meant, he bent down and scooped you up again, arms cradling you effortlessly.

You melted into him, cheek resting against his chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart and the heat of his skin against yours. He carried you to the bathroom like you weighed nothing, careful not to jostle your sore body. The warm light flickered on, golden and soft. Bob used one hand to turn on the tap in the large walk-in shower, adjusting the temperature until the steam began to rise. He set you gently on the edge of the tub, kneeling in front of you. His hands moved with quiet efficiency, not rushed, but thoughtful.

He grabbed a clean cloth, soaked it in the warm water, and brought it to your thighs, swiping gently. You winced, just a little, and he immediately looked up, thumb brushing your knee. “Too much?” You shook your head, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “You’re being perfect.” He exhaled softly, then returned to the task, careful, thorough, reverent. He cleaned between your legs with the kind of focused tenderness that made your chest ache.

You leaned into his chest again, eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed your forehead. After a few more quiet moments, he scooped you into his arms once more and carried you back to bed. The sheets were still warm, tangled from before, but neither of you cared. He climbed in behind you, pulling you into his arms with your back pressed to his chest, one leg tangled with yours, one arm wrapped around your waist, hand splayed possessively over your belly. His chest molded to your spine like he was made to fit you.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers, resting them just beneath your breast. His lips found your shoulder. Then your neck. Then the back of your ear. He didn’t speak. Just kissed you, soft, steady, endless. The silence stretched, but it was the good kind, weightless, heavy with meaning. Eventually, you shifted slightly to face him, curling into the heat of his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. He held you like if he let go, even for a second, you might vanish.

A smile tugged at your lips. You shifted in his arms, eyes glinting with mischief beneath heavy lids. “Your girl, huh?” His entire body tensed, the muscles in his chest going tight, the arm around your waist locking for a half-second in panic. His voice cracked just enough to make you grin wider. “I–uh—I didn’t mean to—” You pressed a single finger to his swollen, kiss-bruised lips, shushing him before he could spiral any further. His breath caught as you leaned in closer, nose brushing his, your voice soft but firm.

“Shh, relax, Bob,” You gave him a smile he could feel, warm and content as your hand slid slowly down his abdomen, tracing the hard lines there with a lazy, affectionate drag. “I was just teasing.” The tension in his chest eased instantly, and you felt the low rumble of a laugh in his throat as his lips curved against your temple. “I really like the sound of that.” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut again as your fingers splayed across the dips of his stomach. “I really like it too.” He murmured into your skin.

His voice thick and full of quiet joy as he pulled you even closer. His hand moved up your ribcage, slow and possessive, resting just beneath your breast. You nuzzled into his chest with a soft hum, heart swelling so much it ached. His thumb traced along the edge of your rib, over the faint thudding of your heart. You had a feeling Bob could lie there all night, holding you like this, like you were everything he’d ever waited for. And he’d be right. Because you were his girl now, and he was completely, helplessly yours.

The following morning, golden sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the sheets. The room was quiet, save for the muffled hum of the busy New York bustle outside and the gentle, rhythmic sound of Bob’s breathing behind you. You blinked awake slowly, not quite ready for the moment to end. The sheets were warm with shared body heat, and your body still hummed faintly with the memories of last night.

The way his hands worshipped you with reverence, his lips exploring you like he was memorizing every inch, his voice hoarse and low as he whispered your name like a prayer. Even now, hours later, your skin seemed to remember the way he held you afterwards, tucked safely against his chest, his thumb tracing lazy, absentminded circles on your shoulder as he kissed the top of your head and breathed in your scent like he never wanted to forget it.

You shifted slightly beneath the weight of the blankets, careful not to disturb him. Bob was still asleep, one strong arm draped around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach like even in dreams he couldn’t bear to let go. His bare chest was pressed to your back, warm and steady. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, soft, even, and comforting. You smiled to yourself, heart full to bursting. Slowly, you turned in his embrace, moving gently so as not to wake him.

Your legs tangled naturally beneath the covers, bare skin brushing against his in a way that felt both effortless and electric. You settled into him like you were made to fit there, like you’d been doing this for years. His face was utterly unguarded in sleep, peaceful in a way you rarely saw during waking hours. His lashes, impossibly long, cast faint shadows across his cheeks. The light caught in the strands of his messy brown curls, making them look kissed by gold.

One unruly lock had fallen across his forehead, and you reached up without thinking, brushing it away with the backs of your fingers. You let your touch linger, dragging lightly down the side of his face. His stubble scratched faintly against your fingertips, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment. You traced the curve of his jaw, the dip of his chin, the faint freckling across the bridge of his nose, familiar now, like constellations you’d memorized with reverence.

The same freckles that were scattered like stars down his shoulders and across his back, and last night, you'd kissed every single one you could reach. You studied him in silence, committing every detail to memory. His soft, kiss-bitten lips were parted slightly, a small, adorable snore slipping out with every breath. The sound made you smile again, fond, amused, completely in love. You’d tease him for it later, and he’d pretend to be embarrassed, but his ears would flush pink and he’d secretly love that you noticed.

Then, after a few quiet moments, you watched his expression shift, his brows twitching ever so slightly before his eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded, and full of sleep. Those blue eyes blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, before they focused on you. Just like that, the world stopped. There was something in the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing that existed. Like he was still trying to figure out how someone like you had chosen him, and still couldn't believe you were here, tangled up in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

“Hi.” He whispered, voice still gravelly with sleep, thick with something deeper, emotion that made your chest ache in the sweetest way. You smiled softly, the kind of smile that only he ever saw, and tucked your head further into the crook of his neck as if it were second nature. You breathed him in, letting the familiar scent of him settle in your lungs. Sun-warmed skin, clean cotton, the faint trace of his cologne still clinging to his pulse points. “Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

Your arms looped lazily around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. One hand began to scratch gently at his scalp, nails grazing through his curls until he gave a barely-there sigh of contentment. The other hand drifted down, fingertips brushing the back of his neck, twirling the soft hairs there with lazy affection. His body reacted without thought, his breath hitching slightly, his arms tightening around your waist. “Staring is rude, you know?” He teased, the corners of his lips twitching up into a crooked smile.

You felt his hands snake under the blanket, calloused fingers gliding across your skin until they found purchase at your bare waist. He tugged you fully against him, your chest flush with his, legs still tangled together. The heat between your bodies was intoxicating, a mix of leftover passion and quiet love. “Good thing I wasn’t staring,” You murmured with a smirk, “I was admiring my handsome boyfriend.” Bob rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, but the way the color rose faintly to his cheeks betrayed him.

He ducked his head slightly, burying his grin against your hair like he couldn’t quite handle being looked at that way. Then his expression shifted, eyes softening, brows drawing together with the weight of a different kind of feeling. His thumbs brushed slow circles into your hips, grounding, tender. “How are you feeling? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, his voice low and laced with concern, even as sleep still clung to the edges. Your heart clenched a little at how gentle he always was with you.

“I’ve never been better,” You assured him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Last night was…” You paused, cheeks flushing warm, lips stretching into a dazed smile. “It was amazing.” His eyes closed for just a second, like he was holding onto your words, letting them sink into him. “Yeah… it was.” He opened them again, locking eyes with you, his gaze earnest and full. “Still can’t believe you’re officially mine.” You shifted slightly, propping yourself up just enough to tilt your head toward him. Your noses brushed, breath mixing in that soft, sacred space between a kiss and a promise.

“Better believe it, Reynolds,” You whispered, lips barely grazing his. “You’re stuck with me.” He chuckled, a low, husky sound that vibrated through your chest where it pressed against his. He reached up, knuckles brushing your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb trailing along your jaw with a feather-light touch. Then he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was chaste, but slow and lingering in meaning, full of every unspoken thing he didn’t have the words for yet.

He kissed you like he’d never stop finding new ways to say I love you. You hummed into the kiss, your hand fisting gently into the curls at the base of his neck. When you finally pulled back, his lips chased yours for half a second, a quiet, endearing pout tugging at his face. You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. “As much as I would love to continue this, we better get up before we never make it out of this bed.” His brows furrowed dramatically. “Is that really a bad thing?” He scoffed, eyes narrowing playfully.

You shrieked out a soft laugh as he rolled you back onto your back, nuzzling into your neck with exaggerated determination. “Bob! I’m serious!” You giggled, squirming, but making no real effort to escape. “And I’m seriously not letting go yet,” He murmured, voice thick with sleep and muffled where his lips brushed against your collarbone. You could feel the faintest curve of a smile against your skin as he pressed a lazy kiss there, breath warm and soft. “Just five more minutes.” He added, words vibrating gently through you.

You sighed with theatrical exasperation, but the way your fingers slid instinctively back into his hair betrayed you, curling into the soft, messy strands at the crown of his head. He made a quiet, satisfied sound at your touch, nuzzling even closer like a content housecat refusing to be moved. “You know,” You murmured, voice hushed against the crown of his head. “We’re going to have to face our friends eventually.” You felt the shift in him immediately, the way his whole body tensed just slightly where it was molded to yours.

“Y-You really think they heard us?” He asked, voice pitched higher in panic, already wincing as he tucked his face deeper into the crook of your neck. The tips of his ears flushed a deep shade of pink, his arms tightening around your waist like you might shield him from the embarrassment. You couldn’t help the soft burst of laughter that escaped you. “Bob, sweetheart…” You began, dragging your fingers lightly through his hair in soothing strokes. “The walls are pretty thin, and we weren’t exactly… quiet.”

He let out a groan, an honest-to-god full-body groan of mortification, as he buried his face deeper against your skin like he might actually disappear into you. “Oh God.” He groaned, the words low and miserable as they vibrated against your throat. His face was still tucked against your neck, lips brushing your skin with every groaned syllable, his arms clinging to you like he could shield himself from the sheer mortification of what you’d just confirmed. You grinned wickedly, unable to resist twisting the proverbial knife, in the most loving way possible.

“Hey,” You whispered, your tone mock-soothing as your fingers scratched gently at his scalp. “At least now they won’t tease you about being vanilla in bed. Because what I experienced last night was far from it.” You snickered at the memory, voice lilting with amusement. It was only a few days ago you'd passed the training room and overheard John and Bucky giving Bob the most immature, wildly incorrect teasing, muttering things like “Bet he apologizes during sex.” and “Bob probably asks permission to take his shirt off.”

You had to bite your lip not to laugh out loud at the time, especially because you'd already had very real proof that Bob Reynolds in the bedroom was anything but soft and bashful. He was attentive, passionate, unrelenting when he wanted to be. He touched you like you were made of glass and sin all at once, reverent one moment, greedy the next. Nothing about last night had been vanilla. Bob gasped, finally pulling his face back just enough to look at you, ears red and eyes wide. “Jesus, you are not helping!” He half-scolded, the corners of his mouth twitching up despite himself.

You let out a full, delighted laugh now, tossing your head back against the pillow. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but I had to. You should’ve seen the look on your face.” Bob groaned, dragging a hand over his face and flopping onto his back beside you with a thud, the sheet slipping slightly down his chest. You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow and resting your chin in your palm, eyes lazily raking down his now pink-tinged chest. “You know,” You drawled in a mock-serious tone, trailing a finger down the center of his sternum, feeling goosebumps litter his skin.

“You could just embrace it. Walk out there with your head high and your chest out, let ‘em know exactly who made what noise and why.” He whined again, dragging the pillow over his face like it could erase the image. His voice came out muffled, “I can never look any of them in the eye ever again.” You giggled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth where it peeked out from under the pillow. “You’re adorable,” You murmured, lips brushing his cheek as you spoke. “And last night? You were perfect. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He peeked out from under the pillow at that, blue eyes softening instantly at the sincerity in your voice. “You mean that?” He asked, voice quieter now, more vulnerable. You nodded, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Of course I do. You were everything, Bob. I’ve never felt more wanted, more loved.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, gaze flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize you all over again. Then he reached for you again, arms circling your waist and pulling you flush against him once more. "I'm still not going out there for at least another ten minutes.”

You smiled, your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear as your hand ran soothing patterns on his forearm. It had definitely been more than ten minutes, closer to thirty, when you finally sat up, stretching and smacking Bob lightly across the chest as you caught him ogling your bare torso without even the decency to look ashamed. He offered an unapologetic grin, completely unbothered, eyes glued to the soft curve of your back as you slipped out of bed.

“You’re so not helping us get out of here.” You teased, grabbing one of his crumpled sweatshirts from a chair nearby. It hung loose on you, the hem nearly reaching your thighs, the sleeves falling past your hands. You dug through his drawers until you found a pair of soft, worn-in boxers and pulled them on, wiggling into them as you heard Bob groan dramatically from behind you. He flopped back against the pillows, one arm slung over his face, the other trailing limply over his bare stomach.

“Do you want me to pass out?” He mumbled, peeking through his fingers as he admired how good you looked in his clothes, better than he ever had. “Up and at 'em, loverboy.” You smirked, tossing a balled-up sock at his chest. With a grumble, he peeled himself out of bed, dragging his boxers from the floor and stepping into them. He then reached for a black short-sleeved tee, tugging it over his head. The fabric hugged his biceps in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a moment.

“God, that shirt should be illegal.” You thought-aloud, biting your lip, eyes trailing over the exposed vein on his forearm as he ran a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “Please, don’t start.” He groaned again, voice barely above a grumble. You grinned, lacing your fingers through his and tugged him toward the door. Hand in hand, you descended the stairs, the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls wafting from the kitchen. The moment you stepped inside, all eyes turned to you, some expectant, others amused, one deeply unamused.

“Morning, everyone!” You beamed, entirely unfazed as you walked into the kitchen still holding Bob’s hand. Bob, on the other hand, shrank slightly beside you, his eyes trained firmly on the floor as if he could will himself invisible. The moment you reluctantly released his hand, he darted toward the counter, busying himself with the new matcha powder he’d proudly sourced from the farmer's market just to make your morning lattes perfect. He didn’t look up once, every movement precise and distracted.

Like if he focused hard enough on the milk frother, he could pretend he wasn’t the topic of everyone’s internal monologue. You felt your heart swell in your chest, watching him move with such quiet intent, still so him despite the current chaos. You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers trailing across the warm planes of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

You dragged your nails gently along his abs, and when you pressed a kiss between his shoulders, the blush that lit up the tips of his ears was impossible to miss. Behind you, a loud groan shattered the moment. “Oh hell, what have we done?” Walker’s voice was laced with the sort of exhausted disbelief. You turned just in time to see him dramatically dragging his palms down his face, visibly cringing like a man forced to confront the raw auditory evidence of your night together. “Oh, grow up.” Ava snorted, barely looking up from her half-eaten croissant as she kicked him under the table.

“At least they didn’t do it in the car.” Bucky muttered around the rim of his coffee mug, flipping a page of the newspaper without lifting his gaze. The deadpan delivery landed like a grenade. Bob choked mid-scoop, the bamboo spoon slipping and sending a puff of matcha powder into the air. He coughed violently, fanning the air with his hand while your shoulders shook with silent laughter behind him. “I, for one, am delighted,” Yelena purred, one leg swinging lazily, her smirk stretched slow and lethal.

“Look at them. Disgustingly in love and all domestic. It’s adorable, I want to gag.” Alexei, who had been seated in a kitchen chair in what appeared to be the same tracksuit from two days ago, clapped his hands once, startling everyone. “This, this is perfect picture of love. You can see it in the way she touches him, and the way he looks like he’s about to faint from her touching him.” Bob let out a long, muffled groan, slumping forward against the counter. His hand blindly reached back behind him, finding yours and squeezing it with quiet desperation.

“I hate everyone.” He grumbled, forehead resting against the cupboard like he was seconds away from abandoning his body. “And yet,” You whispered, rising on your toes to kiss the shell of his ear. “You’re still making me my matcha in the kitchen full of onlookers.” He sighed like a man accepting his fate, but turned toward you anyway, slow and deliberate. When his eyes found yours, the world seemed to soften around the edges. There it was again, that same quiet awe, the stunned affection that hadn’t left his face since sunrise.

Like every time he looked at you, he was still wrapping his head around the fact that you were really his. “Well, yeah,” He breathed, voice low and thick, like the words were too full to hold back anymore. “Because I love you.” It wasn’t dramatic or flashy, it was soft. Steady. Certain. Your heart skipped a beat, then soared so fast it hurt a little. You leaned in, kissing the side of his cheek with a smile, but before you could pull away, Bob turned his head and caught your mouth with his, stealing another kiss, slow, deep, and full of that unmistakable tenderness you’d fallen for.

Walker groaned so loud it bordered on theatrical. “That’s it. I’m moving out. And I’m ordering industrial-strength noise-canceling headphones and bleach for my eyes.” Laughter rippled through the kitchen, Ava snorting into her coffee, Bucky hid a grin behind his coffee cup, Yelena clapped victoriously, and Alexei muttering something in Russian that suspiciously sounded like “romance is not dead.” In that moment, none of it mattered. You and Bob stood wrapped in each other, untouched by the noise, by the teasing, by the chaos of your odd little family.

In that moment, it was just the two of you, and the kind of love that didn’t need to shout to be real. The kind that whispered forever. No matter how long it had taken to get here, the missed chances, the hesitations, the slow burn of uncertainty, neither of you would’ve changed a single second. Every detour, every almost, had led you to this. And you knew, with every soft press of his lips and every blush that bloomed on his skin, that you’d never get tired of this. Of him. Together, exactly as you were always meant to be.

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edensrose · 2 days ago

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꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 Lavender Lips

˚₊‧꒰ა lavender marriage.ᐟ satosho ﾉ f. reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

satoru & shoko learned to live with their arranged marriage, but when their newest attendant & advisor catches their eye, they find themselves in a little competition for your heart.

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ arranged marriage au, lowk clanhead.ᐟtoru, attendant.ᐟreader, mutual pining, suggestive 𓂃 wc ⌇ 1.4k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ this has been on my mind for awhile hope you enjoy .ᐟ art cred ⌇ tekla135 & syrnrr

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ who are wed as a result of the gojo clan. their greatest weapon with a reverse curse manipulator? it's simply too good to be true. problem though. they're both into women. ( satoru's bisexuality hides in the closet with shoko. )

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ who deal with it and remain friends regardless. is it ideal? nah, but satoru keeps her secrets of seeing women in the middle of the night and shoko covers up all those old break-up texts between satoru and suguru. they make a good couple for the public eye. the fighter and the healer, the professional and the chaotic. shoko got some relief from her endless duties now that she's lady gojo and satoru doesn't have to worry too much about running his clan on top of being the strongest. they have drinking nights on fridays, breakfasts every alternating and planned vacations.

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ who have things moving smoothly until . . . you show up. their recently hired, every-dutiful advisor. they assumed their types were far off one another, but with you? well . . . let's just say shoko didn't quite appreciate the way satoru stared.

"Would you cut it out?" Hissed to the clanhead's ear as he leaned down when his wife nudged him at the meeting table.

Keeping his smile, Satoru murmured back. "What? What am I doing now?"

"You keep undressing her with your eyes."

"And? She's hot as fuck."

Both paused to eye your poised figure. Strutting around the meeting room with your newest proposition. With you followed the attention and respect of every Gojo Clan member.

Satoru cast Shoko a side eye and sneakily pinched her side beneath the table. "Awww, is my wife suddenly jealous over me?"

"Over you?" Shoko scoffed, smiling tightly. "In your dreams."

Another pause. Realisation more hollow than purple in their eyes. They stared at each other. One blank, the other blanker.

" . . . Oh you're on."

"Cute, you think it's fair game?"

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ who were still friends . . . just friendly fire was now turned on. after years of joking about both being into women, never would they have expected to fall for the same one. and so started their newest couple activity: competing for your affection.

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ with shoko who had the advantage. satoru was forever busy and she lingered more in the estate. she got all the more time with you and made it her duty to strike up conversation whenever possible. kindly checking up on your day, ensuring all is well, learning more about you. she stored every bit of information and made sure to bring it up when the time suited. to show you that she listened, that she cared. she even started helping you with some of your duties and when you'd try to shoo her she'd hum a small, "let me, I enjoy your company."

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ with satoru who was a lot more obvious. favouritism? psh what's that? you got a higher pay than most advisors, when you questioned he simply winked and crooned "because you're my favourite." made sure you had all the leave days to your heart's content, often sent special requests to remind you to take care of yourself. if you were in the room? his eyes remained fixed on you. compliments, spoils, you name it.

"She smiled at me today," Satoru blissfully sighed into his pillows. Eyes more dreamy than the lavish bedroom and mini citadel reserved for the lady and lord of the estate.

On the far right, Shoko set her brush down atop the dresser and continued her nightly routine. "Really? First time?"

Her smug smirk met his glare through the mirror. She fluffed her shoulders and rubbed in her eye cream.

"She's adorable . . . and terribly inexperienced by the looks of it," she sighed, mocking Satoru's bliss. "I wonder what her lips would taste like."

"Don't even," he groaned and flopped into the bed. Would your lips be as soft as the silk sheets? "Wanna kiss her so bad. But we're gonna freak her out."

"Well, infidelity isn't sexy." Shoko popped.

"We can't exactly tell her we aren't really together, now can we?" Satoru huffed.

"We can make it obvious though."

"A challenge? I lovvee a good challenge, darling."

"Gojo."

"Okaayyyy okay! Don't hit meitwasajoke!"

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ who decided to make it a bit more obvious. how? well, suddenly shoko's 'helping' became a lot more intimate. she'd reach over you while you worked on paperwork, brushing against you 'accidentally'. handing you over documents with hands lingering. she'd smile at you when she saw you in the halls, offer you to join her for lunch, brush some crumbs off your lips that you didn't catch in the moment. the second you turned in fluster, stuttering a quiet apology, she'd murmur a soft, "it's alright doll. you're cute all messy."

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ with satoru who became even more obvious. catching you in compromising positions. brushing up against you like shoko did but being all the more purposeful. when you turned, he was already staring, into your heart and soul. he applauded your work during meetings first, started bringing you gifts for all your hard work. offered you to join him for nightly walks for the sake of company. when you stumbled? he caught you, intimately. arms wrapped around you and hoisting you to him. you stammered, tried to laugh it off, and he smiled. "you have the prettiest laugh, you know that?"

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ who started noticing how much you fumbled around when it came to them. usually so poised and proper, now helpless whenever they were in the same room as them. you tried to ignore how shoko's hand brushed your waist that one time. how satoru needlessly leaned down to whisper something flustering to your ear. you'd bring them nightly tea and avert your eyes. so wishing you could sprawl on their lavish bed, be treated by the both of them— woah, where's your mind going?

࣪✧ lavender marriage satosho .ᐟ who decided it's time to make a move on you. this little game of theirs was fun, but it was only a matter of time before the other stole you away.

"Fair game, don't you think?" Satoru hummed, stood at the outer walkway with an arm looped around his wife. Events held at the estate were so boring, but at least you looked pretty all dolled up.

"Keep telling yourself that." Shoko yawned, peeping at you with one eye over her hand.

There you were. Beauty itself. Radiant and diligent. Tending to the event with all the same duty and grace you exuded on the rest of your tasks. Right there. Ready for the taking.

Blue cut to brown. Icy.

"I'm done holding back."

Brown lit a fire. Hot coals to the blue's ice.

"How fun. So am I."

( THE LAST OPTION is so that I can see results, not a poly option pookies )

#. ۫ ۶ৎ . 𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 '𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 ﹕ satosho ꒱ . ˚◞✧#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #shoko x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #shoko x you #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #satosho x reader #fem reader #lavender lips

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movrningstxrs · 3 days ago

Text

CRITICAL HIT

PAIRING: jason todd x fem!reader

SUMMARY: what happens when you take a hit that’s meant for jason? only his worst nightmare come true

NOTES: 2k, established relationship, vigilante!reader, language, canon-typical blood and violence, medical inaccuracies, jason is not having a good time, slight angst with a happy ending. reader’s alias is nightingale (original, i know), and she’s black canary’s protégée because i love her

REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

To the others, watching you and Jason fight was like watching a dance. Agile, graceful, and not a single step wasted or unnecessary. The pure rhythm and harmony that you two managed to achieve was truly awe-inspiring, yet it was only made possible after so many years spent fighting together, side-by-side, surviving death and other tribulations. Thus, it was no wonder that your relationship blossomed from simple ‘dance partners’ to something more.

Although it was difficult to name the exact label that defined your relationship—what with Jason being so selective with the information regarding his personal life and you choosing to simply follow your partner’s lead—it was clear to everyone that there was a mutual and ardent love shared between the two of you.

You changed Jason for the better, though you often argued that he didn’t need ‘fixing.’ He only needed someone kind enough to love him, to be there for him, and to listen to him, patiently, lovingly, and with grace. You just happened to be that person.

And God help anyone who dared to hurt Jason Todd’s person.

“I think that’s almost all of them,” you announced with a sigh of relief.

The rusty and dilapidated warehouse was littered with various goons, bloodied and beaten, and all of whom were in the process of being swiftly restrained after a successful raid on the illegal weapon shipments being stored there. The battle had been drawn out and arduous, but it was finally over, and all that was left was to wait for the GCPD to come and collect their soon-to-be jailbirds.

“Good job, everyone,” Bruce commended. “Remain vigilant as we wait for Gordon and his men to arrive.”

“Roger that, B,” Dick said with a playful salute, Tim and Damian responding with their own tired nods of affirmation.

“Got it, Batman!” you cheerfully confirmed.

“Heard,” Jason acknowledged, wincing as he rolled his shoulder and assessed the damage from the bullet that had clipped him minutes earlier. It hurt like a bitch, but in his line of work, it was minimal at worst, which was a lot more than he could say for the sad schmucks that lay before him.

And to think, the two of you had missed date night for this. Surely, Bruce owed you guys a nice luxury dinner, preferably on his black card, but that was a point of contention for another time. For now, all Jason wanted was a hot shower and some sleep.

“Hood, can you help me with this?” you requested while struggling to secure the last guy.

“Sure, birdie,” Jason replied, the answer coming easily to him as he settled next to you and retrieved the zip ties from your awaiting hands. The cute, appreciative smile that you sent his way was enough to spontaneously lighten his mood and ease the weariness soaking into his bones.

One last task before the two of you could go back home and wash the grime and exhaustion of the night away. One last task before you were free to be in his arms again. One last task before the call of sleep lured him in like a siren to a sailor, welcoming him into its gentle and peaceful embrace.

One last task, Jason repeated to himself.

And maybe if he wasn’t so distracted, tired and struggling to cope with the fatigue of tonight’s events, Jason would’ve noticed the slight movement coming from the corner of his eye. Maybe he would’ve reacted faster, like he normally would, the moment the crook drew one of Jason’s very own guns from its holster and pointed it squarely at the vigilante’s chest with a wide, bloody grin. And maybe—just maybe—if Jason had moved the slightest bit sooner, you wouldn’t have felt the need to throw yourself in front to protect him.

BANG!

A single gunshot thundered through the warehouse, rattling the broken windows and carrying through the open rafters, before your body crumpled to the ground with a pained, choked gasp.

Jason, meanwhile, merely snapped.

He had no time to truly register what had happened before his brain went into complete autopilot. His body launched itself forward as his fists connected with the man’s face over and over and over again. Blood began to mar his hands, and his knuckles bruised with every crazed swing he took, but Jason didn’t care. He only wanted the man to hurt, to feel a fraction of the pain that he had inflicted on you.

“Red Hood, stop! You’ll kill him!” Dick attempted to reason as he fought to pull Jason away.

“That’s the point, dickhead!”

“Are you serious right now? Reevaluate your priorities, Hood!” Tim argued, ever the rational one. “Nightingale’s in need of immediate medical attention, or she’ll die! Is that what you want?!”

“Don’t fucking say her name!” Jason snarled through gritted teeth as his anger quickly redirected to the younger male.

“Enough, all of you!” Bruce commanded, immediately defaulting to the stoic and efficient leader that he was. In his arms, you could quietly be heard gasping for low, shallow breaths, as a tight layer of gauze was crudely wrapped around your chest in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

God, while he had been too busy letting his anger and rage control him, Bruce had been the one to render you first aid. And as the damning realization hit him, Jason’s body instantly went numb. He dreaded to think what would’ve happened if it was only the two of you. Had he truly been so careless as to let you bleed out while he enacted some stupid form of vengeance? Were his priorities really so skewed?

Some partner he was, Jason thought bitterly.

“She’s still breathing, but she’ll need to be operated on,” Bruce explained as he began to make his way toward the exit. “Robin, Red Hood, you’re with me. Nightwing and Red Robin, you two will stay here and report to Commissioner Gordon on tonight’s mission.”

A noise of confirmation left everyone’s mouth as Jason trailed behind Bruce like a dazed, lost soul. No longer was he the big bad Red Hood that Gotham’s criminal underbelly feared and loathed. Instead, in his place was the scared and broken boy who had faced a distant, ticking countdown and ultimately failed to save another woman in his life.

“Here,” Dick interrupted before Jason could get too far, handing back to him his gun.

“Keep it for now,” Jason instructed, staring at the weapon in disgust. “I-I can’t—”

“Yeah, of course,” Dick gently reassured as he placed a comforting hand on his brother’s arm. “It’ll be okay, little wing. She’ll be okay.”

Jason could only pray that he was right.

The journey back to the Cave passed by in a rushed blur. Rain pelted against his helmet as Jason pushed his bike to its absolute limits. He was an emotional wreck as he weaved through Gotham’s late-night traffic with reckless abandon, his mind entirely focused on one concern: your safety.

By the time Jason arrived back at base, Alfred had already been notified of the situation, as the Cave’s medical bay had been immaculately and meticulously prepared for your operation. As Alfred readied to roll you away on a stretcher, donned in a sterile set of gloves and scrubs, he turned to Jason with a meaningful look.

“I shall do everything in my power, Master Jason,” the old butler promised him.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Jason replied, his smile strained.

All he could do now was wait.

“Aren’t you a sad sight,” Damian noted the second Jason discarded his helmet. The latter was clearly distressed, as the dark shadows underneath his eyes only helped to showcase the pure devastation reflected in his features, and his tall and imposing stature was rendered useless with the way he anxiously curled in on himself.

“Yeah, I wonder why?” Jason sarcastically scoffed.

Damian lightly pursed his lips before trying again. “She’s stronger than you think. She’ll make it through this. So stop looking so pathetic and have some faith.”

“I know that. Fuck, I know that!” Jason cried in anguish. “I just can’t stop replaying that damn moment in my head!”

Similar to a broken record player, the scene of you jumping in front to protect him repeated itself over and over again in his brain. Like gasoline to a fire, his insecurities weaponized the scarring memory to mock and taunt him. Again and again, they condemned him, telling him that he was weak, that he would never be good enough, and that he couldn’t save anyone, no matter how hard he tried.

It was his gun, his inaction, his fault.

“If she was the one in danger,” Damian thoughtfully put forth. “Would you have thrown yourself in the way to save her?”

“Of course I would!” Jason snapped. “What kind of question is that?!”

“There you have it,” Damian stated, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “You two are a pair of reckless, lovesick fools who’d readily die for one another in a heartbeat. Exasperatingly cliché and disgustingly sweet in my opinion, but that’s beside the point. What happened tonight was a choice. Because she loves you enough to have made that choice. We are vigilantes. Injuries and even death are a part of our daily lives. What matters is not how they happen, but how we decide to handle and overcome them.”

“…When the hell did you get so mature, demon brat?” Jason questioned wryly, feeling the weight of tonight’s tragedy slowly lift from his heart.

“You must’ve been in a far worse state than I had initially realized. If you haven’t noticed, I’m clearly the most mature out of all of us,” Damian retorted as he turned to leave, the fabric of his cape dramatically flaring out behind him. “Father included.”

Hours would come to pass as Jason remained ever watchful and vigilant while seated by your side. Alfred, the miracle worker that he was, had successfully managed to stop the bleeding and save your life. For that, Jason was forever indebted to him, even if the older gentleman would never allow for such a ‘silly’ claim. Still, Jason was so grateful.

Before long, a low groan escaped past your lips as your eyes started to slowly flutter open, and Jason held his breath as you tilted your head back to meet his concerned gaze.

“Jay,” you began. “My body hurts.”

“Y-yeah, getting shot will do that to you,” Jason mused, his words punctuated with a tearful laugh.

“Oh, Jay. I-I’m sorry,” you said mournfully. “Please don’t cry.”

“How could I not?” he rasped, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. “Pretty bird, you almost died!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you apologized for the second time. “But when I saw that he had a gun pointed right at you, m-my body just reacted on its own. I don’t regret it, though. Not if it meant protecting you.”

“My girl. My brave, stupid girl,” Jason eventually relented, a soft and affectionate chuckle leaving his body when he noticed your slight pout of mock offence.

Cradling your hand like fragile glass, his thumb found solace against the steady thrum of your pulse, a soothing and concrete reminder that you were here, present, right next to him, and undeniably alive. A minute of comfortable silence lapsed before Jason finally made his decision, steeling his nerves as he brought up the one topic that never seemed to ever fully escape the back of his mind.

The way he said your name was so sweet. “Have you ever thought about marriage? W-with me?”

You blinked once, twice, stunned, before a comically flustered expression took over the entirety of your face. “O-o-of course I have! Oh my gosh, right now?!”

“No, no! I mean, sure! I-if you want!” Jason sputtered as he struggled to temper his nervousness. “J-just whenever you’re ready. Tonight made me realize that I can’t live without you. So, will you marry me, pretty bird?”

Your smile was so heartwarmingly bright, and there was no doubt or dishonesty in your voice as you answered, “I would be more than happy to marry you, Jason Peter Todd.”

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hederasgarden · 2 days ago

Text

Under the Influence (Pt. 1)

Summary: While investigating a suspicious pharmaceutical company, you and Clark find yourselves exposed to an interesting new drug. Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader Word Count: 4.9K Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Dubious consent (reader and Clark are exposed to sex pollen), unprotected PIV, size kink, humor, and other untagged themes. A/N: This takes place before the events of the movie. There are no spoilers. Thank you @ryebecca @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for your help with this.

Masterlist ♡ David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and the glittering skyline of Metropolis stretches out beyond the windows of the Daily Planet’s top-floor conference room. The usual hum of activity is absent tonight – it’s just you, Clark, and an intimidating stack of boxes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. A decent number of your Clark-related daydreams have started just like this. Though in those versions, there was usually a lot less paperwork...and a lot more kissing.

You stifle a yawn, reaching for your coffee, only to nearly choke when you realize it’s gone cold. Grimacing, you set the offending mug aside and try to wash away the stale taste with water. The sound catches Clark’s attention and pulls him from his work. He looks at you over his thick-rimmed glasses, the corner of his mouth lifting into a wiry smile. Even under fluorescent office lighting, he still looks devastatingly handsome. It was unfair.

“I’ll put on a fresh pot,” he offers, stretching as he stands.

Despite shedding his oversized suit jacket earlier and with his tie hanging a little crooked, he somehow still looks annoyingly fresh. Like he was immune to exhaustion or just politely pretending not to feel it. You, on the other hand, look exactly like someone who’s had a twenty-hour work day: crumpled, wilted, and one coffee away from a breakdown.

Leaning back, you pass him your mug, your stiff muscles protesting. They ache from hours of sitting and sorting. He gives you a sympathetic smile as one of his large hands comes to rest on your shoulder in a brief, consoling pat. You can feel the warmth of his touch through your dress and sigh.

“Back in a jiffy,” he promises, disappearing down the hall.

By now, the two of you have been hunched over documents for nearly ten hours. Half of them are so technical they might as well be gibberish, but you’ve found a few leads in the financial papers. Unfortunately, your current stack of documents is so aggressively redacted that they’re practically useless. You groan in frustration and face-plant onto your arms, silently questioning whether a byline is really worth this much torture.

You remain like that until Clark returns, carrying the rich, intoxicating scent of freshly brewed coffee.

“I take back all the mean things I was just thinking. You’re officially my savior,” you declare.

You accept the mug eagerly, only to quickly set it on the table when the warmth that seeps through the ceramic nearly burns your fingers. Not for the first time, you wonder how Clark managed to get the ancient coffee machine to percolate so quickly. For everyone else, it typically spewed out lukewarm sludge.

“Regretting volunteering for this assignment?” Clark asks.

“Not for a moment,” you reply honestly. “You’re still sharing that byline with me, right?” You question, squinting up at him.

“I always keep my promises,” he says with such earnestness that you’re reminded once again why Perry liked to call him a Boy Scout.

“I’ll hold you to it because this story’s turned into a beast.”

Clark sighs, one hand on his hip as he surveys the cluttered table covered in file boxes and scattered papers. With the other, he lifts a mug to his mouth and takes a deep sip of hot chocolate, the homemade mix something his mom sends all the way from Kansas.

“It really has,” he says quietly.

When Perry asked for a volunteer from the junior editor pool to assist on an exposé about Salvation Pharmaceuticals, you jumped at the chance. And not just because Clark Kent was the reporter assigned to it. Most of your days were spent copyediting crime reports and waging a quiet war over AP versus Chicago style. You were desperate for some real, hands-on investigative work, although neither of you expected an investigation into government kickbacks and dubious congressional dealings to rapidly evolve into something far more unsettling.

Salvation Pharmaceuticals’ R&D department was embroiled in deeply questionable research, from a gas capable of erasing memories to a potent drug they called a truth serum. All of their projects had frankly terrifying side effects, particularly the latter, which worked by lowering inhibitions but also triggered something they called sexual psychosis.

Clark’s freedom of information request resulted in your current predicament. Clearly, someone at the company thought they could drown you both in paperwork before you could find anything useful. Unfortunately for them, Clark Kent was one of the most determined reporters you’d ever met, and you were just desperate enough to get out of the editing pool to help him.

“Well…once more unto the breach,” you quote, holding up a fresh box of files.

As you lift the lid, Clark offers you a small smile, his cheeks dimpling. For a moment, you’re too distracted by him to notice the cloud of yellow dust rising from the box. It quickly expands, swirling into a thick mist that engulfs you both. Immediately, your lungs begin to burn, and you gasp for air. You push your chair back and struggle to stand as your vision blurs.

A strong arm around your middle hauls you back, dragging you across the carpet. Somewhere along the way, your heels slip off. Clark doesn’t stop until you reach the edge of the room, and you lean into him, trying to clear your lungs. Behind you, he grunts, his fingers spasming against your hip. It takes several moments for the air to clear, but when it does, you watch in horror as the yellow dust seems to melt into your skin.

“What was that?” You ask, voice hoarse.

Clark is silent and looks grim when you turn to face him. “I think that was the truth serum. The reports described it as yellow dust.”

You blink, baffled. “Why would they keep it in those files?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a grimace. “But I can guess.”

You rub your chest and take a hesitant step back. “I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw twitching with tension. “Are you sure you don’t feel anything?”

You exhale slowly, taking stock of your body. “Maybe?” Your response is more of a question than a definitive answer. You feel oddly warm, but it could just be the adrenaline from the situation. You also feel a little nauseous, but that might be from the cold coffee you tried to poison yourself with earlier.

“You’re sweating,” he observes, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. The warmth of his touch makes you shudder, and you can’t help but notice how good he smells. “Your body temperature is elevated.”

“Huh?” You look up at him, momentarily lost in his gaze. “You’re hot, too,” you blurt out, mortified when the words leave your mouth.

“I feel fine,” Clark replies, either misunderstanding what you meant or choosing not to acknowledge the slip. Bless that midwestern politeness.

You step away from him, body buzzing. Sweat dots your brow, and you’re halfway out of your thin cardigan before you can stop yourself. As you pace the room, you realize Clark might be right. The powder could be affecting you, and much faster than documents suggested. You try to shake off the disorienting feeling that lingers, while Clark tracks your progress with sharp blue eyes.

“Should we call someone? Isn’t there, like, a protocol for mysterious powders? Hazmat? Ghostbusters?” It’s hard to think straight when your entire body feels like it’s trying to cook itself from the inside out. “Clark?” you ask.

His nostrils flare, but otherwise, he doesn’t respond until you say his name again. “Yeah. There’s uh, an anthrax protocol. Perry’s got it in his office.”

Time gets weird after he leaves, moving in fits and starts. At one point, you find yourself rubbing your chest, and you have to forcibly yank your hand away. You’re not sure how long Clark is gone, each minute dragging as the heat within intensifies and your thoughts become increasingly muddled. There’s a growing pressure in your stomach, too, something that radiates down. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s persistently irritating, a prickling feeling that needs to be soothed.

“I made the call,” Clark announces, reappearing. “They said it’ll be 30 minutes until they get here with everything they need. We just have to sit tight.”

“Thirty minutes?” you repeat, voice edging on panic. “What are they doing, walking from Gotham?”

Clark doesn’t respond, and you quickly turn away, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

If it really was the truth serum, and you’re starting to believe Clark might be right, there’s no telling what might come out of your mouth next. Even now, as you pace back and forth, you feel a pressure under your tongue, as though the words are lurking just beneath the surface, eager to spring out. The absolute last thing you need right now is to blurt out your dumb, awkward crush on him. Or tell him how nice he smells.

“God, it’s hot,” you groan, staring at the window. You press your palms to the glass. It’s cool to the touch, and you lay your forehead against it, almost moaning in relief. If you could peel off your dress and melt straight into the glass, you would. Happily. No questions asked.

“Here.” Clark’s voice comes from closer than expected, and you flinch at the sudden touch of his hand on your lower back.

He turns you around to face him and presses a glass of water to your lips. You grasp his thick wrist as he urges you to drink it all, your gaze never leaving his. The moment you finish, your mouth feels dry and your throat itches.

“You have the bluest eyes,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.” You reach for them because apparently, your self-control has left the building. Clark stops you gently, his hand covering yours.

You freeze. Oh god. Did you just say that last part out loud?

Yes. Yes, you did. Fantastic.

You slap your hands over your face, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Or that you could merge with the building and become a ghost who only haunts Perry’s office because this was definitely his fault. Somehow.

“This is no one’s fault but Salvation Pharmaceuticals,” Clark says quietly.

Your hands slide down just enough to peek at him through your fingers. “I said that part out loud, too, didn’t I?”

He nods, eyes sympathetic.

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s the drug,” he says sympathetically, pulling your hands down from your face. “It lowers inhibitions. Heightens emotional impulses.”

“Well, it’s doing an excellent job,” you reply, trying not to get distracted by how absurdly big his hands are compared to yours. Or how warm they feel. It takes serious effort to meet his eyes again.

“Why aren’t you affected?” you ask. “You should be blurting out embarrassing things, too.”

“My biology is different from yours,” he says, almost absently, and then immediately freezes, like the words slipped out before he could catch them. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. For the first time since you met him, Clark looks genuinely unsettled.

“The reports said it affected women quicker,” he adds before stepping back.

“What a time to be a woman,” you mutter, hands falling limply at your side.

Clark tugs at his already loosened tie, stretching his neck with an audible crack that makes you wince. A flush creeps up his neck and stains his cheeks, and okay, apparently you’re now hallucinating too, because the skin around his eyes looks like it’s faintly glowing. He turns away and lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Maybe I should wait in the other room,” he says tightly, voice strained.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. It was probably for the best that he wasn’t around for the next wave of weird, unfiltered thoughts that were no doubt waiting in the wings.

Clark barely makes it to the door before a sharp, unexpected wave of searing pain rips through your stomach, sending you crashing to your knees. The impact jolts your entire body, but that discomfort is overshadowed by a deep gnawing ache between your legs. You pitch forward onto all fours, struggling as your cunt flutters around nothing.

“Oh,” you whimper, voice small and panicked, as your brain chooses now to recall the adverse event report in perfect, horrifying detail.

Following an increase in basal body temperature, patients exposed to the drug exhibit symptoms of full-blown sexual psychosis. This condition necessitates achieving climax to alleviate symptoms. Patients who are unable to reach climax experience a marked increase in heart rate and blood pressure, which in some cases progresses to cardiac arrest and death.

Every muscle in your body tenses, as a fierce, relentless pressure builds. Then, like the tide, it recedes, leaving you curled into a ball on the floor. Through half-closed eyes, you meet Clark’s gaze. You whimper his name.

“I know,” he says quietly, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover at your shoulders for a moment before finally settling firmly on your body and turning you on your back.

You blink up at him, feeling like you might come out of your skin.

“Help me, please,” you whisper, the words escaping between clenched teeth.

You’re too hysterical to feel ashamed about what you’re asking him to do. Details from the report keep replaying in your mind. Clark looms over you, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You stare up at him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the need in your core pulses and builds. The ache in your body is all-consuming, overriding everything else. Worse is the feeling of emptiness that you know he could fill.

“Please.”

Your voice fizzles out as a strong wave of pain slams into you. It leaves you reeling and disoriented. You claw at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. Somewhere deep inside, the part of you that’s still sane and not a sex-starved maniac convinced you’ll die if Clark doesn’t fuck you, knows what you’re asking is utterly insane. But you can’t stop yourself.

“I can help you.” He says to your relief, his gaze lingering on you as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “If-if you want me to,” he adds, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside you.

Of course you do, you’ve dreamed of him since the day you met him in the breakroom. You just never imagined it would unfold like this.

Another cramp rips through you, leaving you panting. You grit out a desperate, “Yes. God, yes.”

His large hand encircles your calf, the touch light as he pulls your legs apart so he can kneel between them. The cool air makes you groan, and you try to curl in on yourself again, but Clark stops you. With shaky hands, he drags your dress up, eyes fixed on your face, expression searching. When he finally exposes your simple black underwear, the sight seems to transfix him, and you watch his chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths that mimic your own as he stares.

“I have to ah, I have to…” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he shakes his head, his glasses slide down his nose. “I need to get you ready.”

“I don’t care,” you pant. “Fuck me, please.”

You’re mortified by how desperate you sound. You’ve never spoken to anyone like this in your entire life, but once it starts, you can’t seem to stop. Even though the embarrassment is there, it can’t compete with the overwhelming need surging through your body. You keep begging, voice wobbly and insistent, your dignity long gone. You sound like a cat in heat, you think deliriously.

“It’s okay,” Clark soothes, the calm tenor of his voice betrayed by the way his hand trembles against your thigh.

He tears off your underwear with an ease that would give you pause if you were in your right mind. You watch him stuff the tattered fabric into his pocket, too focused on making sure he fucks you to linger on that fact.

Shame is a thing of the past as you spread your legs even further, allowing his hungry gaze to drink its fill. He parts your folds and draws two fingers through the wetness gathered there, starting with light, teasing strokes that quickly build to more. When his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, he rubs slow, soothing circles until the pain in your stomach eases a fraction.

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, sounding breathless. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

You moan his name and he shifts closer, bent forward to watch himself work. Soon, one kind of pressure recedes and another begins. You gasp as Clark continues his slow assault, building in its intensity. When your legs thrash, his other hand settles on your hip, holding you still as he works a thick finger inside. Your cunt clenches in response to the intrusion. Above you, he groans, and his thumb moves faster.

“More, oh god, I need more,” you beg, keening when Clark pushes a second finger inside.

The stretch of them both burns, but that’s eclipsed by the pleasure you feel. You rock forward, trying to take more of him, but he doesn’t let you, controlling the pace. You can hear yourself babbling, nonsensical words streaming from your mouth as he draws you closer and closer to your orgasm until, all at once, it overwhelms you completely. It’s almost painful, and your hands curl into fists, your body contorting in response. The room blurs around you, and every fiber of your being is consumed by the relief you feel.

When it passes, you’re left trembling on the floor, avoiding Clark’s gaze. He hovers over you, his arousal hard to miss with the way it tents the front of his gray slacks.

You touch his chest, inhaling when his dark blue eyes snap up to meet yours. “Do you…”

He shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. You wince, rubbing your thighs together.

“No, I-” he starts, but whatever he is about to say is abruptly cut off as he grunts and hunches forward, a visible shudder running through him.

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his face. When your fingers brush over the curve of his cheek, he moans and surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. He forces his tongue inside, and the heat of him is almost unbearable. You curl your arms over his shoulder, drawing him closer. His hands travel up and down your sides, and you feel that familiar pressure return to your core. It builds slowly, like the spark of an ember that will soon flare into a blazing fire.

You shift under Clark, drawing your legs up as he swallows down your needy whine. By the time he pulls away, you’re feeling dizzy.

“We need to,” you begin, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembles.

“I know,” Clark replies.

He fumbles with his pants, and you stare up at the ceiling as he pulls himself free. It feels like a violation to look, but you find your gaze drifting down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, just as big and thick as the rest of him. Your cunt aches, and god, you want him. Need him.

Clark plants a hand near your head while he lines himself up. He pushes inside slowly. It hurts, but you need more of him, and you need it now. Wrapping his tie around your hand, you pull hard, urging him closer. He snaps his hip forward with enough force to jar your bones, and you wail in response. For one blissful moment, everything is quiet. Your buzzing mind and aching body are finally filled in a way they’ve been craving.

“Fuck.” The curse that falls from Clark’s lips is jarring and brings you back to the moment. You’ve never even heard him use language like that; he always expresses himself in oddly charming, old-fashioned phrases.

“You feel so good. You feel…” he trails off, his words bleeding into one long, low moan that has you clenching around him.

His handsome face contorts, his lips pressed tightly together. Tension lines the muscles of his jaw, and his dark brows furrow in an expression that teeters between ecstasy and pain. Pleasure skitters along your nerves as he drives into you over and over again to reach some unknown place hidden deep inside. Your second orgasm rises to the surface just as swiftly as your first and Clark is relentless as he fucks you through it.

There isn’t even time to catch your breath before his hands encircle your hips, and he leans back, drawing you with him. The backs of your thighs drag over the fabric of his slack as he moves your body to meet his thrusts. As one orgasm fades you feel another spring to life, hastened by the feel of his calloused thumb on your clit. The need inside you burns even brighter, and a litany of pleas spills from your lips.

“You feel,” he pants, “just like I imagined.”

When you gasp his name, he curls his body over yours, the new angle allowing him to move even deeper. You hold onto his biceps and listen to the desperate little noises that escape his chest with each thrust. His lips find the soft skin of your throat as his fingers dig into the neckline of your dress. He pulls hard and buttons scatter, giving him access to your shoulder. Teeth scrape over tender flesh, and your back arches as another orgasm blooms in your stomach.

Waves of pleasure ebb through your body, and your fingers tangle in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Clark doesn’t falter even when you fall still beneath him. Your muscles ache, and your body feels tense and exhausted, but that frenzied need that’s driven you since the dust melted into your system slakes away until you’re left feeling everything.

Clark groans, and you realize he’s still in the throes of the drug's effects. The ceaseless rhythm of his hips continues, and he hitches your leg over his waist to push himself deeper. You let him use you, all too aware of the primal, intense need flooding his body.

He shudders, gasping, “like that, just like that.”

Then he finally stills, and you feel a rush of intense warmth flood you. Your breath comes in short little pants, your heart fluttering in your chest. After a few moments, Clark stiffens, and you know he’s come back to himself. He shifts, and you can’t stifle your whimper. His gaze jumps to your face.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other silently. He looks absolutely wrecked above you, dark, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead, and his pink lips swollen and red from your attention.

The hand gripping your hip loosens, then lifts to hover near your cheek without touching. He swallows and seems to struggle with his words for a moment.

“Are you…”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s still inside you.

He seems to realize the same thing, his face flushing scarlet. He slips out of you with a quiet exhale and passes a trembling hand over his mouth. You look away as he tucks himself back into his pants. A moment later, he tugs your dress down, and you press your thighs together, your skin sticky and wet.

Clark says your name, and you realize he’s standing in front of you, hand outstretched. After a beat of hesitation, you take it, and he pulls you up. When he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, you feel a rush of gratitude for his Midwestern manners. You let him guide you carefully to a chair, and you wince as you settle in.

He clears his throat and tells you, “The response team is downstairs.”

“Okay,” you say, too out of it to ask how he knows that.

Clark rubs the back of his neck, seeming to search for something today. Honestly, what could either of you say right now? This wasn’t exactly covered in the employee handbook. If it was, you definitely missed the chapter titled, “How to Apologize After Having Sex at Work While Drugged Out of Your Mind by a Pharmaceutical Company You’re Investigating.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” you say automatically. Clark’s brow furrows, and the silence that follows makes you realize just how unhinged that must’ve sounded. You scramble to clarify. “I mean, you didn’t dose us with truth serum. It was an accident.” You manage a watery grin that feels more like a grimace.

“This wasn’t some accident,” Clark says, the uncertainty from moments ago gone, replaced by something steadier. Anger flickers behind his eyes. “Someone deliberately planted that dust in the files. It wasn’t just meant to scare us off; it was meant to compromise us. Discredit the story. Discredit us.”

He takes a breath, fists clenched at his sides. “We’re going to find out who did this. We’re going to expose them.”

You wish you could summon some of that righteous, cornfed fury Clark’s channeling right now, but you're a little preoccupied with the uncomfortable, mortifying sensation of his cum slowly sliding out of you, and the embarrassing realization that your coworkers were almost definitely going to find out what went down here tonight. Reporters were the worst kind of gossips.

“That’s…great,” you reply lamely.

Clark looks like he wants to say something more; his lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. Instead, silence settles between you, heavy and strange. He stands half a step in front of you, his tall frame blocking most of your view. You find yourself staring at the curve of his shoulder, the way his shirt clings to his back in wrinkled lines, half-tucked in. His hair is still a mess from your fingers.

When the team in hazmat suits finally arrives, he’s the one who greets them. You only catch snippets of conversation as his eyes flick toward you more than once. You wonder if they can all read what happened just by looking at the two of you.

After introductions, you and Clark are promptly herded through separate decontamination processes that involve surrendering your clothes and scrubbing away what feels like the top six layers of your skin. You mourn the loss of your favorite dress when you're informed it’s headed straight to incineration, especially after you’re handed scratchy paper scrubs. Next, you’re escorted into a plastic tent that smells vaguely of bleach. Inside, a nurse with a clipboard asks you a series of deeply personal questions in a tone that suggests this is just another Tuesday for her.

“Did you use protection?”

You nearly choke on your own breath. The nurse doesn’t blink.

You swallow down the first response that jumps to your tongue, something sarcastic and vaguely unhinged, like ‘Oh yeah, we absolutely took a moment mid-drug-fueled breakdown to practice safe sex.’ Instead, you clear your throat and mutter, “I’m on the pill.”

The questions continue, and you want to crawl out of your own skin. Somehow, you force yourself to endure the invasive interview and the not-so-gentle pricks of needles, nodding along as they talk about test results.

“We’ll follow up in a few days,” the nurse says briskly, pulling off her gloves. “In the meantime, we strongly advise you to quarantine at home. Avoid contact with anyone else.”

Before you can ask what “quarantine” entails, a man in a standard-issue government black suit appears at your side. He doesn’t say much, just gestures toward the exit like this is all normal.

You stop once you reach the hallway, the first soft rays of dawn filtering through the tall windows. Golden light spills across desks and papers, and outside, you can hear the birds. The city is waking up, bustling to life as usual, while you feel disoriented and off-kilter. With little choice but to follow your new friend, you head towards the elevator, drawing up short when you see Clark there.

A few feet behind him stands his own government escort, a man who, despite the black suit and stiff posture, looks comically small next to Clark. The four of you stare at each other until the elevator dings and the doors begin to close. Clark halts their progress with one hand.

“Thank you,” you say automatically as you step in beside him.

You sound borderline insane, thanking him for holding open the elevator when just a few hours ago he was inside you, saying all kinds of not-mild-mannered things that you didn’t expect from Clark Kent of all people.

Clark gives you a small nod, jaw tense, like he’s not sure what expression to wear. You glance at the guys in the black suits and wonder what they must be thinking. Maybe this was just another day for them or more likely, your story was now officially part of their crazy catalog of weird shit they’ve seen. You can already hear it being told over beers on a Friday night, somewhere in a dive bar with terrible onion rings and sticky floors.

Fantastic.

The four of you file out of the elevator as it opens into the quiet bullpen. Without a word, you and Clark are steered toward separate black cars waiting at the curb. He pauses, glancing back at you over the open door. His hand lifts hesitantly, offering you an awkward wave.

You return it, just as uncertain, before the door swings shut between you with a soft, final click.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent #superman x reader #superman x you #Superman 2025 #Superman #david corenswet

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emskryptonite · 1 day ago

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Favorite Reporter

a/n: i've had this idea for a few days now and figured i might as well just go ahead and put it out there! in my head this is david's clark, but the profile pic is tom's clark bc he's my fav, and either way it can be whichever version of him you want hahaha happy reading!! (also i swear I'll get my masterlists up soon!! I've just been busy) - Emmy ❤️

Summary: Clark Kent gets to interview a world-famous singer, but his questions reveal a bit more than fans thought they'd ever get.

Pairing(s): Clark Kent x famous!singer!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Content/Warnings: not much that i can think of, not proofread (who's surprised), fluffy, reader is described as feminine but only once or twice, people jumping to conclusions??, idk if i missed something lmk!!

Masterlist | Clark Kent/Superman Masterlist

“There’s the superstar,” the man says as he’s given the cue that the cameras are rolling. “Thank you for agreeing to do this interview. I know it’s a bit different from how the Planet usually does things.”

“Well, I think it’s a fun change. Besides, I’d do anything for my favorite journalist, Mr. Kent,” you reply.

“It’s hardly fair to pick favorites.” He gives you a schoolboy grin, one that’s all too irresistible.

“When other reporters start treating me as kindly as you, maybe then I’ll play fair.” You match his tone, giving him a sickly sweet smile in return. He really is your favorite, and you don’t see a point in lying about that.

“I’m gonna get right into things if that’s alright with you,” he changes the topic, raising a brow and trying his best to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“Go right ahead, Mr. Kent.”

“I’d like to start with your latest album. If I recall correctly, there was quite the uproar as you were releasing the track titles. Was there not?”

“There was! I’ve been known for writing breakup songs for quite a while now, so when the track titles sounded like love songs, I think it weirded out the fans a bit. Some of them were freaking out, thinking I’d been tied down. Others were theorizing, swearing it was some kind of deep fake, plot twist situation.”

“So, what inspired the genre change, a new muse perhaps?” He leaned forward the slightest bit, narrowing his eyes. Saying he was interested to hear your answer would be an understatement, even if it is more for personal interest than reporting sake.

Failing to stifle a smile, you cross your legs, getting more comfortable in your seat. “Something like that. I guess I just wanted to prove I could do more than angsty breakups. I can do all of the sweet, mushy stuff, too, and I suppose there was a part of me that wanted to show the world that I’m capable of more.”

“Well, I think you’ve done just that. You accomplished a lot with the writing, but also with the feel of the album. Speaking of the writing, it feels different compared to past albums, aside from just the topic. Was there a change in technique or maybe some new inspiration, style-wise?” He takes a moment to push his glasses up his nose, and you can’t help but take notice of just how unfairly attractive it is.

“Yeah! I’ve always been inspired by the artists I grew up listening to, but I wanted this album to really stand out. So, I also took some inspiration from newer or younger artists. I mean, I’ve always admired Taylor Swift for her way with words, so I took the time and worked on my wording, tried to be more descriptive. Sabrina Carpenter is a newer artist that I’ve loved to watch grow, and it’s difficult not to admire how adorably scandalous she can be. I think that’s definitely prominent in one or two of the songs from the new album. So, yeah, in short, I’ve expanded my style in multiple ways, and there are plenty of artists I was inspired by!”

“Speaking of scandalous, I think you surprised a lot of fans with Track Seven. Was there something, or someone, in particular that inspired the mood shift?” His face is beet red, and it makes you grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“Yeah, I mean, honestly, with certain lines from some of my previous songs, I think people have kinda been waiting for a song like that from me for a while now. It’s probably not exactly what they expected either, but you know, everyone deserves to feel sexy every once in a while. At the end of the day, that’s what Track Seven is really about, innuendos aside.”

“Clearing his throat, he moves the interview along, “Well said. Now, I know you’re focus is most likely on this album, but I have to ask about any future plans you might have. Maybe a tour? Or, if we’re lucky enough, a sister album?”

“Well, unfortunately, there’s no sister album,” you both share a laugh, “but the idea of a tour has been tossed around. There are no official plans yet, but we’re certainly not against it.”

“Also concerning future projects, sort of, you have a music video premiering just a few hours after this interview will be posted. What can fans expect?”

“Ooh! I like this question! For starters, the video is the first single of the album, Track Eleven, and I really just wanted to make viewers feel how I felt while writing that song. So, I guess you could expect the whimsy, love-struck feel of the song to shine through.”

“I can’t wait to watch it, then,” he gives you another one of those boyish grins, and you can’t help but flush.

“I certainly hope you enjoy it, Mr. Kent.”

“I have no doubt that I will. Now, I’m sure you know I have more, uh, gossipy questions for you.”

“Hit me with your best shot.” You already know exactly what’s coming.

“With the topic of your album, people have been speculating about your love life even more than usual. On top of the album, I believe in a recent Instagram post of yours, there was a shiny ring on a pretty important finger. Is there any truth to these rumors, or are they nothing more than speculation?”

Again, you can’t fight the grin on your face, and subconsciously, your right hand moves to play with the ring that should be on your left ring finger. “No, their detective skills are quite on par with this one. Just about a month and a half ago, I got married.”

The reporter’s cheeks blaze once more. “Is there anything you’d like to share about him? He sounds pretty lucky to have landed someone like you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one, Mr. Kent,” you can’t hide the twinkle in your eyes. “He’s the most selfless and generous man I’ve ever met. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” You’re beaming, glowing even, and Clark wants to commit the sight to memory.

“Was the outing of your marriage pre-discussed, or is he getting thrown under the bus here?” He takes a teasing tone once more, his confidence returning a bit.

“Oh, I’m totally throwing him under the bus. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d ask about it. You’re usually one to stay away from tabloid gossip and fan rumors, Mr. Kent.”

“Color me curious,” he shrugs. The producer signals that your time is almost up from off-screen, so Clark begins to wrap things up, “Alright, well, our time is coming to an end, so I’ll go ahead with the last question if that’s alright with you.”

“Ask away.”

“With these on-camera interviews, the Daily Planet likes to give the interviewee a chance to become the interviewer. So, is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

You don’t hesitate. “Just once thing, Mr. Kent,” you start with a wicked grin, “How long is the Planet gonna let my husband interview me?”

“Well, I’d say until you stop giving him exclusive answers, Mrs. Kent, or until that camera stops rolling.”

“Like I said before, anything for my favorite reporter.”

Taglist: @heartsforjh @nic0-hischier @alexxavicry @cosmixstar

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scarletmika · 1 day ago

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Worthy of You : ̗̀➛ Rhett Abbott x Reader

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Famous!Reader

Summary: Rhett Abbott has been in love with you since he knew what love was, and that love was reciprocated. You managed to make a name for yourself, though, and Rhett can't help but feel like he's not worthy of who you've become.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink), porn with a LOT of plot, angst, fluff, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, reader is famous, female reader but no description of specific features like hair or skin, talks of anxiety and some self-deprecation, Rhett may be slightly ooc (he's a loverboy I promise you he is), we will be ignoring cannon events/supernatural stuff for this

Word Count: 18,693 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

The Amelia County Rodeo Grounds weren’t foreign to you; they were a place you knew well, like the back of your hand.

It had stormed the night before, leaving broken branches snapped from trees along the sides of every road that led to the Rodeo Grounds. Trina, your manager, had mumbled multiple comments about how ‘they really needed to come clean up around here’ as your driver swerved around every pile of debris. They were both more than happy to leave you there at the rodeo and return to their swanky hotel in the next town over after you assured them you’d have a ride and be well protected at the grounds without their watchful eyes.

The dirt had turned to pits of mud, caking against the bottom of the old pair of cowboy boots you’d managed to slip on during the car ride over. The mud kicked up enough with every step to dirty the edges of your flared jeans, but they were yet another old pair that barely got worn anymore. The crowds were larger than you were used to, people packed along every stretch of dirt and near every vendor's booth. It was the Amelia County Championship, after all.

“Cecilia!”

The Abbot family turned the second they heard your voice. You had been a constant staple around the Abbott ranch since you were eight years old; they knew you like you were one of their own. You bounded up the bleachers, throwing out soft ‘excuse me’s’ to everyone you had to duck and weave around. You heard every single whisper that left them as you passed by.

“Is that-?”

“Holy shit, she’s back in town?”

“Oh my god, it’s really her!”

Cecilia Abbott was the first to tug you into her arms, holding you tightly to her as her hands rubbed up and down your faded t-shirt-covered back in that motherly way she had since the day you had met her. You didn’t hesitate to wrap yourself around her, any bit of tension that was in your bones seeping out of you the second you inhaled that familiar floral scent of the perfume Rebecca had bought her so long ago.

“Oh, we’ve missed you, our little movie star!” Cecilia pulled back, cupping your cheeks with a bright smile. It was natural to melt into her touch, one that had always welcomed you from such a young age. “Well, little probably ain’t the best word for that.”

Perry Abbott popped up behind his mother, gently tugging her out of the way to pull you into a tight hug of his own.

“Damn, didn’t think we’d be seein’ ya tonight. Last I heard from Rhett, weren’t you over in London?”

“Yeah, we finished up press yesterday, so I hopped on the first flight home. Jet lag is a bit of a bitch,” you explained, pulling away with a bright smile. “I didn’t miss too much, did I? I was hoping to make it here before the final round.”

“You missed his first ride,” Royal chimed in from down the bench, giving you a short nod before gesturing toward the scoreboard. “Rhett’s sitting right about in the middle of the pack. It’s gonna take one hell of a ride for him to get the championship now.”

Your eyes followed Royal Abbott’s to the electronic scoreboard, showing Rhett’s name right around 5th place in the Amelia County Championship standings.

“So, it’s safe to assume Rhett doesn’t know you’re here?” Cecilia chimed in with a knowing smile as Amy tried to shove past her father and grandmother to get to you. You gave the older woman a knowing smile of your own as you glanced away from the scoreboard, trying to conceal your nerves.

“No, and I’d like to keep that as much of a surprise as I can-”

You were barely able to get the words out before Amy was past her family, throwing herself up into your arms with an excited shout. With a laugh, you caught her, lifting her into the air with a squeeze as she pulled back to look at you with a wide, toothy grin stretched across her face.

“Auntie! I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Amy girl,” her giggle was the sweetest, and god, had you missed hearing it while you’d been off on your much-too-long press tour.

Cheers erupted from around the stands. The arena was suddenly flooded with teams of bullfighters, and the announcer was launching into his typical spiel he always gave before the rides would commence.

Amy was quick to pull you down onto the bench beside her, tucking her smaller hand into yours. You took a glance around the stands. Many of the older couples sitting around you knew from when you were younger, as they shot you kind glances and grins. There were many you didn’t recognize, but from the giddy smiles on their faces, it was clear they recognized you. There was a whole group, maybe three or four girls somewhere around middle school age, staring at you from down the bleachers with stars practically in their eyes. They gave you excited waves that you easily reciprocated, unable to hold in your laugh as they practically jumped up and down at the simple acknowledgment from you.

A hat landed on your head, obscuring your vision for a moment, as you glanced back over toward Cecilia and Perry, the Abbott woman now missing her hat.

“If ya want to keep yourself a surprise, ya might want to stay hidden,”

There were no arguments from you as you tugged the hat so it obscured your face as best as possible before the first rider took his place on his bull across the arena. Only seven riders to watch before it would be Rhett’s turn, his last chance to secure the championship he’d been dreaming of for so long.

It felt like just yesterday when you saw Rhett Abbott ride a bull in a competition for the first time. You were twelve, a fresh seventh grader, standing right here at the Amelia County fairgrounds as he participated in his first junior bull riding competition. Back then, he was wearing the cutest helmet that barely sat properly on his head and was tightened as much as it possibly could’ve been. He’d managed to stay on for only seven seconds before his bull had finally bucked him off and sent him crashing into the ground. Naturally, Rhett was upset with himself that he hadn’t managed to stay on for eight seconds and thus didn’t receive the score he wanted, but you were still cheering louder than the entire county for him from the sidelines.

When the first seven riders came and went, you glanced at the scoreboard: not terrible scores, but manageable. Rhett could pull this off with one hell of a ride.

You could just barely see Rhett mounting his bull from the other side of the arena; it felt like that first time all over again, like you were twelve watching your best friend ride again. Cheering him on from the stands as he passionately threw himself into the one hobby he’d loved ever since he was a kid, his one escape from the disaster of a home life you knew all too well.

It had been a month since you had last seen him. Press for “For Those We Love,” the newest book-to-film adaptation that was projected to be one of the largest box office successes of the last few years, given the large fanbase it had accumulated through the years, had taken you across the world. First, on a trip to Los Angeles and New York, then to Japan, and ending with a two-week press tour in London that included an appearance on The Graham Norton Show. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, but there wasn’t anything in the world that would have been able to keep you from tonight’s competition.

FaceTimes never did Rhett Abbott justice, especially on that old-ass iPhone you couldn’t convince him to upgrade. Even from across the arena, you could tell that he was freshly shaven in the last week or so, keeping that stubble you adored not too long. The worn-in, brown leather hat you had gifted him for his fourteenth birthday was still tattered and beat up, but he still refused to ride without it. He refused to wear anything BUT that hat, calling it his good luck charm since it came from you.

The familiar sound of the buzzer echoed through the arena, the gate separating Rhett and his bull slid open, and you tightened your hand around Amy’s tiny one in an effort to calm your nerves.

Those eight seconds of Rhett on a bull were always the longest seconds of your entire life. You always cheered while he rode, but it simultaneously felt as if you were always holding your breath. His hand up in the air, the clouds of dirt that were kicked up from the frantic bucking of the bull, and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that was just begging him to be okay in the end, no matter what. Amy might have been young, but she knew how you were at the rodeo. That’s why her hand never left yours, even as she stood on top of her seat to jump up and down and cheer for her uncle.

The Abbott family was cheering alongside the rest of Amelia County. You recognized so many people from Wabang standing around, neighbors and school teachers alike, all cheering him on. And that weight in your stomach didn’t leave until he was finally bucked off to the ground and hauled to his feet in one piece.

Every eye in the arena shot to the scoreboard, waiting with bated breath.

The score appeared first: the judges gave him a 80. Then, Rhett’s name shot to the top of the leaderboard, solidifying him in first place.

The entire fairgrounds erupted into cheers. You were pretty sure the men behind you spilled some of their beer down your back as they jumped up, cheering Rhett’s name as loudly as they could, but you didn’t care. Amy was back up in your arms, both of you screaming as you spun the girl around in circles in pure excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your hometown boy: Rhett Abbott, Amelia County Rodeo Champion!”

The proud smile never left your face as you watched Rhett get paraded around on shoulders before being presented with the championship belt buckle and what you could only assume was the champion’s check as well. The crowd erupted into another chant of cheers as Royal and Cecilia made their way down the bleachers toward the fencing to wait for him.

Perry took Amy from your arms with a quick kiss to her temple, everyone else around the bleachers moving past you toward the fence as well to greet their hometown champion. He threw you a glance, nodding toward the rest of the Abbott family.

“Coming down?”

You stole a glance over your shoulder, that same group of three young girls waiting patiently at the end of the row, and you couldn’t help but laugh. With almost a flick of the wrist, you plopped Cecilia’s hat on Amy’s head, taking a few steps backward.

“In a minute. Distract him for me so I can go make these girls’ days,”

Somewhere behind you, Perry made a noise of agreement, but you had already turned around to the girls. By the time you’d made it a few feet down the row to kneel in front of them, all three of them were practically squealing in anticipation.

“I’m so sorry we’re bothering you,” the little redhead spoke so quickly she hadn’t taken a single breath. “We saw somewhere online that you might be here tonight b-because your boyfriend was riding, so we convinced my mom to bring us out here, and we didn’t want to b-bother you since it, you know, is your boyfriend-”

“You girls weren’t a bother at all,” soft giggles fell from your lips at their nervousness, and they quickly followed suit with giggles of their own. You took all three of their phone cases without even having to be asked, signing them with the Sharpie they handed you as well. Little kids were the best part of your job, seeing them so giddy and happy to meet you in moments like this.

“What’s it like dating a cowboy?” the youngest of the three asked as you brought them all into your side, their mother gearing up to take a photo of you all together. You hummed, pretending to have to think hard about it.

“Well, I’m not sure if you think boys are gross or not yet, but the muscles are quite nice to look at,”

“What’s it like being in a movie with Drew Livingston? He’s so dreamy,”

You laughed at their description of your co-star, smiling for the photo before looking between the girls again.

“He’s a sweetheart, but there’s another guy I’m interested in seeing right now who doesn’t even know I’m here, so it’s time to surprise him,” all three giggled again at your comment, glancing over your shoulder in the direction you knew Rhett would be standing against the fenceline, talking to his family and all of the supporters from the crowd. “Do me a favor, girls? Make sure you get some pictures of his reaction and DM them to me later, I promise I’ll see them.”

The looks from around the crowd were expected as you walked back in the direction of the Abbott family, a flutter of butterflies in your stomach the second you saw that faded leather cowboy hat on the other side of the fence. You’d accepted your status in Amelia County now: no longer just another local, but a spectacle, someone to whisper about and take photos of that others around the world would be jealous of.

None of that mattered to you. Rhett was all that mattered, the sun that was almost down behind the horizon glinting off the fence before him and off that championship buckle that was already fastened to his belt.

“Good ride, son,” Royal commented, reaching through the fence to slap his hand down on Rhett’s shoulder. He only gave his father a short, clipped smile, their relationship still as rocky as it had always been.

“Thanks, guys,” that gruff voice you adored with all of your heart huffed out to them as you hid behind some people just next to the Abbott family. He tugged at the leather gloves on his hands with his teeth, slapping them on the fence before tossing them into the dirt. “And thanks for comin’ out.”

“Hell of a ride, Rhett!” someone else from Wabang yelled out from somewhere crowded around the fence, inciting another round of cheers from the group bunched up to welcome their champion.

Rhett’s laugh was short, his eyes flicking across the crowd. Perry laughed, leaning against the fence rail with a smirk as he pointed at his younger brother.

“He don’t care about the rest of us being here. Look at that face: he’s looking for his lady!”

There was another cheer through the crowd, and you couldn’t help your smile as you saw just a hint of red creep into Rhett’s cheeks, that tiny, clipped smile he held growing just ever so slightly.

“I miss her, got a problem with that?” Rhett shot back at Perry as he reached around his back to loosen his vest slightly. “Just…wishing she was here, that’s all.”

That was the moment you decided to duck out from behind some of the others in the crowd around you. Perry sidestepped the second he saw you out of the corner of his eye, letting you take his place. With one foot on the rail, you jumped up on the fence so that you were looking down on Rhett on the other side, who still wasn’t looking at you, even as whistles and cheers reverberated through the crowd.

“Well, your wish is my command, cowboy,”

Rhett’s head finally whipped up to look at you, and you swore you would never get over the way he looked at you–a warm glance, filled with admiration. Looking at you was like he was learning what love was for the first time.

You had traveled the world, seen every city you had ever dreamed of seeing, but every time you looked into those deep blue eyes, you knew you were home.

“You…you were supposed to be in London,” his voice was gruff, like it always was, that familiar Wyoming drawl laced through it. Astonished was the best word to describe how he sounded. It only made your smile wider.

“I got the press tour moved up. No way I was missing my cowboy become a champion,”

Your words sank in. His mouth dropped open for a moment before closing and repeating itself. The crowd around the fence laughed, some men whooping and hollering for Rhett. All you did was smile at him, never once taking your eyes off him. That’s why you could see it, the moment his eyes dilated just looking at you.

He lurched forward, stepping up on the opposite side of the rail. All you could do was laugh as his hands popped over the side, sliding across your hips until he held you in his grip, and lifted you over the rail onto the dirt of the rodeo ring.

Rhett steadied you the second you both hit the ground once again. His hand curled around, pressing into the dip of your lower back, anchoring your body against his. You watched, smile never leaving, as his hand flicked the edges of that leather Stetson up, bathing his face in the golden rays of the sunset.

The crowd around the fence cheered once more as Rhett didn’t speak a word and simply pulled you into a kiss that would never fail to steal the breath from your lungs.

Every kiss with Rhett felt like you were 16 again, kissing your best friend on the front porch of his family home in the dead of the night.

Royal had lost it on Rhett, like he typically did, but this time it stung more than it had before. He’d uttered that one word that Rhett couldn’t stand: disappointment. That’s what Royal had called his son. You had just had yet another argument with your family over your future. Your desperation to make it, to chase your wildest dreams, to make a name for yourself beyond this tiny little Wyoming town. They’d shot you down once again, swore if you did anything besides inherit the family ranch passed down through the generations, they’d never see you as their daughter again: disownment.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Rhett to find yourself on the front porch of the Abbott ranch home, especially in moments like these, for both of you. Cecilia had always welcomed you, and Rhett had often joked that she saw you as more of her kid than he was. It always broke your heart, always ended with his hand wrapped in yours.

That night wasn’t supposed to be any different. You had run to the ranch through the rain–clothes soaking you to the bone–and Rhett was already waiting. The moon was already hanging in the sky, passing between the rain clouds as they came and went. Dressed in his clothing, warm with the faint scent of him clinging to them, you had simply sat side by side on the swing bench on his front porch, watching the rain hit the ground, creating mud pits throughout the yard.

His arm sat wrapped around your shoulder, combing through pieces of your soaking wet hair, while your head lay on his shoulder. Lightning crackled across the sky, lighting up the land, as the roaring thunder followed. If someone asked either of you, neither of you could tell anyone what exactly was said or what led to the moment, but somewhere amid the storm and in your company, you had both turned to look at one another. All it took was one kiss to change everything, change the friendship you had held close and cherished since you were a little girl: soft, chaste, slightly hesitant, but perfect nonetheless.

Rhett didn’t kiss you hesitantly now. He had spent ten years kissing you in every conceivable way: chaste, long, soft, hard, passionate, loving, heated, messy. This kiss now, in the setting sun of the Amelia County Rodeo Grounds, amid the cheers of those who followed your every move and those who had known you both since you were two feet tall, it wasn’t like those kisses: it was longing.

It was a welcome home. Not to the state, or the county, or the town–to him.

You savored it and fell into his hold. So familiar, the heat of his hands and his lips, the roughness of his skin as it dipped under your shirt to splay across your lower back. A month without this, without his touch, but it had felt like forever. You missed it, missed him, more than you could ever explain.

When he finally pulled back, letting your breath finally find you, Rhett never went far. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, to your temple, and the center of your forehead before he rested his own against yours, allowing himself to simply stare down at you. His smile was soft, the movement of his thumb across your lower back comforting, as the roar of your friends and neighbors continued.

“Missed you,” he muttered, just loud enough for the two of you to hear, that barely there smile making your heart melt. “You moved a whole press tour for me, darlin’?”

You glanced to the side, those young girls from before waving you down. They’d snuck into the ring, jumping up and down and pointing at their phones. All you gave them was a wink in thanks, before turning back to your favorite cowboy.

“I barely moved it, just added a few hours to our one interview day to make up for travel time,” you shrugged it off, pretending it was nothing. His laugh that came next was low as he gave you a short shake of his head.

“Think you just gave Trina ‘nother reason to hate me,”

You rolled your eyes. “She doesn’t hate you, she just…strongly dislikes you,”

“Darlin’, I hated English class, but I think that’s the definition of the word-”

“We get it, you two are in love. Quit hogging her!”

Low laughter was shared between you both as Rhett pulled back just barely. His hand never left you as he walked you back to the railing, waving to those who continued to send praise his way before they parted for their drive back into town.

The Abbott family was all that was left by the fence. Rhett, as he almost always did around you, stepped up behind you where you stood, the taut muscles of his forearms wrapping around your shoulders and your chest so he could lean his head against the side of yours, placing yet another kiss to your hair.

“That was a great ride, Uncle Rhett!” Amy piped up, sending a toothiest grin up toward you both. You could feel Rhett’s chest rumble with laughter behind you.

“Thanks, Ames,” his hand left your side for barely a moment, reaching through the slots in the rail to ruffle her hair.

“Was solid, score was a bit low,” Royal’s comment came offhandedly, his gaze staring off into the distance, not even looking at his son. “You were a little wobbly up there. Score almost wasn’t enough to win it.”

Over the years, you had witnessed this too often, this dynamic between Rhett and Royal. When Rhett didn’t ride well, on his off days, Royal would mask that stupid disappointment in a vain attempt at being comforting, but his real feelings were clear. They were even clearer when he rode well, when he won, when his father was unable to just straight up compliment him without throwing in an unwanted criticism: judging Rhett for the path he’d chosen, for his insistence to make a name for himself.

They were feelings you knew all too well. Your relationships with your parents were strained for different reasons, but the feelings it evoked were a shared experience between you both.

Rhett’s arms tensed around you, squeezing you just a little tighter to him. You placed your hand on his arm, squeezing it three little times: I love you.

It did the trick, as you could feel the slight quirk of his lips against your hairline, his own hands squeezing your shoulders four times: I love you, too.

“Well, I think there’s plenty to celebrate tonight,” Perry cut in, trying his best to cut through the tension. It sure as hell wasn’t working that well. “Why don’t I drop these guys off at home and meet you two for some celebratory drinks? Sure the whole town is flooding the bar as we speak.”

“That’s all up to the champion back here,” Rhett was already looking down on you when you turned your head just slightly to see him.

“Think drinks at the ranch are good ‘nough for me tonight,” his answer came easily, another kiss placed on your head firmly but softly at the same time. “I don’t feel like sharing my famous girl with the whole town tonight.”

“You never share her,” Amy grumbled, arms crossed as she shot her uncle a glare.

The family all laughed at that comment, Cecilia bidding her son a final congratulations for the night and promising to see you both back at the ranch. Before long, you and Rhett were left as some of the last people mingling around the grounds under the bright lights.

His calloused hand wrapped in yours like it was made to be there, fingers interlocking with your own and giving the slightest tug. Like always, you fell into step beside Rhett like it was nothing, like you had been doing it your entire life, which you had.

There were plenty of people you knew still lingering around, cleaning up stalls and closing up the concessions and booths. Rhett’s crew was still cleaning up, taking a glance at you across the dirt ring and sounding another loud ‘whoop’ through the air to you both.

“Think you have some adoring fans waitin’ for you, darlin’,”

Rhett was right. A few people lingered around the back of the ring, toward the gravel road that led to where the riders got to park their vehicles, as if they had studied where you might end up at the end of the competition in order to catch you. You sighed, giving Rhett an apologetic smile, but he only gave your hand a squeeze in return and pushed you off toward them.

Posters of past projects, one edition of Vanity Fair magazine with your face across the front, and Funko Pops of yourself that you hadn’t even seen yet. Each fan smiled and thanked you profusely for every signature. You thanked them in return for every ounce of support they showed you, but there was only one thing your heart wanted right now.

Rhett was leaning against the side of his truck, just 30 feet away, when you finally made it to him. A tired sigh escaped your throat as he chuckled at the sound, reaching forward to loop his fingers through the loops of your jeans, tugging you into him. You didn’t put up a fight, hands splaying across his chest as you looked up at him.

“I just got done ridin’ bulls, sweetheart, and you’re tired from signing some autographs?” he teased, that smug little smirk on his lips. You flicked at his hat, laughing lightly yourself as he softly smacked your hand away.

“No, I’m tired because I got on a plane at Heathrow, had to ride it into Denver, and then got on another one to get to Wyoming. Almost 11 hours in a plane to be here,”

“Sounds like a great time to get some sleep,”

The unimpressed look you shot at him drew another deep chuckle from him, his chest rumbling under your hands, and a flurry of butterflies he still knew how to give you shooting through you.

“While Trina drones on and on about the premiere and the countless more interviews that need to be done? Yeah, very soothing, I’ll make a machine and market it as ‘Trina Noise’ instead of white noise,”

Rhett buried his laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. His fingers tugged on the loops of your jeans again, holding you as close as physically possible, and you leaned into him easily.

“So…how long do I get you for?”

“Two days,” you gave him a sheepish smile as he immediately groaned, throwing his head back so hard he almost lost his Stetson in the process. Dramatic, as always. You tugged him back to you with a hand on the back of his neck, that playful little smirk on his lips when you had him back to sitting up fully. “I’m sorry, Rhett. We have a day of press, including a Jimmy Fallon interview, and then the red carpet at Lincoln Square is the next day. Once this movie drops, I’ve been assured that I have two months off.”

“Before you’re whisked away from me again. Back into the heels, the diamonds, and the spotlight,”

It sucked. This whole thing sucked. You knew how much Rhett hated it, the way you were constantly gone. It had been this way since you were 19, a measly three years into your friendship turned romance, when you had gotten your big break with the biggest movie franchise of the modern era. In the seven years that had followed, you and Rhett had spent more time without one another than with each other, and it broke your heart every time you were whisked back onto a plane, back into the glittering cities and high society life without your cowboy at your side.

No one in this town understood one another the way you both understood each other. You may orbit two different worlds now, but there wasn’t a single person in Wabang that knew Rhett Abbott like you did, and there wasn’t a single hotshot celebrity that would ever understand you the way your cowboy did.

“Rhett-”

“No, that wasn’t fair of me,” he immediately cut in, shaking his head and pressing a short kiss to your forehead. Your fingers danced across his chest, drawing shapes into the fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to him under his flannel. “I’m being a bitch about it.”

“If you weren’t being a bitch about something, I’d actually be more concerned,”

That playful smile was back in seconds, Rhett’s hand leaving the loop of your jeans. It found its way to your ass, leaving a quick pinch there that had a laugh bubbling out of you, leaving a small whack on his chest for him to knock it off.

Your phone chose to buzz incessantly in your back pocket at that moment, right under Rhett’s hand. It wasn’t shocking, there was barely ever enough service to get text messages when you were out here watching Rhett ride, but every time you got to this back parking lot, your service kicked back in.

Rhett slipped your phone out of your pocket with a practiced ease. Lord knows you’d been in many similar and more compromising positions against this truck over the years. The phone screen illuminated his face, well enough that you could see the instant frown on his lips before he flicked the phone in your direction.

At least 15 texts in the last hour from Drew Livingston.

“Ignore him,” you sighed, taking your phone back and clearing the notifications from your co-star without reading a single one. Rhett just hummed, but that frown didn’t go away. “Come on, I know you want to run your mouth right now. Get it off your chest.”

It took Rhett a minute to talk, but you could already hear in your head what it was he wanted to say. You could see it in the clench of his jaw, in the tightening of his grip around your hip.

“He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Which is saying something, since we grew up with the Tillersons,” not even a hand over your mouth could keep in the sharp laugh that escaped you, but Rhett pressed on. “Thinks he’s hot shit–what do they call it, a nepo baby–all because his daddy was famous, too…”

Rhett’s words trailed off, one hand cupping your cheek. You leaned into the touch instinctively, the touch you had known your whole life, and you could see the corners of his lips finally twitch up just slightly at the action.

“I hate that he gets to see you every day,” Rhett’s thumb trailed back and forth over your cheek, before making its way to your lips, drawing a line down the middle of them and dragging your bottom lip down just slightly. “That I’m gonna have to watch a movie where he holds you, where he looks at you, where he kisses you-”

His words were swallowed by your kiss, lips slanted across his with a dizzying pressure. Rhett’s groan is swallowed in the kiss, in the parting of his mouth and yours, with the flick of your tongue just barely against the edge of his lips. That hand on your ass snuck its way into your pocket, ignoring your phone to grip the jeans-covered flesh of your ass and mold your body to his.

Rhett flipped the two of you easily, pressing your back against the driver’s side door as the handle dug just barely into your lower back. He didn’t let it dig in for long, that hand still gripping you, bringing you back in, his leg slotted between your legs now, pressing right where you needed him. Right where you’d dreamt about him being for the last month.

“Drew Livingston might kiss me on the big screen,” your words came out in a whisper against his lips, feeling the flex of his fingers against where he held tight to your body, your own Wyoming drawl more prevalent than ever in your voice. “But not against a dirty truck on the rodeo grounds. Never in the back of that truck, in the dead of night. Or lying somewhere on a sprawling ranch under the stars. And he sure as hell doesn’t get to fuck me at the end of the night…no, that’s all reserved for you, Rhett.”

“Don’t mention his name,” Rhett huffed out, hand trailing up your side. It ghosted over your collarbone beneath the edge of your t-shirt, playing with the dainty chain that hung around your neck. “Not when I’m in the middle of thinking ‘bout fucking you.”

You smiled softly, just watching him. His fingers played with that dainty gold chain, one from an old necklace you used to always wear. He tugged slightly, bringing it to lie on top of your shirt now, tips of his fingers just barely tracing over the edges of the little flower hanging from the end.

Rhett had made it. It was just days after you had kissed that night at 16, the two of you still tentatively exploring the romantic parts of your relationship together. He’d been helping Royal on the ranch when an old piece of the wire fence on the West edge snapped. They replaced it with a new coil of wire, but Rhett saved that small, broken piece of it. He shaped it himself, painstakingly, for hours, until it somewhat resembled the flowers that grew outside your bedroom window. Your old necklace you had forgotten one day when it broke, was sitting on his dresser, and he used it to turn it into a necklace for you, using an old rusty pair of pliers to fix the clasp of the necklace.

You remembered when he gave it to you: tentative, like he was scared you would run away.

I know I don’t offer a lot, but…I’ll love you. I’ll love you more than anything. I already do.

“Celebratory drinks first,” you cut in, bringing his gaze back up to your eyes, digging yourself out of that memory you cherished more than he’d ever know. Rhett groaned, leaning forward to leave a kiss to the pulse point beating within your neck that had you ready to give in right here and there.

“Darlin’,”

“You, my handsome cowboy, are a champion bull rider now. We celebrate that, first, then you can have me as your prize after,”

What could you say: Rhett always followed your lead.

It was verging on midnight by the time Cecelia had come outside to the porch, dragging a drunken Perry back through the doors and bidding you both a soft goodnight. You didn’t mind, instead letting yourself enjoy the quiet of the night on that same porch swing from a decade ago that held a special place in your heart.

Rhett’s head lay in your lap, Stetson discarded beside you on a rickety side table. All you could find yourself doing was watching him, ignoring the stars in the sky that you loved to watch from this very spot.

That dopey, slightly tipsy smile on his face as he couldn’t look away from you, those dilated ocean-blue eyes looking up at you. The flush to his cheeks from the alcohol running through his system. You ran your hand through his hair–slightly greasy as he had yet to shower off the competition, not that you minded–twirling strands between your fingers and scraping your nails just barely over his scalp.

“Championship bullrider,” you drew out the words a bit, a smirk on your face as the swing rocked back and forth just barely. “I like the sound of that. My boy, finally a champion like he deserves to be.”

“Wish that check they handed over screamed ‘champion,’”

“How much was it for?”

“Just a thousand,”

“We've got to get you into a real, professional circuit so you can make the good money for what you put your body through,”

He didn’t answer, and you didn’t push. It was always a delicate subject–professional circuits–because that meant leaving Wabang behind. Instead, you fell into a comfortable silence together.

Your phone buzzed, and you checked it for just a second. Another text from Drew, something related to the interviews that were lined up before your late-night talk show appearance together. It was late, that was a text you could deal with tomorrow. Swiping the notification away, you popped open Instagram, smiling at your latest post, courtesy of those darling little girls from earlier.

“How’d it go over there in London?” Rhett eventually asked quietly.

You hummed, placing your phone back down by his hat to return your hand to his hair. Dragging your nails over his scalp again as you looked out toward the night sky, the quiet chirping of crickets in the air around you both. He was deflecting, but you decided to let him.

The lights inside the home had been turned off, the Abbott family all retreating to bed, leaving you both under just the light of the moon and the fireflies that flitted about.

“Wasn’t terrible, just long. A lot of 10 to 12-hour days. Wasn’t always interviews, though, there were photoshoots and then, of course, the premieres thrown into it,”

“Deputy Joy was over the other day, ‘nother fight with the Tillersons,” Rhett mentioned off-handedly, one of his hands coming up to run down the length of your arm and back up, before repeating itself. “She said you assured her that you would get the town a personal screening of the movie in that rundown theater by the post office.”

“I’ve done that with all my movies, Rhett,”

“I know, that’s why there’s a shrine to you in The Handsome Gambler,” he joked right back at your comment.

It wasn’t an exaggeration, and you knew it, too. There was an entire wall dedicated to the last four movies you had the pleasure of being part of, all personally signed by you as well, before they were fitted into frames and hung up. It didn’t help that the owner, Aiden Martin, had hung up old photos of you from your childhood around them, too. Yearbook photos, old photos that you weren’t sure how someone had wrangled from your parents’ home, and ones from old friends you no longer spoke to.

You didn’t entirely mind, Mr. Martin said it was good for business whenever tourists came through, diehard fans you had amassed, wanting to walk down the memory lane of your life.

“The shrine is a bit much, I’ll admit. Mr. Martin could’ve kept out the yearbook photos,”

“I like it,” Rhett muttered, taking your hand that had been resting across his abdomen in his and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a feather-soft kiss across your palm. “Just makes me proud.”

Sometimes, you wished that the people of Wabang got to see the Rhett Abbott that you did. They only ever saw him as what Royal constantly made him out to be: the fuck-up, the reject, the rebel, the disappointment of the Abbott family. He could be reckless, but quiet, unless you pissed him off. Lord knows he’d use his hands at the first chance he got; you had seen it many times throughout the years.

The Rhett you saw, the side only reserved for you, was so different. He was a fuck-up simply because he didn’t want to be what his father wanted him to be. He was a rebel only because he wanted a different life for himself so badly. With you, he was never any of those. He was still quiet sometimes, but so charismatic when he wanted to be. Charming, sweet, and an utter hopeless romantic. Hard not to get called a hopeless romantic when you fashion a flower necklace out of old fence wire for your sort-of girlfriend at the time.

There was a time when you had talked about it: running away. Starting over, making a new life for yourselves somewhere else. It didn’t matter where, as long as you were together. Rhett liked the idea of Texas, finding a ranch somewhere for just the two of you. You loved that idea, too…then Hollywood finally came calling, and finally saw in you what Rhett always saw. It bulldozed those wishful thinking plans you had crafted, and set you on the path you were walking now: you were living your dream, while Rhett was still stuck where he had always been.

“I meant to ask,” your voice was soft after a moment, fingers dancing around his as they interlaced with yours, your other hand still carding through the long strands of his hair. “Would you…like to come to the premiere with me?”

Rhett paused, just staring at your intertwined hands. You didn’t have to look at him to know the look that was written across his face, or to hear the little sigh he let out.

“Darlin’-”

“I know, I know, you hate New York,” you responded quickly before Rhett could properly speak, throwing your head back against the edge of the swing with a sigh of your own. “It’s stuffy, the people suck, it’s dirty, it’s so loud, you can’t see the stars because of the light pollution…you hate it, I know. You reminded me the entire week you were there for my very first premiere and haven’t been back since.”

It was quiet again for a moment.

“That’s your world, angel,” Rhett finally spoke, pressing another kiss to your hand before resting it back across his abdomen. Still intertwined with him. “Your world doesn’t have space for people like me.”

You couldn’t help it, the clench of your jaw at the way he said that.

“You forget that Rhett Abbott has been part of my world since I was a little girl…I don’t want to exist in a world that doesn’t have him as part of it,”

Getting worked up over this moment was stupid. Truly, genuinely, so stupid. But it was hard when Rhett talked about himself like that, when he still saw himself as some disappointment that wasn’t good enough for you, to exist in the world you had been welcomed into.

He shifted, head rising from your lap, and a hand cupped the back of your neck, bringing you back up so that you could look at him. Rhett was seated on the swing beside you now, looking down at you with so much love and care as he wiped the stray tear that managed to trickle down your cheek.

“No crying, sweetheart,”

“Hard not to,” you whispered back, trying to smile. “I just…I love you so much. You’re all I have left, you’re everything to me, and sometimes it feels like you don’t understand that.”

Rhett looked at you, and that’s all he really did. He just looked. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as he tried to find the words.

Your phone buzzed again, both of your gazes flickering toward it. Collectively, you both tried to ignore it until it buzzed again. With a defeated sigh, you grabbed the device again, flicking the screen open.

Yet again, even more texts from Drew, and given that you knew he was in New York, you didn’t even want to know how drunk he was or what party he was attending and doing god knows what at. The texts were at least coherent, though, just a bunch of messages discussing the upcoming interviews again and how his manager thought it would be a good idea to play up your characters’ connection during the interviews to really sell the romance aspect of it.

“Who is it?” Rhett muttered after a moment, his hand still cupping the back of your neck, fingers drawing shapes into the skin. You huffed, leaning into his touch as you typed back a simple ‘We’ll talk about it when I get back to New York’ text.

“Just Drew not understanding personal space. I get he wants to talk about work and how we plan to tackle certain aspects of the interviews, particularly the character romance, but it’s fucking two in the morning over there. Like…go to bed?”

With your phone tossed aside, you looked back at Rhett. He was still just looking, watching you, but it was different this time. Something in his eyes was darker, his jaw was clenched just slightly, and you could practically see the tension in his shoulders.

“What–?”

He didn’t let you speak, just pulled you into a searing kiss. You didn’t complain, having just kissed him not even an hour ago, when Perry was still awake and drinking with you both, and still missing the taste of his lips.

That tension, that darkness in his eyes, translated into his kiss. It was bruising, his lips practically devouring you. His hand still gripped onto your neck, locking you to him, his tongue sliding across your lower lip and dipping just barely into your mouth, swallowing the breathless moan that escaped your throat in that second. Your nails dug into his bicep, surely leaving little crescent-shaped marks, and that’s when Rhett pulled back just slightly, nipping just barely at your bottom lip.

“I’ll come with you…to New York,”

He was so sure in the way he said it, but you still couldn’t process the words being said to you. Leaning back as far as his hand would let you, looking up at him with furrowed brows and your head cocked to the side.

“Rhett, don’t feel like you have to just because I started crying-”

“I want to,” he said again, definitively. You watched him, trying to decipher what it was that had changed his demeanor and mind so quickly, but you couldn’t pinpoint it anywhere in his face. “You’re everything to me too, darlin’. So, if I have to suffer in that city to show it to you, I will.”

Whatever that look was in his eyes, whatever had changed his mind, you dropped it in that moment. Instead, you laughed, leaning back in and letting him steal yet another heated kiss from your lips.

“I’ll text Trina so she can get everything sorted out-”

“Tomorrow,” Rhett’s voice had dropped again, huskier, as he nipped at your lip once more, before trailing his lips down to your jawline. “I believe I was promised you, my pretty little angel, as a prize after some celebratory drinks tonight…and I’ve had enough with drinking for the night.”

❤︎

Rhett hated your townhouse in New York.

He’d been in your childhood home many times growing up, and had seen the traces of you scattered throughout. Your stacks of CDs, the pile of clothing in the corner of your room overflowing your laundry basket. Wall-to-wall bookshelves, an entire shelf dedicated to every special edition of “For Those We Love” that existed, with money you’d scraped together from odd jobs throughout town. You collected posters from magazines of all the movies you had ever loved, the actors and actresses you admired. A photo wall, dedicated to photos throughout your childhood until you were a teen, sat right below your shelf of equestrian competition trophies. Rhett had been in most of those photos and at every one of those competitions.

This townhouse was nothing like your room. Pristine, clean, white walls and white furniture with minimal pops of colors here and there. Chandeliers that probably cost more than the entire Abbott family ranch. Photos were hung, but not like your childhood bedroom. Magazine covers with you on them, press tour photos, movie posts, all hung around the shelf in the living room, housing the multiple awards you had won through the years.

An entire house curated and designed by Trina and her team, lacking everything that made you the woman he’d fallen in love with the second he understood what love was.

Rhett tried to ignore those thoughts in his head as he glanced around the bedroom he’d been in multiple times, taking in those same features of the room that he despised, the ones that made him feel out of place. Instead, he shifted it to you.

Still asleep, breath ghosting over his bare chest where your head lay right over the tattoo etched into his pectoral. Fingers curled across his abdomen, flexing every few moments in the quiet of the morning. Rhett couldn’t help but smile at the sight, just barely brushing his fingertips through your hair, curling stray pieces away from your face.

“It’s rude to stare,” he could just faintly hear you mumble, feeling your smile curl against his skin. A low laugh grumbled through him as he leaned down, leaving a lasting kiss against your hairline.

“Have to admire the work of art lying beside me naked,”

He watched as you turned just barely, moving up his body. Your arms rested against his chest, head hovering just above his, and Rhett let his arms settle around your bare waist and hug you closer to him.

“Morning, cowboy,”

“Mornin’, sunshine,”

His smile grew at the little hum in your throat, before you leaned down to kiss him. Rhett couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he eagerly brought you closer to him in the midst of the kiss, curling a hand around the back of your head to cradle you to him.

“Wish we could stay here all day,” you mumbled against his lips as Rhett left peck after peck upon them. “But we have quite a long day today.”

“Five more minutes, darlin’, just five more…”

Five became ten before Rhett finally relented, defending himself from the attack you launched on him, claiming his lips were “too addictive” and you needed to get up.

Clad in nothing but the lounge pants he’d managed to pull on in haste, Rhett’s eyes never left you as you descended the stairs down to the kitchen. Wearing his t-shirt, the hem dropping right at your mid thigh, barely covering you and the tiny pair of panties you had slipped on in the morning.

He had half a mind to drag you right back up to that bed and never let you leave it, not until his name was the only one you could ever remember.

“You’re late,”

Your body jumped back into Rhett’s, who quickly grabbed you and dragged you just behind him at the voice that called out as you both stepped into the kitchen. Tension rolled off of both of you the second you both could see who it was speaking.

“Trina, what have I told you about coming in here without texting me?” you scolded your manager, crossing the kitchen to open the fridge. Rhett stayed in his place, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, eyes darting between both of you.

“When it’s 11:30 in the morning, and I told you we’d be here at 11 to get you ready for the press, I’m going to let myself in. I chose not to walk upstairs to protect my damn eyes from what I might see,” it was then that Trina finally looked in Rhett’s direction, her mouth dropping into a flat line and her tone bordering on almost boredom as she spoke. “Hello, Rhett.”

Rhett gave her the most cordial nod that he could, joining you at your side as you slid a glass of orange juice into his hand.

He didn’t hate Trina, not in the slightest. She’d helped you secure your dream, he’d always thank her for that, but that didn’t mean he liked the woman. She reminded him too much of your own mother, the one who had disowned you, in a way. Headstrong, didn’t like taking no for an answer, and always had to have things done her way. He didn’t like letting his mind wander, to think if you were being forced into any situations just because Trina found them to be best.

“I assume that the team is all set up in the living room,” you questioned your manager. With a nod in response from her, you turned back to Rhett, leaving another kiss on his lips that really had him struggling not to kick everyone out and just keep you all to himself. “Half an hour tops, I promise.”

Rhett hummed in response, letting you make your way over to Trina at the table. He couldn’t argue with it, really, he knew how long your team took to get you ready at times.

“Got the paperwork back for that…side thing we talked about. They accepted, you just have to sign. Just remember that I really don’t agree with it,” Trina rolled her eyes as she said it, passing you a manila folder. Rhett could almost see the way your eyes lit up as you took the folder from her quickly, flipping through the contents as you moved into your living room. Rhett didn’t get to dwell on it, though; instead, his attention was brought back to Trina as she snapped in his direction. “Half an hour, cowboy. I want you to look Hollywood-level presentable.”

What the entertainment industry considered “presentable” wasn’t something that Rhett Abbott could fathom, or recreate, so he got as close as he could. His nicest pair of jeans with his nicest button-down shirt that he kept specifically here in New York with the love of his life, so there was no chance it ever got dirty. The dirty cowboy boots on his feet, tucked beneath his jeans, were the only dead giveaway that he didn’t belong, besides the look on his face. Rhett had even forgone the Stetson for the day, leaving it back in the living room in your townhome.

Everyone around Rhett knew he didn’t belong, though, that he stood out no matter what, and he knew it too.

Teams of reporters and interviewers moved through the room, talking with assistant after assistant to confirm their spot in the lineup of interviews. Rhett stood as out of the way as he could, shifting back and forth on his feet. His eyes never left you, though.

Black slacks that hugged you just perfectly, matching black heels, and a deep purple blouse tucked into the waistband of your slacks. You spoke across the room with Trina, already seated in your chair, as an assistant fixed the lip gloss across your lips and ensured that your hair was in place.

You met his eyes from across the room, lips stretching into a smile even as the assistant scolding you to hold still, and sent him a wink. He caught sight as you moved of that stupid wire flower hanging around your neck, and couldn’t help but smile.

Rhett never talked about his feelings often, just with you. So, he had no one to really talk to growing up about the butterflies your smile always gave him, or the flutter in his chest you were still capable of giving him all this time later.

“Well, well, well! Rhett, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

Rhett didn’t want to say that he hated Drew Livingston; he’d never met him until now, but…he hated him. At least, he hated what the man exuded. A fake air of confidence, fueled by the knowledge of how famous his father had been, dressed in only the finest designers, that totaled up to more money than Rhett had ever seen in his life.

Now, the actor stood before him, and Rhett still disliked him. Smug smirk, dressed from head to toe in a deep purple Valentino suit that–as much as Rhett hated it–matched your shirt perfectly. His Rolex glinted off the overhead lights, but Rhett found solace at least seeing that the man was just a few inches shorter than him.

Besides, if he could deal with the Tillerson family his entire life, he could deal with one more entitled prick.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Rhett huffed out, faking a smile with no teeth as he held his hand out. It didn’t go unnoticed to him the way Drew glanced at it, almost grimacing, before shaking Rhett’s hand.

“Our darling girl has told me so much about you,” Rhett’s fingers flexed at just the simple use of that nickname. No one should be calling you that but him. Drew’s eyes flicked down Rhett’s outfit, studying him, judging him, before their gazes met again. “Nice to see that you…clean up so well. Or, as well as a ranch hand can.”

If Rhett didn’t know any better, Drew Livingston could be a distant cousin of the Tillersons. Though that was a little far: even Rhett wouldn’t force the Tillersons to associate with the likes of this prick.

His grip on Drew’s hand tightened just slightly, but not enough to be noticeable.

“Bull rider, actually,” Rhett shot back slowly, staring down the man before him, wishing he could just take a swing and wipe that smirk off his face. “Championship one now.”

“I saw in her latest post, how…cute,” Drew laughed, tightening his own grip back on Rhett’s hand, but the Abbott boy didn’t flinch. “Can’t imagine that pays much, especially since there’s no ring on her finger. Ten years together, damn. You should really find a way to lock her down, Abbott, before someone…worthy of her comes along.”

That’s what did it. Rhett’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together, and the semblance of a fake smile wiped off his face in an instant with just a few words.

He tightened his grip on Drew’s hand, as if he were gripping onto his bull for dear life, and there it was: a wince in Drew Livingston’s face. That was enough to bring a smirk to Rhett’s face, now.

His voice stayed low, but it bordered on something else, something more dangerous, as he spoke. “There’s not a single man on this earth worthy of her, pretty boy, and if you can’t see that…then you sure as hell don’t come close to it.”

Someone–maybe Trina–called out for places, announcing that the interviews would begin soon. Neither Rhett nor Drew let go right away, gazes locked as if still in a battle with one another. All Rhett did was give the movie star’s hand one last tight squeeze before conceding, allowing the man to take his place across the room in the chair next to yours.

His eyes met yours, and he could see the question written across your face in the raise of your eyebrow: you good?

Rhett gave a simple nod, crossing his arms with his jaw still tight with tension, as the first interviewer entered the room.

If that simple conversation solidified anything for Rhett, it was that he did hate Drew Livingston.

“This movie has been a long time coming, an adaptation of one of the greatest books of the twenty-first century,” the young reporter, a woman just barely in her twenties, asked animatedly somewhere in the middle of her interview. “I have to know, what was it like for you two to take on such iconic roles such as Trace and Millie?”

“It’s been the role of a lifetime, but incredibly daunting at the same time,” your response came quickly, and Rhett’s grin returned, just watching your response and seeing that little smile on your face. Your eyes met across the room for a split second as you gestured off camera in his direction. “I mean, you can ask my boyfriend, this book became my whole personality growing up, I had an entire self dedicated to every special edition there was. I remember when my agent said they wanted me to audition for Millie–I don’t think there was anyone in New York who didn’t hear me scream. But these characters are so beloved, I know a lot was riding on me to embody her and everything she stands for with grace.”

“For me, any nerves I had about this role went right out the window the second I was in a room with this girl,” Drew cut in, flashing a dazzling smile in your direction as he casually threw his arm around the back of your chair. “I mean, she’s played a literal superhero on the big screen, but she’s a real-life superhero too. So poised, so incredibly talented–I couldn’t imagine having done this movie with anyone else, truly. I’m so blessed I got to go on this journey with her at my side.”

If Rhett’s jaw could clench any harder, if his teeth could grind together more, surely he’d be sanding a few inches off of his enamel. Just that slimy man’s arm around the back of your chair, that smug smirk he subtly shot off camera in Rhett’s direction, made him want to stalk over there and haul him into a back alley by the collar of his shirt.

The interviews continued, 5-10 minutes per interviewer, all asking questions that bordered on being the same exact questions.

What was it like taking on the characters? Was there anything changed from the books to the movie? Can we expect an adaptation of the book’s equally as critically acclaimed sequel?

You handled yourself with a practiced poise and grace and humility with every question, laughing when appropriate and taking a more serious approach to integral questions, too. Every so often, your gaze would flick over to Rhett, and any tension he felt toward your co-star melted at just seeing you so happy, so in love with what it was you got to call your job. Your dream.

“Alright, they’re waving me off that it’s almost time to go, so just one last question for you both,” it was the final interviewer of the day before you’d be whisked off for your big late-night appearance recording. The man was older, somewhere around Royal Abbott’s age, with a press tag that read the name of some magazine that Rhett had never heard of. “Looking back on the filming of this movie, what would you each say was your favorite moment throughout filming?”

“Playing Millie as a whole,” you answered easily, that happy smile back on your face at just talking about the character. “She’s so strong and passionate, while also able to show her most vulnerable aspects, and growing up, she had always been this perfect representation of what I wanted to be. I have to say that getting to run from zombies in this was fantastic, but getting to do it as a character that I have always adored meant more than anything. I just hope that I’ve played her to the best of my ability, and that a new generation can watch this movie and look up to her in the way that I did when reading the books.”

The interviewer said something in response to you, but Rhett’s gaze had been caught by Drew once more. There was a hint of a smirk on the man’s face again, as he dared to shoot him a sly wink, before turning back to the conversation at hand.

“By far, the best moments for me were any moments that I got to share with this wonderful woman,” he played up his response, hand leaving his lap to come to rest over your knee with a playful squeeze. “Every scene with her is like magic, the chemistry is so mindblowing that it’s so easy to forget that we’re acting. And the kiss scene, oh boy, that was on another level-”

He was touching you, and Rhett was seeing red.

It didn’t matter what the stuck-up bastard was saying right now, even if the simple mention of that damn kiss scene spread across every trailer had Rhett biting his tongue, the fact that he had the nerve to touch you. No one touched you like that, no one except for Rhett himself.

What pissed him off more was the look on your face, that grimace as you awkwardly laughed and shifted your leg out of his hold: you were uncomfortable, and that pissed him off a hundred times more.

Rhett’s glare never left Drew, who still wore a cocky smirk on his face, as the interview room was cleaned up. Not even when you were back in his arms, cradling his jaw in your hands and pressing kiss after kiss to his cheek.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had heat vision and were trying to burn a hole into the side of Drew’s face from across the room,”

Rhett huffed out a clipped laugh, gaze trailing down to you, and finally softening. His arms found their place around your hips, holding you to him as tightly as he could.

“You were uncomfortable-”

“Yes, and I had it handled,” you reminded him gently, stealing a quick kiss from his lips that Rhett was desperate for more of. “You can’t just go punching anyone who makes me uncomfortable.”

“I did to Luke Tillerson when he tried to hit on you a few years ago-”

“Yeah, then I had to bail you out of jail the next morning: point proven,”

“Let’s go, people!” Trina called out, directing the group of people littering around the room toward the doors with a wave of her hand. “Show recording starts in an hour and a half, studio is expecting us in the next 20 minutes!”

Rhett’s hand didn’t leave your knee, right where it belonged, the entire limo ride across Midtown to the studio lot, and his glare never left Drew Livingston. Drew’s smirk never faltered either, and he held Rhett’s gaze like it was a game: like you were a game to him. It had the Abbott boy almost seeing red once again.

Anxiety crawled through Rhett’s system the second they were parked in front of the studio lots, and he could already hear the cheers of the crowd around the front doors before he stepped out of the limo. Once he did, it was blinding–more so, overwhelming-the amount of people crowded around for a simple glimpse at the movie star love of his life.

For a moment, he felt like he couldn’t see through the flashes of the paparazzi cameras, reaching back into the limo to take your hand and help you out onto the sidewalk. As the crowd cheers grew, and you smiled and waved to them all, Rhett made sure to “accidentally” shut the door of the limo in Drew’s face, before tugging you toward the doors of the studio.

He felt your hands squeeze his three little times: I love you.

Rhett didn’t hesitate to return it four times: I love you, too.

You were whisked away from him again, just as this world always demanded, off into a dressing room of your own to change for the recording of your late-night talk show appearance. Rhett was left to his own devices in the studio’s green room.

Some stupid song, probably something from the charts he never listened to, was playing softly off a radio in the corner. The television across from the couch Rhett sat on, the one he would be able to watch the coming show on, just had that familiar logo of the show spinning around on it. With a heavy sigh, he poured himself a glass of whiskey from the platter sitting on the table in front of him, resigning himself to a drink as his boot-covered foot tapped incessantly against the rug beneath him.

“Feel out of place?”

Lost in his own thoughts, Rhett hadn’t heard or seen Drew enter the room, clad in a brand new black suit this time. He flashed Rhett a smile before stalking across the room, pouring himself a glass of his own vodka from the tray sitting on top of the piano. Rhett’s hand around his glass flexed involuntarily.

“A bit,” he let himself answer, taking another swig of his drink, voice still gruff with indifference toward the man. “Nothing like Wyoming.”

“I bet, much cleaner here,” Drew paused, laughing to himself as he leaned against the piano, gesturing vaguely in Rhett’s direction. “Nothing personal, didn’t mean that as a slight against you, pal. Just…trying to understand.”

Rhett hummed, just watching the spinning logo on the screen.

“Understand what?”

“What the hell she sees in you,”

Rhett’s jaw locked up again, teeth grinding together, as his fingers white-knuckled the glass in his hand. Drew only laughed again from across the room, continuing his tirade before Rhett could interject.

“One of the most sought-after actresses of our generation, the world treats her like a princess everywhere she goes, and yet she stays with you,” Drew crossed the room, plopping into a seat directly below the television, forcing himself into Rhett’s line of sight. “From what I’ve heard: a 26-year-old bum with, basically, no job–unless you count bull riding, which again, I’m sure pays so much–who still lives on his family ranch. No dreams, no aspirations, besides getting bucked off bulls into the dirt and going drinking at some rundown bar afterward.”

It took everything in Rhett to keep his cool, even though he was sure, with enough pressure, he could crack the glass in his hand into a thousand pieces. His steeled gaze shot down to finally look at the actor across from him, practically dripping in money, the exact opposite of Rhett.

“Yeah, I don’t offer much, never said I did,” were the words he settled on, bringing his glass up to his lips for another sip. “There a point to this conversation?”

“Yeah, there is. You talk about how no one is worthy of her, but what you fail to realize is that you, Abbott…are the least worthy of that woman of the whole bunch,”

That was enough to give Rhett pause, his glass settling just barely against his lips. Drew continued before he could speak once more.

“I know for a fact that you haven’t been to a single premiere of hers since the very first one, until now, even though she invites you to every single one. I know that, because she told me that,” he casually swirled his vodka in his glass, just watching the liquid slosh around. “Should I mention again that you’ve been with her for ten years and haven’t put a ring on her finger, haven’t given her a definitive answer on your future together? Oh, right, you can’t because you can’t afford her. The most famous woman on the planet right now, adored by thousands if not millions, and you can’t leave the comforts of Wyoming to support her. I’ve been there, making sure on the days she’s sad that her tears don’t fall, or buying her congratulations gifts when she wins another award or has another glowing article written about her. You want to talk about worth, Abbott?”

Drew leaned forward just slightly, taking a sip of his drink with a smirk still on his lips.

“You have nothing to offer her, Abbott: no money, no support, no future. You’re hanging onto high school dreams and fantasies while she’s made a name for herself. You’re holding her back, and it’s only a matter of time until she comes to her senses and realizes what a disappointment her high school cowboy really is,” he leaned back again, casually, as if his words hadn’t cut like a knife. “I’m just looking out for you, Rhett, man-to-man. If you love her, you’d realize she’s in much better hands with me than your own.”

Disappointment.

Rhett could almost hear Royal’s voice in his head saying it.

Drew only sat silently, that smirk still on his face, still swirling his drink around the glass.

“Been meaning to ask, it’s an…interesting necklace she always wears. That messy wire design, it’s a flower, right? Or, supposed to be…”

Disappointment. Rhett couldn’t get that word out of his head, even as he found himself nodding.

“It’s, uh, it's Fireweed. They-”

“Native to Wyoming, grew outside her bedroom window,” Drew finished off, chugging the last of his drink. “I know. She told me.”

There was a knock at the door then, Trina poking her head in to announce it was go time.

You stepped in after, and Rhett looked over. Makeup and hair done to perfection, sparkly heels that still barely had you reaching his own height, and a gorgeous off-the-shoulder black dress that fit you like a glove.

Rhett couldn’t even appreciate it to its fullest extent, too lost in his own head.

Drew greeted you, some over-the-top comment about how gorgeous you looked. You were beside Rhett moments later, leaning down just slightly to press a kiss to his cheek. He watched as you watched him, saw that flicker of concern in your eyes, as you mumbled a quick “you okay?” to him. All he could do was nod, never even shutting his eyes as you stole a kiss from his lips, before you were whisked out to the stage.

Even as the show began, Rhett couldn’t watch. He couldn’t get Drew’s words out of his head.

Did Drew have a point? Rhett didn’t want to think so, but nothing he said was a lie. He had no job; he’d won only one championship now in bull-riding and wasn’t going to be winning much money in the Wyoming circuits.

He’d looked at rings, of course, he had. Rhett knew he wanted to marry you from the moment you had first kissed that night on his porch. But no ring was ever good enough, and even the measly thousand this championship had afforded him wasn’t going to get him a ring that you deserved.

Rhett lived at home, on his family ranch, with the family that treated him like the rebellious, disappointing son, but he didn’t try to leave. He wanted to leave with you once, but those dreams died the moment you achieved your lifelong dream, when you got sucked into the world of glitz and glamour. Dreams of a Texas ranch, far away from both of your families, just the two of you and acres of land to yourself, were a faraway dream now.

You were a household name. People adored you in every city you went to. You were dressed day to day in the finest clothing money could buy and lavished in the finest gifts. Maybe Drew had a point: Rhett couldn’t afford to love you, not the way you deserved.

“You two just have so much chemistry,” the host, Jimmy, spoke as the crowd cheered in agreement with him. Rhett finally looked up at the television, feeling as if hours had passed, watching the end of the interview play out on the screen. “You have to just love working together.”

“I mean, I won’t lie, of course I love working with this talented woman,” Drew laughed, reaching over and laying a hand on your arm as you laughed it off. “She made every moment on set so amazing that I had to find the perfect way to thank her. It took me a while to think of it, but I thought now would be the perfect time!”

Rhett watched you on the screen, that adorably confused look on your face, as Drew reached into a bag behind his chair. The crowd cheered loudly once again as he pulled out a long velvet box. He popped it open, and the camera zoomed in on it as the crowd gasped in awe.

A necklace. Decorated with more diamonds than Rhett had ever seen in his life. Hanging from it? A glittering, diamond-encrusted Fireweed flower.

“Oh-! Oh Drew, it’s…it’s gorgeous!” he watched as you laughed, taking the box from his hands to look at the necklace closer, before shooting your co-star a small, sheepish smile. “T-Thank you, truly. Working with you was a privilege, too.”

Drew took your hand in his, bringing you both to your feet as the crowd cheered once more. Then, he brought your hand to his lips, laying a kiss on your knuckles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your stars of 'For Those We Love,' in theaters this Friday, so check it out! Goodnight!”

Whatever Rhett was feeling before, it didn’t matter. No, if he had been seeing red earlier on in the day, he wasn’t sure how to describe the pure rage flowing through him right now.

His empty whisky glass slammed down onto the table before him, and he was sure somewhere in the back of his head he heard the glass crack. Rhett practically threw his body into the greenroom door, slamming it open so hard that a group of interns walking past jumped in their place. He paid them no mind, though, already stalking through the hallways toward the stage.

It didn’t matter who he shoved into in order to get there; Rhett bodied his shoulder into every person in his way, following the signs along the wall that led backstage. And when he got there, his eyes zoned right in on his target.

You were off to the side, speaking in hushed whispers behind the curtain to the stage with Trina, waving your hands animatedly. Rhett wasn’t looking at you, though; his eyes were on Drew. Unalarmed, back to him, conversing with his own manager.

Rhett Abbott didn’t give the movie star a second to react, clamping his hand down onto his shoulder hard and throwing him backwards. Drew stumbled as a few people in the area let out gasps of shock. The second Drew laid eyes on him, all he could do was laugh, stumbling to regain his balance.

“Cowboy, how nice of you to join us-”

Rhett took him by the collar of the shirt, throwing him back hard against the pillar just behind him. More gasps rang through the room, someone shouting for security, but Rhett didn’t care. He bared his teeth, grinding them together, as he almost snarled just inches from Drew’s face.

“What makes you think you have the right to fucking touch her?”

“Rhett!” he could almost hear your voice call out from across the room, but was too occupied with Drew’s laughter.

“Come on, cowboy, I’m just playing the game for her heart. Think I won over the fans with that move,”

“My girl isn’t a fucking prize to be won, you piece of shit,”

“Isn’t she?” Drew cocked an eyebrow.

Rhett’s hands tightened on the man’s collar as he let go with one hand, balling it into a fist, before a hand grabbed at his fist, tugging it back. He turned, seeing you now standing beside him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Do you want to be on the cover of every tabloid by the end of the night for starting a fight right now?” you hissed out, and he could see Trina rocking back and forth nervously behind you. “Rhett…let him go, now. Please.”

He watched you for just a moment, seeing the pleading in your eyes, before he glanced back at Drew. He was still smirking, watching this all like he enjoyed it.

It took every ounce of Rhett’s strength to let go of the man, taking a step away from him, but his hand was still balled into a fist.

Security arrived, but Trina waved them off, promising that she was handling it and that you were all leaving immediately.

Your hand stayed on Rhett’s arm the entire way back into the limo, past the paparazzi who had no idea what had just occurred upstairs, and even as the vehicle pulled away.

You squeezed at it three times, but Rhett couldn’t bring himself to answer.

❤︎

The limo had been dead silent the entire ride back home, and not the comfortable kind of silence.

The second you were parked, you handed Rhett the keys to the front door, and he was gone in seconds, tearing up the steps and into the house without ever looking back.

It was then that Trina gave you an earful. She spewed every word in the book toward you about Rhett, calling him “reckless” and a “liability,” talking about how dangerous that stunt he pulled at the studio was.

“Drew’s manager assured me that he’s having every single person that witnessed what happened sign an NDA right now, we don’t need this kind of press before the premiere tomorrow,” Trina sighed, running a hand down her face as she shook her head. “Look, I know I’ve never been Rhett’s biggest fan, but…that was so out of line, honey. I expected more from him; his actions were, frankly, very disappointing-”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that, Trina,” you snapped immediately, shooting a glare her way as your hand rested on the handle of the door, seconds from slamming it open and stalking away from her. “I don’t know what happened, but I know for Rhett to act that way, then Drew had to do some pretty nasty shit. So don’t fucking act all high and mighty and call him disappointing when you and I both know that Drew isn’t the saint you like to paint him to be.”

Trina was silent for a moment, staring at you with wide eyes, before she simply nodded her head.

“Well…I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to get you both for the premiere, then. Please, don’t be late,”

You didn’t say anything back to her, simply slammed the limo door on your way out, and slammed your front door and locked it behind you, too.

The house was quiet, and you hated it. Slipping your shoes off by the front door, you took the steps up to the main floor, tossing your clutch and phone onto the dining room table, right next to that manila folder from the morning. You passed by the kitchen windows, shutting both the blinds and the curtains as you went.

Rhett sat in the living room. His boots were already discarded across the room, his button-down half unbuttoned, as he leaned back against the couch, simply staring up at the ceiling. You moved past him without a word, shutting the living room blinds and curtains as well.

You turned back to Rhett, rocking on the balls of your feet for a moment, just watching him in silence.

“Anything you want to say?”

Rhett huffed out a laugh, running a hand down his face.

“Not sure what you want me to say,”

“You can start by simply explaining whatever the fuck that all was,” you threw back. “You shoved him into a pole and almost punched him, Rhett. Backstage, where an entire crew of people could see and could’ve recorded!”

“Yeah, well,” Rhett muttered, still not looking at you. “He had it coming.”

It was your turn to laugh, shaking your head incredulously.

“Rhett Abbott, you’re going to have to do better than that-”

“What do you want me to say?” Rhett sat up fully this time, looking at you finally. You couldn’t quite decipher what emotion it was swimming in his eyes. “He’s a prick, I’d rather deal with the Tillersons any day of the week. He’s self-centered, arrogant, and he makes me want to shove his head through a wall. That good enough for you, darlin’?”

“Don’t get an attitude with me,” you shot back, pointing in his direction. “I’m not the one you’re pissed at right now.”

“No, I’m pissed at him!” Rhett threw his hands outward before tugging at the collar of his shirt. “He’s so fucking in love with you, and it pisses me off.”

You scoffed, taking a few steps toward the couch.

“Drew Livingston isn’t in love with me-”

“Yes, he is-”

“No, Drew Livingston has a track record of going after his co-stars, especially the ones that are taken,” you shook your head as you took another step toward the couch. “He likes the chase of it all.”

“That’s why you confide in him?” Rhett shot back, turning to look at you again. “Let him wipe your tears when you’re sad on set? Buy you gifts, like that necklace?”

“What, he told you all this so you just decided to believe him?” your eyes shot wide, and when Rhett didn’t respond, you knew the answer. You couldn’t help but laugh again. “He is a prick, Rhett, I have always thought so. When I am sad on set, or sad anytime, really, I call you and only you. That man has never once comforted me; he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Everything he’s ever bought me? Given straight to Trina to donate to charity. That necklace stunt he fucking pulled tonight? I shoved it straight into Trina’s hands and warned her that if he doesn’t fuck off, then I don’t care how much I love these books, I’ll break my contract and refuse the sequel.”

Rhett got quiet then, eyes cast to the floor. You watched the way his hands wrung together in his lap, the incessant tapping of his foot against the floor, and your heart broke all at once, every ounce of anger in your body dissipating in a second when you noticed those nervous tics of his.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out after a moment, taking a deep breath, your voice light as you spoke. “I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

His head shot up then, a confused look written across his features, mixed with his anxiety.

“Darlin’, why are you sorry?”

You threw your hands out, gesturing to the entire house you stood in. “Because I did this to us. I chose this life, I thrust you into this world that’s so messy and so complicated, so that I could chase my dream. I…I made it so hard to love me, and I’m so sorry for it.”

It must have been something in what you said, but you could almost see any of the anger left in Rhett disappear at that moment, too.

His shoulders sagged as he let out a deep breath, hands still wringing together, as he shook his head.

“Loving you…it’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, darlin’. Always has been, always will be. It’s being worthy of you…that’s the hard part,”

Quiet settled over the room again before you walked forward, sitting on the coffee table directly before Rhett. His legs parted on instinct, letting you sit directly between them.

You laid a hand on his knee, and his eyes met yours.

“Baby, where’s this coming from?”

Rhett got quiet. It wasn’t unusual for him to get quiet, especially when talks such as this were on the table. Rhett hated discussing his feelings, always afraid to say the wrong thing and fuck up, no matter how much you promised him he could never fuck up with you.

Your gaze trailed over his hands as they cupped yours, lifting it from his knees, cradling it against his lips as he left a gentle kiss against each knuckle of your hand. He sighed, his breath ghosting over the spots he kissed, before his eyes locked with yours again.

“It’s coming from that asshole,” another kiss to your hand, and your fingers flexed, just barely brushing over and caressing his jawline and the stubble that lined it. “He…he called me a disappointment. Said you were going to wake up one day and see me for what I was. I…I have nothing to offer you, sweetheart, yet you stay with me.”

Quiet settled over the room again. You wiggled your hand free of his hold, sliding it up so you could fully cup his jawline, that stubble scratching into your palm. Rhett still held your wrist now, turning to kiss your palm gently, and your heart broke at the sight.

“No money, no support, no future,” he continued before you could speak again. “Can’t provide for you, can’t be there to support you. I…can’t even buy you the ring I’ve always wanted. Couldn’t even run away with you like we planned, can’t do anythin’ right. You deserve…so much more than this.”

Something in his words sparked something in you. You sat up straighter, tugging your hand from his hold, before disappearing into the kitchen.

When you returned just a moment later, that manila folder sat in your hands. Rhett’s eyes followed you every step of the way as you stepped over his leg, fully standing between his open legs now as you slid the folder into his hands without a word.

He didn’t say anything, just looked down and flipped it open. You could only watch him as he flipped through the various pages, the ones that held your signature, the photos, the glaringly obvious price shown on the first page.

“What…what is this?”

“This is a ranch. In Texas,” you flipped one of the papers back around, pointing down to the photos on it. “Over 800 acres of land, even a private lake. Large home, huge barn, horse stables, the whole works…I signed for it this morning. Sold this place two weeks ago, and I bought this ranch.”

Rhett glanced up again, astonishment written in his eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated it again as he tried to find the words.

“You bought this?” you gave him a small nod. “Why?”

“Because this was our dream,”

He didn’t fight you as you took the folder from his grasp, tossing it aside to the floor. Rhett leaned into your touch as your hands cradled his cheeks, thumbs ghosting over his skin, while his hands settled on the backs of your bare thighs, just barely under the hem of your dress.

“It’s a few years later than we wanted it to be, but I never forgot about our dream, Rhett. I’m doing what I love, but none of it’s worth a damn without the only man I have ever loved,” his lips quirked up, just barely, but you caught it. “Your worth is not, and never will be, determined by what anyone else says or thinks. Not Royal, not the entire town of Wabang, and certainly not Drew. I don’t want someone who thinks they’re worthy of the movie star persona that the world sees. I want the cowboy who used to pick me up when I fell off my horse, who would run across town in the middle of the night to see me, who used to pick me flowers off the side of the road just to see me smile. You’re worthy of me because I say that you are. You’re worthy of me because you’re the man who gave me a sense of home, even when I lost mine, and no one can ever take that away from you.”

You paused, thinking over your words for a moment.

“I don’t want a man who can give me the finest jewelry, or wear the most expensive suit. I want the man who confessed to me that he couldn’t offer me much…except to love me more than anything. That��s all I want.”

There were very few times that you had ever seen Rhett Abbott cry in your life together. The first time he’d ever lost a bull-riding competition, he’d cried in frustration, torn up by the comments from his father about how this ‘maybe wasn’t for him.’ The first time you both ever had a fight, when you were 15 and didn’t speak to him for three days, he cried when he finally apologized to you. You had cried too, as he stumbled through his speech about how you were his best friend, and if he lost you, he wouldn’t know what to do.

This was only the third time you had ever seen Rhett cry.

You didn’t hesitate to wipe away the tears, leaning in to kiss at the little streaks left behind on the apples of his cheeks.

The grip his hands held on your thighs tightened, and then, he squeezed them three simple times: I love you.

Your lips stretched into a smile against his cheek, before you left four little pecks to the corner of his mouth: I love you, too.

Rhett didn’t give you a second to think before he captured your lips in a kiss within moments.

It was the most natural thing in the world, kissing Rhett Abbott. And still, even now, it felt like the first time all over again. Your head tilted just slightly, lips rolling over his as his fingers left indents into the flesh of your thighs, teeth clattering against yours as he kissed you with every ounce of passion in his body. In that kiss, you could almost smell the air of the Abbott ranch, could picture the fireflies that floated around the air that night, and your gut twisted in memory of the feeling of his lips for the first time.

Whatever might have started innocently, loving, and passionate, went downhill very quickly.

Rhett tugged, and your body listened. Hands gripping the back of the couch behind him as you leaned in, you parted your legs easily, sliding them to bracket his hips and settle onto his lap. Your dress bunched up around your waist, leaving just the thing lingerie you had chosen for the night between your core and the bulge that was heaving against Rhett’s jeans.

His hands slid up, fully cupping your ass in each calloused palm, as he forced your hips to roll against him. A moan tumbled from your lips in moments, swallowed by his mouth as his tongue darted past your open lips, spit slick between your lips.

Just one of your hands found its place in his hair, tugging on those long strands until a groan of his own tumbled from his lips. Rhett’s teeth caught your bottom lip, latching on just enough to leave a pleasurable sting in the feeling, before letting go with a slight pop. Your other hand found the buttons of his shirt, popping open the last few in order to slip your hand inside, letting yourself drag your nails over every inch of his skin you could get your hands on.

“Night before your premiere, darlin’,” Rhett muttered out against your lips, bucking his hips up into you as you continued to roll yourself against him languidly, eliciting another deep groan from him. “I had this whole plan before that prick ruined my day. Wanted to take my time with you. Make you fall apart. All about you…a reward for my perfect girl.”

“Save it for after the premiere, cowboy,” you breathed out, grinding yourself down as hard as you could, feeling that slight twitch from beneath his jeans. “You want the truth?”

“Always,”

“I have been embarrassingly soaked since the moment you threw Drew up against that pole,” Rhett’s laugh, his true and hearty laugh, not the one he huffed out under his breath, was your favorite sound to hear, and you never heard it often. It brought a smile to your face, a brighter one than you had worn all day. “No, seriously. It’s kind of insane how hot I found it. Last time I was that soaked without you even touching me was when you punched Luke Tillerson.”

“The time you bailed me out of jail?”

“What can I say?” it was your turn, nipping just barely at his bottom lip now, catching the slight catch in his breathing. “I guess I like a bad boy.”

Rhett kissed you again, harder, more passionately than he had before. The heat was prominent, burning in the pit of your stomach with every touch, with every pass of his lips against yours, with every taste of his tongue dancing just over yours.

Like a well-oiled machine, your bodies understanding one another in a way they’d never understand anyone else, Rhett had you back on your feet before him. His eyes never left you, his fingers gently taking the zipper of your dress and languidly tugging it down your spine, the cool air of the apartment sending a shiver up your exposed skin.

You let the dress fall to a heap on the floor, no care in the world for the wrinkles or dirt that could cover it. Rhett’s eyes watched, pupils dilated, raking over every inch of your skin as if he was seeing it for the first time. You tugged the soaked, useless pair of panties from your body, tossing them to the ground with your dress before your bra joined it moments later.

Stepping back up to Rhett, he let his fingers ghost down your sides. Over the edges of your thighs, up the curve of your hips, to the swell of your breasts. He ignored them, though, even as your breath hitched at the contact. Instead, he tugged you down, pressing a kiss straight to the wire flower that still hung right in the middle of your chest.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but somehow, your heart burst with more love for your best friend, the love of your life, than you had ever felt before.

His shirt came off easily next, buttons already done as you helped him slide it off his arms. It joined your dress on the floor, now kicked somewhere under the coffee table. You heard the hitch in his breath again as you dropped to your knees between his open legs, hands expertly unlatching his belt buckle like you had done a thousand times before.

Rhett watched every movement you made. The ease with which you popped open the button of his jeans, slid the zipper down, and then tugged the fabric over his hips. He obliged with the movements, letting you tug them down his legs and discard them elsewhere in the living room. His cock twitched as you leaned down, pressing a kiss to the length with just the thin fabric of his black boxers separating you, before you tugged those off too.

You didn’t linger long, every inch and bone in your body aching and begging for him. Your body missed him, his touch, the feel of him, as if he were a drug and you were an addict.

Rhett’s hands found your hips once more as you crawled back into his lap, straddling him once again. He peppered every inch of your collarbone with kisses, nipping here and there before he’d blow on the spot, the cool air a stark contrast to the sting he left behind. With one hand back in his hair, nails stretching at his scalp, you slotted your lips back to his, before taking every inch of his throbbing length in your hand.

Every inch of his skin was heated, throbbing, and twitching in your hand, and you sighed into the kiss at just the feel of him in your palm. You already knew what came next, the familiar stretch of your walls as they took him in, and you craved every second of it. You needed it.

Without wasting another second, you lined him up against your already soaked core, sliding down every inch of his shaft with a practiced ease.

The stretch was beautiful: welcomed, desired by you. Your walls fluttered with every inch of him that seated itself inside of you, conforming to him like he was the missing piece to your puzzle, because he was. Rhett’s head found itself in the crook of your neck, kiss after kiss placed in the crevice, trailing up over the pulse point in the side of your neck.

Neither of you moved for a moment when he was seated fully inside of you. The only sound within the apartment was the shared heavy breathing between the two of you, and the small whimpers that fell from your lips with every twitch of him inside of you.

“I love you,” his words were whispered into your skin, hands digging into your hips, fingers surely leaving marks upon your skin. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered back against his temple, cradling him to your body with your hands wound around his shoulders, hands buried within his hair.

Then, you lifted your hips, just enough to leave an inch or so still within you, before you sank back down.

Whatever softness that was left in the room by your whispered declarations of love was gone in seconds.

With a steady rhythm, your hips rose and fell over and over again, hips meeting with a slap of skin that echoed through the quiet of the house. Whimpers fell from your lips with every drag of his cock against your walls, against that spot curled within you that had you clutching to him like a lifeline every time.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel like heaven,” Rhett moaned out, hands finding their way back to your ass as he helped you keep your rhythm. A moan slipped out of your mouth and into his as you brought him into another heated kiss, that coil of heat and euphoria already building in your stomach. That Wyoming drawl had always been heavy during sex, and God, did it do things to you that you couldn’t explain properly. “So perfect, riding me like the cowgirl you are. That prick doesn’t get to see you like this, doesn’t get to feel you like this.”

“No, Rhett, o-only you,” you choked out, almost crying into his mouth as he snapped his hips up into you. Your moan was swallowed by his lips once more as you tugged on his hair, grinding yourself down onto him as you dropped your hips to sit flush with him. “Only you get to–Jesus Christ–only you get to t-touch me. Get to fuck me. Just y-you.”

Your head felt dizzy, every ounce of your body flooded with lust as Rhett’s grip tightened on your hips, his hips now thrusting up in time to meet with yours. The pace of it all increased, every slap of skin sounding off faster and faster throughout the room as Rhett’s name rolled off your tongue like a prayer over and over again, the only thing you could think of.

“That’s right, darlin’, only me. All mine, you’re all–shit–all mine. Going to let me cum in you, huh? Let me fill you up?” the moan that tumbled from your lips was sinful, and Rhett’s laugh ghosted over your mouth, hips still snapping up into yours as every inch of his cock disappeared inside of you with every thrust. “What, you like that? Like the thought of carrying my baby, sweet thing? Want a little one running around our new ranch, our home?”

God, it didn’t matter what that man said, not when his accent was that thick and his voice was dripping with need like that. You’d do absolutely anything he asked of you.

“Oh my god, Rhett, please,” you fully kissed him now, mumbling that simple word–please–over and over into his mouth. “Please, baby, please. Fuck a baby right into me. P-Parade me down that carpet tomorrow with you still in me. Show that stupid asshole that I-I’m yours. Fuck me, fill me up, p-please Rhett.”

You didn’t need to beg a second more.

One of Rhett’s hands found your lower back, pushing you down flush with his chest. His hips shifted, just slightly changing the angle, before he held your hips in place and bucked up into you.

Every wanton cry of his name that tumbled from your lips was uncontrolled, your head clouded with lust and pure need as that coil in your stomach twisted over and over again. Rhett pummelled himself into you, rhythm be damned, hips slamming into yours with a passion that was sure to leave bruises along your skin, was sure to have you stumbling in your heels come morning.

“C-Come with me, darlin’. Let go, I got you,”

That was all it took, another few whispered words from Rhett’s lips into your air for that coil to snap. Your orgasm washed over you in a wave of pleasure, legs shaking from the pure euphoria that coursed through your system. Desperately, your hands clung to Rhett, head buried in his shoulder as you cried his name out over and over again, his hips still snapping into you with that same tenacious speed as before.

Your pleasure never seemed to stop, your body almost sagging against Rhett’s. The wave of pleasure peaked, dipped low, and peaked again with every snap of his hips, the corners of your vision fading to black as every second of pure pleasure gripped your body.

Finally, his rhythm faltered, and with just another slow, deep thrust, Rhett buried himself in you, his own moans washing through the air. His grip never let up, holding your body flush against him.

You felt it–the twitch of his cock within your walls–followed by that swirl of heat that formed within you with every gush of his cum that pooled inside your walls.

The air was heated, bodies slick with sweat, but neither of you moved, too wrapped up in the intimacy of the moment to want to remove yourselves from each other. The house was plunged back into quiet, leaving just the heavy breathing that labored from both of your chests as you tried to regain yourselves.

Rhett’s fingers danced over your spine, gently up and down, as you managed to dig your head out of his neck. Those beautiful blue eyes you’d fallen in love with so many years ago looked up at you with so much love you thought your heart would burst, as you placed the gentlest and shakiest of kisses against his lips. He happily accepted it.

“You didn’t sell this couch with the house, right?” Rhett mumbled against your lips, and you could feel the way they quirked up into a smile. “I don’t think the new owners would appreciate it after…that.”

You laughed, breathlessly, still trying to catch your breath as you dragged the tip of your nose just barely against his.

“No, this one can come with us. Can live in the game room…a fun story for our future child about how they might have been conceived on it,”

“Don’t say shit like that, honey,” Rhett groaned, and you automatically felt his cock twitch inside you once again. “Not while I’m still in you, not unless you plan on making sure you go to bed pregnant tonight.”

All you could do was laugh, stealing another breathless kiss from the lips of the man you adored more than anything.

He broke away, peppering kisses to your jawline, down your neck, before reaching your chest. There, he placed yet another kiss right to the center of that wire flower.

You watched silently, thoughtfully. He pressed one, two, and then three small kisses right to the little design, before he pulled away. But his eyes never left that flower, and as your hand came up to touch it delicately, a thought crossed your head.

“You know, this little piece of wire kind of marks the start of our relationship,”

“Yeah, I guess it does,”

“Well…what if we repurpose it? Maybe, it can mark the next step instead,”

❤︎

The premiere for “For Those We Love” was in full swing. A whole plethora of celebrities were in attendance, walking the red carpet. Those who were simply invited, and so many that you had made friends with over your years in the industry, just here to support you.

Drew Livingston was thriving in the spotlight, waving to reporters and photographers who cheered his name, posing in place on the carpet right in front of the oversized posters of the movie right behind him as the backdrop.

The attention turned from him, though, and he heard your name called out by multiple reporters and photographers. An uproar from the fans, desperate to get a glimpse of you. Drew smirked, glancing down the carpet, waiting for your entrance.

There you were, just stepping out of your limo with Trina just off to the side. A dazzling image in a sky-blue, sparkling gown, the train dragging just barely on the carpet behind you. The neckline plunged down the valley of your breasts, and Drew found himself smiling as he followed the line of that plunge, taking in every inch of skin he could see. He even found himself smirking, noticing the absence of that little wire flower hanging from your neck like it usually was.

That smile dropped when you reached your hand back into the limo.

Rhett Abbott stepped out, clearly misplaced on the red carpet among the sea of Hollywood stars. There was no suit, not even a button-down shirt. No, he was in those same jeans, those same scuffed-up cowboy boots, and a flannel that Drew was sure he could see the dirt stains on from here. Worst of all, that worn leather Stetson sat on top of his head, further cementing himself as the outlier.

It was clear you didn’t care, though, and even more clear that Rhett didn’t seem to care. You smiled at one another, ignoring every single call of the reporters and photographers, too wrapped up in one another to care.

And when you turned, finally catching Drew’s eye, you didn’t hesitate to pluck the cowboy hat from Rhett’s head and place it on your own. Trina fussed in the background, something about your hair, and all Rhett could do was laugh boldly, locking eyes with Drew himself.

All he had to give was a cocky wink, winding his arm around your waist.

It wasn’t fair to say that Drew lost the game, because there hadn’t been one to begin with. No one in your eyes would ever compete with your cowboy, your bull-rider.

It was your eagle-eyed fans, days later, that noted the absence of your necklace from your neck.

It was another few days before one of them finally zoomed in, pointing out the wire wrapped around your ring finger, and the matching wire wrapped around Rhett’s.

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