warnings - smut (some plot), smoking, p in v, cowgirl, slight submissive rafe, swearing, kissing, hickeys, mentions fighting/blood
You were walking along the shore with Sarah and Kie. Rafe had dropped you off a few hours ago and is about to pick you up soon. You checked the time 9:30pm, Rafe should be here in 20 minutes. John B, Pope, and JJ were smoking in the van, off the beach, which is where you guys were headed.
“How’s Rafe been treating you?” Sarah asked while she picked up random seashells. “Yeah, is he as bad as we told you he was.” Kie added. You laughed at little at Kie’s comment. “No he’s not a raging psychopath who hates everything, he actually listens to everything I say or ask,” You answered, “he even watched The Notebook with me.”
“What the fuck, me and Wheezie have been begging Rafe to watch movies with us for years, and he actually watched The Notebook.” Sarah said in disbelief. You just shrugged, unsure what to say about your boyfriend’s behavior. Kie was stood there surprised.
“So Rafe can be normal.” Kie says bluntly. “Yeah for his girlfriendd.” Sarah starts teasing. “Don’t get me started on you and John B.” You said. You all started laughing together and teasing eachother. As you guys got closer to the van, Kie heard something in the distance.
“Guys stop.” Kie abruptly says while you and Sarah are playing fighting. You both look at her confused and pull alway from each other. As you guys keep walking, you hear yelling. Sarah starts running in which you and Kie follow behind her. You all see Rafe and JJ arguing, a little too loudly.
It was not out of the ordinary to see Rafe and JJ argue, they hate eachother and will continue to do so for however long they keep it up. You run towards Rafe while Kie goes to hold back JJ.
“What is this even about?” Sarah frantically asked John B. “JJ’s drunk okay, he started yelling at Rafe calling him a daddy’s boy and shit,” John B says, “then he started bringing up [your name] and their relationship which got Rafe pissed.”
Sarah groans out loud, annoyed between her brothers yelling and JJ’s drunk voice. “Rafe stop, just take me home.” You whisper to him. You see in his face that he’s fighting everything in him to not hit JJ. You grab his hands and turn him away from JJ and towards you.
Not even your pretty face can take away JJ’s loud yelling from Rafe’s head. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.” Rafe says while gripping your waist. You can feel his frustration from the way he’s holding onto you, like only you can keep him stable. “You know you can’t fight him when he’s drunk.” You say
Rafe had promised you a while ago that he wouldn’t fight your friends if they were under the influence. You accepted what you could get, knowing the past history. In the back Kie is yelling at JJ to calm down. “JJ just drink some water please.” She begs.
“You’re right, let’s go home.” Rafe says frustrated as he grabs your hand. As you two are walking away JJ yells, “That’s right, take your girl home to your daddy’s house powerfuff girl.” Rafe stops walking, you can feel his grip tighten. “Rafe, seriously be mature about this.” You say getting annoyed, but he stays still.
“Rafe don’t do it please, for me.” You say. As you feel him relaxing all you two can hear is, “C’mon bubbles fight me like the man your dad brags about.” JJ shouts. That took Rafe straight away from you and striding towards JJ. You turn around and walk away, fighting JJ was more important than your promise.
You can hear everyone’s yelling in the back, along with the punches they were throwing at eachother. You hated Rafes fighting and he knew that, especially with your friends. You hate how everything you know about him changes back to his old ways.
You reach the car and realize he has the keys. “Fuck.” you whispered. You leaned back onto his car and took out a joint from your bag. You smoked whenever you were stressed, which in this moment you were. Seeing Rafe’s face after a fight is so annoying, what he does is wrong but he always looks so good no matter how fucked up his face gets.
But you had to remind yourself this time was different, this time he broke a promise he made to you. As you finish off the joint, you can hear fast footsteps coming your way. Rafe, he has a few marks and blood around his face and neck. He looks more peaceful now, but now even more upset in himself than he was with JJ. He realizes the car is locked and unlocks it.
Rafe goes to open the door for you as usual but you beat him to it and shut the door before he can try to mumble some sort of sweet apology. He stands out the car for a while after that, balling his fist and putting them over his eyes. He finally lets out a deep breath and heads towards the drivers seat.
He gets in and starts the car, looking over at you but you’re too busy looking at the window. He sighs and starts driving. The car ride is very silent, no music, no conversation, just Rafe’s loud breathing. His frustration keeps growing as the silent treatment continues on and you not even batting an eye towards him.
Soon enough you reach Rafe’s house and he drives into the quiet garage. Rafe parks the car and you get out before he does. This time you had the keys that Rafe had given you months ago and opened the door. His steps follow quickly behind you. “Princess, please talk to me.” He asks softly.
You ignore his words and continue to walk towards his room. “Can you even blame me?” He blabbed on about how JJ went too far. You continue to take off your jewelry acting like you were deaf. As you get up to go to the restroom, Rafe gets infront of you blocking your way.
You try to move out the way but he blocks you. He slowly grabs your waist with his bruised knuckles and puts his head into your neck, “Please say something.” He whispers. “I’ll do anything, just look at me.” He begs into your neck. You sigh, “You broke your promise.” You whispered.
You feel him nod his head, “I know, i’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He says moving his head out your neck and pulling your face gently to look at him. You can see his bruises forming, but the hurt his eyes is winning against your anger.
“You’re never gonna break a promise again.” You ask. “I will never disappoint you like that ever again.” He says looking into your eyes. You slowly start giving in but still hesitant. He brings his face closer to your neck, “Please don’t hate me.” He whispered. “I don’t hate you, but you make it really easy to be mad at you sometimes.” You admit.
“How can I be forgiven.” He asks. You think for a moment, deciding to toy with Rafe since he upset you. You gently move him away from you, taking his hand and sitting on the bed. “Give me a reason to forgive you.” You say, looking up at him. He let out a soft, “Fuck.” Still holding onto your hand, he sinks onto his knees, spreading your thighs apart.
He starts using both his hands to unbutton your pants and slide them off, along with your underwear. “You get mad when I fight but this is how wet you are.” He says smugly. “And yet you’re still not giving me a reason to forgive you.” You say annoyed, pulling his head towards your pussy.
All of a sudden his mouth is your clit, tounge licking up and down. His movements are sloppy and desperate like he’s begging you with his mouth. You let out soft moans, trying to wrap your legs around his head but his arms are still holding them apart. “Please Rafe.” You softly beg. He looks up at you, “What do you need princess, tell me.” He says while leaving soft kisses in between your legs.
You wanted to try something different, something that Rafe usually wouldn’t let happen. But since he’s on his knees begging for your forgiveness, might as well take advantage of the situation. “I want to be on top.” You tell him. He stops with the kisses and takes a deep breath. He sighs and lays his head against your stomach.
You slowly caress his head, till he brings his hands and takes off your shirt. “You’re so beautiful.” He tells you. You smile shyly and tug at his shirt. He stands up and pulls his shirt off his head. Next his shoes and he pulls his pants off, now he’s just left in his boxers. He holds eye contact with you and he pulls them down, you can’t help but let your eyes drift down Rafes body.
His dick is painfully hard and swollen from just you. He walks over and settles himself on his bed. He grabs your hands and guides you to sit on top of him. You let out a shaky breath and you angle yourself right above Rafe.
His bruised hands are now tight on your hips, trying to pull you down. “No Rafe it’s not gonna be that easy,” You say smiling, “ask me nicely.” He lets out a frustrated huff. You know it must be killing his ego to beg for you, so you start slowly moving your wetness on his tip.
You lay your hands on his chest and start teasing his tip by putting it in, then taking it out. He tries to move his hips up but you hold don’t let him. He lets out a defeated noise, “Please, please fuck me beautiful.” He starts begging. But you just keep teasing his tip, making it very sensitive. He starts breathing heavier, “Fuck, i’m sorry I won’t ever do that shit again, please baby you know I love you more than anything else, let me help you feel good.” He starts pleading to you.
“Your so sweet Rafe.” You tell him as you sink down, taking it all. Both of you gasp, filled with pleasure. You slowly start moving your hips back and forth on his dick, grabbing his shoulders to help ground you more. “Just like that, fuck.” Rafe says, looking at your face twisting in pleasure. “You feel so good Rafe.” You moan out, picking up the pace.
“You’re so good to me Rafey.” You tell him. He moans out at the nickname that you have for him. Your movements are slowing down as your legs get weaker. “Let me help you finish.” Rafe says while grabbing your hips. You give in, too filled with pleasure to deny Rafe.
You let your chest meet his and put your face into his neck, leaving small kisses and hickies. He moves up, sitting with you on top of him and bouncing you up and down. You let out moans in his ear, holding onto his shoulders. “Faster Rafe.” You whisper into his ear. He wraps his arms around your waist and starts fucking you faster. He lets out deep groans and he feels himself hit your sweet spot.
You feel yourself getting closer, moaning out Rafe’s name. Your head moves backwards in pleasure, causing Rafe to start sucking on your neck and leaving sloppy kisses. You start clenching tighter onto Rafe, “Fuck, cum with me baby.” He moans into your ear. You dig your nails into his shoulders as his moves get sloppier.
You let out a cry, letting yourself go as Rafe whimpers and releases himself into you. You both catch your breath as Rafe holds you in his arms. “Am I forgiven now princess?” Rafe ask’s softly. “Yes Rafe, I think you learned your lesson.” You say with a soft smile.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says. “You too, i’m still gonna clean your face and knuckles.” You say leaving a small kiss on his lips. “Anything for you.” He says grabbing the back of your head and moving your lips towards his, finally kissing you after being forgiven. He picks you and starts a bath for the both of you.
c/w: age gap, possessive!rafe, jealous!rafe, oral sex (fem. receiving), power imbalance, praise, soft bondage, unprotected p in v, w.a.m. + language
3.4K words
“…What’s this?”
You shrug, sipping your champagne.
“Your office wardrobe.”
His head turns immediately. “My what?”
“You’re my assistant now,” you remind him simply. “You have to look the part.”
Rafe laughs under his breath. “Baby,” he says slowly, walking toward the rack of clothes. “What the fuck?” He reaches for one of the charcoal jackets, pulling it out to look it over. “You bought all this for me?”
“You needed it,” you hum against the rim of your glass.
“Well, thank you. But, baby, I own clothes,” he says, hands moving through the hangers while the tags swing beneath them. “Unbelievable.”
“What?”
“Nothin’, baby,” he hums, fighting a smile as he pulls one of the black dress shirts free, holding it against his bare chest before glancing at you. “You picked this out?”
“Mhmm…”
“For me specifically?” He points to himself, adjusting the waistband of his new slacks.
You roll your eyes, finishing the rest of your champagne.
“Damn, you are so into me,” he teases.
His watch glints in the low bedroom lighting as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, turning slightly to check the fit of the pants.
“You saw this and thought about me wearin’ it?” He asks.
“Rafe—”
“M’serious,” he laughs. “That’s fuckin’ crazy.”
He looks back at the rack again, shaking his head once like he still can’t believe it, chains glinting against tanned skin, the sharp lines of his hips disappearing beneath the dark pants.
His hair’s already messy, falling into his eyes before his ringed hand pushes it back. His eyes catch yours and you look away instantly.
“No, no,” he murmurs, catching it immediately. “Keep lookin’ at me like that.”
“You like it?” You ask.
“Love it,” he counters, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “I’m gonna look good standing next to you.”
“You look very pretty, Rafe.”
“Fuck,” he cuts in immediately, blush running across his cheeks as he drops his head for a second. “You can’t say shit like that.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause—” He drags a hand over his mouth, laughing again before looking back at you. “I’m a fuckin’ whore for attention, that’s why. Ego’s through the goddamn roof after last night. You need to reign it in.”
“You want me to reign it in?” You chuckle because you know that’s not true.
He scoffs, already shaking his head. “Absolutely not… You said we were casual. This doesn’t feel casual, sweetheart.”
Before you can answer, he reaches for the black dress shirt again, sliding one arm into it, then the other, buttoning it slowly while watching you.
“…You don’t mean it,” he murmurs.
Your eyes catch on the rings, the heavy watch at his wrist, the chains resting beneath the open collar while he adjusts the cuffs.
“Mean what?”
“You don’t wanna see me with anyone else,” he says quietly. “Givin’ somebody else my time. Sleepin’ with somebody else.”
“Can’t watch you leave with someone else like you did,” he mutters, jaw tightening. “I know you were tryin’ to teach me a lesson, but damn.” He shakes his head once. “That fucked me up.”
“You weren’t gonna sleep with him, were you?” Rafe asks.
Your breath catches, but you laugh anyway, trying to play it off.
“Everything you wanted to happen happened, huh?” He says, rolling his sleeves up slowly. “Just get everything you want, don’t you, baby?”
You smile faintly, pouring yourself another glass before lifting it toward him in a lazy little toast.
Rafe exhales through his nose, grinning to himself.
“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You’re gonna make me obsessed with you.”
You cross one leg over the other, silk robe sliding higher along your thigh, drawing his eyes to you.
“You’re too good to me,” he hums, turning on his heel like he needs a second to recover.
“When you’re good to me,” you say sweetly, “I’m good to you.”
He closes the distance until he’s towering over you, fit body wrapped in Prada.
“Damn,” he murmurs. “Sex was that good?”
A smile plays on his lips as he reaches down, taking your hand in his and guiding you to your feet. His arms wrap around you instantly, one resting against your back, the other gripping your ass through the satin in his big palm.
He dips down, pressing his mouth against yours, smiling into the kiss before his tongue slides along yours, leaving your head hazy with it.
“Or,” he murmurs against your lips, “was it when I broke in… again?”
Heat rushes into your cheeks.
Your fingers smooth slowly up the front of his shirt, feeling the expensive fabric stretched over hard muscle beneath it before sliding around his neck, laughing softly against his mouth.
“I could wake you up like that every morning if you let me,” he mumbles. “And you thought I couldn’t take care of you?” His grin turns smug against your lips. “Had you cryin’ for me at eight in the morning.”
Your heart starts racing all over again.
Not because of what you did.
Because of the thought of him doing it for somebody else.
“You’re right,” you whisper.
“I’m what?” He laughs, like the words sound completely foreign coming out of your mouth.
“I don’t mean it,” you admit quietly.
His shoulders loosen immediately, tension leaving him all at once. His tongue drags along his bottom lip, broad chest square with yours, looking down at you like he could finally relax.
“Say it again,” he mumbles as his hand comes up to cradle your neck, kissing you deeply before drawing back just enough where your lips brush.
“You don’t sleep with anyone else,” you mumble.
“Neither do you,” he echoes softly.
“Deal,” you whisper.
“How the fuck am I supposed to get this past the guys? All this nice shit,” he mutters. “Seriously,” he says. “The watch? The shoes? The suits. They're dumb, but they’re not that dumb. They’re gonna know I got this from someone.”
Your nails glide slowly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You could tell him the truth.”
Rafe laughs against your mouth, breathless and dreamy, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs, lifting you off your feet and into his strong arms.
“Hey, Tommy… I’m fuckin’ your mom.”
“Of course not—”
“Well, then what the fuck am I gonna do?” He asks, tossing you down on your big, soft bed. Your silk robe falling open, nothing but black lace underneath.
“Just tell him a different name,” you murmur, fingers playing lightly with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Someone he doesn’t know. Tell him it’s casual. She’s private.”
“Lyin’ about some random woman when I got you?” He asks as he grabs for his belt, tugging it open, his eyes tracing higher and higher, lifting until they reach yours. “Dressin’ me up. Spoilin’ me. I’m your assistant—”
“You are,” you smile, as he lowers the zipper on his slacks.
“You think they’re not gonna think it’s weird? Me bein’ there?”
His pants hit the floor with a heavy thud before he climbs on the mattress, his arms hooking under your thighs, kissing your knee, working lower.
“That you picked me specifically.”
“I did—I hired a few of your frat brothers. Tommy’s my assistant over at the country club. Kelce handles the restaurant property down by the water.” Your hand reaches out, raking into his bangs. “You’ve got the hotel… I still have Bauer.”
The second the name leaves your lips, something in him tightens.
You feel it immediately in the way his hands stop moving, eyes narrow slightly on yours, the grip on you getting a little tighter.
“Bauer?” He repeats, leaning back just enough to look at you properly. “How come I never heard about Bauer?”
“Why would my son’s frat brother just hear about the executive assistant at my work?” You chuckle uneasily.
“Bauer… St. James?” He asks slowly. “So he works around you all day?”
“Rafe—”
“He hot.”
You blink back at him, waiting for the rest of his statement.
“That’s not a no,” the words break past his lips, half-kidding, half-furious, not wanting to seem insecure but he is. Your eyes roll, laughing it off.
“Rafe.” His name comes out firmer this time, grounding him instantly.
He stares at you for half a second before scoffing and looking away, trying to collect himself.
Bauer St. James was the kind of guy frat houses built folklore around. A few years older than Rafe, still talked about at parties and golf tournaments like some frat legend. Smart. Polished. Impossible to dislike.
The kind of guy who could black out at a party, still show up to an eight a.m. presentation looking like a Ralph Lauren campaign, then ace the exam anyway.
“You hired him?” Rafe asks again, dropping his forehead against your knee now like the answer physically pains him.
“He’s good at his job,” you say calmly.
“… He better be,” he mutters bitterly.
“He’s been with me for years.”
His jaw clicks. “Years?” He repeats.
You laugh softly, but he isn’t really joking anymore because Bauer makes sense beside you. That’s the problem. Meanwhile Rafe rolled a beer cart into the water three weeks ago.
“He anticipates things before I ask,” you explain softly. “Scheduling, travel, meetings.” Your fingers drift through his hair slowly. “He basically runs my life—”
“Oh, yeah?” Rafe mutters sarcastically against your knee. “Sounds like a fucking nightmare for me.”
He stews for a minute, his expression softening before he looks up at you, with his sad blue, puppy dog eyes and you can’t help but laugh at how pitifully dramatic and jealous he is.
“I thought… I dunno. Thought that I’d do that for you.”
You lift an eyebrow, begging the silent question. How?
“Thought I had that position locked down.”
“You are objectively terrible at your job, baby,” you say gently.
“Yeah,” he admits, nodding in agreement. “That’s fair. And, he’s not—“
“He’s not.”
“Damn… I hate that for me,” he chuckles as his hand drifts down your leg, thumb brushing along the seam of your panties. You two ever… I mean. Has he—”
“No,” you stop him before he can spin out anymore. “Nothing—You don’t need to be jealous of Bauer.”
“Easier said than fuckin’ done,” he chuckles, turning his head just enough to kiss a little lower along your thigh. “Well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss over the lace, “that sucks for him.”
Your brows lift slightly, feeling a tingle go straight through your body when he licks a line up your clothed slit. “Why?”
Rafe’s gaze drags slowly over your face before he smiles faintly. “Because eventually,” he says quietly, “you’re gonna look at me like that too.”
“I am?” You ask and he hums out a yes, the utterance vibrating against your pussy.
“I didn’t care about the golf course,” he continues, entirely too pleased with himself. “Got way more attention from you, acting like a complete piece of shit. It was strategic.”
You laugh despite yourself, cheeks burning with your smile.
“Sue me.”
His grin widens as his rough thumb pulls your panties to the side.
“I love a little competition,” he mumbles. “St. James might know your schedule.” His breath fans over your skin, lips dropping low. “But I know how you look at me.”
You bite your lip and smile, giving him that same look—watching as his tongue lays out, dragging slowly up your pussy, making your back arch.
“You know what he definitely doesn’t have?” He asks smugly, his rough fingers coming up to trace your entrance slowly. “Your taste on his lips… twice, in one fucking day,” he mutters as his hands wrap around the fabric at your hips pulling it down in one desperate tug.
His arms tighten around your thighs, pulling you to his face, burying himself in your pussy. “Fuck me,” he mutters, the words sending vibrations straight through your core. “Been thinking about this all day. Couldn’t stop.”
You gasp, fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him moan against your clit—his fingers pushing deeper.
Your sounds echo softly through your bedroom as his fingers fuck into your soaked core, curling just right, again and again, until— “Right there, Rafe,” you breathe, hips rocking into his mouth. “Please.”
Your orgasm hits like a wave—hard and fast—his name tumbling from your lips, breathless and broken, as he hums against you, getting off on every flutter of your pussy around his thick fingers.
“That’s it baby,” he breathes, kissing you slow and deep between your thighs, then dragging his lips up your body until he’s chest to chest with you. “How was that—”
“Perfect,” you whisper, your mouth finding his before he can finish.
“Turn around for me, baby.”
He exhales, slow and sharp as his palms find your hips, guiding you up on your knees, turning you gently, his hands wrapping around your waist to untie the satin robe, kissing between your shoulder blades when it falls to the bed below.
His eyes catch on the satin belt looped loose in the silk between you and he goes still for a second before slowly pulling it free through the loops, the fabric sliding through his fingers.
He leans forward, mouth brushing the shell of your ear as his hands find your wrists, pinning them behind your back. “Can I use this?” He asks quietly, almost nervous again all of a sudden.
Your pulse jumps when you nod.
Rafe exhales hard through his nose before gently guiding your wrists together, tying the satin slowly like he’s scared you’ll change your mind if he doesn't do it just right, fixing it in a bow.
His breath shakes behind you; heat radiating off of his chest as he looks over your shoulder. “You’re really lettin’ me tie you up?” He whispers against your skin, soft just for you as his arms wrap around your body, hands cupping your breasts before he kisses you. “You trust me that much?”
“I trust you,” you whisper.
“Holy shit,” he sighs shakily against your throat. “Never done anything like this before. You good, baby?”
His body pulls away just enough to take himself in his hand when you nod, his fist curling around the thick base of his cock as he exhales. His other hand squeezes your hip, guiding your back to arch, your cheek pressing into the plush mattress.
“Shit, baby,” Rafe praises as your hips push back without thinking, his thick tip shoving between your plush thigh, bullying through your slick folds already. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he grits, holding himself back from throwing his hips forward and burying himself deep.
Your eyes flutter shut, focusing on the feeling; each ridge, each pulse; the pressure between your thighs as he stretches you wide, filling you full.
You glance over your shoulder—watching him for a breathless moment. His hair’s fallen forward, strands sticking to his damp forehead, chest heaving, gold chain clinging to his skin. His lips are parted, wet from kissing, his baby blues fixed on the place where your bodies meet.
His brows draw together when the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room, his body reacting like the sound alone might end him right then and there. His eyes lift to yours and his lips twitch, curling into a smirk.
You gasp, breath punching out of your chest as he drives deep. Your hands curl into fists, the bow pulling taut around your wrists.
Rafe tightens his grip on your hips and starts to move faster—each thrust sharper and deeper than the last, the sounds of his body against yours filling the bedroom.
His hand stays firm around the satin binding your wrists. The second he feels you start to tremble, he leans in—his chest against your back, breath hot against your ear. The bow pulls tighter in his grip as he drives you deeper into the mattress.
Your body’s humming, vision feathered around the edges. Rafe wraps his arm around you, pulling you back into his chest as he drills up into you, voice low and broken against your ear.
“Tell me I’m your favorite,” he breathes, lips grazing your skin. Your head lolls back, lashes fluttering.
“Wha—What?” The word hiccups out between rough thrusts, your body jolting with every rough thrust of his hips. He chuckles, kissing your neck as he buries himself in it.
“Tell me… I’m your favorite,” he whispers as his hand guides your chin to his, his lips finding yours as his other hand drops low, fingers pressing against your clit, making your knees all but give out.
He circles his fingers instead as his lips brush against your skin, smiling against your mouth.
You’re right there, your hips tilt toward his hand, body jolting with each swirl of his fingers.
“You… Fuck,” you whimper, and he groans, deep and broken, driving into you with a guttural moan at your neck. His thrusts never slow, even as your body begins to shatter. “You’re my favorite.”
“Show me.” Your orgasm crashes over you; his name tumbles from your lips in a breathy, needy gasp. You grind through it, slow and messy, his release dripping warm between your thighs. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed to your temple, his voice ragged and wincing a little from the sensitivity.
One hand steadies you as he unties the satin belt from around your wrists with the other, his free hand moving between your thighs to catch the wetness sliding down.
His fingers slip into your mouth and you take them, sucking the wet as your eyes lift to meet his, melting back into him.
His fingers slip from your mouth slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time. The sheets are tangled beneath you. The air thick and warm with sex.
Rafe stays pressed against your back, chest rising hard against your skin while his hand spreads low across your stomach possessively, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
“Told you I could handle you,” he murmurs before kissing you again.
You smile into his mouth, still trying to catch your breath. “You can.”
He groans softly at that, eyes shutting for a second as his hips roll once more, cock still deep and sensitive inside you.
“Damn,” he whispers roughly. “How am I supposed to stop when you sound this fucking good, huh?”
His hand slides carefully up your throat, thumb resting beneath your jaw while he keeps your face tilted toward his.
“Rafe.”
“Yeah, baby?” He murmurs.
“You can’t get jealous like that again.”
His hands tighten around your waist instinctively, like he already knows where this conversation’s going and hates it anyway. “I know,” he says quietly as your fingers drift through the damp hair at the nape of his neck.
“What happens in here is fine,” you whisper. “But if you mess this up outside this room… we’re done.” The words land hard enough to wipe the smug look right off his face. “I mean it.”
Rafe goes quiet for a second, eyes fixed on yours while his hand drifts slowly along your waist. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, baby.”
“I haven't done this type of thing with anyone.” Your fingers slide into his damp hair. “He just works for me,” you whisper softly. “That’s it.”
“Only me?” He asks immediately, like the question’s been sitting in his chest this entire time.
“Only you.”
His eyes shut briefly at that, forehead dropping against yours.
“Tell me I can trust you,” you whisper.
“You can,” he says instantly. “Promise.”
Your lips brush his while his arm tightens around your waist, keeping you tucked against him. “Then let it go,” you murmur. “No more jealousy. No more losing your shit over Bauer.”
Rafe laughs quietly under his breath. “Can’t promise I won’t think about beatin’ his ass at least once,” he mumbles.
You laugh softly and he kisses you again, slower this time, still breathing hard into your mouth.
“But I’ll behave,” he whispers against your mouth. “For you.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze drags over your face for a long second before his hand slides possessively down your stomach again.
“Besides,” he murmurs softly, eyes locked on yours, “doesn’t really matter now anyway.”
“Why?” You ask as he kisses you absentmindedly, his thumb tracing the inside of your wrist where the satin had been tied.
The corner of his mouth tilts. “Because he never had you,” he says quietly. “And I do.”
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tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, new relationship, coworkers, clark is a mess, you find a toy in clark's closet, no mention of reader's appearance (but implied they have a vagina), PATHETIC CLARK KENT !!!
notes: crossposted onto my ao3! this post was inspired from a request here :D my first request oh em gee tysmmm <3 as always reblogs and comments r most appreciated ily all!!! i hope u enjoy 🙂↕️
two months of stolen glances at work — of clark’s fingers lingering just a second too long when handing you files, of lunch dates where clark would blush whenever your knees brushed under the table. clark had been a picture-perfect gentleman, almost to a frustrating extent. it wasn’t the cute kind of frustration either, but the kind that made the air thick whenever clark cleared his throat around you, only for the tension to fizzle when he inevitably asked another annoyingly chivalrous question like if you wanted a refill on your coffee.
you half-expected him to ask permission to hold your hand by now.
it was during one of these painfully polite coffee breaks in the break room that clark managed to muster up some semblance of courage. his fingers drummed nervously against his mug as he leaned against the counter-top. “um,” he started, then stopped, adjusting his glasses with one hand while the other gripped the counter edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “i was wondering if — that is, if you weren’t busy tonight — maybe you’d like to come over? for dinner?” his voice pitched upward towards the end, turning his question into something more akin to a plea.
you arched a brow in response, stirring your coffee with deliberate slowness. “dinner, huh? you cooking, smallville?”
clark’s ears turned pink. “i — well, i can try? unless you’d rather have takeout? i have menus. too many menus, actually,” he rambled.
“i’d prefer you tell me what you want, clark.” you leaned just a fraction closer into clark’s personal space.
he swallowed hard in response. “i —”
before clark was able to get a coherent thought out, the break room door swung open and jimmy bounded in, whistling obliviously. “oh, hey guys! perry’s looking for those corruption notes by the way, clark.”
clark nodded nervously in jimmy’s direction. “oh —! i’ll, uh, i’ll get those to him. right now.” he fled without another word, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
two months of this. two months of clark kent — your boyfriend, guy you were dating, something — avoiding anything remotely close to intimacy. you were getting impatient.
your knock on clark’s door that evening had the force of someone who’d waited exactly two months and seventeen minutes too long for this moment. inside, the sound of something clattering to the floor was followed by a muffled “coming!” that sounded suspiciously like it was pitched three octaves higher than clark’s normal speaking voice.
when the door swung open, clark stood before you in a button-down shirt that had clearly been ironed within an inch of its life, the faintest scent of slightly-burned garlic bread wafting behind him. his glasses were fogged, presumably from condensation during the cooking process, and his hair stuck slightly to his forehead.
“you’re right on time,” he said, then immediately winced at how expectant he sounded. “i mean — good! that you’re here. on time. or early, or —” he swallowed the rest of his sentence down, fingers flexing against the doorframe like he was physically trying to center himself. “uh, come in!”
from the kitchen, you heard the distinct sound of something boiling over.
clark’s head whipped around and he bolted to the kitchen, leaving the front door swinging in his wake.
by the time you followed him, clark was already engaged in a losing battle with a pot of violently bubbling marinara. his attempts to lift the lid resulted in a spectacular eruption of red sauce that splattered across his pristine white shirt. you couldn’t help but giggle.
clark’s ears burned crimson. “gosh,” he muttered, staring down at the carnage with a sorry expression. “i — i can clean this up and change. just give me a minute —”
“relax,” you smiled, already moving towards the hallway. “i’ll grab you something from your closet. your rooms just down here, right?”
clark made a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but you were already pushing his bedroom door open before he could complain. the evening city light slanted through the blinds, causing visible dust particles to permeate the air as you rummaged through clark’s closet for a shirt. in the midst of your search, your fingers brushed against something that was decidedly not fabric. it was smooth, slightly yielding, and tucked behind a stack of neatly folded sweaters. maybe a camera lens? a bottle of something strong that clark didn’t want you to see? curious, you pulled it out, blinking at the object in your hands.
it was unmistakable; clear silicone wrapped in a plastic casing with a particularly lewd-shaped opening. you couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. clark kent, the boy who was often too scared to even touch you, owned a fleshlight.
from the kitchen, the frantic clatter of pots and pans had ceased. a beat of silence passed before clark’s voice, strained with panic, called out, “uh, did you find something? anything? because i, uh, really need to organize the closet. it’s probably hard to find anything in there at all —”
clark appeared in the doorway, sauce-stained shirt half-unbuttoned in his haste. his gaze locked to the item in your hands, and his entire body went rigid.
“that,” he squeaked, “is — that’s not — jimmy gave it to me! as a joke! a very unfunny, inappropriate joke that i was going to throw out, i swear —”
you tilted your head, running a thumb along the smooth silicone. “jimmy, huh?”
clark’s hands flapped uselessly at his sides. “yes! absolutely. one hundred percent jimmy. you know he has a terrible sense of humor. it’s awful. the worst.”
a drop of marinara slid from clark’s shirt and landed on the hardwood floor with a soft plop as you turned the toy over in your hands. the silence stretched.
“mhm.” you took a step closer, watching the way his breath hitched when you tapped the toy against your palm. “and you haven’t used it?”
clark hiccuped out a whimper, his adams apple bobbing violently. “i — i wouldn’t!”
“wouldn’t you?” your smile curled as you backed clark against the wall. “it’d be a shame to let a gift go to waste.”
clark’s knees nearly buckled, his eyes darting between your face and the fleshlight like a deer in headlights. “i — i should really check on the pasta,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. his attempt to sidestep was thwarted by your foot sliding between his, effectively caging him against the wall.
you clicked your tongue. “ah ah, i’m not done,” you hummed. “tell me something, smallville,” you pointed the toy at him, “you ever think about me when you use this?”
clark could only manage a strangled, “that’s — that’s not —!”
you waited patiently for a response. the silence echoed throughout the room until clark’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “… once,” he admitted in a quiet whisper, “maybe twice.”
“take your shirt off,” you spoke plainly, tapping the toy against your palm again. “and go turn off the stove before your apartment burns down.”
clark immediately began to fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. “look, i swear i was going to throw it away after the first time, it’s just —”
the distant hiss of boiling water interrupted his spiraling. with a yelp, clark threw his shirt off and ran to the kitchen. you followed behind him at a casual pace, marveling as clark stood stiffly upon turning the stove off, his bare shoulders tensed as he gripped the edge of the counter. his reflection warped in the stainless steel microwave door in an image of flushed cheeks and thoroughly mussed hair. you leaned against the fridge, rolling the silicone toy between your fingers as you waited for the pasta water to gurgle its last bubbles.
“can we —” his voice cracked. he refused to look at you. “can we pretend you never found that?”
“clark,” you sighed, you voice intentionally light. “you’ve had this,” you gave the toy a little shake, “for how long? a month? two?”
“um,” he couldn’t muster an answer.
“and yet,” you continued, standing straight in front of him now, “you haven’t even tried to kiss me properly, let alone get me in bed.”
“i didn’t want to… presume.” clark focused intently on a singular tile on the kitchen floor. he shifted his weight, his face and neck flushed.
“presume?” you stepped close enough to see the hairs on his neck sticking up. “clark kent, reporter extraordinaire, scared to make assumptions?”
he made a sound like a deflating balloon. “that’s completely unrelated —”
“you know what i think?” you mused, “i think you should show me exactly how this works.”
clark’s hands flew up; whether it was to touch you or to grab the toy from your hands, even he didn’t know. you traced the rim of the silicone opening, watching his pupils dilate behind smudged lenses.
“you liked thinking about me when you used this,” you murmured. “imagine how much better it’ll feel with me actually here.” you paused, holding the toy out for a moment as if to allow clark to grab it before you deliberately pulled it back. “unless… you’d rather i guess how it’s used?”
clark whined in response, pouting at your suggestion. “i —” his voice cracked spectacularly, “the — the instructions are pretty simple?” he voiced it as a question, clearly embarrassed.
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “oh, smallville,” you sighed, teasingly tapping the plastic sleeve of the toy against his bicep. “you’re funny.”
with a firm grip on clark’s wrist (as if he couldn’t easily free himself from your grasp), you tugged him toward the hallway. clark stumbled after you, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly to be casual. he shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, nearly tripping over a crack in the floorboards when you stopped abruptly at his bedroom.
fleshlight still gripped in one hand, you sat on the edge of clark’s bed. “sit,” you instructed, tone soft but leaving no room for argument.
clark sank gracelessly beside you, his hands fiddling awkwardly in his lap. the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting you just slightly toward him. you placed the toy onto the mattress between you. clark could do nothing but watch, transfixed.
“tell me how you like it,” you spoke in a tone so casual that you might as well have been asking clark about his sandwich preferences. “slow? fast?” there was a beat before you continued, quieter now, “lots of lube, i imagine.”
clark covered up a whine with a cough, his fingers digging into his palms. “it’s not —!”
“not what? not enjoyable? not good?” you clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “jimmy’s gonna be crushed.”
his head bowed. “no! i mean — it’s not — it works fine. it’s just…” his eyes screwed shut. “… embarrassing.”
with a hum, you picked the toy back up and placed it into clark’s hands, closing his fingers around it. “that’s it. good.”
a small tremor ran through clark’s form, his knuckles turning white around the plastic as his eyes slowly blinked open. then, with a shuddering exhale, he whispered a small “okay.”
the word was so soft that you almost missed it. you rewarded him with a slow smile, trailing two fingers along his bare forearm just to watch the goosebumps rise in their wake. there was something truly delicious about watching a man built like a brick wall melt like this. you leaned back slightly, giving him some semblance of space.
a long moment of silence passed between you as clark made no effort to move. “don’t mind me,” you cooed, your voice smooth with anticipation. you waited patiently, smirking as you watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“… lube…” clark muttered under his breath, his cheeks red.
you blinked. “hm?”
clark only ducked his head further, voice barely above a whisper. “i, uh, need lube.”
you giggled; clark was asking you for help because he couldn’t bring himself to move. cute.
you watched him with undisguised interest, the corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “where do you keep it?” your voice was low, amused. clark’s eyes darted toward the nightstand.
you reached over, pulling the drawer open with a deliberate sense of slowness. inside was a mess of pens, loose change, and there it was — a plastic bottle tucked discreetly beneath a folded receipt.
clark’s hand shot out, snatching the bottle from your fingers before you could fully grasp it. his eyes flickered in frantic embarrassment as he held the small bottle in his grip. now with the bottle clenched in one hand and the toy in the other, clark looked over at you, his eyes glassy as he seemingly waited for your instruction.
“looks like your hands are full, smallville. need some help?” you gestured, your hand landing on clark’s thigh. the contact made him jolt, his breath catching under your touch. “it’s a yes or no question, clark,” you teased, tracing idle circles on his skin.
clark’s hands, still clutching the lube and toy, moved slowly from their spot covering the bulge in his pants, causing clark to whine at the sudden exposure. his eyes darted to yours for the briefest second before skittering away again, but not fast enough to hide the spark of nervous anticipation.
your hand gravitated towards the waistband of clark’s trousers, his breath stuttering as you hooked an eager finger into the metal tab of his zipper; the quiet click of the zipper teeth separating seemed absurdly loud in the stillness of the room. clark’s chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as you eased the zipper down. when your knuckles brushed against his bulge through the fabric, clark made a choked noise that he attempted to play off as a cough.
after finally undoing the button of his pants, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “you’re doing so well,” you murmured, reveling in the way clark’s entire body shuddered at the praise. your fingers lingered at his waistband for a moment before withdrawing, your hands settling back against the mattress with an expectant tilt of your head. “your turn,” you nodded toward the objects clutched in his grip.
clark swallowed hard enough to make his throat click. he twisted the lube bottle open with trembling fingers, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch a thin stream of lube pour into the toy’s opening. the strain in his boxers began to ache as he swiped at the excess lube accumulating at the entrance of the fleshlight with his thumb, smearing it across the silicone pussy in a way that made his head fuzzy.
“is it — can i —” clark whined, his throat dry.
you gently plucked the lube bottle from his hand, placing it on the bedside table. “use your words, clark.”
he inhaled sharply through his nose, the flush of his cheeks deepening. “can i… can i take it out?” the question came out strangled, like he was confessing to a crime rather than asking for permission to pull his dick out of his underwear.
you gave him a slow nod, humming in approval. clark’s fingers quivered as they hooked under the waistband of his boxers, hesitating for a fraction of a second before finally tugging them down just enough to free himself. the moment his length sprang free, his breath hitched — partly from relief, but mostly from sheer mortification as your gaze dropped to take him in.
and oh, there was plenty to take in. thick, undoubtedly heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, you mused as a bead of precum glistened at his slit. his thighs tensed under your scrutiny, his hips twitching as if he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“oh, clark,” you let out a low, appreciative hum. “look at you, all worked up just from me looking at you.”
clark whimpered, high and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as he wordlessly begged for friction. his face burned hot as he choked out a stuttered “please.”
you let your fingertips brush against his outer thigh, your touch featherlight. “easy, big guy.” you soothed, though your voice was anything but gentle. he made another strangled sound, his length bouncing against his stomach in response. “aw, does that do something for you, clark? me praising your cock?”
“you — you know it does,” he managed, voice small.
your fingers trailed up his thigh before you pulled them away, causing clark to let out a small sound in protest. “hmm,” you tapped a finger against your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “you sure you can even fit in that thing?” you whispered, “looks like a tight squeeze.”
clark flushed a shade darker, his head snapping up. “i do —!” he blurted out indignantly.
you had to fight back a smirk. “prove it, then.”
he exhaled shakily in response, adjusting his grip on the toy as his other hand hovered uncertainly over his length. he hesitated, then let out a stuttered breath as he finally wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a tentative stroke. his hips jerked into his own touch, a quiet whine escaping him. with shaky hands, he guided the toy towards his tip, the slicked silicone dripping lube onto his cock. clark’s legs tensed, his brows knitting together as he pushed the toy down, the tight resistance making his breath come in short, uneven bursts.
you watched, rapt, as he worked himself slowly into the toy inch by inch, his entire body shuddering with the effort. the resistance built steadily as clark worked the toy down his cock, and once you saw through the clear plastic that he had reached the halfway point, his hips stuttered involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping his throat.
“it’s — it’s tighter than i — oh god — remember,” his biceps flexed as he tried to push deeper, the silicone stretching obscenely around him. the sight alone was absolutely pornographic. clark’s eyes glazed over.
“doing so well,” you hummed, scooting a bit closer to him on the edge of the bed. “you got it, baby.”
clark let out a shuddering exhale, his grip on the toy adjusting slightly. his thighs trembled as he tried angling himself differently, the tip of his cock catching against the tight interior.
“i can — haah — usually —” he cut himself off with another whine as he forced himself to sit still. “it fits. it does, i swear.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. his breathing slowed marginally, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to let the toy slide another fraction of an inch downward. a punched-out whimper left clark’s lips.
“that’s it,” you praised, watching the way his eyelashes fluttered at your words. “look at you, taking it so patiently.”
clark’s cock twitched visibly inside the toy, your praise urging clark to finally lower the toy the rest of the way so he was buried to the hilt inside it.
“s’too much,” he slurred, his voice thick with embarrassment and pleasure. “feels — nngh — so different with you watching.”
you hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward just enough to cover clark’s hand on the toy for a moment before pulling away. “different good or different bad?”
clark’s reply came out in a rush: “good. so good. please —” he cut himself off abruptly, biting his lower lip hard as the words threatened to fall out.
you smiled, watching him squirm for a second before speaking, “please what, clark? cmon, use your words.”
he whined high in his throat, his hips making abortive little thrusts into the toy. “want —” his voice cracked pathetically. “please keep talking. please.” the toy made a squelching noise as clark shifted slightly, the sound obscenely loud in the room. clark froze, humiliation flashing across his face before dissolving into a desperate whine.
“good boy,” you dragged the words out, slow and syrupy. “such a sweet boy, holding still for me… you wanna move, baby?”
clark made a choked sound, his hips twitching before stilling again, willing himself to wait for your permission. the toy gave another wet, sticky noise that caused clark’s breath to come in shallow puffs. “yes… please,” his voice was small and warbled.
“go ahead, baby. fuck your toy for me.”
clark’s movement was tentative at first, the slick drag of the silicone paired with desperate little thrusts causing his rhythm to be terribly clumsy. “that’s it, just like that,” you coaxed, delighting in the way he whimpered hopelessly at the praise.
he continued working himself for a few more moments before it happened — one particularly enthusiastic pull, a choked-off whine, and suddenly the toy popped free with a wet plop. clark let out a soft sob as the sudden loss of pressure left his cock twitching in the air, flushed and glistening.
for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the toy in his hand. he let out a soft, frustrated humph. “that doesn’t usually happen,” he tried to justify himself, the apple of his throat bobbing wildly.
you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and fond as you reached out to cup his knee. “aw, too excited to hold onto it properly?” the teasing lift of your voice made him whimper, his cock throbbing. “poor thing,” you mewled, shifting closer on the bed until your knee brushed against his thigh. “looks like you might need a little help, big guy.”
clark’s grip on the toy tightened reflexively, then loosened as he considered the idea. “i can — i can try again —"
you tsked softly, reaching out to take the toy from his trembling fingers. the plastic was warm from his grip, and you made a show of examining it, turning it over in your hands while clark watched, wide-eyed and breathless.
“mm, no,” you said finally, your voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “i think we both know you’re a little too worked up to manage it on your own right now.” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly down clark’s body before meeting his eyes again.
clark’s breath hitched audibly under your gaze. his cock leaked a small puddle of precum against his stomach, and he looked utterly wrecked; his hair slightly damp, his lips bitten pink. so desperate and pliant for you.
you continued fiddling with the toy in your hands as clark swallowed, forcing out another barely-there “please.”
clark let out a moan that could only be described as pathetic as your fingers finally curled around his weeping length with a purposeful slowness. his cock throbbed instinctively in your hand before his voice broke in apology.
“easy, clark,” you soothed, your thumb briefly brushing over the slick head of his cock. “i’ve got you.” you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke before you brought the toy back to his tip, sliding the slit against him to spread the lube along his cock.
clark’s fingers twisted into the sheets beside him as he struggled to figure out what else to do with his hands. he watched intently as you eased him back into the toy, applying gentle pressure.
“look at you,” you breathed, “so eager…” the resistance became tighter as you watched the toy swallow him back up.
a high, keening noise escaped clark’s throat as he bottomed out once more, the feeling increasingly dizzying due to you being the one controlling the fleshlight.
you gave the toy a slow glide upwards, watching clark’s entire body shudder as you pulled it nearly all the way off him before pressing down again, not quite as gently this time.
“you’re —” he whimpered as you stoked him again, “you’re moving it differently than i — gosh — than i do.”
with a giggle, you twisted the toy slightly on the next stroke to see him jolt. “yeah? you like it, baby?” clark made a strangled noise of protest that you took as answer enough, your free hand skating up his thigh just to feel the way his muscles jumped under your touch. the toy made loud, slick noises with every movement now, and clark’s mouth had fallen open without him realizing, little desperate whines escaping between ragged breaths. “tell me what you imagine when you use this, clark,” you ordered softly, slowing your movements a bit to watch his face scrunch.
clark fought to keep his eyes open, a high and desperate whine building in his throat. “you — you — riding me,” he keened once more.
you rewarded him with a faster pace. “yeah? and what do i say to you, baby?”
clark’s head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat. “that i’m good,” he whimpered, = “that i fill you up so nice —”
you crooned, twisting the toy once more. “mm, you imagine me bouncing on your pretty cock?” you punctuated the words with a firm stroke, hearing his breath stutter audibly. “filling me up so much that you can see your cock bulging from my tummy?”
clark’s hips jerked violently up into the toy with a wet slap, his entire body tensed. his cock pulsed visibly inside the clear silicone, a strangled moan cascading from his lips. “gonna — nnh — can’t —” his words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as his stomach muscles clenched, his knuckles white as he willed his body to hold back.
“such a pretty boy, clark,” you rested your chin on his shoulder as you continued stroking, “all worked up just from my voice. you close already?”
clark sobbed as he attempted to fight the building pressure. “please, please,” he gasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “too much, too good.”
his hips arched slightly off the bed as you sped up. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” you teased, “gonna be a good boy and let me see you make a mess in your toy?”
clark panted raggedly as he frantically nodded, too far gone to form coherent sentences. his cock pulsed again, the flushed tip leaking against the slick interior of the toy. his toes curled, thighs trembling violently as he teetered on the edge of release.
you gave him one last slow, deliberate drag of the toy, your thumb pressing lightly against the base of his cock just to hear him whimper from the feeling of your skin on his. “go on,” you coaxed, your voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “let go for me. been such a good boy.”
clark came with a broken cry, his hips jerking helplessly as pleasure wracked through him. he canted his hips up to meet the toy halfway as you stroked him, his release spilling into the silicone in thick pulses. his lips parted around shallow, gasping breaths as he blinked up at the ceiling. he whispered soft ‘thank you’s when the aftershocks began to hit him.
when clark gasped in oversensitivity, you eased the toy off him with a soft, wet sound, setting it aside before pressing a soft kiss to his temple and nuzzling against his sweat-damp hair. “there you go,” you hummed, “did so good for me.”
clark let out a soft, contented noise as he caught his breath. “maybe next time i’ll let you feel the real thing,” you teased after a long moment of silence. he opened his mouth — probably to stammer out some flustered objection again — but you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could embarrass himself further. you patted his thigh sympathetically. “so, you said you have a bunch of takeout menus around here somewhere?”
clark blinked hazily, his post-orgasm haze clearly still clinging to him. he practically slumped against you, breathing you in for a moment before he mustered up the strength to gesture vaguely towards the kitchen. “mmph… i’ll get them in a minute.”
Hiiii again... I was thinking maybe tony wanting to talk to peter on the phone while him and reader are having sex, he begs her to stop but she just finds it so hot when he's trying to stay quiet.😗
-⭐
⭐️ anon with the banger 🫡
Quiet - Peter Parker x Fem!Reader (18+)
Note: 18+ as per usual around here 🤷🏻♀️😈
He can’t stop whining. He doesn’t mean to. You just feel so fucking good. You always do.
His hands lay open-palmed against your thighs, scared to grasp and leave bruises. He desperately wants to keep his eyes open to look at you straddling his waist, bouncing up and down on his hard cock, but he can’t help but squeeze them shut, overwhelmed with how good everything is.
Your skin on his is sending him into overdrive. His senses are usually at 100% thanks to that spider that bit him, but with you, he feels like he’s computing at 200.
Your hands rest on his chest, grasping for leverage as you ride him. He’s filling you perfectly, almost too big (again, thanks to that spider bite). On every thrust, his tip kisses your cervix, emitting a moan from him.
“You feel so good,” you can’t help but say, grinding your clit down on his pelvis when he’s fully sheathed.
Your wetness gathers on his skin and he moans at the smell of it swarming his nose. “Oh my god, keep doing that, please.”
You grind down again, warming his cock. Every jolt of your hips has his mouth agape. And you keep soaking his skin… god, he’s overwhelmed in the best way.
He’s getting close. You’re so warm and wet and you’re making those soft little sounds that tell him how good he’s doing.
“Baby,” he whimpers. “I’m close-“
Ring, ring, ring.
You stop moving, and Peter nearly lunges forward to get you to keep going. “Is that- who’s calling you?”
“Nobody. Don’t worry about it,” he shakes his head, hands grasping at your hips.
You look over, his ringtone still blaring. The name Mr. Stark 🤖 pops up on his screen.
“Okay, Peter, you gotta get that.”
“What? No, I’m not answering that. Please, keep going baby. I was so close!” He whines.
“Peter, it’s Tony.”
His eyes widen slightly, but for the first time, he doesn’t seem to care. “I’ll call back later.”
By this point, the first call dropped, a voicemail was left, and now Tony’s calling again.
“Peter, it must be important if he’s calling a second time.”
He throws his head back on the pillow, whining loudly. “Please, come on, please! I’ll call back later.”
You pick up his phone and hold it out to him. “Peter, answer it. Now.”
He stares at you. Eyes glancing down to where his cock is still throbbing inside of you. Then back up to you. He’s too scared to ask it - ‘are you gonna make me pull out?’
But you don’t move. Just relax on his lap, as if you aren’t stuffed full of Peter’s dick.
He takes the phone, sighs, and answers with a very high pitched, “Mr. Stark?”
“Hey kid, listen, some new upgrades to your suit coming in. I wouldn’t put the nano on until tomorrow. I don’t need you getting accidentally fried by a Bluetooth update-“
Peter looks like he wants to die. He’s too polite to hang up or to even interrupt, so he lays there, face scrunched up in frustration as he listens, using all of his strength not to thrust up into you.
He grabs at your hips with one hand, silently begging you to do something because he’s going crazy just being sucked into your heat like this.
He doesn’t expect you to actually do it.
You start grinding on him again, torturously slow, and he chokes on his breath. He coughs into the phone and you hear Tony on the other side: “you getting sick? If so, don’t come to the lab tomorrow. I don’t need that. I’ll send Happy instead.”
“No, Mr. Stark, I’m okay, promise,” he rasps out.
“Uh-huh, you sound like a chainsmoker. You better not be getting into all that. I don’t need to see headlines about SpiderMan smoking. Bad press for the company.”
You begin to bounce on him again, and he stifles a moan with another cough. His eyes are wide and begging, pleading for you to stop. His wish came true and now he’s seriously regretting it.
“No, Mr. Stark I’m not smoking. Just… swallowed some water wrong.”
“Oh… well, about that update-“
“Mr. Stark, sir, can we please talk about this later by any chance?” He interrupts, and you stop in surprise. Peter would never do that. But this Peter seems to be a little too cock drunk to think straight.
“Uh, no. It’s already 10. You’ve got class in the morning.”
“I know, Mr. Stark, but-“
“Don’t interrupt me kid, I’m trying to save your life. Don’t put the nano on while the suit is updating. Got it?”
You take Peter’s free hand and bring it to your clit. He can’t help it. The whine leaves his mouth as soon as he touches you.
There’s silence as Peter’s eyes shoot wide. As Tony goes silent on his end.
“Pete, what was that-“
Peter presses the ‘end call’ button and throws his phone across the room in an instant.
“Did you just hang up on him?” You can’t help your surprise, mouth gaping open.
“I don’t think I’m ever answering a call from him again.”
“I don’t think he’ll ever call again after what he just heard.”
“Don’t say that,” he whines before lunging forward to sit up.
You yelp as his arms wrap around your waist. He immediately uses his strength to pull you up off his cock before lowering you back down.
“I couldn’t think straight,” he admits, panting. “All I could smell was you. And you’re sitting on top of me, looking at me like that. Fuck, and you’re so tight.”
He pistons into you, fast and hard, desperate for his release that’s been pushed away for too long. His mouth attaches to your shoulder, sucking and licking marks into your skin to stop his incessant moaning.
“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close. I swear to god if you stop again,” he whines.
The room fills with the sounds of sex - skin slapping skin, Peter’s high pitched moans and your soft sighs.
His breath fans hot across your face as his hips stutter. His abs clench against your stomach, and he moans loud as he cums. His whole body tenses and then quickly relaxes under your soft touch. Your fingers rake through his curls, scratching at the nape of his neck.
He finally pulls away enough to look up at you. “That was insane. I came so hard.”
“Maybe holding you off for a little bit helped,” you tease, tucking his hair out of his face.
Then realization strikes. His face pales. Eyes widen. “Oh my god. Oh my god! Mr. Stark heard me moan over the phone!”
❕spoilers❕c/w: pet names, pathetic rafe, dom reader, blowjob, age gap, teasing, unprotected sex, name calling, degradation, sneaking around, multiple orgasms (premature) + first time together
4.1K words
a/n: this can be read without Part 1 + Part 2. All you need to know is that Rafe broke into your house after you left for a date with another man. While he was waiting for you to get back, security caught him and tied him to a chair after he insisted to the officer that he was your son’s best friend. After shamelessly teasing him all tied up, you cut him loose and tell him “goodnight”… but there’s no chance he’s leaving.
“Fuck,” he breathes, half a laugh, half disbelief, as his eyes drag over you.
The slow rise and fall of your body beneath him. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe. His gaze dips lower, dragging over every inch of you.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, soft and disbelieving that this moment’s finally his.
Your hands come up, resting against his chest, and he sucks in a breath at the contact, muscles tightening under your palms.
“Touching me,” he mutters, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth as he leans down, brushing his lips against yours. “Feels too damn good to have your hands on me. You know that?”
He kisses you slowly, savoring it, like he’s been thinking about this exact moment since he first saw you, smiling into it when he feels your back arch off the mattress, breasts pressing into his strong chest.
“You were playin’ too hard to get,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low and taunting. “I know you want me. You love fuckin’ with me.” His words vibrate against your lips, the hunger in them going straight through you. “You always do this shit—act like you don’t want me when I know you do.”
Your hands wrap around him, nails sliding down his back, dragging just enough to make his breath hitch. Biting his lip, shamelessly looking over his shoulder, praying for a mark.
You chuckle knowingly, your silence in this moment killing him, your body language giving him just enough to let him know he might be onto something.
He lets out a quiet breath through his nose, already worked up. “Unbelievable, baby,” he huffs, leaning back just enough to look at you again, eyes drinking you in. “You set up that room for me, didn’t you?”
Your brow lifts and you bite your cheek, trying not to smile but he looks too fucking proud.
“Knew it.”
His hand slides up your side again, slower this time, fingers splaying against your ribs. His body is hot against yours, his long, thick cock heavy against you.
“You didn’t want me stayin’ away,” he goes on, voice dropping, quieter now but no less sure of himself. “Just tell me what you want from me, yeah? What do you get from bein’ difficult?”
He lifts himself off you just enough to center himself over your body, resting his length right over your clit, his tip resting just below your navel, precum dripping with a roll of his hips.
“You wanted me to break in,” he adds, watching your restraint slip for a second, the friction turning delicious between your thighs. “Wanted me losin’ my mind over you.”
He leans in, lips hovering over yours, pulling back right before your lips meet. You look down at the slight space between you just enough to catch the smug smile painted on his lips when he catches that little crack in your composure.
“You want me takin’ care of you,” he mutters. “Treatin’ you right—”
He cuts himself off with a breath when you drive your heels into the mattress, matching his movements as you grind up into him, catching his gaze after a moment with that same shit-eating smile on your lip.
“You want me right here,” he goes on, quieter now, his words a little shaky with your added effort. “Got me up here, got me on your bed—”
His grip tightens at your waist.
“Right where you want me,” he adds. “Such a fuckin’ slut for me—”
He swallows hard when your hand comes around, finger tracing his sharp jaw, guiding his eyes on you like they’d be anywhere else.
“You talk a lot when you’re nervous,” you breathe.
He recovers quickly and scoffs. “Nah,” he huffs, that frat-boy bravado that you’ve watched him carry for weeks bleeding through his nervousness. “You don’t think I can handle you.”
“You sound desperate, Rafe.”
“I am. So are you—“
“Bullshit,” you giggle meanly. “And I’m the slut? Breakin’ into a house in a gated community for pussy?”
“Your pussy—all mine if I’m lucky,” he smirks against your lips, voice low, almost vibrating with it. “Make you feel so good you forget all that shit you were sayin’—”
He kisses your lips again, groaning against your mouth when his throbbing tip catches your skin just right.
“Tell me you set that up for me. I’m not playing, alright? Say it.”
“You think I clean my own house?” You ask, light and amused.
“Think you walked your fine ass down there and left it for me.”
“God, you’re cocky—”
“Most beautiful woman in the world givin’ me a free show and watching me stroke my shit, tying me to a chair and throatin’ me when she could be in bed with an asshole who doesn’t even know what kind of flowers are her favorite. Sorry, if I’m a little cocky.”
“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.
“Not even close,” he mumbles. “And you don’t need five guys… you’ve got me. You don’t need anyone else.”
He lingers there another second before shifting over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other drags down his body, squeezing around the base of his cock.
He drags the length of him slowly—testing your entrance with the thick head of his dick, teasing you as he swirls his tip through your wetness.
“Nobody wants you as bad as I do,” he mumbles, words brushing your mouth, slipping between kisses. “Nobody.”
Your lips fall open as he pushes in slightly, your body stretching, squeezing around him. “Shit,” you gasp, looking at the place between your bodies, his muscles physically trembling as he takes his time, working himself deeper.
“You’re really—Fuck…” He moans, deep and drawn out. “You feel so, so good—” Your whimper cuts him off as he gives you every inch—impossibly deep, achingly thick, curved so perfectly that your eyes roll back and your toes curl.
His shoulders go rigid, breath catching in his throat as his head dips forward just slightly. His eyes squeeze shut, his lip caught between his teeth.
And silence.
His grip tightens around you. You tilt your head just enough, watching him from the corner of your eye, taking it in.
His chest rises too fast now, jaw clenched so tight it almost looks painful. Completely frozen above you.
“…Rafe?”
His eyes flutter open for half a second before he forces them shut again, like he doesn’t want you to see it—doesn’t want you to know.
“Yeah,” he breathes, the word trembling past his lips. “Yeah, baby.”
You look at him, lips curving slightly, voice just as calm as it was before. “…You didn’t.”
His head shakes immediately, eyes pinched shut. “No—of—of course I didn’t.” The stutter gives him away more than anything else. You let out a soft, breathy giggle.
Color floods his cheeks fast, spreading down his neck, his cock still throbbing inside you so you tighten your body, squeezing around him just enough to have him hissing out a breath.
He mutters something, low and frustrated, dropping his head between you, watching as his cum-slicked length pulls out just slightly, wetness glistening between your bodies.
You can see it in the way his shoulders fall, disappointment practically radiating off him, unable to even look back at you.
Your hands come up anyway, cupping his face, guiding him back to you when he tries to stay turned away.
“Rafe,” you breathe, softening your tone into honesty, not wanting to bruise his ego anymore because you can just tell this is not how he planned on this going—clearly. “Look at me.”
He exhales through his nose, resisting for half a second before his eyes finally rest on yours.
Every muscle in his body’s pulled tight, chest still rising too fast, skin dewy with sweat that catches along his shoulders and collarbones. His bangs are damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, chain hanging loosely, brushing against your bare skin.
You pull him down to your lips and he folds into it instantly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your mouth, voice rough with embarrassment. He says it like it physically hurts to admit it.
Your fingers drift into his hair, scratching into the nape. He whimpers into your mouth when your tongue slides in, rolling slow, lips soft against your own.
“Get on your back.” You hum between kisses, feeling his breath catch against your kiss.
“Seriously?” He whispers against your mouth, smile curving against your lips.
“I only ask for what I want once.”
A quiet huff of a laugh slips out of him as he pulls out, arms wrapping around you. “Yeah,” he laughs breathlessly, smiling as he pulls you into another kiss.
One easy shift of his weight, those muscular arms tightening around you, and he rolls you over on the mattress until you land straddling him.
One hand presses into his chest to steady yourself as you settle fully over him. Your eyes drift lower—the chain around his throat, the heavy rise and fall of his chest, his tanned skin dewy and catching the light as you trace the deep ridge between his stomach muscles.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, your knees dipping into the mattress as you go just low enough that your breath ghosts over his tip, making goosebumps fan across his body, big hands gripping at the sheets.
The veins in his length throb, his cum still messy over his hard skin as you lay out your tongue, running it up along the side, watching his lips fall open and his brows pull together.
“I’m dreaming,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”
His grip tightens in the sheets as you wrap your lips around him, taking him deep in your throat, tasting the two of you together, swirling your tongue to the top.
“Prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he adds, his voice going hoarse. “You know that?”
You release him from your mouth, cock wet and impossibly hard again, crawling to his lips. Your hand comes down, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing slowly along his bottom lip as it pulls into that lazy, dazed smile.
“Kinda knew that was gonna happen,” you whisper, hearing him curse under his breath as your other hand grips the base of his spit-slicked cock, teasing him with the wet warmth of your pussy.
“I can’t fuckin’ help it if you knew how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.” The words come out in a lust-laced mumble, his eyes moving between your face and the place where you tease his tip.
You let out a quiet chuckle, tilting your head just slightly as you watch him.
“Dream about cumming early?”
“—You’re so fuckin’ mean,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it, just a little pout and that smile that he can’t seem to wipe off when you drop back down on your knees, taking a little more of him.
Your thumb drags along his lip again, slower this time.
“You dream about me?” You whisper, leaning down, claiming his lips.
“All the damn time,” he admits.
“Feels good?” You ask as you drop another inch.
“So, so fucking good,” he sighs right away. “Yeah—”
Your hand falls to the mattress, holding yourself up just enough that he can watch you sink down on the last few inches.
“Oh my god,” he moans as his big hands set heavy on your body, resting on your hip, blunt nails digging in a little.
His head tips back, swallowing hard and thick as you sit up on top of him with his cock fully buried, your hands coming down to rest on his chest, his heart banging under your palm.
You start moving on him, slow at first, getting a rhythm, his biceps swelling as he follows each movement of your body.
“Baby.” He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, shaking his head like he can’t even process it. “Fuck… you’re really doing this.” His grip tightens on your hips. “Yeah—yeah, just like that—”
You pick up the pace and his eyes go wide, a sharp breath punching out of him as his hands tighten, his whole body jolting with it.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes, voice breaking. “You’re really good at this. I just… holy shit—”
You lean down over him, your chest pressing into his as your lips brush his ear, your breath warm, soft sounds of your pleasure filling his ear.
“Please—” He breathes, looking over your shoulder at the way your ass bounces on top of him. “Baby, c’mon,” he whimpers when you moan, the power you possess with simply the sounds you make enough to get him off, the sight of you, the feeling of your warm pussy wrapped around him, all of it too much.
“Feels so good,” you sigh.
“—Gonna fuckin’ cum,” he whines, and soft giggle slips out of you, right against his ear. His hands come down sharp against your ass. “Don’t—” he manages, voice strained, shaking now. “Stop. That laugh… This fucking body. I’m trying. I’m trying not to cum.”
“I want you too—”
“Fuck me,” he sobs as he cums again, a strangled sound tearing out of him, grip tightening, his head pressing back into the pillow, hips lifting off the mattress as you start to bounce on top of him, not giving him a second to breathe.
Your head falls back as he fights through it, grip tight, pounding up into you, refusing to stop. His name breathes past your lips in a moan, the sound that leaves you making his eyes flash open.
Your fingers wrap around his wrists, still clutching your hips, urging him to keep you right where you’re at, fucking up into you. “Right there,” you moan.
“Holy shit, baby—just like that, huh?” He mutters, voice rough but steadier, something cocky creeping back in. “Knew I could get you there.”
His eyes stay locked on your face like he’s starving for every little reaction, arms holding you right where you told him to keep you, even as pleasure takes over.
The pressure snaps all at once, your body fluttering around him as his name tumbles from your lips in a broken cry.
He reaches up, both hands coming to your face, pulling you down where he wants you, pressing his lips against your own. He’s smiling into it the second he feels you smile back.
His arms wrap around you, needing you closer, rolling you back onto your back, pinning you against the mattress under his weight.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes searching your face like he needs to know he got you there. And just like before, you bite your cheek, the corner of your mouth betraying you because you promised yourself you wouldn’t crack so fast—that you wouldn’t fold. But Rafe Cameron made that impossible.
“Ah, shit,” he laughs softly when he catches you slipping, your cheeks burning as you turn your face away. He grabs your cheeks anyway, guiding your attention back to him. Confidence rushes right back into him.
You chuckle under your breath, and he smiles warmly, dipping down to kiss you again. His nose nuzzles against yours, lips brushing slightly, humming happily under his breath.
“Told you,” he mumbles, just enough self-deprecation in his tone to laugh off the fact that he came twice before you did. “Told you I could take care of you.”
“Mhmm,” you hum, pouting your lips for a kiss that he takes.
He pulls back, looking down at you sweetly, the two of you coming down from it all together. He’s piecing it together too, in real time. You don’t seem like someone who lets people get this close.
Too busy. Too guarded. Used to doing everything yourself instead of letting someone figure you out like this.
But you let him.
You kept going until you were satisfied instead of settling for less. And he knows he got lucky.
His thumb keeps tracing absentminded circles against your waist like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—Bang!
“Mom!”
Rafe’s eyes snap to yours, the shift immediate, everything soft and dazed gone in a second, replaced with pure awareness. You both freeze as the knock echoes through the room, cutting through the haze.
“Fuck,” Rafe whispers, barely moving his lips as his best friend stands right outside the door. Your son knocks again, a little louder this time.
“Mom, I got kicked out of the bar,” he slurs. “But if anyone asks, I did exactly what they said. I just—It was nothing. It was… tone. It was a tone issue.”
“Baby—” Your hand comes up, covering Rafe’s mouth before he can get another word out, shushing him with the other finger.
“Also,” your son adds, the door handle rattling now, “we got hot sauce? I ordered a pizza and I’m not eatin’ that shit dry again. I got standards.”
Rafe snorts against your palm, immediately clocking the lie.
“And, Cameron says he’s sick,” he gossips from behind the door. “But that fat fuck’s gonna be up the second he smells pizza. We got any ranch?”
Rafe scoffs, peeling your hand off his lips. “I’m not fuckin’ fat—”
“Do not start,” you hiss, like that somehow needs clarifying.
“You got cash too?” Your son calls through the door. “Pizza place said they’re not comin’ by after the bar closes anymore unless I tip. Can you believe that?”
Rafe chuckles against your palm, lifting a judgmental brow. “I will actually kill you,” you whisper low and sharp.
He nods against your palm instantly, his widened eyes falling into a lusty daze like discipline from you is something that might be worth it.
“You got someone in there or some shit?”
“No!” Your voice breaks out, loud and shrill. “Sorry—I… I was asleep. Cash is in the safe. Just check the fridge for the rest.” Your body trembles with adrenaline, and Rafe feels it immediately, looking down at you like this wouldn’t be catastrophic for both of you if your son figured it out.
“Safe code?” Your son asks, and you let out a shaky breath, hands resting over your eyes as you blow it out slow.
“Your birthday, hun.”
“Awww,” both boys hum in unison, and you shoot Rafe a dirty look, threatening him with your gaze but he doesn’t fucking care now that he’s got you like this.
“Night, mom—”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” you say quickly, eyes pinching shut as you listen for those heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs.
You blow out a breath when you hear it, tension unwinding from your shoulders as your eyes lift to Rafe’s.
He already looks like he wants to speak, and you already know what he wants to say, but it’s not going to happen tonight.
Rafe leans in just enough that his mouth is close to your ear, his voice low so it doesn’t carry. “I know you’re gonna make me leave,” he whispers, “but can I come back?”
“Not tonight,” you say quietly.
His expression drops just a little, something soft and disappointed slipping through before he can cover it, like he knew that was the answer and still hoped you’d say something different.
“Tomorrow night… I’ll send you a car, alright?”
He blinks at you, the shift catching him off guard. “Fuck,” he exhales, smile pulling at his mouth. “Seriously?”
“You need to go,” you tell him, softer now but firm.
He just looks at you, tilting his head slightly, giving you that look—the look that could get him anything he wanted from you. The kind of look that melts you if you let it.
He catches your lips in another kiss, stretching out the moment for as long as he can, smiling into it when your fingers scratch into his hair and pull him closer like you don’t actually want him to leave—even though you’re the one telling him to.
“How am I supposed to leave?” He asks under his breath, like he’s stranded here, like he doesn’t have two perfectly working legs, like he didn’t break in in the first place.
You give him a look because he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He leans in again anyway, stealing another kiss, slower this time, like he’s got all damn night.
Your hand presses to his chest, pushing him back just enough to meet his eye. “You’re leaving out the window,” you tell him matter-of-factly. “Steps. Straight to the pool deck.”
He exhales dramatically, head dropping between his shoulders. “C’mon, baby,” he groans. “You got me sneakin’ outta here like a slut—”
“You are,” you cut him off with a taunting smile, and he scoffs, nodding in agreement.
“I mean, yeah… obviously,” he hums, his big hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb dragging along your bottom lip before he kisses you again.
“Rafe,” you warn quietly against his mouth when he still doesn’t move.
He chuckles at that, shaking his head even though he stays planted right where he is, all warm and smug between your legs like he belongs there now. You should probably hate how easy he is to keep around. Instead, you’re fighting a smile.
“I don’t wanna leave,” he admits, softer this time. “You’re being too nice to me.”
A small laugh slips out of you. “You want me to be mean?”
His eyes light up immediately, the corner of his mouth curling. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Yeah. You even gotta ask?”
“Shut up.”
“M’serious,” he whispers dramatically, chasing your mouth again. “Love when you boss me around. Yell at me, baby. Ruin my fuckin’ life.”
You shove at his chest again, trying not to laugh.
“Degrade the shit outta me, fuck I might cum again.”
“Twice wasn’t enough?”
He pins you down a little harder, smiling against your mouth. “You think I didn’t cum a third time when you did? When you said my name like that are you joking me—”
“Leave. Your car’s in the driveway. He knows you’re here already… don’t ruin this.”
“This?” He repeats instantly, hopeful in a way that catches you off guard. “Damn… you and me, huh?”
Heat creeps into your cheeks and you roll your eyes away from him, smiling despite yourself.
“Shit, you really like me, pretty,” he teases softly, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m flattered. Seriously.”
He starts kissing all over your face after that—your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your jaw—smiling when you laugh and try to push him off while he purposely drops more weight onto you.
“Maybe,” you whisper finally.
The cockiness slips just enough for you to see how badly he wanted that answer. He actually softens at that, like the word means more to him than it should. “I’ll take maybe,” he breathes, kissing you again, sealing it like a promise.
Your lips brush his one last time, giggling, the knowing kind that has him drawing back, wondering what you’re holding back.
“What?” He mumbles. “What are you laughin’ about, huh?”
You kiss him gently, nose nuzzling against his. “—You’re fired.”
He jerks back immediately. “What?”
“You’re… fired.”
“You’re fucking with me,” he says right away, but there’s something too real underneath it now. “Wait—seriously?” His eyes widen. “Baby, c’mon,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Was it the beer cart thing?”
You laugh, because honestly yeah, if he was anyone else, that would be a fireable offense, but you let him spiral nonetheless.
“I didn’t mean to roll the cart,” he defends instantly. “The path was fucked, alright? And that bridge is narrow as hell. It practically fell into the water on its own—”
“Rafe—”
“And honestly,” he keeps going, scrambling now, “the tanning thing was strategic. I wanted your attention.”
You stare back at him, giving him a look like you already know, and he’s not slick.
“What?” He says defensively. “It worked.”
Your eyes slide to his, the man grasping for straws in front of you.
“I can improve,” he insists. “I’ll stop showin’ up late.”
You lift a brow, because now he’s just being ridiculous.
“…Less late,” he corrects himself, “Please… I need this job.”
“Why?”
He looks at you like the answer’s obvious. “Cause you’re there, baby. Why else?”
“Can I speak?” You ask dryly.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Was the sex really that bad?”
You groan at his dramatics, cupping his face and dragging him back down to your mouth.
You kiss him deep enough to shut him up for a second. Deep enough that he melts into it completely.
“It was perfect,” you whisper against his lips.
He breathes out hard in relief, forehead dropping against yours. “Well, fuck.” You can practically see the gears turning in his head now. “I mean. I’m fired, I guess,” he mumbles. “But you already told me I’m comin’ over tomorrow, so—”
“So?” You tease.
“So I’m still employed… sexually.”
You scoff, immediately looking away so he doesn’t see you smile.
“And I’m comin’ over regardless. I’m good at breakin’ in,” he continues, still completely frazzled by the firing. “And you literally just told me I was perfect at fucking you, so honestly? You ain’t gettin’ rid of me.”
“Did I say that?”
“Holy shit,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re killing me.”
“Monday,” you say calmly, hands curling around the back of his neck. “My office. Top floor. Eight a.m. sharp.”
His brows pull together immediately. “Why?”
“Suit and tie.” He stares at you, completely lost. “You’re my assistant.”
I was thinking, reader founding a Fleshlight in his closet, he is so embarrassed thinking that she's gonna be mad. But the only thing on her head is to edge him with it
Anon, I am feasting on this idea 🍽️🍽️🍽️
This Didn’t Happen - Peter Parker x Fem!Reader (18+)
Note: smut ahead, 18+, get yall kids outta here
Peter thought his heart was going to explode. Either that or his head. Or maybe he’d get lucky and his whole body would just combust
He loved sharing space with you. Adored it. Having a dresser drawer full of your overnight stuff that he could open at any time and see that you considered his place a second home was one of his favorite things.
His space was your space. Well, his room really since it was May’s apartment. But he shared everything with you. His clothes, his tech, his food.
So of course he didn’t mind that you explored once in a while. Really, you were looking for a nice button down shirt for Peter to wear to a Stark Foundation fundraiser thing.
You’re flipping through his closet, which was an utter mess. Boxes stacked, clothes on the floor, barely anything on the hangers. There were more clothes on the ground, so it only made sense that you started digging through them.
“Literally all of your nice shirts are on the ground,” you rolled your eyes. Peter’s absentmindedly messing with his webshooters at his desk.
“They don’t stay on the hangers,” he reasoned.
“How does May let your closet look like this?”
“Uh… she doesn’t see it.”
“Uh huh.”
Peter could sense it. The way you stiffened in an instant, as if all your muscles locked up. The hair on his neck raised. What happened? Why were you instantly so on edge? It was just his closet. Was there a mouse in here? A big spider? He knows you don’t like those- oh.
Oh. No.
Peter can’t bring himself to look up. He knows what you’re looking at. He just knows.
Because he half ass threw it in there this morning before you came over, hiding it under a pile of clothes, thinking it’ll stay invisible because why would you go through his closet?
His face starts to get hot. His hands start to sweat. Maybe it’ll just go away. Maybe you’ll just put it back and pretend it never happened.
“Hey, Pete?”
Fuck
“Um- y-yeah, what’s up?”
Don’t look up. Whatever you do, don’t look up
Your eyes are burning holes in his head, but he stays glued to his webshooters, screwdriver in trembling hands
“What’s this?”
This is it. You’re gonna think he’s disgusting. You’re gonna be mad. There’s no way his girlfriend just found a goddamn fleshlight in his closet and isn’t mad.
He’s bracing himself for a reaction he’s terrified of. And with all the strength he has, he lifts his head to finally look at you.
And you’re… smiling?
Huh?
You’ve got a smirk on your face like you’ve just caught him in the act. But he doesn’t see any signs of anger or disappointment.
“It’s a - um… I-“
“You own a fleshlight?”
Hearing it out loud makes him flounder. “I- yes, but it’s not what you think- I haven’t even used it yet- I mean, I don’t have to use it - it was a stupid idea.”
“You haven’t used it? How long have you had it?”
He really doesn’t want to answer this question. “… two days.”
You let out a beaming laugh, and he lets himself relax just a bit.
“You wanna try it out?”
“… what?”
“You bought it. Don’t you wanna use it?” You reason, shrugging.
His mouth is dry, words caught in his throat. But he can still manage a nod.
And boy does he get a lot of use out of it.
He’s never used a toy like that before, so the first time you fist it over his hard cock, he’s a goner.
Mouth agape, moaning loudly as you pump it up and down at a snail’s pace.
He feels every ridge of the toy, how it catches the tip with every thrust, making him whine and whimper. His senses are naturally overloaded, and this is sending them into overdrive. The wet, sucking sounds are constantly pushing him towards the edge and the smell of silicon which is usually so small, is pungent in his nose, mixed with your perfume.
You barely even needed lube with how much precum he’s leaking
He cums hard and fast the first time you use it, not even allowing you any time to tease him.
But you learn for the next time.
It’s so easy to edge him with it. Pop it on, pump him fast and hard, and then when his legs start shaking and he’s pleading to come, pull it off and watch him bite his lips and groan.
You have to train him to last on it because of how fast he can finish. “If you can last, you get a reward,” is how you have to coax him to your goal. And all he wants to do it make you happy, so of course he tries his best. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he doesn’t.
I think it would be really cool nsfw 46, but changing a little bit, using a toy(Fleshlight) on rafe.
at your mercy
sub!rafe cameron x reader
content warnings: explicit sexual content, sex toys, orgasm denial, sub!rafe makes an appearance again 18+ MDNI
a/n: ou nonnie, i hope this meets your expectations!
come join my one year celebration! - requests are closed!
The humidity of the island’s night clung to your skin as you straddled Rafe's lap on his expensive leather couch from what was supposed to be a chill night in. His hands gripped your hips, possessive and demanding, as he ground against you. The scent of his woody cologne mixed with something uniquely him filled your senses.
"Rafe," you whispered against his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. "I wanna ask you something.”
Rafe, already drunken with lust, hummed as he rasped, “Yeah, baby?”
“Can I use a toy on you?"
He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes darkened with desire and threaded with that familiar stubbornness that clung to him like a second skin. "Nah," he said, his voice rough. "I don't need that shit."
You smirked, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "I dunno, Rafey, I think you'll change your mind."
He scoffed, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through you. "Not happening. I'm good. Trust me." His hands tightened on your hips, trying to reassert his control to guide the rhythm back to what he wants.
You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your own gaze challenging. "Are you sure about that? Because I have something new I think you'd really, really like."
"New?" His interest was piqued despite himself. You could see it in the slight dilation of his pupils, the way his grip loosened almost subtly. "What kind of ‘new’?"
You trailed a finger down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. "Something that'll make you feel so good, you'll forget we even had this conversation."
"Pretty sure you already do that on your own," Rafe laughed, but it sounded more strained than he’d anticipated. "With that pretty pussy o’ yours."
"Maybe," you conceded, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "But think how much better it could be."
He's quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours. "What is it?"
You smiled, knowing you'd finally reeled him in. "A little surprise. But I promise you'll like it."
He hesitated, that stubborn pride warring with his curiosity and desire. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Rafey," you murmured, nipping at his earlobe. "Where's your sense of adventure? Or are you scared?"
Rafe's back arches off the couch as you slide the fleshlight down his length. His hands, which had been pushing weakly at your shoulders just moments ago, now gripped the leather cushions beside him, knuckles white.
"Fuck—oh god," he gasped, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily. "I—I told yo- Fuck."
Your smile, wicked as ever, scared Rafe even through his pleasure while you continued to twist the toy slightly as you pumped it up and down his shaft. "But you're loving it, aren't you, Rafe? Look how hard you are."
A broken moan escaped his lips as you sped up your movements, his head thrown back against the couch and drenched by the same sweat that was beading on his forehead. The sight of him—a man who was so powerful and controlling, now completely at your mercy—sent a thrill through you.
"Please," he whimpered, his usual dominance now completely shattered. "Don't stop, baby..."
You slowed your movements deliberately, teasing him with shallow strokes that made him squirm beneath you. His eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide with lust, a faint blush creeping up his neck. The vulnerability in his expression contrasts sharply with his usual cocky demeanour.
"Look at you," you cooed, your voice low and husky. "Mister big, bad Rafe Cameron, completely undone by a little toy."
"Shut up," he groaned, but there's no heat in his words, only desperation. He tried to thrust deeper into the toy, seeking more friction, more pleasure, but with you hovering over him, you maintained control of the pace, driving him wild with need. It struck you then just how rare this was for him. Rafe always carried himself like he had something to prove, but here, beneath you, there was nothing guarded left in him.
"Or what?" you challenge, swirling your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock as it emerges from the toy. "You'll take over? Show me how it's done?"
His jaw clenched as he struggled between maintaining some semblance of control and surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure you're giving him. You could see the war in his eyes—the pride that's always been his shield battling against the raw desire from being controlled, coursing through him.
"God, you're so beautiful like this," you whispered, leaning down to press your lips along his jawline, mirroring all the times he’d been the one who’d taken the lead. "All vulnerable and needy for me."
"'M not needy," he insists, though his breathy tone betrays him. The admission clearly cost him something, even now, with pleasure pulling him apart piece by piece. When you twist the toy again, he cried out, his hips lifting off the couch and brushing against your thighs. "Fuck! Okay—okay, I need it. Is that what you want to hear?"
You smiled against his skin, while your free hand slid up his chest to feel his racing heart. "It's a start."
You increased your pace, watching as his composure unravelled completely. His moans grew louder and more desperate, filling the expensive living room that had probably only ever heard grunts from him. The fleshlight glided smoothly along his length, coated with his arousal, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge.
"Please, baby, please," he begged, his voice cracking. "I'm so close..."
“Hmmm, not yet.” You slowed down the pace again, drawing a frustrated groan from him. "I want to enjoy this a little longer." He glared at you, his expression showing more need and desperation.
"You're killing me."
"You'll survive," you teased, but you resumed a steady rhythm that had him writhing beneath you once more. His hands moved from the couch to your body, gripping your thighs, then sliding up to your ass, pulling you closer as if he could somehow merge with you.
And when you least expected it, he lifted himself up and instead captured your lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss that's all teeth, tongue, with the same hints of need that you’d been so drunk off of. You deepened the kiss as you quickened your strokes again, feeling his body tense beneath you.
"Come for me, Rafe," you whisper against his mouth. "Let go."
With a final, guttural moan, he did, his body convulsing as he spilled into the toy. You continued your movements, drawing out his orgasm until he's completely spent, collapsing back against the couch with a satisfied sigh. You gently removed the toy, setting it aside before lowering yourself onto his chest.
His arms went to immediately wrap around you, holding you close as his breathing gradually returned to normal. For all the bravado Rafe carried around like armour, moments like this always reminded you how touch-starved he really was. The smug teasing from earlier had vanished completely, replaced by something softer that he’d probably deny the second morning came.
Somewhere between the shared silence and lingering warmth, Rafe quipped, “Don’t I get aftercare now?”
synopsis: Sometimes, dating Adrian Chase means sneaking through basement windows because he really wants you to see his secret basement and really doesn't want you to meet his mom.
gif by @/chaseadrian
pairing: adrian chase x reader
tags: 18+!, smut, established relationship, (protected) sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, humor, fluff, quiet sex, hand gagging, mild sensory deprivation, not fully sub or fully dom adrian but a secret third thing, overstimulation, biting
word count: 5.8k
notes: brought to you by this request! title from the song "big dumb sex" by soundgarden which I firmly believe Adrian would like because it reminds him of all the glam metal songs about sex that Peacemaker likes but it has none of the subtext.
“Honestly, I’m kind of looking forward to meeting your mom!”
Adrian slammed on the brakes so hard you had to brace your hand against the dashboard, your seatbelt cutting tight across your skin. His eyes were wide, a grimace of pure panic on his lips.
“You can’t meet my mom!”
You blinked back at him. “Sorry?”
“There’s no fucking way you’re meeting my mom,” he said again, his tone firmer this time, but not any more elucidating than the last outburst.
“I don’t understand. Aren’t we going to your house?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“A house you live in with your mother?”
“Also yes.”
“Is she home?”
“Probably!”
“But I can’t meet her?”
“Fuck no!”
You stared back at your boyfriend who looked like he might throw up at any second. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. A blaring horn behind you made you nearly jump out of your skin, and when you looked in the rearview there was a line of cars held up behind you. Right. Because Adrian had stopped in the middle of a busy road. Adrian, however, suddenly no longer seemed to be in a rush to get home.
You put your hand on his forearm. “Ade, you gotta drive.”
“Okay,” he managed, voice a ragged whisper. He pried his foot off the gas and then proceeded to drive a blazing 25mph the entire rest of the way. You waited until the Seabring was parked on a cute, tree-lined neighborhood street to speak again.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m a little offended you don’t want me to meet your mom,” you said finally. Adrian laughed, doubling over so sharply you were afraid he was going to smack his face on the steering wheel.
“She’s the one who should be offended. She’s a total fucking bitch and I don’t want you to meet her because I don’t want her to, like, get her stupidness all over you.”
“Babe…” you breathed. “Respectfully, what the fuck?”
Adrian raked his hands over his face. “You don’t get it.”
“Okay. You’re right. I don’t think I get it,” you agreed. You laid a hand on his arm. “But, clearly it’s stressing you out. So, decision made, easy peasy!”
Adrian peeked at you from behind his hands. “Yeah?”
“Yeah! Although…” you hesitated to ask because you could only imagine you weren’t going to like the answer. “How are we going to get in without your mom finding out?”
“You’re lucky I love you,” you grumbled, wiggling in his grasp. “Your hand is so far up my ass I’m starting to feel like a puppet.”
“Just let go of the window sill!” Adrian hissed. “I’ve got you, I’m not going to let you fall.”
You groaned and finally relented, knowing for a fact that Adrian did not have you. But the boy was going to have to learn his lesson the hard way, you supposed. The two of you fell into a tangled heap, your elbow landing squarely in his ribs, his knee striking against your hip in a surge of pain, your forehead colliding with his chin.
“Ow fuck – ow, ow, fucking hell, Adrian,” you grumbled, trying to gain any sort of leverage, but your hands were sinking into some sort of fabric over and over again on either side of Adrian while he tried to get his hands in between you, making sure you weren’t injured.
“Sorry! Sorry, are you okay? Are you alright? Speak so I know you’re not concussed!” Adrian said, scrambling. You rolled your eyes and batted his hand away.
“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “That is not how you check for a concussion, by the way.”
“What…what is this?” you asked. Whatever it was groaned under your weight as you struggled to your knees. “Is this a futon? Why do you have a futon in your basement?”
You climbed off of him with a bit of difficulty before you turned your attention towards the rest of the basement. “What the f – ”
Adrian clapped a hand over your mouth from behind. He was blazingly warm against your back, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he was afraid you were going to run. You swayed slightly in his arms as you regained steady footing, your balance entirely thrown off by his sudden seizure of you. You nipped at his palm gently and he let you go. You turned to find his wide eyes focused on his slightly wet palm.
“Care to explain the drugs, Adrian?” you asked, this time managing to keep a lid on your volume.
He simply shrugged. “What do you mean? Where else would I put it?”
“Where did this all come from?” you asked, turning to look at it all again – pallets of drugs (was that fucking cocaine?) and what had to be millions of dollars, carefully banded and stacked in various places. You reached out to run your hand across the money but Adrian batted your hand away.
“That’s blood money, don’t touch it!”
“Where did all this come from, Adrian?”
“What, you think I’d just leave drugs and cash at crime scenes where anyone could take it? Like corrupt fucking police? Absolutely not,” he asserted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t believe you think I should let the cops have all this.”
“I never said that, Adrian!” you exclaimed. “First and foremost, fuck the police – ”
“Fuck the police,” Adrian agreed with a thoughtful nod.
“Secondly! I just can’t believe you never told me about this! I thought that we tell each other everything? I mean, you told me you were Vigilante on our first date.”
“Second date.”
“Adrian, we’ve been over this, having sex after a first date does not count as a second date.”
“Agree to disagree.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “And it’s not my fault your pussy is like my personal truth serum.”
“Adrian…”
His face contorted. “What, is that a weird thing to say?”
“It’s not really a normal thing…”
“Whatever,” he pouted. “You don’t get it.”
“Come on, Ade, you were so excited to show me your basement. So give me the grand tour.”
“Fine,” he huffed. He crossed to a workbench and gestured at it vaguely. “These are my power tools. Over there is my wall of chemicals. Tour concluded.”
“Adrian,” you groaned.
“What?” he snipped. “You wanted the tour – there it is!”
“I cannot believe you made me shimmy through a window for that.”
“Yeah, well, sorry it’s disappointing.” It was said in a way in which you knew he was not sorry at all. He was being petulant.
“It’s not disappointing, it's just…a lot for me to take in. I’m very interested in it!”
“Uh huh,” Adrian mumbled, mindlessly thumbing through what appeared to be a box full of pocket knives?
Well, you could be petulant too.
“Fine!” you proclaimed, hands on your hips. Adrian rolled his eyes and you bit back a grin before climbing up onto the futon.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going back out the window,” you explained with a nonchalant glance over your shoulder at him. He was looking up at you with those big eyes of his and you almost caved instantly. It would be so easy to climb down, wrap your arms around him, kiss the grumpiness right off of his handsome face. But you liked teasing him so much more.
So you stretched up, desperately trying to hook your fingers into the windowsill that was just out of reach.
“You’re not going to be able to reach that,” Adrian said matter-of-factly.
“Watch me,” you countered, wedging your tongue between your teeth as you tried to will yourself taller out of pure spite.
“Do you think you’re magically going to get taller or…?” Adrian asked like he could read your goddamn mind.
“Be quiet, Adrian, I’m concentrating,” you snipped back. You rolled up onto your tiptoes but the physics of standing on a soft surface made that change negligible. You dropped your arms down with a huff and jumped off the futon.
“Okay, I’m using the door!”
“What?” Adrian gasped, lunging for you as you feinted towards the basement door. You laughed in delight as he grabbed you by the waist and yanked you backwards onto the futon, pinning you beneath him.
“Oh no! You caught me!” you wheezed out, all the air knocked out of your lungs.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Were you really going to go out the door?”
“Well, well, look at the situation we find ourselves in,” you commented drily, ignoring the question, batting your eyelashes at Adrian.
“If you don’t answer my questions just know I know a lot of really effective torture techniques,” Adrian said lowly, a familiar hunger already creeping into his expression. You ran your fingers through his curls, dragging your nails against his scalp. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Me? Never,” you murmured. He shivered against you and you gave his hair a testing pull. His mouth dropped open slightly and you took the opportunity to sweep your tongue across his lower lip. He whimpered into your mouth as his hips rolled against yours instinctively.
“Someone’s eager,” you assessed, grasping at his shirt and trying to untuck it from his jeans. “What did it, the puppet thing? Threatening to torture me? Tackling me onto your weird sex futon?”
“It is not a weird sex futon! Just a regular futon!” Adrian laughed against your neck and then winced. “Stop making me laugh, I can feel it in my dick.”
You hooked a leg over his hip. “Then maybe you ought to do something with that dick of yours.”
“I really want to have sex with you right now,” Adrian began.
“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming – ”
“Butts can’t come,” Adrian snickered. Then he shook his head like a hapless puppy, his curls tossing about. God he was such a dork sometimes. But he was your dork. “Though, I do sometimes feel like I could come just by looking at yours.”
You narrowed your gaze at him despite how adorably stupid he was being. “Just say it, Adrian. Why can’t we have sex right now?”
“The thing is…you’re kind of loud?” Adrian said with a wince. Then his eyebrows lifted. “And I love that about you. I love how loud you are. I love thinking about how if we lived in Metropolis Superman for sure would have heard us having sex and he’d be so fucking jealous. Thinking about it right now actually is making me, uh, a little hard – ”
“Adrian!”
“I’m just being honest!” he huffed. You decided not to comment on exactly who was the loud one in the relationship because you knew he would take it as a challenge and you liked hearing all the little pathetic sounds he’d make. He pushed his glasses up his nose only for them to slide right back down again as he looked down at you. “My mom cannot hear us.”
You nodded slightly. “I understand that that might be embarrassing for you. We don’t have to.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be embarrassed!” he said, eyes wide. “I just don’t want her to know you’re here. Because if she hears us then she’ll ask who you are, and then she’ll want to know how we met and if we want snacks and if you’re staying for dinner and it’s a whole fucking thing.”
“Ade, that sounds very normal.” You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows. You hooked a finger into the collar of his rugby shirt. “What if I promise to be quieter than a church mouse?”
“What does that mean? I don’t really have a reference point for how quiet that is?” he replied, his tone tinged with the beginnings of a classic Adrian spiral. “On a scale of like 1 to 10 where 1 is – ”
You interrupted him with a kiss, your tongue wasting no time dipping into his already open mouth. He came alive, wriggling against you, hands grabbing hold of your biceps, grip tight, muscles taut and somewhere between pushing you away and pulling you even closer.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured against your lips.
“It’s just an expression, love,” you replied, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. Then you narrowed your gaze slightly, squinting to study the color of his eyes up so close. In the dark basement his pupils threatened to swallow the dark green whole. Well, the darkness and your hand that had slipped below the waist of his jeans probably had something to do with it too.
“How about if I get too loud then you just put your hand here,” you instructed, bringing his hand over your mouth and pressing it firmly.
“Okay,” Adrian said, practically drooling. “I think I can do that.”
“Well then, problem solved!”
You were working to shimmy his jeans down slightly when he grabbed you by the wrist.
“I wanna go down on you,” he breathed.
You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Okay. We can do both things…unless you’re in a rush for some reason?”
“It’s just that if you keep touching my dick like that I’m going to come in my pants, and I really want to put it in you,” he said, practically a whisper. There was absolutely zero reason for that sentence to be as hot as it was.
“Why is it that you seem like you’re begging every single time even though we’ve had sex a lot, Adrian,” you teased gently, brushing a stray curl out of his face.
“What if you change your mind, hm?” Adrian asked, dipping his head so you could scratch your fingers across his scalp. “What if one day you wake up and you’re like, oh gosh, I never want to have sex with that weirdo ever again?”
“First of all, being a weirdo is strangely part of your charm,” you replied, pausing to kiss his forehead. “Second of all, I do think you’ve ruined me for life. You dick game is incomprehensibly good and you’ve literally made me go temporarily blind with your head between my legs. I don’t want to have sex with anyone but you.”
“Not even Peacemaker? Because I really couldn’t blame you if you did want to have sex with him. Trust me, I get it, he’s kind of a perfect human man,” Adrian insisted like he was rationalizing in an argument he was having with only himself. His lips pursed. “Although he is kind of all hard edges so having sex with him is kinda sharp which you might not like.”
You were already reaching between the two of you to undo your button-down shirt.
“Not even Peacemaker,” you affirmed. Adrian seemed to wrestle against his own grin, both pleased as punch that you didn’t want to have sex with anyone but him, and also a bit insulted that you didn’t want to have sex with his favorite person in the world.
Tugging your shirt open, you guided his hands up to the front clasp of your bra and used his fingers to flick it open. Whatever logic war was raging in his brain was struck silent by the sight of your breasts. Maybe it was an unfair hand to play, but you wanted your boyfriend to stop thinking about his best friend and start thinking a little more about fucking you senseless.
He wasted no time taking each of your nipples into his mouth in turn, because, as always, he insisted it was only fair for them both to get the same amount of attention. Though you’d never asked, you were fairly certain Adrian had been the type of kid to make sure each toy got the same amount of playtime so that no one toy felt left out.
He swapped his mouth for his hand on your chest and kissed his way down the rest of your body. He deftly yanked your pants and underwear down, kissing the inside of your knees as he peeled them the rest of the way off your body. In his eagerness to get down between your legs he scooted down the futon, his boot kicked one of the metal shelves behind him. The whole unit swayed slightly, the metal ringing out in a resonant sound.
“Adrian?” A woman’s voice called from upstairs. You froze, but Adrian wasn’t deterred. “Are you down there, sweetie?”
Adrian’s mouth was decidedly preoccupied between your legs so he didn’t answer – it was a good thing, because it probably would have involved some absolutely blatant response about the fact that he was, in fact, down there. You pushed at his head but he only looked up at you with a hungry glint in his eyes as he dragged his tongue through your folds, painfully slowly. You hissed in response and he moved his hips slightly against the futon, settling in for a hearty meal. When Adrian ate you out it was almost always multiple courses, a real fine dining experience.
He hadn’t even put his fingers in you yet – just used one hand to spread you open wider for him while the other still played with your breasts, alternating between them, pinching and palming and scratching. His face was pressed so firmly between your legs, his tongue so deep into you you wondered if he was trying to eat his way to your heart.
“Jesus, Adrian!” you whispered, your heel kicking at his hip, trying to get him to ease up a little. But he was hyper focused, like he was speedrunning his way to your orgasm. He moved, wrapping his arms around your thighs, pinning your hips down as they tried to wriggle away from him for just a little reprieve.
You heard footsteps on the stairs and you dug your heels into the futon, trying to pry yourself loose from his perfect, stupid fucking mouth. Instead, he traced his teeth over your sensitive clit and you came hard suddenly. You clapped your own hand over your mouth and Adrian batted it away. You managed to stay quiet, the only sound your own ragged breath in the quiet of the basement and the wet, obscene noise of Adrian’s mouth against you.
Except Adrian continued his ministrations between your legs, letting up with his mouth only to look up at you and grin while he slowly slid two fingers into you. He had that calculated look in his eye again and you knew he was studying you. He liked knowing exactly how each movement, each touch affected you. He crooked his fingers inside you, watching closely as you bit down hard on your lower lip in a desperate bid to stay quiet.
He was doing it on purpose. He wanted an excuse.
You hated giving him what he wanted so easily when he was being a menace but you could taste your own blood on your tongue and he used his other hand to rub at your clit while he kissed your hip bone. A noise squeaked out past your lips and Adrian’s grin grew into a full fledged smile, the kind where you could see all his teeth. The kind that was both predatory and full of genuine delight.
He moved his fingers faster, pushed deeper, bit hard at your hip, bruising the skin. You fumbled for his head but you could barely see straight. You managed to pull a fistfull of hair but it only made him giggle before he lapped at your cunt and made you come undone all over again.
“Adrian!” you hissed through the rheumy film of your orgasm. Adrian pulled his fingers free and popped them straight into his mouth and pure, wet want flooded your own.
“Adrian?” There was a knock at the basement door. You clapped your hands over your burning face but Adrian just seemed annoyed.
“Fuck off, mom!” he called, sliding his way up your body to bite at the sensitive spot below your ear. He loosely pressed his hand over your lips and you weren’t sure if you were grateful or pissed. When the friction of his jeans between your legs almost made you sob against his hand, you settled on grateful.
“Do you have a friend in there with you?” his mom asked. “Should I make some snacks?”
“Jesus fucking – no, mom!” he whined, even as he rolled his hips against you. He grabbed at your breast with his free hand again and you bit his hand in retaliation.
“Ow!”
“Are you okay, honey? Please tell me you’re not giving yourself stitches in there again!” his mom continued. She seemed kind of sweet – what the hell was Adrian’s deal?
“Your mom seems nice,” you managed, free of his hand.
“Stop getting ideas, I can see you getting an idea right now!” Adrian protested, pinning your hands above your head and silencing your mouth with a kiss.
“Adrian, hon, who are you talking to? Is that…is that a girl in there?” His mother’s voice noticeably ascended the scale in pitch and Adrian swallowed your laugh, your shoulders shaking silently.
“I’m talking to my bros in the Fortnite lobby, Jesus fucking Christ! Can you hop off my dick for like five seconds, please?” Adrian shouted back, pulling away from your mouth, making you unacceptably hungry. When he returned to you, you bit his lip in recompense. He hissed but surged forward anyway, his tongue deep in your mouth.
“Okay, Addy, you just let me know if you need anything! Just holler! I’ll be upstairs!”
You waited for the sound of footsteps retreating back up the stairs to pull back.
“So, I’m one of the bros now?” you taunted.
“Well, you’re better than one of the bros. You’re like…you’re my best bro. A bro for life. But, like, in a romantic way, a romantic bro,” he explained. You nodded like that made sense. Because, strangely, it did.
“So…Addy?”
“Please don’t – ”
“It’s kinda cute!”
“No, it makes me sound like a fucking infant. And I’m not an infant. I’m a grown man.”
You giggled. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten, Ade. As a matter of fact…”
Your hand slid in between you, grasping at him through his pants. He was, unsurprisingly, already completely hard. He hissed through his teeth and then wrangled himself out of his rugby shirt, treating you to a spectacular view of his chest. A thin sheen of sweat covered him in a way that made him look unfairly hot – like the centerfold in a magazine of hot nerds. You ran your hand up from the waist of his pants to the small, pale trail of hair just above and let your fingertips press firmly into the skin of his stomach. His gaze narrowed at you.
“Flip over,” he whispered, voice husky.
“Make me,” you whispered back. Adrian blinked back at you for just a moment before he slipped his hands around your waist and tossed you onto your stomach like it was no effort at all. He reached up and stripped you of the button down and the bra that still clung to your shoulders. His fingertips bit into the swell of your ass but then he paused.
“Sorry, was that okay?” he asked, sounding breathless in a nervous way. You looked back at him and offered a calm smile.
“That was perfect,” you assured him. “You’re perfect.”
“Okay, because if you want to fuck some other way that’s totally okay too, I just thought – ”
“Oh no, not you fucking me while I’m laying on my stomach! Whatever will I do!” you drawled sarcastically as you started to twist in his arms, bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead like some scandalized, vaguely transatlantic woman. Then you paused and blinked at him. “That was sarcasm by the way.”
“Uh, duh, I totally knew that because you love when I fuck you like that! It’s like one of your favorite things. Remember that time we prone-boned and you like totally ruined your sheets?”
“Oh my god, Adrian,” you whined, your hands flying up to cover your increasingly red face.
“What! It’s just a statement of fact. And a statement of hotness.”
You finished flipping onto your stomach if only to bury your burning face in the futon. Adrian’s hand ran along your damp inner thigh for a moment before he nudged your leg up slightly, and pulled your hips up and flush against his.
“Oh shit,” he mumbled, and not in the good way. You lifted your head to look at him over your shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if I have a condom?”
“You have a fucking arsenal down here but not a single condom?”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever had a girl down here before!”
“Aw, is that your roundabout way of saying I’m special?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. But Adrian was too preoccupied scrounging around for a condom. He was so cute doing it you were loathe to tell him all he had to do was open your purse. The man was desperate for it and you were willing to torment him just a little bit – he would be handsomely rewarded for it in the end.
“Hey Ade?”
“Hold on, I’m sure there’s one here somewhere!” He yanked another drawer open, violently rattling whatever was inside. He slammed a cabinet open to no avail. You started to feel bad, even if you were getting a great view of his impressive physical form in the process.
“Adrian!” you called, louder this time to get through to him over the small ruckus he was making, but hopefully still quiet enough to not rouse his mother’s suspicions again. Finally, he turned and looked at you dangling a condom from your fingertips.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he said breathlessly. “No, seriously, I wish I could paint you Titanic-style right now exactly like this.”
Adrian was on top of you again in the blink of an eye, teeth tearing at the foil of the condom and spitting it aside. You watched over your shoulder as he realized he still needed to take his pants off and was trying to figure out balancing the opened condom while he did that. You giggled and held out your hand for him to rest the condom on your palm.
He tripped up off the couch, halfway out of his pants before he was even fully upright. He hopped on one foot as he desperately tried to free his other from the leg of his jeans, and you were treated to an increasingly silly whispered string of curses.
When he was finally free he paused, putting his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling quickly.
You giggled. “Are you winded?”
“No!” Adrian said, full volume. Your eyes flicked to the ceiling of the basement, but Adrian’s mom seemed to have gotten the memo. “This is…I’m doing breathing exercises, actually. Gotta loosen up my diaphragm for optimal airflow so I can have so much sex with you.”
“Get over here, you absolute goober,” you replied with a beckoning crook of your finger. Adrian stooped beside you to retrieve the condom you were still holding and pressed a quick peck to your lips, upturned in an amused smile.
He settled back between your legs, kneeling on the futon as he rolled the condom on and you waited patiently with your chin in your hands. The feeling of his warm fingers back between your legs surprised you, dragging through your folds, gathering slick before sliding his hand over the condom.
“Are you good? Are you comfy?” Adrian asked as he grabbed hold of your hips and angled them slightly upward. He positioned himself at your entrance, dragging the tip through your folds, but waited for your approval. You quietly hissed at the sensation.
“Please, Adrian,” you managed. That was approval enough for him – he wasn’t in one of his taunting moods, determined to draw it out forever to the point of insufferability. No, Adrian was borderline efficient. It was a mood he sometimes got into – careful, precise, skilled. He pushed in, a long, slow stretch of flesh, the warm weight of Adrian partially against your back, keeping you pressed into the futon. A hand groped at the flesh of your hip and he gently guided you into the position he needed.
And that made your eyes water, the perfect depth, the perfect speed, the perfect amount of pressure – a gasp dragged from your lips at the angle. Adrian knew what made you tick. You’d witnessed the man disassemble and reassemble a gun with alarming speed on more than one occasion, and he knew how to disassemble you just as easily.
It took no time at all for pressure and warmth to mount between your legs.
“Put your hand over my mouth,” you panted.
“What?”
“I don’t think that I can keep being quiet,” you said, voice ragged. As if attempting to prove you wrong, Adrian buried himself, deep and slow, and a yelp came from your lips before you could stop yourself.
“Right. Okay,” Adrian said in the kind of voice that sounded like he was processing a direct order. You tilted your head up slightly and Adrian dutifully cupped one hand over your mouth.
“Oh shit,” he managed. His fingers flexed against your skin as he thrust into you again, angling your hips ever so slightly once more, perfecting the position. Your needy hand slid under your body and Adrian groaned as your fingers touched at where your bodies were joined, fingers parting around the slick base of his cock for one taunting drag before retreating to your clit. Adrian’s pace faltered and you grinned into his hand. You nipped at his palm again but he stayed firmly in place and instead responded by draping himself further over your back, his weight pressing you further into the futon and your own eager fingers.
You were close, close, closer as his fingers bit into your skin and you rubbed desperate circles at the apex of your thighs. You clenched around him and Adrian whined.
“That’s not fair,” he hummed into your hair. He slowed for a frustrating moment and then his mouth was at your ear. “Can I try something?”
A million things raced through your mind – an electric series of possibilities, some of which perhaps bordered on terrifying. But you trusted Adrian. You loved him. Fucking you was a science at which he was studiously determined to excel. So, you nodded. And Adrian draped the full weight of himself on you, carefully, gently. And then he wrapped his other hand over your eyes, casting you into total darkness.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low in his chest against your back, words that sounded equally like reassurance and threat. A loving adage and a declaration of total possession. Your body responded unconsciously, pushing back against his thrusting hips, terribly wanting. “I want you to come, just for me, okay?”
You made a noise, something wrenched from deep within, muffled expertly by Adrian’s capable hands. He dragged his tongue along the side of your neck and then his teeth nipped the skin. A jolt of pleasure ran down your spine. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out when Adrian was dragging himself in and out of you with a studied speed, burying deep every time, hitting that perfect spot.
“’m close, are you…close,” Adrian slurred before biting at your jaw, his words barely coherent.
“Mhm,” you spoke into his hand, sure you were probably drooling. You didn’t care. Adrian nudged your knee ever so slightly with his own, spreading you open just a bit more. But it was enough. In the total darkness of Adrian’s embrace, you crashed over the edge, a shout muffled into his hand. You breathed quickly through your nose, finding it significantly harder to catch your breath and Adrian chased you into bliss only a second later, a curse hissed through his clenched teeth, certainly too loud. His hand released your mouth as his forehead fell into the curve of your shoulder. His sweaty hair tickled at your chin and you turned, still blind, to clumsily press a kiss to his temple.
“Well, that was new,” you remarked, still trying to catch your breath. In the darkness beneath Adrian’s hand, the edges of your vision sparked.
“Was it okay? Did you like it?”
“It was more than okay, babe,” you murmured assurance. That was Adrian – aiming to please, even when it came to dabbling in something like minor sensory deprivation.
After a long moment, his hand fell from your eyes to the futon with an audible thump and he slipped out of you, laying half on top of you and half wedged beside you on the futon.
“I feel like I don’t have any bones anymore,” he muttered. “You stole them. You’re a bone thief.”
“I’ll keep your bones safe in my bone collection. Promise,” you laughed breathlessly. He perked up slightly, lifting his head so he could look at your face.
“Yeah?” he asked, eyes wide with puppydog-esque devotion.
“Yeah. You’ve got centerpiece level bones. Real main attraction stuff.”
He brushed your hair from your face, and then wiped your cheeks free of tears, thumb grazing across your lower lip, collecting any errant spit. He popped his thumb into his mouth and you recoiled.
“Adrian, gross!”
“Sorry I just want part of you in me,” he replied like you were the one being unreasonable.
You smirked at him and shifted so that you could slip on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. “Maybe it’s time we revisit that conversation about peg – ”
“Adrian?”
Adrian’s mother’s voice came from directly outside the door. You clamped your mouth shut, looking down at Adrian with wide eyes.
“What, mom?” he called back, rolling his eyes, his head falling back onto the futon.
“Do you and your girlfriend want to come upstairs for dinner? I made a baked mac ‘n cheese with the breadcrumb topping you like so much!”
“Girlfriend?” he scoffed, voice traitorously too high. “What girlfriend? You’re so crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Oh, sweetie, Mrs. Peterson from across the street called and she said she saw you sneaking in through the basement window with a very pretty young lady!”
You had to laugh. There was simply no other choice. Adrian groaned and draped his arm over his face, treating you to a wonderful (very biteable) view of his bicep. “Fuck, I knew I always hated Mrs. Peterson. No trustworthy person has that many chihuahuas.”
When Adrian didn’t respond one way or the other to the evidence presented, his mother called out again, “Does the pretty young lady like mac ‘n cheese?”
You grinned down at Adrian who appeared to be going through the seven stages of grief in quick succession. Luckily for him it was going to take a lot more than an overbearing mother to scare you off. If you could survive the Vigilante of it all, you could survive anything. You leaned down, bit Adrian’s bicep and then kissed his swollen lips before he could protest.
“The pretty young lady loves mac n’ cheese!” you called back.
adrian taglist: @countvonklit @tlfg-adrianchase @vigilantexreader @faelvz @a-young-g0d @euinein @fangirl48 @navs-bhat (as always, if you want to join my taglist, just let me know! respectfully, no minors! there are some people who have requested in the past and if you're a minor/I couldn't verify if you're over 18 you've been taken off, I'm sorry!)
"It isn't about the mess, Frank!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking slightly under the sheer strain of trying not to scream. The air in the cramped bedroom felt heavy, charged with a static electricity that had been building for weeks. "It’s about the fact that you’ve brought every single ounce of your anxiety, every technical glitch from the tour, and every external frustration through that front door and into this room. I feel like I’m living with a ghost who only knows how to haunt me with complaints about things I can't even fix!"
Frank stopped dead in his tracks. He ran his tattooed hands through his dark, messy hair, agitating the strands until they stood up in chaotic peaks. He let out a dry, jagged laugh—a sound completely void of humor—and turned to look at you. Those intense eyes, which usually held a soft, creative spark, were now sharpened with a defensive edge that cut straight through you.
"Oh, so now I’m the villain because I’m stressed?" he fired back, his gravelly voice rising an octave, vibrating with raw irritation. "I’m sorry if my reality isn't some perfect, sun-drenched commercial when I get home. I pour my entire soul into what I do, (Y/N). When things go wrong, I feel it in my bones. I’m not a robot you can just switch off the second I walk across the threshold. I don't have a 'quiet' mode."
"I never asked for a robot!" You took a sharp step forward, your chest heaving. The distance between you felt like a canyon despite the small room. "I asked for a partner. But lately, it feels like I’m nothing more than a dumping ground for your bitterness. You’ve spent the last two hours spiraling about the mixing on the new project, the logistics of the next string of shows, how 'nobody understands your vision'... and the second I tried to tell you about my day, you just reached for your phone. You started answering emails while I was mid-sentence. You ignored me in my own home, Frank. You looked right through me."
Frank huffed, a sharp exhale of breath as he diverted his gaze to the floor, unable to meet your eyes. He looked small for a moment, but his words remained defensive.
"I was solving problems, (Y/N). Real-world problems that pay the damn bills, that keep the gears turning so we can survive. Do you think I enjoy being tethered to that screen? I hate this shit! I hate every minute of the bureaucracy. But if I don’t do it, who will? It falls on me. It always falls on me."
"That is exactly your problem!" You felt a wave of heat crawl up your neck, fueled by a mix of hurt and adrenaline. "You have this martyr complex where you think you’re the only person on earth carrying any weight. You isolate yourself in this 'tortured artist' bubble and completely forget that I’m standing right here, reaching out, trying to catch you. You make me feel invisible, Frank. And the worst part? You do it, and then you act like I’m the one who’s losing it just because I’m demanding a bare minimum of your attention."
He lunged forward, closing the gap until his face was only inches from yours. The familiar scent of stale coffee and his signature cologne—a scent that usually acted as your ultimate comfort—now felt stifling, almost cloying.
"Invisible?" he hissed, his brows furrowed in a painful mixture of heartache and fury. "I do everything for us. Every mile I put on that van, every sleepless night I spend rotting in a studio booth... it’s so we can have a life together. And you have the nerve to tell me I’m ignoring you? I am exhausted, (Y/N). I am bone-tired of being demanded of everywhere I go, only to come home and be picked apart by you, too!"
The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. The sheer injustice of his accusation made your blood boil, turning your sadness into something much colder and more dangerous.
"Picked apart?" You repeated, your voice dropping to a dangerously low, steady whisper. "You think asking you to eat dinner with me without staring at a screen is a 'demand'? You think wanting to talk about literally anything other than your job is a 'burden'? If my company is such a heavy price for the great Frank Iero to pay, then maybe you should have stayed at the studio. At least there, people are actually on the clock to put up with your moods!"
The silence that followed was deafening. It was the kind of silence that rang in your ears, sharp and cutting. Frank recoiled as if you’d slapped him, his expression hardening into a mask of icy detachment that hurt far worse than the shouting ever could. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture rigid as he studied you like you were a stranger he no longer recognized.
"Maybe you’re right," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm and gelid. "Maybe I should spend more time there. At least the studio makes sense. At least the chaos there has a purpose. Here, it feels like nothing I do is ever enough for you. You always want more. More presence, more conversation, more... perfection. I’m not perfect, (Y/N). I’m a mess. And I am so goddamn tired of apologizing for who I am."
You felt the familiar sting of tears pricking at the back of your eyes, hot and persistent, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you break—not when he was being this cruel. The argument had crossed into that jagged territory where old wounds are ripped open and the foundations of respect begin to crumble.
"I never asked for perfection," you whispered, your voice trembling with a cocktail of indignation and grief. "I just wanted you to be here. Body and soul. But you’re so busy feeding your own chaos and nurturing your demons that you haven't noticed you’re leaving me behind. You’re losing me in the middle of all this noise, Frank. And the saddest part? You don't even seem to care."
In a burst of pure, unadulterated frustration, Frank kicked a pile of laundry on the floor, sending clothes flying across the hardwood. He groaned, a low sound of defeat, and slumped onto the edge of the bed. He buried his face in his tattooed palms, his shoulders heaving with heavy, ragged breaths.
"You don't get it," he muttered through his fingers, his voice muffled and thick with emotion. "You just don't understand what it's like to have a brain that functions at a thousand miles per hour, every second of every day. I can't just 'turn it off' because you want to talk about the weather."
"I understand loneliness, Frank," you retorted, remaining rooted to your spot, refusing to soften just because he looked broken. "I understand exactly what it feels like to sit right next to the person I love and feel like they’re a thousand miles away. I’m done. I am not going to accept the leftovers of your time and the scraps of your energy anymore. I deserve more than the version of you that’s too tired to be kind."
He snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot and weary, staring at you with a desperate intensity.
"So what do you want from me? You want me to go find some soul-sucking office job so we can sit in front of the TV in total silence every night? Is that the version of me that would finally make you happy? A shell of a person?"
"Don't you dare twist my words!" You finally lost it, your voice exploding into a scream that echoed off the walls. "I want you to learn how to close the door on the world when you come home to me! I want to be your priority, Frank! Not item number ten on a to-do list, not a footnote in your tour diary, and not an afterthought after you’ve given everything else to everyone else!"
The atmosphere in the room shifted into a state of absolute, agonizing impasse. On one side stood you—exhausted, drained, and tired of fighting for a seat at the table of his life. On the other side was Frank, feeling misunderstood, cornered, and drowning in the pressure of his own creative ambition and the weight of providing.
The bridge between you was burning, and neither of you seemed to know how to put out the fire. Every word spoken tonight had dug the chasm deeper, carving out a space of resentment that felt impossible to fill.
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, a sudden, violent chill washing over you despite the heater humming in the corner. Frank remained on the bed, staring into the empty space of the room, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping in his cheek. The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than usual, each rhythmic thud marking the passing seconds of a silence that hurt significantly more than the screaming ever had.
Without another word, you spun on your heel, feeling the scorching weight of Frank’s gaze burning into your back as you stormed down the dark hallway. Your steps were heavy, fueled by a corrosive cocktail of heartache and an adrenaline rush that you couldn't distinguish between rage or pure despair.
Reaching the kitchen, the shock of the cold ceramic floor against your bare feet offered a momentary reality check, but it wasn't enough to still the storm in your chest. You leaned against the granite countertop, your hands gripping the edge so hard your knuckles turned white. The silence of the house was absolute, punctuated only by your erratic breathing and the distant tick-tick of a clock that seemed to mock your agony. You closed your eyes, trying to untangle your thoughts, but all you could see was Frank’s face—that unbearable mix of exhaustion and stubbornness that made him so infuriating, yet the only person you ever wanted near you.
Only a few minutes passed, but they felt like hours. Then, the nearly imperceptible sound of footsteps in the hall set your entire body on high alert. You didn't turn around. You didn't have to. The heat radiating from his body began to wash over your back before he even touched you.
Frank stopped directly behind you. The silence stretched for a loaded second until his hands—firm, calloused, and scarred by years of guitar strings and ink—wrapped around your waist with a possessiveness that made your knees weaken.
"You said I wasn't here," his voice vibrated against your ear, a husky, low whisper that sent shivers racing down your spine. "So I’m going to prove it to you, (Y/N). I’m going to prove I’m here, body and soul."
Before you could formulate a protest or tell him to leave, he spun you around in one fluid motion. The faint glow of the refrigerator cast dramatic shadows across his sharp features. Frank didn’t wait for an answer; he claimed your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a collision—an explosion of built-up necessity.
At first, you tried to resist. Your hands flew to his chest to push him back, fists bunching the fabric of his black t-shirt. But the taste of him—coffee, menthol tobacco, and that unique scent of warm skin—dismantled your defenses in seconds. The anger that had been consuming you transmuted instantly into a starving passion. You melted against him, and what was once a shove became a desperate pull. Your hands slid to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the dark, messy strands of his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from the back of his throat.
The kiss was searing, a wordless conversation where every flick of the tongue and every nip at your bottom lip said: I hate you for this, but I love you more than I can stand. It was the sound of reconciliation through chaos.
Without breaking eye contact for even a fraction of a second, Frank gripped your thighs and hoisted you onto the kitchen counter. You felt the bite of the cold granite against your skin, but the contrast with the heat of his body between your knees was almost unbearable. He slotted himself there, fitting perfectly, as he trailed kisses down the curve of your throat.
"I’m an idiot, I know," he murmured against your skin, his hot breath causing spasms of pleasure you couldn't hide. "But I’m your idiot. And I’m not going anywhere."
You arched your back, your head falling back as he marked his territory on your neck. In an instinctive move of sheer need, you tilted your hips forward. The contact was immediate. Through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts and his grey sweatpants, you felt him—hard and pulsing against you. A sharp moan escaped your lips, and Frank responded by squeezing your thighs harder, his fingers leaving temporary ghosts of marks on your skin.
His hands, now impatient, slid to the thin strap of your pajama top. With a deft tug, he pulled it down, letting it hit the floor like it was nothing. The cool kitchen air hit your breasts for a heartbeat before being replaced by the heat of his mouth. Frank latched onto one nipple, sucking with a desperation that stole your breath, while his other hand kneaded the opposite breast with a raw urgency.
"Frank..." you gasped, his name sounding like a prayer.
Your hand found the hem of his shirt, dragging the fabric up. He pulled back just enough for you to whip the shirt over his head. When his chest was exposed, covered in the tattoos you knew by heart, you didn't hesitate to sink your nails in, scratching paths across his skin as you pulled him back in.
"I just hate that I can't hate you," you hissed against his lips before pulling him into another deep, soul-searching kiss.
Your warm breasts were now pressed flush against his bare chest, skin-to-skin, the friction almost electric. You raked your nails down his back, feeling the muscles bunch and coil under your touch, while he focused on peppering hickeys across your collarbone—visible reminders of this night that would last for days.
Frank pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and dark with hunger. With a quick motion, he slid your pajama shorts down your legs. When his hands finally found your heat, discovering you were already completely wrecked for him, a dark, smug smirk tugged at his lips.
"You get so hot when you're mad at me," he chuckled darkly, a vibrating sound that echoed in your lower belly.
Before you could retort, he hooked a finger under the elastic of your panties, sliding them aside, and buried his face between your thighs. The sensation of his beard grazing your inner legs made you shudder violently. Then, his tongue—warm and practiced—traced the entire length of your slit in one slow, deliberate stroke.
You let out a muffled scream, hands buried in his hair, pulling him tight enough to make him groan too. He began to trail wet kisses there, alternating between light suction and slow passes over your clit. The rhythm was torturous. You began to grind against him on the counter, searching for the perfect angle as the pleasure rose in crashing waves.
Just when you felt yourself teetering on the edge, Frank stopped abruptly. He looked up, his lips glistening, a defiant glint in his eyes.
"What...?" you asked, your voice failing, hips still searching for the lost contact.
"You’re going to have to earn it, (Y/N)," he teased, his voice thick with a cruel sort of playfulness.
"Frank, don't do this..." you ordered, trying to shove his head back down.
He relented, but the pace was now frantic. He buried a finger deep inside you, curling it to find the exact spot, while his tongue worked tirelessly against you. The sound of Frank moaning against your skin as he devoured you was the final spark. You moved frantically against him, nails digging into his shoulders, the world disappearing until there was only his mouth and the pressure of his hand.
At the exact moment your body began to tense for the final release, he pulled away again. Frank stood up, brought the fingers that had been inside you to his mouth, and licked them slowly, never breaking eye contact.
"You know I love how you taste, baby," he murmured, his voice deeper than ever.
The provocation was the breaking point. You grabbed the back of his neck with surprising force, crashing your lips into his in a kiss that shared the flavor of both of you. Mid-kiss, you licked his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against your tongue, then wrapped your hand firmly around his throat, squeezing just enough to catch his breath.
Frank’s mouth fell open, sweat beading on his temple, his eyes locked on yours.
"Are you going to make me come or not?" you challenged, your voice raspy with authority.
His answer was a low growl. He stepped back, grabbed your legs, and threw them over his shoulders, opening you up completely. With a renewed focus and an aggression that made you see stars, he went back to work. His tongue moved with frenetic speed, alternating pressure and suction while his hands gripped your ass against the granite.
This time, there were no stops. You felt the first wave of pleasure break over you, your thigh muscles twitching uncontrollably. You sobbed his name into the quiet kitchen, body arching, as Frank took every drop of your climax, refusing to pull away until the last spasm had passed and you were left completely undone in his arms.
The ecstasy of the orgasm was still vibrating through every nerve ending, turning your muscles into something liquid and shaking. Frank’s breathing was a loud, hot rasp against your skin. But the truce only lasted seconds.
Before you could process the delicious numbness in your legs, Frank stood tall. He stepped back between your knees with a predatory intensity. Without warning, he sealed his lips over yours in a possessive kiss that tasted of salt and reconciliation.
He lifted you off the counter in one go, the weight of your body in his arms feeling like the most natural thing in the world. Frank walked toward the living room, where moonlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the sofa in silver. He set you down but didn't pull away. Immediately, he leaned over you, pinning you against the soft upholstery.
Still partially dressed in his sweatpants, he began to rub his obvious erection against you. The friction of the heavy fabric against your hypersensitive skin ripped a sharp moan from your throat, mirrored by a low rumble in Frank’s chest.
"You feel that?" he whispered, his voice so deep it felt like it was vibrating inside your bones. He leaned in, lips brushing your earlobe. "Suck me off, baby. Now."
A spark of defiance flickered in your eyes, even through the haze. You gave a small, lopsided smirk.
"You're going to have to earn it too, Frank," you teased.
Frank let out a short, dark laugh and gripped your jaw with one hand, forcing you to look at him. "You know I'm going to fuck you so good after this," he hissed, the promise making your stomach flip. "Because you’re a good girl and you’re going to do exactly what I tell you."
The command was enough to shatter any remaining resistance. He pulled back just enough to strip out of his pants. You watched, mesmerized, as he stood before you, his body a map of ink and muscle.
Without a second thought, you slid off the sofa and onto your knees on the plush rug. Your hands gripped his hips, pulling him closer until he was inches from your face. Frank let out a heavy sigh, his own nails digging into his hips as he watched you.
"Tongue out," he ordered, his voice trembling.
You obeyed, and he brushed his cock against you, testing the heat. The groan that escaped him was visceral. Frank couldn't handle the slow torture; he gripped your hair with both hands and guided himself in with a firm, rhythmic motion.
He began to fuck your mouth with a growing pace, a rhythmic possession that forced you to focus only on the feeling of him filling you. You held his hips tight, using your hands to dictate the depth, working him with every ounce of passion you had left.
"Mine..." Frank gasped, head thrown back. "This mouth was made for me. There are days on the road, (Y/N)... days where the only thing keeping me sane is thinking about coming home to this."
The confession gave you a second wind. You picked up the pace, feeling him falter, until at the height of the tension, he pulled you up, forcing you to look up at him. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Frank hauled you off the floor, kissing you with a desperate violence before sitting on the sofa and pulling you onto his lap, facing him. You took the chance to torture him a little more, trailing wet kisses along his throat, biting the sensitive skin below his ear.
"You talk too much, Iero," you whispered against his skin, rubbing your aching entrance against the head of his cock.
Done with the games, Frank gripped your waist and forced you down. You took him all at once—a blunt, heavy motion that tore a cry of surprise and pleasure from both of you. The fullness was absolute, a connection that seemed to seal every wound from the fight.
You began to move, sliding up and down with a starving urgency. Frank, in response, began to slap your ass with his palm, the sharp cracks echoing in the silent room. The sting and the heat only drove your desire higher.
"You're mine," he growled through gritted teeth with every impact. "Only mine, you hear me?"
You slammed down harder, your bodies colliding with a wet, rhythmic thud. But just as you felt him reaching his limit, you pushed yourself up, sliding off his lap abruptly.
"Now," you said, your voice raspy and commanding as you stepped away, "you're going to fuck me on all fours."
You dropped onto the rug, arching your back in a silent invitation. Frank ran a hand through his hair, a look of near agony on his face. "You're going to be the death of me, girl," he muttered, moving toward you.
He knelt behind you, but didn't enter yet. First, he kissed every curve of your backside, leaving deep, damp marks. Then, he grabbed your hair, pulling it so you had to look back at him, and drove in deep.
The impact sent you forward, but he held you steady. The sound of skin hitting skin was the only music in the room. Frank didn't stop talking, whispering filthy words and confessions of need into your ear. Every thrust was deep, hitting spots that made your vision blur.
In the final moment, as the tension snapped, Frank pulled you flush against him, chest to back. He came deep inside you, a violent, intense release that left him shaking.
"That..." he panted, his voice breaking, "is so you remember. You're going to feel me dripping down your legs all night."
Exhausted, you both collapsed onto the rug, side by side. Sweat glued your bodies together, and your breathing was the only sound in the now-calm space. Frank propped himself up on an elbow, looking at you with a tenderness that had completely replaced the aggression.
In the silence, you looked at each other, knowing the storm had passed. The sharp edges had been burned away in the fire. Frank reached out and pulled you to his chest. You laid your head there, listening to his heart gradually return to a normal rhythm.
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and let out a long sigh. "You're the best kind of trouble I ever got myself into, you know that?"
You laughed, a low, tired sound, and kissed his tattooed chest. "And you're the only idiot I’d ever put up with."
There, tangled together on the living room floor, the chaos of the world outside seemed to belong to another life. In that moment, you were just two people finding their way back to each other, one inch of skin at a time.
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, clark kent in heat, breeding kink, unprotected sex, petnames: "honey" "mate" and "sweetheart," everyone cums, pathetic clark kent, DESPERATE clark kent
notes: crossposted onto my ao3!!! clark kent in heat bro i need him BAD. 😵💫
when clark first told you he was superman, your first question was if he had any interesting alien physiology. at the time, he said it was fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your reaction) only the superpowers. the only ‘alien’ thing about him was the planet he was from and the lost language they spoke on it. clark was, for all intents and purposes, as human as anyone.
the door of your apartment creaked open with an unusual hesitation, the familiar ‘whoosh’ of cape fabric absent. clark stood frozen in the threshold, his usually impeccable posture slumped against the doorframe. he wasn’t in his super-suit, indicating he hadn’t been patrolling as he usually would be at this time. his glasses sat crooked on his nose, one lens cracked from what must have been a hasty landing, and his hair stuck up in every direction like he’d flown straight through a tornado to get here.
clark’s breaths came in short, uneven gasps, his fingers gripping the doorknob so tightly that the metal creaked in protest. the scent of something distinctly alien hung heavy around him. his normally calm blue eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated with intense panic and confusion.
“please,” he stammered, voice rough with emotion, “don’t come any closer.”
clark flinched when you took a step forward, his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. a bead of sweat trailed down his temple and he swiped at it clumsily, his usual grace abandoned. the apartment smelled like you — too much like you, the usual comforting notes of your perfume and shampoo now overwhelming, cloying at his senses.
“clark? clark, what’s happening?” unaware of how heightened his senses were, you attempted to reach out for him.
“i — golly — i don’t… i don’t know,” he admitted, voice cracking, “everything’s too loud, too bright,” his hands trembled at his sides, fingers flexing like he was fighting every urge to reach for you, “too hot.” the admission seemed to cost him, causing his shoulders to hunch inward like he expected to be scolded; the man who could lift buildings and turn back time stood before you, seemingly terrified of his own body betraying him.
the air conditioner chose at that moment to kick on with a small rattle, sending a gust of chilled air through the apartment. clark shuddered violently, his skin prickling with goosebumps despite the feverish heat rolling off of him in waves. he pressed the back of his hand against this mouth, breathing hard through his nose.
“oh, geez...” he mumbled against his knuckles, voice muffled and strained, “i cant… i think — i think i should leave.” his knees buckled. one of his hands shot out to catch himself on the wall, leaving behind five perfect indentations in the drywall.
you reached out in an attempt to catch clark, but the moment your fingers brushed against his forearm, he jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. a high, strangled whimper escaped his throat before he could stop it, his face flushing a deep red. his eyes flew wide with horror at the sound he’d just made and his free hand clapped over his mouth as if he could shove the noise back in.
“oh gosh, i — that wasn’t —” clark’s words tangled themselves into knots as he tried to back away, only to find himself trapped between the wall and your cornered advance. his pulse visibly hammered in his neck, knees giving another dangerous wobble as he tried to straighten up. when he spoke again, his voice came out strained and thready, like he was actively fighting against his own body to keep each word steady. “i don’t understand what’s… my brain is all jumbled…” his eyes squeezed shut, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
clark’s gaze darted to your lips for half a second before he wrenched it away, looking downright scandalized at his own thoughts. a fresh wave of that strange, intense heat rolled off him, his form trembling dramatically. “i think… i think i might be sick?” clark’s voice was barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and desperation; the question mark at the end of his sentence did all the heavy lifting. his tone suggested that he knew perfectly well this couldn’t have been any earthly illness. his fingers twitched towards you again before he balled them into fists, his knuckles going white with the effort of restraint.
“honey,” you kept your voice low, the way one might approach a scared animal, “tell me what’s wrong. what are you feeling?”
in response, clark’s shoulders hunched further, the tips of his ears burning scarlet. he attempted to steady himself by staring intently at the ceiling, his mouth clicking open and shut several times before any sound came out. “it’s not — i can’t…”
clark disguised a whine as a cough when you reached out for him again. his glasses slipped further down his nose, revealing eyes that appeared glassy with how wide they’d gone. the collar of his shirt was now damp with sweat, clinging to his neck in a way that made him squirm with discomfort.
“clark,” you said, firmer now, “i need to know what’s happening so i can help you. even if it’s embarrassing.”
clark made a small, distressed sound in the back of his throat, his hands fluttering uselessly at his sides before he finally blurted out, “everything smells — it smells like you! and it’s too much and not enough and my skin feels too tight and i keep thinking about —” he cut himself off with a strangled noise, looking mortified.
it was immediately clear: clark wasn’t sick. at least, not sick in any way either of you had anticipated. the way he was reacting to your proximity, the heat radiating off of his body, the desperate way he kept looking at you before forcing himself to look away —
“oh,” you breathed, the syllable heavy with realization. clark whimpered again, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes under his glasses in a futile attempt to push the heavy, overwhelming influx of thoughts away. “clark, is this… a kryptonian thing?”
clark’s breath hitched as he pressed himself harder against the wall. “i don’t — i don’t know,” he managed, his voice faltering, “my parents never mentioned — golly, they wouldn’t have known either, would they?”
you felt an overwhelming sense of pity. the uncharted territory alarmed him so much; you could see it in his eyes. “let me help you, hon,” you sighed, stepping closer despite his repeated warnings.
one of clark’s hands shot out in a desperate ‘stop’ gesture while the other clutched at his own shirt collar like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. the buttons on his shirt strained dangerously as they threatened to pop. “oh gosh, no, please don’t —” his voice cracked again, pitching upward. he squeezed his eyes shut. every word required significant effort when he spoke once more. “i — i’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life and that’s exactly why i need you to stay back.” the last words came out as a plea that wasn’t completely earnest.
clark’s entire body shivered when your fingers made contact with his forearm again. the fight seemed to drain out of him all at once, his knees giving way as he slid down the wall with a defeated whimper. his glasses slipped off entirely, clattering to the floor as he curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees like he was trying to make himself smaller. the normally invincible superhero now sat on your apartment floor, looking like a disheveled, overgrown puppy.
when you knelt in front of him, clark didn’t pull away this time, though his fingers dug into his own arms enough to leave pale marks on his skin. his breathing was still uneven, but slower now, like he’d exhausted himself fighting against his own mind.
“honey,” you comforted softly, reaching out to brush a sweaty curl from his forehead. clark made a small, wounded noise at the contact but didn’t resist, leaning ever so slightly into your touch.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken, “i don’t know what’s come over me. i feel like i’m not even in control of my own body anymore.” the apartment was quiet now. somewhere nearby, a car alarm went off. normally, clark would be out the window in a flash to help, but now he barely seemed to notice.
you rested your palm against his cheek and clark let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. his skin was fever-hot under your grasp, and you could feel his jaw tick. “this isn’t your fault, clark,” you spoke gently, watching as his eyelashes trembled against his flushed cheeks. “can i kiss you?”
for the first time since he’d stumbled through the door, he looked less like a man about to fly apart at the seams and more like clark — overwhelmed, embarrassed, needy, but no longer fighting so hard against his desperation.
“might… might not be able to stop,” clark swallowed, his adams apple bobbing.
“i know,” you murmured, and clark’s breath hitched when you leaned in closer.
for a man who could bench-press a train, he looked devastatingly fragile in that moment — like the slightest wrong move might shatter him completely. his body uncurled on itself, and his hands hovered uncertainly before settling on your elbows. the contact made him shudder visibly. “gosh,” he breathed, his voice cracking, “i don’t know what i’m doing.”
you could feel the overwhelming tension coiled in him, the way clark’s muscles trembled as he willed himself to hold back. when you finally closed the distance, clark whimpered, his hands moving from your elbows to your waist to pull you onto his lap. his fingers digged into your sides like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. the kiss was clumsy, the heat and desperation burning off of clark’s body evident. as soon as clark attempted to impossibly deepen the kiss, you could tell it wasn’t enough. he needed more.
clark’s hands moved with a sudden, desperate urgency, his fingers tangling in the fabric of your shirt as he pulled you closer. the kiss turned feverish; his usual careful restraint had shattered, leaving behind something raw and intensely desperate. clark’s teeth grazed your lower lip, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp, and the sound seemed to ignite something in him. a low, needy noise vibrated in his throat as he chased the high, his grip tightening further.
“gosh,” he panted against your mouth, the word trembling, “i — i don’t —” his voice broke off into a whine, his head lolling to the side as he shuddered. clark let out a sob when your fingers carded through his sweat-damp hair, his eyes squeezing shut. he looked wrecked — his cheeks flushed, his lips parted and swollen. his control unraveled by the second as his hands slid up your sides, trembling, before one settled at the small of your back, pressing you flush against him.
his hips jerked forward involuntarily in a sharp, aborted movement that made him yelp, his body going rigid with embarrassment. his breath hitched aggressively as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a shaky, open-mouthed kiss. “please. please, i don’t know what to do…” his voice was barely a whisper, completely broken and pleading.
clark’s breath was a mess of short, shallow bursts against your neck, each exhale hotter than the last. when he spoke again, his voice was barely recognizable — low, rough, stripped of all its usual gentle hesitation. “i need —” his throat worked hard, as if the words couldn’t come out, “i need to —” his hips jerked once more, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back. clark’s teeth scraped lightly over your collarbone. “breed… i — i need to breed you,” clark’s voice dripped with shame. his arms locked around you like steel. “tell me to stop,” he panted, though his hands were already sliding under your shirt, mapping the curve of your waist. “please, honey, you gotta tell me to stop, because i don’t think i can —” the sentence ended in a groan as you carded your fingers through his hair again.
“clark,” you started, but he cut you off with another desperate noise, his teeth catching the fabric of your shirt collar.
“say it again,” he begged, “say my name like that again, like you’re not — like you’re not scared of me right now.”
“clark,” you murmured again, softer this time, reveling in how the way you said his name caused his shoulders to ease slightly. his eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his entire frame vibrating. you cupped clark’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you, and he made a noise like a wounded animal, his lips parting against your palm in a shaky exhale. “i’m not scared of you, honey…” your words seemed to only unravel him further. “take what you need,” you attempted to soothe, your own need growing as you shifted in his lap.
clark’s hands trembled as his fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt with hesitant urgency. he moved his hands — slow at first, testing, as if still afraid he might hurt you — before the dam broke. his lips found yours again, desperate and searching. “gosh,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “i don’t deserve you.”
even like this, clark was still clark — achingly gentle beneath the frenzy of his need. his hands roamed your skin with careful reverence, though his movements were interrupted by shallow pants and trembling muscles. the contrast was dizzying: the way he kissed you like a man starved, yet touched you like you could crumble under his grasp. clark kent, even at his most desperate, could never let himself forget how to be careful with you.
clark’s hips pressed forward helplessly, and this time he didn’t pull away. the change was immediate; clark’s hands, usually so precise, fumbled with the waistband of your bottoms as his fingers flexed against the fabric. he let out a soft growl as the material resisted his frantic tugging. he could only manage broken syllables now — “please” and “now” and a particularly wrecked “golly” when you arched against him.
fabric ripped, and clark whined a wordless apology as your bottoms and panties both gave in at the seams. you gasped briefly at the shock of clark’s show of strength, but quickly regained some semblance of composure, leaning back slightly to allow clark the room to remove his own pants.
clark’s slacks proved even more problematic. his belt buckle popped as he wrestled with it one-handed, his other arm locked around your waist like a safety harness. for a brief moment, he looked like he was actually considering using his heat-vision to burn the garment away. “can’t — can’t think,” clark let out a long sigh as the button on his slacks finally gave way and his slacks loosened. the relieved noise he made was downright feral, his hips jerking forward instinctively as he freed himself. he whimpered, embarrassed at the sight — his cock was always big, but the heat was making it appear impossibly larger as it throbbed against his stomach.
you pressed closer with a slow roll of your hips that dragged a choked whine from clark’s throat. “wait,” his voice warbled, “i should — i gotta prep you first, i don’t wanna —.”
“‘s okay,” you soothed, brushing your lips against his neck. “want you like this.”
clark’s hips canted up once more, his hands flying to grip your thighs. “‘but — but i could hurt you,” his voice became smaller, “honey, i cant…”
you rocked down again, and this time his entire body locked up, a strangled groan tearing from his chest. his fingers spasmed against your skin once more.
“trust me,” you asserted, making eye contact with him now. “i can take it, clark.”
for a moment clark just stared at you, his eyes wild and desperate like he was trying to find any evidence against what was coming out of your mouth. then, with a broken noise, his hips stuttered forward, his cock hot and heavy against your inner thigh.
“gosh, i — i.. please, please, i need —” you didn’t let him finish, instead pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips before shifting to line him up with your warmth. clark went rigid, his fingers scrambling for purchase on your hips like he was trying to hold himself back even as you began to slowly sink down onto him.
the noise clark made was almost inhuman — a loud, groaning sob as his head snapped back and his hips arched off the floor, pushing into you.
“too much?” you gasped, pausing, but clark shook his head frantically in response.
“no, it’s —” he swallowed, his vision blurring as he fought to keep his eyes open. a low growl escaped from his throat, “please let me move you.” he was only halfway inside you, but he was already begging like he was close.
“go ahead,” you urged, your voice softer than the ache spreading through your body, “i can take it.”
immediately, clark’s grip tightened just enough to lift you effortlessly. for a fraction of a second, he held you suspended above him, trembling with weak restraint, before pulling you back further down onto him. the slide was slow at first; then, with a shuddering gasp, he eased you down to the base of his cock.
heat radiated off of clark once more as he bottomed out, his skin damp and feverish beneath you. his hips jutted up instinctively, chasing the sensation before he caught himself, freezing with a strangled noise. “f — sorry,” he choked out the apology upon hearing a soft, wounded noise escape your lips.
you shook your head, shifting experimentally, watching the breath punch out of him. his hands gripped your waist once more — slow this time, agonizingly so, like he was attempting to savor the drag of his cock against your walls. the muscles in his arms flexed when he lowered you back down with a broken groan.
clark’s next attempt at thrusting was significantly less controlled, his hips canting up to meet you halfway. the force of it knocked the air from your lungs, and his eyes snapped up to you at the sound. you cut his worries off with another roll of your hips, and whatever apology he’d been mustering dissolved into a strangled moan. his hands tightened reflexively as his brain slipped another notch. “doing so good, clark,” you huffed out, “you wanna breed me, don’t you?” you leaned closer to rest your hands on his shoulders. “breed me then.”
the words seemed to shatter what little restraint clark had left. his hands clamped around your hips with bruising force, fingers digging in as he pulled you down hard against him, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural moan that vibrated through his chest. the sudden stretch burned, but clark was beyond noticing, his pupils blown wide and unfocused as his hips pistoned upward in frantic, uneven movements.
his rhythm was erratic, hips stuttering as pleasure overwhelmed him, alternating between shallow, frantic snaps and deep, grinding rolls that forced choked moans from his throat. one hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back as he mouthed wet, open kisses along your throat. the wall behind him groaned under the force of his movements, causing drywall to crack as his shoulders pressed into it, but clark was simply too focused on you to care.
clark’s cock throbbed endlessly inside you, impossibly hard, each thrust dragging against oversensitive nerves. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room as clark babbled nonsense against you — half-formed pleas and apologies and your name, over and over like a prayer. his fingers ran against your skin, alternating between clutching too tight and smoothing over you.
“haah — s’you, only you, my — my mate — perfect mate,” he slurred, the syllables tangling together as his hips stuttered forward relentlessly. “gonna — gonna fill you up proper, gonna — nngh — breed you so good, sweetheart, promise, i promise —” his voice broke off into a high, keening noise when you ground against him, pulling him even deeper inside your walls.
“yeah? ‘m your mate?” you felt the way his cock twitched inside you at the words, his breath shallow. “taking care of your mate just right, clark. so good for me.” you hummed between a thread of moans that escaped your lips.
“mine, you’re mine,” the words spilled out of him now, raw and unvarnished, “gonna put a baby in you, gonna — haah — gonna get you so full of my seed and — oh gosh —” his voice cracked into a high-pitched whimper, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. “love you, love you, love you —” the chants were nearly swallowed by a broken moan as his thrusts grew erratic, his hands scrambling to press you even closer, as if he could fuse you with him through sheer force of want.
“gonna make sure you’re full of me,” he whined, “wanna feel you take it all — oh gosh — wanna make sure it takes,” clark’s lips parted around a silent plea before he managed to find his voice again, “close,” he managed, the word strained in his throat. his forehead fell to press against yours as he held you in place and bucked up into you with reckless abandon. “so close, honey, i — i can’t —” his breath was hot and uneven against your lips as he fought to hold on just a while longer.
your fingers moved to cover his hands around your hips in an effort to ground him. “look at you, sweetheart,” you cooed, looking down at him. “fucking me so perfectly, clark.”
clark’s forehead knocked against your shoulder as he whined into the praise. “can’t think — when you talk like that…” a full body shudder followed, causing you to clench around his length.
you’d barely realized how close you were becoming from the overstimulation of clark’s length pounding against your g-spot, and the pleasure was catching up to you now. “fuck, that’s it, let me hear you…” you moaned, “my big, strong superman, coming apart just for me.”
clark made a noise like a wounded animal, his hips snapping up erratically now. when you clenched harder around him, clark’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. “please, honey…”
“shh, i’ve got you,” you soothed, “so good for me, taking what you need. filling me up just right.”
tears welled up in clark’s wide pupils as his body responded before his brain could catch up. his cock pulsed inside you, leaking precum in hot, insistent waves that made your own breath stutter. “please,” he begged, the word dissolving into a breathy moan as you tightened around him. “wanna make you — make you feel good too.” you cut clark off with a slow, filthy grind against him. a strangled sob tore through his chest, his hips fucking up into you so hard that it felt like he was splitting you open. “please, sweetheart, please tell me you’re close,” he gasped once more as his cock twitched inside you, hot and heavy and aching.
the pressure built inside your stomach, each rough grind from clark sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “clark — i’m —” your voice broke, the words dissolving into a moan as he angled himself just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.
clark held his breath, his entire body trembling. “please cum on me, honey, i need it —”
the plea shattered the last of your composure. your walls clamped hard around him as you cried out, causing clark to groan and jerk his hips erratically. he held you through it, babbling praise between gasps. “so perfect, so good for me — you feel so… gosh,” he fought to keep still, letting you ride out the waves.
when the aftershocks finally ebbed, you slumped against him, breathless. clark’s chest heaved beneath you, his cock still buried deep and twitching with every uneasy breath. his eyes were glossed over with unshed tears, voice still gravelly. “can i — please, can i —?” he swallowed, his hips giving a helpless thrust, like he couldn’t stop himself. “need to — need to fill you up now, honey. wanna breed you so bad, please.” clark’s desperation was raw, his muscles achingly taut with the effort of holding back.
you cupped his face, thumb brushing over his feverishly hot cheek. “cum for me, clark.”
clark let out a raw sound, half-sob and half-relief. his grip tightened, and a series of frantic, uneven movements, each one deeper than the last, followed. “i — breed… breed mate —” clark babbled in choked-off whines, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting you slightly to change the angle so he could thrust deeper into you. “please, please, please,” clark chanted, tears falling from his eyes onto his cheeks as his eyes screwed shut.
he continued his relentless pace until the climax finally hit him with an excruciating force. a strangled growl erupted from clark’s throat as his grip on you went bruisingly tight for a moment; he pulled you close to his chest with a shattered moan, his entire body convulsing as he spilled inside you in hot, pulsing ropes. it felt like his orgasm never ended, the cum penetrating deep inside you until it began spilling out despite clark’s cock still remaining inside you.
clark’s body went slack against the wall, his breathing shallow and uneven as the last tremors of his climax faded. his grip on you loosened, fingers pulsing where they rested against your skin, damp with sweat. for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet evening out of clark’s breath, the occasional shudder running through him as the aftershocks rippled through his form.
his eyes, still glassy, blinked slowly as awareness crept back into his features. the feverish haze that was clouding his expression began to recede, and he swallowed hard. “honey,” he blinked before his words all tumbled out in a rush, “did i — did i hurt you? i didn’t mean to — please, are you okay?” the heat had stripped him raw, but for a moment, clark became incredibly lucid — every bit the gentle and painfully aware clark you knew.
you cut him off with a kiss, slow and deliberate, bringing him back down to earth even if only for a moment. when you pulled back, his eyes were wide, pupils still blown but slightly clearer now, more focused. “you’re okay?” he asked, his voice small.
you nodded before pressing a kiss to clark’s forehead. “more than okay,” you assured him, your thumb resting against his cheek. “you’re burning up, honey.”
you shifted slightly, and clark made a soft, whining noise in the back of his throat, his hips jerking reflexively before he stilled them with visible effort. for a second, his eyes darkened again, the heat flickering back to life beneath his skin. “‘m sorry,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “i think — i think it’s… the heat, it’s coming back.” clark opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “i — i didn’t even —” his ears turned pink, “didn’t even take my boots off.”
a small laugh burst out of you before you could stop it; clark’s wounded expression only making it worse. he sucked in a breath softly as the laughs sent vibrations through your body and core, his cock throbbing weakly inside you.
“it’s not funny!” clark protested, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “i track in enough debris as it is without — without this,” he gestured vaguely to himself.
you kissed his shoulder in apology, feeling him tense up incrementally. “how’re you feeling?” you cooed, your voice leveling out a bit.
he nodded, then hesitated. “don’t know how long i’ll be… in control.” the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache.
sensing the time ticking before clark lost himself again completely, you carefully lifted yourself off him, clark’s hands clenching into fists at his sides. his cum immediately began leaking out of you the moment you separated, and a quiet whine escaped his throat from the lack of contact.
“clark, baby,” you tapped his cheek after standing, stepping properly out of your ripped clothing. “bedroom, okay?” you spoke quietly, holding your hand out as if you had the strength to pull clark up onto his feet.
“we should — bedroom. right. that’s sensible.” clark shook his head in an effort to ground his mind, pulling himself most of the way onto his feet before finally taking your hand. now standing, clark’s slacks and boxers fell to his ankles. he reached down and lazily unlaced his boots, stepping out of the pool of fabric at his feet. he nearly tripped on his own feet trying to step forward, his coordination beginning to falter due to the returning haze in his eyes.
the short walk to the bedroom felt endless — clark kept pausing in his tracks, his breath stuttering every time he caught a glance at his own cum running down your inner thigh. by the time you reached the doorway, he was already practically vibrating with need, one hand bracing the doorway as he ducked his head, his shoulders slumped.
“sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick. “it’s just — every time you move, i can smell —” he cut himself off as he had done multiple times before, ears burning crimson as he squeezed his eyes shut.
the moment you guided him towards the bed, clark’s knees buckled instantaneously, sending him stumbling to sit on the edge of the mattress. his chest heaved as he tried to steady himself, but when your fingers brushed his waist to adjust how he was sitting, he let out a broken noise, hips canting up towards nothing.
“honey, i —” his voice dropped to a barely-there whisper and his skin began burning up once more. “need you. please.” clark’s fingers flexed against the sheets, looking down at the mattress before his hand curled around your waist, pulling you down to lay ungracefully on the bed beside him. the connection made clark pull his hand away like it stung. “please.”
oh.
he needed permission to touch you, and he needed it badly.
the conflict in clark’s expression was almost painful — the way his jaw trembled, how every inch of him was wound tight with want, shivering with the effort of holding himself back.
you nodded. “you gonna be a good boy and breed me again, clark?”
clark whimpered loudly, his breath shallow as he rolled over and caged you in underneath him, looking down at you with wide eyes before taking exactly what he needed.
I have this image in my head, about reader founding a Fleshlight in Adrian's room, he swears he has never used it. She makes fun of him, tied him up and edges him. That's the tweet
you've been begging adrian to borrow a few shirts from his closet for you to sleep in, considering it's gotten hotter as the season of summer approaches. all of your pajama sets being longsleeved definitely didn't help either.
adrian normally very eager to please, agreed and let you raid his closet for old shirts. little did you know you'd find something much better.
"adrian." you giggle as you grab the fleshlight from a bin in his closet he'd left open. you stand up and walk to where he was standing in the doorway. his jaw drops as he snatches it from you immediately.
"what is wrong with you! that's not what you where supposed to be in there looking for!" his face is a crimson shade of red now, holding the pocket pussy behind his back.
"the drawer was open! s'that why i always hear you moaning at night? that's so funny and kinda adorable." you giggle. "it's so not funny, i- you can hear me? oh my god." adrian stutters as he looks down at the floor.
"lemme use it on you." you giggle, peering up at him adoringly. "i- what?" he blinks, confused. "let me use it on you! pleaseeeee?" he couldn't resist you when you asked so prettily.
that's how adrian ended up tied by his wrists to his headboard with pink ribbon. you sat between his legs all smiley as you stroked him slowly and cupped his balls.
"ohhh fuck! im so hard- it's throbbing for you, can you feel it like- shiittttt pulse?" he whimpered. "think i should use your little toy on you." you smile at him.
he nods, brain foggy from the teasing. "holy shit!" adrian moans. "does that feel good ade?" you giggle, twisting as you stroke him with the silicone toy.
"so good! always imagine it's your pussy when i use it- im gonna cum! m'sorry i promise i last longer normally its just-" his body shakes as his eyes roll into the back of his skull as hot cum paints the inside of the fleshlight.
"awwwwwe, maybe next time adrian." you smile as you get up, untying his wrists and leaving adrian naked with his mess still pooling on his toned stomach, closing the door behind you.
authors note: hello my sweet little angels, today i’ve got the holiest fic i’ve ever written for yew all. an anon of mine gave out a req where you’re a demon who’s been following father way around his cathedral for a while now, enamored with him, poking and prodding while no one but him could see you, tempting him, making him question his faith, until of course, he snaps on you one night. anywho… happy easter sunday! get some holy water, because y’all sure as hell need it.
before you read: religious themes, supernatural shit, reader is a demon, bad nicknames, angst with no comfort (just lust), i feel bad for gerard, mentions of trauma/questioning faith, it’s not implied but you’re both switches, hate? sex? idk he’s a priest- you’re a demon so not a shocker, he uses holy water and a rosary for… things, choking, hair pulling, spanking, doggy style, missionary, grinding, unprotected sex, it’s just nasty shit… no fluff here, that’s all??? don’t kill me for the ending???
word count: 5,602
the first thing father way is aware of, even before the thin grey light of dawn filters through the rectory window, is you.
you’re a weight on the end of his bed, a presence that makes the air hum and crackle. he squeezes his eyes shut, a silent prayer for strength on his lips, but it’s useless.
“good morning, father,” you purr, your voice a silken caress that slides over his skin like a physical touch. you trail a single, phantom finger down the length of his arm, and he shudders, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “did you dream of me? i hope you did. i was thinking of you.”
he sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and turning his back to you, a futile attempt at privacy. “you shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and a desperation he can’t quite hide.
“oh, too bad,” you sing song, drifting closer. you watch as his large, pale hands clench the fabric of his sweatpants, the material stretching taut over his thick thighs. you lean in, your breath warm against the back of his neck. “you know, i’ve always wondered what’s under all these layers. is it as sinful as i imagine?”
he freezes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “let me change in private,” he says, the words strained, as if pulled from him with great effort.
you let out a low, musical laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “oh, alright. if you’re so shy.” you turn your back, but only when you hear the soft rustle of fabric as he switches his briefs, puts on his pants. you’re not cruel, just endlessly fascinated by his denial.
the tension is a living thing between you, a thick, charged current that makes the air feel heavy. he shrugs on his black long sleeve, his movements stiff and robotic. you turn back to him as he buttons it up, your gaze lingering on the column of his pretty throat, the way it bobs as he swallows hard.
“you’re fighting a losing battle, you know,” you say, your voice softer now, almost sympathetic. “all that passion, all that fire... you think god wants it wasted on prayer?”
he finally looks at you, really looks at you, and his eyes are dark, tormented pools. “it’s not wasted.”
“no?” you challenge, drifting closer until you’re standing directly in front of him. you reach out, your fingers hovering just over the frantic pulse of his neck. “then why does your heart beat so fast when i’m near? why do i feel it thrumming under my own flesh?” you lean in, your lips inches from his. “why are you so afraid of me, gerard?”
he doesn’t answer, but his breathing hitches, his gaze dropping to your mouth. the chemistry between you is so potent it’s almost suffocating, a thick, charged current that makes the air hum. he’s a man drowning, and you are the ocean.
“see?” you whisper, a triumphant smirk playing on your lips. “you can’t even deny it.”
with a sharp, jerky movement, he turns away from you. he walks to the small dresser, his reflection in the mirror a portrait of a man at war with himself. you follow, a silent shadow, and rest your chin on his shoulder, your form invisible to the world but a burning reality to him.
“look at you,” you murmur, your ruby eyes meeting his hazel ones in the glass. “all that conflict. all that... repression.” you trace the line of his jaw in the mirror. “it’s delicious.”
his hand trembles as he picks up the white collar. he tries to fasten it, but his fingers are clumsy, betraying his composure. you laugh, a low, wicked sound. “need some help with that, father?”
he slams the collar down on the dresser, the clatter of plastic against wood unnaturally loud in the silent room. “get out,” he grinds out, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “get out of my head.”
“i’m not in your head, gerard,” you murmur, leaning in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you rub his chest in a soft, circular motion. “i’m in your soul. and it’s so much warmer here than they told you it would be, isn’t it?”
he spins around, his eyes wild, dark with a fury and a hunger that’s been simmering for months. he moves faster than you thought possible, his hand wrapping around your wrist.
his grip on you is a shock, a solid, burning weight that’s entirely real. for the first time, he can touch you, and the contact is electric, a jolt of pure sin that makes you gasp.
“you think this is a game?” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his eyes blazing with a terrifying mix of want and disgust. “you think you can just... haunt me? tempt me?”
you smirk, though your heart is hammering against your ribs. “isn’t it working?”
his grip tightens, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek with a possessive roughness that sends a shiver down your spine. “you have no idea what you’re playing with,” he whispers, his voice a dark, dangerous promise. “you have no idea what i want to do to you.”
the air crackles, the tension so thick you could choke on it. his eyes are locked on yours, his mouth so close you can feel the heat of his breath. for a heart stopping second, you think he’s going to kiss you, that he’s finally going to break. but then, a flicker of horror crosses his face, a dawning realization of what he’s about to do.
with a choked sound, a raw gasp of self loathing, he shoves you away. he stumbles back, his hand flying to his mouth as if he can physically take back the words he just spoke. he looks at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and desire, and then he just... spirals.
“no,” he gasps, shaking his head, his hands raking through his dark hair. “no, no, no. this is wrong. this is... this is a test.”
he turns away from you, his movements frantic, desperate. he snatches the white collar from the dresser, his fingers fumbling with it as he tries to fasten it around his neck. it’s a battle, a physical struggle against his own desires.
“get out,” he says again, his voice strained, cracking under the weight of his denial. “get out of my room. get out of my head, you demon.”
you just watch him, a slow, knowing smile spreading across your face. “you can’t get rid of me, father. i’m a part of you now.”
he lets out a frustrated, animalistic sound, a raw cry of anguish. he gives up on the collar, letting it fall to the floor. he turns, his eyes glassy, and then he just disappears. he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him, the sound echoing in the sudden, deafening silence.
you’re left alone in the room, the air still thick with his scent and his desperation. you can hear his footsteps receding down the hall, his frantic, uneven pace. he’s running, but you know he won’t get far. he can’t.
he’s running straight back to you.
the rest of the day is a symphony of his suffering, and you are the conductor.
you feel no remorse- this is, after all, your purpose. his soul had been a beacon, a lighthouse of repressed sin calling to you from across the void. finding him attractive was just a bonus. feeding off his simmering desires for the past few months had been a delicious appetizer, but now, it was time for the main course.
the final test comes in the form of his afternoon catechism class. a dozen teenagers, bored and fidgety, are oblivious to the war being waged at the front of the room. you, however, make yourself comfortable on an empty desk in the front row, manifesting in a form that would make a saint weep.
you wear next to nothing, a mere wisp of shadow that clings to your curves, your bare legs crossed enticingly on the worn wood.
he’s trying to teach them the parable of the prodigal son, his voice strained. “and... and when the son saw his father from a... from a distance...” he stumbles, his eyes flicking to you.
you smirk, slowly dragging a hand down your stomach, over the phantom curve of your hip. “go on, father,” you murmur, your voice a low thrum only he can hear. “tell them about forgiveness. tell them how the father took his wayward son back into his... arms.”
he swallows hard, his knuckles white where he grips the podium. a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. one of the girls in the front row whispers to her friend, “what’s up with father way? he looks… sick.”
you laugh, a soft, wicked sound. “he’s not sick, darling. he’s just... full of the holy spirit. and other things.” you uncross your legs, letting them fall open just enough to make his breath hitch.
he clears his throat, his gaze fixed desperately on the bible before him. “the... the father said, ‘bring forth the best robe, and put it on him...’” his voice is a wrecked whisper.
you slide off the desk, moving with an unholy grace.
you walk towards him, your bare feet silent on the floor. the students see nothing, but gerard flinches with every step you take. you lean against the podium beside him, your shoulder brushing his arm. the contact is electric, and he shudders violently.
“it’s okay to give in, gerard,” you whisper, your lips brushing his ear. “i know how bad you want it. i can feel it, you know. all that... pent up devotion.” your eyes drift down, and you let out a low, appreciative hum. “oh my, look at you. so eager in the house of the lord.”
his palms are flat against the podium now, his whole body rigid. sweat drips from his brow, landing on the open pages of his bible with a soft, wet sound. he’s fighting for his life, for his soul, and the strain is etched onto every line of his face. the bulge in his pants are undeniable, a testament to his losing battle.
“jus’ one touch,” you plead, your voice a seductive poison. “imagine it. my hands on you, right here, right now. while you preach about sin. wouldn’t that be the ultimate test of faith?”
he somehow powers through, his voice a monotone as he finishes the lesson, but his eyes are dark, lost. when the bell finally rings, the students practically flee the room, leaving him alone with you.
as soon as the heavy oak door clicks shut- the silence that follows is absolute. for a moment, he just stands there, a statue carved from anguish. then, with a sound like a snapping wire, he breaks.
he slumps against the podium, his body trembling violently, before sliding to the floor in a heap of black fabric and shattered faith.
you watch him, a detached observer of his undoing. with a flick of your immortal will, the lights in the classroom begin to dim, one by one, plunging the room into a soft, twilight gloom. it’s a silent mercy, a way to give him privacy for his breakdown.
he’s on his knees now, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles are bone white. “god,” he chokes out, the word a raw, ragged plea. “help me. spare me from evil...” he recites verses, his voice a broken, desperate whisper, but they’re just words, empty shells against the reality of your presence.
you sigh, a soft, exasperated sound, and place your hands on your hips. god, does he look gorgeous like this. so ruined, so utterly destroyed because of you. he’s not a man of god anymore- he’s just a boy, a weak, pathetic soul laid bare for you to take advantage of. he looks lost, not the priest he’s supposed to be, and the sight sends a dark thrill through you.
you crouch down in front of him, and for the first time in centuries, you feel a slight twinge in your immortal heart. it’s not pity, not exactly, but something... softer. you reach out, brushing a strand of his damp, dark hair from his forehead.
“it’s okay, gerard,” you coo, your voice a soft, soothing balm. “it’s okay that you’re already ruined. this is your fate.”
he flinches at your touch, his eyes fluttering open, wide with terror. before he can react, you move, easily straddling his lap. he gasps, his body freezing beneath you. you smirk, your bare clit throbbing as it accidentally presses against the hard length of his cock, still trapped in his pants. he stifles a moan, a choked, desperate sound.
“please,” he begs, his voice a broken whisper. “leave me alone.” he sobs harder, his body shaking with the force of his grief.
you just continue to feel him up, your hands roaming his chest, your lips trailing kisses along his jaw. you lave at his neck, your tongue tracing the frantic pulse point there. he whimpers, his fingers digging into the ground, praying so hard you can almost feel the energy radiating from him.
you pull back from his neck with a laugh. “what good does praying do?” you ask, your voice dripping with condescension. “nothing has changed.”
and then, you disappear.
you vanish from his lap, leaving only the cold air and the memory of your touch. he looks around in a panic, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. he touches his neck, his wet cheek, as if trying to prove to himself that you were real. for a horrifying second, he wonders if he imagined you, if he’s finally, truly lost his mind.
and you, watching from the shadows, smile.
he’s yours.
and you’ve only just begun.
the rest of the day is a delicious spectacle of his decay. you watch, unseen, as concerned parishioners approach him, their faces etched with worry. you watch him retreat to his office, the muffled sounds of his breakdown a sweet symphony to your ears.
but now, it’s nearly midnight, and he’s at the altar, right where the huge, looming crucifix hangs in the silent cathedral. he’s on his knees, praying so furiously you nearly roll your eyes.
you’re bored.
you circle him, a silent predator stalking its prey, your bare feet silent on the cold stone. he’s a mess, his clerical collar askew, his hair dishevelled. the rosary in his large palms is twisted, his knuckles white.
“still at it?” you murmur, your voice a seductive whisper that seems to come from everywhere at once. “hoping for a miracle, father?”
he shudders but doesn’t stop praying, his lips moving frantically. you start again, your words a venomous poison in his ear. “i’m in your dreams, you know. when you close your eyes, it’s my mouth on you. my hands.”
you circle him again, your voice dropping lower, more intimate. “i know all about your past, gerard. all that... trauma. all that guilt that led you here. you thought hiding behind god would save you, but no one can save you.”
you kneel behind him, and he shivers as he feels your warmth, a stark contrast to the cold stone. you lay your arms on his shoulders, holding him in a mockery of a comforting embrace. you nip at his ear, and he lets out a choked whimper, his prayers faltering.
“so pretty,” you hum, your lips brushing his skin. “i’ve never ruined someone so gorgeous, so... pathetic.”
and that’s when it happens.
his whole body tenses, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat. his back arches, and his eyes squeeze shut as a wave of pleasure so intense it’s painful, crashes over him.
tears stream down his cheeks, a mixture of shame and ecstasy. you laugh, a low, wicked sound, and lie your cheek on his back, your fingers scratching lightly at his spine through his blazer. he nearly moans, the sound catching in his throat.
“you’re mine,” you whisper, your voice a triumphant hiss. “no matter how many prayers you give to a god that doesn’t exist.”
but then, there’s a switch. it’s so fast, so brutal, it takes your immortal breath away.
one moment, you’re in control, the predator toying with its prey. the next, you’re on your back, the cold stone knocking the air from your lungs.
he’s above you, his large hands pinning your wrists to the floor with a strength that feels impossible. the power he holds is insane, a terrifying, exhilarating force.
your own eyes widen, a flicker of genuine surprise and fear. you struggle, but his grip is like iron. he’s a different man, a terrifying, beautiful stranger. the fury in his hazel eyes is eclipsed by a raw, predatory hunger that makes your own immortal blood run hot.
he grinds his cock against you, the rough fabric of his pants a frustrating barrier against your bare, waiting pussy.
“look at you,” he sneers, his voice a low, filthy rasp that vibrates through your entire body. “all that power, all that temptation... and you’re just a desperate fuckin’ thing, aren’t you? drippin’ f’me on the floor of my church.”
you mewl, arching your hips up to meet his, egging him on. “that all you got, father? a little dry humping? i thought you were trying to teach me a lesson.”
his lips curl into a wicked grin.
with a speed that steals your breath, he snatches the rosary from the ground. his hands are sure, precise, as he loops the blessed beads around your wrists, pulling them tight.
you gasp, a sharp, hissing pain searing into your skin. you’re a creature of the unholy, and the sacred object burns, but the pain is exquisite, a perfect counterpoint to the throbbing need between your legs.
“is this better?” he hums, admiring his work. “a little restraint for the unrestrained.”
he spares no time. with a brutal, effortless strength, he flips you onto all fours, the cold stone shocking your system. the rosary bites into your wrists as you lean on your forearms, your bound hands trapped beneath you. he grabs your hips, pulling your ass up into the air, positioning you just how he wants you. he keeps muttering prayers, but the words are twisted, corrupted by his lust.
“our father, who art in heaven... hallowed be thy name,” he grits out, his voice strained as he presses a hand to the small of your back, forcing your spine to dip, arching you even more. “thy kingdom come... thy will be done... on earth as it is in heaven, you filthy fuckin’ temptress.”
he spanks you, a sharp, stinging crack that echoes in the vast, empty cathedral. you cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure. “admit it,” he growls. “admit how bad y’want me. how you’ve been beggin’ for this since you first haunted my steps.”
you just moan, pushing back against him, lost in the sensation. he pulls his pants and briefs down in one swift motion, and his cock springs free, flushed, thick, and dribbling precome from the tip. you look back over your shoulder, your eyes widening at the sheer size of him.
but then he pulls out a small, crystal bottle from his pocket. holy water. a real, guttural terror grips you. “no,” you sob, shaking your head. “no, please, gerard, don’t.”
he just grins, a wicked, devastating curve of his lips. “need lube, don’t i?” he says, his voice a dark, mocking tease. he pours a small amount over his flushed cock, the liquid glistening in the dim, golden light. then, with deliberate cruelty, he drizzles it directly onto your folds.
you gasp, a sharp, broken sound. it burns. a searing, holy agony that makes you sob and writhe, but at the same time, your body betrays you, a wave of intense, shameful pleasure washing over you.
he hums in satisfaction, gliding his cock through your folds, the mix of his arousal and the burning water creating a slick, torturous friction. his flared tip catches on your puffy, sensitive clit, and you see stars. “fuckin’ look at that,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “so ruined for me, yeah?”
you’re babbling now, a stream of incoherent pleas and curses. “please, please jus’- oh, fuck-”
he tuts, his hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back until you’re looking up at the crucifix on the wall.
“please, what?” he snarls, his grip in your hair tightening, twisting your neck at an obscene angle. “beg for it, you fuckin’ bitch. beg me t’ruin you.”
“fuck me,” you sob, the words torn from your throat. “please, father- jus’ ruin me-”
he laughs, a sound like grinding stones, and sinks into you. it’s not a thrust- it’s an impalement. one brutal, deep stroke that splits you open, stealing the air from your lungs and filling you so completely, so viciously, you feel it in your teeth.
you’ve existed for a long time, but you’ve never been so utterly, so filthily claimed. he doesn’t wait for you to adjust. he just starts to fuck you, using your body like something cheap, disposable even.
the sound is obscene, a nasty, rhythmic slap of his heavy balls against your swollen clit, echoing through the sacred silence of the cathedral. it’s the sound of desecration, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.
the rosary around your wrists glows with a faint, malevolent light, the blessed wood searing your skin, a constant, agonizing pleasure that has you drooling onto the stone floor.
he leans over you, his sweat dripping onto your back, his voice a low, guttural growl in your ear. “this is what you wanted, isn’t it? t’be split open on the floor of god’s house like a fuckin’ sacrifice? y’wanted t’see what a real man of faith can do?”
you’re a cock drunk mess, your body arching back to meet his brutal thrusts, desperate for more, for the pain, for the degradation. you can’t even form words, just a string of broken, breathy moans and whimpers.
he reaches for the holy water again, and you whimper, a genuine, primal fear cutting through your lust. “no, no- don’t, please...”
but he just hums, a terrifying, malicious sound. he pops the top and pours the burning liquid directly over his cock as he pounds into you. the sensation is immediate and overwhelming- a searing, holy agony that floods your cunt, melting into a mind blowing pleasure so intense it makes you sob. “fuck- please- no more,” your voice raw and broken.
“y’like that, don’t ya?” he rasps, his voice thick with exertion and a dark, triumphant pleasure. “y’like bein’ cleansed with my sin?” his tip hammers against your gspot, a deep, dizzying rhythm that makes your whole body convulse. “look at you, takin’ my cock so well. such a good girl f’me.”
you huff, a breathless, broken sound. “look at you,” you manage to gasp out between sobs of pleasure. “the great father way... on his knees for sin. you fucking love this shit- more than you love your nonexistent god.”
he yanks your head back so hard you see stars, the pain in your scalp a sharp, exquisite counterpoint to the pleasure in your core. “you never know when t’shut the fuck up-” he snarls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. he slaps your ass, a sharp, stinging crack that leaves a burning handprint as he continues.
“you don’t get t’talk. you’re just a hole. a warm, wet hole for me t’fuck my sins into.” he mutters a prayer, the words a desperate, garbled mess. “in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti...” the words are a joke, a pathetic attempt at piety while his body commits the ultimate sacrilege.
you try to bite back, to regain some semblance of control- but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust, his cock punching the air from your lungs. he coos mockingly, his tone a twisted mockery of comfort. “aw, am i bein’ too rough? can’t handle it anymore?”
you laugh, a wet, broken sound. “fuck you- your god must be so disappointed.” but your words just fall on deaf ears.
he keeps praying, but the words are a wrecked, desperate mess, a litany of sin and salvation all tangled together. “sanctus... dominus... deus... sabaoth...” but you can hear it. you can feel it in the way his rhythm falters, in the way his growls dissolve into high, breathy whimpers.
he’s close.
more slick, a mix of his precome and the burning holy water, dribbles down your inner thighs. you feel so fuzzy, so warm, so turned on you can barely think.
you keep whining, a constant, needy sound, fucking yourself back on his cock, meeting him thrust for depraved thrust. “that’s it,” you pant. “give it t’me- fill me up, you fucking sinner.”
he just laughs, degrading you further, his words a repetition of malice. “such a greedy fuckin’ demon... so desperate for cock- this is all you’re good for...”
but then, he abruptly pulls out, leaving you empty and aching, a sudden, hollow void where his punishing presence had just been.
a guttural whimper of pure loss tears from your throat before you can stop it. but then, with a strength that feels divine in its fury, a power that has no right to exist in a mortal man, he flips you onto your back. the world spins, the cold stone a violent shock against your spine.
he yanks the rosary from your bruised, bleeding wrists, the sudden release of pressure a stinging agony. before you can even process it, he’s pinning your arms down with his knees, his full weight a suffocating blanket. with a swift, practiced motion, he loops the burning beads around your neck.
you cry out, a choked, strangled sound as the sacred wood sears your skin. it’s a different kind of pain, sharper, more intimate, a direct assault on your immortal essence. he pulls it tight, just enough to cut off your air, to make your head swim with a dizzying, terrifying pleasure.
he knows exactly what this is doing to you, and it makes his cock twitch.
he mocks you, his voice a low, cruel purr that vibrates through your entire body. “poor thing, does it burn? does the instrument of your salvation feel like a noose around your pretty little neck?” his cock, an angry, furious red, bobs just inches from your face, weeping arousal. you salivate, your empty hole clenching desperately, aching to be filled again. “you’re jus’ so fuckin’ pathetic, so eager for your own damnation.”
he gives the rosary a sharp tug, making you gasp, as he lifts your legs, draping them over his shoulders with a practiced, possessive ease. the new angle opens you up completely, vulnerable and exposed, your dripping folds on display. he lines himself up and, with one brutal, seamless thrust, fucks his cock right back into you to the hilt.
the sensation is overwhelming. he’s deeper than before, a hot, thick fullness that hits the mouth of your womb with unerring, devastating accuracy. he tugs the rosary in time with his thrusts, a rhythmic, choking pressure that makes your vision smear, that blurs the line between agony and ecstasy.
the only reason it has such a profound effect on your immortal body is its sacred origin, a direct violation of your very being, a holy poison in your veins.
but he fucks you so good, so thoroughly, that you just sob, letting it happen, letting him use you, letting him ruin you. and then he starts to break. his whimpers become more frequent, his rhythm growing erratic. tears track down his beautiful face, carving clean paths through the sweat.
he’s still spewing prayers, but they’re a broken, desperate mess, a glimpse of his impending doom. “pater noster... qui es in caelis... sanctificetur... nomen tuum... forgive me... fornicating with this- this fuckin’ demon...”
and fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed. how pathetic and ruined he is, crying as he buries himself inside you, using your body to seek a forgiveness he’ll never find.
your clit throbs, your hole clenching around him as you watch him fall apart. you mock him, your voice a breathless, whiny taunt. “look at you, crying like a little bitch. is this your penance? fucking a demon into the floor? is this how you get into heaven?”
he snaps right back, his voice a choked, ragged sob. “shut up- jus’ shut your fuckin’ mouth... you don’t- you don’t know what you’ve done t’me...” he tugs the rosary tighter, cutting off your air completely for a heart stopping second, his hips snapping forward, his cock hitting your cervix with a force that makes you mewl. “you wanted this- wanted to break me- well, here i am! i’m fuckin’ broken! y’happy now, you bitch? this what y’wanted t’see?”
something inside him finally shatters. it’s not a loud crack, but a quiet, catastrophic collapse. the last of his resistance dissolves, and he fully gives in.
his body goes limp against yours, his frantic, punishing rhythm melting into something deeper, more deliberate, more possessive. he’s not fighting anymore- he’s claiming.
you laugh, a breathless, ecstatic sound that dissolves into a moan as his cock drags against your walls. he keeps fucking into you, but now it’s different. it’s a surrender. he’s sobbing, his tears dripping onto your face, but the sounds he’s making are no longer just prayers. they’re a desperate, broken hum, a prayer from his childhood, muscle memory taking over as his mind splinters.
“saint michael the archangel, defend us in battle...” he chokes out, his voice a wrecked whisper. “be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil...” the words are a pathetic, ironic shield, a prayer to cast out demons while he’s buried balls deep inside one.
you hum, a low, soothing sound, and rake your nails down his sweat damp back. he melts into you further, his body shuddering at the contact. his grip on the rosary loosens, and the blessed beads fall from your neck, clattering onto the stone floor with a sound that’s both profane and final.
he’s free, and he’s chosen you.
he moans, a soft, pretty sound, and you look up at his blissed out, pussy drunk face. his damp dark hair is plastered across his forehead, his cheeks are flushed a feverish pink, and his hazel eyes are completely glazed over, lost in a haze of lust and despair.
his pink lips are puffy and parted, and a thin line of drool escapes, trickling down his chin. he’s still whimpering and whining, a pathetic, beautiful mess.
then, there’s a shift. he gets needy, desperate as he drops your legs from his shoulders, only to hook his arms under your thighs, folding you in half like a prayer book. you gasp as the new angle allows him to fuck into you even deeper, the head of his cock kissing that spot with every thrust. your arms lock around his neck, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging and pulling as you whisper encouragements.
“it’s okay,” you coo, your voice a silken poison. “let go for me, gerard. this was your fate. it was always going to be you and me, yeah?”
he hums, the prayers dissolving into incoherent whimpers as he licks at your neck, his tongue tracing the raw, red skin where the rosary burned you. the mix of pain and pleasure is intoxicating, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. you smirk up at him, marvelling at how far gone he is.
“you know,” you murmur, your lips brushing his ear, “your soul is mine. the moment you die, you’re coming with me- gonna keep using you, jus’ like this, for all of eternity. you’re bound t’me now- bound to hell.”
he sobs more, but his hips snap forward, fucking you harder and faster, so turned on by the promise of his own damnation that he doesn’t even give a shit anymore.
he just wants you, only you.
with a final, brutal thrust, he spills into you, a hot, thick flood of his seed that fills you to the brim. you come around him, your walls clamping down on his cock, your own orgasm a blinding, soul shattering wave of pleasure. he fucks all of his load into you, and you take it, every last drop, a willing vessel for his sin.
he collapses on top of you, his full weight a comforting, suffocating blanket. but then you hear his crying, so hard that his whole body shakes, the reality of what he’s done crashing down on him.
you pet his hair, the cold floor biting into your skin, but you don’t mind.
you got him.
“shhh,” you whisper, shushing him sweetly as he whimpers, his cock still twitching inside you. he grinds into you slowly, almost in a trance, his body seeking more pleasure even as his mind breaks.
“you’re just a pathetic, sinful soul,” you murmur, your voice a final, loving condemnation. “and this is where you belong, father. buried inside me. forever.”
warnings: pure filthy smut, p in v, voyeurism, cuck, squirting, masturbating, cumming on face
you can all thank @wrestlingbabe for both of these fics
It's been close to an hour now that Gerard’s been stuck in your closet, for him it's felt like a lifetime. He's hot, sweating, your panties are soaked and sticking to his hand and you and Frank haven't stopped.
Gerard thinks he's going to die.
It really hits him when he barely hears you whine to Frank, “Yeah baby, the gag- the one in the closet.”
Closet.
Gerard's eyes go comically wide.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no. This cannot be happening.
Gerard sinks back into the closet, one stick hand still holding on tightly to your panties, his pants absolutely wrecked.
“Yeah, yeah, I know which one you're talkin' about.” Frank mumbles as he pads over to the closet. Gerard is torn between panicking and watching Frank’s naked body. He's half hard again and he chokes on a pained groan.
He's not sure if it's the ice in his veins or the cold air from the room hitting him when Frank opens the closet door, but something chills Gerard to his bones.
He's frozen on the spot. Hair a mess, cheeks red, sweaty, a panicked deer in the headlights look on his face. Frank stands in front of him naked, hard, flushed, hand on the doorknob of the closet.
He scoffs a laugh, airy and sardonic, a half smirk on his face.
“Wha's taking so long, Frankie?” You ask from the bed, sitting up with tangled hair.
“Fuck,” Gerard whispers. “I, um-” he tries but stops.
“Hey, babe?” Frank calls over his shoulder, he's refusing to take his eyes off Gerard.
“Hm?” You hum back in response.
“Remember how you joked about Gee listening to us?”
“Yeah?”
“Not something we really gotta worry about…”
Frank grabs the back of Gerard's neck like he's scruffing a cat and pulls him from the closet. You let out a surprised gasp when you take him in. And then your head cocks to the side and your brows draw together in confusion mixed with a hint of irritation.
“Are those my panties? They've been missing for weeks."
Frank huffs out another laugh, “Looks like our resident pervert here had ‘em.” Gerard groans at the insult. You stifle a laugh at him and his cock twitches in his wet pants.
“Aw, I think he's getting off on it.” Frank smirks.
“Were you watching the whole time, Gee? Hiding in our closet like a little pervert?” You coo wickedly.
Gerard tries to look away, anywhere that's not yours or Frank's naked bodies. He feels like he's going to die.
“I- it was- I didn't mean-” Gerard tries to explain pitifully.
“You didn't mean to watch us fuck? You didn't mean to hide in our closet and cum in my girlfriend's panties?” Frank asks, eyes narrowed. Gerard swallows thickly and looks to the side.
“‘s a little sad he was watching from the closet the whole time.” The mock innocence in your voice is killing both men. “Maybe we should give him a better view.”
Frank stops. Gerard stops. They both stare at you like you've gone insane. The only difference is that it's turning Frank on and Gerard looks like he's going to shit himself.
Because no fucking way this is actually happening.
“An’ what chair would that be?” Frank asks you in a husky tone, still gripping the back of Gerard's neck.
You motion to the desk chair across the room and Frank's smirk only grows wider when he follows your line of eyesight.
With the chair set up right next to the bed, not even a foot away, Frank plops Gerard down. He instantly tries to get back up.
“No, this was- I shouldn't. Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I really didn't mean to-”
“Ah!” Frank snaps, pushing Gee back into the chair by his shoulder. Gerard struggles and Frank lets out a sigh.
“Listen-” he gets eye level with Gerard, who's desperately trying not to look at Frank's cock. “The lady wants ya to watch.”
Gerard doesn't know how he ended up here. Naked with his ankles strapped to the legs of the chair, his hands tied behind his back. He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He's half convinced it's a dream or maybe he died of heat stroke in that closet and this is heaven. Maybe Hell.
He hasn't decided yet.
He finally comes to, blood rushing in his ears, when he hears you crying out.
“Right there, baby, fuck right there!” With another orgasm that makes your legs shake and Frank laugh.
Gerard can feel something cool and wet hitting his thighs. He groans when his cock twitches painfully against his stomach. It's already aching from his time in the closet, he's lost count of how many times he came in your panties.
“Please-” Gerard can barely hear himself whine.
Frank slows his thrusting and looks over his shoulder at Gerard with another devilish smirk on his face. “Aw, he begs so pretty, don't he baby?”
You giggle breathlessly from the bed, “Mhm..” you hum in agreement.
“Whaddya need, Gee? Hm” Frank coos and Gerard whimpers.
“Need t’- need t’ touch m'self.” Gerard mumbles. “Or- or you touch me. Please, please, please, please, please.” He repeats in a daze.
“You've touched yourself enough, don't you think?” Frank's eyes fall half lidded. “Actually, I have a better idea.”
Frank pulls out of you and you gasp in protest until he's positioning you on the edge of the bed, right in front of Gerard.
“Baby, what're you-” you look up at Frank who's on his knees above your face. He gives his cock a good tug before he cups your hand with one hand.
“Touch yourself.” He tells you.
Your face flushes. Gerard thinks he might actually pass out.
When you don't respond Frank gives your cheek a light slap and repeats him, “Touch. Yourself.” He says as he fists his cock again. The tip nearly touches your forehead as he starts jacking himself off. You bite down on your bottom lip and nod.
You almost want to apologize to Gerard when you look at him from between your legs.
Until two of your fingers disappear into your wet cunt and he lets out a ragged, “Holy fuck-”
Yeah, that? That only spurs you on.
You use your middle and ring finger to fuck into yourself, each squelch echoing in the room. Gerard is nearly on the verge of tears as he watches, his cock so hard and swollen that his tip flushes an angry red as it twitches. Frank's knuckles graze against your hairline from above you.
“That's it, baby. Tell ‘er what a good job she's doing, Gee. C'mon, gotta praise the princess so she puts on a good show.” Frank teases.
Gerard looks up at him, makes eye contact and nods as his chest heaves rapidly.
He licks at his dry lips, tasting the sweat accumulating there, and exhales before telling you, “Doing good-” it's half hearted at first and you squirm, pouting.
“Fuck,” he finally rasps out, “fuck, you're doing so good. Keep- shit- you're so fucking pretty.”
Your fingers scissor inside of you before you slowly pull them out, dragging the slick digits through your wet folds until you find your puffy clit. You start rubbing slow circles against the overstimulated bundle of nerves and you let out a gasp.
“That's it baby, don't stop-” Frank tells you, his voice hoarse. “Don't stop ‘til you're squirtin’ all over ‘im, yeah?”
You can only nod in response.
Your fingers alternate between fucking into your cunt and rubbing and pulling at your clit, Gerard watches with rapt attention. His heart is racing and there's cum leaking from his tip, he doesn't even know how he has any left at this rate. He thought he'd be shooting blanks for sure.
“Mm, fuck, Frank baby…” you moan. Your thighs threaten to close together the second you get closer. You gasp once and swallow in a vain attempt to wet your dry throat.
Frank puts his free hand on your cheek again and presses down your tongue with his thumb. Gerard is losing his mind. Tears are starting to roll down his cheeks from being denied any sort of touch. It's so painfully delicious.
He knows he shouldn't be enjoying this, he knows this is fucked up on so many different levels. But so does Frank, and so do you, but there's no taking it back now.
It's like time is both moving in slow motion and fast-forward at the same time. Frank cums, coating your face with jerking hips. It's warm and thick and shoots down your chest.
Your orgasm hits you fast and hard. Your eyes squeeze shut as the pleasure takes over, a high pitched cry leaving your lips. You squirt, more than you have before, and you blame it on the situation at hand. It hits the floor and parts of Gerard's legs.
And Gerard? Poor Gerard is covering his stomach with his own cum, without even needing to be touched. It hurts but it feels so amazing at the same time. His head is thrown back, eyes focused on the ceiling as his vision goes fuzzy.
“Shit, that was hot.” Frank breathes out with ragged breaths. Your body basically goes limp against the edge of the bed with exhaustion.
It's when Frank gets off the bed to untie Gerard, calling him a good boy, and to get you a towel when you realize that Frank never did get the gag from the closet….
your husband lifts his gaze slowly from the newspaper he was reading.
"fun?" he indulges you, tilting his head slightly to search your face. you suggested something without a description intentionally to make him ask for an elaboration, meaning what you're about to tell him will either be very intriguing, or the complete opposite. he searches your features in an attempt to determine which it'll be. "what kind of fun?"
you pause to make him squirm in anticipation. "i was thinking," you murmur, tracing your finger along the couch's lines with your fingertip, a sign of nervousness. "we could try… being available to each other. like whenever one of us wants-" your face goes warm, "sex."
the newspaper lowers down to his lap so your husband can stare at you intently, but he doesn't move otherwise. he's seated with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his legs apart in a lazy manspread, looking way too composed for what you just suggested. your body is so tense right now that you feel the urge to take a cold shower before the conversation continues. why isn't he saying anything?
"available," he echoes your choice of words. "as in free use."
you nod, trying not to squirm in your seat. "mhm."
he hums, tongue running over the inside of his cheek, and his eyes drag over your body as if he's already imagining all the different ways he can catch you off guard and ruin you. just as you suggested.
"sweetheart," he murmurs quietly, folding the paper and setting it aside, "do you even know what you're agreeing to?"
you shrug, a guileless glint in your wide eyes. you couldn't seriously be asking him this. you, who cries within the first ten minutes of him fucking you and tries to crawl away from him when he's pounding into you, wants to be free use for him, constantly? "i trust you. there... shouldn't be any issues."
he leans back in his chair and lets a silence pass once more. he seems to be considering it. the longer he goes without talking the more you squirm. he lays a cheek in his palm, and continues. "and why do you want to be free use for me?"
your eyes widen and your lips press together. you're nervous but trying not to show it. "it's not just me, you know. both of us are available for each other. i just wanted to suggest it because it's been on my mind a while."
"mm. no other reason?"
you hesitate a second too long, and he notices immediately. his eyes narrow ever so slightly. "well," you fidget, toying with a thread on your shirt to break eye contact just long enough so you don't explode. "i just thought it might be exciting."
"exciting... how?"
you puff out a soft breath and try to play it off. "i dunno… like, getting dragged into a public washroom while we're out grocery shopping. or, like… in the car. pulling it over so we can go to the backseat. or while i'm doing laundry."
"so you mean you want me to be so desperate i can't wait and have to have you. right then, right there."
you fidget again, but nod. "mhm."
he laughs once under his breath. "that's cute. so if you're half asleep," he says, "and i want to wake you up with my cock inside you, you won't mind? or if we're on a hike and you're in one of those pairs of leggings i really like, i can put you up against a tree?"
you nod, but look away bashfully. "i said whenever."
he hums and looks away for a moment in an attempt to stay calm while he processes. then he looks back at you, tutting with a pitying look on his face. like you're a lamb up for the slaughter.
"you don't know what you just agreed to," he says affectionately, like he's sorry for you.
you frown, feeling like he's underestimating you. "yes, i do."
he smiles. "you really don't."
-
the first time he tries out your new agreement is when you're brushing your teeth with him the next morning. you're standing at the sink in just one of his old t-shirts, groggy, hair messy, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth as you blink blearily at your own reflection. he's behind you, pretending to brush his teeth too, but he's just looking at you.
your thighs are bare. the shirt rides up when you lean forward to spit into the sink, and he can see the crease where the back of your thighs meet your plush ass. he's entranced by the quiet way you operate when you're still half asleep and unaware of how good you look.
he swishes some water in his mouth and spits, setting his toothbrush back in the holder while watching you. you didn't notice he was ogling until you look up to meet his gaze in the mirror reflection to see him reaching around to pull you flush against his chest, lifting his hands under your shirt from behind to cup your tits. you don't wear a bra around the house, much to his convenience.
"just trying something fun," he murmurs into the curve of your neck, kissing the soft skin there. you tip your head a little, a pleasant feeling washing over your body as his thumbs roll over your perked nipples. he then wraps his hand around your throat to tip your head back. "aren't you so pretty?" he coos, one hand toying with your breast while the other gives your throat a light squeeze. it does nothing for your sanity. your brain might as well be slipping out of your ears.
you try to respond, but all that slips out is a helpless little whimper, the toothbrush still dangling from your lips.
"you're already shaking," he says softly, letting go of your throat only to glide his hand down the front of your shirt, past your navel, and into the waistband of your thin cotton panties. "and it's not even been a minute since i started. why're you acting like some helpless little virgin?"
you slip the toothbrush out of your mouth and drop it in the holder, using both hands to hold his wrist to keep yourself steady. "you're being mean," you breathe, embarrassed by how quickly he's unraveled you.
he hums, slipping his fingers inside your tight pussy to find you warm and wet. your hips jolt, but you don't move away. "i'm doing what you asked of me," he corrects you, his tone patient. "you said 'whenever,' remember?" he begins to lift up your shirt and tosses it onto the counter beside you, and your panties come off right after. then he pushes you forward so you're bent over onto the smooth marble in front of you.
he leans over your back, palm pressing down gently between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. "you know what your problem is," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, "you get way too ahead of yourself. then you ask for things you're not ready for."
"baby please," you whine, grinding your hips back, only for him to pull away. he's teasing you. you look back at him with frustration, wanting friction against your sopping core, but he's not allowing it.
you feel him hook a hand under your knee to prop your leg up on the edge of the sink for a better angle, and he tuts at how messy your little pussy is so soon. he spreads you as much as you can go, then nudges his clothed bulge against your core, listening to your breath hitch and breathy pants to leave your mouth. "hmmh... that spot... do that again,"
he hushes you patronizingly, tugging his pj pants just low enough for his cock to be free. you're completely bare in contrast. with a hand pinning you down and the blunt press of his cock between your thighs, he slowly, maddeningly starts to slip it inside with a purposeful roll of his hips, and the stretch immediately hits you. you feel so full with just the first few inches of his fat cock in you.
your mouth opens around a silent moan, eyes rolling back. your grip on the counter tightens while he rocks into you steadily, holding you firmly while his gaze flits from your hole sucking him in and the lewd look on your face in the mirror.
"you wanted this. look at yourself. look how pretty you are when you're being used."
you try. you really do. your eyes flutter open just long enough to catch sight of your own flushed, wrecked reflection, your hair a mess, mouth parted, as he slowly fills you up to the brink, tip kissing your womb. his hand gathers a fistful of your hair to tip your head up.
your head spins as he thrusts into you roughly, flesh slapping against flesh making nasty sounds that echo off the bathroom walls. "y-you're... haaa gonna be late f'work," you moan as he fucks into you deep and rough, his thick cock curving just right inside you to keep bumping against your sweet spots.
"shit... y'wanna talk about that now?" he tugs your hair a little to make you squeal, using it to keep you in place like it's a handle. "i'll grab breakfast on the way there," he says into your skin. "this is more important."
you reach behind blindly because you're desperate to feel your husband or hold him, but he pushes you back down, then leans down to push his chest flush against your back, his skin hot against yours. he nudges his cock deeper in you at the new angle, moving a bulky arm to wrap around your neck and fuck you in a chokehold.
he groans against your ear, rutting harder now, his rhythm starting to lose control while your back arches for him, trying to take more even though you're so full. his hips snap forward with more force and he chuckles into your ear when you let out a garbled, " 'm gonna cum..." followed by a loud mewl. he groans, slamming into that one spot that gets you to tighten up around him each time his mushroom tip gives it a kiss.
"hmm, ask nicely, sweetheart," he nips your ear and bottoms out with an obscenely wet squelch. "mmmm.... c-can i... fuck, c-cum? please, 'm gonna..." your eyes screw shut and your pussy gushes around his thick shaft, leaving your thighs slick and shaky.
he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you so his cum can shoot as deep inside you as he can. he doesn't pull out right away. arms wrapped around your middle, nose pressed into your hair like he's anchoring himself.
"god," he mumbles, still pumping you full, and there's now a creamy ring where his cock enters your cunt. "filled your little pussy all up, didn't i? now i'll feel bad leaving you like this."
you're too wrecked to answer, slumped forward against the sink, letting him hold you up. he reaches for a washcloth by the towel rack and dampens it so he can clean you up, giving you little kisses the whole time while you cling onto him. he keeps praising you, too. "did s'good for me, pretty baby."
he leaves you with a soft peck on your cheek. "ill see you later tonight..."
-
it doesn't stop after that morning in the bathroom. that was just his warm up, after all; his first taste of what you gave him. the second the floodgates opened, there was no closing them. poor you.
there's the time in the gym changeroom, right after your shared workout ends. you're both sore and sweaty, and you duck into the locker room so you can grab your stuff and head home with him to shower. however, the second he sees your flushed skin and damp chest through your sports bra, he doesn't hesitate to tug you into one of the showers and sit down on the bench, tearing off your clothes and tugging you into his lap.
he'll stuff your panties in your mouth so your moans are muffled, and fucks up into you hard and fast with no shame, even as he hears people talking and shuffling about behind the flimsy shower curtain. "you're gonna make a mess on me, aren't you?" he murmurs against your ear. "you like knowing someone could walk in right now and see you like this? my sweet girl, cockdrunk in a gym shower?"
he makes you cum on his cock, stuffs you full of his seed and leaves with you once the coast is mostly clear.
next was the hike. you're halfway up the steep trail with him, on a quick break on the grass off the main path. you'd just bent over a little to re-tie your laces since your boots had been far too tight, when he'd come up behind you, grinding against you and palming your ass through your leggings in broad daylight.
"shouldn't bend over in front of me unless you want me to do somethin' to you," he mutters, voice low and warm at your ear as he presses himself closer, fingers kneading into the backs of your thighs.
he doesn't give you a second to argue before he's guiding you face first to a tree and dropping to his knees. he pulls your leggings down just enough to get what he wants, and the air hits your slick folds pleasantly. you whimper, bracing yourself as he spreads your ass to have your pussy fully presented to him.
"gonna be quick," he whispers, "just a little taste." he mumbles, before shoving his face right into your cunt.
you gasp loudly and your hands shoot up to brace against the tree bark right in front of you and dig into the wood. you tremble and let out a shaky breath when he licks a slow, nasty stripe from your pussy up to your clit, shaking his tongue a little so it slobbers over every inch of your drooling pussy lips, occasionally prodding your hole.
his hands are firm on your thighs to spread you open wider, dragging your hips back toward his mouth while he eats you out filthy and sloppy. his nose nudges your clit, tongue flicking in and out of you, then slipping deep inside.
you bite your lip and your eyes, wide and panicked, glance toward the trail. anyone could walk by since you're not that far off the path, hidden, but not well. if someone wandered off long enough, they'd find the two of you.
"god," he moans into you, closing his mouth around your pussy lips and sucking gently, then going back to make out with your pussy. "taste so fuckin' good, babe. made for me." your orgasm hits so fast that you barely have time to warn him, pushing back against him so you cream right into his mouth.
-
you intended to have one wholesome weekend without your man ravaging you on any available surface in the vicinity. a family gathering that your parents are hosting. you enter the countryside house with your husband's hand on the small of your back to guide you inside, smiling politely as your relatives greet you both with warm hugs and laughter. everyone is in a good mood, sipping drinks, chewing on appetizers. there's music playing, and scents drifting from the kitchen.
he lasts about twenty minutes into the evening before he leans down to whisper filth into your ear while everyone else is distracted in the dining room. "you keep looking up at me like that and you're not leaving this place without my cum dripping down your thighs."
you stiffen, body heating up with arousal instantly, even as your face stays composed for the sake of your family standing two feet away. your husband knows exactly what he's doing. he brushes his lips just under your ear again, letting his breath brush over your skin while his palm subtly slides down to squeeze your ass through your dress, making you yelp.
he's all over you most of the evening. hands holding your hips from behind, cupping your ass, arms around your waist, smelling your hair... blatant public displays of affection. he keeps whispering things. "you're dripping through this dress," he murmurs while you're getting drinks in the kitchen. "do you even know what you look like right now?"
you try to push him away, but he's already behind you, brushing your hair over your shoulder as if he's helping, just to kiss the back of your neck. he's all over you right up until you take a break to get away from the party for a bit before dinner. you choose your childhood bedroom as an escape, needing one second away from him before he decides to finger you at the dinner table or fuck you in one of the bathrooms, but he follows you shortly after.
you just entered your old room, not realizing the door didn't click shut behind you. you make it two steps before he grabs you and pins you down onto your back in your old twin bed.
you jolt. "baby! where did you- what are you- "
"shhh," he murmurs, lips already brushing your neck. "just missed you. five minutes."
your body reacts before your brain can catch up. you tip your head to the side for him, breath catching as he kisses behind your ear and tugs the straps of your dress down your shoulders and pushing it under your tits so he can cup your bare mounds. his thumbs brush over your nipples until they stiffen under his touch, and he groans at your soft whines, pinching and rubbing them with his fingers while he kisses down to your chest, laving his tongue over the swollen peaks. he's practically slobbering on them, one bulky hand playing with one while his mouth works on the other, sucking sharply and then releasing with a wet pop.
he drags your panties down and off your ankles, spreading you into a shameful position to get a good look at you.
"fuck, look at this mess," he thumbs over your pussy with light pressure, teasing you. "this for me?" you whimper a soft yes, causing him to chuckle softly. he leans over you again, playing with your hole while his other hand wraps around his cock to stroke it slow and firm from tip to base, aligning himself with your hole. he doesn't make it easy for you and put it in straight away, instead tapping his cock against your folds and listening to the nasty little squelches that come from you. he slides it up and down, delaying your pleasure to make you desperate.
you gasp and mewl, thighs already lifting for him as he lines up and starts to press in slowly. your body clutches around him immediately, the stretch making your head spin. "ohhh my- fuck," he groans, pushing in all the way until he bottoms out. "tight as ever. made to be fucked in."
you moan breathlessly and tip your head back, letting him start to plow into you. he doesn't waste any time in putting one leg up over his shoulder and thrusting so deep that his balls squish against the curve of your ass and his shaft forms a faint print in your belly from how huge he is. your head lolls back with each of his deep, grinding strokes.
"look at you," he whispers, eyes trained on your filthy expression. "getting ruined in your childhood room. all the innocent memories, corrupted by this one." he mocks you while fucking into you harder. you moan loudly, hands fisting at the sheets, then clawing his biceps, then running down his torso. you have no idea what to do with yourself right now. he's fucking you into oblivion and now you're completely out of it.
"bet your parents think you're still their good little girl," he pants, rocking into you, stretching you out with his fat shaft with every drag. you can feel every vein and the exact angle in which his cock curves inside you. "they don't know you're upstairs getting your pussy wrecked like this."
"please what?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to an unbearable pace. "please fuck me harder?" he punctuates the question with a sharp thrust so deep inside you your vision swims. "or please fill me up in my little princess bed?" he coos, grinding his pelvis against yours. your mouth falls open in a silent scream as a particularly deep thrust hits your sweet spot, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine while your back arches off the bed, pressing your heaving tits more firmly against his chest. you can basically feel his heartbeat against yours, thudding in time with his sloppy thrusts.
" 'm gonna cum inside you," he grits, pounding into you hard, cock scraping against your plushy walls and the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every inward thrust. "goddamn, look at me. want you to -haa- remember this." your nails scrape his back. you're crying out softly, trying to stay quiet, but you're so close. you clamp down on him so hard when it hits that he chokes on a groan, hips stuttering as he starts spilling into you with a harsh jerk of his body.
his cock jerks and pulses as he hilts inside you, the thick head flaring inside you as he releases ropes of hot cum pumps into your greedy cunt, your womb quickly filling to the brim.
within seconds, excess semen is already bubbling out around his shaft, dripping down onto the sheets beneath your ass. your pussy clenches and ripples, desperately trying to milk every last drop of him, and he continues rocking his cock inside you as he cums, fingers moving to play with your clit, and you cum shortly after, gushing around his cock and adding to the mess on the bed.
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"please, baby please, just look at me!" clark whines, as you lay up, staring at your phone in your shared bed. he's kneeling in front of you, peppering kisses up your legs.
he forgot your date, your big dinner date together after he had been so busy all week with daily planet mumbo jumbo. he flew home, late, opening the door and seeing you all dolled up waiting on the bed for him. heels and everything. and oh, did you look so sexy when you were mad.
so you glared at clark, after he was begging for forgiveness for about 30 minutes already. "oh stop, please! not like that..." he mumbles, large hands running over your thighs. "you know i didn't mean to miss it, i was-"
"-busy. sure, clark." this is the first you've spoken since his initial arrival, and you used his name. not honey, babe, baby. clark. boy was he in trouble.
"you know i was! i was on superman duty this time around, please. i didn't forget you."
"saving the world but couldn't save the date, huh?" you snap, rolling your eyes. "just get off me, go sleep on the couch."
but clark always believed in never going to bed mad. especially mad enough where you made him sleep in a different room. so he purred, thighs moving up higher. "please, hon, let me make it up to you," he grinned, with his stupid hung smile, and really tried to persuade you.
and it almost worked, almost. until his fingers rubbed over your clit and the sole of your heel instinctively went to his forehead, pushing him back onto his elbows. and although he could've resisted, he let you. "no, clark! you don't deserve it," you hissed, eyeing his body.
and that's when you saw his raging boner through his slacks. hm.
you moved your heel to his crotch, lightly grazing his hard-on. "oh, so you like this? me being mean to you?" clark inhaled sharply, face immediately turning red.
"no, n-no! i-" but you cut him off by pushing your foot into his cock, earning a moan from him.
"don't fucking lie to me." he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, panting. but you added more pressure, literally and figuratively. "look at me, and answer my question."
"golly, baby. y-yes." he gulps, staring at you with puppydog eyes. you wanted to ruin him, show him what being mean really meant.
"who knew," you began, as you slowly stared rubbing your heel back and forth onto his clothed cock, "that superman gets turned on by being treated like a little bitch." he shivered at both your actions and your words. "say it, clark. you like being my bitch, hm?"
"i... i can't," he breathes, unable to bring himself to say such degrading words. especially about himself. he can't even bring himself to swear, what makes you think he can talk so dirty? but the thought of following you around helplessly like a servant, oh...
he snaps out of his thoughts when he hears the "oh. alright then, guess you're not serious about being sorry," you mumble, as you begin to move your feet back and turn over. but clark grabs your ankle, placing your heels back on his cock. you open your mouth to scold him for touching you, but he speaks before you can.
"i like being your bitch... please. don't stop." you smile at him, a real smile. first one he's seen all night. but there's something sinister behind your eyes. he can't think much about it when you continue to rub him through his slacks, hips bucking up to meet your movements.
"that wasn't so hard, was it clarkie? such a good boy for me," you purr, clarks hips stuttering at the pet name. you don't miss it, pushing even harder. he lets out a deep moan, like he was meant to be under you always.
"i'm, i'm close. please, baby." you increase the speed of your ministrations, clark falling apart underneath you. his lips part and whimpers fall from his mouth. he's sweating, hips bucking feverishly now. "please, oh gosh, that's it-"
until it stops. he tries to hold on to your ankle again, but you pull your foot away. harder. he meets your eyes with a betrayed gasp, "wh," following you forward. he humpschases your leg, looking up at you like a hurt puppy. "what, why? i... i was so close, i thought i was your good boy, why did you-"
you cut off his rambling. "not good enough, clark." he whines, guttural. like it really physically pains him to hear that from you. but it makes his cock throb in his pants. you lean forward to his ear, and whisper, "i'm gonna edge you for as long as i want, mkay? maybe, what, five times for the five hours you kept me waiting for? and then i'll forgive you."
he looks around nervously, and coughs. you can't be serious, right? while he begins to talk, you begin to unbuckle his belt. "five.. times..." he repeats, breathily, in utter disbelief.
"mhmm. then you'll really be my good boy." and then, suddenly, clark's ready and agreeing for a night of torture, just to be good for you.
summary: driving back to the kent farm after your internship, you see your boyfriend in his tight white tee… drenched in sweat. (inspos: this p-link + this tiktok)
warnings: MATURE (18+) / pure smut w light fluff / no plot, just clark wearing a white shirt / excessive description about cocks and dicks / overstimulation / oral (m) / groping / established relationship / no penetration / mild dirty talk / reader is ovulating, clark is free-use / semi-public sex (someone walks in)
a/n: oh my lawwwd this might be my best smut piece yet !!! pls do not hesitate to comment your thoughts & reactions, it motivates me a lot when u guys enjoy my work :3
gifs from @/zanephillips !
The front door of the Kent house jingles on your arrival.
The smell of Martha Kent's town-famous pies infiltrating your nostrils as soon as you entered the door. Martha, who usually was out of the house most of the time, seemed to have some spare time because she's baking again.
And God knows how happy you are that she is.
"Sweetheart, I set you aside some pies and muffins for you and Clark to eat over the weekend," Martha says, giving you a quick peck on the cheek like a mother would. "I have to go to New York with Lionel for a charity ball… you know we need the sponsors."
You hum, taking a utensil from the drawer to eat the sliced pie on the counter. "That's great, Mrs. Kent! Though I'm not sure Clark'd appreciate you going with Lionel."
"I know," she sighs. "But it's what I gotta do. I can't run the senate seat without sponsors, we need the funding."
The moment you feel the pie melt into your mouth, you're done for. You moan loudly, jerking your fork back and forth making Martha laugh.
"Sorry—have you told Clark about it?" You lean on the counter, voice slightly stuffed as you continued eating.
Martha shakes her head, "Still trying the right time to."
She sets the topic aside, beginning to talk about things happening in the senate. Both of you occasionally laughing when she talks about something particularly ridiculous that the other senators do.
It was a sweet and lighthearted conversation you had with your boyfriend's mother; it always is. Aside from the incredible being that is Clark Kent, you're also thankful that he had such a cool mother and a wonderful father behind him. Makes you feel all the more lucky to be part of such a family.
When you finish your pie, you feel a lot more rejuvenated. Like you could take on the world. Let fate give you their biggest challenge, who cares?
"Want another slice? I have one more—"
You spot Clark come out of the tool shed through the kitchen window, the white shirt he had on was littered with black stains and possibly some oil grease. The fabric clinging onto his body like second skin, barely letting his biceps breathe as he hoisted up some tool his shoulders, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he began heading elsewhere.
Your mouth waters, mind drifting off to the image of Clark underneath you, utterly ruined and glistening with sweat. Hips stuttering, cock begging to be tended to.
Sorry Martha Kent, I just found something else I wanna eat.
"Actually, I'll eat the last piece later with Clark," you tell her, putting on a sweet, innocent smile on your face. "D'you happen to know where he is?"
Martha's mouth forms an 'o', looking behind her to glance through the window. "I think he was at the shed earlier… you should probably go check the barn. I think he's fixing up something there."
You were already by the door when she finished, waving happily. "Thanks!"
A loud mechanical sound comes from the barn, practically reverberating all throughout the farm with how loud it was. You clasp your hands behind your back, discreetly walking inside only to see the first floor empty.
Your eyebrows furrow confusedly, hands coming apart to grip the strap of your bag, looking around the area for your white-shirt wearing hunk.
"You got home early," a voice comes from above.
You immediately looked up, an amused scoff coming from you as Clark leaned down on the wooden rails, grinning at you endearingly.
"Didn't you miss me?" You ask teasingly, face beaming as you made your way to the stairs, meeting with him at the center. Arms immediately thrown upwards to pull him close. Clark chuckles, not expecting you to lunge yourself towards him. Definitely not when he's sweaty and dirty.
But that's how you like him—sweaty and dirty.
"I missed you real bad, sweets. It was—oh—hard fixing the farm without a human radio beside me," Clark grunts in the middle of his sentence, suddenly feeling your hand over his clothed member, rubbing him gently through his jeans. "You okay? I just… I just finished bringing some heavy stuff up the loft and it's…"
Clark's words trail off as you began kissing the thick column of his neck. Messily licking the sweaty skin while your hand continues massaging him, your other one resting on his shoulder.
You feel his chest heave. A low, almost silent, groan leaving his mouth the moment you bite on the spot between his neck and collarbone, same time as you pull at the hairs on the back of his neck with your free hand.
The manly smell of sweat oozing off of him has you grinding your body on his. The hand you previously had on his center, slowly moving up and under his white shirt. His firm abs flexing under your touch.
Just as his eyes roll back, he snaps into reality, pulling away haphazardly.
"B-baby! What's gotten into you?" Clark laughs shakily, confused at the suddenness of your actions. "Look, I'm all dirty," he moves his arm up to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. "Let me take a quick shower and we can continue this, alright?"
Your face drops, "No."
He laughs again, this time with an expression that has you rolling your eyes. He stared at you like the word no was the least of his expected responses. "What do you mean no? Baby, I'm all sweaty—look, my shirt's dirty. I'm dripping of sweat, sweetheart, your clothes gonna get all messed up."
The smile he offers to you was a consoling one. Telling you that he'd really wouldn't want you to be with him in such a state wherein he's not clean and spotless.
You look at him through your lashes, lips separating as you stood on your tiptoes, moving close to his ear while he quickly leans down to your touch. "All the more reason to let me suck your cock, Clark."
When you pull back, you grin devilishly when Clark looks at you with bewildered eyes. His adam's apple bobbing uncontrollably. You push him back onto the steps of the loft, his body falling defenselessly on the top section of the stairs, the two of you hidden by just a few wooden panels.
Clark swallows on nothing, the heat of your voice has blood rushing into his cock, jeans tightening quicker than usual. You throw your bag somewhere in the loft, the rattle of your things being the least of your worries.
You turn to Clark, taking one more look at him; sweaty, flushed, and very much aroused. The evident bulge in his pants and shirt has you drooling.
You climb on top of him, Clark's hand immediately holding your body to make sure you won't fall back. You kiss him with much hunger in you, aggressively swiping your tongue and biting his bottom lip.
Your hips grind on his clothed cock, the rough material of his jeans making you mewl into the kiss. Clark lets you in without a fight, tongue tangling itself with yours as he has his own exploration underneath your top. Big, manly hands cupping your breasts through your bra.
You grind even harder on his cock, a coil building up in your core despite the two of you still fully clothed. You pull your hand up to slide underneath the waistband of his pants, feeling the weight of his hardening cock on your hand. The fabric of his boxers slowly getting wet by the tip.
Clark pulls away to let out a rough whimper, raspy and breathy, his forehead scrunching up with the way you jerk him softly through his boxers. The sound makes you feel hotter, urging you to ruin him even more.
The two of you separate for a brief moment, Clark's hands immediately moving to take off his white shirt, already holding the hem when you put your hand over his. You shake your head, smirking.
"Shirt stays on, handsome," you wink at him, leaning down to kiss the firm center of his chest, keeping his eyes locked with yours.
Clark throws his head back, grunting. You take the moment to hop off of his lap and pull his jeans just past down his knees. Clark helping you out to quicken the process, now equally as aroused as you are… probably even more.
His boxers tent shamelessly, the thin piece of blue fabric failing to hide the outline of his dick as you make out a darker colored blue right at the tip. Your mouth waters at the thought of his cock leaking just for you.
You pull down the waistband of his boxers, completely captivated at the way his cock proudly stands up, just barely hitting past your lips. The ridiculous size of it has you clenching your legs together, doing your best to fight the urge to just take him right then and there.
However, you had other plans, some that supersedes the ache between your thighs… like making sure Clark Kent remembers never to wear a white shirt when you're coming over.
His cock twitches on its own, the tip pulsing with an angry shade of red. It was so hard, you swore it looked like hurt. And for Clark, it actually did—even more so when you stare at it like it's the only thing you ever wanted. His hips move impatiently, Clark doing his best to stop himself from grabbing you and doing the job himself.
Finally, your hand cautiously grabs his shaft, involuntarily licking your lips at you began jerking it off, testing the waters as you flicked your eyes up to your boyfriend.
Clark's barely hanging on. His mind is going dizzier and dizzier by the second. Feeling his sanity hang by a single thread now that you're starting to move your hand even faster. Trying to hold in the moan in his throat when you put your lips around his tip, rolling your tongue around the fat head of his cock.
The salty taste of his pre-cum made you sigh contentedly, the vibration in your mouth making him twitch.
"You taste so fucking good, baby," you rasp, holding out your tongue to lick one thick stripe on the underside of his cock. Making sure you keep your eyes locked with his, not letting him miss a single moment of your version of heaven-on-earth.
"Oh God," Clark groans, now slightly high-pitched. His eyebrows furrowing upwards, lips falling apart.
He stays there, incapable of looking away from you as your tongue began slobbering all over his cock. Tasting and tracing every vein that trail from it, like an artist mimicking lines for their piece.
You take him in your mouth, slowly and deliberately, making sure to breathe through your nose as you already feel him at the back of your throat, lips stretched to the max as you did your best to take him in, both in length and in girth.
Clark's cock is only halfway inside of your mouth when you gag, the tip hitting the back of your throat making you swallow involuntarily. His hips jerk up, chasing after the tightness of your throat as the sound finally escapes his mouth.
The sound. The whimper.
It was brief, quiet, and subtle, you wouldn't have caught it any other day but fortunately today wasn't those days. The sound makes your insides swell as Clark finally falls back on steps defeatedly. His arms stretching to the back of his head, his biceps spilling out of the sleeves of his shirt, the thought of the fabric ripping because of it making you even more motivated.
You pull off his cock with a loud breath, gasping like you had just been submerged underwater way longer than you should have been. Your hand moves up and down the remainder of his cock—the part you didn't manage to suck—your other hand coming to your lips as you spat on it loudly.
A grin comes onto your lips, Clark's eyes rolling to the back of his head when he watches you rub your spit all over his cock. Making sure every inch of him is covered by you.
You put him back in your mouth, this time having an easier time fitting him in. When you began bobbing your head up and down his cock, tongue licking the shaft, Clark's unable to control his moans. Whimpers and whines spilling from his mouth, clearly trying to use whatever sanity he has to manage the volume of his sounds.
You don't want him to, though. You want him utterly wrecked, broken, head too deep in the pleasure to even worry about who hears his beautiful sounds.
"Fuck, baby—oh god, that's…" Your sudden hand on his balls has him moving uncontrollably. Clark pulling himself up to prop on his elbows, lips red from biting it over and over again, his lust-blown eyes staring at where your hand fondled with him.
He drops his head back, feeling you swallow around his cock. One hand stroking him event faster, the other massaging his balls. Everything around him begins to blur as he slowly loses the reins of his mind.
You let him thrust inside of your mouth, keeping your breath going through your nose, letting him hear the loud and dirty sound of your gagging.
"O-oh!" He gasps loudly, eyes closing shut when you moan around his cock. Slipping off for a second to run your tongue over his bails, popping each one in your mouth before taking his cock back in. "Fuck, that feels so good baby. Don't—mhmm—don't stop, baby, please, right there."
You don't stop the smile that tries to come on your lips, every time your name slips from his mouth is like an angel whispering to you the greatest of songs.
Clark's control disappears. Abandoning his care for anything else besides you on his cock.
You do a quick motion to pull his shirt back just a bit, giving yourself some eye candy—his sweaty abs flexing—as you hurriedly try to push him off the ledge.
Clark grabs the hem of his shirt, almost pulling off his white shirt when you stop him. "I said it stays on, handsome."
He groans, dropping the fabric from his hands and putting them on either side of your head. The moment he does, you know he's got nothing else on his mind now aside from getting himself off.
Clark begins to chase after his own release. Hips thrusting into your mouth with a roughness that has you stuck on the spot. Eyes watching every strain of muscle in his features. His cock hits the back of your throat multiple times but you didn't care. Not even a bit.
All you cared about, at the moment, was letting him finish himself, letting out every bit of frustration he has about the world inside the warm inside of your lips.
"There, shit—nnghf, fuck, stay like that baby," Clark says, whiney and breathy. Pleas of your name falling endlessly.
He feels the coil in his lower stomach twist even harder. The familiar white spots appearing in his vision as he clenches his teeth together, doing his best to tip himself off the edge without accidentally hurting you.
When your fingers tighten around the base of his cock, just enough to give him mind-dizzying pressure, he looks down. Your eyes locking with his in the most erotic way you could. Then he lets go.
Clark's lips split open to let out one of the deepest groan you ever heard from him. Ropes of his cum coating the inside of your mouth as he rides out his high, grunting and whimpering every time his dick touched the softness of your cheeks.
"Shit, that was… Oh fuck," he sighs, slowly coming back down to Earth as he looks around.
You grin at him, holding your tongue out to show him his masterpiece. "Baby." he says, running his hands through his hair as the aftershocks of his orgasm still made his thighs clench.
You swallow his cum without a question. Throwing your hair to the side as you shifted in your place, peeling off your panties from underneath your skirt.
Clark smirks lazily, thinking he knows what comes next.
Unfortunately for him, you weren't done yet.
You throw your panty over to him, Clark catching it with ease before he holds it close to his face, just enough to get a whiff of your wetness on it. His eyes darkening the moment he sees it absolutely drenched.
"You did so good for me, handsome," you purr, coming on top of him to nip at the neckline of his shirt. Licking the beads of sweat twinkling down his neck. The salty taste of the liquid making you hum contentedly. "So fucking good."
"Let me take care of you now, sweets. Must be so drenched for me, huh?" Clark tries to slide off your top, running his hands all over your sides.
You chuckle, the glint in your eyes telling him something different. "I'm not done with you yet, baby. Just relax for me, m'kay?"
You sit back up, sitting on top of his thighs, your skirt bunched around your hips to give Clark a sight of what's happening to you underneath that composed facade of yours.
Clark watches you with anticipation, tongue coming out to lick his lips as he tries to prop himself up with his elbows again.
"H-hey!" Clark stutters, eyes widening when your hands grab his cock again. It was still hard, leaking, and even aching. You're not sure just one release gets the job done. "Sweets, I just came…" he breathes, voice cautiously low. "It's your turn now, c'mon. Let me take care of you." He tries to pull you up from your position, maybe even have you sit on his face as a way to return the favor.
You don't budge though. You slap his hand away with your free one, leaning down to put your face beside his cock. The lewd sound of his cock sliding in and out your palm paired with the subtle tingles of overstimulation, and your erotic eyes, it gets the same fire inside of him burning again.
"Just give me one more, Clark. One more and I'll let you take me," you pause, tilting your head to his cock, spitting on it loudly, "…however you want."
Clark glares at you, jaw clenched and body tense, his eyes holding a sense of determination that tells you he's not turning down your offer.
A proud smile comes on your lips, giving the base of his cock one kiss before you start jerking him off. Using your spit and his pre-cum to slide it smoothly. You use both of your hands now, one at the top focusing on his tip, while the other moved up and down his length.
"Mhfm," Clark groaned, his tip being too sensitive right now. His face getting warmer by the second, body clenching uncontrollably. "B-baby, it's… oh… fuck."
"Yeah?" You raise an eyebrow, taking your hands off abruptly making him thrust upwards into nothing.
He looks at you wide-eyed, shocked and confused. You only chuckle at him, slowly placing your hand by his face, open palm by his mouth. Clark stares at you, awaiting your word.
"Spit." Clark gathers up his saliva for a second before spitting it all in your hand.
You smile, thanking him sweetly before you went back to your position. Letting the feeling in his stomach subside before placing your hands back. The hand with his spit placed over his tip, swirling his own liquid around the engorged head.
It was right then did Clark understand how fucked he was. How fucking dirty all of this is.
Worst of it all, he can't even do anything. He's fully at your mercy. Having to take everything you're giving to him without a complaint.
You find your pace, wasting no time to finally get that second release you desperately wanted from him.
Clark doesn't fight it anymore. He lets out every groan, whimper, and moan he has in him. Your name being at the top of the his lungs as he continuously called out for you, begging and pleading to let him come.
"Please, baby, I'm—I'm almost there baby."
"You gonna come f'me?" You tease, batting your eyelashes innocently.
"Uh-huh, keep going," Clark nods repeatedly, his features scrunching up as he feels it start to hurt, start to tingle. Somewhere between the pain and pleasure of the overwhelming sensation—that's where he is. Almost at the top. "Yes, baby, just like that."
You decide not to torture him even more, letting him have his release as you continued to move your hands with a faster pace. The sounds of his cries slowly getting louder.
Then, you hear a voice downstairs.
"Clark? You there sweetheart?" Martha Kent.
His eyes shoot open, hand immediately slapping over his mouth to stop his own moans. He looks to you with panic, but you only smile wider.
"I've finished baking!" Martha called again. Apparently she's been looking for you as well. "When you find her, head to the kitchen, alright? I tried a new recipe for my muffins, try 'em out."
You swiftly, and carefully, move to his ear, whispering: "Answer her."
He shakes his head, "No," he says quietly.
"Now," you say, dropping one hand from his length to his balls.
Clark's eyes roll back, taking his hand off of his mouth. "Y-yeah, mom, we'll check… check it out in a bit!"
His voice was shaky, but you applaud him from even trying. Staring at him proudly, stars dancing in your eyes as you hear Martha's great! see you! in the back, footsteps slowly disappearing.
Clark releases all over your hand the moment you sit back on his thighs, wet slit touching his bare thigh. An aching and almost painful groan ripped away from his throat as more strings of cum shoot out of his cock. Generously falling down the tip and onto the base.
Clark's breathing heavily now. Chest moving up and down after what felt to be like the last orgasm in his lifeline. It was so strong—so intense, he couldn't even wrap his head around what just happened.
Why you were still smiling at him as your tongue licked up the cum dripping on his length, as if you didn't just swallow it minutes ago.
You clean him up, his cock finally softening just a bit in your hold. You move up to him, resting your chin on chest. "You’re so pretty."
Clark's weak scoff enters your ear. Arm weakly wrapping around your back. "Have I been neglecting you or what?"
You laugh at him, kissing his lips lightly. "Never stop wearing white shirts."
When you start rolling away to get up, Clark tightens his hold on you.
"Oh, baby," he shakes his head, tongue poking at his cheek. "You're not getting off that easily. Up the loft, c'mon. It's my turn."
hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xoxo
This came to me in a dream last night! But Frank throughout the years and how I think he would treat you and how you all are together.
Warnings: cute but also so filthy so read at your own risk
Early Years!Frank
-don’t get me started on this
-soooo nervous around you, tries to be really cool but literally so in love with you and can’t believe you picked him
-wants the world for you, will spend every penny making sure you’re happy even though you continuously tell him youre happy with just him and nothing else
-pictures always taking pictures of you, of each other, when you go to the beach one day you’re smiling as you sit under the umbrella and he quickly grabs the camera to take a shot, he also loves y’all’s private photos: you on your knees, the ones you take of him shirtless as he slowly unbuckles his belt, etc.
-EATER PHASE! I REPEAT THIS MAN EATS IT!! Loves sloppy, wet head, wants to always be down there, loooooooves the sounds you make, tries his best to still his hips so they won’t buck against the soft mattress but always winds up doing it and cums in his pants, moaning against your body
-likes to tease you, like middle school type of stuff, tugs on your hair, tries to trip you, but alsooooo loves teasing you in the sheets, lips wrapped around your nipples, saying sweet things to you as you grip his hair between your fingers begging for more, him shushing you by putting his fingers in your mouth
-he is shy about it but he loves when you go down on him, super whiny when he can feel the back of your throat tightening around him, his words slurred and incoherent, “fnuck, ba-baby, pleeeeaa, god, so wet”
-you love how sweet he is and want to explore more so as you go down on him, drool dripping off his balls and further down, you slowly run your finger through the slick, eyes looking up thru your lashes at his blissed out face, you pull off of him with a smile before leaning down to leave sloppy kisses at his base, finger sliding down to his hole, Franks mouth dropping open with a silent O as you run your finger around the muscle, smirking when his eyes roll back and you press the tip of your finger in
Leathermouth!Frank
-Frankie is kind of mean in this era, but not necessarily mean to you but just overall mean
-he has so much going on in his head at all times, but his eyes soften when he sees you, holds you hand and gives a small smile
-acts nonchalant about everything, “Frank want to go hang out?” “Yeah sure that sounds fine” you want to strangle him but you know just how to get that all out of his system
-“wanna use me?” Your voice barely above a whisper but Frank drops everything and is on you in a second
-the era when you two create a safe word because Frank gets into a headspace that involves fucking you until you’re crying and begging him to stop (not using the safe word because why would you want him to stop)
-choking you with both hands making your eyes roll back, so rough with you, squeezing your tits hard enough to leaving bruises, biting your neck making you moan like the slut you are
-so degrading like soooo degrading, “look at my pretty whore, oh no baby no crying remember you asked for this. You wanted Frankie to tear this pussy up so now I am.” He slaps you in the face but you absolutely love it
After MCR! Frank
-ooooooohhhh this Frank will always have a spot in my heart, sweet baby angel darling sugarplum
-at the beginning he is hurt and confused and turns to you a lot, you hold him or let him lay his head on your lap while you give him encouraging words
-sometimes when you all are laying in bed and he is feeling down he lets you be the big spoon!! Which is your favorite because you leave soft kisses along the back and side of his neck just trying to soothe him, he gets hard almost instantly and pulls your hand under his boxers and sighs as you wrap around him
-Frank gets turned on by your niceness, always pressing up against you, and pushing his hardening length against your soft body. HANDSY!! I mean he can’t stop touching you because he is almost too scared you’ll somehow disappear as well. You giving him handjobs with constant eye contact/encouragement are frequent during this time “see Frankie you’re so good, making the cutest sounds ever, oh you want to cum that’s cute why don’t you work for it a little bit” Frank loooooves to thrust up into your hand head falling back and mouth hanging open as soft moans fall from his lips
-when he fucks you it’s considerate and passionate, your orgasm always wrecking you as his tatted fingers rub your clit with precision. He likes to hear the sounds you make, really makes him thrust into you deeper always mumbling about leaving his mark, wanting everyone to know you’re his
Current!Frank
-this Frank knows he is hot and knows what he does to people, knows that people fawn over just the sight of his tattoos
-dare I say MUNCH, literally obsessed with you and always wants to spoil you in anyway he can but he still loves how independent you try to be, loves seeing you excited over things and loves when you listen to him ramble
-SOOOOOO experienced, you think it and he has probably done it, knows exactly how to catch onto certain cues to know if he is doing a good job, watches how your body reacts to him and smiles when you tighten around him, has favorite kinks: choking, loves biting you and marking you up, exhibitionism (he likes when you watch him as his tatted hand wraps around his length- alsoooo doesn’t mind the thought of someone else watching you two), DIRTY TALK (this man drives you nuts, whispering in your ear about how well you take it, how good your cunt feels, tells you about how others can definitely hear you and are probably wanting to watch)
-once again friends, Frank (eater) Iero, I think this man can not go a day without eating it, thinks about it all the time, gets sooooo turned on just by the sounds and how responsive you are, drives him MAD honestly, alsooooo hear me out loves his ass ate I don’t care if y’all agree because he definitely does
-loves that you’re just as adventurous as him, he fucks you in the bus, at the venue, bathroom at a restaurant, does not matter when he is buried deep in you, his brain goes fuzzy when you tighten around him and he begs you to cum, he always has a hand resting on your throat, sometimes squeezing sometimes not
-you love teasing him about going a second time, “come on Frank, I’m still so wet and I want you and I miss you inside me already” you get all pouty and chuckle as Frank groans while throwing his arm over his face, “maybe in like 2-3 minutes”
