[clxmentine-candy]

hi if you see me reblogging only clark kent smut for the forseeable future dw abt it im right where i wanna be

EDIT: MIKE WHEELER UR GETTING IT TOO

[willyoubemycherryy]

Counting Licks (Bo Chow x Reader)

Summary: He does bite- never too hard though…

Contains: smut, giving a bitch sum head or sum, minimal plot, no I genuinely mean it, oral (f. receiving), kissing, dirty talk, refers to the 🐱 as ‘her’, he’s feral for the cookie, pussydrunk Bo, biting, petnames, “I ain’t never date no man who ain’t suck me off the bone”, BITINGGGG, public, but u guys are alone, I saw sinners again last night and this is the product so good luck

A/N- if you see a mind running around that looks lost, it’s mine. Leave it be.

+ with @bochowswife and @taylormarieee in mind🥰🎀

*Takes place in the ‘fix it’ universe

.♡

The club had been open for weeks and had been a bigger success than originally planned.

It was kind of an unspoken rule that anyone in attendance didn’t mention the incident from that night, it being “bad mojo” and all that and people were only too happy to put it behind them.

Another thing that happened by the end of the first week was the switch from plantation credits to actual money or change. Quarters, dimes, nickels, were all welcome as long as it could spend. They changed it in a way that business wasn’t affected but worked for the locals. Now, prices were different depending on what they was drinking and that did wonders for money flow. So much in fact, that they needed help managing it all.

That’s where you and Bo come in.

Managing his own store and such, Bo was good with numbers- quick too- a trusted friend of the twins, and he’d been there to help them set up since day 1. So when the twins asked him to do the till counts during near end of the first half of the night, it was an easy yes. Surprisingly enough, Smoke and Stack were on the same page with not minding Bo bringing you into the office with him while he worked; claiming you kept him focused and that was that but….

Bo was supposed to be counting the tills and you were supposed to keep him focused.

“Mmmm, she’s so sweet baby”,

Bo purrs in that heady southern drawl before he laps another firm drag up your slit. “Nice n’ wet f’me..”.

A debauched moan bubbles deep from your chest as Bo slurps your clit into his mouth with a drunken hum. The vibrations make your head spin, lower stomach tensing up as you try to ground yourself before you lose your mind but Bo doesn’t let up- can’t bring himself to. Not when you coat his mouth with your taste looking like the answer to every prayer he’s ever prayed with full lips and wide eyes that constantly looked at him like you didn’t just want him but needed him.

He groans, pulling away with a string of saliva connecting you, smacking his lips hungrily as his hands help themselves to your curves and god- you melt. Much like ice would under the heat of the devil’s tongue only faster this time because pleasure is always better when business is meant to be the goal. Tingling nips to your thighs trail back up slowly to your wetness and you suck in a deep breath through your teeth, heavy arousal licking flames across your skin making you sweat. The music outside was loud enough to drown out your activities which was great because Bo was aiming to suck you off the bone.

Gripping the fat of your hip, he pulls you closer against his open mouth- tongue wet, hot, and insistent as he hungrily licks inside you. The pleasure is crushing and your hands find his hair, petting and messing at it weakly while you gasp and whine in bliss. Bo takes your throbbing bud in his mouth again, lapping stroke after stroke against the underside of your clit before rolling it between his teeth and you jolt as he bites down with just enough pressure for the pain to warm before he soothes it with a heavy lave of his tongue and you cry out so hard it feels like your chest is caving in.

“B-Bo! We-, the t-ti- fuuuck!” You can’t even string a sentence together with the way he’s taking you apart, sucking your clit like a piece of candy before rolling the sensitive swollen nub back between his teeth and you’re shaking. Eyes fluttering back as the most pitiful choked out sobs you’ve ever heard from yourself fall from your lips as you grind up into his handsome face.

It’s as if you’re floating. His hands are so big and rough- strong and everywhere. You might be crying for real now. Bo’s so hard that the blood rush makes his ears ring but he couldn’t be bothered to pay that any mind.

Not when you’re so close.

“Thaaat’s it sweet thing..”

And you’re crying and stuttering in that sweet, pretty, way you did whenever you got real close-your hips bucking up into his greedy maw and he can feel the way your leaking hole twitches under his tongue and he growls. A hand leaves your hips in favor of stuffing three of his fingers knuckle deep inside your spasming cunny as he catches your clit and bites- flattening his tongue to soothe the pain sweetly and he’s so sloppy with it as his fingers lazily stretch you open that you can’t take it anymore. It’s too good- too much.

The slutty arch of your back doesn’t make your orgasm any easier to bear as it tears clean through you, coming so hard you hear sight. Heart beating through your chest as you scream, spraying his thick fingers and sinful mouth with a hot burst of your slick. It gives Bo goosebumps as he moans into your flushed skin, mouth working even harder as he laps up your release. Even sucking you off his fingers before rushedly undoing his pants and jerking his fat throbbing shaft off with that same hand. Burying his head back to finish cleaning you up, the sweet taste and smell is so fucking good- so heady- that he’s coming minutes later into the hand that’s soaked with you, resting his head against your thigh while you catch your breath and wait for your senses to realign so you can convince him to take you home.

Till counting long forgotten.

[willyoubemycherryy]

TAKE 1🎬 -> + Stack. M x Reader +

Since I’ll be in the hospital for a while, I figured I’d post some my drafts for entertainment :)!

Summary: You and a troublesome man you like more than you let on…in the end it’s easy.

Contains: smut, a dash of degradation, established enough relationship, fat d!ck Stack because LOOK at him, country accents, rough s€x, manhandling, multiple ørgasms, overstimulation, he puts it zowwwwnnnn, gives you some of that “move yo hand”, mating press dirty talk, petnames, fucking filthy kissing, cuddles, and as per usual- this is for the ✋🏽 strictly for the ✊🏽

Y’all thank @dollerin <333!

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Damn baby, you always this easy?”

Stack purrs out against the bare leg that’s currently hiked over his broad shoulder, voice dripping with condescension that’s a lot sweeter than the way he’s fucking into you.

The question is mean but it has its intended effect.

Goosebumps break over the surface of your flushed skin, choking on a whiny moan, cunt pulsating so tightly around him that he can feel you in his bones. A flurry of hiccuping sobs pour from your mouth cause you’re close. Again. Ordinarily, you’d try to defend your good name since you really were in fact not easy…or at least not until you’d met Stack. You’d heard of him before but never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance until he came strolling through your moms shop one day and found you instead.

At first you were stunned just making eye contact with him. Lidded brown eyes, dimples, plump lips- the gold on his teeth glinting at you and damn he was tall. Strutting up to introduce himself to you, accent thick with charm. However, you’d already heard of him and his way of giving women the roundabout and you’d decided right then and there that you’d be damned 11 ways to Sunday before you ever caught yourself on your back or knees for him.

Unfortunately, he was as relentless as he was gorgeous. Steadily pursuing you with the devil in his eyes and a grin on those full lips. Always hanging around- then, he’d disappear. As indifferent as you tried to be, dancing around his advances with light giggles and playful hands, when he’d vanish, you’d find yourself missing his face- or rather- his way of being, more like. See, Stack had this carefree almost cavalier demeanor but he was firm too. To you, that was his most attractive quality.

And he’d picked up on it. That you liked when he was a little firm with you.

From there all it took was a kiss.

Just barely brushing your lips when he leaned down, whispering teasingly against your lips, finger underneath your chin and you couldn’t keep the want from dripping out your eyes if you tried.

“Stop playing with me.”

To your surprise but not his- you listened.

Funny how you were so determined not to fall into his gravity and now look at you; sweat out hairstyle, sheer stockings ripped to hell along with your bra and underwear, being manhandled every which way, stretched out and creaming around the fattest cock you’ve ever had in your life as you moan in bliss- loving it.

Stack’s thrusts are deliciously brutal, hips snapping into yours while your legs hang over his shoulders like some harlot and sounding just like one, mouth dropped open while you cry and whine real pretty for him. Hissing through his teeth at the sight you make, Stack wedges his hands underneath the arch at the base of your back and grips tight- using your body as leverage to fuck into you even deeper. If the heat of the room wasn’t making you delirious then the way the fat head of his was smushing rough kisses into that soft patch of nerves would definitely do the trick. If this is what playing hard to get gets you then you’re seriously considering becoming a professional.

It gets to the point where your pussy is almost as loud as you are, prompting Stack to look down. A loud whistle barely makes it through the fog in your head and you try to bring your vision to focus. Your heart is going at least 100 miles per minute and you squeak as your legs are pushed so far back that your knees are touching your ears, Stack moving directly on top of you. Where the sudden flexibility came from you had no clue- but your awe is almost immediately overtaken by how full the new position has you feeling.

“O-oooh!”

Stack bites his lip as he watches your pretty face melt in pleasure, your normally sleepy eyes pop wide open, brows drawn together like you’re about to cry, lips forming that sexy ‘o’ as he slows down his strokes- letting you feel every inch of him. You were so gorgeous. Naked curves and soft skin crashing and rolling back into him then wrapping around even though you initially wanted damn near nothing to do with him. The thought makes him smirk in satisfaction until he’s brought out of his thoughts by the feel of your trembling hand just above where your bodies are connected. He pulls out halfway nice n slow, looking down to see what the fuss is and his heart almost pounds out of his chest.

Slathered all over his dick, is milky white. It streams out generously from your hole around where he’s stuffed in and Stack feels himself start to lose his mind a little bit as he moans out,

“Yeahhh mamas, she’s real easy f’me…”

He doesn’t take his eyes off your cunt as he slams back in with a wet ‘plap’- throwing his head back with a deep groan. The sound is so primal it sends nasty shivers up your spine but you don’t move your hand and he’s folding you even deeper, lowering his upper body almost completely against yours, pelvis grinding against your clit and you gasp wetly. Stack is wild, sucking bruising kisses into your neck, tongue trailing hotly up to your mouth to claim it in a deep kiss. It’s consuming. His big tongue flattening against yours in maddening swipes, sucking the muscle sloppily into his own mouth making you lightheaded- blood rushing through your ears as he starts his hips up again, grinding away at that spot inside you but not quite as deep and he pulls away.

He watches you gasp desperately, moving not even an inch away from your face as he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue before whispering inside your mouth- eyes glazed,

“Move that hand, baby.”

Your name might as well be Sunday morning cause that’s exactly how easy you are, body obeying him before you even tell it to. As soon as you do, he doesn’t waste a second, big hands hook underneath your knees- railing you stupid. He’s not even trying to think straight, caught up in in not just the heat but how tight- how creamy- you are. Letting out a string of swears, he captures your mouth in another overwhelming kiss, cock aching while he swallows your wails as you twitch and shake around him.

You can’t take anymore. Stack gives another harsh, slick roll of his pelvis into your swollen nub while battering that tender spot inside you and you’re coming. And Jesus Christ on a bike- you’re coming hard. Clawing at Stack’s beefy muscles, a swarm of stars completely eclipse your vision while you’re shocked with wave after wave of vicious pleasure. You’re so loud you struggle recognize your own voice but Stack’s is clear as the ecstasy pumping through your body. Filthy words of praise and encouragement directly in your ear, prolonging your orgasm.

“Thaaat’s it, dollface.. aalll over me…”

Tears spill from your eyes and you’re close to tapping out when Stack buries his head into your chest, taking one of your puffy nipples into his mouth, thrusts slowing as he shoots deep inside your heat with a muffled groan, stuffing your hole to the brim until he pops off your tit with a satisfied sigh.

You’re tired, your back is killing you, and your shaking like a baby deer but a grin makes its way onto your lips regardless as Stack kisses all over you, pulling out slowly, warm eyes checking over your form for any sign of discomfort while you bask in the coziness after, closing your eyes to enjoy a much needed break until he interrupts it. Kissing your cheek in that tender way he does when he’s fixing to look after you.

“You okay? Ain’t hurtin’ none?”

You shake you head, eyes closed even as he pats you dry gently with his shirt, tossing on the floor when he’s done. Less sweaty, it’s easier for you to nap but something was missing. Reaching up, your hand swipes though the air as you blindly reach for him, eventually catching his chain as you yank him down next to you with a soft pleased little hum. Yes, you’d sleep just fine now.

And when you wake up?

You’re face to face with a big rock on your finger.

Stay tuned for take 2, 3, 4 and more yall🤠🫶🏽!!!

[barnesonfilm]

never have i ever

★ summary: you and steve never talked about the summer of 1985, but a drunken game forces you both to relieve it in graphic detail

★ pairing: steve harrington x reader

★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, alcohol usage, protected sex, p in v, porn with little plot, overstimulation, squirting, loss of virginity, size kink, big dick steve harrington

★ word count: 7.7k

★ notes: this is one of those im not sure i like but :P

Never Have I Ever was a stupid game childish, immature game, and it was only ever suggested because Robin loved to be nosey. That, and the kids had been buzzing with excitement to play drinking games with the ‘grown-ups’, finally. It had become a long-running joke: the moment the last of them turned twenty-one, they’d officially earn a seat at the table. 

Now, you were all regretting it. Bottles littered your best friend’s floor, the Harrington house becoming the home base for the hangouts when everyone was in town. Four shots in, and the kids were absolutely fucking with you all. Nancy was practically sloshed, and Mike was making sure he targeted her directly. Dustin was basically force-feeding the shots down Steve’s throat while the rest of them laughed in your faces. It was mostly mundane jabs, who got dumped, and embarrassing stories coming to light. It didn’t get nasty until Lucas was quiet for a minute, an evil smirk on his face. 

“My turn,” He yelled, everyone, preparing yet another shot. “Never have I ever had a one-night stand.” 

“I don’t think you guys are playing this game fairly by targeting us.” You grumbled, all of the older kids slamming the shots back. You winced as the tequila burned your throat, watching Steve gag around the lime slice.

“To think, we finally let you drink with us, and this is how it is.” He grumbled, his shoulder brushing yours. Steve Harrington had been your best friend since middle school. One of the few surviving friends of his ‘King Steve’ era at Hawkins High. You survived long-distance friendship and the turmoils of life. Now here you were, sitting in his living room during the summer. Just like you were a teenager again. 

“There were no rules about what we could say. You should’ve clarified.” Mike snorted, sticking his tongue out at his sister. 

All she did was snarl back, “Okay. Never have I ever been caught hiding porn magazines under my bed.” 

That got a howl of laughter to echo around the room, the boy hesitantly chugging back the shot. The two siblings now in a stand-off of emotional warfare. 

“Never have I ever slept with Jonathan Byers.” Mike bit back. 

“Whoa!” Her ex-boyfriend and current situationship yelled, not sure why he got dragged into this. 

Another drink. “Never have I ever been a virgin at 19.” She bit back. 

“I told you that in confidence!” He cried out, not even taking the full shot. Too busy trying not to throw it up on Steve’s rug. 

“Never have I ever slept with Steve Harrington.” Mike howled.

“Oh my god, you are so ridiculous,” Nancy yelled, not even bothering to fill the glass. Content on taking a swig directly from the bottle. 

Maybe if the alcohol wasn’t already pumping in your veins, you wouldn’t have done it on instinct, but you tilted your own head back. Another shot going down, leaving a burning feeling in your chest, hand rubbing your clavicle to ease the ache. And maybe you could’ve gotten away with it, had everyone not been staring at Steve, awaiting his protests for Mike’s comment. 

“Wait,” Dustin shifted in his seat, now all eyes on you. “Did you just take a shot, Y/n?”

Steve was oblivious, still side-eyeing Mike for his unnecessary jabs at his sister. 

You froze, fingers still gripping the empty shot glass. Eyes wide as jaws began to fall to the floor, Robin covering her face with her hands. 

“Uh..” You choked out, “Yeah.” 

A chorus of yells broke out, Steve’s body tensing beside yours. 

“Oh my god.” Max cackled, her and Lucas falling into each other. 

“Dude, I told you so!” Lucas said back. 

“I knew you guys had been friends for too long not to have done something,” Dustin yelled, punching Will in the arms out of excitement. Ignoring his whines. 

“Jesus Christ, don’t say that,” Will begged, reading the room unlike his tispy friend. 

“This is insane.” Robin’s hands were gliding down her face, as her world had shifted on its axis. Unaware of how she didn’t know this had happened between her two best friends. It wasn’t something you and Steve talked about often, or really ever. 

“Wait, really?” Nancy’s eyes were wide, shooting daggers at the two of you. 

Suddenly, the room was too crowded, your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your skin. All eyes were now on you, and you were looking everywhere but at Steve. 

“Wait, when did this happen?” Jonathan asked, “Are you guys like, together now?” 

Too quickly, the two of you began denying it, scoffing out in unison no’s. The silence was deafening after, scoffs of disbelief and looks of confusion. 

You let Steve speak, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “It was a long time ago.” He had settled on, hoping that was going to ease the nosiness. Which, of course, it did not. 

“You told me you never had feelings for Steve,” Nancy said, an accusatory glance shot your way. 

“And I never did. It was purely physical.” You rambled, “It was way after you guys got together, swear. God, Steve and I are just friends.” 

“Just friends normally don’t have sex.” Robin pointed out, “I mean, we’ve never had sex.” 

“Robin, did you wanna have sex with me?” You scoffed, her face turning into one of disgust. 

“Wait, so this happened the summer after you graduated?” Max pointed out, doing calculations in her head. 

Steve’s heart was pounding out of his chest, his eyes glancing at your frame every few seconds. Watching your eyes dart anywhere but his. He was silently pleading for you to look at him, just one glance. 

“Yup.” You smiled awkwardly, avoiding his gaze like the plague. “Now who’s next?” Doing your best to push the game forward, or end it entirely. 

“Yeah, never have I ever had sex with Y/n.” Lucas laughed, making Max push him backwards off the couch. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Steve winced, not even bothering to take another drink. Everyone was well past their limit anyway to continue drinking like fish. “You guys are cut off.” 

“No, please-” 

Steve tried to wrestle the bottles out of Dustin’s hands. The two of them ended up in a heap on the floor, playful giggles erasing the awkwardness air out of the room. 

“Jesus Christ.” You sighed, about to get up and run to the bathroom, before three sets of hands were on your shoulders. All but dragging you into the garage under the guise of smoking a cigarette. Mind you, none of you smoked. Jonathan simply handed Nancy the pack. His eyes are all-knowing. 

“Was wondering when the interrogation would start.” Your mouth watered at the pack in Nancy’s hand, demanding to bum one off of her. 

“Only if you answer our questions.” She smirked, waving the pack above your head like a dog with a bone. 

“You each get one question. Maybe two if you guys are nice.” You sighed, snatching the pack from her quickly. They were kind enough to at least give you time to light the cigarette before the questions started. They all spoke over each other, your head aching at the volume. 

“One at a time, please.” You whined, opening the garage door to feel the summer night air hit your flushed skin. 

“Me first,” Robin demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Of course, that would bother her the most. “Honestly,” You sighed, “It happened once, and we never talked about it again. Truly. It would’ve been weird to bring it up.” 

Max raised her hand like she was in school, waiting for you to point at her. “Was it a spur-of-the-moment thing? Or was there a love confession? Were you drunk?” 

“Yes, no, and no. Tipsy off champagne, sure. I was a virgin, made a joke about going to college one, and Steve said ‘What if you weren’t?’ It seemed batshit to me, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I could just get it over with with someone I trusted.”

The girl's eyes were wide, staring at you like you had three heads. 

“And there were no feelings? Like at all?” Nancy asked slowly, like she was scared of startling a wild animal. “Because I mean, for years, everyone thought you two would end up together. I mean, even I did. S’why I was so jealous of you.” 

You shook your head, flicking the cigarette on the ground. “Nope. I mean, it was intimate, yeah, but no love confessions. Just casual sex between friends.” 

“Casual. Right.” Robin nodded, clearly not believing the words coming from your mouth.

“Was it good?” Max asked, making Nancy push her shoulder playfully. “Guess I could ask you too, huh?” Max hissed back, the two of them joking around.  

“It was good.” You sighed, “Probably the best sex I’ve ever had.” You admitted, “Just hasn’t been the same with anyone else.” 

Nancy furrowed her brows, “He’s good. I get that, but hasn’t it been the same?” 

“Y’know, men are just.” You waved your hand around. “They can do all the right things, but it’s not like they’re my best friend, so they don’t know me like Steve does, I guess.” 

“What about that guy you dated for like two years?” Max asked. 

“Sex was fine, just nothing special.” You shrugged. That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s the only thing you’d let yourself believe. The thoughts resurfacing made your skin crawl. 

They all made a noise, staring amongst each other like they were in on an inside joke you weren’t privy to. You tuned them out, letting the cigarette burn up in your hand, thinking back to graduation night all those years ago.

Graduating from High School didn’t feel as monumental as you thought it was supposed to. There were no grand proposals of love in your cap and gown, no dramatic football field walk-offs, no long monologues about societal expectations. It was a diploma in your hand, too many photos, and dry snack plates littered about. It didn’t feel like much of anything. 

For Steve, it was worse; his parents didn’t even bother attending. Content on spending the start of their summer at their beach house. Calling it a punishment for Steve not getting early admission anywhere, like his father wanted. It was cruel. He acted like it didn’t bother him, but with years of friendship under your belt, you knew his tells. He was tugging the roots of his hair anxiously, the hairspray falling before the night was halfway through. Every time your parents spoke about how proud they were of you, there was a faraway look in his eyes. 

Even when your own parents took him in their arms, a son they never had. He appreciated it, but you knew it wasn’t what he wanted. To be discarded and disregarded by his own parents cut him deeper than he’d ever show. 

That’s why, after all your family retired for the night, you were sneaking into the Harrington household. Not even bothering to sneak in through the window, you opened the front door slowly. The house was dark, still. The only light was emitting from upstairs, where Steve was. You hollered out his name a few times before padding up the stairs. As soon as you spotted him, your heart fell, graduation gown lazily thrown against his chair. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. 

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Hello, graduating class of 1985.” 

He didn’t even jump, just wiped his eyes and turned towards you. You held up the stolen bottle of champagne, a bag of food in your other hand. 

“Did you think I was gonna let you celebrate your first night as a free man in this big house all by yourself?” You smirked. 

His eyes lit up in a way only you could make them. His shoulders were trembling from the laugh he was trying not to let escape. “Did you break into my house?” 

“Door was unlocked.” You shrugged, walking into his room as if it were your own. Which, at this point, it might as well have been. “Got your favorite and dessert. Figured we’d put on a record and talk about how terrible Tammy’s song was. And principal Higgin’s speeches.” 

Steve just watched you glide around his room, entering his orbit like you always had. Rambling on as you set the food out, forcing him to pick a record from his crate. 

Once the music was playing, you both ate, rambling on and on about tonight's events. It was an hour later, and you were taking turns destroying the personal-sized cake you picked up from the supermarket. Forks in hand, bitching about the upcoming Summer break. 

You’d be pulling extra hours at the diner, saving up for Fall tuition. While Steve was ranting about his father letting him know he was effectively cut off financially. And how he was really worried about how it would impact his dating life, because of course he would be.

“My summer is gonna be spent at some dead-end minimum wage job before my dad allows me to get an actual job with him,” Steve rambled, “While all the hot girls are going to college. They’re gonna see all these educated hipster dudes and come back to Hawkins and not even spare me another glance.” 

“At least you’re not going into college a virgin.” You shrugged, placing the icing-covered fork down. “I’m never getting laid ever at this rate. It could always be worse.” 

Steve’s body stilled, brows furrowed at you. “What do you mean? Are you saying you never?” 

“Thought you knew that.” You hummed, kicking your feet lazily behind you. Your head still propped up by your hand. 

“But you and Tyler? Not even once? I mean, you guys dated for almost a year.” Steve was aghast, unable to comprehend a teenage boy, not wanting to go all the way. 

“We did like hand stuff, but yeah, never.” You admitted. It wasn’t something you were particularly embarrassed about, but it worried you. Most of the time, people in college had already had sex; you couldn’t imagine many people would want anything to do with an almost 19-year-old virgin. 

Steve made a noise of shock, sitting back on his hands. His mind is running a thousand miles a minute; any longer and smoke would be steaming out of his ears. 

“God, what a loser,” he laughed, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“He just didn’t seem into it, I guess? He probably just didn’t like me very much.” 

“Hey,” Steve frowned, “It’s his loss. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

You sighed, “Just gotta find some college boy that doesn’t mind screwing virgins.” You laughed, ready to swing your body off the bed to flip to vinyl over. 

Steve stopped you, his hand steady on your arm. He wasn’t sure what he was about to offer you, whether it was the cheap champagne or the loneliness in his gut. 

“What if you weren’t a virgin, though?” He asked gently, his eyes heavy on yours. 

“What?” You laughed, sitting upright to look at him. 

“Just, what if I... you know?” He stumbled on, tripping over his own words. 

You were lost, unsure of what he was asking. “No offense, but I don’t trust you as a wingman-” 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” He grumbled, cursing himself under his breath. “You know I love you, right? You’re my best friend in the whole world. Nothing would change that.” 

“I know, Stevie. I love you too.” You smiled, covering your hand with his. 

“And I don’t have any romantic feelings for you, not in that way.” He admitted, watching your face intently for your reaction.

“And I don’t for you…” You said, unsure where he was leading with this. 

“But I do have eyes, and you’re very attractive.” 

“Thank you?” You spoke, still confused as you watched him pick out each word carefully. 

“And I’d hate for you to lose your virginity to someone who doesn’t care about you. I know teenage boys, they’re pigs.” He rambled, “It should be special. With someone who cares about you and your pleasure. Someone who makes you feel safe.” 

You nodded, urging him to continue. “So, what I’m trying to say or offer is that I could take your virginity.” 

The words cut through the air like a record scratch, your eyebrows furrowing. 

You knew Steve had a reputation to be upheld at school. The Playboy, the man-whore of Hawkins, as you called him. He was very experienced in that department; you had overheard the rumors. The girls' bathroom whispers about him. But you never thought of him in that way; he was always just Steve. Your Steve. A weird feeling sat in your gut the more you thought about it. 

You looked deep into his warm eyes. He was attractive; that much was obvious to everyone with eyes. He cared about you more than anyone ever had before. He knew you like the back of his hand. There was never a time when someone else came before you. You were two peas in a pod. Everyone knew that wherever you were, Steve was right behind. 

Because he was your Steve, you knew he’d respect you. He’d never cross any lines; he’d be the perfect gentleman. And that’s when the ache started, the gentle throb between your legs. Craving the physical touch of another. 

You don’t know how long you sat there in thought before speaking. Asking him one more time just to make sure you heard him correctly. 

“You’re offering to have sex with me? Just to clarify?” 

He nodded, “As a friend.” 

It sounded silly the moment it left his lips, a smile appearing on your lips. Just one smile and all of his anxiety disappeared. 

“You want us to have sex as friends?” You giggled, “Wait, I don’t want it to ruin what we have.” You paused, grabbing his hand tighter in yours. 

“No, no.” He said quickly, “We don’t have to. I just want you to have that experience with someone who loves you. Nothing’s gonna change between us. I don’t have feelings for you, you don’t have feelings for me. Purely casual. No kissing, no romance. Think of it as an introduction to sex.”

“What’s in it for you?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

A lazy smirk fell on his face, “Well, like I said. Saving you from a horrible first time. It’s simply a bonus that I get to have sex with a pretty girl.”

“You’re so ridiculous, Steve Harrington.” You laughed, his thumb rubbing, smoothing circles into your hand. 

“We don’t have to. We can forget I ever even said anything, and I’ll blame the stolen champagne.” 

“No, I think I want it to be you.” You admitted. 

Your Steve. The boy who took the training wheels off your bike for you. Then kissed your bloodied knees when you crashed into the asphalt. The same boy who taught you how to drive stick, letting you get curb rash all over the Beamer's brand-new tires. The two of you had been through hell and back together; nothing would ruin your friendship. You knew it deep in your heart. There was no life you’d live without Steve.

You both took a moment, letting the words settle between you. His hands were jittery against yours, in anxiety or anticipation, you weren’t sure. Your stomach was in knots, excitement and fear rising in your chest. 

“Do you wanna do it now?” 

“So should we?” You both spoke at the same time, giggling.

Untangling his hands from yours, you moved the half-eaten cake to the desk. Clearing off his bed. He closed his curtains for privacy, flipping over the vinyl once more. You crawled into his bed, settling underneath his covers. You had been in his bed hundreds of times, but now your palms were sweaty. Heart nearly beating out of your chest. 

“One rule,” Steve said, still standing at the edge of the bed. His eyes were dark as he watched you. “We communicate the whole time. I’ll talk you through everything. You tell me what you like, what you don’t like. We stop at any time.” 

Your teeth bit down on your lower lip, nodding at him. 

“Gotta say it, pretty girl.” He urged, your stomach turning with desire. 

“Y-yes.” You said, “I promise.” 

He smiled, slipping his socks off. Giving you time to undress. You lifted your hips, shimmying your pants off underneath the blankets. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to hide, but you blushed when he tugged his own pants down. You had seen him shirtless hundreds of times, but here he stood clad in nothing but his underwear. He looked godlike, his hair messy against his forehead. 

“Should I take my shirt off?” You asked breathily, fingers fumbling with the hem. 

He nodded a little too quickly, a blush forming on his cheeks. “You can leave your bra on. Whatever you feel comfortable with.” 

The shirt was off in seconds, a simple, plain black thing. Having sex with your best friend wasn’t on the agenda for the night, or maybe you would have put on something cuter. But to Steve, it didn’t matter; his jaw ticked anyway. Watching intently as the flesh bounced when you lay back on the bed. He was just a man at the end of the day. 

He joined you underneath the covers, leaning on his elbow to take a look at you. “You feeling okay?” He noted your breathing was heavier, limbs moving nervously. 

“Nervous, but good nervous.” You smiled, his face moving close to yours. 

“S’okay if I touch you?” He asked sweetly. 

You went to nod but stopped yourself, shuffling under the blanket once again to slip your underwear off. Palming up the fabric in your hand and hiding it beneath your discarded pants. 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, making you glare back at him. “We’re literally about to have sex, but you don’t want me seeing your underwear?” 

“Be nice to me.” You playfully frowned, falling back into position. “Okay. You can touch me now.” 

He pressed his lips down to your forehead gently, letting his hand move underneath the blankets to rest on your stomach. You almost flinched at the warmth of his hands, willing your body to calm down. He took his time, slowly dragging his palm around your naval until it slid further down. You didn’t know where to look, eyes darting all over the room. 

“Spread your legs for me,” Steve demanded softly, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it before. The words went straight to your core, nearly gasping at the lust in them. It hadn't occurred to you until now that you’d both be sharing your most intimate parts. You would see him fall apart in pleasure just as much as he would you. 

You obliged, your legs parting open for him. His hand traveled through your pubic bone, fingertips teasing the hair down there. Your hips jumped up when his middle and ring fingers pressed softly against your clit, with little resistance. You were wet, and now he knew it as he rubbed an experimental circle into the swollen bud. 

“This okay?” He panted, breath hot against your neck. You were so lost in the moment, you didn’t realize his head was nuzzling closer. 

“Yeah,” You sighed, “Y-you can add a little more pressure.” 

Oh, was he good at following directions. His fingers pressed down harder, continuing his small strokes. He watched you intently, listening to your body’s cues on where exactly to press down harder, and didn’t stop until he found the right rhythm. He knew he did when you let out a small moan, then clamped your mouth shut. Your body flushes in embarrassment. The last thing he wanted was for you to silence yourself, to worry about being quiet instead of focusing on the sensation. 

“You don’t have to be quiet,” He whispered, “I want you to focus on feeling good. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” 

“J-jesus.” You stuttered, your body going hot. Every time he spoke, you could feel yourself getting wetter, craving more of him. 

But you listened, letting the pathetic moans slip through your lips. He could feel your hips tilting upward, rocking against his hand for more. So more he gave, letting his fingers speed up their movements. 

“O-oh, Steve. Right there.” You sighed, one of your hands grabbing his wrist tightly. “Please don’t stop.” 

“M’not. Just relax. Just feel it.” He cooed, ignoring his cock twitching in his boxers. He couldn’t believe this was happening, your cunt spasming around his fingers as he drew you closer to the edge. Your chest heaved, tits bouncing out the top of your bra with each gasp that left your plump lips. He found himself staring at them, wondering what they’d feel like pressed against his. 

His hips shifted towards your leg, his bulge brushing against you. Doing everything in his power not to hump you like a dog in heat. You felt it anyway, your eyes shooting over to his. 

“You’re hard.” You spoke it like a fact, your voice breathy. 

“Yeah?” He laughed, pressing a little harder into you. “Got a pretty girl moaning my name and cumming around my fingers. Course imma be hard.” 

“God.” You moaned loudly, eyes falling back shut. 

He worked you through your orgasm gently, slowing but not stopping his movements. He waited until your moans had ceased and your breathing evened out before he let his fingers glide further down. 

“I’m gonna put my fingers in now. That okay?” He asked, feeling the opening of your entrance mouth against his fingers greedily. 

“Y-yeah.” You sighed dreamily, and one of your hands had gone behind his head. Fingers laced in his brown locks, his head hovering just above your chest. Resisting the urge to lean down and bite the supple flesh. 

He slid one finger in at a time, letting your body adjust to one before two were slipping deep into your cunt. You were soaked with your previous release and your ongoing arousal. He could feel you dripping down his hand; he was so hard he thought he was going to pass out. 

He pulled his fingers out slowly, before pushing them back in with a wet squelch. The sound would have embarrassed you if not for how deeply they were prodding inside you. His fingertips are brushing a spot inside of you that no one has ever had before. It had you grasping onto him like a lifeline, body tensing. 

“Hey, you okay?” He panted, stilling his movements. 

You nodded, moving your hips down. Trying to fuck yourself on his fingers since he stopped. “F-feels weird. In a good way. Overwhelming. Never felt that before.” 

A deep smirk appeared on his lips, curling his fingers ever so gently to the right. He knew he hit the spot again with you jumped. He let his fingers push in deeper, prodding the spot with each thrust. “Is that it?” 

“Yes.” You cried, head thrown back into the pillows. “Fuck, that’s so good.” 

“S’your sweet spot. It’s gonna feel so good when I’m inside you, honey.” He mumbled, his thumb coming up to rub your clit gently. 

His words made you cum without warning; the sheer mention of his cock being inside you had you cumming around his fingers again. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he walked you through it, the kindest, filthiest words leaving his lips. 

“There we go, look so good cumming for me. It’s okay, just take it. There you go.” 

Your legs slammed shut around his rest, thighs shaking around him. He took the hint and gently removed his fingers, leaning over to wipe them off on his discarded shirt. You were out of breath, watching his back muscles ripple with his movements. 

“How was that?” He grinned, acting as if he didn’t just give you the two best orgasms of your life. 

“No wonder half of Hawkin’s is throwing themselves at your feet.” You teased him, rubbing your face with your hand. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” 

Pride oozed off of him as he leaned forward, ready to crawl on top of you. You stopped him with a hand to his chest, letting your fingers glide through the soft patch of hair. “Will you let me..?” 

“Oh, well, I was gonna-” 

“Just a little, if t-that’s okay with you. Think it’s only fair.” You smiled, omitting the fact that you so desperately wanted to feel him at least once in your hands. Who was Steve to deprive his pretty best friend of anything? 

He pushed his boxers down off his legs quickly, his cock slapping his pubic bone with a snap. The covers had long been pushed down beneath your knees; no point in hiding from each other at this point. All shame and embarrassment had long been out the window. You had to stifle the gasp once your eyes fell between his legs. He was huge, in a way that felt anatomically impossible. His thick bulbous tip was the prettiest shade of pink, his length long, complete with a thick vein that ran underneath. 

“Steve.” You paled, mouth agape at him. 

He must have been used to this reaction as your hand reached out, wrapping around his length. Your fingers barely fit around it. He had to bite his lip to avoid moaning just from the simple grab. He twitched heavily in your hand. 

“I heard the rumors, but this is insane. That’s not gonna fit inside me.” You gawked, stroking him slowly. 

Between your hand and the words leaving your mouth, he was doing all he could to not ruin this entire idea of his by blowing his load early. 

“I’ll make it fit, pretty girl, don’t worry.” He spoke through clenched teeth, whining when you brought your other hand up. Fitting more of him in your hands. He pulled away slowly, ignoring your whines of protest. “Don’t wanna be a ten pump chump for your first time.” 

You giggled at this, letting him slot himself in between your legs. He leaned over you to fumble around in his bedside drawer, pulling out a stack of condoms. You watched him open the foil with his teeth and expertly roll the latex over himself with ease. You tried not to think of just how many girls have seen him do this, ignoring the weird ache it brought in your chest. 

All of that left the moment he leaned back down, his hand bracing himself next to your head. The other holding his heavy cock in his hand. You could feel the tip brushing against your entrance ever so slightly. 

“Are you ready? Still okay with this?” He asked again, staring deep into your eyes for confirmation. 

You had made your mind up already, spreading your legs wider for him. “Yes, please.” 

He leaned down, dropping another kiss to your forehead before he lined himself up, letting his tip push past your drenched folds. He held you close to him, whispering words of encouragement as he settled inside of you. The stretch hurt, a deep ache that hurt in a good way. Your head was heavy, eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hands were pressing deep red marks into his shoulder blade, but he didn’t care. Not while your tight cunt was barely making room for him to push in. 

“Gotta relax, baby.” Steve cooed, not even a quarter of the way in. Your heart thumped widely at the nickname, letting his slip of tongue go unnoticed by him. 

“Stevie, y’so big.” You cried, still urging him to continue. He pushed deeper, his hand rubbing small circles on your hip bone. Doing his best to relax you, so you’d open up wide for him. Your cunt took him in slowly, fluttering and squeezing with each inch he slowly dragged in. By the time his hips hit yours, tears were pouring down your cheeks. The stretch was too much; it felt like he was splitting you apart. 

“I’m sorry, so sorry. It’s in now, baby. It’s okay, shhh. Do you wanna stop?” He whispered, smoothing down your hair, keeping you as close as possible to him. 

“N-no, please don’t.” You sobbed, “Just need a minute.” 

“I’ll give you all the time in the world.” He smiled, pressing small kisses into your neck. He meant it; you were warm and wet around him. So tight he had to breathe through his nose and think of anything else to calm him down. 

It took a few minutes of feeling his lips on your skin, his hands roaming respectfully. One of his hands settled on your thigh, nearly gripping your ass in his hands as he held you close. The dull ache had faded, your body stretching to his size as if you were made for him. You could feel your cunt drenching around him again, the ache of needing more settling deep in your bones. 

“Steve.” You breathed out, nearly startling him. 

He looked down at you with his brown doe eyes, ready to give you anything you wanted. Because he always would. He’d never say no to you. Not his Y/n. 

“How’s it feel?” He asked. 

“Good. Really full.” You whispered, “You can move now.” 

“Just tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He didn’t move until you nodded, slowly dragging his cock out of you a few inches before pushing back in. 

You gasped loudly, encouraging him to keep going as he did it again. And again. Slicking up your entrance enough to gain traction, allowing him to slowly slip all the way out, and then your cunt suckling him back in.

“Oh my god.” You cried out, your head deep in the crook of his neck as you clung onto him for dear life. 

His movements were careful and deep, pounding into that sweet spot he found earlier with each thrust. He was surely ruining you for all men to come, as he found a rhythm that worked for both of you. His hips slapping against yours, the lewd sounds of his wet balls slapping against your ass. 

“You feel amazing, honey,” He grunted, making sure you knew this was good for him too, “So tight and wet.”

“Oh, Steve. I-I think I’m gonna cum. I feel like-” Your moans were cut off by his hands grabbing your ass, lifting your leg higher. He shifted even deeper inside of you like this, his tip slamming into your spot with each jolt. 

“You’re gonna cum for me.” He spoke like a fact, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

You melted, your body falling slack as you fell into your third orgasm of the night. “Yeah, yeah, I am.” 

It was hard to keep your eyes open as your body shook with pleasure, but it was worth it to see Steve’s face. His plump lips parted, his cheek flushed as his eyes were locked on where you were connected. Watching your release soak his cock. He was beautiful. 

Suddenly, all of the girls in the Hawkin’s bathroom made sense. Why they’d come to his door crying, begging for another chance. Why he walked around god-like all those years. Because with each snap of his hips into yours, Steve Harrington was fucking you into heaven. He was hitting spots inside of you that you’d never even heard of. Bringing you more orgasms in an hour than you had in your entire life. 

“That’s my gorgeous girl.” He preened, and doesn’t miss the way you clench around him after he says it. He’s chasing his own high, leaning back down to press his body against yours. His thick patch of hair rubs against your clit with each roll of his hips. Your entire body was sensitive; each touch had you crying out. 

No matter how much he wanted to cum, he decided he needed one more out of you. Dragging his hips even faster. If this were the first and last time this would ever happen, he’d make it last. He wanted to memorize each gasp that left your lips, the furrow of your brow when you were close. How you felt marking him as your own. 

“Stevie…” 

“Yes?” He panted, his eyes meeting your blissed-out ones. 

“Kiss me.” Your voice was strained, face scrunched up in pleasure. 

Kissing was crossing a line you hadn’t discussed; kissing made it something else. But Steve couldn’t say no to you, not while your lips were parted, begging to be kissed. Begging for him.

He didn’t hesitate to bring his lips down to yours in a crushing kiss. It wasn’t romantic; it was hot and desperate. Open mouth panting into open mouth as you both fell apart in unison. His balls were tightening as your legs shook around his waist. 

“You gonna cum for me? One more time?” He asked against your lips, your head shaking. 

“Yes, you can, baby. Can feel it. Just one more. You’ve done so well.” 

You were crying out against him; you were overstimulated in the best way. With each drag, you could feel the coil tightening, an unusual feeling appearing in your lower belly. 

“W-wait, Steve.” You panicked, pulling away from his kiss. “I feel like I have to-to you k-know” 

He ignored your panic, lifting your leg higher around his waist. “Do you trust me?” 

“With my life.” You nearly sobbed, the feeling only growing stronger. 

“Then shhhh, just relax. I got you.” He whispered, speeding his thrusts up. 

You could barely breathe, each thrust knocking the wind out of you as the pleasure swelled into something you didn’t have a name for. All it took was one more thrust, and the dam had burst, your cunt squirting around him. Your entire body is shaking in pleasure, unable to hear the pornographic wet sounds. It was music to Steve’s ears, his own body flinching in pleasure when he came undone. Spilling his seed into the condom, his hips stilling. 

“Oh my god, Y/n.” He moaned in awe, shakily looking down at the now ruined sheets. 

The room felt too hot, your body slick with sweat, rubbing against his own. You couldn’t look, keeping your eyes clamped shut. 

“That’s so gross.” You grumbled, “M’sorry.” 

“Sorry?” His jaw dropped, leaning down to cup your face in his hands. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t ever apologize for your pleasure. Don’t let any of these little boys make you feel bad, or gross.” 

“Yes, Captain.” You giggled, a goofy smile on your face. His forehead was damp, his hair curling and sticking to his forehead. 

“Gonna pull out and clean you up, okay? Don’t move. It might sting a little.” He warned, pressing a barely there kiss to your lips before he moved. You hissed at the loss of contact, the ache coming back once he slipped out. You refused to look at the damp and bloodied sheets, simply letting him bring a cool washcloth to your legs, patting you clean. It was more intimate than the sex, letting him take care of you like this. 

He gave you a t-shirt of his to slip on and an old pair of boxers. You went to the bathroom while he changed the sheets. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you hardly recognized the girl staring back at you. Your hair was a mess, cheeks flushed. Small love bites littered your neck from where Steve got carried away. The ache he left between your legs. Your Steve. 

When you walked out of the bathroom, he was sliding a movie into the VHS player, a goofy smile on his lips. “You don’t regret anything, do you?” 

You shook your head, “Not at all. Now grab that cake and pour me a glass. What movie did you put in?” You hobbled over to the bed; if Steve noticed your gait off he didn’t comment on it. Content to follow your orders, as the old TV crackled to life with ‘The Breakfast Club’. 

You were snuggled up in his bed, blankets pulled up to your chin, when he brought you a slice of the cake. Another red solo cup full of champagne. “For the newly no longer a virgin.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You grumbled, snatching the plate from him. He ended up stealing half of your piece, your forks battling as the movie droned on. The night continued as normal, no more touches. Everything was just as it was before, as if nothing had happened. So why was it over half a decade later that the memory still made your heart race? 

You avoided Steve for the rest of the night, content on blindly hoping that everyone would have forgotten it by now. But Steve was just as lost in the memory as you were, both of you zoning out, trying to forget the looks on each other's faces as you came. It wasn’t that you forgot about it over the years, more like you actively tried to. He was your friend; it was a simple act between two horny teenagers who cared for each other. Nothing more, nothing less. Right? 

You should’ve known you’d have to face him eventually, his hand grasping your shoulder gently. Guiding you into the hall outside his bedroom. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his breath smelled of tequila and lime. A stark contrast to the champagne and cake from the last time his face was this close to yours. 

You stilled, shifting awkwardly on your feet. “Yeah, why?” 

“Just everything in there. I’m sorry that happened. They can be, well, you know.” He chuckled,  his hands still sitting comfortably on your shoulders. Your body leaned into his subconsciously. 

“I already got interrogated in the garage,” You admitted, “It was my fault anyway. Should’ve just lied and not done the shot.” 

Steve’s brows furrowed a bit at this, “Do you?” He cleared his throat, “Do you regret it?” 

You reeled back a little, shaking your head. “N-no. no.” 

“Oh, okay. Good.” He nodded, the air around the two of you growing awkward. It was never awkward with you and Steve. Immediately, you hated it; it felt like your skin was crawling. He felt it too. The nagging feeling inside his chest telling him to pull you close, to bring you back to him. The silence was heavy, covering you two like a blanket. It stayed until Steve opened his mouth, the next few words tilting the world on its axis. 

“I regret it.” 

It took the air from your lungs, nearly staggering back if his hands weren’t holding you steady. His fingers tightened their grip, scared you’d make a run for it before he could get all the words out. He must have seen the look of horror on your face, the shame filling your chest. 

“Not because of you,” he rushed, voice cracking immediately, like he’d been waiting to say this and now it was all coming out wrong. “Jesus, no-not because of you. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Then why?” Your voice was meek, almost unrecognizable. 

“Because it ruined me,” he said quietly, like admitting it out loud might finally split him open. “Not because it was wrong, but because it was right. Right in a way, I never even realized until years later, I regret it because I couldn’t stop remembering it. Because every time I looked at you after that, there was this gap. This space between what we were and what we could’ve been.”

“I didn’t know…” You whispered, “I didn’t even. I didn’t let myself think about it. I thought it just wasn’t in the cards for us. You were my Steve. Wasn’t gonna ruin that.”

“I love you,” he said, finally, like it was a confession and an apology and a surrender all at once. Like he couldn’t go another second without the words leaving his chest. “I loved you before I knew it had a name. And now I do, and I don’t know how to live with it without wrecking everything.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the tequila talking?” You asked, the world still spinning on its side, as he looked down at you as if you were his whole world. Which you were to him. 

“Yes, I mean it’s giving me courage, but everything I’m saying I mean. God, Y/n, I mean it.” He promised. The confession had you reeling. 

“Steve…” You whispered, “I love you, too.” 

“Yeah?” He smiled, his hands shaking. “Thank god, I was feeling a little nervous there.” 

The tension was broken at that, laughter filling the air once again. The language the two of you knew well. You didn’t know where to put your hands, what to say next. 

“It’s never been like this with us,” You said quietly, as if you said it too loud, it would jinx it. 

“I know,” comes the answer right away. “That’s what’s freaking me out.”

“I’m also freaking out.” You assured him, your eyes wide. Laughs erupt from your chests, leaning towards each other from it. Your hands came up, pressing gently against his chest. You and Steve were never overly touchy-feely as friends; boundaries were upheld. Upheld for so long, it's as if each of you knew once it started, you’d never want to stop. 

“I don’t know how to do this.” He admitted, his hands covering yours. You could feel his heart beating against your intertwined hands. Fast, loud, and just for you. 

“Me neither, but it feels right. Don’t you think?” You smiled up at him. 

He gave you that beautiful, toohy grin of his. “God, yeah, it does. Feels like there’s always been something missing.”

“All this time?” Your eyes softened, mourning the years lost. How could you miss something you never even knew you could have had? 

“All this time.” He beamed, “And I don’t know what’s next. All I know is that I’m never letting you go. Ever.” 

“That a promise, Harrington?” You teased, his body leaning closer into yours. 

“That’s a threat, actually.” He smirked, finally crashing his lips onto yours. 

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or desperate like it was before. It was warm, sure, and full of laughter, like finally coming home to something that had been waiting for you both all along. 

[lacybunie]

busy woman!

“my cravings are not getting heard.”

pairing: afab!uni student!reader x uni student!mike wheeler

warnings: smut, sexually frustrated mike, mean mike, dominant mike, public restroom sex, quickie, degrading, unprotected sex, rough sex, submissive reader, hair pulling, crying during sex, fingers in mouth, slight obsessive mike if you squint, fluff at the end

note: for the anon who requested <3

if there is one thing mike is, it is patient. he considers himself a patient guy. he almost takes pride in it, as if it's something rare for the other 19-year-old guys his age to obtain. he'll wait for the party to show up in the dining hall for lunch, but he grows restless and starts seeking them out. he'll wait for feedback on a 6-page essay he tirelessly worked on, but he gets annoyed that his professor doesn't have him as a top priority. he'll wait in line at the movie theater to get a ticket for whatever is showing, but he’ll start consistently checking his watch when it passes 2 minutes. mike is patient to an extent. yet when it comes to you, his patience is at its best. he doesn't mind that you take more than 8 minutes to pick out what you want to eat at the dining hall, or if you're staying back to speak to your professors, or if you're so busy that the last thing on your mind is sex. super patient guy. you'll even acknowledge it, praising him for being so willing with you and not getting aggravated. maybe giving him a peck on the cheek to reward him, but nothing more. it's nice, it's cute, but mike wants more.

at first, mike was perfectly okay when his advances were rejected. you told him you were too tired, and he accepted it. or you'd be too busy to focus on his needs, or you're neck-deep in extra credit work that you can't give him your attention. mike was fine with it, not taking it personally. you are the smartest girl he knows, maybe the smartest girl on campus. he admires how hardworking you are; he really does. but the thing is, it's currently the last few days of spring break, and you are still working on assignments. it's the last few days, and you are still denying him the one thing he wants, and it's you. make-outs never turn into something more, and mike is left with jerking himself off in the shower. it's not enough, it'll never be enough. he thinks you're punishing him, maybe for being so horny. yet a guy his age can only be pent up for so long, and it's been almost a month. he's becoming irritated, annoyed, and an asshole. unfortunately for his friends, it's their problem.

“wheeler, if you're gonna be a dipshit this entire trip, then you're better off hitching a ride back home." max spits, rubbing sunblock into her skin as she prepares for a game of acquainted beach volleyball with lucas. the indiana heatwave is not helping mike much with his attitude. the blistering sun is only driving him more insane. "well how about-" "leave it alone, mike." dustin interrupts him, shaking his head as he and will put together dustin’s metal detector. mike huffs in annoyance, crossing his arms in defeat like a stubborn old man. he should’ve said no to this trip months ago, but months ago, he was brighter than this goddamn sun because you weren’t so busy. if only january him would've known how deprived he would be in march. mike looks back at the shore to find you and el taking pictures of one another. he still doesn’t know how you managed to befriend her so quickly. your charisma is a mystery, and everyone is a prawn to it.

mike has spent this entire trip being absolutely miserable, snapping back at his friends, growing increasingly irritable at the sight of you in a bikini because he can’t do a damn thing. game nights ruined, late-night dinners ending up with tense shoulders and hostile pizza. arguments happening every waking hour between him and the party, especially max. he can’t even keep up with how many times he’s rolled his eyes since getting here. and you’re just there, being the most breathtaking human that has ever stepped foot on earth, in a bikini, soaking wet, but you won’t let him touch you. are you even aware of what the hell you’re doing to him? could he make it more obvious that he needs you?

while you’re smiling ear to ear, and cracking jokes with the party. mike is thinking about 1000 ways to kill himself, and one includes drowning in the ocean, then getting eaten by sharks. you’re not even unintentionally ignoring him; you are actually ignoring him. whatever he says is silent noise to you. you’re cheering on max, lucas, and el as they play volleyball, and you’re ignoring mike as if he’s not even here. he doesn’t even know why; he didn’t say anything to provoke the silent treatment. maybe he’s overthinking it, you’re not even intentionally ignoring him, and he’s just being a fucking crybaby. he watches you watching the ongoing war on volleyball, and he thinks you are so gorgeous, in this moment. your hair slightly moves with the sea-salt breeze, and your cheeks have been kissed by the sun. your bikini hugs you so nicely, and he desperately wishes he were part of it. god, he needs you in a way that is borderline insane. he doesn't know how long he can keep waiting.

“can you tell me why you’re being such a jerk to everyone?” you break him out of his you-gazing. mike's brows furrow together at your question, his brain short circuits as you look over to him, lips slightly red from the popsicle you were sucking on minutes ago. "is that why you aren't speaking to me?" mike gulps, you lift up your sunglasses to rest atop your head in almost disbelief. "that doesn't answer my question, mike." you point out, saying it in a tone pre-school teachers use when they're disappointed in a student. he feels ridiculous under your gaze, as if you can see right through him. yet at the same time, he wants to fuck that patronizing tone right out of you. "it's embarrassing, too embarrassing." mike shakes his head, exhaling deeply and getting just a whiff of your cherry perfume that you know he likes so much. testosterone is seeping out of him like honey as his blood is boiling with lust. hasn't he suffered enough? "whatever your problem is, man up about it. you're being a drag." you scoff.

perhaps that's what mike needed to do all this time; man up. he doesn't know how he suddenly found the courage to pull you away from the group and into an empty stall in the men's public restroom. or how he managed to get you so wet for him. but he does know that your cunt feels so goddamn good that he'd be happy to die while fucking you, what a divine way to go. "you think you can speak to me like that and get away with it?" mike spits, fucking you desperately and hard. too hard, his pelvic bone will probably bruise after today. your hair is tangled in his fingers, being tugged with each thrust as your back arches. "i'm sorry, mike." you moan out, clawing at the concrete wall of the restroom. the sound is music, heard in his wet dreams and throughout his head when he jacks off in the shower. your breasts are spilling out of your bikini top from the vigorous force of mike’s cock ploughing you. you look like a pornographic dream. "so stupid, guess all that studying doesn't do shit for you." he laughs, digging his fingers into your hips as you whine.

"too fucking stupid to notice how badly i've been needing you." he doesn't know why he's being so mean, it's new to him, and especially new to you. he blames all the built-up tension. yet your cunt squeezes around him at the words, and it's driving him insane. it's a rush. mike groans at the newfound pace he's set for himself, feeling how wet you're getting by the second. it's dangerous, addicting. "please, mike. need more." you struggle to say through a moan, grasping at the toilet paper holder as you try to stabilize yourself. "did i say you can talk?" mike grips your hair in his fist and pulls, eliciting a whine from you. "the least you can do for me is shut that mouth of yours. wouldn't want to be a drag, do you?" he mocks, snapping his hips into yours with venom. he has no idea how much longer he can last in you. weeks without you, weeks of patheically getting himself off, weeks of torture. you look back at him with tears welling up in your eyes, hand shakily reaching out for him, and he thinks he's already died at the sight of you. heaven found in a restroom stall, who would’ve known?

mike lets go of your hair and intertwines with your hand, pulling you back to him. his hold on you is enough to make your eyes roll back, and letting out a loud moan, completely for him. you look so fucking beautiful like this. mike grabs your jaw, crashing his lips with yours in a long-awaited kiss. teeth clashing, tongues covered in each other’s spit, swallowing moans. it’s raunchy, and mike loves it. the sound of skin slapping skin echoes throughout the dingy stall, bouncing off the concrete walls and into the air. he’d record the sound to play repeatedly if he could, along with the depraved sounds coming out of your mouth. “you’re all i ever want.” mike confesses on your lips, nipping your bottom lip slightly in a primal instinct. he lifts up your leg, gripping your thigh as he holds it, giving himself a new angle and stretching you out more. he definitely won’t last long now; his lower abdomen tightens up in a warning.

mike’s cock hits past your cervix, making his eyes lose focus as your cunt suffocates him and swallows him deeper. “mike.” you moan loudly, holding the nape of his neck as his thrusts get sharp. he wants you screaming his name till your voice breaks out, throat red and raw. but not now, not in some cramped stall in a public restroom at the damn beach. tears stream down your glowing cheeks at the pleasure mike is railing into you. he curses himself for wanting to take a picture of your fucked out face, tears and all. maybe he’d keep the picture just to admire, to remind himself that he’s the only man who can make you feel this good. or perhaps he’d keep it a secret, only viewing when he needs a quick release. release. mike needs to cum and cum now, before some lousy creep walks in. mike’s hand snakes down to your stomach, reaching your puffy clit, and rubbing quick circles on the sensitive nerve. your bottom lip is caught in between your teeth as you try to muffle yourself at the sudden touch, “keep your eyes on mine.”

you nod pitifully, obediently. your willingness to do whatever mike tells you is making his brain turn to mush. you’re perfect, a god to him and only him. he’s a follower devoted and obsessed. “can i cum?” you whisper, voice harsh from the excessive moaning. your eyes gaze into his, wet and half-lidded. mike can see that spark in your eyes, dimming as you’re very well about to cum. you’re cock drunk and in need of your fix, who is mike to deny you of that? “you wanna cum?” mike mocks, speeding up his abuse on your cunt and your clit. you moan in agreement, nodding with brows pulling together. “please, i need it. i need you.” you breathe out, gripping the nape of his neck tighter as your cunt throbs. the feeling alone has his abdomen light up in flames. “cum for me, right on my cock.” mike grunts, withdrawing his fingers from your clit and shoving them into your mouth. your whiny screams are muffled by mike’s fingers as you let yourself go, creaming around mike’s cock. mike pulls out of your warm cunt as he feels a rush of euphoria hit him, giving himself a few lazy tugs before he’s shooting ropes of cum on your ass. his eyes never leave yours.

the two of you are left catching up on forgotten air and time. mike isn’t even sure how long the two of you have been away, but the smile on your face shows him that your previous irritation is long gone. “i’m sorry for being mean and…saying those mean things to you.” mike apologizes, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. his hands reach for the toilet paper, wiping away his cum on your skin before helping you pull up your bikini bottoms. “like what? i’m too stupid to not realize how bad you needed me? real tearjerker, mike.” you joke, fixing yourself to not look like you just got fucked in the men’s restroom stall. mike cracks a halfway-smile, a smile you reciprocate. his heart does backflips as you latch your arms around his waist, engulfing him in an embrace. “that and just being a dick. i know your studies are your top priorities. i should’ve communicated with you. i’m sorry.” mike sighs, kissing your forehead. you gleam up at him, afterglow cast around you. could you look any better?

“it’s okay, mikey. your friends deserve your apology more than me.” you say, swaying in his arms. "i'm sorry for not giving you attention when you needed me." you admit, deepening your frame into his as you hug him tighter. the squawks of seagulls can be heard beyond the concrete haven that is the men's restroom, pulling the two of you out of the shared daydream. "we should get back before they realize we're taking way too long getting ice cream." mike suggests, receiving a soft giggle from you.

you tiptoe just enough to place a kiss on his cheek, and this time, he’s okay with it. wanting nothing more, nothing less.

[lacybunie]

selfish, i know!

“devil in between the sheets.”

pairing: afab!uni student!reader x uni student!mike wheeler

warnings: smut, porn with plot, cheating, some angst, established broken relationship, submissive reader, mentions of el, rough sex, quickie, fingering, semi-voyeursim, praising, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, almost caught, implied spying (if you squint)

note: second part to selfish, you know?. final part is here!

dedicated to: @arkadiagems @danedehannie & @youveseenstranger <3

mike couldn’t get enough of you. it seemed like every single night for the past five weeks, he’d fuck you like a possessed asylum escapee. each thrust, each bite to your shoulder, each time he’d fill your cunt with his cum, all became your nightly ritual. you can’t seem to even understand why he suddenly has this newfound addiction, constantly kissing you as if you’re air itself. he’s become more dauntless, more careless. taking you to his parents’ house, introduces you to his friends, but only refers to you as that. parading you around like you’re someone he has never seen naked and vulnerable. it’s infuriating, it’s risky, it’s a mental lottery.

the mention of her is faint, then none. there’s a glow around mike’s prominent cheeks, as if he had swallowed a star dry. he plays your favorite cassette each day he picks you up from the quiet corridors of your almost deserted dorm. he lets you claw at the muscles in his back as he fucks you relentlessly. he gifts you a necklace that holds a dainty locket, a picture of him hidden. it’s new, it’s whiplash to your weary brain. you’re dizzy with love and utter confusion. “did you and jane break up?” your mouth speaks before you do. mike’s eyebrows pull together in a quick burst of surprise as he drives through the wilted picket-fenced suburbs.

“yeah.” he says softly, but to himself and not you. like he’s trying to answer his inner thoughts out loud. you bite your lower lip in an attempt to stop yourself from unexpectedly crying. cherry chapstick has never tasted so bitter. “yeah?” you repeat in a hiccup. it’s too real to be true, it’s a dream that’s only dreamt once in a lifetime. his eyes scatter through his brain as he parks in his parents’ driveway. mike looks over at the pile of fallen leaves on the lawn, then at you. you’re nauseous with hope. he inhales deeply, drawing in the scent of the mahogany air freshener hanging from the rearview. and he exhales, “we’re drifting apart.” not the answer you wanted.

“drifting apart, but not broken up.” you’re dumbing it down for yourself. mike looks at the bouquet of flowers you brought for his mother, resting pretty on your lap. “drifting apart and almost broken up.” he corrects you like it’s a fact you got wrong. how the hell are you supposed to know? the threads tangled in your heart become loose, slowly undoing the dam that holds your cascade of tears. you stare at mike; so pretty and so mean. “not broken up.” you repeat, correcting mike. there’s a blur walking outside, and towards mike’s window, through your dilated focus, you see mr. wheeler. “what the hell do you want me to say?” mike snaps, a growing spec of annoyance in his voice. your eyes fog from tears that are pushing past your eyelids before you hurriedly wipe them away as mr. wheeler knocks on the car roof. you want to die.

mrs. wheeler hugs you after receiving the bouquet, coincidentally matching the makeup perfectly on her face. she tells you that lunch will be ready soon, in hopes you join and mike stays. you nod with a smile, trying not to completely fall apart in front of the blonde-haired woman. you play pretend. you’re mike’s friend from norte. the two of you met in line at a star wars event. except you don’t watch star wars. you met mike when he bumped into you outside radio shack and knocked down your newly bought walkman 60. you’re not mike’s friend. “i think you’re one of his best friends. he hates to admit it, but it’s good to have one best girl friend. women’s intuitions never lie.” mrs. wheeler gushes to you, smiling so brightly like you're a double rainbow her son found. you see where mike gets his humor from.

you sit in mike’s childhood bedroom, helping him find an old whatever, a lie he told his mother. your heart is in your gut; sour, raw, and on the brink of collapsing as you mentally sob. “broken up by tonight.” mike breaks through the silence, repeating the words from moments ago. he’s kneeling in front of you, his cold fingers looping into yours. always so damn cold. “i will break up with her tonight” he says carefully, his thumb brushing over the pleated skirt that he picked out for you. his eyes are burning through yours, and you feel him picking through the diary locked inside your brain. “i’m in love with you.” it’s an answer never said before, it’s a hazy, concussed memory that you hear before passing out. the air is suffocating. you want to laugh so you don’t cry yourself into oblivion.

“and i’ll stop being your friend.” your voice is strained, and you feel small under his longing gaze. why does he have to look at you like that? his eyes are freshly brewed shots of espresso and you’re one away from your heart completely exploding. “you’ll be mrs. mike wheeler.” mike kisses the knuckles of your hand, his lips warming up your frail skin. you let out an exhausted giggle, even though you’re still one loose thread away from your eyes becoming red with tears. you should be angry, or even deadpanning at his stupid quip. but he kisses up your arm in quick pecks before his lips are attached to yours. and you forget why you're sad. you're predictable, weak, you're reminded that you are not jane. would she have given in so easily? she probably would've dumped mike. but you don't, and you're letting him kiss you.

“why are you giggling? want me to have your last name instead?” mike’s nose scrunches up as he looks at you, grinning ear to ear. he’s undoubtedly the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen, and you hate it. “i’ll take yours but i don’t think i’ll look all that flattering in a dress.” his voice is high and nasally, the voice he uses when he wants to hear your laugh. “you’d look beautiful in a dress!” you break out, laughing softly. the kind of laugh someone has when there’s a joke made at a funeral; teary-eyed and tired. mike’s lips melt into yours, his hands are carefully wrapped around your face. “i love you.” mike whispers on your lips, pushing you into the feather-soft comforter. it smells of him, but not entirely. it's warm like him, and the heat is becoming increasingly difficult to bear as the innocent kiss becomes more.

the makeout is needy, shameless, and disgusting. it's a scene in hormone-fueled, rated-r movies that's almost borderline porn. you're trying to find sweet relief against mike's knee that is so conveniently placed between your thighs. yet he pulls away, a string of salvia connecting the two of you. "you need to stay quiet if you want this." mike says lowly, hair ruffled and messy. the sunlight peeking through the ivory curtains casts a glow around him, and he looks like heaven. the soft conversations, distant but not entirely quiet, of his parents downstairs remind you that you're not alone. "i promise, mike." you reassure, pulling him back into you. coffee and your cherry chapstick linger on his pouty lips, the taste is inebriating, and you're beyond drunk.

mike lets out a groan into your open mouth, rutting himself against you. he needs you. you need him more than oxygen. his large hand gropes your breast desperately before dipping underneath the hem of your skirt, fingers rubbing your clothed clit. "so wet for me." he moans quietly, brows furrowed, eyes consumed with want. he's hungry, and you're awaiting to be devoured. your panties are pulled aside, fingers still cold, and now coated in your arousal. mike’s fingers plunge into your soaked cunt, curling into your velvety walls so sweetly that it’s impossible to keep your eyes open. there's a faint taste of copper as you bite your lip, suppressing your moans as mike torturously fingers you. you can hear how wet you are, and it has your head reeling.

"i could get off just by looking at you right now." mike confesses. there's a boiling in your blood that gets hotter with each kiss, each thrust of his fingers into you. he's leaving wet kisses on your neck, nipping the skin below the chain of your locket. mike’s prominent bulge is poking at your side, and you feel so lewd. you’re gripping onto the sheets to keep yourself from reaching your high so quickly, but you’re about done for. “bet you want me to fuck you.” mike teases, slowing down his assault on your poor cunt. “so bad, mike. please fuck me.” you whimper pathetically and a little too loud, almost giving away the obscenity happening in mike’s bedroom. the star wars figures lying across his desk have never seen anything so vile.

“shit, you’re so needy.” mike breathes out, you involuntarily buck your hips towards him. it’s enough to make him remove his fingers from you completely and bunch up your maxi skirt around your waist, exposing the sight of your red panties that are now completely soaked. his bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he unbuttons his jeans, “can’t wait to be inside you, pretty girl.” “mike, lunch will be ready in thirty!” the sound of mrs. wheeler pulls you out of your lust-filled trance, footsteps shuffling outside the door. your eyes widen at the realization of how close she sounds. mike is quick to clamp his hand over your mouth, a small whimper escaping you. “we’ll be down by then!” mike exclaims back, ears perked up for any sign of his mother’s footsteps.

you’re thinking of how you’d react if the knob turned— if mrs. wheeler opened the door and saw the position her son has you in. you’d kill yourself. maybe not right now, but eventually, tear-stained letter and all. mike watches you, eyes desperately studying your face. he shakes his head at your sudden shakiness. the relieving sound of footsteps patting down the staircase has your heart beating again. “you’re gonna have to be quiet. we have to be quick.” mike warns, slowly removing his hand from your mouth, making quick work to remove your panties and his boxers. “i don’t know if i can.” you whisper, on the brink of crying as he teases your hole with his cock; the tip the prettiest shade of dark pink. “you will.” mike covers your mouth once again before shoving his cock in your cunt.

he fucks you fast, hard, not letting his hand falter from its hold over your mouth. the moans you let out are going into his hand and straight back into your body. your nails dig into the skin of mike’s wrist as his cock kisses your cervix, you’re about to cum and he hasn’t even been fucking you for more than 5 minutes. “you’re doing so good, all for me.” mike groans lowly, only for you to hear. “i wish you could see yourself, you look so pretty when you’re trying to stay quiet.” it’s a praise that has your cunt pulsating around mike. your eyes are losing focus as he hikes up your leg to rest on his shoulder, the new angle has his cock ploughing deeper in you. you’re letting out muffled, indescribable moans at the feeling. it’s a high that an addict could only dream of.

mike’s fingers find solace on your clit, messily rubbing the puffy nerve as he fucks you stupid. your body starts to thrash as the pleasure becomes too much, tears welling up in your eyes. you’re sure you’re drawing blood as your nails scratch mike’s wrist, but he doesn’t seem to let it stop him. the headboard of his bed is hitting the wall in rhythmic thuds, and you're praying to whoever is listening for his parents not come up the stairs. mike's eyes are on you, lips parted as he's panting, wanting to let out moans himself. "fuck." mike whispers, out of breath. his thrusts get sharp, snapping into your pelvic bone with such vigor that he could break you if he wanted to. the pounding of your heart feels like it's about to burst through your heaving chest, you're practically biting mike's hand as you're struggling to keep yourself quiet. the wet sounds of mike's cock meeting your cunt is sickly euphoric. you'd cum from the sound alone.

mike's hand leaves your mouth— you're about to let out a loud whine, but his lips quickly meet yours. the kiss is a spit-filled moaning mess. the sight is sinful enough to leave his poor mother in a coma if she walked in. "need you to cum, can you do that for me?" mike says against your lips, watching you fall apart in front of him. you see yourself in his dilated pupils; you look straight out of a playboy magazine. the reflection has your stomach eating itself. "yes." you cry out softly, your hand reaching into his hair and becoming tangled in the dark curls. "gonna fill you up so good." mike kisses into your mouth, his thrusts getting rougher. his fingers leave your clit to wrap around your throat, kissing you deeper than before. your body is on fire, you feel on fire, like someone lit a flare in you.

your eyes screw shut, the faint outline of the peel-n-stick stars on mike's ceiling dances around your neon-colored vision. "mike." you moan out, loudly. it's an alarm, a cause for concern for his parents, but it's music to his ears. "there you go." you hear him pant, his lips attaching to your sugar-laced neck. you see jane when your vision goes black. hair tucked behind her ears, and a bloody nose, watching how you're cumming pathetically around mike. she gives you the same unreadable expression from the first night you saw her weeks ago. the warm feeling of mike's thick cum quickly pulls you out of your head, your eyes meet his as he's shuddering to empty himself in your cunt.

the air hitting your lungs burn as you catch your breath, mike’s afterglow is already settling into his skin. and you’re sure your hair is ruined beyond repair. mike’s thumb collects the tears on your cheek and softly smiles at you. the freckles scattered across his nose are a bit more prominent than before, cheeks baby pink, and lips swollen from all the kissing. its a mental picture for you to remember on late-nights and lonely weekends. there’s a humming coming from outside his door and rushed movements, three voices and you recognize one as his older sister’s. “mike, lunch is ready!” mrs. wheeler calls out from downstairs. "you did so good for me.” mike kisses you before pulling out.

for the next 30 minutes, you are subjected to being mike’s friend again. there’s two people at the table you’ve never met sitting next to his older sister, nancy. a guy with hair that you’ve only seen in hairstylist magazines and a girl with short hair and messily done eyeliner. you’re asked your name, if your mike’s friend. you’ll say yes and talk about the fake star wars event you met at. mrs. wheeler will boast about how you’re going to norte, how you’re mike’s best friend. mike will rub your thigh sneakily underneath the table and sneak glances at you, occasionally chiming in to brag about how smart you are. your head will pound at the emotional gymnastics. your gut will churn at the mention of jane.

the proposal from earlier is ringing in your ears. mike will break up with jane tonight. and you will no longer be just his friend. but for now, you are. and it’s hell.

[samwxlsxon]

tomorrow | aged up!mike wheeler x reader

summary: You and Mike return to your house after a long day of horrible shit. Undisclosed feelings + Dr. Mike cleaning your injury make for an an even longer night.

word count: 11.6k (rip sorry)

warnings: CRAZY SEASON 5 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT, slight canon deviance, cursing, mentions of blood, gore (brief), mean!mike (brief), mention of traumatic events, angst, fluff, sexual thoughts, grinding, pain (brief), smut, virgin!reader, virgin!mike, spitting, discussions of masturbation, protected p in v, fingering, oral (m receiving), two idiots being idiots, unresolved feelings, no use of y/n, reader described as having skin that flushes & hair long enough to frame face

a/n: all characters engaging in sexual acts are 18+! hi everyone! stranger things season 5 spoke to me biblically, so i decided to restart this blog and publish my first fic. as always, feedback is encouraged and my ask are open! please let me know what you think :) mike looks so fucking lickable this season bye

this was not beta read, so please ignore any grammatical or structural typos hehe

[banner credit @minslune]

masterlist

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The water was pink with blood. Mike stared at the shower floor through blurry eyes, watching his mother’s blood mix with the grime of the day’s events, both silently running down the drain, melting with the suds of your sweet-smelling body wash. He hadn’t bothered to read the bottle, but it smelled like you. Vanilla, maybe.

He rested his head against the wall of the shower and closed his eyes. Your parent’s house was quiet, save for the sound of water running down his body, just as it had been for the last twenty minutes.

Maybe closing his eyes hadn’t been the best idea.

There, behind his eyes, lay the body of his mother with Nancy by her side, both covered in blood. Karen’s gashes were so deep, Mike could see portions of muscle unveiled by her torn skin. She was heaving, choking on her own blood. He had never been so scared. So helpless. 

The memory shifts to the echo of Nancy’s screams as he ran through the house in search of Holly and his father. Mike found his father in his room, unconscious and bleeding from the abdomen. Even if it weren’t for the current uninhabitability of his home, Mike would never sleep in his room again. He remembers the fear he felt, not at all comparable to the rush of fearful adrenaline upon an incoming attack, no. This fear ran deep. It pulled from the deepest parts of Mike’s soul and consumed his every thought. This fear was debilitating. The fear that his parents were going to die and he was too late.

A quiet knock on the bathroom door pulled him from his memories. A small mercy.

The door creaked open slightly, allowing for some of the room’s dense steam to escape. As he opened his eyes, your voice cut through the silence of the house, “Sorry, I’m not looking- I just found you some clothes. I’ll leave them here.” Hurriedly, you placed your older brother’s sweat set that he’d left before leaving for college on the bathroom counter. You turned on your heels quickly after, eyes downward, avoiding the silhouette of the boy visible through the fogged up shower door.

As you closed the door behind you, Mike mumbled a forgotten “thank you,” and all was quiet again.

Mike knew his time in the steamy bliss of the shower was coming to an end. The water was nowhere near as hot as it was when he first got in and his fingers were pruned. With a sigh, he washed away the rest of the soap and turned off the shower. He stood there for a while, staring at the droplets of water on the door, his body a couple steps behind what his brain was telling him to do. By the time he reached for the towel, his hair had stopped dripping and no longer was he warm from the scalding water.

He worried for his parents, and no amount of reassurance from the doctors at the hospital would make their condition an easier pill to swallow. In part he blamed himself, considering his knowledge of Vecna and the Upside Down preceded this attack tenfold. If only he had said something earlier- convinced them to get out of Hawkins. Maybe then his mother would have functioning vocal cords. Maybe then his sister would still be here. Maybe.

As he ran your towel through his hair, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the foggy mirror. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His face was hollow and his shoulders were a little wider. He was taller than he’d realized- older. Over the years, he’d spent so much time focused on saving the world, that somewhere between imminent death and science class he’d forgotten that he was no longer a boy.

There would be time to dwell on that later, he supposed. For now, he had to focus on finding Holly. He hung up the towel and dressed himself in the clothes you’d provided him. Your brother was a couple sizes larger than him, but fresh clothes free of his mother’s blood left little to complain about.

He didn’t expect to find you staring at the bathroom door as he stepped out. Awkwardly, he stopped and motioned towards the vacant room, “‘s all yours. Thank you.”

You nodded, getting up from the crisscrossed position on your bed. “I spoke to my parents. They shouldn’t be back until next week, so- um, yeah. Feel free to stay as long as you need. Nance called, too. Your mom’s doing okay. Your dad is still in a coma, though.”

He nodded slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry,” you continued. “I wish I could give you better news.” You wrapped your arms around your pajamas as you stood in front of him, a sad sort of frown marring your face.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “It’s okay. I’m trying not to dwell on it.” He gave you one last glance before heading towards the backpack thrown carelessly on the floor by your bed.

Rummaging through it, he spoke, “We have to streamline our focus. Nance and I were able to get in the room with Mom. Holly had this imaginary friend- Mr. Whatsit. Her teacher caught her talking to him before she went missing. We think Mr. Whatsit is Henry.” Satisfied, he pulled out his walkie-talkie, extending the antenna.

“Henry? As in Creel?” You leaned up against the bathroom doorway, clearly surprised by what you had just learned. Your memory was a little fuzzy at the moment, and you were quickly trying to understand what Henry Creel could possibly want with Holly. 

Mike nodded, pressing the side of the device. “Dustin, Lucas- it’s Mike. Do you copy?” He waited a beat. Nothing.

“Dustin! Lucas! It’s Mike. Do you copy?” He repeated. Nothing again. “Shit,” he sighed, tossing the walkie atop his bag, “they’re supposed to be up. This important, we have to-”

You pushed yourself off the frame, walking into the bathroom and turning the shower on. “Mike, it’s late. We’ve had one of the worst days of our lives,” you called. “Maybe it’s best if you just rest for a bit? The boys are probably exhausted, too. You can’t think right if you’re tired.”

And tired you were. Your bones ached. There was long scrape on your side, mystery bruises at their beginning stages on your extremities. Henry, however his involvement in Holly’s disappearance, could wait until the morning. You needed a hot shower and some hard drugs. Unfortunately, five hours of sleep would have to suffice.

You pulled on your face in the mirror, trying to bring it back to life, while Mike mumbled angrily from somewhere in your room. “This can’t wait,” he huffed your name, walking towards the bathroom, locking eyes with you in the mirror. “Holly is missing. My parents got hurt, and Vecna is not going to stop there- more people are going to find themselves in the middle of this shit and we have to do something to stop it. Like I told Nancy, I don't want any more regrets. I’m tired of sitting here and doing fucking nothing.”

“You’re not doing nothing, Mike. You’ve done everything you can for today. I agree that this is important, but Vecna, or Henry, or whoever-the-fuck will still be there tomorrow morning, and frankly, I don’t remember the last time we slept for more than thirty minute intervals. We’ll think better if we get some sleep.” Your eyes pleaded with him through the mirror.

He scoffed, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, because it’s so easy for you to sleep right now and ignore everything. Your parents are away. Your brother is safe. Holly is still out there and we don’t know where the fuck she is. How could you even sleep right now knowing what’s at stake?”

He answered his own question. “Right. It’s so easy for you to detach yourself because you don’t have anything at stake.”

Well that was fucking rude. Anger swelled in your chest at his words. You whipped around to face him, digging your finger into his chest. “Fuck you, Michael Wheeler.”

After everything that you had sacrificed in helping the party, you were taken aback by Mike’s blatant disregard for your loyalty to the cause. Tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you annunciated your words with another harsh poke to his chest. “How dare you? I have been your best friend for seven years and with all the absolute shit I have endured because of you, I cannot believe you even have the fucking nerve. No one is forcing me to be here. Last I checked, Hawkins is my home, too. Will is my friend, Holly is like a sister to me, and I know that my level of pain is nowhere close to yours, but I’ve lost people too, Michael.

“So quit being such an ass. I have everything to lose. My home, my friends, everything. I know you want to find Holly and I know it seems like we’re getting nowhere, but you need to sleep. We’re no good to anyone if we get picked off by a Demo-thing because we’re fucking exhausted! Dustin and Lucas have also been working around the clock on this. Let them fucking sleep.” You shoved him out of the doorway and slammed the bathroom door shut.

You let out a shallow breath as you gripped the front of the counter. Your head hurt. You know he didn’t mean it, but Mike could be so mean sometimes. You also know that his outburst was likely a projection of his own feelings for himself unto you, but his words hurt nonetheless.

Mike let out a sigh from behind the door. He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth, but he was nothing if not stubborn, so he let them out anyway. The look on your face while he spoke had left him with this ugly pit of disgust for himself. He didn’t mean it. You were a vital party member, and Mike was a self-deprecating shithead who would have someone else feel the hurt rather than feel it himself.

After a moment of staring at his feet in front of the locked door, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I-,” a beat passed, “I didn’t mean that. I know why you’re doing this and that was horrible of me to say.”

You could barely hear him through the door and the running shower, but you chose to say nothing. 

“I’m scared,” he continued. “I’m so fucking scared of losing everyone. And today was the closest we’ve ever come to that. That’s why I can’t stop going. I feel like the longer we sit around with no answers, the closer we get to not being able to find Vecna and kill him. Not before something happens to one of us. I’m sorry.”

Mike was still angry with his idleness, but there was something about hurting you that made him feel infinitely worse than his worst bout of anger had ever made him feel. He didn’t understand this feeling of guilt that had washed over him. All the times he had said hurtful things to Lucas, Will, or Dustin, which were his closest friends, didn’t amount to even a quarter of the shame he felt in this moment. 

After a while of standing by the door with no response, Mike walked over to your bed and sat on the corner, staring at the bathroom door just as you had minutes prior. 

You showered silently. The pounding in your head was getting stronger, and the hot water was doing nothing to alleviate your condition. You felt so stupid. In your life you have been chased, threatened, and moments away from painful, excruciating deaths more times than you could count on one hand, but nothing had ever made you feel like breaking down the way you did now. 

You had always believed that if you and Mike were in it together, nothing could ever be as terrible as one day losing each other. The way you felt for him, as you often dislike to admit to yourself, was blurring the platonic expectations for your relationship. You were beginning to feel things for him, or maybe you had been for a while; and these feelings made his comments hurt like a motherfucker. 

You thought about him often, secretly, in the quiet of your room when it was hard to sleep. You imagined going out to the movies- not as friends. You imagined him holding your hand as you walked around town. You imagined his arm around you when you all hung out with your friends, quietly reminding you of his presence. You imagined what a kiss on your forehead would feel like after a day like today. You imagined sleeping next to him, feeling his arms enclosing around you to keep the nightmares at bay. You thought worse things, too. Thoughts of his lips on yours,  then on your neck. You thought of yourself in his lap, grinding against him while his hands gripped your waist and the underside of your thigh, inching dangerously close to your ass. 

You imagined what he would feel inside you, foreheads touching as he rocked his cock into your aching cunt.

Except, you didn’t really know what that felt like at all. You knew about sex, obviously, but with yearly near death experiences came little time for romantic encounters. You didn’t know what sex actually felt like, but you knew that you wanted it. The raunchy romance novels that you liked to read explained it well enough, and the influx of hormones as you neared your 20’s made you crave it. You craved it with Mike.

So yes, Mike’s grip on your emotions had long surpassed the point of platonic affection, but you were never going to tell him. The dynamic between the party was delicate, as you were sure Eleven felt some way about him, as well. Never would you do anything to jeopardize your friendship. You’d rather have him as a friend than to not have him at all, and scaring him away with your pining was sure to do just that. 

By the time you turned the shower off, you had come to terms with Mike’s outburst, some of your hurt minimized by the feelings, which urged you to forgive him. 

You stepped out, eyeing Mike’s bloody clothes thrown haphazardly on your bathroom floor. You avoided stepping on them as you made your way over to the mirror, wiping away the dew. The shower had helped a little. The shower didn’t remove your internal impurities, such as the dark circles of exhaustion under your eyes, but no longer were you covered in Karen’s blood.

Unwrapping yourself from the towel, you reached in your medicine cabinet for some disinfectant and bandages. The scrape wasn’t deep, but it was long. It stretched from the side of your right hip to the bottom of your right breast. It would make you feel better if you had gotten it while doing something meaningful, but instead you had tripped over the gate in Mike’s kitchen, falling straight into the Upside Down. Your presence seemed to have stalled the gates closure for a brief moment, but long enough to allow Eleven to slip in, chasing the sound of Holly’s cries.

You shook your head at the sting of the alcohol on your side, gingerly dabbing a cotton ball along the length of the scrape. You decided to forgo bandages all together, not wanting to waste them.

It hurt to move. You could feel the cuts stretching as you turned your body. Somehow, you managed to throw on your pajamas without causing yourself too much pain, but you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping on your side for at least a couple days. After popping some ibuprofen, you rubbed the towel through your wet hair, wincing at your moving torso. Satisfied with the reduction in moisture, you threw the towel on the floor and opened the door.

Mike looked up from position on your bed as soon as he heard the door open, the notebook he was looking through long forgotten and tossed to the side. He shifted to face you, hands at his sides, waiting for you to say something. As he stared at you in the doorway, he realized that he rarely got to see you like this. Your hair was wet and slightly messy, a stark contrast from its usual up-kept appearance. The shirt you were wearing was large enough to fall down your shoulder, and drops of water from your hair raced down the exposed collarbone, soaking themselves into the shirt’s collar. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower, and your eyes bored into his expectantly, full of emotion.

Mike would be a fool to deny that you were beautiful, but usually, you had a wall around yourself. It was rare that he got to see you so carefree and vulnerable. Now, you looked as if you had been rubbed clean, the rawness of your appearance striking him and engraving itself into his memory.

“I’m scared, too, y’know. Really scared,” you whispered from the doorway, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m not taking this as seriously as I should. It’s just that we’ve been doing this for months. I know we’re closer than ever to ending this, but we’re not super soldiers. We can’t just constantly run on empty and expect not to shut down. I’m exhausted Mike, and I think one night where we don’t have to think about the end of the world would help.”

You sat down next to him, legs dangling off the side of the bed. You placed your hands on the mattress, and turned your neck to look at Mike while you spoke. He was so close now, your shoulders grazing.

He shook his head when you sat down. “You don’t need to apologize. I was an ass. I’m sorry. You’re an amazing asset to the party, and I-we, don’t know where we would be without you.”

You smiled, looking down at your hand next to his, noticing how his pinky had made its way between your pinky and ring fingers. “Thank you. And you’re an amazing leader, Mike. I feel like we don’t tell you that enough. But even the strongest leaders know when to rest.” You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the warmth of his body, or maybe both, but you gently laid your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and savoring the moment.

Mike turned his head to look at you, eyes closed and blissful. You looked beautiful, he thought once more. Maybe he thinks it often. He hummed in agreement, slouching to allow your head a more comfortable place to rest. He could feel his heart speed up, not used to having a girl so close. He silently vowed not to move until you did. You could lay upon his shoulder as long as you’d like. He would savor this, too.

You both stayed like that for what felt like forever, when in reality it was only a couple of minutes. In your sleepy state, time was simultaneously blending together and pulling apart. Slowly, you lifted your head from his shoulders, realizing then that his head was lying on top of yours, too.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you let out a small yawn. “Carson should have extra blankets in his room. Let me know if you want me to bring you anything else.” You gave him a sleepy smile, expecting him to sleep in your brother’s room.

Mike got up from your bed, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Um- yeah, I’ll sleep there.”

He sounded off. You cocked your head to the side, curious as to his hesitation to sleep in the other room.

“Well,” he started, voice wavering. “You know what, forget it. It’s okay. Goodnight,” he said, mumbling your name.

Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t want to sleep alone.

Understanding rushed through your face, “Oh God, no please, sleep here! I’m so sorry Mike, that was so stupid. I didn’t reali-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It’s just been a long day, I just- I don’t know. After what happen- don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to leave.

You silently chastised yourself. Hours earlier, Mike had bore witness to the brutal assault on his parents. He found his father bleeding out in his own room. You wouldn’t want to sleep alone either.

You bounced up from the bed, wincing at your side, and grabbed his hand before he could leave. Mike turned around, quickly glancing down at your intertwined fingers and then back up to you.

“No Mike, I’m serious. Sleep here. There’s plenty of room.” You urged, pulling him back towards the bed.

Either he had no fight left to give, or he realized that he really was too unnerved to sleep alone tonight. He nodded and allowed you to pull him with you.

You began to make room on the bed, throwing your decorative pillows and stuffed animals onto the floor. Mike stood and watched as you reached for a black stuffed cat at the opposite end of your bed, but mid-reach you stopped, dropping your hand down to brace yourself on the mattress.

“Ow, shit.” You grumbled. You weren’t used to having to control your movements, and your reach had pulled on the scrape, causing it to light up in blinding pain.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Mike rounded the corner to meet you on your side of the bed. He looked you over, searching for the source of the pain.

You nodded, slowly and stiffly flipping yourself over to face him. “Yeah, I just got this scrape on my side. It hurts like a bitch when I move it sometimes.” You let out an awkward laugh.

“Let me see it, maybe it opened.” He demanded.

You shook your head, “No, don’t worry. It’s okay. It’s just a scrape. It’s not deep or anything. It’ll be better in a couple days.”

Mike stared at you with firmness. “Let me see it,” he pressed. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Rolling your eyes with a sigh, you pulled up the side of your shirt to show him the scrape. You stopped midway, realizing that you never put on bottoms over your black panties.

Play it cool, you thought. You pulled the shirt up the rest of the way, showing Mike the remainder of the injury. Luckily, he didn’t notice your lack of inferior modesty, because as soon as he looked at the scrape his eyes shot open in alarm.

“What the fuck? That is not a scrape,” he rushed towards your bathroom, bringing back the bandages and wound supplies you had left there from your shower.

“I’m fine, Mike, really!” You reasoned. He gave you a look of exasperation, signaling you to hold your shirt higher.

He began to unwrap a long, cloth bandage, placing it next to the disinfectant. “You’re actively bleeding and I can see into the hole. Now shut up and let me do this.”

It was entirely possible that you had downplayed the extent of your injury to yourself. In actuality, it was much more than a scrape. There was a wound in the center, about a couple centimeters deep, where a branch had managed to wiggle its way into the soft flesh of your side. The rest of it was very much scrape-like, but that stupid hole was causing you serious amounts of pain.

Mike kneeled down by the side of your bed, now eye-level with your injury. He had, in-fact, noticed that you were not wearing any pants, and he hoped you couldn’t gather as much by the way his hands shook while pouring some rubbing alcohol onto a gauze.

You obviously didn’t do a good job of anything when it came to proper wound care, as the rubbing alcohol burned much stronger than it had a little bit ago. You clearly hadn’t cleaned it correctly. You hissed as Mike continued to dab it. “Sorry, I’m almost done.” He looked up at you through his long eyelashes.

You nodded, blinking back sharp tears of pain that prickled in your eyes. “Almost done.” He mumbled again. His free hand was on your waist, moving his thumb in soothing circles while he worked.

When he finished the sterile assault on your injury, he tossed the dirty gauze in a pile of other used up pieces. There had been a lot more blood than you’d realized.

Delicately, Mike placed the cloth bandage over the worst of the wound, securing it in place with medical tape. It tickled when he touched you, but his cool fingers felt nice against your inflamed skin.

You watched him work, noting how his brows scrunched together with focus. He was so pretty. He had grown-up well, filling in all the awkward spots from his youth. His hair was fluffy and framed his face nicely. His cheekbones had hollowed out, reinforcing the masculine structure of his face. But his hands, oh his hands. His fingers were long, deliciously so, but yet his hands were nimble. You’d watch him over the years, painting tiny figurines for various D&D campaigns. His hands were so careful, and with that same care he worked on you, delicately ensuring the gauze was stuck properly to the most important parts.

“There,” he mused. “Done. You’ll be more careful, yeah?” He chided lightly. You nodded, offering him a quiet ‘thank you’ as he rose to his feet. You let your shirt fall back down, covering yourself under his watchful eye.

The gauze felt nice over the wound. You gave your torso an experimental twist and- ouch, still hurt. Mike was thorough, but he wasn’t a miracle worker. It would take a couple days before it was healed to the point of painlessness.

“Try not to move so much.” He said softly.

You breathed a laugh out of your nose. “Funny. I’ll just ask the monsters very nicely to stop chasing us. That should hold them off.” You looked up at him with a small smile.

“Any other injuries for Dr. Mike?” He joked. Your laugh was music to his ears.

You continued the bit, “Well, Dr. Mike, I have a brutal stab wound right here. Do you think you could make it better?” You pointed to the small cut on your cheek, no bigger than a scratch. An actual scratch.

To your surprise, he leaned forward to get a better look, his face just mere inches from yours.

“Oh wow, that’s killer. My diagnosis says,” he waited a moment, locking his eyes with you before whispering dramatically, “terminal.”

You faked a gasp, a small giggle leaving your throat shortly after. He smiled, but didn’t say anything, his face still so, so close.

The joke dissolved as quickly as it had started, replaced by a palpable tension in the air. It all happened so fast. Mike didn’t move. You didn’t move. You both stayed there, faces almost touching, waiting for something to happen. His eyes left yours so briefly that you would’ve doubted yourself if you hadn’t been paying such diligent attention. He had looked at your lips.

You had never been this close to him, or to anyone for that matter, but it made butterflies swarm in your stomach. Your heart pounded expectantly. Mike was stuck, unable to pull himself away from your gaze. His back hurt from leaning forward, but he had never been so transfixed.

The room was hotter, the tension impossibly thicker. Somehow, your legs had ended up between his, his long body caging you in. Both brains were buzzing, unsure and apprehensive. Finally, your whisper broke through the heavy silence.

“What are we doing, Mike?”

He started back at you, matching your whisper. “Anything we want.” You both were still staring, still waiting.

“And what is it we want?” Another whisper from you.

Mike was unsure as to where his confidence was stemming from. Mentally, he felt like a calf learning to walk. He had no idea what to do, or where to touch, or what to say. He had no idea how to move forward. But his actions were a different story. He didn’t think about what he was saying, he just said what felt right. For now, it seemed like he was saying the right things.

He brought his hand up to cradle your face, hesitantly. Your eyes widened just a touch. “Is this okay? Is this what you want?” He asked. You nodded slowly into his palm. 

And then he kissed you. Mike Wheeler actually kissed you. Your brain was swirling. You had no idea how you had even gotten here, but now Mike Wheeler was kissing you, and you had to manually tell yourself to start kissing him back. 

At first he had lightly placed his lips on yours, testing. That was fine, you could do that. Calm. Easy. However, nothing could have prepared you for when his lips started moving. You were reeling, unsure of how to even approach a kiss with any sort of sexual appeal. You panicked, pulling back. 

“I’m sorry- God, this is so embarrassing. I’ve just never had-I’ve never been,” your panic made you animated, talking quickly with shaky hands. “I’ve never done this before.” 

Mike had taken a step back, initially shocked by the perceived rejection. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t either. I’m not necessarily a chick magnet.” He scratched the back of his head. 

Shocked at the revelation, all you could say was “oh.”

“How about we forget this ever happened and go to sleep, yeah? I’ll go to Carson’s room.” He turned to walk out of your room for the second time that night. 

“No, wait! I want to, it’s just,” you sighed. “I don’t want to mess anything up, okay? Like, I don’t  even know how to kiss correctly, let alone any of the other stuff.” You let out a dry laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was true, you really did want to. Kissing Mike was a dream come true, but you didn’t know the first thing about any of it. By the grace of all that was evil, you seemed to have forgotten everything you’d learned from those damn romance novels the moment his lips touched yours. 

Mike’s heart skipped a beat about the possibility of continuing to kiss you. “We can take it slow. We’ll learn together, yeah?” 

Mike had never given you even the slightest inclination that this was something that could even be possible between the two of you. You were caught off guard by Mike’s desire to kiss you, searching within yourself the best way for move forward.

Ultimately, you conceded. “Okay, yeah,” you nodded, making some space for him on the bed.

When he was fully sat in front of you, knees touching yours, Mike stopped, hand caressing your face similarly to before. To your disappointment, he didn’t kiss you again.

“Hi.” you giggled, trying to fill the silence.

“Hi.” he repeated. Mike was stuck at a crossroads. Could it really be that you felt the same? He didn’t know exactly what would come of this and how you would play a part in his life once this was over. You were his best friend and you would always be, but he didn’t know if there was space for anything more when your lives revolved around saving the world, the risk of danger lurking in every corner. He did know, however, that he felt strongly for you.

He was thinking too much.

“I’m gonna kiss you again, okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he moved his head closer, his warm lips breathing life into you once more.

At first no one moved, allowing your lips to accustom to the sensation of one another. Slyly, your tongue dipped out, lining his bottom lip and inviting yourself in- tempting him. He accepted the intrusion with eagerness.

Your mouths began to move slowly, softly exploring one another. There was still a lingering hesitation around your actions as you both tried to not overpower the other. It was nice. Slow and expirimental.

But soon you became restless. Poor Mike had one hand on your face and one on his own thigh, nervous to make any unreciprocated movements. With a surge of confidence, you grabbed his hand and placed it on your good side, your hands then rooting themselves on the back of his head.

You voiced your need through actions, kissing Mike with a touch more force. Your tongue played with his, occasionally sucking the tip into your mouth during a slow roll of your lips. His lips molded with yours perfectly, the tempo becoming increasingly feverish as you grew more comfortable with each other.

Your hands tangled in his hair, giving it an experimental tug- oh my God. He'd let out the most beautiful noise into your mouth, almost like a broken whimper, the sound going straight to your core. Mike deepened the kiss, moving his hand to the back of your head, gripping at your hairs, as well.

Mike was fervent. He needed you closer. He pulled at you by the waist, moving your body forward. As gracefully as you could without breaking the heated kiss, you uncrossed your legs and moved yourself onto his lap.

Oh, he was warm. His left hand migrated to rest on the curve of your thigh and ass, gently kneading the flesh below the start of your injury. His right hand splayed on the center of your back, holding you in place as you inadvertently rocked yourself against him.

You drank up his groans like water. His length was impossibly hard under you, hitting your clit deliciously with every roll of your hips.

"'S that good?" You broke the kiss briefly, worried that you may be putting too much pressure on his lower extremities.

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah, s'good, don't stop."

Ignited by his newfound praise, you kissed him again, frenzied. In the wildness, your teeth clunked together lightly, his hands gripping you harder. If he had any complaints, he didn't voice them.

Your hips were moving at a maddening pace atop him, chasing that building feeling in your core. Mike began to guide your hips, pushing and pulling you against him until the both of you fell into a broken rhythm. His grip tightened, catching on your scrape. The pain surfaced just as your clit rubbed on the head of his clothed cock, causing you to drop your head down onto his shoulder and grit a moan through your teeth.

Mike had never been so turned on. His hips shot up to meet yours, turning his head to look at you buried in his shoulder, letting out tight little breaths of pleasure. He held his breath as your hand trailed from the back of his neck, slowly making its way down, down, down to the waistband of your brother's sweatpants.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him. "Can I touch you?" you murmured, fingers toying with the strings at the front of his pants.

Mike looked at you as if you had hung the moon. His best friend, his beautiful, smart, brave, perfect best friend, was asking to touch his cock in the most selfish way. He would never expect you to, nor did he think it would get to this, but no- you wanted to. You looked at him through pretty lashes, damp hair framing your face as you coyly asked to touch him. He felt himself throb at the thought. Jesus, he was such a virgin.

"Sure, y-yeah, go ahead." He choked out, watching your hand leave the waistband of his pants to fully palm his clothed cock. He was hard under your hand, not very thick, but long. You ran your fingers over the light wet spot at his tip, causing Mike to hiss out a breathy, "fuck."

He watched you through a cloud of desire. You were taking your time with him, feeling his length through the pants, giving an experimental squeeze here and there, smiling lightly when you felt him twitch under you.

You honestly didn't know what you were doing. You did know, however, that you wanted to take your time feeling him, learning him, discovering what he liked. You gripped him through his pants again, mouth watering at the way his eyes closed and his breath hitched.

He had started to squirm again, hips rolling up to put more pressure between your hand and his cock. His needfulness had you deciding against anymore significant teasing, so you worked your fingers back up to his waistband, dipping your pointer finger inside to run against the seam.

"Can you take them off?" you asked, pulling your finger away, the band snapping back against his waist.

Mike could not believe what he was hearing.

"Only if that's okay," you added quickly after noticing his hesitation.

Instead of the rejection you assumed was forthcoming, he grabbed your face and kissed you softly, pushing your body off his. Once he had room, he stood by the edge of your bed, pulling his pants down to the floor.

As soon as they dropped, it's like you couldn't look at anything else. Mike's cock sprang free, all red and leaking. You were transfixed, mouth watering. It was so pretty, you thought, as you confirmed your prior theories. It was long and slender, and so perfectly Mike. You licked your lips, looking away to meet Mike's eyes.

"It's pretty," you said softly, waiting for him to sit down again.

Mike's faced flushed with pink, letting out a small laugh. "I've never thought to describe my dick as pretty, but I'm glad you think that." He bounced back on the bed, his light demeanor clearing some of the stuffiness from the room.

While he situated himself, you stood up, placing yourself at the side of the bed where he'd stood just moments before.

"Where are you go-" he started. Before he could finish, you pulled at his arm, guiding him to sit in front of you with his legs off the bed. Once he was where you wanted him, you dropped to your knees, hitting the fuzzy carpet on the floor.

"Hey, no it's okay. You don't have to- um," His eyes widened when he realized what you were plotting.

You gave him a small pout, lightly running your nails over his pale thighs. "Mike, I want to. If you don't we can stop now, but I promise I'm okay."

He felt stupid for folding so quickly, but when a pretty girl shows him she wants to suck his cock, he's not usually going to turn her down. He balled his hands at his sides, nodding to you.

You hummed with delight and inched your hands towards his cock. It was soft, almost velvet like. You took it in your hands, repeating the same experimental squeezes and touches from before.

It dawned on you then. You still had no fucking clue what you were doing. Gazing up at Mike from your position, you noticed him leaning back on his hands, patiently awaiting your next movements.

"Um," you started sheepishly. "I don’t- um, I don't really know what I'm doing at this point. Could you, maybe, guide me?"

Mike ran a hand through his hair. "Well your guess is as good as mine, seeing as I've never sucked dick before," he joked. You gave him a stern look and lightly slapped his thigh.

"No, dipshit, obviously not." You deadpanned. "I more so meant like, y’know, when you touch yourself. What feels good so maybe I can mimic it, I don't know. You do do that, right?"

You gave him an upward stroke, cock still painfully hard as you asked him about his masturbation habits. Why was that so hot to him? You, wanting to know what he did to himself late at night in the quiet of the dark.

"Y-yeah, yeah I do. To be fair, I'm already, like, forty percent there from before, so it really won't take much." He said, referencing your previous grinding. He needed to shut the fuck up. He talks too much when he's nervous.

You waited patiently for him to continue, sitting on your heels, one hand politely in your lap.

He cleared his throat and continued. "The tip is the most sensitive part, so don't squeeze it too tight. No teeth. Oh, and it has to be wet. One time I almost gave myself a fucking rug burn- uh, anyway, the wetter the better." He paused for a minute to think, ignoring his own stupid rambles. "Try to keep a consistent rhythm, and you can squeeze it tighter than you think you can."

You nodded, understanding. Bringing your face closer to his length, you let a glob of spit dribble from your mouth onto his tip. Using your left hand to spread it out, you began moving up and down in slow, firm strokes.

Mike threw his head back and choked out a moan. “Holy fucking sh-shit. Steve was right, it feels way better when you’re not the one doing it.”

You let out a giggle at his sudden wantonness.

Your tongue reached out to leave a tentative lick on his tip, and Mike swore he could’ve died right there and gone to heaven.

You relished in the salty taste, pairing your first lick with a long one from his base to his tip. Humming in approval, you took his tip into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around it. Scared to take too much in at once, your hand pumped what was exposed.

Mike’s moans were music to your ears. You’d never realized how badly you needed to be praised, and his reaction fueled your enthusiasm. Lifting your head, you let another dollop of spit fall on his tip, but this time you dragged your lips up and down, spreading it with your mouth.

“Is it good like that?” You asked, looking up at him again.

“Fuck, yes. Oh,” he groaned. “You can go a bit faster, if y’want.” Mike sounded so broken, like he was lost in a world high above the clouds. You would be lying if it didn’t make you impossibly wet to have him crumbling under you like that.

Your thighs clenched as you sped your hand up, mentally preparing to take more of him. Your cunt throbbed, searching for relief wherever it could. Your mouth found his tip again, suckling sweetly. Slowly, your head starting bobbing, taking more of him into your mouth at every descend.

Once you were satisfied with the rhythm, making sure that your mouth was open wide enough to engulf most of him, you quickened your pace, stroking whatever you couldn't fit with your hand.

Mike's hands immediately tangled into your hair, a whimpered series of so good's falling from his perfect lips. He was hitting the back of your throat at this point, and you were trying to keep your gag reflex at bay for just a couple more seconds.

It happened accidentally, really. You had stopped bobbing your head at the base of his cock, feeling it nestled softly in the back of your throat. So much spit had trickled out of your mouth that you'd decided to try and swallow some of it back down. With Mike's cock down your throat.

Mike had never felt anything so amazing. The sensation traveled all the way down to the tip of his toes. Unknowingly, you had hit the golden buzzer. Your throat constricted around him like a vice, squeezing him dry. Pathetically, you'd barely had your mouth on him for five minutes and Mike was already seconds away from the most earth-shattering orgasm the Sweet Lord had ever graced upon him.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Mike's hands yanked you off of him roughly by your hair, breathing rapidly.

Your eyes widened in fear. "I am so sorry, did that hurt? Mike, I had no idea."

If Mike hadn't actively been trying to fight off the World's Most Premature Orgasm, he would focus on how downright fuckable you looked right now. Your lips were puffy and wet with spit, and your eyes were glossy with unshed tears from taking his cock so far down your throat. If he didn't die from embarrassment, he fully believed you would kill him.

"No, fuck sorry, it's just, it was getting too- holy fuck- and I didn't want to come too soon." He panted out, laying down on the mattress.

You slowly got up from the floor, sitting back on the bed, careful not to look as his reddening tip for fear of not being able to control yourself.

Why would he not want to come? Was that not the whole point of this? Back in senior year Sex Ed. you'd remembered Mr. Clarke mentioning something about men having a longer refractory period than women. Well, that wouldn't be an issue unless Mike wanted to have sex- oh.

Mike wanted to have sex.

You looked at him laying with his eyes closed on your bed, breath finally evening out, but still painfully hard.

"Mike," you called for him.

"Hmm," he mumbled in response. His brain was not functioning at the moment.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" You asked him nonchalantly. Desperately, you hoped he said yes. Sucking Mike off had been the hottest experience of your life. You could feel your wetness seeping through your panties and onto your thighs, coating the skin in your juices. If you didn't get fucked in the very foreseeable future, problems would be had.

"Yeah, totally." He mumbled lazily, not fully registering what he was saying. As soon as the words came out, his eyes shot open and his face turned to look at you, awaiting your reaction.

You nodded and got up from the bed, telling Mike to wait where he was. You had an idea.

Your sock-covered feet padded against the wooden floors of your house and across the hallway to your brother's room. "C'mon Carson, I know you have some," you mumbled to yourself, rummaging through his nightstand. Nothing. Shit.

You took yourself to his bathroom, checking the medicine cabinet and under the sink. Your prize was nowhere to be found.

Thinking of the last spot your gold could be, you dropped down to the floor and looked under his bed. Bingo. He had left behind a shoebox. The Forbidden Shoebox.

Reaching for it with an outstretched hand, you pulled the dusty shoebox from under his bed, awaiting to scavenge the treasures inside. Shoving aside cigarettes, a Playboy, and other various paraphernalia, you found what you were looking for- your holy grail in a tiny silver packet.

Jumping to your feet, you kicked the shoebox back under your brother's bed, heading back to your room with a self satisfied-smirk.

Mike was still laying on your bed, arms behind his head. His cock had softened a touch, but not by much, just enough to stop the intense throbbing he had felt after edging himself.

You threw the condom at him, hitting him square in the chest. Before he could react, you made your way onto the bed and swung your leg to sit once more in his lap, careful not to put all your weight completely on his erection.

Mike sat up, confused, grabbing the condom off his chest.

"You said we could do whatever we wanted, right? Well," You whispered, toying with the hem of his sweatshirt. "This is what I want."

The one thing you could not get out of your head was how casual this felt. Sure, you were nervous, even anxious at a point, but not because it was Mike you were doing this with. He'd never given you any reason to feel insecure, and you didn't feel a pressure to perform the way you thought your first time would require. But that was him. He made you feel comfortable, so care free. You were both figuring it out together, what you liked, what you didn't, and that's what made it all feel less daunting.

Mike looked at you with dark eyes, his cock twitching slightly at your words. He looked down to examine the condom in his hands, nodding. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

You kissed him, letting out a small hum of excitement. Your hands returned to the back of his neck as he deepened the kiss, his hands lightly playing with the waistband of your panties.

As he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth, you gently grabbed his right hand from its position on your waistband and brought it to cup your pussy. Mike nearly choked, feeling the wetness seeping through the fabric to cover his fingers. Now it was his turn to figure you out.

"Off." He mumbled into your lips, swiping his fingers up your clothed slit.

You slid off his lap, kicking your panties off your legs to land somewhere on the floor. Mike removed his sweatshirt and situated himself behind you, cold hands finding your waist as you removed your shirt.

"I want to make you feel good, too." He spoke into your hair, hands inching dangerously close to your bare pussy, rubbing the inside of your thighs. "Tell me how."

You sighed, leaning back against his chest. His hands felt so nice, but you couldn't stop staring at his fingers brushing your lips, not touching where you needed him most.

His hands traveled upwards towards your breasts, stopping just under the curve, hesitating, waiting for you to give him your approval.

"You can touch them," you whispered, tilting your head to look up at him. He had his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze transfixed on your pillowy breasts and pebbled nipples. Slowly, painfully so, Mike moved his hands up the rest of the way, encapsulating your tender breasts with his palms.

His kneads were soft at first, but once small, quiet mewls of pleasure began to leave your mouth, he gathered the courage to squeeze just a touch harder.

"So fucking hot." He spoke, more to himself than anything. Mike was in love with your tits, taking his time to play with them, lightly pinching your nipples as your eyes scrunched in pleasure.

Your poor neglected cunt ached. Once more you tried to squeeze your thighs together, briefly trapping some sort of pleasure between your legs. Mike was in his own world, kneading and groping your tits, his hard cock digging into the small of your back.

"Mike, please." You had enough of his teasing, your voice coming out as a half whine.

His hands stilled. "What's wrong? What do you need?" He spoke in your ear, making you shiver.

"Touch me." Another whine. You sounded bratty, but you were too far gone to care.

"I am touching you." He countered, resuming his assault on your breasts. Smartass.

Your head shook against his chest, your fingers digging into his arms, urging him down to your wet heat.

Truthfully, Mike was stalling. He didn't want to rush this. He may have almost come in five minutes but that didn't mean you had to. The sounds you made were addicting, and it made his brain fuzzy thinking about how you got like this for him.

"There?" He asked as his fingers finally touched your pussy. You spread your legs out, allowing him open access to your heat.

Your breath hitched as his middle finger grazed your clit, involuntarily thrusting your hips up, chasing the ounce of pleasure he'd gifted you. You nodded your head vigorously. "Yeah, r-right there. I usually, um, rub in circles, sort of near the to- ngh."

It seemed he was a quick learner. Mike began to softly rub your clit before you'd even finished talking, pulling a groan from your lips mid-sentence.

You were strung so tight you could've cried when he finally touched you. Mike's left hand continued to tweak at your nipple while his right rubbed slow, tight circles on your clit. He looked so fucking good. His hand flexed while he worked, highlighting the veins on the back of his hand. You felt yourself clench at nothing, pleasure rocking through you.

Your nails dug into his arm, your chest heaving at the building pleasure. In a stroke of genius, Mike reached down to your weeping hole, collecting some of your arousal and smearing it back up on your clit.

"How's that? You're so wet, shit." He asked. Your face filled with heat at his comment, his fingers sliding deliciously over your swollen nub.

"So, so good Mike, please don't fucking stop." He drinking up everything you had to offer. He'd come to the conclusion that he could stay between your legs forever, if you'd let him. He imagined plunging his cock into your warm, wet cunt, you squeezing around him as you buried your head in his shoulder. Fuck, he was getting close just thinking about it.

He kept rubbing you until you started to get restless. Your hips shot up on their own accord, your legs shaking from their outstretched position between his own.

"You can- oh fuck," it was getting hard to think. The pleasure was building up in your core, but you needed more to push you over the edge.

"You can put t-them in-inside." You instructed him, desperate for something to fill you up.

"You sure?" He stilled. "That won't hurt you or anything, right?"

You shook your head. "N-no, I've done it a couple times. Just start with one, I guess. It's been a while."

You chewed on your bottom lip expectantly as his hand traveled south, his pointer finger tapping at your tight entrance. You were so wet that there was practically no resistance, Mike's finger entering you like it had meant to be there the whole time.

"You want me to fuck you with it?" You knew he was asking purely because he didn't know what to do, but his words shot straight to your core, making you clench tightly around his finger.

"Mhm, you can curl it too, ifyouwant." Your sentence ended in a high-pitched rush.

Mike started to pump his finger in and out, curling against your g-spot with every stroke. Soft moans left your lips as he fingered you, your hips rolling in time with his pumps.

His palm rested on your enlarged clit, rubbing together with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was building, finally finding exactly what you needed to pull you over the edge.

"You look so pretty right now," Mike's free hand went back to your breast, playing lightly with your sore nipples. "Could do this all day."

Your brain was fried. His words fueled your delirium, your curses coming louder and quicker. Without warning, he slipped in a second finger, curling it alongside the first.

His fingers sped up, palm rubbing harshly against your nub. You could hear the lewd sounds of your wetness as he fucked you with his fingers, your nails digging into his arms and your head moving uncontrollably from side to side.

It was so good, too good. Better than you'd ever made yourself feel.

"Fuck, Mikey, pleasepleaseplease," you were blabbering at this point, words coming out with no meaning.

The feeling in your core was pulling tight, teetering on the edge of snapping. There was so much going on, so much to feel. You titled your hips up allowing Mike to hit that spongey spot inside you repeatedly, and-

You were coming.

It was fucking devastating. The pleasure slammed over you like a wave, clearing your mind of anything and everything. Your back arched, vision fuzzy as you peaked.

Mike's fingers wouldn't stop, extending your orgasm to the point where you thought the fall would never come. You stayed there, waiting for the crash, clenching your hands into the comforter and poor Mike's arm.

You'd lost control of your body. You heard yourself let out a groaned 'fuck' from somewhere down on Earth. It rolled through you so powerfully, that you didn't know where your orgasm started or finished. Just when you though your abused cunt would catch a break, it dropped.

The back-end of your orgasm hit you harder than the first. It desecrated through you like molten lava, burning your skin and scorching your mind. Your legs snapped together, aiming to provide you relief from the assault. Unfortunately for you, that caused Mike's hand to remain trapped between your legs, working you through the after-shocks.

You had been about thirty seconds into the come-down before you realized Mike had been speaking to you.

“C’mon, there you go.” He spoke softly into the top of your head, fingers rolling to a stop.

Your breathing was erratic as you tried to gain recollection of where you were and what was going on around you.

You were halfway down Mike’s chest at this point, looking up at him easily with just a slight tilt of your head. Slowly he slipped out of you, your legs jerking at the sensation.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, covering your face with your hands.

"How'd I do?" he asked, obviously knowing the answer.

You decided to bite, anyway. "Really good," you sighed dreamily. "Just gimme a second and then we can, y'know," you picked the condom up and threw it at him again.

Observing you in your fucked out state, Mike had almost forgotten that there was more to this for the both of you.

He leaned back on the pillows at the head of your bed, hands crossed at his chest.

"You look hot when you come, by the way," he spoke into the air. You rolled around to face him, careful to not put too much pressure on your injury.

"Michael Wheeler, are you trying to talk dirty to me?" You laughed, looking at him.

He threw the condom back at you, "I've been talking like this for a while, it's not my fault you weren't coherent enough to pay attention."

You faked a gasp, "you're an ass."

"C'mere." He smirked, motioning you over with a twist of his head. Heeding his request, you crawled over to him on all fours, planting yourself in his lap once more.

He uncrossed his harms, bringing them to your hips. Gently, he pulled you closer, kissing you softly.

You took this chance to take him in your hand again, giving him a few pumps to warm him back up. He groaned into the kiss, happy to have your attention back on his cock.

"Put it on," you whispered into his mouth, squeezing the tip slightly.

Mike didn't need to be told twice. He pulled away from you and grabbed the condom off your bed, ripping the packet open with his teeth.

"So, uh, how does this even go on?" He asked, holding it up with two fingers.

"My guess is through the big hole at the bottom." You said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, I gathered that, thanks." He brushed you off, attempting to roll the condom over himself. It took him a couple tries, but soon the condom was on snug over his angry, red cock.

You spit in your hand, giving it a little extra lubrication.

"Woah, that feels weird," Mike looked down at your hand over his condom-covered erection, perplexed.

"Like bad weird or good weird?" You asked curiously, still stroking him.

"Good weird, I think." He concluded.

Taking that as an invitation to continue, you got up on your knees, lining yourself up with him. You took in a shallow breath, preparing for the rather large intrusion, and slowly began to sink down onto him.

You scrunched your eyes in discomfort as he entered you, burying your head into the crook of shoulder with a quiet groan.

"Hey, oh fuck, you okay?" Mike asked through a pained breath.

"Ngh, hmmyeah, just really, ugh- tight?" You couldn't focus. It didn't hurt. Mike had made sure of that when he finger fucked you to oblivion, stretching you out. You were just so not used to being stretched out like this.

"Look at me, hey," he placed his hand on the back of your head, urging you to turn.

You stilled, getting used to the stretch. Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "Fuck," you whispered. "How much more?" You asked, not wanting to look.

"Just a little bit, shi-you're okay. Jus' keep your eyes on me, if it helps." He smoothed your hair down, touching your forehead with his.

"O-okay," you nodded. You felt comfortable enough to start moving again, keeping your eyes locked with Mike's as you continued.

You felt so full. The stretch was never-ending as you slowly worked him in, wondering if he had grown in length since when you'd started. "Mike," you mewled, a small pout on your face.

"Almost there, fuck you're tight." He wouldn't let you look away from him. His eyes bored into yours, one hand still cradling the back of your head, one on your hip for stability.

Mike was trying increasingly hard to keep himself together for you, but his resolve was quickly crumbling as your tight heat engulfed him. He tried in earnest to keep his eyes on yours, but he would fail at his own command, occasionally looking down to where you were joined to watch your slick pussy suck him in.

"Fuck, you're so- look at me, there you go." He was rambling again. You looked a dream, with your jaw slack and your eyes trying their best to stay on his.

When you finally bottomed out, you were past the point of full- you felt like you were about to burst. You clenched around him, causing Mike to throw his head back in pleasure.

The feeling was so intense it had you wondering how you would even bring yourself to move, let alone move quickly.

You remembered sneaking into the back of Family Video once with Max and El, Robin and Steve occupied at the front with the boys.

On the trailer screens they were showing a raunchy video, one of a girl dressed up as a nurse getting fucked roughly by a man dressed in a white coat. She looked to be having a great time, letting out "happy screams," as Max called them.

What you couldn't imagine in your current state, was getting pounded into that aggressively and it somehow not feeling like trying to squeeze your foot into a boot that was two sizes too small.

"You doin' okay?" Mike asked tightly. He looked like he was about to combust at any moment. Did it maybe feel the same for him?

You gave him a curt nod, wiggling your lower half to accustom yourself to the stretch. His breath hitched as you moved, gripping your hips a touch harder than he would've liked under different circumstances.

"Oh god, fuck hol' on." He practically begged, voice cracking.

"Does it hurt?" You wondered.

He threw his head back again when you clenched once more, involuntarily. "No, its good, really good, uhh, jus' a lot at once."

You took a beat to let him acclimate. The tightness had subsided substantially and you felt much less uncomfortable.

"I think I'm okay to move again," you offered.

Mike gave you a confirming grunt, and you slowly lifted yourself off him, stopping at his tip, and descending back down again. You were able to repeat the movement a couple times before Mike completely broke down, that thin resolve finally snapping.

"Fuck-you're," he moaned gorgeously, the hand on the back of your head gripping your hair tightly. "So warm, oh shit, fuckin' wet, fuckfuckfuck." He was drowning in your pussy, unable to come up for air, and once again so fucking close.

Your movements sped up slightly and sounds of pleasure began to leave your mouth. To your surprise, the stretch had almost completely dissipated, replaced instead by the feeling of Mike's cock stroking your g-spot with an increased precision.

You moaned his name, head once again dropping to his shoulder. You could understand the porno girl just a little bit better now. You're taking him so fucking deep, the feeling so much more intense than that of his fingers.

This was starting to feel really fucking good. You braced your hands on the headboard in front of you, now truly bouncing on him.

"Ngh, oh God, Mike pleasefuck, umm," you hiccup, your movements getting erratic. His cock was hitting places inside you that you didn't even know existed. His hard head never missed your spongey spot at this angle, each bounce hitting you like the most delicious, mouthwatering, punch to the gut.

Mike'd rambles grew louder, and he needed to ground himself. He began to place sporadic, open-mouthed kisses on your arms, his hips thrusting up to meet your bounces.

On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes crossed, head thrown back in ecstasy, releasing the most seductive moan Mike had ever heard. It came from deep within you, a product of the pleasure running through you.

His thrusts were getting harder, so you stilled your hips and let him fuck up into you, chasing his own pleasure. You wrapped your arm around the back of his neck, crying into his shoulder, your hand coming up to slap on the wall in front of you. Your body was betraying you, trying to find stability in the intense throes of pleasure consuming it.

You could hear Mike's breathing become ragged, his thrusts inconsistent. The closer he got to his peak, the harder he slammed his hips into yours.

"Holy fucking shit," you grit out, biting into Mike's shoulder. The bite catches him off guard, mixing with the hot pleasure forming in his tightening balls.

He comes. He chokes out something incoherent, pumping his cum into the condom. He can feel it down to his toes, his whole body floating. He keeps chasing it, thrusting into you, and fuck you, he just keeps coming. His hand is pulling insanely tight on your hair, forcing you to throw your head back and look at him. If he thought you were beautiful when you came, then he was something else entirely. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open. He looked utterly fucked. He looked like he was made especially for you. The whole world full of people but no, you got to witness Mike Wheeler come undone under you.

Mike soon stilled, releasing his grip on your hair. You both fell into each other like jelly, chests heaving together from exertion. You felt unreal. There was static humming throughout you, buzzing lightly in your ears.

"Fuck me," Mike was the first to speak.

"Think I just did that, actually," you hummed into his neck. Slowly you lifted yourself off of him, ignoring Mike's hiss of sensitivity, flopping on the bed next to him.

"Well that was..." you trailed off, still fuzzy.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "It was."

You turned to look at him, wiping away some of the hair stuck to your forehead. He, too, was covered in sweat, red splotches on his cheeks and chest. The room felt hotter, and it reeked of sex.

"I'm gonna go toss this," he motioned to the full condom still attached to him. You nodded silently, and watched him get up to throw it out. Your eyes fell on the alarm clock on the nightstand. Shit, it was almost four in the morning.

Exhaustion rolled over you like a freight train, returning more intensely than you'd felt it after your shower. The post-sex bliss had made you sleepy, so you managed to haul yourself up, heading towards the bathroom to clean up.

Mike was wiping himself off with some toilet paper when you arrived, condom long disposed of in the bin. You gripped the sink, looking at yourself. You didn't look any different, sure maybe a bit sweaty and a lot more tired, but you still looked like you. You felt different, though. No longer a virgin, for one. But you felt different as to your relationship with Mike.

What happened now? Now that you had known each other as intimately as you did? Do you move forward like nothing happened? Do you keep this a secret, meeting in the middle of the night when you need each other?

That's a lot of fucking questions. And you were too tired to answer any of them.

Mike came up behind you, interrupting your deep thought. He wrapped his arms around your chest and you grabbed onto his arms, leaning back into him.

"So what now?" he whispered, in-tune with your thoughts.

"Now we sleep. Finally. We have to be at The Squawk at nine. Gives us about 4 hours, give or take." You closed your eyes, feeling him behind you.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He countered, giving your shoulders a light squeeze.

"I know. We'll talk about it later, when this all blows over. I don't think we need another thing." You tried to reason with him.

"It's not a thing if we don't make it thing. I don't want this to be awkward in the morning." His hair was tickling your face.

"I won't make it awkward, will you?" You opened your eyes to look at him in the mirror.

"No, never." He said, matter-of-factly.

You pressed a quick kiss to his arms. "Then there, it's settled. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Mike looked at you one last time through the mirror before shutting the bathroom light off.

"Okay, cool. Tomorrow."

thank you everyone for reading! please let me know what you think :)

[ggclarissa]

kiddo | clark kent

pt. 2

fandom: dcu

pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

content: reader is in her early 20’s, clark is older and unfortunately hot about it, mild age gap, mutual pining, oblivious clark, insecure reader, lois lane mention, angst if you squint, fluff if you don’t.

summary: in which you convince yourself that clark kent’s habit of calling you “kiddo” signifies you have no chance — until he unexpectedly proves otherwise.

author’s note: i don’t know if clark has an official age in the new movie? i read somewhere that he might be in his early 30’s, so for the sake of this oneshot, let’s just say he’s 30.

You’d heard the nickname before — at family reunions, crooned by aunts with lipstick-smudged teeth and tossed around by uncles who still ruffled your hair like you were five, never mind the fact that you were old enough to drive. Back then, ‘kiddo’ had been sweet. Familiar. Even a little endearing.

But from him?

It stung.

“Nice work on that LuthorCorp zoning piece, kiddo.”

You’d poured your entire weekend into that article — combing through public records at City Hall, chasing down a contractor who insisted on meeting in a dimly lit parking garage, and revising quotes until your fingers cramped. It was the kind of piece you were genuinely proud of.

And yet — kiddo.

He might as well have called you ‘sport.’ Or ‘champ.’ Or ‘slugger.’

You were twenty-one. A fully functioning adult. Old enough to vote, pay rent, and catastrophically destroy your credit score if you pleased. And certainly old enough to recognize a dismissive pet name when you heard one.

Clark Kent had said it with a smile — polite, mild-mannered, not unkind. He adjusted his glasses and offered you a nod like a proud teacher, then strolled back to his desk with the easy, unhurried gait of someone completely unaware he’d just ruined your entire day in a single breath.

A month had passed since then, and you’d been trying — quietly, relentlessly — to be seen as more than just a kid.

You arrived early. Pitched stories with deeper research, sharper angles, stronger sources. Your outfits had shifted towards sleek and deliberate — less intern, more young up-and-coming professional. You swapped the communal Keurig for your own overpriced cold brew in a stainless-steel tumbler, a quiet declaration: you weren’t some wide-eyed rookie anymore. You even started carrying a pocket-sized Moleskine in your blazer — because Clark did.

And yet, every time he passed your desk, he left behind the same three-syllable sting:

“Hey, kiddo.”

And you’d smile. Like it didn’t land soft and patronizing. Like it didn’t shrink you in all the quiet, aching ways you could never admit.

Because of course he didn’t see you that way. Clark was older — only thirty but carried himself with a calm certainty that made him seem decades ahead. There were no plaques on his walls, no flashy accolades, but he didn’t need them — not when he was the only reporter Superman would grant an interview. His credibility didn’t shout; it simply existed. Unshakable. Undeniable.

And you were…well, you.

Fresh out of college, you were still learning how to wear a press badge without feeling like an imposter. Trying — often failing — not to beam like an overeager puppy whenever he passed your desk.

Lois Lane noticed, of course. Over time, she’d taken on the role of the reluctant older sister, guiding you through the chaos of the Daily Planet since your very first days as an intern.

“You look like someone spiked your coffee with battery acid,” She remarked one afternoon, barely looking up from her monitor.

“He called me ‘kiddo’ again,” You muttered, slumping into your swivel chair. You gave yourself a slow push and drifted towards her desk like a defeated Roomba.

Lois didn’t blink. “Maybe it’s his love language.”

“It’s condescending.”

“Or maybe,” She said, typing another sentence, “he just doesn’t know what to do with himself around you.”

You shot her a skeptical look. “He’s Clark Kent.”

At that, Lois finally glanced up, one brow lifting higher than your own. “And?”

“I’m twenty-one. Barely. I use the word ‘slay’ unironically and sometimes sleep in my mascara.”

She offered a slow, knowing smile. “And yet, here you are — working alongside the only reporter Superman actually talks to. Do you honestly believe Perry would’ve kept you around if you were just some clueless kid?”

You wanted to take Lois at her word.

You longed even more to dismiss the way your heart clenched every time Clark said the word — kiddo — as if it were merely a nickname, not an insurmountable barrier between you. You tried not to dwell on the subtle shift in his expression when you spoke up in meetings. You struggled to resist what was clearly beyond your reach.

You tried — and, as always, came up short.

It was a late Wednesday night.

The newsroom had settled into an unnatural quiet — only the clack of keys and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights breaking the stillness. Most desks were empty, long since abandoned. Only the copy editor remained, fast asleep over page twelve, his gentle snores blending with the white noise.

And then there was you — alone, staring down a half-finished Word document and a blinking cursor that refused to yield. The only source of light came from your desk lamp, casting a slightly-too-yellow glow across your notes.

You were halfway through revising your lede when a familiar voice sliced through the silence.

“You always work this late, kiddo?”

You flinched — less from the word itself, more from how softly it landed. This time, it didn’t sting. Not quite.

It settled instead. Lingered in the quiet between you.

You didn’t meet his gaze right away. Your tone was even, almost detached. “Do you really have to call me that?”

A pause followed. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

“Call you what?” Clark asked.

When you finally lifted your gaze, he was leaning against the wall — sleeves rolled to the forearms, tie loosened, glasses slightly askew as if he’d been tugging at them in thought. He looked worn down, but somehow still managed to make disheveled seem deliberate.

“Kiddo,” You said. “You always call me that.”

His expression shifted — barely, but noticeably. As though it hadn’t once crossed his mind that the nickname might carry weight.

“You don’t like it?”

You gave a small shrug, eyes drifting back to your keyboard. “It just…makes me feel like you don’t take me seriously.”

You braced for a laugh. A quick deflection. Something light to dismiss the weight of your confession.

Instead, he closed the distance. “You think I don’t take you seriously?”

You raised your head to meet his unwavering gaze. “You call me ‘kiddo.’ You pat my shoulder. You treat me like I’m…harmless.”

His lips twitched — barely — but he withheld a smile. He circled to your side of the desk, leaning against the edge, regarding you as one might before posing a challenging question in an interview.

“I called you that,” Clark said slowly, “because I didn’t know what else to call you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re smart. Sharp. You care about justice — enough to pursue it when no one else will. You ask better questions than half the newsroom, and you fight for your stories even when Perry barks.” He tilted his head. “You remind me what this job is supposed to be about.”

You stared in silence.

“I didn’t call you ‘kiddo’ to minimize you,” He continued, voice softening. “I called you that because…anything else felt too real.”

You swallowed hard. “Too real?”

“You’re young,” He admitted. “And I’m not. That’s a line I was afraid to cross. But you’ve never been a kid to me. I knew that the day you yelled at Perry for burying the migrant housing story behind WayneTech stocks.”

You had no words. You hadn’t realized he even remembered that moment.

“You said the city deserved better,” He murmured. “That people weren’t headlines — they were human beings. That stayed with me.”

Something caught in your chest. You’d thought no one had listened that day. You cried in the bathroom after that meeting, convinced your voice had dissolved into the noise.

“I only called you ‘kiddo’ because your name…” He paused. “Because it felt dangerous. Because every time I said it, it stayed with me longer than it should have.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I thought I didn’t have a chance,” You whispered.

The faintest smile touched his eyes — tired, tender, and achingly sincere.

“You’ve always had a chance,” He said softly. “I just didn’t know if I was allowed to take it.”

A silence unfolded between you — slow, charged, almost unbearable in its honesty.

Then he reached for your hand.

And you let him.

Clark’s hand was warm, steady — large enough to completely enclose yours, yet careful in the way it held you. As if this moment meant something. As if he knew he’d waited too long to risk breaking it.

“I’ll stop calling you that,” He said quietly.

“Good,” You breathed, a smile tugging at your lips. “Or I’ll start calling you ‘grandpa.’”

His laugh was quiet and unguarded, something deep and real.

Then, without pretense or hesitation, he said your name — your real name — not as a tease, not as a placeholder, but with intention. Like it meant something. Like he meant it.

And it was better than you could’ve ever imagined.

You leaned in, uncertain — but open — and he met you halfway. The kiss was soft, assured, unhurried. Like the first line of a story you already knew by heart.

When you parted, his forehead rested rested gently against yours.

No words passed between you.

None were needed.

The next morning, the newsroom buzzed with a quiet, perceptible energy.

You hadn’t exactly been discreet in the way you smiled at Clark from across your desk. By midday, you’d caught his gaze lingering more than once — twice before noon, and again as he stood by the communal Keurig. And each time, his gaze dropped the moment you noticed, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

You nearly stumbled over a cable when he called your name across the bullpen — simple, warm, and laced with something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

Lois cornered you by the vending machine, mug in hand and that familiar, knowing glint in her eyes.

“So,” She said, sipping her coffee with deliberate nonchalance. “You and Clark.”

You stilled. “What about us?”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “You think I didn’t notice how he said your name like a prayer this morning? Or how he didn’t call you ‘kiddo’ for once?”

Heat crept up the nape of your neck.

“Relax,” She added, her voice softening. “Frankly, I think it’s long overdue.”

Your eyes drifted back to Clark. He was hunched over his desk, deep in concentration, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. Something about the sight made you smile.

“Yeah,” You murmured. “Me too.”

[coconutcordiale]

do not disturb

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers

length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman

an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye

Technically, it’s the middle of the night. 

That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door. 

Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now. 

“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.

He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”

Fucking weddings. 

You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him. 

A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.

“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set. 

“Bite me.”

Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life. 

“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks. 

“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”

Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal. 

“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”

You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy. 

And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants. 

The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring. 

You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.

Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.

You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue. 

“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch. 

Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.

You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies. 

And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs. 

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts. 

Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps. 

Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird. 

You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable. 

“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who?  You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm. 

“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.

Mocking aside, that's definitely true.

You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.

“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart. 

You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing. 

“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.

Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.” 

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.

“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.

It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.

There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”

You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”

When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.

You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”

“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”

“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”

Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.

“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.

Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.

Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”

You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”

He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.

He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.

You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.

Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.

“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.

I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”

What.

Everything inside your mind shuts off.

All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.

You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.

Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge. 

“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.

Jake’s entire body goes tense.

But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.

“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you. 

All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.

He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name. 

But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw. 

And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”

Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts. 

You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak. 

His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.

He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.

Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.

But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.

“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”

“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.

“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”

And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.

But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin. 

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”

You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.

Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening. 

He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed. 

He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest. 

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs. 

You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process. 

Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.

Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan. 

Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.  

He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot. 

Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry. 

Fuck.

Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.

You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow. 

Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up. 

Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.

“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you. 

He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”

The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you. 

Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.  

But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here. 

You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips. 

Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”

You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words. 

Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter. 

“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.

He smirks. 

“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly. 

He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck. 

You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…

“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”

You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss. 

When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom. 

You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.

Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it. 

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows. 

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” 

That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger. 

As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up. 

When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could. 

+

Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe. 

But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.

You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.

You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.  

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin. 

It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock. 

Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

[sc3ptre]

Between love and hate

Pairing: Clark Kent + Lex Luthor x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

A/n: I lost the request but someone asked if I wrote for Lex Luthor (I don't know if i will, my hands are quite full at the moment) but this one’s for you 😛 Ik this isn't everyones cup of tea but maybe this stems from a fantasy of mine, mind your own damn business okay?

Warnings: SMUT +18 (with plot? sort of) Hands where i can see them, people! | Brief mention of alcohol (they're sober), threesome MFM, consensual non-monogamy, rough and gentle sex, oral sex (f and m! receiving) face fucking, safe p-in-v sex (see? I know how to hold back), domination and submission dynamics + power play, light choking, degrading comment (not towards the reader), praise + dirty talk, jealousy, competive sex and includes aftercare because it's important!

Word count: 3k

It had started as a dare or maybe a joke. Lex had said it with a smirk over the rim of his glass during one of those tense truce meetings, the kind held under the illusion of civility in his penthouse, where egos clashed sharper than any weapon either of them had ever wielded. 

You had come as legal counsel technically for the city, unofficially for Superman, who didn’t trust a single comma in Lex Luthor’s contracts. You wore heels sharp enough to be considered a threat and a dress that made both men look twice.

It wasn’t vanity but armor. You’d been in enough rooms like this to know how power liked to look you up and down.

The meeting had ended late, with documents signed and half-meant handshakes exchanged, and somehow after too much whiskey and just enough tension Lex had said, “If we’re going to keep playing nice, might as well find ways to make it worth our while,” and then he looked at you.

Clark hadn’t reacted much but you’d known him long enough to hear the change in the way he breathed. Low and controlled yet equally protective and possessive.

You weren’t naïve. You’d been caught in this tug-of-war for months between Luthor’s sharp flirtation and Superman’s steady warmth. Two halves of a fantasy you’d long pretended you didn’t have. One man who wanted to own you, the other who wanted to cherish you and both of them, despite everything, more alike than either would admit.

So when Lex had followed it up with: “She’s spent nights with both of us. Why not one where she doesn’t have to choose?” and you didn’t say no, Clark had simply looked at you, silently asking for confirmation and you’d nodded.

Which brought you here now.

The penthouse lights were dimmed to gold while city lights twinkled outside the floor-to-ceiling windows as you stood between them, Superman at your back and Lex reclining in a chair before you. All three of you were bare, the gentle breeze travelling through the room sent shivers down your spine but the goosebumps erupted from the way the both of them were staring at you. Lex’s eyes shamelessly trailed over your body with a stretched smirk on his face as he sat back, legs spread and cock hard resting on his thigh while he swirled his glass of whiskey in his hand.

The air was too still, thick with competition disguised as desire.

Lex tilted the glass in his hand, the amber liquor catching the light. “Shall we make this interesting?” he drawled, voice smooth and arrogant. “Whoever makes her come the most times gets certain...bragging rights for the week.”

Clark's response was immediate, low and dangerous near your ear. “This isn’t a competition.”

Lex’s smirk only widened, gaze locked on the man behind you. “Says the man who knows he’ll lose.”

You shivered from excitement and something else you couldn’t name. Maybe it was because you’d been here before, with each of them individually. You knew the heat and the weight but together? This was uncharted, fantasized, sure and absolutely desired. 

Clark’s lips brushed your neck, a gentle anchor in a moment designed to unmoor you. “You sure you’re up for this?” he murmured.

“Yes.” You breathed. 

Lex rose, all sharp smiles and sharper intent and kissed you, deep and greedy. His mouth tasted of smoke and unspoken challenges while behind you, Clark's kisses on your shoulder were a contrast. Soft and reverent, as if every inch of your skin was a place he'd prayed over.

It was like being worshipped and devoured all at once.

Clark guided you back to the bed, his hands large and warm on your waist as he eased you into his lap, your back against his chest. Lex kneeled before you on the mattress like a wolf with a silver tongue and all the time in the world. “Let’s see how quickly you forget about the Boy Scout when you’re coming on my tongue.”

“She won’t forget anything,” Clark whispered, arms locking around your waist as he pulled you flush to his naked chest. “Her heart always races for me.”

Lex parted your thighs, cool fingers pressing with the same entitlement that always echoed in his voice. His mouth followed, tongue dragging through your wet folds with practiced ease, eyes locked on yours the entire time. You whimpered, back arching as Clark’s thumbs teased your nipples, rolling them gently between firm fingers until you trembled between them both. 

You let your head fall on Clark’s shoulder as the sensations became dizzying. Lex’s tongue paired with Clark’s touch caused heat to build too fast for you to contain.

“Fuck, Lex,” you gasped, clutching at Clark’s forearms to ground yourself against the strength behind you, while silently wishing you had a head full of hair to pull closer to you. 

Clark tilted your chin up, kissing you slowly, tongue licking the sounds from your throat. He cradled your jaw with gentle fingers, guiding your mouths into a slow, leadless dance of tongues. One of his hands still rolled and pinched your nipples, coaxing a soft arch from your spine, but now the other spread wide across your stomach, steadying you as your hips began to grind slowly against Lex’s mouth. You moaned shamelessly into the hero’s lips, one hand reaching up to tangle in his thick hair and pull, drawing a low, prideful smile from him…misplaced, maybe, but deeply earned.

“Miss it?” he murmured.

Lex’s mouth worked harder, lips wrapped tight around your clit, his focus singular. You moaned into Clark’s mouth, thighs trembling beneath the strain of pleasure as you nodded, eyes glassy and lips parting with breathless, desperate whimpers that told him just how close you were to falling apart.

You shattered with a strangled cry, thighs quivering as the climax tore through you, only for a whine to escape when Lex pulled back, his mouth glistening and smug smile stretching wide.

“One,” he declared with arrogant satisfaction.

You didn’t get the luxury of rest. Clark's hand slipped down between your legs, cupping your center with heat and pressure that made you sigh in relief. “Next time,” he said coolly to Lex, “make sure she’s done.”

Lex barely looked up, wiping his mouth with a careless swipe of his hand. “So you’re the one making her clingy.”

“If that’s what you call getting her off properly,” Clark replied, his voice dipping lower, “then yes, it was me.”

Clark turned you to face him with ease, his cock already hard and flushed against the firm plane of his stomach. He held your hips steady as he rolled on a condom with practiced care, then guided you down onto him, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside you, the stretch slow and overwhelming in the best way.

You clung to Clark’s shoulders for support, your head tipping back in pleasure as Lex’s hand slid around your neck, gripping lightly just enough to stifle the moans he wished were meant for him. 

Clark was impossibly big and no matter how many times you'd taken him, the way your body stretched to accommodate him never failed to leave your jaw slack, breath catching at the familiar ache. As always, he held you still by the hips, giving you time to adjust at your own pace, pressing reverent kisses to your clavicles and murmuring praises against your skin, each one tailored to the parts of you he’d memorized by heart.

Lex shifted behind you, his movements edged with a touch more irritation than finesse as he muttered, “Your schedule must be full then, if I’ve still got her showing up at my place twice a week.”

You swallowed the moan building in your throat, managing a breathy, half-laugh. “Are you two seriously going to be like this all night?”

Clark responded before Lex could, leaning in to kiss you deep and aching with the kind of possessive tenderness that always reminded you why he had a hold on you no one else could shake. When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed yours as he murmured, “No, ma’am. But I can’t speak for him… besides I’ll be too busy in a bit to speak at all.”

You turned your head just enough to glance back. “Lex?”

He didn’t bother looking up, simply exhaled a low, amused “No,” the syllable curling around the smug smirk on his lips as his palm found your ass and his other hand slowly stroked his length, already half-hard and eager.

You began to move slowly, your breath catching as Clark filled you with that familiar, overwhelming stretch. Every grind of your hips was purposeful and an unspoken admission of how deeply you wanted this, both of them. Every roll was a quiet surrender to pleasure.

Leaning in, you pressed soft, shivering kisses to Clark’s lips, your moans and his exhaled praises blurring together, mouths brushing between gasps.

Lex, watching the scene unfold with poorly concealed impatience, scoffed low in his throat before slipping a hand between your legs. His fingers found your clit instantly, circling with maddening precision as you rode Clark.

“You think you can take more?” he murmured into your ear, his voice rich with challenge loud enough for Clark to hear.

Superman’s eyes snapped up to meet his, cool and unshaken. “I think she has plenty.”

You let out a strangled curse under your breath, your body responding instinctively to the gravity in his voice, low, commanding and soaked in heat. You clenched hard around Clark, dizzy from the push and pull between power and pleasure, control and surrender.

“I wasn’t speaking to you.” Lex mumbled, hot breath on your shoulder before he pressed a kiss that surprised you more than it did Clark. “You’re letting this alien speak for you now?”

“I already told you not to call him that,” you said through clenched teeth, your hips faltering as Lex’s fingers curled inside you alongside Clark’s cock, stretching you further, crueler.

You caught the shift in Clark’s face from the subtle twitch in his jaw and the tension pulling tight behind his eyes. It wasn’t anger but restraint, raw and barely held together.

Before you could linger in it, he leaned in and kissed you again as a quiet plea to look at him, to feel only him. To forget the game Lex was playing and remember whose hands were holding you, whose body you were wrapped around.

“A–Apologize… t’ him,” you groaned, voice cracking with need, your body trembling on the edge. “Now, Lex.”

You knew damn well you wouldn’t come again until you heard it.

Clark’s hands roamed everywhere, palming your breasts and soothing down your waist, holding you together as his chest rose and fell against yours. “Look at me,” he murmured, low and reverent. “I want to see you when you come.”

You bounced on his cock, your rhythm faltering with every gasp, while Lex’s fingers moved mercilessly fast, determined to break your focus. Maybe he thought you'd let it go, that you'd beg anyway but your demand held.

He hesitated for all of two seconds before his pride cracked. "I apologize…” Lex gritted out, his lips brushing your shoulder, “for calling you an alien.”

You came hard with a shuddering, breathless release that tore through you in waves. Your walls clenched tight around Clark, who took full control then, guiding your movements with a steady rhythm to help you ride it out. His grip on your hips was firm, his groans deep and helpless as you trembled in his lap before collapsing against his chest, boneless and gasping.

Clark held you close, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other stroked slowly down your spine. He whispered your name like a tether, grounding you with warmth as your body twitched through the aftershocks.

“That’s two,” Lex said smugly, withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean with a flourish, as though that were the only part of you he’d been hungry for.

Clark’s hand caressed your back slowly as you caught your breath, noticing how tightly you still clung to his arms, like those moments when you were too shy to ask for more, yet too selfish to let go.

“She’s not done,” Clark rumbled, gently flipping you onto your back, laying you out with reverence, like something precious. His hands traced every inch of your skin, lips pressing silent thank-yous between each slow, deliberate roll of his hips. He leaned down, planting soft kisses on your forehead, your eyelids and the tip of your nose before his lips met yours again, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth at your quiet gasp.

“Is that what you want?” he whispered.

At your nod, Lex slid closer, positioning himself beside your head. His cock hovered at your lips as he commanded, “Open.” You obeyed, taking him in, your mouth molding around him as he took control of the rhythm. Meanwhile, Clark’s slow, deep thrusts continued inside you, his thumb already circling your clit in perfect, tantalizing sync.

Over your body, their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills with rivalry simmering just beneath the surface.

You moaned softly around Lex’s length, the taste of him sharp, almost unfamiliar, while Clark’s steady movements reminded you why these secret encounters held such addictive pull. Your eyes rolled back in bliss and the two men exchanged heated glances again, the unspoken war raging with every shared breath.

Lex wove his fingers through your hair, guiding the pace of your mouth with commanding precision. “Look at that mouth,” he murmured, voice thick with arrogance, breath hitching as your tongue traced slow, deliberate circles around the head and your hands cupped his balls, kneading them gently. “Ohhh fuck. What do you think you’ve done to deserve her?”

Clark’s pace deepened, powerful and steady, hitting that perfect spot repeatedly. “She deserves everything,” Clark growled low in your ear. “And I do my best to give it to her.”

Lex hissed softly against your mouth, eyes dark with challenge as your tongue swirled around him. “We’ll see about that.”

Between gasps, Clark’s voice dropped into a teasing murmur, laced with amusement. “What do you do exactly? Besides terrorizing the city?”

Your legs curled tightly around Clark’s waist, holding him close and preventing him from pulling out too far before forcing him to thrust back in sharply. You teetered on the edge, jaw locked firmly around Lex’s cock, drawing a deep groan from him. Your body arched, head tilting back against the mattress as Clark found deeper, longer access to prolong your orgasm.

You shattered again, cries muffled around Lex’s length until he pulled out just in time to witness your body arch once more, adjusting again to take Clark’s shallow thrusts until he stilled, spilling deep inside you as if the condom wasn’t there.

“Three,” Clark whispered, his voice low and triumphant as he pulled out slowly, trailing two deliberate taps of his tip against your clit, sending a sharp hitch through your breath. His smile was quiet but victorious, watching your body shudder in the aftershocks.

Before you could even catch your breath, Lex growled beside you, voice rough and possessive. “Two of those are mine.”

With a swift, commanding motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips and lifting them higher as his fingers kneaded your ass with a hungry intensity.

“That’s debatable,” Clark murmured softly, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he settled back beside you, eyes dark with desire.

Lex didn’t break eye contact with Clark as he slid a condom onto his thick length with deliberate slowness, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. Then, without hesitation, he glared daggers at Superman before driving into you from behind deep and impossibly demanding.

The contrast between Clark’s gentle worship and Lex’s ruthless possession ignited every nerve ending. You gasped, hands gripping the sheets, caught between the two forces as they each staked their claim in their own way and you, deliciously caught in the middle.

You pushed back into him, hands clutching the bedsheets as your moans muffled into the mattress beneath you. Lex’s approach was maddeningly teasing, he fed you just half of his length, sliding in slowly, only to pull back sharply and slam forward with brutal force. The sudden impact stole your breath, forcing a whiny whimper from deep in your throat and sending your eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

“Look at that,” Lex purred with wicked satisfaction, his voice thick with possessiveness. “Taking my cock so well.”

He reveled in your submission before unleashing a relentless barrage of deep, unforgiving thrusts, the kind that erased every trace of the day’s stress and left you trembling with need. 

“Would hate for your friend here to think he’s getting any of this after tonight.”

Clark remained calm at your head, completely ignoring Lex’s possessive growls. His fingers traced lazy, soothing circles through your hair as soft kisses dotted your temple and cheek while his voice was low and tender, a quiet contrast to Lex’s ferocity.

“Nobody’s asking you to choose,” Clark whispered. “You take what you want.”

You moaned, too wrecked to speak and too close to care. Lex’s rhythm was brutal, his hands relentless on your hips and ego demanding that your body scream his name one last time.

With a trembling sob, you came again, utterly overwhelmed. Lex growled, spilling into the condom before pulling out. Clark immediately pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, steadying you through the waves of your aftershocks.

You collapsed against him, every quiver cradled in his strong embrace, feeling safe and completely undone.

Lex smirked between heavy breaths. “Who won?”

You glanced between them, lips swollen and slick, body spent and soul floating free.

“I did.” You smiled, breathless and victorious.

Clark chuckled softly, a low, satisfied sound that sent warmth through your chest.

Lex flopped onto the bed beside you, breath still heavy, muscles tense. “Next time,” he muttered, “I’m keeping score.”

But beneath his confident words, there was something raw… a flicker of frustration, maybe even something closer to respect. Like this night hadn’t ended the way he expected, like someone had lost more than they wanted to admit and in the silence that followed, a single unspoken truth hung in the air: 

It was never really about who had more of you, not entirely. It was about power and now, they both knew you had it.

-------

💌: He's bald! He's bald and he's torturing people who have hair!! I was really temped to make the reader comment on his bald head lol. Who do y'all think won?

[outtathisworld-imagines]

Kryptonite

——🪐——🪐——🪐——🪐——

Pairing: Lex Luthor x Clark Kent x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut! MDNI! (18+) Unprotected sex, Oral (M&F rec), threesome (MMF), just general messiness, Clark is submissive mess at points, he also begs- a lot, fingering, dirty talk, double penetration, cum-swapping, Lex is an asshole but we kinda dig it, good girl mentions, eating out, swearing. Not proofread!

A.N: PUREEEEEEEE FILTHHHHHHHHH

Please let me know what else you guys would like to see me write! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——🪐——🪐——🪐——🪐——

You were sick and tired of his pouting and his anger.

You were sick and tired of him not giving you any attention.

You were sick and tired of his dedication to another man and not you.

“Lex?” You called out “Baby, take some time to relax a little,” you told him while you began massaging his shoulders. He didn’t shrug you off this time, like he had done so earlier during an intense round of tracking Superman- his way of almost telling you that he was sorry without saying the words. The knots built up in his muscles slowly melting under your touch. You went up on your tiptoes, bringing your lips to his ear “You wanna release some of this tension?” He glanced back a little, one eye remaining on the team in front of him.

“How?” He asked, almost as if it was an inconvenience, a faint groan leaving his throat when you rubbed a particularly annoying ache from his shoulders.

“I’m not wearing underwear…” you suggestively said, playfully biting his earlobe just to emphasise your eagerness for him. “You can fuck it out. On me. Always.” You whispered. “Just not here in front of your minions.” That was your only request.

“If anyone needs me I’ll be in my office.” He told them all, turning around and clutching your hands tightly in his. “No one disturb me.” He bit out his warning.

Lex practically tossed you into his office and commanded you to bend over his desk. You happily went along with his demands, you were just glad to you have him. Even if it was just like this. Even if it was briefly. You had reached past the point of caring today. You just knew he needed this and you needed him.

Lex hiked up your dress, the air-con hitting your thighs before his hands caressed them. The sound of his zipper being forcefully pulled down made you spread your legs a little wider, Lex smirked at that.

Your eyes were transfixed on the glass panes in front of you, the city buildings cascading shadows to the streets below as the sun was being pulled towards the horizon.

There was no warning. No foreplay. No nothing.

Just Lex forcing himself into your pussy with as much thrust and might he could muster. He growled, ripped from the back of his throat as bubbles of spit foamed between the row of teeth he sunk into his bottom lip.

You gripped onto the end of his desk with both hands, moans drifting from your lips to his ears. He didn’t say anything. He just did what you said he could do- Fuck it out with you. Lex gripped onto your hips as he mercilessly thrusted in and out of you, your cries of his name between curses and the desk scraping only encouraging him on.

Your air-con kissed thighs were now being warmed by ribbons of cum as he pulled out and finished off on you. Fast and with a purpose. He placed his hands flat on either side of you on the desk as he caught his composure.

“Finish yourself off and clean up. I need to get back.” His voice was tight as he stood up and zipped up his trousers again, letting out a deep huff of satisfied air from his chest as he walked to the door. He hesitated when he looked back at you, his hand was on the door as yours moved to touch yourself, doing what he asked, still spread out on his desk. “I needed that. Thank you.”

He almost sounded sincere.

—•—

You walked into Lex’s office the next day and found him hunched over on the sofa by the far corner of the room with his head in his hands.

“What’s the matter?” You asked and knelt by his knees, placing your chin on his right one and sending him a gaze you knew he would kill someone for.

He looked at you between his fingers. “Long day,” he sighed, his voice faltering until he remembered what you had offered him before. “Blow me.” You blinked and he sat back. “You heard me Y/N. Get on your knees and put my fucking dick in your mouth.” His dominant dark tone made you smirk. But you could be just as demanding and powerful as he was.

You were obliging for now, just, he was under a lot of stress and pressure after all. But you were still a woman with needs.

“And just what’s in it for me…?” You asked.

“Happy me?”

“And?”

“Fuck I don’t know? You wanna bounce on it too?” He almost sounded exasperated. But deep down he also hoped for that.

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner.”

You moved to between his legs and he helped you with his pants, Lex briefly cupping your cheek before you took his cock in your mouth. He let out a loud, shuddering groan as the warmth from your mouth spread throughout his body like a wildfire. “Fuck,” he hummed as your mouth engulfed him whole before teasing him with the tip of your tongue over his length, pre-cum already seeping from him.

You knew the power you possessed over the man.

A power that almost terrified him.

More power in your pinky than Superman had his entire body.

You carried on sucking him off, his grip tightening on the sofa, “I’ll cum inside your pussy! I’ll cum inside you!” Lex quickly panted out, almost panicked at how quickly you drew his orgasm from his body.

“You’ll do both.”

Your words weren’t delivered in the sweet, almost mewing tone he had become accustomed to. It caused his body to shake. But this was how it worked between you both. The play of power was often tossed back and forth between you both, the labels people placed on you both tossed around even more. He eventually burst, trembling as he spilled out on the back of your throat with loud groans leaving his mouth.

He caught his breath before it caught in his throat when he witnessed you stripping off in front of him as he remained mostly clothed, aside from his cock still standing to attention for you.

You sunk down on his cock, your soaking pussy swallowing him just as well as your mouth did. “I don’t know if I can again.” Lex struggled to breathe, but his hands still worked however, roaming every inch of your body before they landed on your ass.

“You can and you will.” That tone again.

He moaned your name as you fucked him, catching his lips every so often. At one point you actually felt him smile against your skin. “F-fuck! FUCK!” He screamed “I can’t, Y/N!”

You ignored him as you continued bouncing up and down on his throbbing cock, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if that would ease the bubble of pleasure building inside him. “Shit, Lex, I’m gonna cum!” You stopped bouncing, he carried on by bucking his hips and saw you both through another orgasm for him and your own.

You fell limp against his body, a wild and untameable giggle leaving your throat. Lex took deep breaths, his cum still spilling from the space between both your bodies as he kissed over your bare shoulder. More tension released from his body which he was thankful for. Thankful for you.

Not that he’d ever tell you.

He had to maintain his stony, hardened persona he spent years building.

There had been moments where he found himself slipping, where he’d remain with a smile on his face long after you left the room, or when you gave him what he didn’t even know he needed.

Like you knew him better than he knew himself.

Just then, he caught a flash of blue and red going past the windows. Lex threw you off his body and you let out a surprise yelp as he tossed you to the side and adjusted himself. “EYES ON THE SKY!” He yelled with venomous undertone to his team.

You watched as he left, anger causing your features to twist. With a huff you gathered your clothes, the only memory of him was now running down your inner thigh. You knew deep in your soul no matter how much you gave him and let him take, no matter how many times he released his tension on you or in you it would never be enough.

He needed something else to satisfy his needs.

You looked out to the sky, seeing the man in blue and red dart through the sky.

He needed someone else to satisfy his needs.

You needed Superman.

—•—

You stood outside your secluded house on the outskirts of the suburbs one evening, it was late, there was a chill in the air.

Letting out a sigh with the wind before clearing your throat, you let out a bloodcurdling shriek, crying out for the superhuman to save you over and over. Part of you wasn’t acting- you really did need him to save you and finally get the gratification you- and you supposed Lex- deserved.

You heard whirring in the air almost like a sonic boom as the sound of the clocks in the city chiming it was 11pm. He had heard you.

You fell to the ground.

He arrived.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?” You almost melted at his concerned tone. Lex would never be that soft or gentle speaking to you.

You felt him get closer, the heat from his body sent chills down your spine as you discreetly grabbed the chloroform soaked cloth that was in your pocket. When he bent down and held both your arms in his hands, that’s when you struck.

—•—

Lex could be doing without going to yours at one in the morning, after working late trying to find Superman again after he suddenly vanished from the grid took a toll on him that evening.

But he thought if he couldn’t have Superman, he could have you. A fuck would satisfy him enough until morning before he started the search again.

“Y/N?” He called out whist entering your home. Modern. Sleek. Refined. Eye-wateringly expensive. Jaw-dropping. Much like yourself with all aspects of your life.

You had met by chance one day over discussions in quantum physics, your brains and your beauty were a lethal mix and he had you by his side ever since. Lex knew you could leave anytime, you were popular in the public eye and smart beyond belief. You were just as powerful as him- he thought even more so. He often wondered what you were doing with him.

That’s what made his heart flutter more than anything.

“Lex, baby!” You were far too excited for his tiredness to cope with. “Hi, how was your day?”

His eyes roamed up and down your frame, a black silk robe that showed just enough skin and the lingerie you wore for him underneath made him lick his lips. “Okay. Not great. A little better now.” He smirked and walked towards you.

“Oh my poor Lex,” you cooed with your bottom lip pouted out. Before he could kiss you, you pulled back, causing him to blink in surprise and his chest creating a pain he had never felt before. “Not just yet. I have a present for you…” the wicked grin on your lips and the motioning for him to follow you to the bedroom made him think this was some sort of game you wanted to play. Some weird foreplay fantasy you wanted to act out.

He went with it, almost begrudgingly, into your dark room. “Y/N?” His eyes tried hard to adjust before the lamp went on with the snap of your fingers.

Lex fell to his knees at the sight before him.

You casually perched on Superman’s lap, scantily clad in the laciest lingerie set you owned, arm lazily draped over his shoulder and his entire body bound to a chair.

“Surprise!” You grinned. Lex couldn’t say a single word.

Faint, groggy groans left his mouth as Superman came to from his chloroform haze. “W-what..what’s going on…?” He asked, blinking the haze from his eyes before they went wide at the sight of you on him. “Wai-wait you’re-,” his head snapped to Lex who was still in his knees with a trembling lip. “And he’s-,” his head snapped back to you “What?!”

“Well,” you booped his nose and he jolted, trying to undo the restraints. You remained unfazed sitting on him. “I’ll tell you what’s going on, Superman.” You motioned to Lex with a forced nod “He’s too obsessed with you to give me a good old fashioned dicking down. Part of me was okay to a point with that but for god sake- I love being fucked and have needs! As selfish as that may be…” you narrowed your eyes at him and Lex gulped, receiving an almost disappointed look from Superman. “So that’s where you come in.” He snapped his head to you “Because he’s just as needy as me. And he needs you.”

Lex stood up, almost stumbling forward “N-no! No Y/N, you don’t know what this means! I can finally-”

You cut him off with a stern glare “Ah ah none of this shit, Lex.” You warned. “Just fucking.” Your voice was conniving and convincing. “You both either have to fight or fuck. Tonight is the latter.” You told them both, neither of them having much of a choice thanks to your dominating commands. “Besides. I need satisfaction too and you are easy on the eyes.” You winked at the man bound on your chair.

“B-but you’re mine…” Lex breathed out.

You let out a snort of laughter, shaking your head. “Lex, baby, you know I don’t belong to anyone.”

He swallowed hard. He knew you were right.

“Don’t I get a say in this?!” Clark yelped, finding himself in a completely unknown predicament. Completely flattered and turned on predicament- but that was beside the point.

You hummed, mock thinking before forcing a smile on your face.

“No.”

“I suppose I can put my life outside these walls to the side for an evening.” Clark quietly said, his strong voice almost breaking as he eyed your lace kissed body before glancing up to Lex and noticing a bulge forming in his trousers. “Can you?”

“I can.”

You stood up from Superman’s lap clapping your hands together with one sharp sound.

“Well then, let’s get started, shall we?” You grinned.

“Let’s.” Lex licked his lips.

“Where do you want to begin Lex?” He raised a brow at you “He’s your toy. What do you want from him?”

Lex didn’t miss a beat. “I want you to straddle him, still bound, and kiss him while I watch.” His voice was dark, Clark had goosebumps running up his arms. You and the superhero locked eyes with one another before looking back to Lex.

You nodded “Whatever you want, baby, he’s your play date after all.” Play date. Lex almost came at the thought. “Let’s have a safe word- just incase.”

“Kryptonite.”

Clark swallowed hard at Lex’s ever darkening tone and demeanour as his biggest weakness left his lips. He had a feeling that after you both had your way with him- that weakness would change.

You laughed wildly at his choice as you straddled the hero and leaned forward, your lips capturing his. He was hesitant at first, lips frozen in place. But you slowly melted him down the deeper the kiss became, he started to let himself go but still kept his wits about him. Your fingers ran through his curls as your body began to grind on him. “He tastes like cherries, Lex.” You murmured.

“Keep going, keep kissing him. Use your tongue.” He commanded as his hand rested on his cock and palmed himself through his trousers. Clark caught him out the corner of his eye and moaned into your mouth. Both his tongue and your own fighting for dominance. When he bit your lip you pulled back with a gasp and pulled his head back by the hair, causing him to moan and allowing you to spit into his mouth when his lips parted. He happily swallowed. Lex finally got it out his pants at the sight and touched himself, unbuttoning his shirt at the same time.

“You want him to help you out baby?” You asked with a honeyed tone, Lex nodded his head and you smirked standing up from Superman and pushing back the chair he was on until he was almost vertical. “Open wide for him, space boy.”

Clark did just that, Lex’s body trembling with a mix of fear and excitement as he brought the tip of his cock to Clark’s lips. Lex looked at you for encouragement which you gave him with a nod of your head.

You fell to your knees watching Lex’s face contort with instant pleasure, a pool of wetness almost dripping onto your bedroom floor at the sight. Your hands shakily, and ferociously, clawed off the distinctive blue and red lower half of Superman’s suit, Clark moaned at the sensation, a ricocheting effect swarmed Lex’s body at the gentle vibration. “Fuck, look at me while your mouth fucks me.” Lex spat at the man, almost becoming undone at the sight of the tip of his cock creating a bulge in the hero’s throat.

You smirked watching him lavish and lap up every second he had of you both. At the power he possessed over the man with the ‘S’ on his chest. Lex looked down further to you when he heard a soft gasp leave your mouth. “Holy…shit.” Your eyes glanced up to Lex. “Super in many ways…” your eyebrow raised “Supersized that is.” A faint laugh of disbelief left your throat at the size of him. Roughly on par with Lex but oh so different too.

“You better moan like you’ve never moaned in your damn life for her.” Lex demanded that from him, the superhuman eyes forming a tear in the corner of them as he felt your mouth around his cock. Clark squeezed his eyes shut and did just what Lex asked, a tear of pure, unfiltered pleasure streaming down his cheek. A strained, muffled scream left Clark’s throat as you increased your pace and introduced your hand to the mix. A string of swears leaving Lex’s throat as he came watching you pleasuring his greatest enemy while his greatest enemy was pleasuring him. Clark choked on the hot spurts that painted his tongue, Lex pulling out in just enough time to paint his face and lips too.

Lex cleared his throat, a command without saying anything. You stood up, Clark whining at loss of sensation. Lex placed a firm grip on his jaw- Clark suspected he would see his fingerprints there for at least a week- to hold his head in place as you used the top of your tongue to clean what was left of him from the hero. “Can I?” You batted your eyes at Lex, Clark’s brows furrowing slightly. But you and Lex had a secret language only the two of you would ever understand- and he heard your request loud and clear.

You didn’t even bother wasting the two seconds it would have taken you to remove your underwear, merely pushing it to the side as you straddled Superman again, this time sitting on his cock that was desperate for a release. “O-oh, oh god,” he took deep inhales and fewer exhales feeling your tight pussy perfectly moulding around him. “I need to touch you.”

Lex, as his breathing just about steadied, features tightened at his words. “No funny business,” he told him as he removed his unbuttoned shirt, Clark frantically nodding. He knew better than that and he knew better than to run away when he was balls deep in someone as gorgeous as you. Lex gingerly untied his bounds and Clark’s arms flew around your waist the second he had the chance, standing up while keeping himself inside you.

“You feel so good,” Clark practically blubbered “So, so good.”

Your moans were sporadic between his harsh thrusts, you reached a shaking hand out to Lex who gently held it and brought your knuckles to his lips. “Fuck! Lex! He’s just as desperate as you!” You giggled, Clark taking your words almost personally and in return taking it out roughly on your pussy.

“Oh,” Lex stood behind the man with a smirk, hands resting on his muscular, suit clad shoulders “I can tell.” Lex kissed Clark’s neck before sinking his teeth into it, biting on him like he was his personal chew toy. The hero yelped in both pain and pleasure. “Don’t you dare cum in her just yet.” He bit him again. “Y/N baby, show him how tight that pussy can get when you cum.” You nodded with a moan, your back arching while Clark fucked you, skilfully and gently holding you. His grip was so much softer than Lex’s. “How perfect is she? That’s my pussy. Anytime. Anywhere. All mine.” His voice gritted out, jealousy seeping into Clark’s bones at Lex’s words.

“Sh-sh-shit!” You trembled, not just your voice but your entire body experiencing an earthquake thanks to the man holding you. You gripped his hair tightly, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Lex! LEX!” You screamed the other man’s name while Clark fucked you, only causing him to be even rougher. Lex kissed you, wildly, he never thought in a million years he’d experience something like this. He felt high, feverish, like this was oxygen. He wondered how he’d breathe again when this all came to an end.

You screamed at Lex as an orgasm ripped through your body, the villainous figure laughing at the sight. Clark continued, wanting…needing…his own. Wanting to spill everything he had inside you as thanks for concocting the idea.

But you moved your leg and fell back onto your bed. Clark was on the verge of sobbing, his cock about to explode at the next touch he experienced, even if it was just a graze. “No.” You breathed out, barely even getting that word out. Lex sat next to your sprayed out figure. “No because you’re gonna beg for him.” You all but snarled, Lex hand a faint tinge of red on his cheeks from blushing at your command. You demanded for his pleasure from a man who had tormented him. “You’re gonna feel what it’s like to beg for Lex Luthor. You’re gonna get on your knees and beg for a sweet release from him.”

Maybe you had resent for just a second, maybe you just wanted someone else to know the same feeling that lingered in your bones every now and then when Lex left you desperate and dripping.

Maybe you just wanted Lex to have a little more ego- if that was even possible.

Lex snapped his fingers for to you to sit up, you did just that, he undid your bra and Clark watched as he got to touch your perfect chest and pepper kisses down your neck. He would have killed him for that opportunity. “You heard my lady, on your knees.”

Clark fell to the floor, ripping his top from his chest, almost as a plea. A plea that he was happy to do anything as long as he had the chance to adorn you both in white ribbons of cum and tension that was building within him.

“Please.”

He listened as you moaned under Lex’s touch, how one hand played with your nipple as the other played with your pussy.

“Please.”

“Not good enough.” Lex spat, bringing his fingers you had soaked to both his and your mouth while your eyes were locked on Clark’s. “Tastes like fucking heaven.”

Clark crawled forward on his knees, you extended a foot out and stopped him by pressing it to his shoulder. He moved his head and feverishly kissed your calf. “Look at him Lex, he worships me…” you teased.

Lex let out a snort “How could he not?” He placed an open kiss to your mouth. “Beg. For. It.”

“Please, please,” he asked with his hands clasped together “Please I wanna cum. I want you to make me cum. Y/N please. Lex please.” Tears were welling in his eyes.

You shared a look with Lex, it was more than good enough. “Open wide for him, Y/N. I suppose he deserves a taste.”

“Maybe if he’s good enough with his mouth on me we’ll let him cum,” you spoke to Lex as if Clark wasn’t in front of you, making him groan. You whisked off your underwear and tossed them over Clark’s face before they fell to the floor, he practically flew to your soaked core and lapped up your wet folds. A groan left your lips while one hand rested on his hair while the other reached for Lex.

He watched you, almost fascinated, at the faces you made. “You’re such lucky, lucky boy.” He said to the hero while looking at you. “Is he good, baby?” You nodded. “Tell me how good.”

“So fucking delightful…but never as good as you.” You sent him a playful wink and he let out a chuckle. “Do you want me to cum?” You had asked Lex, the master of it all asking him for guidance gave him a new wave of a sickening amount of twisted power.

“I want you to soak his face so much that I see it shining in the sky every time he flys past my window.” He darkly whispered before pressing a gentle kiss to your nose.

Clark hummed with sheer satisfaction hearing the sweet noises leaving your mouth. He was sure to be rewarded for his. He wrapped his hands over your hips and brought your pussy to his further into mouth, wanting you as close as possible. He moved his tongue, skilfully starting to fuck you with that and only that. The cry that left your mouth that almost made Lex burst again.

“I can’t…” your words broke into pieces as they left your mouth.

Lex gently gripped your jaw “You can and you will.” He was using the same card that you drew. “I need to see him make you cum again.”

Your eyes twitched along with the rest of your body, Lex watching as the sensations inside you made you jolt like you were being electrocuted. Clark held you down as another orgasm took over you, your wet core becoming more and more sensitive. You were almost certain that your legs wouldn’t work in the morning.

Clark pulled away with a gasp, cautious not to overstimulate you. He wanted to come too after all.

“Now?” He asked Lex with pleading eyes, the kind that could convince him to do anything for someone else for a change.

“Now.” Lex nodded.

Clark almost yelled with joy “How do you want me?” He asked Lex- you could practically see the ego that went to his head in that moment.

He looked at you, angelically lying completely and utterly fucked on the bed. He then looked at the broad, muscular hero still on his knees. “We went to Paris a few months ago.” Lex said, casually slipping off the tongue as effortlessly as he did from the bed. One hand wrapped around his hard cock, giving it a gently tug and squeeze. “Do you miss the Eiffel Tower, Y/N?” He asked.

A wide grin spread over your face “I sure do, Lex.” He extended a hand to help you up from the mattress. “If only we could recreate it…” you falsely mused while looking at the hero on your bedroom floor.

“With three of us, we can.” Lex also reached a hand to Clark who took it without a moment of hesitation. “You know what,” he let his eyes wander up and down his built frame. “I’ll let you decide what you want to cum in. Don’t say I’m not generous.” You smirked, standing between the two men who were puffing out their chests a little more with each word said. “Mouth or pussy.”

Clark’s mouth opened and closed frantically. The two options almost overwhelmed him.

“I wanna look into her eyes.”

Lex blew a raspberry “I always knew you were a sappy piece of shit.” He lowly laughed, Clark fought hard not to roll his eyes. “Y/N bend over. Do as he wants.”

“Anything for you Superman…” you drawled out as you bent over, Lex harshly spanking your ass causing a yelp to leave your throat at the stinging sensation. “You too, Lex.”

“Good girl.” He growled as he slipped himself inside of you, causing your jaw to drop and allowing Clark to slip inside your gaping mouth. The two men let out strained groans as one took you from the front and the other from behind. “Look into her eyes.” Lex commanded, finding Clark boring into his own.

“Not just yet. I’m looking into yours.” He softly spoke, trying his best not to choke on his words while you choked on his length. Clark didn’t know what compelled him to but he reached out and placed his palm to the back of Lex’s neck and ask him a question that was hidden behind his lips most of the evening. “You wanna see if I taste like cherries?”

Your eyes rolled up to look at them both towering over you, Lex’s gaze dropping to you for a split second and finding you grinning up to him with the bane of his life fucking your mouth. You wanted that just as much as he did.

Clark brought Lex forward as they continued to fuck you and his lips finally met his for the first time. Lex desperately licked him, as much as he wanted to savour the moment, his erratic emotions get the better of him. “Shit, you do.” Lex virtually grumbled and kissed him harder. “You taste like her too. Fucking delicious.”

Clark moaned into his mouth “Can I cum, can I please cum, Lex?” Another tear of pleasure and desperation slipped down his cheek as his thighs shook. Lex bit down and pulled his bottom lip, drawing a groan from his throat.

He nodded “Look into her eyes as you do, you fucking soft sap.” Lex spat. Clark looked down, cupping your cheek with his hand, his eyes meeting yours. They were fully blown, hazy with lust and that’s what sent him over the edge. He stoped thrusting his hips as his cock poured into your mouth all while Lex poured himself into your pussy. You came with a shriek, your body going limp from the two of them. Clark just about managed to catch you in enough time before your body hit the floor.

Lex fell back into the bed where Clark shakily carried you to and softly placed you down on it before laying beside you.

You turned to Lex who silently opened his mouth for you and spat some remnants of Superman mixed with your saliva into his mouth, he hummed tasting him over his tongue. The three of you were a panting mess, sweat scattered over your bodies like stars. But Lex found enough strength to pull one final command from the superhero. “Taste us.” He demanded.

Clark slowly moved his tender, bitten and well fucked body down to your core again, almost crying at the sight of Lex Luthor seeping out of you. Clark pressed his mouth against you again and you almost hit the ceiling. Lex pinned you down, softly hushing you and kissing your forehead. Clark cleaned you up, soft and slowly, savouring the taste of both you and him on his tastebuds.

Clark moved to your side again and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. The two men shared a glance as tiredness engulfed you, the tension created now being replaced by another.

Hate.

But Lex was too tired to hate him right now. He’d have enough strength by morning. Clark felt the same and lay on the edge of the bed beside you both, his hand resting on top of Lex’s that was laying on top of your heart.

—•—

You woke up and found Lex softly snoring beside you, the pair of you still naked. You slowly sat up, your muscles aching in the best way possible.

You grabbed your dressing down and stepped out to the patio outside your bedroom where a figure, dressed in blue and red was standing. “Not even a goodbye kiss?” You teased him.

He turned around, a soft smirk gracing his face. “I figured a quiet exit would be best for all of us.”

A low hum left your lungs as you walked towards him, arms crossed over your chest. The pair of you stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the gentle birdsong and the sun rising, welcoming a new day.

“You cause him a lot of stress.” You confided in him, eyes forward and jaw locked. “I don’t like that.” Lex would have surely killed you spilling that secret to his self-confessed arch nemesis.

Clark pursed his lips together, trying to swallow the ball now lodged in his throat that was formed by your words. “He didn’t seem stressed tonight.” He turned to you just as you had to him, a brow raised. “Maybe next time I can cum in your pussy for him?”

Your lips pursed, a smile threatening to bless your face.

“Hmm…” you mulled over his proposition. “A next time you say?”

Clark chuckled, soft, almost as warm as the sun now hitting your face. “I’ll listen out for your screams.” He leaned down and kissed your cheek. “Then we can make you scream some more.”

He flew into the air as effortless as breathing,l was to you, leaving you alone on the patio. You watched as he disappeared behind a building before returning to bed with Lex. “What time is it?” He grumbled from his slumber.

“Early,” you replied watching him curl up on your lap as you gently stroked his back. “Go back to sleep. I have an interviews and meetings today. You stay in bed.”

—•—

“You’re late…” Perry grumbled as Clark made his way through the Daily Planet bullpen later that morning.

He was trying his best not to limp through it.

His body still ached from the night before, his skin peppered with bruises from the bites and heavy handed fucking. His shit buttoned right to the top to hide the sins that were gifted to him.

Clark had a stack of papers stuffed between his body and upper arm as he tried his best to catch up with Perry, pushing up his glasses that were falling from the bridge of his nose.

“S-sorry! Traffic was a nightmare and-”

“Save it,” he held his hand up to him. “We don’t have a lot of time. I need these questions answered for the report.”

“S-sure!” Clark took the sheet from him and followed him to one of the interview rooms. “Who is it I’m-”

Perry opened the door, greeting the person on the other side a with an apology and a wide smile for keeping you waiting. Clark almost dropped all the papers at the sight before him.

“Ms. Y/N Y/L/N,” Perry shook your hand and extended another out to the journalist. “Clark Kent.”

You reached your hand out “Clark Kent,” shaking his after he compulsively extended out his own limply and in complete dumbfound. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Clark swallowed hard and nodded, knowing all last night it was. His aches twinged again at the sight of you. The safe word he never dreamed of using now on the tip of his tongue. His mind screaming. ‘Kryptonite. Kryptonite. Kryptonite.’

He was in danger and you were blithely unaware.

You sat back in the chair crossing your legs, that same wicked smirk across your face that he begged for almost causing him to implode.

“You have some questions for me, Clark Kent?” He nodded.

“I do.”

You grinned.

“Well then, let’s get started, shall we?”

[honeybunnyale]

Breeding Program l C.K. & L.L.

w.c: 5.7k

t.w.: Dark-ish fic, Smut, P in V, Oral f receiving, Sex pollen Dub-con/Non-con, Voyeurism, Cucking,  Breeding kink (forced pregnancy), Lactation kink (brief), LuthorCorp Secretary!Reader, Mentions of Ultraman x Reader (one-sided), Lex Luthor x Superman (also one-sided and psychotic), Cum play/eating, Reader has glasses, slight spoilers, fuck or die!, angst

a/n: Please read all warnings before interacting with my works. 18+ only!

Summary: Ultraman wasn’t as successful as he expected. Lex Luthor is hoping to breed something new to defeat his nemesis, no matter how long the process may take. 

Cloning didn’t work. Ultraman was stupid. Incompetent. A failure. 

But he liked you. Lex Luthor would watch as he leaned closer to you. It made you uncomfortable, clear by the way you shifted on your feet and avoided his pointed gaze. 

Lex trusted you in maintaining him. You’d lead him, after hours, to his room, to the shower, to eat. You were his caretaker in a way.  Reluctantly so.  

The clone’s base instincts clearly indicated attraction judging by the hard ons he would openly display as he bathed with you standing by the door to ensure he wouldn’t make a mess. 

It gave Luthor an idea, an idea that would ensure the next Superman “clone” would be as perfect as possible. 

Luthor would pay you handsomely for the trouble. You who kept most of his secrets, you who he sends enough flowers to fill up your apartment, you who he has special meetings with while his girlfriend was off on a shopping spree. 

He almost feels tenderly towards you. You were a perfect candidate. 

…

You bounce on his lap, sinking onto his prick as he leaned back on his office chair. Peering at you as if you were on your knees and praying to him. 

You grunt quietly, he watches as you get yourself off, as he does nothing to help. 

Your fingers glide diligently over your cunt, the squelching sounds making you whimper as your clit throbs between your fingers. 

He’s not good at sex, he likes having it, likes getting himself off. But he is not inept at pleasuring others. 

You’re fine with it. No one has ever made you finish anyway. You only needed his dick. Like a dildo. 

You grind your hips against his pelvis, his cock pushes in deep as you pulse around him, your head falling forward to rest against his shoulder in a stifled final moan. 

He grips your hips as he pulses inside of you, you groan at the action. He always pulls out. You give him a look as you stand, he pulls your panties up against your cunt and pats your ass. 

“Keep it in.” 

You snort, he raises a brow, wondering where the joke was in his tone. Thank goodness for birth control. You’d rather die than have his demonic children. Even more spoiled brats and the world's riches would be divided within the Luthor family entirely. 

“Remember what the goal is today…” he says as he points a teasing finger at you. 

You nod as you straighten your pencil skirt and button up your shirt. Your hands drag against the wood of his desk to swipe your glasses teasingly. 

“I’m ready.” 

…

Being jostled around the air was irritating to say the least. The clone repeatedly evaded Superman’s moves, causing you to be caught midair several times. One second Ultraman, the other Superman. 

It was like tug of war, except instead of rope, your body was being pulled every which way. 

Another frightening possibility you didn’t think of before was that hands slip, butterfingers, people fumble. 

Superman drops you. You imagine Lex having a laugh. 

Superman apologizes as he recatches you, hands tight on your waist as he turns swiftly to take a hit to his back. You could see the way he grits his teeth and shut his eyes from the pain, the way his hands tightened over your body as he cocooned you. 

You get it, you realize. Despite the obvious threats around him, his focus was on protecting you, the civilian. It made your chest warm. You almost coo from how selfless he was. 

He flees from Ultraman, disguised as a villain of the week, in an attempt to put you down in a safe location. 

“You ok?” 

You grip onto his shoulders fearfully, feeling the taught muscle underneath. You get those who swoon. He was even bigger in person. 

You nod slowly, eyes wide, a hand pressing your glasses to your face to keep them from flying off. 

“Yea-“ 

It was like a train had hit him, the impact of the clone ramming into his side so strong it caused him to lose his grip on you. Again.

Jealousy you briefly wonder, you’re sure Lex didn’t tell him to do that. You’ve never seen that move before. 

You each go in opposite directions. You could hear Superman scream out a sharp no as you’re free falling in the air. 

The genuine concern won him points by you again. 

You think about Lex. About the way he practically begged you to accept the role as victim for his latest scheme. 

You’d slap him the next time you see him. 

Your attempts to scream are tampered by the rush of air, you couldn’t breathe in or out, the rush of adrenaline making it hard to focus on the action as you see the pavement inch closer. 

And suddenly you’re in someone’s arms again, held tightly against their chest. You take a harsh breath in, the rush of oxygen making your lungs burn.

Your eyes stayed unfocused from your lack of lenses. You look behind you to find metal armor facing right back at you. You sigh. 

You’re shaking as you’re deposited to the floor of the lab, located near a small town west of the city of Metropolis. 

Ultraman dropped you unceremoniously, making your knees buckle and causing you to fall. 

You glare up at him, narrowing your eyes as he refuses to look your way. Unlike him. He was most definitely jealous. 

Several lab techs surround you and Ultraman briefly to assess damages. They find none, they leave quickly, leaving you to reorient yourself in your lonesome. 

You stand, wiping your hands down your skirt as you grumble about the lack of adequate patient care they offered you.

You try the door closest to you, it was locked. For a moment you stare at it dumbfoundedly. This was supposed to be where Luthor was entrapping Superman. There was a bed in the middle of the room, a toilet to the side. This was a prison. 

Surely someone was coming to get you, or one of the doors will lock once Superman arrives. 

You try the other door, locked. You knock. Your polite knock turns into a slam of your palm. You shout that you couldn’t get out. That you needed to get out. That you were starting to freak out. 

You could hear metal bend. Superman was here. You shook the door knob desperately. 

“Lex!” 

The pounding was getting louder, you could hear his grunts as he attempted to make his way to you. To “save” you. 

What would he do once he found out you planned to imprison him for testing, then undoubtedly kill him afterwards. 

The sound of the panels behind you, curling in his hands like cardboard, made you think he wouldn’t be too happy. 

You turn your back against the door, chest rising and falling with each breath as he breaks himself into his own doom. He takes a breath of relief at finding you unharmed. His eyes scan over your form as he jogs forward, hand gently holding your glasses out to you. 

You take them shakily, placing them on to see his soft smile clearly. He puts his hand on your shoulder, your expression terrified. 

“You’re going to be ok.” 

Alarm bells ring, the room turns red and walls appear, layers and layers of metal sliding atop each other, just to stall him for the next part. 

You swallow thickly and shake your head in denial. There must have been a mistake, you weren’t supposed to be in here, no one other than him was. You were fucked. You step away from him, he looks around the room in confusion. 

The size of the room is cut in half by the strongest metal Luthor could find. Superman could easily punch his way out, but the amount of punches would be too much for him to get out in time. 

A greenish fog fills up the room. He reacts quickly, tugging you from the wall and covering his mouth with his hand, as if urging you to copy the action. 

“Hold your breath, I’ll get us out of here.” 

You stare at his back, hands at your sides, as he turns to pull his hand back and hit the wall. What a beautiful idiot. 

He didn’t realize that with each layer he destroyed more and more gas was being pumped into the room. It made you feel lightheaded. 

You stay put in the middle of the room, legs turning weak and arms barely holding you up against the bed. Superman calls for you to follow him, almost desperately as he feels himself weakening. 

He holds his breath, he could hold it for several minutes. But he was barely leaving a dent now. 

“Don’t breathe it in!” he shouts. It didn’t matter. The smog could be absorbed through the skin anyway. 

You fall to your knees. He stops and rushes to you. He could see that he wasn’t as close to breaking out as he liked. 

He could only think of one thing. Kryptonite. It was making him feel almost anemic. He starts to shake. But he didn’t feel any pain. He felt a strange rush go through his body.

“Don’t-“ you wheeze out as he kneels over you, hand coming up to touch your shoulder. 

The more you inhale the more you feel the effects of the gas. Your stomach clenches, your clothes feel suffocating, your skin sensitive. 

Lex said it was going to debilitate him. Make him bend to his knees and writhe. 

He grips your bicep, to stabilize you. 

Your sharp moan made the hero freeze. It was sensual, pornographic. Not of pain or agony. His breath stutters at the sound, he feels himself start to sweat, his face heating up impossibly in embarrassment and something else. 

What the hell did Lex put in this damn cell? 

Your stomach cramps. You could hear the room speaker turn on with a sharp crack. Superman stands, looking around the room, attempting to find it. 

“Hello, Superman.” 

“Luthor,” he says as a response, sounding tired, almost bored of the other man’s voice already. 

“Why don’t you or your people ever show themselves?” he asks after a moment, looking up towards the corner, knowing that a camera was pointed right at him. 

“I’m closer than you think.” 

Superman’s brows furrow. He turns to you and shrugs his shoulders with an incredulous look, obviously mocking Luthor’s ominous tone and words. You look away in shame, his face falls as you cower away from him. 

“Oh! I didn’t introduce you to my secretary. Say hi to my secretary. Isn’t she cute? Great actor too.” 

Superman’s eyes connect with yours and you pant as you drag yourself to the far wall. His eyes sharpen and his brows furrow, so deep creases formed in his perfect friendly face. The hint of a smile, gone. He was clearly upset by the setup. 

“What did you do?” he asked, voice raised. He stares directly at you, eyes roaming over your body. 

You’re not sure who he speaks to. Lex or you. By Lex’s snort, he assumes it was to him. 

“Do you feel it?” Lex’s voice reverberated around the small enclosure, you bite your lip to hold in a whimper. 

Your breath comes out in short pants. You feel your thighs slicken, each shift highlighting the fact that there was now a building dampness underneath you.

“It’ll take a while to set in for you.” 

You rock your hips, Superman watches you curiously. You fight the urge to press your hand between your legs. You turn in your embarrassment, your nipples were so hard they stung and pointed out against the fabric of your shirt. 

You press your face against the cool wall, it gives you brief relief. Another cramp in your lower belly hits you, you shake and groan. 

“It’s already set in for her. You’ll see soon enough.” 

He could smell your arousal, he exhaled shakily as he felt a warmth travel through his spine at your twitches and small noises. His eyes start to roam over your body, the way your back arches lightly, your ass curving out against the fabric of your skirt, now showing a growing spot of wetness. 

He licks his lips before refocusing. 

“What did you do?” he shouts with force. 

“Don’t worry, it’s harmless.” 

Superman looks at you, your back to him, he steps forward before stopping. His stomach tightens, his mouth salivates, and he feels his briefs tighten against his growing heavy bulge. 

His eyes were intense, pupils fighting between expanding and constricting. He holds a hand up, as if to calm you, maybe even calm himself. 

“You’ll be fine-“ he attempts shakily. His knees wobble. 

“Oh. She will die,” Lex’s voice cuts sharply, humorously. 

You moan out into the air, your skin prickles and itches. You refuse to look away from the corner, you didn’t want to give Lex the satisfaction of your tears, your panic. 

“You require the dosage of an elephant. I had to make sure it worked.” 

Your lower stomach tightens so much the rest of your body locks into place. You feel a rush like no other and yelp as the feeling makes your cunt’s walls constrict around nothing. Your body trembles in sweet erotic pulses, you pant openly as the rush fades into a low simmer. 

Did you just have a mini orgasm? 

“She needs an antidote, luckily for you Superman, you have plenty of it.” 

The comm clicks as it turns off. You groan as you flop against the metal floor, facing the ceiling, body spread out like a starfish. You could feel his heated gaze, he looked furious, huffing out like a bull ready to charge.

Lex had been testing weird shit on the clone. He’d figured this chemical out a couple of months ago. It affected hormones, made the body crave another. 

It wasn’t as bad as this. It wasn’t as intense. 

Sure, Ultraman had humped your leg when you were trimming his hair but you’re sure he never felt as if he were dying. 

Then again, Kryptonians, clone or not, wouldn’t be affected as fast as humans. You had a feeling this time would be different, you could see Superman pace back and forth, running a shaky hand through his locks almost pulling on it as his chest stutters with each gulp of air. 

“Bodily fluids,” you gasp.

A kiss made it better, Lex made you kiss the clone, on the cheek, to test it out. Lex had a boner as he watched the interaction. The freak.

He kissed the clone himself afterwards, right on the lips, to see which method worked best, according to him. Tongue on tongue worked the best for pacifying the chemical. 

You were used to seeing Superman’s face. You just weren’t used to him being able to speak back to you. He turns sharply towards you, he growls. 

“Don’t test me.” 

You roll your eyes, your body was shaking, your heart beating so fast you were starting to feel lightheaded. He could see your heart, so fast he fears you’re going to pass out at any moment now. 

Worse, you might get into cardiac arrest. He sighs in frustration. 

He kneels beside you, sitting you up against the wall roughly, pressing your shoulders into the metal despite your discomfort. 

The touch makes you shiver, you hold back a moan. He cages you in with his arms, hands planted on either side of you. 

“What can we do?” 

You lick your lips, and he follows your tongue with his eyes. His stomach flexes and he grunts. 

“It helps, saliva, sweat” you swallow thickly. He was so warm, your lips part lightly. You’ve never wanted anyone inside of you so badly before. 

Your hands weakly lift to grip his bicep, big bulging biceps that were so hard as you squeezed. You bite your lip and suppress a giddy giggle, your hand roaming over his chest. 

He shakes you from your daze. You drop your hand to the floor and swallow thickly. Focus. You take a moment, body flushing even further from humiliation. 

“Ejaculate, arousal fluid, I promise,” you stutter, you adjust your glasses. 

He narrows his eyes, you gush at his stare, a fresh wave of arousal almost squirting out of your cunt at his proximity. 

He closes his eyes tightly, his arms flex as he resists the urge to manhandle you. He didn’t know if it was from anger or something else. Maybe it was the half-lidded gaze you gave him, eyes wandering all over his body and lingering on his very prominent bulge. 

“So… what do I need to do?” 

You shrug. It was obvious. Your eyes blank as you lean back against the wall. 

“Just let me die, dude,” you mumble. He scoffs. Your head rolls to the side and your neck is exposed. He zeros in on the soft skin of your throat, his jaw tightens as he’s hit with your scent of fresh arousal. The musk was enveloping him, his hand cups your face. 

He kisses you, face scrunched as if he hated the idea of being near you. You gasp, his tongue swipes through the roof of your mouth before swirling over yours. 

You moan, fighting to keep your hands on the floor, curled into tight fists as he pulls your head closer. 

“You smell good,” he mumbles offhandedly, voice low and tense, as if he could be doing anything other than this. His actions said otherwise, his tongue splays over your skin, lips pecking down your jaw. His hand grips your hips and pulls you forward. 

“Thanks,” you groan out. 

His head pulled away from you, his pupils were dilated. He was breathing heavier. His body twitches, neck straining. He was starting to feel the effects intensify. 

“You feel better?” he asks softly, eyes roaming over your face, stalling over your lips. 

In fact, you were starting to feel worse. You nod, despite the way your face twisted in pain, the cramps intensity almost debilitating. 

“Liar.” 

He kisses you again, the make out evolving as he pulls you to his lap. He guides your hands to touch him, sliding your fingers up his chest, over his neck. He guides your fingers to the buttons of his suit, right at the nape of his neck. 

Your skirt rides up and he starts to unbutton your blouse. His mind started to cloud, almost as if he didn’t realize that you were being watched, as if you weren’t both trapped. 

Lex sits in the surveillance room alone, having dismissed everyone else once the gas had been pumped into the cage. 

He has cameras for every angle of the cell, he zooms in between your bodies. 

He unbuttons his trousers, palming himself as he focuses in on your ruined panties grinding against the pronounced outline of Superman’s cock and balls. 

Superman presses you against his chest, you tug your arms out of your dress shirt, hands going to his face as your tongue caresses his, wanting to be impossibly closer. 

Luthor chortles as he hears your underwear rip, flinging to the other side of the room. Your bare cunt was spread open by thick digits. His fingers press into you, making your head fall back in delight. 

Superman’s thumb rolls over your clit, you gush around him, so sensitive that a mere touch makes you fall off the edge of pleasure. 

Lex jerks his cock in his hand, thumb running over the head as he spreads his spewing pre over his shaft. His cum was inside of you, Superman was playing with his cum already in your cunt. 

What a sight. 

…

You pant out heavily, he licks up your juices from his fingers and watches as your heart slows, only to start up again. His hand roams all over your body, pressing into your soft skin, groaning as you ground down on him. 

“I’m sorry I have to…” he trails off. Eyes connecting to your breasts. He rips your bra quickly, hands coming up to squeeze the soft mounds. 

His mouth hangs open, he feels himself drool at the sight of your bare body. He was delirious. 

“I have to save you,” he mumbles, as if he were drunk. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, pulling you closer, his nose trailing down the middle of chest, nuzzling softly between your breasts as he breathes in deeply. 

“Jes- jeez-“ he stutters. His tongue flicks out to taste your sweat, your breasts smelled like heaven, a certain musk that guided him to suck the soft flesh in his mouth. 

His nose sinks into the softness, as his lips suck around your nipple. The other hand cups your breast and squeezes, his fingers holding your nipple in place as he presses the surrounding area. Almost as if urging something to drip out. 

And something does. It must be an adverse effect of the gas, you see pearls of white dribble from the nipple he grasps in hand. 

You instinctively attempt to push him away, but he holds you in place. 

You flush in embarrassment as he groans, sucking harder, having just tasted what you’ve seen. He holds the small of your back against him, pressing you closer, his face smothered in your breasts. 

You cup his head, mouth wide open as you moan out into the air freely. 

You grind against his lap, tugging at his briefs. Your weak pawings towards his cock made him ache further. He stands, your limp body pliant in his hold as he makes his way to the bed in the middle of the room. 

You fall harshly against the mattress. Your attempts at unbuttoning your skirt left you feeling winded and weak. You close your eyes and your breath gets caught in the back of your throat. Desperate for him. 

He rips your very expensive and very vintage pencil skirt as if it were wrapping paper. In a blink his suit was gathered on the floor in a heap. 

His chest rises and falls with each breath. The cool air gave him a bout of clarity.  

He was still so upset. He stares down at you, almost in a scowl. He jerks himself, he can’t believe the amount of pre-cum that was coming out of him, almost like a fountain. He pulls your legs, making your back slide towards the edge of the bed. 

His eyes soften as you writhe against the sheets. He palms your breasts and squeezes, he swallows thickly at the milky pearls that bead out. He tests the pliancy of your body. He could break you if he’s not careful enough. His stomach tenses and his heart quickens, almost making him keel over. 

“We dont have to do this- we can-” 

He stares at your cunt as you spread your legs. He swallows thickly. He feels himself fight the urge to sink into you. But his mothers words dig into the back of his skull. Do not get a girl pregnant before marrying her. He stalls. 

He could put his mouth on you for hours, he’s sure he genuinely could do it for hours. He’d love to even. 

But sperm was proven to be the most effective antidote. Who knows what Lex had to figure that out.  You glance at his dick, so hard it looked almost painful. He was about to speak again but you cut him off quickly. 

“I’m on the pill,” you whimper. 

He’s on you quickly, knees digging into the soft mattress as his mouth leads a path up your body to your lips. He thrusts into you. You squeal, a mix of pain and intense pleasure. 

“Holy- goodness-“ he groans, mouth wide open as his hips flex into you. Your pussy was so wet, and so tight as if it wanted to milk him for each drop. 

Lex didn’t have anything to hold onto. Superman's hair was out of its usual gelled back style, pieces of his hair tickling against your skin as he places his forehead against yours.

Your fingers curl into his locks so tightly you fear if he wasn’t nearly invincible, you’d rip them from their roots. 

He groans, eyelids heavy as he gazes down at you. You were such a mess, your eyes were wet, body covered in sweat, a pool of your juices staining half of the mattress. With each of his orgasms, he could feel your body calm further, as if his seed were a salve.

His arms were underneath you, lifting you lightly for more leverage. The squelch of his cock, pumping into you as he held your body below him possessively was so arousing to you. 

You’ve never had an experience like this, someone so attentive and desperate for your body. Although in the back of your mind you knew that he wasn’t exactly desperate for you. You were both so unbearably horny, chemically enhanced hormonal shifts. 

His mouth sucks at your nipple, he groans as you wrap your legs around his waist, your hand reaching to pull his ass onto you. 

His weight was pushing you down as he changed position, pulling your legs up in the air and pressing his chest to the back of your thighs. It was obscene, his spunk spews from your pussy, your lower half seemingly covered in the milky white. 

Lex Luthor watches the whole thing, it lasts hours. He’s almost impressed. It infuriates him. 

Superman did everything in his power to get the chemicals out of your system, through sweat, tears, your cum. And he did everything to feel normal again, to stop craving the feel of your plump heated flesh, the tightness of your cunt, the softness of your lips. 

You were pretty for a LuthorCorp goon. Especially with your glasses all slanted as he pounds you into the mattress. 

By the end of the day Superman was spent, your heart has finally calmed. The last spurts of his cum pump into you weakly. He falls on his side, facing you. 

You both catch your breath, staring into each other's eyes, shifting closer until his arm wraps around you to pull you to his chest. 

His fingers press against the curve of your cheekbone as you lay on your side. He takes your lenses off gently, placing them on the pillow beside your head. 

You stare at him, finger pressing against his chin, his lips, his brow. 

“You’re so different,” you mutter. His eyes look over your features, not hiding his confusion. He imagines you mean different from Lex Luthor. You meant a lot of people. His clone was fucked up, cute, but the bridge of his nose and chin were slightly different. 

“Why do you work for him?”

You shrug. Lex Luthor was a good boss. At least before today. 

You had great health care, optometrist, dermatologist, endocrinologist and many more ists included. Pay was great, company products were free. Lex would get you flowers, he’d listen to your opinions, he’d take you to expensive dinners. 

But it was never intimate, not like the way Superman was pressed against you now. He hums, his hand traces over every mark he left on your body. 

Your expression was grim. 

“You should find another job.” 

You shrug again. He rolls his eyes, disappointed by your nonchalant response. He points between you both. 

“This is pretty messed up.” 

You nod. 

“I know.”

He stands, you stare at the ceiling. He gives you one last look as he changes. He feels better, stronger now. He looks down on you. He looks at the length of his cape. He could wrap you in it, fly to his apartment or Kansas. He’d make sure you were safe. 

“You should come with me…” 

You shake your head, turning on your side. Back turned away from him. He could sense the sadness, the betrayal. He’s sure you’ll leave LuthorCorp on your own. He’d find you. To find out more about what happened, to maybe even take you out for coffee. 

He’s hoping you would confide in Clark Kent.

You hear him tear through the metal. You cocoon yourself into a ball and finally succumb to your fatigue. 

…

You wake up in a hospital bed, the heart monitor beeping loudly beside your ear, making your head thrum with a headache. 

Lex was sitting next to your bed, analyzing your face as you scowled at him. He remains neutral. Your hand whips out faster than even you expected, his head whips to the side as your palm lands on his cheek. 

He rubs his jaw, amusement in his eyes. He takes your hand.

“How do you feel?”

You scoff, pulling your hand away from him. 

“I’m done.” 

He snorts, he gives you a look, as if you were stupid. Class Lex. He always makes you feel so small. So useless sometimes. 

“You’re not done,” he says, shaking his head as if he were speaking to a toddler who didn’t want to eat their vegetables. 

You sit up furiously. “I am done!” 

He doesn’t react to your tone. His eyes look over your body as he speaks. 

“You signed the contract. You work for me for another year.” 

You fume. Your hands ball into fists. He passes you your glasses but you slap the offer away. 

“Unless you want to void the contract. That’ll cost you 50,000, darling.” 

Tears well in your eyes. You couldn’t afford to void the contract, or the NDA. Or pay for legal fees if you want to get a lawyer. You stare up at the ceiling, the pillow is soft.

He holds your hand once again, this time tighter than before, not allowing you to pull away. He pulls in close next to you, he grips your chin to make you look up at him. 

“I own you.” 

He kisses your lips lightly, you face twitches in irritation. 

“You did good. We got what we needed.” 

His lips skim over the marks left by Superman, kissing the bruises and darkened spots so delicately it sent shivers down your spine. Your body soften against the mattress, giving in. 

Your hands were planted against the cushion of the medical bed as he lowered down between your legs, pulling your hospital gown up to expose your pussy. 

He groans at the sight. You let out a shaky breath and spread your legs. Your mound was swollen and as he spread your folds he could see streaky white slick drip out. 

He asked them not to clean you there as medical staff crowded over you after Superman had left.  They understood. It would make for a viable pregnancy if the sperm were to last longer inside of you. 

He licks you, sucks your cunt, slurping Superman’s cum from your gaping hole. There was so much of it. 

Your hands grip the medical bed, his head underneath your soft gown and shifting as he mouths at you. 

He’s never touched you like this, fucked you like this. 

He almost couldn’t believe it worked. Almost. Your pills were switched out months ago, there was no protection and judging by testing done on his clone. Superman’s sperm was potent. Statistically, way more potent than his own. 

He sucks your clit, you muffle a moan with the back of your hand. He stuffs the seed back into you, you succumb to a back arching climax. 

He wipes his mouth with a handkerchief and walks out of the room. 

…

You sit up in Lex’s bed. It’s been a month. 

He’d become more caring, in his own strange little ways. He broke up with his girlfriend, he asked you out on a date. 

He apologized. 

You think something was wrong with you. You stayed. You’d rather reap the benefits of a rich boyfriend than deal with the legalities of quitting your job. 

He touches you as if you were a delicate thing. Precious. You moved into his penthouse. You had access to most if not all of his belongings. 

It was fishy. You’ve asked him about why he did what he did. He said it was to collect more DNA, which was left all over the mattress. 

He wanted to create a better clone of Superman. 

You swipe through your phone, ignoring emails of this so-called Clark Kent from the Daily Planet who wants to discuss your kidnapping the month before. 

He’s been trying for weeks now. 

You trudge through the bedroom door to see Lex in the kitchen. You sniff and your stomach twists. You get closer and you have to stop. 

Bile collects in your mouth, and you rush to the bathroom. He calls out for you in concern, rushing towards you as you keel over the toilet bowl. 

“What were you making that smelled so disgusting?” you groan. His cooking skills were mediocre at best. You weren’t surprised by the horrible smell. 

“Eggs.” 

He could see the wheels turning in your head. You missed your period, but you’ve always had irregular months. 

Your ears ring, you want to puke but not from the smell of breakfast. 

Now that you thought about it. Your boobs were sore, you brushed it off as a long-term side effect of the chemicals. You were spotting for a few days. You felt off. 

You slam the door on Lex’s face and scour through the drawers underneath the sink. A fresh box of pregnancy tests was almost gleaming at you. 

You curse Lex. The bastard planned this. 

You sit on the toilet for more than two minutes. Your legs shake, your hands smooth over your thighs anxiously. 

You’re pretty sure it was Superman’s. You hoped it was just to spite Lex. 

You shake your head and put your head in your hands. You hope it wasn’t anybody’s! 

You pick up the test and close your eyes tightly. You open them and your heart drops. Your body goes cold. 

Lex gleams with joy as you scream in a mix of frustration and pent-up anxiety. You open the door and shove the test to his chest.

He watches you pack your belongings.  

It was positive. 

——————————

Baby daddy needs to lock in… Lex Luthor is so freaky I fear he would make a scheme to carry the child himself if he biologically could. Anyways, I don’t feel great about this one. Idk. Let me know if y'all want more of this reader. 

Requests and asks open! 

-Alejandra 💋 🐇

[vemathie]

thinking deeply and heavily about clark being all desperate and messy when you're just making out...

warnings: smut (mdni), pwp, sub!clark, dry humping, ruined orgasm, dirty talk.

like, that man is SO down bad. you put your lips on his, and he's already leaning back on the couch, closing his eyes and grabbing your hips. pulling you down with him, chest to chest. and the kisses at first are soft, but he still can't help the little groans that come out of his mouth into yours as your hands run down his neck and start unbuttoning his shirt.

but his brain's short-circuiting because he's hard already—goddamn, he's fucking Superman and the only thing he can't do is take control of his body when you're on top of him. (embarrassing. so fucking embarrassing.) that's his constant thought until you roll your hips down against his bulge, and any image in his mind just vanishes.

he grips your hips harder, fingers digging in and bucking up against you. the whimper falling out of him so easy. “baby, shit,” he gasps. it's so cute how he loses his mind every time.

“i know, i know,” yes, of course, you know. you feel his dick through his pants, feel it pressing, like it’s actually trying to force its way inside you already. but you would be lying if you said that you don't love this version of clark. this mess of groans and pleads and full-body shivers, like he wasn't saving the goddamn world just a few hours ago.

it's something that should be honestly studied. how the fuck does this man turns into such a puddle? his head's back on the cushion as you speed up the roll of your hips. and his voice cracks. “hah, no— stop, please,” the only thing you're able to do with that answer is smirk and kiss him harder. this time he opens his mouth like some starved chick waiting to be fed, and the second your tongue touches his—

he grabs the back of your neck, making you gasp and let out a little laugh. he's always so fucking greedy. won't even let you pull back to breathe. “you're— evil, so, so— fuck, evil,” he chokes out, hips snapping up again.

you know him like the back of your hand, you know how he sounds when he's close, how his body gets tense but his eyes go all glassy like his brain’s buffering. you know he doesn’t wanna cum in his pants like this and make a mess of them—but god, the way you’re rocking against him, moaning into his mouth, licking his tongue, tugging at his curls is just purely and innately evil. and when you press your lips to his cheek, licking a stripe down his jaw, trailing lower to his neck??

he can't take it anymore.

he gets one hand down your pants, fingers kneading your ass, pulling you harder against him. “you really love—”

you shut him up. shoving your fingers into his mouth, and he moans around them instantly. “clark,” you murmur, teeth scraping the skin of his neck. “just cum, baby,” that earns you a groan, his hips jerking like he’s trying to get away from his own orgasm, but it’s pointless now. you watch him—eyes squeezed shut, panting, sucking on your fingers like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

and then you hear it. that sound. the soft rip at the seam of his pants.

“nnghh,” he chokes on your fingers, and he's cumming hard in his boxers. ugh, again, why did i do it again? he thinks. you feel the warmth of it through the fabric, sticky, soaking his underwear, white ropes gluing him down as he throws his head back, gasping. his free hand’s clinging to the cushion until you hear the fabric tear.

“sweetheart,” he rasps, voice half-gone. “you keep making me cum like this, i’m gonna go fucking crazy.”

but you know he's not done.

because next thing you know, you’re flipped onto your back. he’s yanking his pants and ruined boxers off, his dick still semi-hard, glistening, still fucking leaking like his body doesn’t understand it’s supposed to stop.

and then—he shows you the mess. holds up his boxers like evidence.

“this is a humiliation ritual,” he deadpans. or tries to. the corner of his mouth betrays him first. even more when you laugh and blush about it, because fuck, you love this man.

his boxers are, indeed, all stained white, soaked through. “no one's gonna take me seriously if they find my boxers like this, are they?” he asks, dropping his voice, leaning closer to you as he pulls the rest of your clothes off.

you grin. “i guess not.”

“oh, you're feeling bold now?” he smiles. kissing down your stomach and tugging your panties down with greedy, shaky fingers. “wanna see how bold you feel after this.”

[faiology]

watch the headboard, baby | clark kent

synopsis: clark loses control and accidentally breaks the headboard during sex, but you stay on top—literally. i just love sub clark omg.

you had him under you again — where he belonged.

his big body sprawled across your bed, muscles loose, mouth parted, already breathless like you hadn’t even really started. the man could bench buildings, but you so much as breathed heavy against his throat and he was whining.

the best part? he loved it.

“hands where i can see them,” you murmured, running your palms slowly down his chest. “and don’t get cute.”

clark smirked. “yes, ma’am.”

he obeyed, resting his wrists by his head, fingers fisting the pillow. you knew he could lift you with one pinky, but he was always so careful. always so still when you told him to be. and tonight? he looked wrecked already — cheeks flushed, chest rising fast, thighs trembling under your knees.

you rolled your hips against him slowly, just to tease.

his breath caught. “fuck—”

“mm. already?” you smiled, dragging your nails gently down his stomach. “and here i thought superman had stamina.”

“i do,” he said, voice tight. “just… not when it’s you.”

you bit your lip, amused. “don’t fall apart too fast, baby. we’re not even close to done.”

he whimpered, actual whimpered, when you sank down on him fully. your head tipped back, breath catching in your throat, because no matter how many times you did this, it never stopped being good — the stretch, the burn, the weight of him inside you. every inch made to fill you up just right.

you leaned forward, palms flat on his chest, and started riding him slow. deliberate. taking your time.

he was falling apart already — eyes half-lidded, lips slack, those strong hands clutching the pillow like it was his only lifeline.

“you look pretty like this,” you said, breath brushing over his jaw. “all big and helpless. you like it when i make the rules?”

his hips bucked a little before he caught himself. “yes,” he whispered. “you feel so good. can’t think.”

you tilted your head, riding him deeper, harder now. “don’t think baby.”

he moaned — loud and desperate.

and then—

CRACK.

everything stopped.

you blinked. slowly looked over your shoulder.

a chunk of the headboard had snapped clean off — splinters in the wall, cracks down the frame. it looked like someone had driven a sledgehammer through the top panel.

you turned back to clark, who was staring up at you like a kicked puppy.

“…clark.”

"i got excited," he mumbled.

"you broke the damn bed."

he winced. "i can fix it?"

you arched an eyebrow. "with what, laser vision?"

“i didn’t even notice i was holding on that tight…”

you sat back on his thighs, crossed your arms, and stared at the busted headboard.

“…that’s the third bed this year.”

“i can buy you another one—”

“you’re damn right you can.”

you leaned back over him, hands pressed to either side of his head, and kissed him hard — all tongue, heat, and a low warning hum in your throat. when you pulled back, his lips were red and kiss-swollen, eyes dazed.

you smirked, then leaned down, mouth brushing his ear.

"and if you ever break a headboard again, the only thing you'll be allowed to hold onto next time is your damn knees."

he choked on air. "wait, what—?"

but you were already rolling your hips again, slow and steady, like nothing had happened. except this time, you pressed your palm to his chest and pinned him there.

“no questions, pretty boy. hands back. mouth shut.”

he obeyed without hesitation — arms back, fists gripping the pillow like his life depended on it.

and this time, you rode him slow, cruel, intentional — listening to every gasp and tremble, watching his knuckles turn white. the only sound in the room was his ragged breathing, your name under his breath like prayer, and the slow creak of the half-broken bed beneath you.

[smallvillesweetie]

now there aren’t enough people divulging into how alien clark is and i need to change that…

adult content littered into these thoughts this is also afab! reader but other than that unspecific

okay (another) disclaimer

clark is a subhuman, kryptonians are descended from humans, but if i remember correctly it was very common to genetically engineer your children on krypton so technically kryptonians are just a more developed human species - however clark or shall we say kal el was carried to term organically but that doesn’t hinder his alien anatomy

some of these thoughts are pulled directly from canon but most of them are being pulled from my very horny brain :)

firstly it is canon that clark’s glasses are hypno-glasses and that ‘he had crafted the lens of his glasses using Kryptonian plexiglass from the rocket that brought him to Earth’ which is why they are so thick - i think that they would look like more like bottle glasses than anything

it is widely accepted that clark and superman would have a uncanny valley feel about them - i mean he is an alien so if you were gonna get that feeling off of anyone it would be from the friendly extraterrestrial hero

but not only would you get a vibe i think once you were quite close with clark and the glasses that prohibited you from really SEEING anything…off…about him i think that there would be a few things that you would begin to notice like how clark’s eyes may dilate more than a normal humans would when he would look at you or talk about his interests, often looking almost completely black, like a wet seal or a puppy :( or that they would flicker almost like nystagmus, but voluntarily - constantly looking… watching… analysing, taking in every. single. detail… i can imagine the eye contact during sex would be the most captivating thing ever, forehead to forehead just completely lost in his beautiful eyes

i also think that clark would have a greater lung capacity so he wouldn’t need to breathe as much as he gets most of his energy from the sun so i think he would be a very intense kissing partner, sometimes even stealing your breath from you leaving you heaving (god if u were asthmatic you would need to have your inhaler CLOSE BY)

i think clark would do it completely unconsciously and would feel bad about it, i can see him just getting soooo lost in your kisses and the way you taste :( hes just a big alien boy doing his best

there is a plus to him having such a great lung capacity and that is that he would be a pussy eating machine - his lung capacity paired with his super stamina means that he could eat you for hours completely uninterrupted… the overstimulation would be so delicious

speaking of being delicious i think that clark would have the most beautiful cock, like ever just point blank

i can see both arguments to if clark is uncut or not, on one hand clark is kryptonian and they were fond of genetic editing so maybe they got rid of foreskin completely lmao for ‘hygienic’ reasons but on the other hand maybe they just didn’t care i’m undecided but i do know that when clark came to earth if he came uncut there was nothing that was gonna circumcise him

i think i am an uncut clark truther, i am also really into the idea of pincers on his cock (which is technically canon - i know some of you freaks have seen the comic clip going around twitter and here ;) i love the idea of like ridges or bumps on his cock too solely for pleasure - we know that kryptonians didn’t have children naturally so perhaps sex was just a solely pleasurable act

i also love the idea of clark having hyperspermia (nerd speak for bucket loads of cum coming from his balls) i won’t try and put a canonical spin on this one people this is purely a self service because i am a cum freak i think it is the hottest thing…those creampies would go crazy…

this post was wayyyy longer than expected if anyone wants me to expand on any of these thoughts i will find the power to do so

[atrwriting]

late nights — clark kent x reader

hey yall i’m a bit rusty but i wanted to try my hand at the latest and greatest

summary: clark can’t sleep and wakes you up

as always, warnings: rough and desperate clark, sub!reader, p in v penetration, rough sex, dirty talk, overstimulation to the max because i’m a dog

minors fuck off

barely edited we die like men

———

clark kent couldn’t sleep.

he was burning up, specifically. skin fire to the touch, moistening the back of his neck. the room felt like it was a million degrees. he glanced over at you — unsure of how you could possibly be sleeping so soundly, so comfortably. it irritated him, which was odd — clark kent was not someone to get irritated, nor was he the type to get irritated about something he had no right to be irritated about.

he just couldn’t help it. he also couldn’t help staring.

the heat from his own gaze seemed to be felt by you as you began to stir in your sleep. you reached out for him — a cool hand searching between the sheets for his warm skin. he found you in a moment, letting the cool skin of your fingers dance across his own.

“how can i make you feel better, baby?” you whispered into the dark. “you’re so warm.”

“want you so bad, sweetheart…” he whispered against your skin.

he wanted to be nice. he wanted to whisper sweet things into your ear, like he did most nights. he wanted to be the nice, sweet, farm boy that everyone loved him as — but even clark kent was selfish sometimes. clark had found his way between your thighs — holding them open with his hips. your lips immediately tried to catch his in a chaste kiss, needing to feel him. his fingers were frantic — yanking off your barely there pajama shorts. maybe he should’ve been embarrassed for how desperate he was, but he didn’t care. clark kent needed you bare.

“‘m so cold, baby,” you spoke, clinging to him.

“i’ll keep you warm, darlin’,” he spoke, before sheathing himself inside you. “c’mere.”

the moment he entered you was the moment he pulled a gasp from the back of your throat. you had barely woken from exhaustion — still hazy from sleep, but now also hazy with want. with need. with desire. being so vulnerable like you were made you want to cling to clark for all he was worth, and have him ruin you in the exact way you both liked.

with his second thrust, he dipped into the crook of your neck. he spat, “fuck —“ before he could thrust once more. he radiated warmth, wrapping you in it, every grind of his hips was another way of telling you how needy he was. how desperate. it sent shivers up your spine the way you could make the strongest, most powerful man on this planet need something so intimate.

once he had hit that spot so deep inside you, it was your turn to show him how needy you were. how greedy. clark loved your little whines — he got off on hearing how dumb he could make you from just his fingers and cock. shame crept up beneath the cracks — he was supposed to be superman, he was supposed to be good — but it was so hard to care about any of that when he felt so selfish. when you loved how selfish he was. when you were so perfect and supple beneath him, begging him to ruin you.

“right there, yes —“ you whispered into the dark, for only his ears. “clark, baby — need it, need…”

“that’s it, sweetheart? hmm? right there?” he spoke, almost tauntingly, holding one of your hips in his hand as he held himself up with the other. the roll of his hips was punishing — slow enough that he could keep his wits about him, but deep enough that you couldn’t keep your own wits about you. he didn’t care. he couldn’t even bring himself to. it was about him right now. “just can’t stop… it’s too good, baby. you open up so well for me. just gonna have to take it.”

“i can take it, clark,” you whispered, letting your fingertips glide over his muscles.

oh, you were so polite. so fucking perfect, pliant, and polite. he could just take a bite out of you. someone as perfect as you couldn’t possibly expect him to remain well mannered. with those tiny shorts? with those perfect legs that opened just for him? with those sweet lips that told him how much you needed?

“i should be nicer to you, pretty girl —” he spat, snapping his hips. “just can’t help it right now. not when you’re like this — you love when i use you?”

“yes, clark —“ you cried in his ear, clinging onto him. taking everything he gave you like the sweet little thing you were. “use me, please. want you mean. please, clark — be mean.”

“fuck —“ he growled into your ear, making you shiver.

your pretty thighs were spread just for him, allowing his wet cock to slip in between your folds. your walls clamped down onto him as you stole a kiss from his swollen red lips. his hand found its way to that pretty bud that rested at the top of your folds, drawing messy circles on it — just how you liked it.

you cried into his shoulder, loving how he took complete control of you. letting clark use you felt so fulfilling — him needing something from you and being so desperate for it that it drove him insane. he forgot all manners. forgot all niceties. forgot every responsibility that weighed on his strong shoulders just so you could bite down on them when he made you feel oh so good. the only thing that remained on his mind was you. how much he loved you. how much he needed you. how much he needed you to ruin him as much as you needed him to ruin you. who could blame clark? who could blame you?

not you, that’s for sure. your hips were stirring against his and his hand. with his cock slipping in and out of you and his fingers playing against you, you couldn’t help but bite down on your lip to suppress your moans. you would’ve sounded so pathetic beneath clark, crying out of pleasure. you couldn’t embarrass yourself just yet, wanting to hold it together.

“come on, baby,” he grit. “whine for me — please. can you do that? love those sounds you make.”

“clark —“ you cried, immediately giving in. “it’s too much — i’m — i’m gonna —“

“i know you can take it, doll,” he spoke against your lips. “please show me? yeah? for me?”

you were nodding through your tears, mind going numb. “you make me so sensitive, clark —“ you cried. “drive me crazy.”

he could feel the warmth in his lower abdomen start to build. it was tightening, tightening, and tightening — letting him know he was close and how the darkest parts of him wanted to fill you up and keep you full. you’d let him, he knew you would. you’d look up at him with glossy eyes, and oh so satisfied. he shouldn’t, he wouldn’t — but he wanted to.

clark could also feel how close you were. he watched as his cock slipped in and out of you, hitting that spot only he could see. the spot that drove you crazy.

“i know you can feel that, baby, how deep i am,” he whispered, staring at where his cock entered. “just hurts so good, huh?”

all at once, it felt like something in your lower abdomen snapped. every single muscle of yours tightened as you threw your head back against the pillow as clark held you firm and down, never letting you run away from being able to ride out your orgasm.

“there she is,” he’d grit. “that’s right — that’s my girl, keep going.”

tears couldn’t help but leak from your closed eyes. your skin began to feel hot to the touch, not unlike how clark’s had felt earlier. and still, his fingers that drew shapes on you wouldn’t relent. you began to shake from the comedown and how clark tried to bring you right back up with him.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he rasped. “when you’re already so sensitive?”

“c-clark —“ you weeped.

“i know, baby,” he cooed. “i know — just one more —“

he brought you to another earth shattering orgasm moments later. he left you breathless against the bed, eyes rolling back into your head. stars were the only thing that occupied your consciousness as your body began to twitch and shake from the pleasure, all while trying to catch your breath.

but clark wasn’t finished.

selfish as he was, he couldn’t help but want to make you finish twice before he filled you.

and he felt so guilty for being so selfish — he so, so did… sweet thing like you deserved love and care and gentle movements, he thought. he could be better — should be better. he just couldn’t help himself. he would be so mean to deny you something you begged and cried for.

he let your upper back fall to the bed as he grabbed both of your hips in both of his hands, slamming your hips into his. his cock thrust in and out of you as the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest bulged. veins were on display, firm and prominent. clark could feel his blood pumping harder than ever before, trying to chase the same release that every other muscle in his body was trying to get to. his eyes were screwed shut as he clenched his jaw, the tiniest bit of sweat collecting around his hairline. clark kent finally felt that pull in his abdomen, and knew he was close. so close, so fucking close. you could hear small pants from above where you lay — desperate breaths that let you know that the strongest man ever was about to crumble above you and fill you with everything he had.

he came with a growl, still slamming his hips into yours as he rode out as his orgasm. his cock felt so good — so deep inside you as your walls clung to him, not wanting to let him go. you couldn’t help but stare at his face — the way it flushed with exertion and then relief. the look of release caused his mouth to hang open slightly, and for a dazed and glossed over look to take over his beautiful eyes.

you smiled up at clark as he pulled out, leaving you dripping.

you loved making him feel better.

———

does this suck :/ love yall ty for reading <3 -L xoxo

[barnesdreamcatcher]

pull-out game 2/10

⟢ 2 points for effort, nothing else

clark kent x f!reader

cw: smut (mdni, 18+), unprotected p in v, failed pullout, clark is very sorry

“Baby, c’mon, it’ll feel so much better for both of us,” Clark whines into your ear.  “You know condoms are always so tight, and I promise- I swear I’ll pull out.”

And god, it does feel so much better when he rolls off the condom and sinks his cock into your wet heat raw. Clark gasps and nuzzles his face in your chest as he buries himself to the hilt, breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he whimpers, “Oh- fu- oh, god- this is… oh my god.” He slowly pulls his hips back and groans deeply. “I can feel you, every inch of you, like… like… oh fuck,” he trails off.  “You feel so- oh my- oh- fucking good. All warm- and- and so fucking wet, like you- oh my-,”

None of his sentences make sense that night. Just praises after praises, mixed with profanities that he would usually not even look at. But right now he is in heaven despite all the sins committed. Just your tight walls, clenching and dripping around him, pulling him in, pulsing, hugging his cock like they were made for him – and they were. 

You feel his hot breath quicken, your orgasm fast approaching at the same time. “Clark,” you manage to moan between thrusts that have the whole bed shaking, “Clark- I’m gon-gonna cum.”

“Yes, baby, please,” he murmurs, drunk on nothing but the feel of you, “Wanna feel you clamp down on me, please, cum for me.”

“You- oh god- you gotta pull out, yeah?” You remind him, surprisingly clear headed for someone whose stomach is already tightening, legs already shaking. 

“I swear,” he replies eagerly and rolls his hips harder, right against your g-spot. 

You can do nothing but lie there, thighs spasming, lips parted in a silent scream and walls narrowing down on Clark’s dick. 

He moans like it hurts, and maybe it does a little. “Fuck,” he whines, pressing his head into your shoulder, “So good, baby.” His hips speed up and you can tell he’s chasing his own release now. Your lips are already forming his name, tongue twisting around the sound of it, but a broken groan spills from his lip and then you feel it – the sudden tension in his entire body, followed by slow, creeping warmth, spilling into you while he’s buried so deep that your stomach bulges. 

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, god, fuck, sorry,” he whispers but he’s still cumming, still trembling inside of you, still rocking back and forth a little. Then he sinks down on your breasts, face straight into the soft flesh. “Sorry,” he mumbles again. And you can’t help yourself – you forgive your boy. 

“’s okay,” you mutter, running your hands through his hair while he smothers himself with your tits – you weren’t sure if it was an action of remorse or an attempt to soothe himself.

“You just feel so good, I couldn’t… I couldn’t pull out. Not when heaven’s right between your thighs.”

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