It's been a long ten months for Frank Langdon. Rehab, endless meetings to prove he's fit for his job, and losing you.
It's his own fault. He knows that. He couldn't handle the pressure of his entire life going to shit, and combusted, destroying your life in the process. If things had gone to plan, the two of you would've been married by now. Instead, you're near strangers, and Frank doesn't know how long he can watch you date a guy that absolutely doesn't deserve you.
Until you turn up on his doorstep, with nowhere else to go after being kicked out by your ex.
And so, Frank Langdon's second chance begins.
warnings: 18+, mdni! this fic will feature medical gore, a little bit of violence, and explicit sex. more detailed warnings on each chapter individually
You and dennis woke up late this morning, but you miraculously now have a few minutes to kill before your shift. What could possibly happen in 10 minutes?
wc: 1,642
warnings: dry humping—semi public (they’re in the car but in a parking garage), r is a freak who js wants her man (real), getting caught, hickies, pet names (angel, baby, love) santos n langdon getting along??? (sort of)
an: HI GUYS!! NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED!!
i have another whitaker fic in the works in case y’all fw him. s/o to my gf for inspiring me to make this bc she loves whitaker (me tew). more abbot coming soon too :p
feedback is always welcomed! feel free to send requests as well :]
Imagine making out with Dennis in your car, parked in the PTMC parking garage.
The pair of you had woken up late, so there was absolutely no time for your pre-shift, morning quickie—much to your dismay.
Luckily, though, traffic was q—not bad, which gave you and your fiancé about 10 minutes in the car.
He parked towards the corner, which is out of the ordinary for him, but there was no way he’d be able to survive a 12 hour shift without getting his hands on you.
And you felt the same way, so it worked out.
Dennis kisses you passionately as you straddle him in the driver’s seat. His hands glide from the back of your neck to your spine, and then eventually the curve of your ass.
You can’t help but moan in delight once he gives you a firm squeeze—almost as if he needed to in order to breathe.
Between your shared kisses and Dennis’ light panting, you’re sure the windows are starting to fog up. Barely any light enters the car between the dimly lit parking garage and the sun that is slow to wake. He can’t see all of your lovely features because of the shadows’ influx—but what he can see makes his heart skip a beat and his pants start to twitch.
Eyelashes tickle his cheeks as your closed eyes flutter ever-so slightly. Your urgency brings your brows to furrow; Dennis’ hand goes to caress the side of your face then lightly brushes the lobe of your ear. His touch reminds you of a dandelion that sways through the sky: both gentle and faint.
Your hands grip his scrubs tightly, as if your world were crumbling and your icy-blue-eyed man was your only salvation.
Once Dennis feels you start to pull away, he lets out a noise akin to a whine, murmuring a soft ‘no’ against your lips.
“Time check?” You ask breathily with a love-struck grin and a twinkling gaze before diving back into the enchanting pool that is Dennis’ lips.
He peers over your shoulder at the digital clock, blinking simultaneously as it shines the numbers ‘6:55’.
Dennis parts briefly to murmur, “Five minutes.”
You scan his face, eyes glinting with something Dennis reckons is far from innocence. “Think I can get you off in five?” You ask with an experimental roll of your hips. The doctor that sits beneath you groans and immediately places his hands on your hips, halting you from moving any more. “Jesus—” he huffs. “Y-you and I both know you can—oh god…” A gasp rips from his parted mouth.
He clears his throat sharply. “Angel, I cannot be two minutes i-into my shift and already change my scrubs..!” Dennis sighs as your tongue licks the side of his neck. “They’ll—mmn! They’ll know, baby,” Dennis whispers, because he knows that anything louder will display his growing need for you.
Your grinding stops and it takes everything in Dennis not to whine. You take your index finger and drag it down the slope of his nose, watching as his slightly glossy eyes follow your movements carefully.
“If you want me to stop, then I will, love.”
Dennis swallows, taking another peak at the clock.
6:57.
Three minutes until the two of you had to waltz into the ED and pretend as if you weren’t dry humping in the car.
Dennis knows his boner isn’t going away without a little help in three minutes.
“Oh fuck—please—” Dennis grits through his teeth before rolling your hips on his lap. You sigh and let your head tilt back for a second. Dennis grinds up into you with hurried movements; his chest rises and falls quickly as he pants.
“Fuck,” you whisper with an inhale. One of Dennis' hands lightly presses on your back, pushing you to the crook of his neck. “Oh god…” Dennis groans, voice oozing with rasp.
You lean back into him, kissing his lips with feverish intent. You’re starting to lose where you stop and where Dennis begins, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.
That is, until the harsh rocking of your hips results in your ass hitting the steering wheel.
Specifically the horn.
“Holy—”
“Jesus chr—”
Teeth clash into each other; foreheads bump; curses leave mouths in flurried strings.
You’re quick to raise from Dennis' neck, gasping for air as you look down in shock. He looks equally as perplexed, but his stare bores over your shoulder.
You glance back and your eyes widen to the size of a saucer.
The corner of the parker garage is now being illuminated by the hazard lights on Dennis' car, which somehow turned on in your panicked frenzy.
You whip your head around the opposite way, nearly giving yourself whiplash as your finger scrambles to the button.
You feel Dennis sit up beneath you, and the two of you sigh in relief once the lights stop their blinking. You pinch your eyes shut, and when you open them, you take a second to look out of the windshield.
That’s when you realize that it didn’t matter how quickly you turned the hazards off—because the damage had already been done.
In front of you stands none other than Frank Langdon, who completely fails—though you don’t think he’s trying—to mask his state of pure and utter disbelief.
His shoulders are wound up tight; his palms face outwards, as if his astonishment won’t allow him to even close his fists; and if it were possible, his jaw would be completely on the floor.
You feel Dennis stiffen underneath you, and all you can do is gape at Frank like a fish out of water. The car is dead silent—you and Dennis can’t even let out a peep through your bated breath.
The brunette’s eyes flicker between you and Dennis before a mischievous smirk fixes its way onto his chiseled face.
“No—no,” you exclaim worrisomely, holding your hand out to the glass for Frank to ‘wait’ as he starts to walk backwards. You fumble to gather your bearings before opening the driver’s seat door.
Dennis sputters, “Wait! Baby—” but before he can finish, you’re hopping out of the car, trekking after the senior resident with ferocity Dennis has never seen you exhibit.
He sighs, running a hand over his face before adjusting his scrubs as he listens to the sound of your ranting grow faint.
Dennis comes in at 7:02 with his head down and an unusual pep in his step.
“Running from the cops, Huckleberry?” Trinity snorts when he passes by, but he doesn’t have the will to respond.
Despite the wave of doctors rolling in, Dennis finds himself relieved when he makes it back to the central hub without another question thrown in his direction.
“Hey, Prince Charming!” Frank chirps.
You hiss in Frank's direction. You want to walk over to Dennis when you hear him groan, but you decide to look at your clipboard for the upteenth time—you totally weren’t re-reading each word on the page waiting for Dennis to walk in. absolutely not!
Frank crosses his arms, glancing at his watch before setting his sights on your fiancé. “Few minutes late, Whitaker. Everything alright this morning?”
“Just fine,” Dennis mutters with annoyance.
Trinity muses, “Doesn’t sound fine.”
Frank suddenly laughs—it’s both loud and obnoxious. “Holy shit, Whitaker! Doesn’t look fine either, look at that!”
Both you and Dennis freeze as if the world had stopped. Your eyes shoot up to him and the two of you quickly discover the red-ish mark that adorns the side of his neck.
You’re too far away to see the teeth marks as well, but Trinity isn’t.
She’s quick to exclaim, “No fucking way!” This causes a few heads to turn, including Robby's as he looks over quizzedly for a beat. Dennis immediately shushes Trinity with a finger to his lips and a hand shooting outwards.
“Both of you keep it down, please!”
Frank hums. “Bet you couldn’t keep it down in the car with Sunshine, huh, Dennis?"
Trinity guffaws, “Oh-ho, this is good!” She leans in—which is an unusual sight for you all.
Frank murmurs, despite Dennis' protesting, “Saw those two getting frisky in the parking garage like 10 minutes ago.” he points between you and Dennis, and suddenly you’re fascinated by the boring paint color of the Pitt. “Clumsy asses honked the horn,” he adds with a snicker.
Trinity has a cocky grin on her face. “Y’know, this is the first time you’ve proven yourself useful,” she says, watching as the smirk on Frank's face dim slightly whilst he tilts his head at her.
“But you two,” she whips her head around in your direction since Dennis had gradually gravitated towards you, her ponytail swishing with her every move. “You two—are bad,” she huffs a laugh.
Frank hears his name called from the opposite direction and starts to head over, but not before grinning and saying, “Next time you decide to bring your sexcapades to work, bring some concealer, yeah?”
You clear your throat instantly, looking down at your clipboard. Dennis' face beats cherry red, making Trinity laugh once again before pulling her phone out from the pocket of her scrubs.
She then takes a picture of Dennis' face before he can stop her. “This is laugh of the week, Huckleberry! Oh my god!” She then struts away with a newfound sense of joy.
“So,” Dennis whistles, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tick of his that stemmed from Robby. “It could be worse…”
Dana then makes her presence known, peering over her glasses. “Kid, nothing could be worse than getting caught in a supply closet.” She then walks away with a small smirk gracing her lips, leaving both you and Dennis to stutter out in defense.
Yeah, next time, you’ll leave the quickies for the mornings at home.
nsfw! (18+) cw: soft dom!art donaldson, sub!reader, afab/fem reader, porn w/ a little plot, penetrative sex, unsafe sex/pullout method, slight edging (reader!receiving), equal desperation, praise, general filth, art is a softie until he's not
wc: 4.2 k
*does not include challengers spoilers!*
prev. art donaldson fic : <3 here <3
It was currently 11 PM in the state of New York, and Art Donaldson was in your hotel room.
-
Earlier today, you had competed in a long singles tennis tournament for a cash prize, and had beat every other girl in the bracket. You walked away from it with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket than you had walked in with, and a smug grin on your glossy lips.
Art Donaldson had competed in a similar tournament at the same venue, except it involved doubles teams playing against one another. He had played with his typical partner, Patrick Zweig, and they, too, had beat everyone in their bracket.
Tomorrow, they would be playing against one another to determine the ultimate winner.
You had watched them play, and they had watched you play too.
After the venue had shut down for the night, you had begun to wander back to your hotel a few blocks away and coincidentally bumped into the two boys heading back to the same building.
You three talked—or rather, they had buttered you up with compliments as you all went up the elevator, and suddenly you were in their hotel room drinking cheap beer from cold metal cans.
They both flirted relentlessly with you for about an hour or two, before Patrick had called it a night (and had given up on trying to woo you) and told you and Art that he was going to sleep.
Art had given you a look and nodded towards their room's door with a small smile, silently suggesting something. Thirty seconds later the both of you were standing alone in the hotel hallway. He chatted you up and praised your tennis-playing for about ten more minutes, his blue eyes staring into yours with an earnest desire to hold your attention. You had laughed and flushed with a nervous heat while he sang your praises, and then a bout of silence came over the two of you. He looked down to his shoes, letting out a soft chuckle, and then back up to your eyes.. and then down to your lips. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above made the silence seem more tense than it already was.
After tossing the reality of this interaction around in your head, you had realized that his kind, sensitive, charming persona was effectively rendering you weak in the knees..
"You're really pretty, by the way.. i don't know if i've said that yet, but you are," he had spoken in the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the wall as a lock of his strawberry-blonde curls hung in the center of his forehead.
And that was it.
Five minutes later he was in your hotel room.
-
The both of you kicked your shoes off in the doorway, and then moved to sit on the edge of your hotel room bed. Your chest and hands felt strangely hot as the young, talented tennis player sat there next to you. After a few moments of shared bashful glances, you started to notice things about him that you hadn't before.
Sometimes when he smiled, only one corner of his lips would lift up. When that happened, it looked more like he was smirking than he was smiling, which made him seem either disingenuous or disinterested -- even though it seemed that neither of those things were true.
He smelled like generic aftershave, faint sweat, and warm skin, which was a pleasant contrast to the smell of the hotel room. While the hotel was clean, it was also old, which made the permeating scent of the carpet akin to something like the stale basement of a childhood home.
He fidgeted subtly with his hands, staring into your eyes before averting them to look around at your luggage and tennis bag on the floor.
"So.. you said you're going to Stanford this fall, right?" you say, leaning back on your palms.
"Yeah, yeah," he nods, turning his head to look back to you again with a sheepish smile, “and you’re going to Harvard?”
“Mhm,” you hum, smiling back at him, “is Patrick going with you?”
He laughs a little, his brows furrowing, “Patrick? Hell no.”
You shake your head, “why not?”
“Patrick isn’t the college type. He wants to go pro immediately.”
“Ohh.. right, I forgot he mentioned that.”
“Yeah,” Art shrugs, still giving you a soft look as he shifts a little in his spot on the end of the mattress.
“I think you’re better off at Stanford without him,” you tease slightly, a playful smirk on your face.
He smiles wider, “Why?”
“I think he’d just get you into trouble,” you chuckle.
Art laughs again, a tiny bit harder than he did before, and you’re not sure if it’s because he genuinely likes your playfulness or if it’s because he’s a little nervous.
"You don't think I can cause trouble?" he asks with a small smile.
You shake your head after letting a soft giggle bubble up and out of your chest in response.
"Nah, not really."
"Why's that?"
"You're just so.. so nice."
He scoffs lightly and gently rolls his eyes, reaching up to tuck some of his messy hair behind one of his ears. He chews a little on the inside of his cheek.
"What?" you laugh.
"Everyone me and Patrick meet thinks he's this cool 'bad-boy' and I'm just this.. meek little 'nice guy'," he chuckles, matching your body language now by also leaning back on his palms.
Your smile falters slightly when he does this, but only because now the sleeve of his gray tee shirt was brushing against your bare shoulder, and your faces were a short distance apart. If you tried, you could probably just lean in and kiss him..
"It's not a bad thing to be a nice guy," you smirk, continuing your guys' little back-and-forth.
"Yeah, but there's, like, connotations behind that idea of a guy."
"What 'connotations'?"
He lets out a stiff chuckle, averting his eyes down to his legs before he returns your eye contact once again as he speaks, "I don't know.. that I'm 'shy', or that i 'cant be assertive'.."
You smile, feeling another wave of warmth creep over your stomach just from the way he was looking at you. His eyes were soft but steadily looking into yours, and each second felt like three years.
"So you're saying that those assumptions aren't true?" you tease gently, subtly moving to lean your shoulder against his. He noticed this immediately.
"God!" he laughs, slightly offended but still playing along, "do they seem true?"
"No," you say a bit softer with a smile, your eyes unintentionally drifting down to his pink lips. He noticed this too.
"Okay, good," he leans in a little more, your lips only a handful of inches apart now ".. 'cause they're definitely not."
"Really?" you chuckle, still teasing him.
He nods, "Really, really."
You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your ribcage, and then you started to wonder if he could hear it. Your lips part, little breaths being let out as you lean in an extra two inches. He smirks, and then you feel him move his right hand off of the bed and over your thigh. Its gentle and almost hesitant; giving you the opportunity to say 'no' if you wanted to.. but you didn't. you definitely didn't want to say no.
Your breathing hitches a little and your thighs shift slightly to capture his fingers between your limbs, and he looks steadily into your eyes as his digits squeeze your flesh softly.
"I'm not that shy," he murmurs lowly.
And then his lips are on yours, hot and hungry and eager to please. Your brows furrow as you kiss him back with equal ferocity, and his other hand moves to gently cup your cheek.
His tongue lathes over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth wider so that he can slide it in and taste you better. He groans softly against your smooth, parted lips, his hand between your thighs sliding up to press his palm against your clothed heat. A shaky, barely audible moan escapes your lips as this happens, and he swallows it down as he kisses you harder.
Art's hands then move to slide under your athletic tank top, and he pulls away with lidded eyes to mumble lowly and warmly against your jaw, "can I take this off?"
You nod feverishly, breathing heavily, as you lift your arms above your head while he pulls your shirt up and over. He tosses it aside once it's off like it's trash to him, and then he's diving back in to kiss and suck and nip at your neck. You're sure that he'll leave marks, but you can't find the strength or willpower to deny how hot it would be to look in the mirror later and see all of the little red blotches that his pretty mouth left behind. A few soft "ahh"s and "oh"s slip from your parted lips as his tongue flicks over your pulse point like it’s a clit, and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. Without further warning, both of his hands slide up to grope your breasts over your sports bra, and your back arches instantly.
"I want to see more of you," Art whispers against your neck, one of his hands moving back to gently grope your thigh right under the hem of your shorts, while his other starts to hook one of his fingers under the elastic band of your bra.
"Yeah, yes," you mumble and nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his silky tongue lap gently over the sensitive spot on your lower neck again.
He pulls back, his lips shiny with his own saliva, and he lets out a small huff of air as he stands up from the bed and shifts to stand in front of where you're trembling on the edge of it.
Your eyes meet his, and you now fully realize that his whole "nice guy" thing was a facade.. maybe it was just a protective cloak he put on until he got comfortable..
Regardless, he looked different now as he stood in front of you, breathing heavily as his gaze drank in the sight of your body. He takes a step closer, his knees touching the end of the bed as his legs stood steadily between yours. He looks down, shifting his left knee to push your legs farther apart, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a whine.
Not a moment later, he's reaching down to pull your tight sports bra over your head. It drops from his grasp onto the floor, his breathing hitches as he looks down at your exposed chest, and then his hands are moving to roughly knead and squeeze at your soft flesh underneath his palms. You shudder and bite your lip. He thumbs your nipples.
His eyes move back up to return your gaze, and he leans down and starts to crawl on top of you, his body gently coaxing yours to lay back flat over the patterned comforter. You don't need a verbal cue from him to know what he wants and what his goal is; his body did all the talking -- just like it did when he played tennis.
"Fuck," he breathes out, his erection straining against the inside of his boxers as it presses against your bare abdomen. A lift of your hips is all the indication he needs from you to tell him that you're as desperate for this as he is right now, and so he gingerly begins to slide one of his hands down the front of your shorts. His touch dips under the waistband, and then before you can process the sensation, you realize that he's moving down into your panties too. One thing that you are painfully aware of, though, is the fact that he never tries to break eye contact while he does all this..
"Ahh.." you moan, your brows pinching up as you feel his warm fingertips brush over your throbbing, sensitive nub. He was hardly touching you, but it was enough to get the fire roaring in your guts. It was more than enough. He knew all the right ways to touch you.. and all the right spots to squeeze and caress.. which seemed crazy considering you two had never spoken to one another until about three or so hours ago.
He smiles gently, his eyes now moving to gaze down at your lips. The pads of Art's fingers begin to play with your clit, rubbing soft and incessant circles over the ball of nerves as you start to squirm on the bed. His head leans back down to kiss your neck and your hands shakily grab onto his shoulders. A laugh escapes him, coating your flesh in a bath of warm air, while he feels your nails dig into him. Even over the fabric of his cotton tee shirt he can feel this, and he winces slightly before the sting of your grip dissolves into pleasure and he starts to moan along with you.
A few more minutes of this go on, and the band in your stomach is stretched more and more until it feels like it's about to snap, and then-
"I really want to fuck you right now," Art murmurs against your skin, his fingers coming to a pause as he pulls his face from the crook of your neck to look down into your dazed eyes.
You blink a few times, feeling the numbing pressure in your pussy start to fade as he unintentionally edges you.
"yes, please.. I want you to.." you softly whimper, your hands reaching up to needily tug at his shirt.
"I don't have a condom," he whispers breathlessly, shaking his head softly as his gaze falls onto your lips now.
"I.." you pause, taking a second to breathe as you attempt to think over the predicament you're now in, "uhm.. I- well, I don't really care.. as long as you pull out.."
It's almost as if just the idea of him being able to be inside of you—skin to skin; raw—sets him off, because the moment the words leave your mouth, he's letting out soft breathy moans and grinding his clothed pelvis against your thigh. You can feel him throbbing through the fabric, and now you're certain you can't wait much longer. Neither can he.
Your hands pull on his shirt again, forcing his face back down close to yours, "I want you inside of me.."
A groan and a grunt later, he's scrambling to pull his shirt off, and then his shorts, and then his strong calloused hands are gently tugging yours down as well. Art doesn't want to waste time on the act of undressing. Sure, he liked being tender and going slow most times, but this occasion was different. The more that he felt himself leaking into his underwear, the more he needed to feel your silky cunt grip around his cock. Maybe if he got your number after all this, he could go slow next time, but not now. Not when he's like this and you're like that.
When your panties are pulled down with your shorts, Art lets out a groan as he sees the fabric connecting with your delicate flesh via a glistening string of arousal from your heat.
"Jesus Christ," he huffs, his tongue moving to dip out over his bottom lip involuntarily. He pushes your shorts and panties down the rest of the way, and you urgently kick them off onto the room's carpet.
After he moves back up, one of his hands reaches down once again to your cunt. His fingers gently brush over your slicked-up folds, causing your body to jolt and shudder as you struggle to remain quiet. In the next instant, you feel his touch leave your body and you watch in awe as he brings his digits up to his lips and sucks your juices off of them. He rolls your wetness around over his tongue and his eyes roll back a little. He can't help it—you just taste so fuckin' good.
"Art," you whisper, your voice dissolving into a soft whine, "c'mon.. just- I want you to-"
You're cut off when the man hovering over your form moves his fingers from his mouth and down to yours, effectively shutting you up.
"Suck," he whispers.
You do as you're told instantly, parting your lips to engulf his middle and ring finger in wet heat; your drool pools over his fingertips as your tongue swirls around them and tastes the mix of his saliva and the remnants of your arousal.
He watches with bated breath as you do this, his eyes never leaving your face, and he can’t stop himself from pushing his hard, clothed dick against your bare cunt. Your eyes flutter. A string of whimpers echo out into the room from your chest, and you can feel more of your wetness slide down from your entrance.
Art keeps his fingers in your mouth as he uses his other hand to pull his hard-on out of his black boxer briefs, groaning as he taps your clit with the tip of it a few times. Each time his leaking cockhead touches your sensitive parts, your hips buck up. He didn't think it was physically possible to get as turned on as he was right then.
He shifts his pelvis back so that he can slide his dick over your sticky body, not pushing in quite yet, but just teasing your greedy hole. The feeling of your heady moans around his fingers cause them to vibrate, and he leans down close to your face on instinct.
Your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes blink open and you whimper as he uses his digits to gently force your lips to part so that he can shove his tongue past them. Art licks at the inside of your mouth, groaning while he subtly removes his fingers and brings them down to your clit once more. He slots your bundle of nerves between his index and middle finger, sliding them up and down to effectively stroke over your most sensitive area as you feel his cock prodding at your hole.
While his tongue laps over yours, his mouth eagerly swallowing the obscenely loud moans you're letting out as your climax approaches once again, he begins to slide his tip into you. Your eyes instantly open wide before your face scrunches up in pleasure and your hands desperately paw at his shoulders.
He slides in another inch.
And another.
And then two more.
And then he bottoms out completely, filling you wholly with his twitching length as he pulls his face back from your lips to gasp softly.
You look up at him as his brows furrow, and you wriggle underneath him as he lets out a soft growl.
"You're so tight.. shit, you feel so good," he murmurs lowly, his eyes on yours as he starts to slide himself slowly back out before thrusting back in. You can feel him hit your cervix. You'd let him bruise it if he wanted to.
And he wants to.
"Fuck me harder," you moan softly.
"Yeah?" he smirks, breathing heavily.
"Yeah."
He leans up so that his back is straight, and he gazes down at you while he slides his hands under your form to gingerly cup your lower back.. and then he's pounding into you without further warning.
Your back arches up from his hold, and every thrust of his thick cock into your cunt is sending explosions of numbing heat throughout your lower half.
Each movement of his hips results in a lewd squelch as his pelvis slaps into the underside of your ass, and every movement sends you closer and closer to the edge. He's groaning and moaning above you, watching your every move as you squirm around and take him properly. You want to be good for him; he can tell.
Whimpers and needy whines are forced out of you as he fucks you with abandon into the mattress, and your mind is forced back into reality once you feel his hands move from your back to your sensitive tits.
"Are you gonna cum? You're squeezing down on me," he breathes out, a loud groan cutting his words off as he tips his head back. His thrusts grow sloppier, "oh god, oh fff-u-uck.."
"Ye— Uhh- Ahh-!" you hoarsely and brokenly moan out, unable to fully give him an answer. Your hands fist the cool sheets under you as your legs start to involuntarily squeeze together with the onslaught of your impending orgasm.
Art brings his head back up to look down at you, and he shakes his head, sliding his hands down from your breasts to your legs to lift them up and spread them apart gently but forcefully.
"Keep them spread.. I know you're close," he says softly to you, "I promise I'll let you come.. just keep being good for me.. I'm almost there.."
Once his words fill your fuzzy head, you can't help but let out an obscenely loud—borderline-pornographic—moan as your thighs shake in his hold. His cock slams into you faster, but with less and less precision. He bites his lip before his jaw slacks and he lets out an equally loud moan to accompany your filthy noises.
"You're so fucking pretty... you're so— you feel so damn good," he babbles gruffly, his touch digging into your legs as his hips rashly thrust his throbbing length in and out of your sopping pussy.
You nod, unsure of what to say or how to even respond in the state that your body is in. You're somehow limp and tense at the same time, your body shivering as your back arches up again.
"I— I'm gonna—!" you gasp out in a shaky whimper.
He moans at your words, fucking you deeper and messier, before he leans down over you and you can feel his broad toned chest press against yours.
"Say it.." he breathes out against your ear in a soft groan.
You moan, shuddering under him as your cunt starts to rhythmically tighten around him.
"I'm gonna cum," you whine, nearly sobbing.
"Fuck," he groans, "yeah? Say it again for me."
"I'm gonna cummm-!"
"You wanna cum on my cock?"
You nod helplessly, your arms wrapped around his flushed upper back as his cock slides in and out of you; his tip constantly brushing up against that special spot in your velvety walls hidden just a couple inches inside.
"Yess-s-!" you moan, your body absolutely writhing on the bed under his heavy form.
"Okay.. alright," he breathes out hotly into your neck, "go on and cum for me."
Before you can process what's going on, your body is overwhelmed with an overpowering heat as the last thing you distinctly feel is one of Art's hands moving down your lower abdomen to then rub circles over your swollen bud with his thumb. And that's all it takes — you’re thrown over the edge.
"Fuck! OH MY GOD, OH—!" you cry out, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you through your climax.
He groans harshly and loudly against your warm skin before his hips stutter with the feeling of your hole pulsing around him. He keeps his digit rubbing incessant, soft circles over your clit to prolong your orgasm as he forces himself to pull out with a gasp.
His balls draw up and he reaches down quickly with his other hand to stroke over his length just as he feels his release start to rise up.
As you moan tremblingly and bask in your afterglow, you try to catch your breath as you shakily push yourself up onto your elbows just in time to watch Art squirt out a thick load over your torso. Rope after rope of sticky white fluid drips and gushes from his cock and between his fingers as he jerks himself off; shuddering deeply over you and letting out little "fuck"s and "oh my god"s and "yes"s.
After a few more shaky moments tick by, his thumb comes to a halt over your clit as he watches the last drops of his cum fall onto your stomach.
He breathes heavily, biting his lip as he watches your body shake. He loves the way his cum looks on your beautiful body.. it's like liquid pearl splattered all over you. He takes several mental pictures of the scene in front of him before he collapses on top of you with a soft grin.
You chuckle breathily, wrapping your arms around him as your warm bodies stick together in the aftermath, and he presses two soft kisses to your neck. One of your hands slides up from between his shoulder blades to run some of your fingers through his messy curls. He shivers and sighs, sliding his hands under your body to hold you closer to him.
A small period of comfortable silence is held between you two as you both work to catch your breaths, before Art is the one to break the quiet with a soft murmur into your shoulder.
"So.. can I get your number?"
"After round two," you whisper with a smile.
"Deal."
note; this is for everyone who voted for soft dom!art donaldson in that poll + the anons in my inbox asking for this sort of dynamic w/ art <3 much much much love !
college!patrick x college!art x college!fem reader
summary: preaching to almost everyone you were just platonic with your long time tennis friends patrick and art, but after finding out art is still a virgin during a night of drinking, you find yourself feeling curious, offering to teach him with the help of patrick
you've known patrick and art for years, going way back, the good ol' tennis camp days. you've always been decently close with the pair– some arguing there had to be something more going on between you three but you'd always shut it down. you swear you never heard the end of it, people always assuming you were dating, into, or fucking at least one of them.
"so which one are you banging?"
"we are strictly platonic, i've known them for so long they are my best friends!!"
you never blamed people for thinking it, patrick and art were attractive and often caught the eye of many girls—some guys even. you'd be lying if you said the thought had never crossed your mind, but you didn't want to throw away a good friendship crossing the line for a short lived fantasy, ignoring it seemed more rational.
for art and patrick, the idea was a reoccurring conversation. they both have been into you since first meeting you, patrick being a little more obvious about it than art, making flirty jokes here and there that you just brushed off as 'patrick being patrick'.
the conversations between the pair would typically consist of patrick bringing up hypothetical scenarios, art engaging then soon nervously begging patrick to drop it because the topic seemed disrespectful.
art often thought about you in a sexual context but was hesitant being vocal about it, especially around patrick, to him it felt wrong to talk or even think about you like that when he was supposed to be your friend. patrick on the other hand, although he valued the relationship you all had, couldn't help but think about you like that, and had no problem discussing those thoughts with art in detail.
tonight, the three of you were scattered along the floor of patrick and art's dorm, celebrating the end of exams and school year. downing another celebratory shot and continuing the conversation about summer plans.
all three of you sat around in a circle. patrick comfortably leaned back, arms propping him up, shirt unbuttoned proudly flaunting his exposed chest. art sitting crisscrossed, sporting a stanford shirt and his sweats. and you, a tank top and loose shorts.
patrick and art going back and forth about the seemingly endless family functions that awaited them upon their return home. soon patrick flipping the conversation to discuss his latest hookup, reminiscing about his fruitful first year at college.
"jesus patrick! i swear you hookup with everyone" you teased earning a proud smug shrug from him. "how many people have you even been with?" you inquired.
"like this year or in general?" he asked smiling. you scoffed jokingly, followed by all three of you laughing. "god, i mean in general" you add.
patrick's eyes wander as if he had to think hard about it, he starts counting on his fingers until it reaches at least 7. he looks back at you with a big smirk, "6? 7? meh not sure" he adds.
"jesus" you reply, speech stunted with your laughter.
"hey i got around way more before college ok!" he defended "learned to recycle this year" he finished as he took a swig of his drink.
"oh jesus patrick" you sarcastically ridiculed him.
"ugh so judgemental," patrick replied with an exaggerated voice, pretending to be offended. "what's your number then?" he adds. art, who's been awfully quiet and spaced out of this conversation, suddenly attentively looking to you, waiting for your answer.
"hmm, 3" you reply "all from before college, all the guys here are too full of themselves it's such a turn off".
"fair" art adds, trying to participate in the conversation despite feeling so awkward about it. you briefly lock eyes with his until patrick diverts your attention.
"who was your first?" patrick asks smiling.
your eyes squint, face displaying an expression of hesitation, causing patrick's interest to grow even more. "guy from tennis camp actually.." you say quietly while smiling.
patrick laughs "me too, well not a guy, but also lost it at tennis camp" he replies. "so who?" he added.
"y'know that one miles guy?" you said, again with hesitancy. both patrick and arts eyes widen, looking at eachother and then back to you before chuckling.
"meh don't blame you, he's a killer tennis player honestly" patrick replies "huge asshole though" he adds continuing to laugh.
"oh yeah, so who's the girl who deflowered you" you said sarcastically while leaning back.
"lacie smith" he replies sighing.
"oh godd, she hated me!" you reply.
"yeah she was.. a lot" he says shaking his head.
you and patrick go back and forth, sharing stories and name dropping, laughing and jokingly judging each other. you eventually notice arts lack of participation in the conversation, feeling curious about why he's so spaced out, curious about his number.
"what about you art?" you ask nudging him.
"huh?" he says, fixing his posture and looking between you and patrick.
"who'd you lose it to?" you inquire.
patrick was the only one who'd occasionally hint at his active participation in hookups so you knew vaguely about his history, but the most you'd hear from art was going on a date here and there. sure you three were close but this wasn't really a conversation you guys would openly have. you typically kept your sex life private, sharing snippets of dates or guys who'd hit on you. because you were a little tipsy and you were comfortable around the pair, you felt ok to engage in such a conversation.
art suddenly grew nervous, stuttering and mumbling, scratching his head. you and patrick looked at each other slightly smiling in confusion.
"i.. actually haven't slept with anyone" he said quietly, clearing his throat. you and patrick both look at him, subtle look of shock. you knew art was more of a gentleman, less vulgar than patrick, but you assumed he still had his fair share of hookups. you've seen girls hit on him on campus or at parties.
what confused you more was seeing patrick just as shocked as you. you figured if anyone were to know arts sex life it would be patrick. they've known eachother for a lot longer and after all they are dudes, you thought they'd told eachother about all of this stuff.
"wait wait, what about that one girl last summer?" patrick asked confused. "it was just on top of clothes stuff, kissing. we- we didn't fully hookup" art replied.
"wow" was all you could mange to say, your mind to occupied processing that art was a virgin. art looked embarrassed upon seeing the way you and patrick reacted to this information.
art continued to scratch his head, avoiding eye contact with both of you and awkwardly smiling. you notice the apparent embarrassment he was expressing.
"sorry art, i'm not judging i promise!" you reassured. "i'm just a little.. surprised?" you finish.
patrick's eyes shifting to look at you, suddenly smiling in amusement upon hearing that. he starts to tease art "ahh, now i understand your whole 'i don't kiss and tell' spiel," he laughs, hand reaching to arts hair "you just didn't want to tell me because there wasn’t anything to tell" he teased, messing with arts hair.
art, still awkwardly smiling, brushes patrick's remarks off, pushing his hand away. he looks back to you "why do you find it surprising?"
"well i've seen you flirting and being hit on frequently, and well you're an attractive guy," you reply, arts lips curling slightly upon hearing you call him attractive. "just figured you got around as much as patrick" you said laughing, eyes motioning to patrick and poking fun at him.
patrick scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes "im not that much of a whore ok" he defends.
you can't help but wonder, how could art be a virgin? what's stopping him from going that far? the question burned on your mind, leading you to start thinking out loud.
"so, what's the furthest you've gone then?" you inquire.
he inhaled deep, taking a quick chug of his beer before answering. "uhm like nothing past 2nd base." he hesitantly replied. his body language being painfully obvious he was nervous.
"wait. so you haven't even fingered a girl?" patrick spat.
"do we have to talk about this" art awkwardly laughed still avoiding eye contact, his tone seemingly expressing annoyance with patrick's vulgar language. and he hated that you now knew about this, he was extremely insecure about it in general.
patrick smiled, his gaze shifting to you. studying the way you were looking at art. a subtle smirk creeping on his face like he had some malicious plan brewing.
"sorry i didn't mean to pry" you apologize.
a short lived silence filling the room until patrick spoke. "let's take another shot" patrick preached, standing up to walk towards the bottle.
art quickly agreed, eagerly rising to his feet following behind patrick.
you got up, squeezing between the pair as patrick poured you a shot.
patrick raised his shot glass with a fat smile on his face. "to art still being a virgin" he shouted before downing it. you let out a small laugh, art playfully scoffing as you both followed taking your shot.
you all settled back on the floor, patrick bringing the bottle with him as he sunk into the floor.
you all continued with small talk, diverting the subject from arts sex life—or lack thereof.
you had spaced out of the conversation, lost in thought. all you could think about was arts lack of experience, and how much it had surprised you. you were so curious.
art may have been oblivious to it but patrick noticed your seeming absence, your focused gaze on some random object on the floor. he interrupts your train of thought, snapping his fingers in front of your face.
"penny for your thoughts?" he said sarcastically. you sat up and awkwardly laughed.
"nothing i just-" you stared, eyes looking between the pair. debating if you should really say what's on your mind. you didn't want to make art uncomfortable by revisiting the topic. but your curiosity was all too consuming.
art and patrick were smiling, waiting for what you were going to say.
"okk... i know we dropped the subject but im just curious..." you continued. arts smile fell a little, like he knew what was coming. "art, why haven't you had sex yet? have you just never had the chance to go that far orrr?" you hesitantly questioned, praying he wouldn't be upset with you for bringing it up again.
patricks gaze lazily watching you, intrigued by your curiosity, wondering what’s really behind it. he looked back at art.
"yeah art, why haven't you popped your cherry yet" he smiled.
he rolled his eyes at patrick's remark. maybe it was the alcohol or maybe he was just sick of the poking and prodding regarding his sex life, but he felt inclined to be honest. "it's not that i haven't had the chance," he raised his eyebrows, gaze fixed at his hands as he fidgeted with his fingers. "i just.." he continued.
"pussied out?" patrick finished for him.
art threw his hands to his face "yeah. i guess. thank you patrick" he replied annoyed and embarrassed.
you watched him closely. he was just.. shy? you smiled a bit at the idea, not out of judgement, but admiration. "ok but that's cute though" you add, attempting to make him feel less embarrassed.
"wow thanks" he replied a small hint of offence in his voice, words muffled through his hands.
patricks smile grew after hearing your response. patrick was intrigued with your interest in art's sex life.
"no no art i didn't mean it like that" you quickly reassured. "i just think it's sweet, most guys don't give a shit about losing their virginity. or just about sex in general" you finish, your hand reaching to touch his knee to try and comfort him.
his hands fell from his face, both him and patrick watching your hand placement. art looked back up at you.
you could feel the sudden surge of tension fill the room. you move your hand to reach for your drink "um it's just nice to know there's atleast some guys who see it as something more than just a fuck y'know?" you add, taking a swig of your drink.
patrick jokingly scoffs "wow im insulted" he says, hand touching his chest.
you just rolled your eyes and looked back to art, who was seemingly less upset.
and he was, art didn't care about patrick's snide remarks and teases about the topic, but hearing your opinion was very validating to him.
"we need to get you laid this summer" patrick said, squeezing arts shoulder
"yeah maybe i don't know" art replies leaning back.
"well what are you afraid of? it's not gonna bite you" patrick joked.
art awkwardly laughed.
patrick soon grabbing the bottle and holding it out to art who gladly accepted it taking a small chug. art swallowed, passing it onto you. you took a swig then passing it back to patrick as you coughed from the bite of the liquor.
patrick had no shame, he was ballsy. he had no problem asking these invasive questions, he knew art was hesitant to talk about sexual stuff, especially in front of you and with the idea he had circling his mind, he knew alcohol would make art more inclined to spill. hoping things would work in his favour.
"fuck ok fine." art said straightening his posture. "i'm just worried i'll embarrass myself, not do it right" he admitted.
you stared in amusement, slightly smiling "well nobody's perfect the first time" you reply.
"yeah i mean at this rate you'll be a virgin till you're 30 art" patrick teased. you nudged him scolding him without words.
art scratched his head, gaze stuck on the floor "yeah i know" he replies.
"when the last time you did anything with a girl?" patrick asked.
"i'm not sure, i've flirted here and there but haven't been out or kissed any girls for awhile now i think" art admits. his secret was out, there was no point in tip toeing around it. art felt a little more at ease knowing at least you weren't judging him.
"shit maybe you need a refresher" patrick said, his drink resting on his lips. both you and art looked at him confused. there was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. he was plotting something, he wasn't sure if it would actually work but was curious to test the waters.
patrick's gaze going back and forth between you and art, a huge grin growing on his face. "if you're so worried, maybe she can teach you" his head tilting and gesturing to you.
"patrick." art said, tone firm. art wanted more than anything to have a chance with you, but the thought of losing you because of him and patrick's perverse fantasies was too much.
you were caught off guard. sure patrick would make out of pocket jokes and be bold, but the idea interested you. because of patrick's familiar demeanour, it was hard to tell if he was actually being serious, but part of you was willing to risk it.
"i mean, i could help. if you wanted?" you said slow and guarded. unsure if art would be open to it or if it made him uncomfortable. after all, he was your friend.
patrick's smile briefly fell, shocked that you were actually down for it. soon enough his fat smirk returned.
"what?" art said, frozen in his spot.
"like, if you wanted to practice a bit?" you clarify. you worried you were going to scare him off. you were basically offering to take arts virginity for fucks sake. "i can tell you what girls like during sex and stuff... if you want?" you add, a bit of hesitancy.
"yeah i can help too, i know what girls like" patrick adds, nudging arts shoulder with a big smile.
you laughed "yeah i doubt that" you joked. poking fun at patrick, trying to lighten the mood hoping it would ease arts apparent nerves.
patrick sat up, leaning a bit closer. "what want me to prove it?" he retorts teasingly, but he of course was dead serious.
your mouth fell open a bit, stomach turning. you had occasional brief thoughts about art and patrick in a sexual way, which you always fought against, but right now in this moment, you couldn't help but feel the urge to explore it.
staring at patrick, eyes flickering from his smug expression to his bare chest peaking through his unbuttoned shirt. looking to art, seeing his parted mouth, flushed cheeks. you began to feel a bit nervous, body heat rising as you thought about the prospect of it. you, art, patrick. crossing the boundaries of friendship.
you came to, pulling yourself together. "enough" you awkwardly smiled looking at art. "if it's too weird you can say no, i get it" you say.
"no i'm- just, are you sure you'd be comfortable... doing that?" he replied, his face burning.
"yeah! i- i mean it's really no problem.. as long as you're cool with it?" you assured, nervous. he eagerly nodded in reply.
you take one last chug of your drink to settle your own nerves, setting the empty can aside and moving closer to art.
art and patrick watching your every move, mesmerized, in denial that all along you were open to this.
"we can just start with kissing, that ok?" you ask, to which he nods again. his length already hardening in his sweats, anticipating your touch. "mkay" you say, slowly leaning in.
your hands trailing from his chest to his neck, wrapping around as your faces met. noses brushing together, your lips part as you lock lips. you start with light kissing, trying to ease him into it.
patrick watches, lip curled slightly, captivated by the scene before him. still in shock that this was happening but so eager for what's to come.
arts hands find your thigh and waist, you notice his trembling touch. he gently squeezed your thigh causing your breath to hitch from his touch.
you pushed your tongue along the seam of his lips, encouraging him to allow entry. he happily does so, letting out a small grunt. he kissed so gently, so guarded. you could sense his nervousness.
you repositioned, sitting on his lap. both of his hands now clutching your waist as your hands got lost in his hair toying with his curls. the kiss soon intensified, arts erection growing with the sensation of you on him, your hands in his hair. arts kiss becoming greedy, your soft lips against his, your tongues intertwining—he was addicted.
you could feel his hardness beneath you, causing you to smile against his lips. you broke the kiss, feeling lightheaded from the sudden rush of adrenaline.
his eyes opened, looking at you, burning red cheeks. "not half bad" you smiled, hands still tangled in his curls.
you turn to patrick, his face similar to arts. upon seeing your gaze, he shifted his expression.
art let out a shy laugh. still feeling the weight of you on his erection, trying so hard not to display how much it drove him crazy.
patrick was just as turned on as art, if not more. he just wasn't as embarrassed about it as art was.
"you gonna teach me too?" patrick teased, biting his lips waiting for your response.
you noticed the tent in his pants, and how he made no effort to conceal it. typical patrick. "jealous?" you asked smiling.
"very much so," he quickly replied "and hey art can watch, learn a few moves" he winked.
"right, right" you laugh rolling your eyes. but still, you move off of art, his hands falling from your waist, watching as you crawl over to patrick and sit on his lap.
patrick's eyes following yours, hands quickly moving to your waist as he leaned in to close the gap between you two. he wasted no time, jumping at the chance to taste you, something he had thought about so frequently. he hungrily kissed you, his bare chest pressing against you. patrick was all tongue, it was messy in all the right ways, he knew what he was doing matching your pace effortlessly.
his hands brushing your hair away, lips moving along your jaw to your neck, pulling a moan from you. his hand moving to your chest, gently squeezing as he devoured your neck. your hips buck at the sudden touch, patrick grunting in response.
art leaned back, eyes glued to you and patrick. watching the way patrick touched and groped you, how and where he kissed you, your reactions to his touch.
you were starting to understand the so called 'hype' around patrick. he was so messy but passionate all at once, it was intoxicating. his other hand pulled you close again to grind on his hardness, desperate for any kind of friction.
"fuck" he whispered, his lips finding yours again, continuing to become completely lost in you.
art entranced as he watched and listened, becoming so hard it was almost painful. he wanted you so bad.
you pulled away "ok- ok" you say breathlessly, remembering this was also to teach art. patrick leaning back, satisfied at the sight of you on his lap, your heaving chest, it was just like he'd imagined.
patrick bit his lip, turning to art, smiling as he notices how hard he is.
you never imagined you'd ever be doing this with your two best friends, it was exhilarating.
the room was quiet, catching your breath and looking to art. you cleared your throat moving off of patrick.
"see what i did?" patrick asked, but the silence was so consuming. "now you try, do that" he instructed, tilting his head and watching as you inched closer to art.
art let out a shaken breath as his head turned to face you
you moved closer, positioning yourself back on arts lap. arts hands wrap around your back, eyes lost in yours, excitement now overshadowing his nerves.
your lips meet, art using more tongue and exploring your mouth more than before. although it was tame, the passion was there. patrick kissed fast and hot, art was more calculated. comparing the difference in your head turned you on, it was the perfect balance.
art picks up his pace, becoming more handsy as he continued to get caught up in the moment, in you. desperate to nurse his aching erection, he started to grip and grind you onto him, the two of you moaning in unison.
art copied the moves he observed patrick make, kissing your neck and caressing your breasts. in the heat of the moment he slipped his hand under your shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of your tits. you gasp, shivers shooting through you as his cold hands swept over your bare skin. you start to grind against him faster, pleasure washing over you as you squirm and moan against his mouth.
patrick watching, biting his lips as he begins to palm at his clothed erection. he whispers under his breath "fuck", soon moving closer to you two, his hand slipping up your thigh and squeezing.
as art continues to kiss your neck, patrick takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss you. your hand moving to rest on his shoulder. the room soon filling with synchronized moans.
patrick and art all over you, kissing, touching, moaning. the last thing you expected to happen tonight but god it felt so right.
your hand trailed down to patrick's groin, teasing his length through his shorts. he grunts into your mouth, gripping harder on your thigh.
art kisses back up to your lips, all three of you meeting in the middle. patrick moves his hand from your thigh up to rest on arts neck as you all sloppily swap spit.
you divert your path of kisses to arts jaw, and then neck, allowing the two to gain full access to eachother. patrick and art consuming eachother with no hesitation.
you move back slightly, your hands continuing to caress their bodies.
watching patrick and art get lost in eachother, desperately kissing eachother like it was something they've always wanted to do. like it was familiar.
you could feel the fluttering and wetness settled beneath you as you watched them. wanting more. needing more.
your hand settled intertwined in patrick's and arts hair, leaning in to patrick whispering, "you wanna show art how to fuck me?". he responded with a loud moan, goosebumps on his skin hearing your voice, feeling your hot breath tickle his ear. you could see him widely grinning against arts lips.
patrick broke the kiss, still grinning as he saw how flustered and hard art was. patrick filled with nothing but excitement, anticipating the opportunity to live out the fantasies that so often occupied his mind. feeling even more turned on that he was able to do it with art, be a participant in his first time.
patrick stood, holding his hands out to assist in getting you up. you grabbed his hand and rose to your feet, art looking up at you unsure if he should stand. patrick glancing over at him unspoken, instructing art to follow.
patrick eyes you up and down, reaching out to touch your body and leaning in again. patrick slowly kissed you, pushing his body against yours, making sure you could feel how hard he was.
"get on the bed" he whispers. you comply, backing up and positioning yourself to sit on his bed, legs hanging off the edge as patrick and art stood in front of you.
patrick maintained his big smirk as he watched you, art beside him, his lips slightly parted waiting for patrick's guidance.
patrick moved close and slowly pushed your chest, encouraging you to lay down. as you fell back elbows propping you up, patrick's hands trailed down to your shorts. half lidded gaze as he traced his fingers along the fabric, soon pulling them off.
art watches as patrick pulls your shorts off, revealing your lace thong, the wet spot that had formed, your tan line that slightly peaked through from beneath.
patrick places his thumb over the spot, gently rubbing before pulling your panties to the side.
"shit you're soaked" he mutters as his thumb glides over your dripping arousal. you shudder at the touch.
"fuck, art feel how wet she is" patrick says, grabbing arts hand and pulling it to touch your warmth. you twitch at the added fingers, both of them slowly touching and teasing you.
patrick can't help himself, sliding a finger into you and biting his lip as he watches your hole clench around it. adding another finger and watching your head fall back in response.
patrick removes his fingers, looking to art who's seemingly hypnotized by the sight of you. art turns to face patrick, reading his expression without words and continuing to undress you in a group effort.
patrick kneels down, motioning for art to follow. both on their knees, face level with your trembling heat. patrick's hand lightly traces down your thigh earning a light moan from you. he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, instructing art to put his arm under your left leg as patrick held the other.
you're spread wide open, one leg on arts shoulder, the other on patrick's, their faces inches from your dripping cunt. patrick delves in first, licking up your slick as art observes beside him. you gasp, allowing yourself to fully fall back against the mattress.
patrick gripping your thigh, sucking on your clit and letting out occasional grunts as he tastes you. art can't stand to wait his turn as he watches patrick eat you out, shoving his head in beside patrick's, spreading your thighs as far apart as they can go to make room. arts tongue joining patrick's as they devour your cunt moaning together.
the sensation of the two of them eating your pussy is so good making it easy to ignore how painfully stretched apart your thighs were. ignoring the lingering cramp, too fixated on the sensation of patrick and arts tongues licking all the right spots.
"oh f- fuck" you moan, hips bucking as you feel the vibrations of their simultaneous moans against your cunt. arts grip firm on your thigh now moving further up to lock his hands with yours.
forming any kind of clear thought right now seemed impossible, but feeling arts hand holding yours, all you could think about was how sweet it was, how much more it turned you on.
your eyes fell back into your head, gripping arts hand harder as you were reaching your high. patrick decided he'd let art take the win, moving to kiss your thigh and give art full access to you. art continued, moaning with satisfaction every time you twitched or whined, savouring the taste of you. patrick gripping and mouthing at your thigh, art slowly kissing your clit, as you soon reached your climax moaning arts name.
your grip on arts hand loosened as you finished, panting, thighs shaking from your lingering orgasm and from the strain of being stretched apart so far.
art lifted his head from between your thighs, peeking up seeing your stomachs sudden twitches. patrick moved back to lick up the release dripping from you, catching you off guard. so overstimulated you instinctively try to close your legs, but patrick's firm grip and arts head prevents you from doing so.
"sh- fuck" you whine, patrick smiling against your cunt as he holds your leg back tightly. he moves back and stands, pulling art up with him. patrick just stands and watches as you twitch and squirm, your hands clutching the sheets, heaving chest, desperate to catch your breath.
art climbs on the bed settling beside you, patrick following on the opposite side, huge grin. you pull yourself together as best as you can, still cursing under your breath as you fix your position.
"h-how was that" art asks, eagerly waiting for your response. you breathlessly laugh, unsure how art could be so oblivious to how much of a mess you were already.
you look to him smiling, face hot. "you did great art" you assured, moving your thumb to his chin wiping the mix of spit and your arousal from his skin. his lips curled into a smile.
both sprawled beside you, patrick traces his fingers along your bare skin, eyes scanning your body. you turned to face patrick, seeing his gaze fixed on your body, the tent in his pants. turning back to art, his erection. the look in their eyes, still desperate to explore more of you.
patrick moves in to kiss your shoulder. soon enough, the pair is all over you again, touching and kissing your exposed skin.
"wanna fuck you so bad" patrick whispers as he slides his hand under your top, squeezing your tit. "mm me too" art moans against your skin.
"yeah? fuck-" you breathe out, shivering.
"can we?" patrick asks, hot breath against your skin. you nod eagerly, breathing heavily again.
you all sit up, hastily removing each others clothes. you had seen them shirtless in the past at tennis camp and various matches—for fucks sake patrick practically lived with his shirt off—but seeing them fully undressed in their dimly lit dorm room, the way their muscles flexed after each movement, the sweat that glistened on their skin, getting a glimpse of their hard cocks, swollen tips dripping precum—part of you wished arts virginity secret came to light years ago.
patrick and art taking turns occupying your mouth, greedily kissing you. once you took off your top and bra they wasted no time, diving in to grope and suck on your tits.
again lying down, patrick and art at each side, hands tangled in their hair as they worshipped your now naked body, rutting into you and groaning with each noise they pulled from you.
through tangled limbs, you manage to move your hands to wrap around their aching cocks.
"shit-"
"oh fuck"
whimpering against your skin finally getting relief as you pump their cocks. arts hand grasping your arm, patrick clutching your thigh, getting off at the feeling of your soft touch and the sounds of each others grunts and whines.
still feeling that sliver of your high when you continuously realized you were jerking off your two best friends as they breathlessly moaned your name. realizing that all these years you had been missing out on experiencing this, and that all along they were into you.
"need to fuck you- shit-" patrick moans.
you smile, releasing their length from your hands. "who wants to go first?" you reply, patrick just smirks motioning to art. as much patrick wanted to be first up, he knew art couldn't wait much longer and if he was being honest, the thought of fucking you after art filled you with his cum turned him on even more.
you notice patrick nod to art, you turn to him. "you wanna fuck me first art?" you ask, it gave you butterflies saying it out loud.
"uh su- yes" he stuttered, still a little out of it from how good your hand felt around his cock.
you mistake arts stuttering for nerves, leaning in to comfort him with a peck and then whispering "don't be nervous art, you've been doing so good”
you move your head back to meet his gaze, his face red and sweaty “really?” he asks shy. “god yes” you reply.
you reposition, hovering over patrick as art moves behind you lining himself up. your head dips to kiss patrick’s chest, his hand moving to grasp a fistful of your hair.
arts hands rest on your waist as he slowly enters you, you gasp against patrick’s skin. art stops “sorry does it hurt?!” he quickly asks, patrick lets out a small laugh then biting his lip.
“no no, keep going-“ you reassured quick. art resumes, keeping a slow pace as he stretches you out, letting out pornographic moans as he slips further into your tight warmth.
“oh fu- art” you moan, the side of your face resting on patrick’s chest as you grip his biceps. patrick’s one hand in your hair, the other snug on his dick, slowly stroking watching and listening to the two of you come undone.
art moans your name, “you feel so good” he groaned, his face scrunched, gaze fixated down, watching as his length disappeared into you, fastening his pace, loosing all control.
patrick tugs your hair pulling your head up, wanting to watch the faces you make as art fucks you. “you look so beautiful when you’re getting fucked. god” he mumbles. your mouth agape, loud and breathy moans escaping you. patrick’s gaze switching between you and art, unable to decide which of you looks prettier when you’re all fucked out.
“shit- i’m so close art” you whine, patrick grins wide removing his cock from his grip and travelling up to tease your clit with his digits.
“fuck-“ you gasp, hips stuttering against arts cock as patrick continues to overstimulate you. arts grip on your waist tightening at the sudden movements, nearing his orgasm.
“shit-“ he moans your name again “mm’ gonna cum” he mumbles incoherently, thrusting into you faster.
the pleasure washing over you is numbing, your eyes fluttering as art continuously hit the right spot. patrick watching your face as you reach your climax, worried he’ll cum from just the sight.
art feeling your pussy desperately clenching around him sends him over the edge, releasing stuttered moans as his cock spills inside you.
“so fucking pretty” patrick says looking at your beet red cheeks, beads of sweat forming on your pleasure filled face.
art slowly removes his length from you, his cum dripping out and onto the sheets.
the silence broken with the sounds of you and art panting, body heat through the roof as you both attempt to catch your breath.
patrick instructs you to stay in that position, asking art to switch spots. of course patrick would give you a minute to rest before being ruined further.
your ass still stuck out in the air, your head rested on arts heaving chest as you pulled yourself together for patrick. “you fucked me s’good art” you breath out, leaning your face to meet his, half lidded stare.
arts lips parting as he lifted his head closer to kiss you. messily and lazily swapping spit, you bit his lip earning a grunt from him. you smiled against his lips.
patrick from behind you soon teasing your entrance with his tip, biting his lip as he sees the dripping release from art seeping out. he quickly thrusts in causing you to gasp into arts mouth. you move your face back as patrick continues to switch his pace from fast to slow, teasing your already overstimulated cunt.
“so fucking tight shit-“ he mutters, mercilessly fucking into you. unable to form a coherent thought or full word. “sh- fu-“ you moan.
patrick moves back until just his tip is barely in you. you whine, body slightly trembling from the sudden loss. he fully removes his cock, watching your desperate pussy gripping around nothing.
your face buried in arts chest again, his fingers sweeping through your semi tangled hair.
patrick guides his aching tip through your folds, watching with a satisfied smile as you twitch each time it reached your clit. “your pussy is so perfect” he moans.
he slowly pushes back into your warmth, groaning as he stretched you out. thrusting quick and calculated, hands firmly griping your ass.
the sound of skin slapping, grunts and moans as patrick continued to pound into you. “fu- patrick-“ you cry out. “gonna cum?” he asks panting to which you quickly nod as you moan.
“shit- art watch her face when she cums, so fucking hot” he moans, stuttering as he feels your warmth tighten.
“look at me” art instructs, biting his lip in anticipation. you’re so wrecked fully processing arts request long after he spoke and propping yourself up with your arms to face him.
you can feel your orgasm creeping up, gaze looking down at arts face with half lidded eyes, mouth agape. cumming so hard you swear you can see stars. art admiring your expressions as you lose yourself.
patrick fucks you through your orgasm, soon finishing inside of you as your pussy desperately clenched around his cock.
“oh fuckk” he groans. pulling out of you and crawling off the bed to grab a towel and clean you up.
your limbs feel like jello, whining from the overstimulation. you collapse on art sighing loud and turning to lie beside him.
patrick returns, climbing over to you, cleaning up the mix of release from all three of you spilling out. you wince as patrick gently cleans your aching pussy.
you all change back into your clothes, falling asleep tangled in between the pair in their dorm room.
a week later, you are all moved back home for the summer break. you’ve felt nervous ever since that night. not because you were uncomfortable, but because now it was all you could think about.
taking arts virginity, patrick helping to teach art how to please and fuck you. the two guys you’ve been best friends with for years arguing to almost everyone that you were just best friends, fucking you till you passed out.
you hadn’t spoken much since returning home, a few casual texts here and there. unsure how to move forward after pushing so far past the boundaries. but one thing you were sure of, you looked forward to the next time the three of you would cross the line of your ‘strictly platonic’ friendship.
dividers - @cursed-carmine
A/N:
i apologize if there was repetitive words i was lowk tired af when i finished writing/editing this
also took forever for me to finish this i’ve been procrastinating hehe
again ty for 70 followers, feel free to send in any fic requests !!
summary: after saturday night, patrick cannot shake you from his mind. trying to figure out a way to contact you—a way to show you how much he wants you.
warnings: smut, college!reader, college!patrick, sexual thoughts, fingers in mouth, sexual tension, groping, dom!reader, sub!patrick, handjob, oral, fingering, unprotected sex all that jazz ‼️
word count: 6.1k (got a little carried away hehe)
part 1 - here
It had been 2 nights since the party. since patrick.
That night was stuck on loop in your head. the way he looked at you, the moans you pulled from him, how hard he got for you. a little bit of alcohol—well a lot actually— and you were living out a sliver of your fantasies. while you were excited and proud, soon enough the realization hit. this is patrick, a known player. god he probably forgot about you the second another girl caught his eye. getting a glimpse of your fantasies was thrilling but you knew getting caught up in it was not rational.
god. being excited about patrick wanting to fuck was like applauding a dog for barking.
patrick had not forgotten. it was all he could think about. he felt humbled, he was used to being the one in control, being the tease, girls jumping at the chance to fuck him. the night of the party he expected the same, nothing more nothing less. but when you engaged and left him hanging he was caught off guard, intrigued, wanting more. he was determined to win you over, but first he had to find a way to reach you.
-
you walked over to the dining hall to meet your friend jordyn. she was a part of the group and one of your closest friends at stanford. despite being close you never told her about your secret crush on patrick, was not something you were proud of for obvious reasons.
you made small talk, giving little updates about coursework and upcoming plans for winter break. you felt at ease up until she started asking about the party on saturday.
"yeah i wish i could've gone, sounded fun from how they described it" she said.
"it was honestly just average," you replied. sure, average party until you were sat outside smoking a cigarette and feeling patrick up. "you didn't miss much" you laughed, hoping the subject would be short lived, oh how you were wrong.
jordyn just smiled, having pre existing assumptions about your night and seeing you describe it as 'average'. "you sure about that?" she said teasingly. this threw you, how could she know? you weren't stupid, you knew it was possible someone had seen the two of you but you assumed it wouldn't be a hot topic because of patrick's whore tendencies—he was always flirting with and kissing girls at parties. and not enough people knew you to gossip, there would be no actual shock to anyone outside of your friend group.
you looked up at her confused "what do you mean?". you grew nervous.
"welll i heard patrick zweig has been asking about you" she said laughing. what the fuck. you threw your hand to your mouth, shocked. "so what's the story there?" she inquired.
"what do you mean he's asking about me?" you tried to act clueless. you worried about how your friends would react to finding out about you and patrick. they know how picky you are about men and the strong opinions you have about hookup culture, would they judge you for going for someone as shallow as patrick?.
"you know leah's boyfriend?" you nodded in reply. "well i guess he's good friends with art donaldson, and leah told me patrick was asking him about you" she added, just as surprised as you seemed.
"hm, that's.. weird" you replied trying to be non chalant about it continuing to eat your food. jordyn's eyes were stuck on you, suspicious about how 'chill' you were acting upon hearing this.
"well?!" she laughed. "did he talk to you at the party or.."
you became more nervous. trying to figure out how to respond, trying to process that patrick was asking about you. your curiosity burned, but you had to stay focused.
"i honestly have no idea, i've never spoken to him before" you lied through your teeth. praying it was convincing enough to conclude the topic and move on.
"strange" jordyn's eyes wandered, trying to figure out the reason behind patrick's interest. "maybe it was a miscommunication" she added.
"probably, i don't see why patrick would be asking about me" you replied. jordyn leaned her head on her fist, a sudden huge smirk growing.
"orrr maybe he's plotting on you" she joked, to which you rolled your eyes playfully in reply "yeah right"
"what did he even ask, did leah say?" you asked. you couldnt dismiss your curiosity any longer.
jordyn was looking down at her phone scrolling "i think he was asking for your socials or something," "that's what it sounded like when leah told me"
"weird" you looked over at your phone, an urge to check it and see if he had managed to find you. you've had your notifications for social media's turned off for awhile, in attempt avoid getting too caught up or distracted with doomscrolling—so really, if he had found your socials you wouldn't know.
jordyn looked up at you malicious smile displayed on her face. it was as if she just heard your inner monologue, you knew exactly what was coming next. shit.
"so wait have you gotten any messages?" she inquired.
"i haven't seen anything so" you replied shrugging. that definitely wasn't enough to convince her.
"you should check" she suggested teasingly. you let out a shaky breath. there was no getting out of this one. as you picked up your phone you could only hope your inbox would be empty. jordyn stood up from her chair, walking behind you to hover over your shoulder.
you opened instagram, and sure enough, patrick had succeeded in getting ahold of your socials.
pzweig followed you
pzweig sent a message request:
“ does this count as 'figuring it out' lol “
fuck. the message itself is telling. how the fuck were you going to explain this to jordyn? the rest of your friends?
jordyn gasped, laughing. "what does he mean by that??"
"ok fine, yes he talked to me at the party." you admitted. "he asked for my number and i shut him down" you tried to bend the truth.
"why didn't you say something before" jordyn asked smirking
"because it's embarrassing, i don't know why he's persisting" you replied hoping to redeem yourself.
"good on you, steer clear from him he's such a slut!” she laughed.
-
after spiralling, you decided to follow him back and reply.
" haha hey “
you couldn't help yourself, wouldn't hurt to just see… for fun?… right?
he replied a few minutes after
pzweig
“ so you gonna let me take you out? “
it was obvious he was trying to reclaim his dominance. he's used to getting what he wants, he expects you to fold immediately, and you don't want to give him that satisfaction—you ignore him, wondering how far he'd go to get what he wants.
-
tuesday rolls around.
like always, you set up a blanket under a tree on the quad. yes obviously to peek at patrick, but overtime you have grown to really enjoy working on schoolwork outside, it was a win win.
you set up your computer, textbook handy beside you along with the rest of your notes. you put your headphones in and got to work.
you occasionally glance over to the spot where patrick and art always hangout, waiting for their arrival. you had picked a spot a bit further back than usual, telling yourself you hoped patrick wouldn't see you—but honestly you secretly hoped he would, curious to see what he'd do.
eventually they sat, and eventually, patrick noticed you. ditching art to seize the opportunity, he began walking over. you quickly looked back at your computer as he got closer.
you could see his figure growing closer in your peripheral, heart rate rapidly increasing. patrick approached you, determined to bug you about his texts being ignored, to understand your sudden lack of interest.
he bent down pulling your headphone off one ear "hey you". you remove your headphones looking over at him "oh, hi". his hair was wet, freshly showered from tennis practice, small beading drops occasionally falling from the strands—god he looks hot.
"can i sit?" he asked smiling, his eyes wandered at the blanket with scattered papers and other supplies.
you inhaled deeply, he was so close. his cologne overwhelmed your senses, assaulting your nose in the most intoxicating way. "uhh sure" you neatly arranged your mess of notes, making a spot for him to sit.
he watched as you made room for him, just as intoxicated as you were. he stood up walking over to the open spot, sitting down in front of you. stupid smirk visible.
"so," his eyes wandering up and down your body, identifying every bare body part. you had your focus back on the screen of your computer, trying to look busy. "no text back?" he finished.
"yeah, been busy with school" you replied, making a quick glance at him, continuing to switch through google tabs and type.
"hm" he said, unsure of if you truly were no longer interested in him—regardless, it only made him want you more. he slid his hand to rest just above your knee, causing you to slightly jump.
when you looked back up at him he was smiling, shit. you weren't sure how to act around him, you had never expected this to happen— that patrick fucking zweig would be pining for you. obviously you wanted him and sure maybe you were just as bad as patrick for lusting over him, but the thought of being added to the long list of women he's slept with and ghosted irked you. it felt degrading.
if patrick wanted to fuck you—and he so clearly wanted to—he was gonna have to earn it. it would have to be on your terms.
you rolled your eyes when you saw him smile at your reaction, slightly flashing a smile back.
he continued to gently squeeze your thigh. "so what're you working on" he inquired.
"research paper" you replied. it was hard to focus on your work when patrick was touching you, but you tried your hardest to continue looking busy—to avoid giving him further satisfaction that his playboy antics had any kind of effect on you.
"nice, what for?" he added. you couldn't tell if he was actually interested or just pretending as a way to seem like a decent guy. you vaguely explained, keeping your guard up.
"oh that's cool. what's your major?" he asked. while your assumption about patrick's typical facade with women was accurate, with you he was being genuine. usually patrick would make small talk, pretend to give a shit. but he was interested about your studies, he was interested in you. he wanted to know more about you. figure you out.
you told him your major, eyes still glued to your computer, occasionally glancing over at him when you reached for your notes beside you. he could sense the wall you were building around yourself, it just made him want to break through it even more.
you continued with your short answers to his questions expecting awkward silence when he ran out of attempts to act like he actually cared, but he kept persisting. questioning. all while still touching your thigh like it was some kind of stress toy.
if your focus wasn't thrown before it definitely was now. your mind drew a blank staring at your computer, running out of ways to look busy—to avoid his eyes. patrick's touch clouding your mind with perverted thoughts.
you gave in to his stare leaning your head against the tree, continuing to explain and being more specific than before. you rambled on about your field of study, answering his continuous questions.
patrick was even more attracted to you. listening to you talk so passionately about something so simple was hot. he's never been super into school, always more focused with tennis. you seemed so smart, he felt a little nervous even. he was completely taken in by you.
you realized how much you were talking and concluded it, glancing over at him. patrick was starstruck, his hand that was idle resting on your thigh suddenly gripping it while he smiled. "shit you're smart" is all he could manage to say, his other hand brushing through his hair.
you laughed, clocking his apparent nerves. "well i mean it is my major, I'm supposed to be super knowledgeable about it" you replied. you looked back over at your computer, regaining the little focus that remained in you.
patrick laughed, repositioning himself to lay on his stomach beside you, arms propping him up to continue looking at you. "you seem different than the other night" he mentioned while aimlessly looking at the loose papers in front of him.
"well, i was drunk" you scoffed, continuing to scroll on your laptop.
"hm" he moved to lay on his side, one hand reaching back to your exposed thigh, tracing circles.
you continued working on your paper. patrick, busy studying your body like it was his own research assignment. you looked over at him and his eyes were staring straight into yours. almost innocent looking, but god he was far from it. his thoughts just as perverted as yours.
just like the other night, silence consumed the two of you. patrick picking clovers from the grass, lining them on your thigh followed by an occasional grab in attempt to get any reaction from you. he was growing impatient, watching as you brushed off every attempt keeping a straight faced stare at your screen.
with each touch, it made it harder to ignore him. flutters forming in your lower stomach, mind flipping through all the possible scenarios. almost wanting to moan feeling him caress your thigh, thinking about him spreading your legs and eating you out right there on the quad. you were a wreck, but of course you weren't gonna let patrick see that.
he didn't understand the sudden switch up. you seemed so interested at the party. the ignored texts, the dismissals happening in this moment, only fueled the burning desire he felt. the need. it was starting to feel like a game to him, to win your attention. to win you. you brought something out of patrick he never knew existed.
your demeanour was deceiving, patrick had no idea just how much he was turning you on.
his hands trailed up and down your legs, biting his lip at the sight of goosebumps spreading across your skin. the satisfaction from the sight wasn't enough for him, he wanted more validation from you. he wanted you to want him.
you teased him, breaking the stare at your screen to meet his eyes. looking down at him almost laughing and getting off on how needy he was being, the obstacles he was jumping through just to keep your attention on him.
"let me take you out tonight" he asks smirking up at you.
"i've got homework" you lied. as fun as this was to see patrick so desperate, you weren't gonna give in that easily.
"ok how about after?" he quickly replies.
"i'll probably be tired" you add.
patrick continues to persist, trying to find loopholes in your excuses. your body heat and arousal rising, seeing his desperation to take you out, his pleading eyes.
you shut him down each time. "maybe some other time"
you notice patrick's erection, his efforts to conceal and adjust it. he eventually lies on his stomach again, arms holding him up. he continues to touch your body, "take a break from your assignment i'm bored" he says, sliding his hand on your lap under your computer—completely robbing your focus with the sudden unstable movements of your laptop.
"please" he adds. it sent shivers through your body. fine, shit he wins.
you moved your laptop to the side letting out a sigh and turning to face him. lazily leaned up against the tree, drunk with lust, watching as he leans his head down to kiss your hand.
as he gently kissed your hand the idea sparked. you slowly pulled back till your fingertips brushed his lips. testing the waters you pushed his lips apart with your middle and ring finger, making slow entry.
patrick looks up at you half lidded, further widening his mouth to allow your fingers to fill the space. he happily takes it, slowly sucking and slightly gagging on your digits, moaning as he tastes you.
you smirk as you watch him. playboy patrick so desperate for you, desperate enough to suck on your fingers in public, broad fucking daylight. taking anything you are willing to give him. feeling your arousal begin to pool as you watch him. the sounds he's making for you.
you and patrick in your own world, not a single fuck given, not a care or worry for if people passing by were watching this unfold.
you removed your fingers from his mouth reaching up to grip his hair, his head dipping to kiss your exposed thighs. sloppily kissing your skin, moaning as you tangle your fingers through his hair. you just watch in awe, patrick's submission giving you a feeling of bliss
your watch flashes on, revealing the time—20 minutes until your next lecture.
you stop him, moving your hand under his chin lifting his head up to meet your gaze. "i've gotta go" you smile. patrick almost groans from dissapointment. your teasing once again, had patrick rock hard. stupid and desperate, and he had barely even gotten a taste of you. he wanted more. needed more.
he watched as you packed up, struggling to think straight—he felt high. "can i see you tonight?" he asks.
you looked side to side, heavily debating skipping your lecture to relieve the building pleasure in you because fuck patrick was turning you on. "we'll see" you replied.
he lets out a quiet groan, visibly disappointed, defeated. leaning on his side, hands massaging and gripping your thighs hoping to change your mind. he buries his head into your thigh like it's a pillow. he knows he looks pathetic, but he didn't care—embarrassment was worth it for you. his previous hesitation and intimidation from you was long gone, how could he resist when you are right in front of him. pulling out this submission from him little by little. he was crazy for you.
- 7:02 PM
you finally arrived back to your dorm, dark and silent. unpacking your bag, turning on some music to feel less alone with the absence of your roommate, and hopping in the shower in attempt to wash away the lust that lingered on your skin from the interaction with patrick earlier today.
- 8:30 PM
music lowly played in your room as you opened instagram, scrolling through your feed, noticing the notification in your inbox. you lied to patrick about having homework. you very much value having time to lounge and relax so you finished assignments as soon as you could. it helped that you actually enjoyed your field of study. it came easy
patrick had messaged you hours ago.
pzweig:
" so? “
“ you free tn? “
it made you laugh to see him acting all non chalant, as if he wasn’t practically swallowing your fingers on the quad earlier.
" idk im kinda tired " you lied. god you so badly wanted to fuck him stupid.
he replied almost instantly
pzweig:
" really? "
" y/n. “
" i want you. “
" is that so? " you replied, continuing your teasing. god even his desperate texts turned you on.
pzweig:
“ god obviously. can’t get it off my mind ”
you bit your lip as your read his message. instinctively squeezing your thighs together.
pzweig:
" what residence building are you in? “
" let me come over "
" what'd you want to do if you came over? " you replied, acting clueless.
pzweig:
" seriously? “
“ literally anything you want. god i just need you. “
fuck. how can you say no.
" i'm in building C "
" 3rd floor, room 14 "
" be here in 10 mins or ill change my mind. "
pzweig:
" fuck. “
" yes "
" on my way "
-
your mind raced. the thought of ruining patrick the anticipation, removed all logic from you. you had totally forgotten about your roommate. she wasn't home, you weren't entirely sure exactly where she was. it was getting late, maybe she was at a friends? her boyfriends? jesus fucking christ hopefully.
"hey are you coming home tonight?" you messaged, pacing around your room eyes darting between the time and the message you sent. waiting for the dots to appear. god you were so nervous and excited, wanting to scream. replaying patrick's antics earlier today, how pathetic he looked and how much it got you off.
valerie:
" hey! at my friends working on a project, don't think we'll be done for awhile so i'll probably stay over. i'll keep you updated “
thank fucking god.
you could already feel the wetness between your legs—imagining patrick's naked body, those begging eyes, his moans. and fuck how big his dick really was, how hard he'd be for you. you couldn't wait.
-
knock knock knock knock knock
5 quick knocks. 2 minutes early.
your stomach turned, walking to the door, opening it to a panting and sweaty patrick leaned against the frame.
"wow didn't think you'd be here in less than 10 minutes," you laughed looking him up and down "how far is your dorm?" you asked, eyes meeting his. he breathlessly replied, naming a building near the law sector. your eyes widened.
"jesus that's like a 20 minute walk" you replied with shock.
"yeah," he pants "i ran"
god. patrick turned what's normally a 20 minute trip into 8 minutes, all for you. you did say if patrick wanted to fuck you he’d have to earn it… this sure seemed like enough to do it. "fuck" you muttered, again scanning his body, the glistening sweat, his heaving chest.
you yanked the collar of his shirt, pulling him into your dorm, throwing the door shut and pushing him against it as it closed. he grunted.
your face inches away from his, mouths slightly open sharing eachothers air. patrick's tongue desperately reaching for yours still trying to catch his breath when you finally gave in.
both of his hands resting on your waist. his tongue swirling in your mouth, sloppily and greedily kissing. you bit his lip, halting the kiss, his hands falling to squeeze your ass as he groaned for more.
"god you want to fuck me that bad?" you teased, your heavy breathing swallowed by up by his as he continued to grope your ass.
"god yes please" he whined, pulling your body to clash with his "you are so fucking perfect" he added, unable to wait another second, need in his voice.
your hands trailed from his neck down his muscled arms, gripping his wrist pulling him to your room. you led him to your bed pushing him, he sank onto the bed as you stood in front of him.
it was surreal. patrick sitting on the same bed you touched yourself to the thought of him on. the perverted fantasies you created in your head and played on loop late at night, all stemming in the room he was currently sitting in. patrick innocently wide eyed, sitting and catching his breath, waiting for your next move.
you leaned in, hands sneaking up his shirt feeling his warm, sweaty skin. you buried your face into his neck. "oh fuck" he muttered shakingly, hands gripping your waist. you slowly kissed along his jaw moving to his neck, sucking and nipping leaving faint marks. tasting the cigarette and cologne scent that stuck to his skin, feeling his throat vibrate with each noise you pulled from him.
patrick. a guy extremely against hickeys unless he was the one giving them, didn't even try to stop you from marking him up, because it was you. happily accepting whatever the fuck you were willing to give or do to him.
you lifted your head halting to face his, eyes half lidded. your hands fell to his jeans "take off your clothes" you whispered lightly biting his lip again, a wide grin creeping onto his face.
he wasted no time, shuffling out of his clothes in mere seconds until he was in just boxers. you just watched, stomach fluttering at the sight of his sweaty toned body. dick so hard it could rip the thin fabric of his boxers. he was leaned back on your bed, undressing you with his eyes, heart racing in anticipation.
you crawled onto him, patrick sitting up eyes following yours. you had him so down bad he felt like he couldn't think straight, clueless like he had forgotten how to fuck. being around you made him feel flustered, his egotistical and playboy persona vanishing with the slightest tease or touch. he needed you to teach him, tell him what to do.
his hands brushed up your thighs, past and under your shorts to clutch your ass. his gaze faltering, looking down and fixating between your legs.
you were sat right on his dick. his erection speaking for him, you could feel how much he wanted you. slowly, you started to grind on him, hands wrapped around his neck. feeling the moisture continuing to build below you, breathing heavy at the friction, becoming more aroused from just his reaction.
"fuucckkk" he hissed. hands suddenly gripping harder on your ass, guiding you back and forth desperate to go faster, lose all control—but obviously you wouldn't let him.
pleasure washed through you with each movement, the room filling with synchronized moaning and shuddering. you could feel patrick trying to fasten the pace so you stop, grabbing both of his wrists and pushing them aside and dipping your tongue to his neck again. you licked up his neck pulling shuddering breaths and deep moans. "fuck patrick you're so greedy" you whispered into his ear.
"i- m'sorry" he said breathy, almost incoherent. body trembling with just the feeling of your breath hitting his skin. he turned to face you, "i just- fuck i need you" he added, mouth wide, scanning your body straddled on his.
you get off him, reaching your hand to palm at his clothed dick, wet spot stained the fabric. tracing around his erection, teasing him, feeding the growing satisfaction in you watching his reaction to your touch. "mm you're so hard for me patrick" you say gripping his cock through his boxers, leaning in to meet his lips messily kissing. patrick continues to moan, arms still sat beside him, hands gripping the sheets.
you slowly pull his boxers down, his dick springing up, swollen tip leaking with precum. his dick was bigger than you had imagined. his body was fucking perfect. patrick still slightly leaned back, half lidded eyes, brows scrunched from the overwhelming pleasure—and you two had just barely started.
you motioned for him to reposition and lay on the bed. you removed your loose shorts and tee, patrick biting his lip seeing your exposed tits. as you climbed back onto patrick he noticed the wetness seeping through your panties, his cock twitched.
positioned on top of patrick, you kissed down his chest, gripping and feeling his biceps as you slowly moved further down. his one hand moving to clutch yours, other hand up to his head gripping his hair.
as you reached his cock, you used your free hand wrapping it around his length. slowly moving it up and down, soaking in every noise drawn from him. patrick squeezing your hand tighter with each movement. he was a fucking wreck and god you loved it
you leaned down, slowly swirling your tongue around his tip, teasingly tasting up and down his leaking cock. patrick painfully clutching your hand, whimpering, muttering “oh fuck fu-fuck”
after taking your sweet fucking time teasing him, you opened wide, filling your mouth taking as much of him as you could. patrick bucked his hips up in response, moaning loud. you gag at the jarring movement, eyes stinging and watering with how full your mouth was.
you continued sucking his dick with a steady pace. patrick moans, nothing short of pornographic, moving his hand in his hair to prop himself up and watch as you take him. inch by inch. tears streaming down your eyes, spit dripping down your chin as you take his length.
“fuck i’m so close” patrick moaned, releasing your hand from his grip to brush through your hair instead. you lifted your head slowly licking up, his cock twitching in response, patrick whipping his head back releasing broken moans.
you stop and sit up, watching him moan and squirm at the loss. you moved to lay beside him, his hand trailing down to relieve the building pressure he felt. you quickly pull his hand back, looking up at him smirking “so selfish aren’t you” you teased. patricks hips slowly moving up desperately searching for some kind of relief from the almost-orgasm robbed from him.
your hand moving up to his jaw pulling him to face you. pure agony displayed on his face, so fucked out. he turned his body to meet yours, hand darting to your waist to pull you close. “it hurts, fuck-” he complains.
you bite your lip, hand wrapping up around his neck pulling his hot red face to yours “be patient patrick” you laugh “so fucking needy” you kiss him.
sharing spit, tongues intertwining, completely devouring eachother. “need you” patrick mumbles, his hand suddenly inching into your panties as your moans are swallowed up by one another. your hold on his neck migrated, getting lost in his curls, gripping hard as his fingers slide through your folds. “fuck your soaked” he says, slowly inserting his finger into your warmth. you gasp moaning into his mouth.
“mm i want you” he says adding a second finger, watching in awe at the pure bliss on your face. you pulled his curls hard. patrick’s fingers curling inside of you, feeling and hearing how wet you were, wanting more. “sit on my face” he asks, desperate to taste you, to please you.
you regain your focus, locking eyes with his. “please fuck.” he pleads, removing his fingers and attempting to pull your panties down. you smile at his begging.
“yeah?” you tease, assisting him in taking off your panties. “want you to cum on my face baby please” he begs, rubbing circles on your now exposed cunt, feeling your slick and biting his lip at the sight.
you twitched as he touched you, moaning at his pleads. you got up crawling and positioning yourself above his head, towering over him. excitement present on his face, eager to taste you.
his arms wrapped around your thighs. you slowly lowered yourself down, feeling his breaths on your cunt giving you shivers all over, nipples hard.
patrick licked up and down your folds, moaning as he tasted your arousal. his moans vibrated against your cunt pulling moans from your mouth. he sucked and flicked his tongue causing you to twitch, eyes fluttering. “fuck.” you moaned “such a good fucking slut aren’t you” you continued, patrick grunting louder, gripping harder on your thighs.
“so pathetic,” you grinded on his face “begging for my pussy” he continued to moan at every dig, getting off on the degrading comments. he picked up his pace, swirling his tongue around your clit, hands pulling you down harder against him. “god fuck-“ you moan, body shaking at the rush of pleasure building throughout you.
patrick stops, adjusting and flipping you onto your back, kissing down your stomach back to your cunt. his face covered in your arousal, sloppily tonguing your pussy, moaning as he tastes you.
“so desperate for me aren’t you” you moan, hands digging in his head of curls tugging tightly. your comments drive him crazy, his dick is so hard he’s subtly rutting into the mattress to soothe the growing pressure, moaning into your cunt.
he starts to finger you as his tongue flicks and sucks your clit, loud rasping moans slipping from you as your climax builds. “such a-“ you gasp “good fucking boy”. patrick can feel your walls tensing around his fingers and picks up the pace. his increasingly fast pace mixed with slow moans against your cunt was enough to pull your orgasm out of you. your body shook, patrick removing his fingers and licking up all that you release greedily.
he kisses back up your stomach up to your tits, admiring them before licking and sucking on them. patrick moans as he does so “fuck so perfect” leaving small hickeys across your chest.
you pull him up to your level, laying side by side, warm lips smashing together. you reach for his swollen length, gently and slowly jerking him. he shudders, hand reaching back to your clit rubbing circles, matching your pace. dialogue filled with nothing but panting breaths and stuttered moans. patrick wanting so badly to cum feeling your soft hands on his cock, hearing your faint whines against his mouth.
“fuck- fuck me” he requests, hands trailing to squeeze your tits, eyes locked on yours glimmering with desperation. you smiled against his lips, hastily rolling on top of him.
head leaned low hovering over his, hands reaching to grip his neck. “what was that?” you teased.
“please fuck me” he repeated with a hoarse voice “please” begging with an agonizing whine
you laughed, positioning yourself on his cock. his hands resting on your hips, expecting you to continue teasing him, but you abruptly sank down taking all of his length. patrick cried out feeling paralyzed with pleasure, his face burning.
you continue to move up and down steadily, feeling waves of pleasure washing over you as you’re further stretched out by him. patrick’s fingers digging into your ass, overstimulated.
“such a whore” you spat “ fucking knew you liked being degraded” you taunted, riding his dick as he surrendered all of him to you. he mumbles incoherently, eating up your insults chasing his high.
you leaned down low, slowing down, your hole tightly gripping on his length “bet you’ve been dreaming about this, fantasizing about me fucking you like this”
“yes yes fuck,” he moaned “since saturday night fu-“ he breathed out.
“desperate for my fucking attention, asking about me, you continued. “all so you could get me in bed and let me treat you like shit?” you whispered, inches from his scrunched face.
“yes-“ “need you so bad-“ “it’s all i’ve been- thinking about” his response broken and stuttered through his moans.
this felt like a fucking dream. for both of you. but especially you. patrick had zero clue that you had been getting off to the thought of this for months. “fucking knew it” you laughed. seeing his chest heave, shaky breaths, desperate moans, voice trembling. just like how you imagined it.
you sat back upright, fixing your pace to speed up, his hands darting up to squeeze your tits “gonna cum for me?” you taunt, noticing his fluttering eyes and faltering breaths.
he nods mumbling and moaning, mouth widening as he comes undone inside of you. you continue aggressively riding him watching as he continuously rolls his eyes back, cock throbbing inside you filling you with his warmth, both of your broken moans spilling throughout the room.
“fu- fuck” he trembled, hands falling to your thighs. you slowly lifted off of him, his cum spilling out. you collapsed beside him, both of you sitting in silence catching your breath.
patrick gathering his thoughts, concluding that sex with you was the best he’s ever had. he didn’t care how pathetic he looked, you awakened this in him and he was addicted. smirking to himself already imagining his next sexual encounter with yo—his train of thought interrupted by the sight of you climbing off your bed.
throwing his clothes at him, reaching for yours and changing back into them. he slightly sat up watching in confusion. you stopped, looking back at him.
“i have an early class tomorrow” you informed, resuming putting on your clothes. patrick still gawking, not fully understanding your point.
“get dresssed?” you answered, letting out a small but short lived laugh. you got what you wanted out of him.
“oh. ok” he replied visibly disappointed, causing a subtle grin to creep up onto your face.
you both finished changing and you led him to the door, opening it gesturing for him to leave. his hand met your waist, head leaning down to kiss you. you slightly dodged allowing for him to only peck your cheek. he left.
you both felt extremely satisfied, you more so. living out your fantasy, patrick obsessed and willing to do anything. patrick was hoping this wasn’t just a one time thing, hoping he’d have this encounter again—and god he’d do anything for it, for you.
DIVIDERS - @cursed-carmine
A/N:
im sorry i am way to lazy to go back and capitalize everything 🙏
sorry this took so long to finish, been busy and was feeling a little lazy hehe. also sorry if some of the descriptions are like repetitive or if there’s mistakes, i was tired editing this 😪
i apologize for how long this part is compared to the first one, debated separating this into a third part but thought why not keep it as one.
anywaysss hope u guys like it, please feel free to send art or patrick x reader requests i need some inspo hehe ‼️
Summary: Clark likes his editor, even if she's a little mean to him.
Word Count: 12.1k
Content: 18+, smut, clark is a disaster and a yearner, reader is a little mean but clark is into it, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), clark whimpers, light angst, reader is described as having hair
To Read on AO3
Daily Planet, Metropolis - 9:47 AM
The hustle and bustle of the newsroom is already well underway by the time Clark Kent makes an appearance. The way-too-big gray suit that he wore at least once a week is crumpled, the coat nearly hanging off his shoulder as he tries to make sure he hasn’t lost any of the papers that are haphazardly hanging from his open bag while balancing a cup holder with four cups of coffee from the nice coffee shop down the road.
Other employees step around the frazzled man as he makes a beeline for his desk, flashing smiles and good mornings to everyone along the way. He’s stopped just shy of his destination as Lois Lane pops out in front of him, eyes heavy with exhaustion, as she eyes the paper cups before plucking the one with the most sugar listed on the order sticker. “Thanks,” she mumbles as she turns around, making her way back to her desk, muttering some stuff under her breath about having to rewrite the byline for her article again.
Clark barely has time to stutter out a ‘you’re welcome’ before he realizes the missing coffee cup has caused the cup holder to begin to tip sideways, the other three coffees teetering dangerously close to disaster. Clark can already see the next two seconds flashing before his eyes: spilled coffee and the exasperated look from everyone around him.
That is, until a perfectly manicured hand shoots out from behind him, deftly swiping the cup holder from him before all of the cups spill over. He follows the hand to its source, landing on your face… your very stern, eyebrow cocked in disbelief, face. “Seriously, Kent?” you ask with a scoff as you set down the holder onto his desk.
He feels the burn up the sides of his neck to his ears as he stammers, clamoring to put his bag down and straighten out his suit. You look nice today, he notes. You look nice every day, even as you stand before him, scowling. All he can think about is how pretty you look and how mesmerizing the red of your lipstick is.
“Y-yeah, sorry,” he finally apologizes, snapping to as he realizes you were waiting for him to respond. “The fight with Superman this morning ended up shutting down the A-Line, so I had to walk.”
You don’t even try to disguise the way your eyes roll at his excuse. “Superman, of course,” you mutter under your breath before raising the manila folder you were holding. “Here are the edits for the article you gave me yesterday, and remember, you still owe me the draft for the Crane case.”
“Geez, let the guy breathe for a second before jumping down his throat as soon as he gets in,” Jimmy Olsen comments with a grin as he saunters over, grabbing another cup from the holder on Clark’s desk. He pats Clark on the shoulder with a faint ‘thanks, man’ all the while pretending you’re not glaring daggers at him as he falls into his chair, sipping happily on his coffee.
You point the folder at Clark, who stands there awkwardly as you turn your fury to Jimmy. “He wouldn’t need a chance to breathe if he got here on time like the rest of us,” you fume. Jimmy holds his hands up in surrender, sending a sympathetic smile to Clark before ducking his head and turning back around to face his monitor. As much as Jimmy loves Clark, he was not going to put himself in front of your wrath for him.
When you turn back to Clark, he at least has the decency to look apologetic, hunched in a way to make himself appear smaller, and the corners of his lips pulled into a remorseful smile. You curse his dimples silently in your mind. “I was hoping getting you a coffee might soften the blow of me being late… again.”
You look down at the two remaining cups and see your name written in Clark’s chicken scratch handwriting with a wobbly smiley face drawn next to it. The sticker with the order on it displaying that he’d gotten you your favorite from the shop down the road that you loved to go to whenever you managed to pull yourself away from your desk for longer than ten minutes. That is to say that it is a luxury around here.
Your eyes narrow and lips purse for just a moment before you shove the folder into his chest, and he scrambles to catch it before it hits the ground. “I’m serious, you better have it to me by six P.M., Perry has been on my ass about it,” you assert before plucking your coffee from his desk and turning to walk back to the editor block, the click of your heels like a siren song that has his eyes following after you trailing up your form before settling on your plush backside before he realizes what he’s doing and looks away quickly, suddenly very interested in the broken ceiling tile above his desk.
He hears a snort of laughter and glances back over at Jimmy, who is not even attempting to hide his shit-eating grin. “What?” Clark asks.
Jimmy shakes his head in disbelief. “Dude, you have it so bad.” Clark dares to look confused as to what Jimmy is referring to. He motions to you and Clark can’t help but to sneak another peek at you as you’re stopped in the middle of the bullpen talking to one of the summer interns, the stern brow you’d had with him has softened as you’re inevitably explaining something you have already gone over at least twice with her before with far more patience than you ever afforded Clark.
Clark doesn’t even realize the dopey smile that works its way onto his face as he stares until Jimmy snaps his fingers. “Yeah, see! That!” He points at Clark’s face, which has now settled into what could only be described as a pout.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clark insists.
Jimmy groans as he spins in his chair. “Just ask her out already, the worst thing she could say is ‘no’.”
Clark’s brows furrow. “Actually, the worst thing she could say is ‘you’ll be hearing from HR’.”
Lois rolls out from behind her desk, looking a bit more chipper than five minutes prior, cup of coffee still securely in her hand. “Fired for sexual misconduct would look really bad with future employers,” she teases.
Clark gives her an exasperated look, and Jimmy waves his hand at both of them dismissively. “I’m telling you, there’s no way she’d say no or report you to HR.”
“Jimmy, I hate to break it to you, but she cannot stand Clark,” Lois informs.
“Yeah, she can’t—” He whirls around to look at Lois, a distraught look on his face. “What do you mean she can’t stand me?”
“Clark, you’re always submitting drafts to her late —” “Yeah, because I get really nervous and end up re-writing it like five times before I give it to her.” “— You’re also always showing up late for work—” “I can’t help if the city is attacked and an entire subway line gets shut down!”
Lois gives him a sharp look, and he swallows, something unspoken between them that Jimmy at least doesn’t pick up on.
“Listen, some women just aren’t impressed with the whole… naïve farm boy vibe you got going on,” Lois finishes with a shrug. “Don’t take it so personally.”
Clark looks to Jimmy for some backup, and luckily, the redhead takes pity on poor Clark, coming to his friend’s rescue. “Lois, I respect your opinion on this matter as a woman, but trust me, she may seem like she’s not impressed, but—”
“Oh, don’t even give me that she’s playing hard to get spiel,” Lois rolls her eyes with a disbelieving smile on her face.
“—But, I think she’s playing hard to get.”
“Oh my god, you’re both HR violations waiting to happen,” she chides before taking another sip of her coffee.
“Aw, c’mon, look, you made him sad.” Jimmy gestures to a very downtrodden Clark, who is simply staring in the general direction where you had disappeared back into the editor block with a visible frown on his face.
Guilt creeps up Lois’s spine, and she sighs. “Listen, if you really like her, then just ask her out already and spare us having to endure the puppy dog looks.”
“There ya have it,” Jimmy nods. “Lois Lane approved office romance.”
Lois lets out a bark of laughter as she and Jimmy dive into their own conversation, leaving Clark to his thoughts. He drops into his seat, starting to look over the edits you’d handed him. The amount of markups on the page doesn’t even surprise him. Bright blue ink scratches out entire segments of sentences, circling others, neat handwriting tucked into the margins explaining each cut and need for clarification.
The first article you edited for him had been even worse. There was more blue penned onto the page than black printed ink. You had torn his article into shreds, the one he had shyly placed into the tray on your desk after he had tried to email it to you, only to be told you only accepted printed copies of drafts, something none of the other editors requested.
(Lois would later tell him that you preferred having something physical in your hands when you edited, and she’d made the same mistake in her first week)
He had been so proud of that article when he’d handed it over. Less so when you’d given the folder back to him with nothing more than a raised eyebrow before walking back to your desk, it took all of five minutes before he’d shown up in front of you, the marked-up draft crinkled nervously between his hands, clearly upset by the sheer amount of edits.
You had stared at him, unblinking, as he stammered all over himself, waiting until he talked himself into an awkward silence before saying anything. Dealing with uppity journalists who took personal offense to edits was nothing new to you. “If you don’t make the edits, then I won’t approve it and it won’t go to print,” you’d said simply. “Unless you’d like to make an argument for the run-on sentences?”
There wasn’t any malice in your voice, and that was the moment Clark realized it wasn’t personal, it was just your job, and you were not just good, but great at your job. He must have been as red as a tomato by the time he turned and fled back to his desk with his tail tucked between his legs.
He made the edits, and when Perry walked by his desk the next day, he was complimented on the pacing and tone of the piece. It didn’t make the front page… not even second or third, but it was his first article in the Daily Planet.
You had even smiled at him and congratulated him on his first article when you were making your rounds that morning.
That was where this inconceivably tiny, bite-sized crush started.
Because even when you shredded his article into pieces, his heart sang at the tiny compliments left in the margins.
‘Good pacing here.’
‘This passage really shines.’
‘Beautiful.’
And of course, it doesn’t help that you are pretty. Walking around the office with your face done up and hair perfectly styled in outfits he doesn’t think he has seen a repeat of since starting here almost three years ago. He always feels like a mess in front of you, especially when he comes in late (which is often) and sees you standing there, arms crossed, looking like you want to go up one side of him and down the other (which you have before).
There is also the fact that you hate Superman.
Well, maybe hate isn’t the right word.
Strongly disapprove of?
He remembers the first time a clip of Superman played while you all had gathered in the newsroom. When everyone else was oohing and ahhing at Superman’s heroics (which Clark may or may not have been preening a bit at), you stood there, sipping at your overly expensive coffee with such an unimpressed look.
“Just what we need, another jackass in tights wandering around.”
Clark deflated at that.
While you never explicitly said you disliked his caped alter ego, you definitely never had anything kind to say either. The articles he submitted to you about Superman? If he had gotten those edits when he was a freshman in high school writing for the Smallville High newspaper, he would’ve never written another article again.
Entire paragraphs marked for deletion or simply ‘TONE’ in all caps next to specific passages. The worst had been when you crossed out a sentence and just put ‘No’ next to it in the margins.
“It’s a feature, not an op-ed, Kent.”
It was brutal. Even Lois couldn’t help the grimace whenever she happened to catch sight of those drafts, her and Jimmy saluting Clark when they knew he was walking over to the editor block to submit a Superman article to you.
Despite that, he looked forward to seeing you every day. You had become the person he looks for the moment he enters a room, without him even realizing it.
So much about you and the way you move through the world has been noted and categorized by Clark.
He loved the moments when he caught you while editing, two or three pens stuck in your up-do because you kept forgetting you’d placed them there and grabbed a new one each time, chewing on your bottom lip as you carefully marked up whatever draft you were working on.
He loved how you took care of the people around you in your own, sometimes standoffish, way.
“Have you eaten?” You’d asked him one day, his second year of working at the Planet. It was late, and it was just you two and a handful of others in the office working towards deadlines that were creeping far too close for comfort. He’d been having the hardest time with the beat Perry had assigned him and had worked through his lunch and any subsequent breaks.
“O-oh, I don’t really have money to order out right now,” he said, almost embarrassed. He’d just paid rent, which meant he would be living off of cup noodles and breakroom coffee until next week when his next paycheck hit.
You glanced up at him from your phone that you were tapping on. “I didn’t ask if you had money, I asked if you’d eaten,” you replied pointedly before returning your attention to your phone. “Beef and broccoli, yeah?” You confirmed, and he was a bit stunned but managed to nod in response. Warmth rolling through his chest that you remembered his food order. “I’ll get those eggrolls you like, too.”
“I can pay you back next week,” Clark offered, and you just waved your hand at him, not looking up from your phone.
“I’m not worried about it, Kent.” You walked off, calling out to the others in the office that you were ordering food, leaving Clark’s heart to simmer in your wake.
He loved how unafraid you were. How confident you were in your convictions. There weren’t many people at the Planet who would go to bat against Perry, but you did constantly. So many times, he’d walk into the newsroom to see you two having a screaming match about whether or not an article should go to print.
“We are not printing this!”
“Oh, come off it, Perry, if you want to play it safe, go work for Newstime Magazine!”
The article almost always went to print. Not without a lot of griping from Perry, and you never were smug about it. Satisfied, yes. But it was about journalistic integrity. It was about publishing articles that no other company would touch with a ten-foot pole due to the fear of backlash because no one else would do it. There were many other employees at the Planet who shared the sentiment, but you were consistently the one who fought for it, loudly.
So yeah, Clark Kent had a crush on you because why wouldn’t he? And maybe Jimmy was right, and he should ask you out.
(Or maybe he was wrong and Clark would be looking for a new job by Friday)
By the end of the day, he decides he will ask you out to dinner. Hyping himself up in the moment as he starts to finish the article that he has already rewritten twice now.
Except he doesn’t end up asking you out at all. Instead, it is five P.M., and he stands in front of your desk, freshly printed draft clutched in his hands as he watches you type away at something on your monitor.
You don’t even look up at him, and he knows that you know he is standing there.
Time stretches on for what he could only imagine to be an eternity, and he can feel his heartbeat in his throat as he waits until, finally, you push back from your desk, turning to face him. “Is there something you need, Clark?” The eye contact you make sends his heart sputtering, but the way his name rolls off your lips has his knees so weak he almost falls against your desk in a heap. Your gaze flickers down to the papers in his hand. “Is that the Crane case draft?”
“O-oh! Yeah!” He says dumbly, and when he doesn’t do anything but continue to stand there, you blink, briefly wondering if he’d suffered some head injury in the last few hours.
“Can I… have it?” you question, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare up at him.
You watch a flush creep up his cheeks, and he practically slams the folder onto your desk. “Y-yeah, of course! I’m sorry it took so long to get to you, I was having some trouble with one of the sources and…”
“I’ll have the edits to you tomorrow morning,” you confirm. “Try to get here on time, Perry wants this to run for the evening issue.”
He nods, pushing up his glasses as they slide down his nose, and pretends not to notice as you follow the movement. “Don’t worry, I’ll be on time, I promise.” You stare at him for a pause before turning back to your computer, muttering something akin to ‘I’ve heard that one before,’ and Clark is struck by the way the setting sun backlights you, wisps of gold brushing against your profile. His heart his hammering in his chest as he tries to will himself to say something, anything else to you.
“Okay, bye.”
Not that.
“Have a good night,” you call out, not looking up from the screen.
Clark shuffles away, already mentally beating himself up as Jimmy appears behind him, bag swung over his shoulder. “That was rough to watch, buddy.”
“Shut up,” Clark groans as he grabs his things from his desk. “I don’t know why there’s such a disconnect between my brain and my mouth when I’m around her.”
“Hey, I get it, man,” Jimmy nods. “She is scary, but in a really hot way—” Clark’s head snaps up, and he gives Jimmy a sharp look because he knows Jimmy’s reputation. “Relax, relax. She’s all yours, I can assure you. I think she’d eat me alive.”
As Clark follows Jimmy to the elevator, he glances back over his shoulder, seeing you still sitting at your desk as everyone else has begun to pack up for the night. You give a smile and bid another editor goodnight as she tells you not to stay too late.
He knows you will anyway.
As they step into the elevator with a handful of their coworkers, all conversing about their plans for the rest of the night, Clark decides that tomorrow he will definitely ask you out.
He does not end up asking you out tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after, as a matter of fact. Every single time he resolved himself to doing so, he felt the words turn to mush in his mouth the moment he saw you.
Once, because you had been standing with Lois in the breakroom, laughing in a way he’d never seen before, the snort of laughter so uncharacteristic and unexpected, he had walked straight into the mail cart, sending envelopes and parcels flying all over the place.
The second time, he had gone into the archives to grab some old records to reference for a story he’d been working on, and turned the corner to see you up on a stool, half bent as you tried to wrestle with a box buried on the shelf. Clark could only focus on the swell of your backside in the tight slacks you were wearing and didn’t even register that you had turned to him.
“Clark? Help, please?”
Whatever words that came out of his mouth were unintelligible as his body went into autopilot, grabbing the box you’d been battling with ease, nodding like an idiot as you thanked him before turning on his heel and walking out, completely forgetting about the entire reason he’d gone in there to begin with.
The third and final time, you weren’t even doing anything special, just sitting at your desk, humming along to the desk radio you had quietly going, sorting through papers. Clark was determined this time. He’d spent the entirety of last night rehearsing what he was going to say, all the while fighting an interdimensional creature that was terrorizing downtown.
He had approached you with confidence, and then you’d turn to face him, lips wrapped around a cherry lollipop that one of the secretaries had given out as extras from her daughter’s birthday party over the weekend.
Whatever confidence he had rapidly warped into panic as words fell out of his mouth in a jumble. Indiscernible and certainly not a sentence asking you to go to dinner with him. He stood there as you stared up at him, and he could see the stain of the lollipop on your lips and tongue.
“Clark, what?”
And then he made some sort of noise and, with haste, fled the vicinity, leaving you there blinking, wondering what just happened.
It is that afternoon that he hears you in a quiet conversation with Lois as he is once again unjamming Printer 4. You perch on her desk, leaning close to whisper to her, completely unaware that Clark can hear every single word you say.
“I think Clark has a concussion,” you inform with a solemn look on your face.
Lois almost laughs at that, but keeps her face trained in faux concern. “Why do you think that?”
“I don’t think that man has said a coherent sentence to me this entire week,” you explain. “He’s basically resorted to communicating with me in grunts like a caveman.”
That has Lois snorting with laughter, trying to hide the smile with her coffee cup as she takes a sip of the lukewarm liquid that’s been sitting on her desk for the better part of the morning. “I can assure you he does not have a concussion.”
You give her a pursed look, clearly not believing her. “Then what is his deal?”
It is at this moment that Lois makes eye contact with Clark from across the newsroom. He feels the dread build up in him as a smirk tilts its way onto Lois’s face, and he can almost see the exact moment the thought formulates in her head.
And then the building shakes, lights flickering as a deafening ‘boom’ echoes from somewhere outside. Silence settles in place of panic, as everyone listens with bated breath, hoping it was nothing to be concerned about, perhaps just some construction down the road. Until the second explosion rocks the building, and then chaos erupts.
People are scrambling all over. Clark sees you grab Lois and push her towards the stairwell, yelling at the gaggle of people who are trying to file into the elevator. “Are you idiots? Use the stairs!” That gets them moving, and Clark is moving with everyone else.
As you all get to the ground floor, you can see the source of the explosions, Green Lantern, Mr. Terrific, and Hawkgirl are fighting some idiot on a hoverboard who keeps tossing explosives around like he’s giving out candy on Halloween. Another one detonates, and a building down the street crumbles from the explosion. Debris and dust are scattering through the streets as people run from the epicenter of the fight. Cops are trying to divert traffic away, and the wail of ambulances approaches.
It’s pandemonium.
“C’mon, Kent, move it!” There’s a hand on his arm, and he looks down to find you pulling him along. The crowd around you is a shifting sea, but you’re firm and steady beside him despite the chaos. He realizes he’s going away from where he needs to be, but he lets you pull him anyway.
And then an explosion hits from somewhere above, and suddenly the air is filled with dirt and smoke, and the crowds push forward even as people sputter and try to regain their bearings. You lose your grip on Clark after getting knocked around by the surge of people, and that’s when panic sets in for you as you stop amidst the mass of people, shouting for him. “Clark?” You don’t see his massive form in the crowd of people, and your throat constricts. “Clark?!”
Someone behind you pushes, and you keep moving because it’s either that or be crushed by the swath of people. There’s a barricade another block down, and by the time you make it there, the crowd has begun to disperse, and there’s still no sign of Clark Kent. You feel nauseous as you think of the plethora of things that could’ve happened to him, though the thought of him lying dead in the street with people rushing over him is at the forefront of your mind.
You ask people as they rush by you.
“Excuse me, have you seen a guy, about this tall?”
“A man, curly hair, and glasses?”
A sonic boom cuts through the chaos, and people cheer as Superman flies onto the scene. You don’t, though. Your phone is in your hand as you search for Clark’s number, which has been unused until now in your contact list. It rings once, twice, all the way until the voicemail picks up.
“Hey, you’ve reached Clark. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
You hang up and try again, ignoring the tightness in your throat when it goes to voicemail once more.
“Hey, you’ve reached Clark. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll get—”
You feel your lip wobble. And again.
“Hey, you’ve reached Clark. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message—”
With Superman coming to their aid, the heroes make quick work of the lone villain. You barely notice that the crowd has waned as the heroics come to an end. Instead, you’re pacing under the awning of a building, being met with Clark Kent’s voicemail message again and again each time you call him.
You had already called Jimmy and Lois, both of whom hadn’t seen their friend, though Lois tried to convince you that he was fine. You couldn’t help the worry that nagged at you.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” Someone asks from behind you.
You whirl around, pulling the phone from your ear, and you can’t even help the wide-eyed look that appears on your face. Superman himself stands before you, bathed in the light of the setting sun that creeps through the skyline of Metropolis behind him. He’s bigger in person, you realize. Broader than you thought he’d be.
“Ma’am?” There’s concern on his face when you don’t answer.
“Yes,” you reply quickly. “Yes, I’m sorry, I’m fine.”
“Hey, you’ve reached Clark. I can’t come to the phone right now, but—.”
You look back down at your phone and press the ‘end call’ button, biting your lip.
“I’m looking for Clark,” you tell him. “Clark Kent. You know him, he’s interviewed you before. He was beside me, and then an explosion hit above us, and I lost him in the chaos, and I can’t find him, and he’s not answering his phone—” Your voice cracks, and you don’t even notice the way Superman’s face crumples with it.
“Hey,” he calls out softly as he steps closer. You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up, your eyes meeting an earthshattering shade of blue. “It’s alright,” he assures. “I’ll find him. Why don’t you go home and rest? I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
You shake your head. “No, if something happened to him, I—”
“Nothing happened to him,” he promises. “I’ll find him, and when I do, I’ll make sure he calls you, how about that?”
You want to be stubborn. You want to tell Superman to shove off. But you’re tired, and there’s a burn in your lungs from all of the dust and smoke. Gripping your phone harder, you shove the edge of it into his chest, and he looks a bit surprised, if not a little amused by the action. “You make sure he calls me,” you order, and there’s a fragility in your voice that Clark doesn’t think he’s heard before, despite the way your jaw is set. You’re putting on a brave face.
A soft smile spreads on Superman’s face. “Yes, ma’am.”
An hour and a half later, just as you fit your key into the deadbolt of your door, your phone rings. The name ‘Clark Kent’ flashes across the screen, and pure relief floods you as you pick up on the second ring. “Clark?”
“H-hey,” his soft voice comes through the other end, and you never thought you would be so happy to hear that Kansan accent. “I’m so sorry, I left my phone at the office and I finally just went back to get it.”
“Are you okay?” you ask as you close your door behind you.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” he replies.
There’s a pregnant pause between you two. You think you should say ‘okay’ and hang up, not draw out the conversation any longer than it needs to be. But you don’t. The bizarre want to hear his voice some more, tugging at you in a way you’ve never experienced before. “Don’t think you get to be late to work tomorrow just because a couple of buildings on our street exploded,” you tease, breaking through the tension of the quiet.
He laughs, and even though you’re silent, he can tell you’re smiling too. “Wouldn't dream of it,” he says.
“Goodnight, Clark.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
Clark surprises you the next morning by not only arriving on time, but arriving early. He’s so early that it is just you two in the newsroom. The shock is written on your face as you spot him walking from the elevator while standing at the copier, eyes wide and mouth agape.
He gives a shy wave, cheeks dimpling as he smiles at you. “Good morning,” he calls out.
What he does not expect is for you to grab the stack of papers off the copier and march towards him, smacking him repeatedly with the pile of papers. “You can’t just disappear like that during a crisis!” He doesn’t flinch as he is hit. You don’t even notice how gently he’s looking down at you, too busy giving him a piece of your mind like you always do. “Like, what the hell, Clark? I thought something happened to you!”
You run out of steam surprisingly quickly and meet his gaze. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, and you take a moment to study his face and the blue of his eyes, and you’re struck by a thought that leaves your mouth dry.
Clark is handsome.
“Don’t do it again,” you warn, giving him one final half-hearted swat to the chest that has him giving you a laugh that leaves you lightheaded. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
He smiles and nods, and when you go to leave, he can feel the end of the moment between you two rapidly approaching. He doesn’t want it to end. “Would you wanna go out to dinner with me?” he asks before he can even think long enough to get nervous about it.
You blink once, then twice as though you’re not quite sure you heard him correctly. “Dinner?”
He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Is this a date?”
He nods again and can feel his palms begin to sweat.
“Yes,” you say after a beat. He grins, dimples and all, and warmth spreads through your chest, a feeling you’re hesitant to embrace.
“Friday? Seven P.M.?” He asks.
“Gino’s?” You suggest, a lilt to your voice that isn’t normally there, and he’s mesmerized by the look in your eye as you do, by the way you’re trying to disguise the smile that itches at your face. He nods, leaning in a bit. The papers in your hand are a shield between you two, and you step back. “Don’t be late.”
“I won’t be.” He wouldn’t be.
Gino’s Italian Restaurant, Metropolis - 7:43 PM
He was late.
You didn’t miss the sympathetic looks the hostess and waiters sent you every time they passed by your table for two, which was occupied by one. Your glass of wine was nearly empty, and the bread basket was alarmingly full despite the hunger that gnawed at your insides.
You had been trying not to glance down at your phone for the last half hour, knowing that if you had gotten a text, the screen would light up. However, it had remained dark since you sent Clark your last message, asking where he was.
With one final swig, you empty the glass, catching the eye of the waiter, waving him over. “Can I have the check, please?” you ask.
After paying for your singular glass of wine, once you were out in the cool breeze of the summer night, you finally recheck your phone. The absence of any new message sent a trill of fury through you, only amplified by the news report notification about Superman fighting some gigantic monster in midtown.
“Great,” you grumble. “Let’s hope they don’t knock out the T-Line this time.”
The trek home takes far too long with people getting diverted away from the kaiju battle, and the pleasant buzz you had from the glass of wine had long since worn off as you shove through your apartment door, flinging it closed behind you as you kick off your pumps, breathing in the relief for your aching feet.
You’re desperate to get out of the dress you’d squeezed into (after spending far too long debating what dress Clark would like better on you), but the desire to get absolutely shitfaced after being stood up by your coworker was overwhelming. And that’s how you found yourself lounging on your balcony, watching Big Blue himself battle an enormous alien creature from across the city with nothing but a bottle of chardonnay to keep you company.
You stay there until long after the light show ends, just taking sips from the bottle every so often, sitting in your sorrow. Honestly, you don’t even know why you’re so upset. It’s not as though you even liked Clark all that much; you were just looking forward to a free meal.
Like, yes, he was objectively good-looking, and yes, he always remembered your coffee order. And, yes, maybe you prodded him just a little more than you did others because you liked watching him get flustered.
But you didn’t like him.
(You could have, though)
A loud knock at your door startles you from your thoughts. Your bare feet pad against the floor of your apartment as you softly step to your door, peeking through the peephole, finding none other than Clark Kent himself standing outside of your apartment.
If you were any other person, you might have just ignored the knocking, letting him stew in the silence, but you were not any other person, and with half a bottle of chardonnay in your system, you want nothing more than to give him a piece of your mind.
When you rip the door open, Clark looks at you wide-eyed and sputtering. “I’m so—”
“Oh, absolutely not,” you interrupt, shoving your finger into his (startlingly firm) chest. “You have a lot of nerve, Clark Kent.”
“I know, I know, please just let me—”
“Let you what? Explain? Explain how you left me waiting at Gino’s for forty-five minutes for you? Explain how now at—” You lean back to glance at the microwave clock in your kitchen. “—9:57 PM, nearly 3 hours after we were supposed to meet for our date, you show up at my door expecting to grovel at my feet for me to what? To forgive you?”
“No, that’s not it, please just let me explain,” he begs.
You don’t, though. “You made me look like an idiot.” Your voice is soft, and there’s vulnerability, the bite you had seconds prior, leaving your body rapidly. You can feel the way your throat tightens, and the pit in your stomach feels like it could swallow you whole. You hate feeling like this, feeling this small. Clark looks at your eyes and realizes they’re tinged red and clouded with unshed tears. He wants to throw up. “You made me feel like an idiot.”
“I’m really sorry.” His voice cracks, and it looks like he wants to reach out to touch you, but he doesn’t.
“Me too,” you say back, tone empty and despondent.
“I got you these.” He holds out a lightly crumpled bouquet that’s been hanging limply at his side this entire time. You stare at it. It wasn’t one of those grocery store bouquets, no, this one is full of your favorite flowers, clearly and explicitly curated for you.
You blink back tears and grab the bouquet, holding it close to your chest. “Thank you.”
“You look really pretty.”
“I know,” you whisper. “Goodnight, Clark.”
He doesn’t say anything as you shut the door, your gaze catching your reflection in the hallway mirror. It’s almost pathetic, you all dolled up with a bouquet of all your favorite flowers, looking like you were a moment away from the dam breaking.
And then there’s a burn at the back of your throat that you can’t ignore, and you can’t help as the tears finally fall from your eyes, you suck in a deep breath on instinct, feeling the sob try to wretch out from you. You don’t know that Clark is standing on the other side, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he blinks away his own tears.
The weekend passes by horridly fast. As much as you had wanted to waste away and lament about the date that never was (that you would definitely not admit you had gotten your hopes up for), you would not let being stood up consume your entire weekend; they were a precious commodity after all.
So, after spending Friday night ugly crying into your pillow, you pulled yourself together by Saturday morning. You went out to a boozy brunch with some of your college friends, took yourself on a walk around the park to enjoy the sunshine, and spent some time in your favorite bookstore buying books that you promised yourself you would read and not let sit untouched on your bookshelf like the entire neglected pile of others.
By Sunday, you were feeling better. That is, until you were getting ready for bed Sunday night and the dread hit you.
You spent the night tossing and turning, feeling like you wanted to crawl out of your skin at just the thought of having to see Clark again. By morning, it took a generous application of concealer to hide the bags under your eyes and a heavy pep talk in the mirror to even think about stepping out your door.
As with most Monday mornings, as soon as you walked into the bullpen, it was a cacophony of chaos, but at least it was chaos you were familiar with. You make your way to your desk, offering halfhearted greetings, and feel slight relief as you settle into your seat, hoping that work will keep your brain busy enough not to let the anxiety ruin your day.
Then your gaze fixes on the paper coffee cup placed in front of your keyboard. Your name is written in a familiar chicken scratch handwriting. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you swivel in your seat, looking back at the writer block to see that Clark Kent is already sitting at his desk. Hunched and fidgeting with a stack of Post-it notes as he catches your eye. His mouth tilts up into an uncertain smile.
You purse your lips, a scowl forming on your face as you grab the coffee cup, maintaining unblinking eye contact as you proceed to drop it directly into the garbage can next to your desk, and then you spin back around.
Clark grimaces. “Yeah, I deserve that,” he mutters as he looks back at the blank Word document that’s been taunting him since he got in this morning.
It wasn’t any surprise how quickly word got around about Clark’s spectacular failure. Steve had walked by his desk after the morning meeting, giving a ‘womp womp’ that made Clark nearly snap the pencil he was writing with.
“So, let me get this straight,” Jimmy slides over, munching on some yogurt and granola. “You finally ask out the woman you’ve been pining after for who knows how long, then proceed to miss the date entirely without texting her that you wouldn’t be able to make it, and then show up at her apartment with flowers, thinking that would make up for the complete lack of communication?”
Clark sighs. “Yeah, that about covers it.” His voice is muffled as he buries his face in his hands.
“Buddy,” Jimmy starts. “You really fucked up.”
Clark groans, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, Jimmy, I know.”
He didn’t even want to look over at Lois because all she kept doing was sending him looks of disappointment the whole morning. She had stopped by your desk this morning with a grin on her face that quickly morphed into a look of horror as you recounted Friday night’s events.
Even Cat, who was usually all honeyed words with Clark, had been giving him the stink eye.
Honestly, though, no one else could make Clark feel as bad as he made himself feel about the whole thing. He had spent the weekend agonizing over how badly he had messed up with you. The sound of you crying on the other side of the door replaying in his head like his own personal version of hell.
He even called his parents.
“Oh, Clark, honey,” Martha soothed. “You wounded that woman’s pride, you just gotta give her some time to cool off.”
“I don’t know, Ma, I think I really messed this one up,” he said, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he felt the telltale pressure of tears building up.
“Now, Clark, no problem worth fixin’ is ever easy.” He couldn’t see them, but he knew Pa was nodding along. “If this girl is everything you’ve made her out to be, she’ll come around.”
The week passes by, and you coming around is nowhere in sight. Every cup of coffee he left on your desk went directly into the trash, the bouquets of your favorite flowers were pawned off to the secretaries, and the lunches were donated to the breakroom on a first-come, first-served basis.
When he went to drop off drafts for you to edit, you pointedly ignored him. To your credit, the edits you made were not as harsh as he’d thought they’d be in light of everything, though there was an apparent lack of any compliments in the margins that he always found himself looking forward to reading (and re-reading).
“Why don’t you come out tonight?” Lois asks on Friday morning. You give her a look, knowing the standing invite for Friday night drinks includes everyone in the office. “C’mon, he won’t be there, he never shows up.”
You pause, chewing at the inside of your lip, internally hemming and hawing. “I’ll think about it,” you finally concede, which is enough to get Lois to grin, a little pep in her step as she makes her way back to the writer block.
Friday afternoon, Jimmy comes sauntering over to you like a cat that got into the cream. He plants himself on your desk, ignoring your look of indignation when he crumples a few drafts you were working on with his ass. “Check out these photos I just finished developing,” he says as he spreads a handful of photos of Superman in front of you. They’re remarkably clear, some of the best pictures you have ever seen of Big Blue. “I was testing out that new lens I just got.” They were from a fight earlier this week in uptown.
Despite your frequently voiced objections to Metropolis’s favorite hero, you give Jimmy a hum of approval, picking one up to closer inspect it. “These are pretty good, how’d you get such a good shot of him in the air?” you ask.
“Climbed up a light pole,” he informs nonchalantly, grabbing some M&Ms from the candy bowl on your desk.
Your neck snaps to look at him. “James!”
“What?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Gotta do what it takes to get the shot.”
You let out a huff. “Unbelievable, you’re gonna break your neck one of these days.” You continue to sort through the photos, setting aside the ones you know Perry will submit for the front page.
“Haven’t yet,” he says, cheekily popping a few M&Ms in his mouth with a wink.
The final photo is a zoomed-in shot of Superman’s face. He’s smiling down at a few children who have gathered around him in the aftermath of the battle, a familiar softness to his face. You straighten up a bit, holding the photo closer to examine it.
“What’s up?” Jimmy asks when he sees your shift in posture.
You feel like you’ve seen it before, the blue of his eyes, the gentle tilt of his lips hinting at dimples, but the rest of the face is… wrong.
Maybe you’re losing it.
“Nothing,” you reply. “Really great work, Jimmy. Perry is definitely going to run this on the front page.”
Jimmy gives a grin.
You end up at the bar, thinking it might be good for you to let your hair down, literally and figuratively, for the night. Lois lights up when she sees you making your way through the Friday night crowd, and Jimmy has a drink in your hand before you even get a chance to sit down.
You’re listening to Cat go on and on about the guy she’s seeing, and given the debacle of the last week, it should annoy you to hear someone gush about their dating life, but the giddiness on Cat’s face is infectious so instead you sit there resting your chin on your hand with a smile on your face as you nod along asking all the appropriate questions.
It’s loud in the bar between all the people and the music playing, so you barely register the bell above the door ringing. You do, however, clock Jimmy turning to Lois and saying, “He never comes out.”
Instinctively, you turn in your seat, immediately locking eyes with Clark. He looks like he just left the office, suit coat slung over his arm and tie loosened. He’s moving through the crowd towards you, not breaking eye contact as though he’s scared you’ll disappear if you do, only to be intercepted by Lois. “Hey, Clark,” she greets, a tight fake smile plastered on her face. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Uh, yeah, well, not a lot going on tonight, so I figured I’d come… socialize,” he says lamely. You don’t see the flat look that Lois gives him.
Both of them look back at you. You catch Lois’s eyes and give her a little nod of your head, calling off your (very effective) guard dog. However, she narrows her eyes at Clark in a silent warning before returning to her conversation with Jimmy, who had been watching the entire exchange while taking a very long sip of his fruity cocktail.
Clark takes the empty seat next to you. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, fidgeting with his tie.
You stare at him as you play with the straw of your nearly empty cup, unabashedly tracing the slopes and contours of his face. He shifts nervously under your gaze, and you can’t tell if the flush creeping up his neck is due to you or the stuffiness of the bar. You still don’t say anything as you lean forward, and he’s too stunned to move away as your hand reaches out, fingers pressing through the curls hanging on his forehead, brushing them back into a tidier position, spending maybe a bit too long smoothing back the sides. The caress of your nails against his scalp sends a tingle down his spine, and his breath gets caught in his throat.
You don’t say anything for too long, just maintaining eye contact with him, like you’re searching his eyes for something.
“Vodka cran,” you say, resting back into your seat, and Clark wonders if you found what you were looking for.
His ears are red, and he quickly turns to the bartender to wave them down and grab you another drink, getting a soda for himself. Conversation flows between the two of you in a surprisingly easy manner, given the events of the past week. Work-related mostly. Clark is doing a better job of not stumbling all over himself, something he’s silently patting himself on the back for.
“You’ve been on time all week,” you note. Clark tries not to focus on how your lips wrap around the straw or how your gloss has stained the plastic.
“Yes, ma’am,” he confirms, the gentle lilt of his Kansan accent slipping through.
You fall silent for a moment, looking at him with such clarity in your eyes that it’s almost startling, and Clark can’t help but feel like he ground your entire conversation to a halt with just two words. “I’m gonna head out.” And then you’re grabbing your purse, tossing a few crinkled bills onto the bar as a tip before standing up.
“O-oh, okay,” Clark stammers, disappointment creeping up in him.
You’re about to step away until you glance back over your shoulder at him. “Are you going to walk me home?” You ask as though that had been the plan all along and he had just forgotten.
He blinks owlishly at your question like he’s not sure he quite heard you right. “Y-yeah!” He scrambles up, nearly knocking over his barstool, and you both head out after bidding your coworkers a goodnight. Lois cocks an eyebrow at you, but you just wiggle your fingers in goodbye.
Jimmy is giving Clark some waggling eyebrows with an enormous grin on his face that Clark is pointedly trying to ignore.
The walk home is quiet. The cool summer air is refreshing on your skin after sitting in the humidity of the bar, and the couple of drinks you had have left you a little light in the head, though it’s not an unwelcome feeling; you figure you’re going to need some liquid courage tonight anyway.
When you arrive at your apartment building, Clark walks you up to your apartment. You still don’t say anything as you take out your keys to unlock your door, and Clark swallows the lump in his throat, already preparing to say goodbye. “You coming in?” You question as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as you step into your apartment, leaving room for him to follow in after you.
“I—” He looks like a deer in the headlights. “You sure?”
You give a nod, and he steps in, albeit hesitantly, closing the door behind him. As soon as it clicks shut, you’re on him, hand pulling at the tie loosely around his neck, jerking him forward despite the other hand firmly on his chest pushing him back until he hits the door with a thud.
He looks shocked, face flushed and pupils blown wide as he doesn’t know what to do with his hands that hover at your waist but do not touch. You’re leaning up and he’s leaning down, gaze darting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. He thinks the strawberry smell is your lip gloss, and his heart won’t stop beating symphonies into his ribcage.
He doesn’t cross it, though, the invisible boundary that’s between you, even when he feels your breath fan against his lips. “I’m giving you the chance to be honest with me,” you whisper like it’s a warning, your voice husky in a way that has his insides twisting and turning.
“Okay,” he says softly.
You don’t move away as though you’re afraid he might try to run if you do. He can hear your own heart hammering in your chest. You’re nervous, he realizes. “You’re Superman.” Your tone doesn’t suggest it’s a question. It’s a statement. You know he’s Superman, and you’re allowing him the opportunity to be honest with you about it.
“Yes.”
Your heart rate speeds up. “That’s why you missed our date.”
“Yes,” he breathes like it’s painful to remember.
You finally blink, breaking eye contact to look down, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. “You really like me?” This one is a question. This one you’re unsure about.
Clark’s hands finally find purchase at your waist. The boundary between the two of you is barely hanging on by a thread. “Immensely.” Your grip on his tie loosens, and both hands are pressed gently against his chest. It wouldn’t take much; he would just have to lean down another inch or two to bring the whole thing crumbling down, but he doesn’t. “How’d you figure it out?” he asks.
“Your eyes,” you murmur like it was an evident thing, “—and your little… Midwestern-isms.”
He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. Oh, he was in so deep. “My Midwestern-isms?”
“’Yes, ma’am,’” you mock with a bad accent, not at all what he sounds like, and you bite your lip to hide your grin. “How does it work? Your face is… different than Superman’s.”
“The glasses,” he informs, tilting his head. “They’re hypno-glasses, make me look a little bit different, just enough.”
Your hands surge upward before you even know what they’re doing, stopping just shy as you look to Clark for permission, and he nods. As you take off the glasses, it’s like his face comes into focus when you never even realized it had been blurry before. Edges sharpen and define, his nose a little straighter, lips a little fuller, jaw a little squarer.
Moreover, he stands differently when the glasses come off. His shoulders rearrange, and he’s taller now, more confident… broader.
Superman.
“You know everything is starting to make sense,” you ponder as you set the glasses on your entrance table, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. You’re still standing close, his hands on your hips, not allowing you to wander too far from his orbit.
“Yeah?” Even his voice seems crisper, deeper now.
“Mhm,” you hum, “—you’re constantly being late, disappearing whenever some crisis pops up…” You laugh a bit. “I’m actually kind of mad at myself for not realizing it sooner.”
“I thought you might’ve thrown a shoe at me or something,” he admits.
You pull back, giving him an incredulous look. “What?”
“With you not liking Superman and all,” he elaborates. “Figured you would read me the riot act, at least.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “It’s not that I don’t like Superman.”
“Oh?” Eyebrows raise on his forehead. “First time I’m hearing this.”
You shove him, lightly, though he doesn’t move, solid under your touch. “It’s this… dependency we have on him—you,” you correct. “Superman—you—you’re not our savior, and we shouldn’t rely on you to fix every problem or to always show up. We should be able to stand on our own two feet.”
“But I want to help,” he insists, and you see it in his eyes, the earnestness in them. It’s so… Clark. “When things get hard and the world needs someone to lean on, I can carry that weight.”
“And what happens when you need someone to lean on? You may have super strength and can fly and shoot lasers out of your eyes, but you’re still—”
Human.
He doesn’t pretend the implication doesn’t crash around him like tidal waves.
You pull away a bit, not out of reach, not with his hands still wrapped around your waist. “Who’s going to carry the weight for you?” There’s sincerity in your question, and he doesn’t know how to respond because he doesn’t have an answer.
“I—”
You bite your lip as if you’re uncertain whether you should say the next part aloud, nervous to speak those feelings into the universe. “I can,” you say softly.
“I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“But I want to help.” You throw his words back at him, and he’s at a loss for what to say. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon. He wants to kiss you so bad, but he’s afraid of being the one to cross that line.
“Clark.”
He doesn’t know if there’s a sweeter sound than his name on your lips.
“Just kiss me already.”
Except maybe that.
He’s surging forward in the next moment, mouth hot against yours. The barrier is dust between you. He tastes like the remnants of the sugary soda he’d ordered at the bar, and a quick swipe of his tongue against your lips confirms that your lip gloss is strawberry flavored.
You walk backwards, unsteady but confident, hands firmly tugging him along by his shirt, all the while not breaking the kiss that has your brain in a dizzy fog. You can’t help the giggle that escapes as you bump into your destination, the couch, causing your teeth to clatter together.
Clark smiles against your lips as his hands lower, gripping at your thighs as he lifts you off the ground so effortlessly that it has you letting out a quiet ‘oh’. His deep laugh goes straight to your core, and he settles onto the couch with you on top of him, your hands running through his hair, gripping it in a way that has him giving a low groan.
“Is this okay?” he asks in between kisses as though you’re not actively grinding down onto him.
A whimper escapes you as his hard-on catches the seam of your pants just right. “I will actually kill you if you stop.” The normal bite of your tone has given way to desperation. Clark’s entire body warms at that.
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs into your mouth, hands wandering to your ass, pressing you harder down onto him while bucking up into you. He leans back for a moment, placing another peck on your lips as his fingers start making work of the buttons on your blouse. When your cleavage comes into view, accentuated by your bra, something plain and practical, you hear Clark let out a shaky breath followed by an ‘oh, golly’ that has you a giggling mess on top of him. He grins, grabbing hold of the side of your neck as he pulls you back into a kiss. “You’re so pretty.”
You nip at his bottom lip. “I could tell by the ‘oh, golly,’” you tease, though your smugness doesn’t last for long as Clark has you on your back against the couch pillows a second later.
You watch reverently as he unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off before pulling off his undershirt. He’s like a peacock, the way he fluffs up as your mouth goes slack, seeing what he was hiding underneath oversized button-ups and baggy suits for the last three years.
“Jesus Christ,” you breathe. “What the fuck were they feeding you in Kansas?”
He shakes with laughter as he leans back down, slotting himself in between your legs so he can reconnect your mouths, hand sliding up your side to palm your breast, not waiting long to slide underneath the cup of your bra. You arch up into him as his thumb brushes against your nipple, moaning quietly into his mouth, a sound he eagerly swallows down.
He trails kisses to your cheek, down your neck, spending a bit more time nipping and biting there when you give a shaky gasp. He continues down, pressing kisses to the top of your breasts, before trailing down to your ribs to your stomach until settling right above the waist of your pants.
You barely register him unbuttoning your pants until he drags them and your underwear down in one fell swoop. You cant your hips, letting him take them the rest of the way off, trying not to giggle as he throws the heap across your living room. A problem for tomorrow you.
Self-consciousness pricks at your brain as he spreads your legs, fingertips biting into your thighs, and in the glow of the moonlight streaming in through your apartment windows, you watch him lick his lips as he stares down at you, suddenly, any self-doubt fizzles away. One hand trails up your inner thigh to your core, spreading you so he can take in more of the sight. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs before he bends down.
A breathy moan escapes you as he licks a stripe up your center. “Fuck, Clark.” That eggs him on, and he swirls his tongue around your clit in a way that has you reaching down and gripping his hair. There’s a finger prodding at your entrance and then two that are curling into you at just the right spot.
Your chest heaves as you sink further into the couch, eyes fluttering to the back of your head as your apartment is filled with the obscene noises of Clark eating you out, groaning as he mutters about how good you taste. The feeling of his spit mixed with your own liquids trailing down your ass is overwhelming, and then he sucks at your clit in a way that has your toes curling.
“Clark, please,” you beg. You can feel the band at your core tightening with each swipe of his tongue and thrust of his fingers.
He pulls back slightly, now three fingers deep, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaches. “Cum on my fingers.”
Your breath hitches at mild-mannered Clark Kent telling you to cum on his fingers. He dives back in with enthusiasm, which is all it takes as your hips buck up into his face, and he gladly lets you grind against his mouth, especially with the sounds you’re making as you tighten around his fingers. His fingers continue pumping in and out of you as you ride out your orgasm, his name on your lips like a prayer as his lips greedily drink up all you give him.
He leans back, cheek resting against your inner thigh as he watches you catch your breath and give a little whine when his fingers don’t relent, tugging on his hair. A grin works its way onto his face, and he takes pity on your overstimulated self, pulling his fingers out as he presses a kiss to your thigh before crawling back up to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks at your bottom lip.
Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, drawing him deeper into the kiss, and you can feel the heavy weight of him against your thigh.
“Good?” he asks as he draws back from you, breathless.
“I think I blacked out at one point,” you respond, still feeling a little lightheaded, which is only exacerbated when he grinds his hips against yours and nips at your neck. “Now take your pants off.” You order as you push him back, propping yourself up on your elbows.
“Bossy,” he teases as he stands, unbuttoning his slacks, letting them drop to the floor. You don’t even have time to register anything else when he pulls down his briefs, and you can only stare with your mouth wide open and brows raised high on your forehead at the size of him. Clark looks a bit uncertain. “Is this okay?”
You surge to your feet and pull him down into a kiss. “It’s always the quiet ones,” you murmur more to yourself as you push him back onto the couch with no resistance and climb up onto his lap. He practically whimpers when you grind onto him. “Seriously, what the fuck were they feeding you?” You question against his lips as you slot yourself against his cock. Naked against him, you really take in how large Clark is in every capacity.
His hands have settled on the globes of your ass, letting you take the reins as you move your hips against his, the wet friction has him moaning into your mouth. “You feel so good,” he breathes. “Thought about this so much.”
“Yeah?” You ask. “Thought about me on top of you a lot, huh?” He nods and tilts his head back as you jut your hips against just at the right spot. You kiss down his jawline, whispering into his ear. “What else have you thought about? Stuffing me full of your cock?”
He stammers a bit, his brain short-circuiting at your dirty talk, and heat spreads up to his ears. “Y-yeah, thought about how good you’d look with me inside you,” he admits.
You reach down between you, grabbing hold of him, and his hips stutter up against your hand, moaning at the feel of your soft skin against his cock. The next thing he knows, you’re sinking onto him and he’s committing the hot, wet heat of your pussy to memory. The burn is expected given his size, and you whine with each inch of him you take.
Clark is a whimpering mess beneath you, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries not to move, letting you set your own pace, though the iron grip he has on your waist is going to leave bruises tomorrow. “So good, so good,” he repeats as he presses kisses into your shoulder. “Gosh, you’re so tight.”
You let the ‘gosh’ slide, given how full of him you are right now. It’s almost overwhelming the size of him, and just when you’re sure you’ve taken him all, you feel yourself slide down another inch. “Christ, you’re so big,” you whine, and you can feel his cock twitch inside of you at that.
“You can’t just say that,” he practically begs, voice cracking slightly, and he’s so tense, you can feel how taut all of his muscles are beneath you.
It’s sweet relief when you feel him bottom out in you and you stay there for a moment, letting yourself adjust, the stinging pain of the stretch not unpleasant, and when you feel more confident you’ve adjusted, you give an experimental thrust of your hips that has you both gasping.
You give another, and you can practically hear Clark grinding his teeth together, and then you raise yourself up, thighs shaking, before slamming back down. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as you set a rhythm, a little sloppy at first as you lean forward to mash your mouths together, Clark whispering praises against your lips.
Every now and then, he leans back to take in the sight of you bouncing on his cock, completely hypnotized by the sight of your pussy swallowing him and the noises you make each time he bottoms out in you.
The rubber band begins to pull tight in your belly, and your thighs wobble, the rhythm faltering. “Clark.” It comes out as a plea. “Fuck me.”
Whatever restraint Clark has snaps at your words. One hand reaches up, grabbing hold of you by the back of your neck as the other digs into your waist, and then he’s forcing you up and down on his cock, hips jutting up to meet yours halfway, setting a bruising pace that has you keening, “Fuck—” you gasp out. “Oh god, I’m gonna—”
Your orgasm rips through you before you can even finish your sentence, and you feel like you’re drowning in the sensation as the world turns to white noise around you. “That’s it, sweetheart, you’re so good for me.”
Clark doesn’t even give you time to come down from your high as he manhandles you off of his lap, the sudden emptiness is jarring, but it doesn’t stay that way long as he bends you over the couch, hefting your ass into the air and sliding back in.
“Such a good girl,” he groans as he resumes the hard thrusts that have you gripping the back of your couch for dear life. The only thing you can focus on is the delicious slide of his cock into you, and you think you feel tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.
You’re whining, overstimulated as all hell, already feeling another orgasm beginning to bubble to the surface. “Clark, oh God, fuck—” You’re arching your back, and he hits it just right. “Ohmygod.”
A loud ‘smack’ echoes through the apartment, and you barely even register the sting on your ass cheek. “Gonna give me another one, baby?”
“Mhm,” you whine pathetically into the couch cushion. Body shaking, just trying to keep yourself up, though Clark is doing most of the heavy lifting. He reaches down, fingers circling your clit once, twice, and that’s all it takes as you buck back into him, a long, breathy moan escaping you as you cum again. It feels like every nerve in your body is on fire, and you think you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
You barely register him asking, “Where do you want it?”
Your mouth automatically babbling out, “Inside—fuck—cum inside me.”
That has his hips stuttering before he buries himself to the hilt, groaning lowly, and you can feel the warmth spread inside you. You’re both frozen like that, breathing heavily, and then Clark pulls out with a low hiss, gathering you up in his arms before collapsing back onto the couch, you cradled on top of him, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“Jesus Christ, farm boy,” you finally breathe after a moment of silence, and you can feel his chest shake with laughter. You tilt your head up to look at him, and he captures your lips with his before pulling away, reaching up to caress the side of your face, tracing the contours of your cheekbones with his thumb.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest—a feeling you welcome with open arms.
“So, if I agree to let you take me out to dinner again, think you’ll show up this time?”
He grins. “Yes.”
The weekend passes in a blur of tangled limbs and soft confessions. You tease Clark about all it took was you on top of him to get him to talk to you in full sentences, finally. He stammers and blames you for being so pretty.
On Monday, when Clark comes in late, he does so with a cup of your favorite coffee, and you give him a hard time, despite the smile on your face, with no real bite to your words. Clark is on the receiving end of some light teasing from Lois and Jimmy, who, quite frankly, are relieved they won’t have to deal with a pining Clark any longer.
(They quickly realize, though, that even being together, he still stares after you as you flit about the newsroom, possibly looking even more lovestruck)
And when he submits his next Superman article to you, you still tear it to shreds. The peck on the cheek you give him as you hand him back the draft makes him feel a lot better, though.
cw (18+) : dom!patrick, sloppy penetration, belly bulging, creampie, general filth, reader has afab anatomy
patrick zweig who holds your legs open as he curls over your body and gently rolls his hips, slowly stretching your insides with every thrust. his brow pinches together in a way that makes him look older—older, rougher, and meaner—even if all he truly wants to do is to make you feel good (and play with your body). the look that washes over his face when he begins to properly fuck into you could fool just about anyone..
his calloused palms grip the back of your calves, his fingers curling around your flesh, his eyes fluttering as he feels your walls suck him in deeper. warm, wet, and convulsing against his cock that pummels into that squishy spot nestled upward in your entrance. he knows exactly how to move to get you squirming and mewling like a kitten; it’s easy for him to fuck you into a puddle of fluids—he does it every time. he pushes down on your limbs to fold you in half, and keens like a greedy whore when he feels how much tighter the position makes your cunt. he nearly whimpers.
“fuck, ohh—fuck!—“ he withers atop you for only a moment, slowing down with a shudder so he doesn’t finish too soon, “y’feel so good.. gettin’ me close.. take my dick—just like that—you’re gonna make me come..”
he swallows around a low growl, and you watch as his toned abdomen visibly flexes each time he roughly feeds his length to your cervix. the way he relentlessly bumps it is almost uncomfortable, but the boiling pleasure collecting in your gut drowns out everything other than how much you’re feeling and how wrecked he sounds while he keeps you in place. his right hand leaves your leg, knowing you won’t move a muscle without him coaxing you into a new position, and begins messily swiping his fingertips over your swollen clit. your back arches up like you’re being electrocuted and he smirks in that devilish way he always does when he knows he’s doing something right. it’s cocky. it’s arrogant. his tip catches on a soft area inside your pussy before wholly slotting into it, and then he's jack-rabbiting. the slap of skin-on-skin is obscene. he moves so fast it’s like he’s vibrating. a flood of heat laps at every nerve in your frame, and you let out a broken cry as the very last thing you hear before your ears start to ring from the ecstasy is the sound of him chuckling and cooing.
“feels that good, doesn’t it? shit, it’s like you’re trying to milk me,” he lets his gaze wander down your lower body as his digits circle your bud and his glistening shaft slides in and out, covered in your release, “i love the way you sound when you come.. it’s got me throbbing, you know that?”
then his eyes fix on something that doubles—no, triples—the satisfaction he feels and causes his balls to draw up: the sight of his curved cock pushing up from the inside of you and causing your lower belly to subtly bulge out. he licks over his lower lip, his jaw slacking. he moans, broken and higher in pitch than moments before, then his free hand leaves your other leg and moves to press down over the focus of his affection. his knees shake on the mattress when he feels himself bury deep in your overstimulated hole.
“oh my god, i feel myself fucking you,” he breathlessly gasps, his orgasm rushing from base to tip, his milky load rising readily to paint your womb, “c’mere—touch—fuck—fuck, fuck, gonna come inside you—im gonna come—gonna—HAAH—“
in the last few desperate pumps of his hips that he gives you, he scrambles for your hand that fists the sheets and replaces his touch on your stomach with your own. he watches the way you writhe and hiccup as you revel in the way your pussy is being used like a toy. he throws his head back, his pelvis snaps against yours, and then it’s all over.
“coming,” he huffs in a drawn-out cry, and you get to feel every kick of his release under your hand. thump, thump, thump, throb, throb, throb under your palm. it’s never-ending; it almost makes you wail. the warmth of his seed spreads throughout your insides like a warm bath, and you gather all of the remaining strength in your brain to watch as patrick’s face crumples with every wave of his climax, his head dropping back down. his cheeks are flushed, his eyes are squeezed shut, his nose is crinkling with the effort of remaining upright and not collapsing over your chest.
he sucks a breath in through gritted teeth, hissing, when he gets to the tail end of his orgasm. the sensitivity becomes too much, and he can’t handle the way you continue to spasm around his softening length. his cheeks puff out as he blows a steady breath of air, trying to get the room to stop spinning, and in the next instant he’s looking down to your face. his hands slide up your torso and cup the sides of your neck before he leans down and kisses you. his tongue licks languidly against yours, smearing his spit over your palate. you feel him groan into your open mouth. he only pulls away once he’s gotten his fill—once he’s tasted and swallowed enough of your whining to sate him for the rest of the night (or so you think). his gaze is hazy when he looks down into your eyes. his cock twitches at the sight of your spent expression, then that dumb, snarky smirk is back.
“so good for me,” he hums, “flip over and ill give you two more?”
the heavy nod of your head that follows is all he needs to get his arousal stirring again.
Like maybe reader is mad at rafe for speaking to Sofia or something, so she goes on a date with top and rafe finds out and is mad
warnings: penetrative sex (18+), jealous!rafe, toxic relationship
you don’t answer his calls. you don’t answer his texts, either. so rafe shows up—hair messy, attitude worse, eyes already stormy. “you think i’m fucking stupid?” the door’s barely shut before he’s on you. not touching. just towering, voice sharp and low, like he’s trying not to lose it. “you went out with topper?”
you arch a brow. “and?”
his jaw tics. he’s in that threadbare grey tee you love, jeans riding low on his hips. he didn’t bother changing—he came straight from wherever he was, too angry to think about anything but you.
yeah, you did it to get a reaction. because two days ago, you saw him leaning way too close to sofia, talking all low and pretty like he doesn’t have his dick in you every other night. so, naturally, you went out with top. you ordered the prettiest drink, wore the dress rafe likes to fuck you in, laughed a little too loud, and let your hand rest on top’s arm when you said goodbye.
“you mad?” you ask now, sickly sweet.
rafe laughs, once. it’s cold. “you didn’t fuck him, did you?” you don’t answer. his hand flies out, catches your jaw—not rough, not cruel, just firm. he forces your gaze up. searches your eyes like they’ll betray you. “did you?” he asks again, quieter this time. lower.
“would it matter?” you smirk, lip parting just slightly. “we’re not exclusive.”
his eyes flash. something behind them cracks. then he kisses you. he slams his mouth onto yours, bruising and hot and messy. you gasp, and he uses it to slide his tongue in, hand already under your shirt, fingers curled tight on your waist like he wants to crush the space between you.
you shove him back against the wall and he just laughs again, cocky and breathless and mad. “you’re such a fucking brat,” he mutters, yanking your shorts down, not even bothering to fully undress you. “you wanted this, huh? wanted me all pissed off so i’d come fuck the attitude out of you.”
you kiss him again just to shut him up. it’s frantic, frenzied. your back hits the wall, your shirt’s halfway off, and his hand’s already between your thighs, pressing into your soaked panties with a groan. “fuck,” he whispers, cock straining through his jeans. “you’re soaked. did he do that?”
“no.” you reach down, unbuttoning him with shaky fingers. “you did.” he curses under his breath and pulls his cock free. before you can blink, he pushes your panties to the side and sinks in all at once.
you both moan like you haven’t done this a hundred times. like you didn’t swear this didn’t mean anything. like he doesn’t already know your body better than you do. he fucks you hard. not careful or not slow. just hips slamming into yours, hands gripping your thighs, lips dragging down your neck. “next time,” he growls, “you even think about going out with someone else—i’ll remind you who this pussy belongs to.”
you whimper. clutch at his shoulders. dig your nails in because you want to mark him, you want it to hurt. “you’re such an asshole,” you gasp.
“yeah?” he grins against your throat. “but you’re still letting me fuck you.” yeah, you can’t argue with that. when you come, clenching around him, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, he follows with a groan, spilling into you like he doesn’t know how not to.
after, he doesn’t let you go. he keeps holding you there, pinned to the wall, breathing hard, nose brushing yours. “you’re mine,” he mutters, almost like he forgot to say it out loud before. “you know that, right?”
you don’t answer. you just kiss him again…because you don’t know either, but you want it to be true.
