Feeling: Ovaries are hungry

Smut shit poster. This whole profile is a trigger warning.

[editxalena]

Sock-Rebellion & Kitchen Chaos

Pairing: Rick Sanchez × f!Reader

Warnings: explizite sexual content (18+),rough sexpraise/degradation mix,manhandling,fingering, oral (f!receiving), creampie,dirty talk,mild choking,semi-public (kitchen),alcohol mention (Rick obviously),consent (enthusiastic but messy, very in-character roughness)

Summary:

Rick catches you folding socks and decides it’s the perfect moment to press you against the fridge and undo every trace of order you were trying to create. Pure Rick-style chaos: messy, intense, overwhelming and this time you’re not watching from the sidelines; you’re in the middle of it.

Note from Author: Please give me more Fanfiction ideas, I'll take anything that's thrown at me. 🙏

"You ever think about how weird it is that your planet exploded, but you still fold your socks?"

Rick was leaning against the kitchen counter, swirling a mostly empty flask of something neon-green. His voice had that lazy, half-drunk drawl, the one that meant he'd been thinking too hard about something stupid

You paused mid-fold, one sock dangling from your fingers like a surrender flag.

"Yeah, well, maybe sock-folding is the last act of rebellion against universal chaos. Or maybe I just like not having to dig through a pile for a matching pair."

You shrugged, tossing the sock onto the neatly stacked pile. Rick snorted, but his eyes tracked the movement of your hands with an intensity that had nothing to do with laundry

Rick took a slow swig from his flask, his gaze lingering on the curve of your neck as you bent to grab another sock.

"Rebellion, huh?"

His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges like gravel under tires.

"You’d make a shitty revolutionary. Too fucking cute when you’re concentrating."

His fingers traced lazy circles over your hipbone, slipping under the hem of your shirt with practiced ease.

Before you could retort, his arms slid around your waist from behind, his chest pressing against your back with a warmth that seeped through your clothes. You felt his breath against your ear, the faint smell of alcohol and something sharper, something distinctly Rick

"Fuck, you're tiny,"

he muttered, the words vibrating against your skin as his other hand slid upward, palm flattening against your sternum like he was measuring the space between your ribs. You could feel the callouses on his fingers catch against the fabric of your bra, his breath hitching when your back arched instinctively into his touch.

The sudden lift came without warning one moment your feet were on the linoleum, the next you were dangling mid-air, legs scrambling for purchase as Rick hauled you up against him like you weighed nothing.

His forearm braced under your thighs, hiking you higher until your head lolled back against his shoulder.

"Rick—" you started, but the protest dissolved into a gasp as his free hand cupped you through your jeans, the pressure just shy of rough.

"You always make that noise,"

he murmured against your temple, his voice thick with something darker than amusement. His fingers worked the button of your jeans open with a single practiced flick, the zipper parting with a slow, deliberate drag that made your stomach tighten. His palm slid beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers curling possessively against the heat of you.

"Like you're surprised every goddamn time."

Rick's fingers dipped lower, spreading you open with a groan that rumbled through his chest and into your back.

"Fuck, you're already wet,"

he muttered, dragging his thumb in slow, maddening circles that made your hips jerk against his hand. You could feel the rough denim of his jeans pressing into the backs of your thighs, the way he had to crouch slightly to keep you steady tall enough that even like this, your feet barely brushed the floor when he let you sink down just an inch. His breath hitched when you clenched around his fingers, a ragged

"shit" escaping him as he curled them deeper, the heel of his palm grinding against you in a way that had your nails digging into his forearm.

The kitchen tiles blurred as Rick pivoted, pinning you between his body and the fridge with a thud that rattled the magnets. His teeth scraped your earlobe, the hand not buried in your panties splaying across your stomach to hitch you higher.

"Tell me," he growled, fingers crooking inside you with a precision that sent sparks up your spine,

"you ever think about this when you're folding those fucking socks?"

You gasped—half-laugh, half-moan—as his thumb found your clit, the pad rubbing in tight, filthy circles that had your thighs trembling against his forearm.

Rick's chuckle was dark, breath hot against your neck as his fingers sped up, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen.

"Yeah, that's it," he growled, pressing you harder into the fridge, the cold metal seeping through your clothes as his hips pinned you in place.

You could feel him hard and insistent against your ass every shift of his body dragging another broken noise from your throat. His thumb circled faster, rough and relentless, while his fingers curled just right inside you, the stretch making your toes curl.

"Fuck, look at you,"

he muttered, nudging your head to the side with his chin so he could watch your face.

"Always so fucking pretty when you're about to come."

The sensation of his fingers moving inside you too much and not enough sent sparks dancing behind your eyelids, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts against the fridge door.

Rick’s thumb pressed harder against your clit, the rough pad of his finger circling just shy of painful, and you whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand as if you could chase the feeling deeper.

He growled low in his throat, his teeth sinking into the junction of your shoulder as he fucked you faster with his fingers, the rhythm uneven and desperate like he couldn’t decide whether to draw it out or ruin you.

"That’s it, baby," he rasped, his voice fraying at the edges, "let me fucking feel it."

Your fingers scrabbled against the fridge door as pleasure coiled tight in your gut, Rick's name stuttering from your lips in broken syllables.

He laughed a rough, breathless sound and twisted his fingers just so, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with each thrust until your vision whited out.

You came with a sob, your back arching as his forearm flexed to keep you upright, his free hand splayed across your stomach to feel the way your muscles fluttered under his touch. Rick kept moving through it, fingers relentless as he murmured filthy praise against your damp skin, his own breathing ragged against your ear.

The aftershocks left you boneless against him, your thighs slick where they pressed against his forearm, your breath still coming in uneven gasps.

Rick didn’t pull his fingers away just slowed his movements to a lazy, teasing drag, watching the way your body twitched with oversensitivity.

“Fuck,” he muttered hoarsely, his lips brushing your temple as he withdrew his hand, your wetness glistening on his fingers. He brought them to his mouth with a smirk, sucking them clean with a groan that vibrated against your spine.

“Tastes like victory.”

His other hand finally loosened its grip on your hip, sliding up to palm your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing your nipple in a way that made you squirm.

The fridge door creaked as he shifted his weight, his erection pressing harder against your ass hot and insistent even through layers of denim.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, voice gravel-rough as he nipped at your earlobe. “You think I’m done with you just ‘cause you came?”

You barely had time to gasp before he was spinning you around, your back hitting the fridge with a thud as he dropped to his knees in one fluid motion.

His hands hooked under your thighs, yanking your hips forward until your jeans were taut against your skin. The zipper groaned as he ripped it the rest of the way down, his breath scorching against your inner thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his tongue along the seam of your panties, the fabric already soaked through.

“Should’ve known you’d be greedy.”

The last word dissolved into a groan as he buried his face between your legs, his nose bumping your clit through the damp cotton.

Rick's tongue lashed against you through the fabric, the heat of his mouth making you jerk against his grip.

With a low chuckle, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down your thighs in one rough motion the elastic snapping against your skin as they tangled around your knees.

The cold air hit your wetness just before his mouth did, his tongue flattening against you in a slow, filthy drag that had your knees buckling. His hands tightened on your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he pulled you closer, his breath hot and uneven against your sensitive skin.

Rick didn't bother teasing just licked into you like he was starving, his tongue pressing flat against your clit before curling upward in a torturously slow motion that made your hips jerk against his face.

The fridge rattled behind you as he pinned you harder against it, his nose bumping your clit with every ragged exhale, the vibrations sending shockwaves down your thighs.

You could hear him the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working between your legs, the groan that rumbled through his chest when you tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged. "Fuck, Rick—" you gasped, your voice cracking as his teeth grazed your inner thigh, sharp enough to make you flinch but not enough to stop the molten heat pooling in your gut.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he dragged his tongue in slow, deliberate circles around your clit just enough pressure to tease but not enough to push you over.

You whined, hips twitching forward, but Rick pulled back with a dark chuckle, his breath fanning over your wetness.

"Patience, kid,"

he rasped, his lips brushing your inner thigh before he flicked his tongue against you again, feather-light.

The contrast between the rough scrape of his stubble and the softness of his mouth had your fingers tightening in his hair, your thighs trembling under his hands.

Without warning, he plunged two fingers back inside you, curling them just enough to make you cry out, his tongue following in quick, flat strokes.

The stretch burned in the best way, his knuckles pressing against your sensitive walls as his thumb found your clit again, circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

You could feel his smirk against your skin when your hips bucked uncontrollably, his name spilling from your lips in a broken moan.

"That's it," he growled, his voice muffled against you, "take what I give you."

Rick’s fingers crooked inside you just as his tongue pressed flat against your clit hard, relentless the dual sensation tearing a strangled moan from your throat.

Your legs shook violently, toes curling against the linoleum as he worked you over with ruthless precision, his grip on your thighs tightening when you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Uh-uh," he muttered against your skin, breath hot and ragged, "you don’t get to fucking run."

His thumb circled faster, the rough pad dragging against your clit in tight, punishing spirals that had your vision spotting at the edges.

The fridge door groaned under your weight as your back arched, hands scrabbling for purchase against the smooth surface.

Rick’s tongue lashed against you in quick, staccato flicks, his fingers fucking into you with a rhythm that bordered on vicious each thrust punctuated by the wet, obscene sound of your arousal.

You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your muscles clamping down around his fingers as he growled approval against your skin, his teeth nipping at your inner thigh just to hear you whimper.

"Gonna come again," he rasped, not a question but a command, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Do it."

The words barely registered before your orgasm ripped through you violently, messily your thighs clamping around Rick’s head as you cried out, the sound raw and unfiltered.

He didn’t let up, fingers still pistoning inside you, tongue relentless against your oversensitive clit until you were sobbing, your nails scraping against the fridge door.

Rick groaned into you, the vibration sending another shockwave of pleasure through your trembling body, his grip bruising as he held you open for his mouth, fucking you through the aftershocks with a possessiveness that left you boneless.

The moment your legs gave out, Rick caught you not gently, but with a rough jerk upward that slammed your back against his chest, his arms locking around your waist before your knees hit the floor.

His lips were wet and swollen against your neck as he panted into your skin, his cock straining against the fly of his jeans where it pressed into the small of your back.

"Fuckin' wrecked you," he muttered, voice hoarse with satisfaction, his fingers dragging possessively over your hipbones.

You could feel his smirk against your shoulder when you shuddered, your body still twitching with aftershocks as he palmed your bare ass through the ruined fabric of your jeans.

Rick spun you around abruptly, your chest crashing against his as he manhandled you onto the kitchen counter in one fluid motion, the edge digging into your thighs.

His belt buckle clattered against the tile as he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, his cock jutting thick and flushed between you.

"Look at you," he growled, gripping your chin to force your gaze downward, his thumb smearing your lower lip.

"All fucked-out and still dripping for me." His hips jerked forward without warning, the thick head of his cock dragging through your slick folds in a slow, filthy stroke that had you gasping.

The counter's edge bit into your thighs as Rick hooked your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Bet you could take me like this," he muttered, his cockhead catching at your entrance with a teasing pressure that made you whine high and desperate. Rick's laugh was dark, breath ragged as he rocked forward just enough to stretch you, the burn of it sharp and perfect.

"Fuck, just look at you,"

he rasped, his thumbs digging into your hipbones as he watched your face twist.

"Always so fucking tight."

Rick sank into you with a groan that ripped from his chest deep, too deep his hips slamming against yours in one brutal thrust that sent your back arching off the counter.

The stretch burned, your nails digging into his forearms as he bottomed out, his cock pulsing inside you with the effort of holding still.

"Fuck, fuck—" you gasped, the words splintering as his fingers tightened on your hips, lifting you slightly just to drop you back onto him with a wet slap that echoed through the kitchen.

His breath came in ragged bursts against your neck, his stubble scraping your skin raw as he muttered filthy, disjointed praise "so tight, so fucking greedy, taking me like this"

His hips snapped forward again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs as the countertop dug into your ass with each punishing thrust.

Rick's fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat his teeth sinking into the tender skin below your jaw as he fucked into you with a rhythm that left no room for gentleness.

You could hear the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding, the way his breath hitched every time your walls clenched around him.

"Fuck—just like that," he growled against your pulse, his lips smearing spit and sweat across your skin as his pace turned erratic.

Rick's rhythm stuttered as your legs tightened around his waist, your heels digging into the small of his back forcing him deeper with each ragged thrust.

The fridge door behind him rattled with every snap of his hips, the glass bottles inside clinking like a toast to your wrecked composure.

His hand slid from your hip to your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch without cutting it off, his thumb brushing your pulse point where it hammered against his palm.

"That's it," he rasped, his voice wrecked, "choke on it, baby—take every fucking inch."

Your vision blurred as Rick’s thrusts became impossibly deeper, his cock grinding against that sweet spot inside you with bruising precision.

The counter’s edge dug into your thighs, the pain mingling with pleasure until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

His free hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit in rough, circular strokes that matched the brutal pace of his hips.

"Come on," he snarled against your ear, his breath hot and uneven, "let me feel you fucking come apart."

The orgasm hit you like a sucker punch your back arching off the counter as your nails raked down Rick’s arms, your throat raw from the scream he swallowed with a messy, biting kiss. He didn’t slow down, fucking you through it with ragged grunts, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make your pulse stutter.

"Fuck, that’s it," he groaned, his hips stuttering as your walls fluttered around him, "gonna fill you up—gonna ruin you—"

His rhythm fractured, his thrusts turning uneven and desperate as his cock twitched inside you, heat spilling deep with a low, guttural groan that vibrated against your collarbone.

Rick’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as his hips jerked through the last of his release, his fingers flexing against your skin like he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

Rick’s grip on your hips loosened as he slumped forward, his forehead still pressed against your sweat-slicked shoulder, his breathing ragged against your skin.

The kitchen smelled like sex and spilled liquor, the sharp tang of his flask still lingering in the air where it had tipped over during the frenzy. You could feel him still half-hard inside you, his cock twitching with oversensitivity as your thighs trembled around his waist.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your hipbone like he was mapping the aftermath. "Goddamn," he muttered, voice hoarse, "you’re gonna be the death of me."

His chuckle was low and rough as he finally pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper your body still thrumming with the aftershocks.

Rick’s thumb dragged through the mess between your thighs, his smirk lazy as he brought it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a groan that made your stomach flip.

"Fuckin’ perfect," he murmured, his other hand gripping your chin to tilt your face up, his kiss tasting like copper and cheap booze. You could feel his smirk against your lips when your knees buckled as you tried to stand, his arm snapping around your waist to haul you against his chest.

Rick’s fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat as he licked a slow, possessive stripe from your collarbone to your jaw.

His breath was hot and uneven against your skin, his cock twitching where it still pressed against your thigh half-hard again already, like the man had a fucking rechargeable battery wired to his libido.

"Don’t go getting shy now," he muttered, teeth scraping your pulse point as his free hand slid down to palm your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

"We’re just getting started."

[uhhhj13iguess]

aftercare with rick sanchez

more of a rant, than anything. but

HEAR ME OUT

this is a post 8x10!rick x reader

thinking about rick, who’s more emotionally available, and he's going to try to do something he hasn't done in forty years: proper aftercare.

because what the fuck was the point of aftercare? he was tired, usually he just rolled over and fell asleep if he didn't 1. have more in him, or 2. didn't have somewhere else to be

but that wasn't him anymore.

so he get's up, with a soft "stay there", and leaves before coming back with a warm cloth and cleans you up. he sees your brain working overtime trying to piece together if this was the rick you thought you knew, and he wants to roll his eyes and tell you to fuck off, but then he sees the way your body relaxes against his touch and the way a smile creeps on your face, and he didnt know he could HAVE that effect on people so he says fuck it, and he leans into it.

he pulls some of his clothes for you to wear, and it feels weird for him to tell you that they look good on you. it feels weird that he means it. but he pushes on, takes a swig of his flask and offers it to you, joining you back in bed and wrapping an arm on you before a projector lights up on his bedroom ceiling

"interdimensional cable and a joint, b~UURP~aaby?"

[neopawlitnyan]

Clark can literally never pull out for the life of him. He used to be better. When you guys first started dating, he always made sure to keep condoms in the nightstand, just in case. Then after a while, it turned into marathon sessions where you burned through three to four condoms in a night. Inevitably, when the box ran empty, and neither of you wanted to stop for ten minutes to go grab more. Clark promised he would pull out. And to his credit he did. Barely. The feeling of sinking into you, completely raw. Feeling every muscle twitch, subtle clench, wetness oozing out around him, almost got him. You almost regretted telling him to pull out, getting to feel the true heat and heft of him, along with his tip sliding in and you, made you reconsider how awful pregnancy would be. You both kept saying how you needed new condoms, and Clark was always saying how he would definitely go out after work to pick up another box.

But somehow, every night, when Clark is settled between your thighs, desperately rutting into you, his hands gripping your hips, the box never showed up. Your legs would lock in around his strong hips, digging your heels into the dimples on his lower back, your hands gripping anywhere they could find purchase on. You really are scared of getting knocked up. Even though you really don’t take any precautions. You honestly are. It’s just…watching Clark grip his dick, pulling the skin back and rubbing his leaky tip up and down your folds…you can’t exactly stop him. His eyes half closed and locked onto where your hips meet when he fully bottoms out, seeing your body clench and pulse around him with his xray vision. Just seeing your internal muscles grip him makes him want to blow his load. You guys should really get condoms soon.

One night. It was just going to be one night. But that’s also what you guys said about going raw. It was Clark’s birthday, what else were you supposed to do. A day off from work, museum visits, nice dinner, cute blue lingerie. Letting him cum inside you was just the cherry on top. You almost came from how needy he already was. Holding your legs over his shoulders while he feverishly ate you out. His hands held onto your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to his face. Surprisingly, he put you in a collapsed doggystyle for tonight, his hands never getting enough of your ass and hips. He rambled into your spine as he bottomed out, licking and kissing your heated flesh. His pace almost knocks the wind out of you. His arms wrap around your waist, while he whines and pants against your neck. Even on his birthday, Clark would never be selfish. He makes sure you come around his cock, out of wanting to please you, but also because the feeling is otherworldly. After you come, catching your breath, you reach around and grip his ass, “don’t pull out” you mumble, your cheek pressed against the pillow. He makes you say it over and over, whimpering louder as he holds onto your thighs and ruts into you for his own pleasure,

“Oh gosh honey…oh honey, p-please say it again?”

“D-don’t pull out, baby,”

Whine, “oh you really mean it…? Oh gosh, you’re sure?”

“I’m serious, Clark. Don’t you dare pull out…wanna feel it all,”

He kisses and buries his face into your shoulder, letting out a string of noises most men his size would be embarrassed to make. His cock twitches incessantly, balls drawing up tight. He thrusts slowly, feeling himself slowly empty into your accepting cunt. You groan into the pillow at how hot it feels. It was already a surprise the first time Clark came on you, how warm it was compared to your already hot skin. He holds you tight, keeping you still as he bottoms out, catching his breath and making sure every last bit goes in. You guys really need to start buying condoms.

Obviously, after getting a taste for it, neither of you can resist. Somehow, Clark can go to the store to pick up Plan B, but never come back with a box of condoms. Not that either of you notice. You’re too busy with your ankles on his shoulder while you hold onto his waist. He buries his face into your collarbone, occasionally dropping his head to suck on your breasts. Watching himself fill you up is a borderline fetish for him. Whenever he cums, he’ll tilt his head down and just watch how your bodies react to each other. You pulsate and occasionally clench around him, keeping him nice and warm. His cock twitches, needing to be as deep as possible whenever his load starts to shoot. Watching your gummy walls happily absorb all his load, only a few drops ever leaking out. You try to be responsible, not having sex every night, but it’s growing increasingly difficult with Clark always rolling over in bed, kissing your neck and rubbing your sides. How could you deny such a needy face. Even during foreplay, Clark used to cum from handjobs or dry humping, knowing he’d just fill up a condom or cum all over your tummy. But now, it’s like he’s saving it all up for when he’s buried inside you. Neither of you should’ve been surprised when the test was positive. Apparently, you both missed the part on the box that said it won’t work if you’re ovulating. You both should be worried, stressing about finances, but instead, you both find yourself in the same place that landed you here. On the bed, ass up, gripping the sheets while Clark kissed down your back. Guess there’s really no need for condoms anymore.

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Sleepy Girl (nsfw 🎀)

Clark Kent secretly loves when you stay up late for him, even when he (gently) tells you not to.

It’s always “Oh baby, I just really missed you, and it’s a Friday night, so it doesn’t really matter—.”

Or “Well, I just wanted to see you, and I really like this book—.”

Or something else along those lines. And even though you’re already up, he’ll always chastise you. “Cmon now baby, you need your eight hours. We’ve talked about this.”

Naturally, it never deters you.

To Clark’s credit, there’s something about seeing your sweet little self up at that hour, the little bags under your eyes; your soft, noodle-like arms trying to wave at him; and god, that little slur in your voice, where you almost sound drunk, but it’s something more sugary sweet, meek, innocent and gentle, and he loves it. He wishes he could just bottle up the sound.

He’ll go shower, clean himself up. Sometimes he takes his time with it, because a long day doesn’t always just take a minute to fade away. But he’ll always end up right next to you, under those lush covers, holding you so close to his chest. You always wait for him, so patient, snuggling into him.

The best nights, though, are the ones where you can’t seem to just turn your brain off and fall asleep. When you just need a little coaxing, and a little loving on.

You tend to get really aroused at night, some nights more than others. Sometimes he can smell it on you, because it’s so potent. He loves that smell. It’s like rain over jasmine. Maybe it’s out of routine, because you’ve come to expect him to come home late and give you some sugar, and he’s inadvertently got you trained like a little love bunny.

“Clark?” you’ll say meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t fall asleep, Clark.”

He’ll smirk into your back, knowing that was coming. “Oh yeah, sleepy girl? Why don’t you just try?”

“Oh, but Clark…” you’ll pout, shifting to face him. “I really can’t sleep.”

“Oh, honey,” he’ll tut, giving you a baby-blue eyed look drenched in mock-pity. “Do you need me to get you down?”

You’ll bite your lip, and that’s enough confirmation for him.

Soon enough he’ll be stretching you out on his fingers, cooing about what a sweet girl you are until your body succumbs to the stimulating sensation. It never takes much—usually your imagination’s gotten you to the precipice, and he merely has to take you over the edge.

He likes to tease you then. “That was a big one, huh. Maybe it’s time for bed..?”

“Nooo,” you’ll pout, and then register his stupid smirk. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“I know, I know. I’m so mean, sweetness. Just terrible, huh,” he’ll play along, lining up with your wet, welcoming entrance.

“Yeah—yeahhhhhhhh,” your protest’ll fade into a delicious moan, one he swallows with his lips because fuck. You’re just too cute.

“You like that, honey? Being so full of me? Bet you’re not even thinking straight, huh, sleepy girl. Just taking whatever I have to give. Good girl,” he’ll say, spurring you on, making you feel just so damn good—

Needless to say, the second orgasm usually gets you down, syrupy and dopey with a lovestruck “I love you Clark” as you drift off to the comfort of him cleaning you up and tucking in, whispering back “I love you.”

a/n: just started smallville… yk, the tom welling… let’s just say i started out picturing david when i was writing this… and times are changing… anyways, comments and shares mean the world!!

[shallowobessions]

𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗸𝗲𝗻𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗻 𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗸

You would never think of it since Clark does have a humanoid appearance, but his dick proves just how much of an alien he is. When you first saw it, you weren't sure if you could even take a dick like his. His manhood stood proudly at almost eight inches, so thick that your fingers almost can't wrap around it. It's so heavy that it isn't even able to stand up on its own, just twitching against his meaty thighs. Curved in a way that's supposed to hit your g spot on the first try.

And that's not even the freaky part! His dick has these grooves along the shaft that'll lightly buzz inside of your cunt when he's close to cumming. And when he does shoot his insanely large load inside of you, those grooves turn into soft hooks that catch the walls of your vagina, not allowing him to pull out. You'll think that'll hurt like hell, but somehow it feels freakishly amazing.

Then his cock has the nerves to knot you! A glowing bulge forming at the end of his shaft. Slowly stretching you out, making sure none of his fertile cum doesn't spill out of you. And you remember when I said insanely large load? Yeah. Clark has severe hyperspermia, with huge amounts coming every time, his load lasting for about three to five minutes. White, thick, greedy cum shooting into your womb and coating your walls white. You'll have pools of cum coming out of you, and it's such a pain to clean (luckily Clark offers to help you out). Clark can't even get in pants with his crouch being soaked in seconds for the huge volume of pre cum.

Should I make a fic with all the weird and freaky alien things about Clark? If you likey feel free to request * wink wink*

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡ 𝐚𝟎𝟑

[runa-falls]

cocky

summary: clark isn't satisfied with your introverted behavior in the office.

pairing: clark kent x reader

warnings: dark fic, dub-con, drink-tampering (basically a slow-building aphrodisiac), ooc (dark)!clark, unprotected sex, rough sex, hints of obsession, squirting, tummy bulge, he's your manager and delusional, power-dynamics, alcohol, afab!reader, reader's face flushes from consuming alcohol, slight age-gap, condescending/misogynistic/age-ist language, slight size-difference, not beta-read

wc: 4.4k

note: i haven't written something dark or CLARK in a while. so here is this fic that's been marinating in my drafts for a while <3

bigger note: please don't read if you can't handle dark content or ooc!clark. i am not responsible for the content you consume!

masterlist

---

You knew his sweet, soft personality was an act.

How could a guy who looks like that not know how hot he is?

It felt like a prize when you found out about his secret -- that Clark Kent, the soft-shelled dork from the other side of the office, was actually a huge asshole.

Since the moment you joined the company, you never went out of your way to interact with him. You were cordial and professional when you had to be, but this job was just an obstacle between you and your freedom of going home.

You could tell it irked him when you swiftly moved on from your greeting with him to meet some of the other staff. His jaw clenched beneath his forced smile, hand tensing as you pulled away from the brief handshake.

After that first day, he made an effort to make his presence known. 

You didn't make it easy, though.

His friendly morning greetings -- which always included your name so you knew exactly who he was talking to -- were met with half-assed 'good morning everyone's, your eyes never leaving your PC monitor. His generous coffee runs seemed to conveniently clash with the days you decided to bring in your own tumblers of caffeine (Jimmy was grateful, though, since he got your coffee as a result). And all the times he would invite the team out for dinner, you'd always be too busy or tired to make it.

To you, this was just your typical introverted behavior.

You're used to an extroverted team manager trying to pull you out of your shell, but you've always made your intentions clear -- you're only at the company to work, not make friends. Like those past managers, you hoped Clark would eventually give up and move on from you.

It turns out that he was more committed to you than you originally thought.

---

A small tap on your desk pulls you away from your work. You already know who it is based on the subtle scent of his cologne. You look up, eyes meeting a very smiley Clark who clearly believes that what he has to say is more important than the task you were doing.

"Sorry to bother you." No, you're not. "I was just wondering if you had plans this weekend. The team is going to O'Malley's to celebrate Mike's promotion." Right, one of the interns is being brought on as a full-time employee. You knew Mike, sort of. Not enough to hold any conversation above the usual small talk.

Immediately, you search your brain for an excuse.

"Ah, I can't, I..." your eyes flick away from him as you quickly think up something convincing, "I'm going out of town to see my mom."

"Oh, that's alright." Clark nods understandingly, or at least tries to convince you that it doesn't bother him.

But then his demeanor shifts a bit as his cool blue eyes scan over the office surrounding the two of you.

Is he making sure that no one is paying attention to this conversation?

He slips his hands into his pockets, his voice lowering. "You always seem to be out of town these days." His tone is bordering on accusatory. His gaze lazily returns to you, waiting for a response. The only thing keeping his innocent persona intact is the wide-frame glasses that shield his intense stare.

You try to hide your uncomfortable shock with a small shrug, "yeah, I guess so."

"Maybe next time."

"Maybe."

---

After successfully dodging his invitation, you decide that you deserve to spend a lazy weekend at home -- which is exactly how you usually spend your weekends anyway. A warm, comfy sofa, a bottle of wine, and a show playing in the background while you scroll through your phone. Perfect Saturday plans.

Unfortunately, after repeating this routine for many Saturdays in a row, you're out of your usual wine and snacks. With how exhausted work leaves you at the end of the week, you decide to leave the warmth of your apartment after a quick rest.

You walk to a nearby corner store, one you're a regular at. Roaming the familiar aisles, you pick up an item here and there, building your late-night munchie list as you go. As you're choosing your wine for the night, you feel a presence at your side.

"Thought you were out of town." You turn to see a casually dressed Clark holding a six-pack of beers by his side. He looks even bigger in his plain T-shirt and jeans, the cotton fabric stretching over the broadness of his shoulders. 

You're suddenly conscious of the oversized hoodie and sweatpants you're wearing. None of your coworkers have seen what you normally wear outside of work, and that's on purpose. Being on the younger side, you want to be taken seriously at work, so you always wear professional clothing.

"Um, my mom cancelled on me." You place a random bottle of red in your basket, purposefully covering up the small pack of Minecraft gummies you (stupidly) decided to try.

Luckily, Clark doesn't seem too interested in your basket as his gaze stays steadily on your face. It seems the gentle persona he usually wears at the office fades away when he's no longer in work mode.

"Yeah?" He doesn't seem convinced, but lets it go.

"Yup." Your hands squeeze the handles of the shopping basket. "So what brings you to this side of town..."

"Same as you, I assume," he gestures to the wine you haphazardly picked out, "merlot fan?"

"Uh, yeah," you glance at the bottle, "it's, uh, a good one."

"If you like merlot, you should've picked out this one," he smoothly walks a few steps away and pulls out a more expensive bottle. He holds it out, and you feel like you have no other choice but to take it from him. "Let me know how it tastes."

"Sure." Your attempt to take the bottle is stopped when he refuses to let go.

"Better yet, why don't we try it together?" His dimpled smile is charming, but not enough to quell your suspicions. 

"Together? Like tonight?"

"No time like the present." You pull at the bottle with a bit more force, and he finally lets go.

"Maybe another time." You carefully place the pricey wine next to your cheaper choice. Your basket is now two times heavier.

"You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" A hint of defensiveness rings through your tone. 

"You know, Perry has been worried about you." He clicks his tongue. "Since you haven't been to any of the team outings, he thinks you aren't getting along with the others."

This is news to you.

You've tried hard to stay under the radar -- friendly enough at the office that you wouldn't be suspected of staying home during company get-togethers.

"Really? But there haven't been any issues..."

"I heard he might move you to a different department if something doesn't change soon."

"Why would he--"

"You're a hard worker, but part of being in a department is teamwork," he explains, speaking to you as if he's some kind of mentor. The vague condescension grates on you.

"Fine." You relent. "I'll try the wine with you."

---

Despite your refusals, he ended up paying for the high-end wine, claiming it's his treat since he was the one who picked it out in the first place. You awkwardly paid for the rest of your items, watching as the clerk took his time putting everything into a plastic bag.

Clark's apartment is closer to the store than you realized. You're surprised that you haven't run into him sooner. The elevator takes you up to the top floor, where Clark leads you to the apartment at the end of the hall. You start to wonder just how much he gets paid for his monthly interviews with Superman.

"Make yourself at home." He puts his beers in the fridge and goes to a cabinet to grab some wine glasses.

"Um, okay." You nervously sit at the edge of his sofa, placing your plastic bag full of junk food on the carpet next to you.

"Here." You're handed a glass of the merlot before he takes a seat next to you. "Try it." He watches you take a tentative sip and only takes his own once you've swallowed.

The wine coats your tongue with a savory richness that speaks for its high price. 

Okay fine, you'll admit that this one is pretty good.

"So?" Clark asks with a smug smile. Instead of responding, you take another, larger sip. "See? I told you."

"It's alright." You shrug, setting the now half-empty glass on the coffee table in front of you. "So about what Perry said--"

"What, you want to talk about work?"

"I mean, that's the reason why we're here, isn't it?"

Clark nods noncommittally before placing his glass next to yours, "Am I not cool enough to just hang out with?"

"Hang-out? No…This has nothing to do with how cool you are, Kent."

"Do you think I haven't noticed how you've tried to avoid me?" Clark smiles as his deep blue eyes bore into yours. That friendly expression that he often wears at the office is so clearly a farce in this setting. 

"I haven't been avoiding you." You mumble as you start to redirect your gaze so you don't feel so pressured under his stare. He sighs and places his hand gently underneath your chin to make you look up at him. The warmth from his fingers spreads against your jaw and you're starting to think that the wine is heading straight for your brain.

"See?" His tone is that of an owner softly disciplining their favorite pet, "You can't even look at me for more than a few minutes."

You pull your face away from his hand.

 "Eye contact just makes me uncomfortable..." You pick up your glass again, if only to give your hands -- and your eyes -- something to do. The distance doesn't seem to bother him, but you can see a crack within his blase attitude as he hesitates to settle back to his original spot on the couch.

"You'll have to get over that if you want to be head reporter at the Planet."

Great, you've summoned the manager within him. 

You take a sip while Clark starts rattling off reporter tips. Somewhere between his advice on interviews and making sources feel comfortable, it hits you that he still doesn't know. After all this time -- after every conversation, every attempt he's made to get to know you -- he still thinks you want to be a reporter. One of those prying nerds who salivates at the chance to hear Superman's voice with their own ears. The kind of reporter always chasing the next juicy piece of gossip to slap on the front page.

You don't though. You want to be an editor. 

Less interviewing. Less charm. Less him. 

You've always hoped that one day you'd be holed up in an office of your own with the only interaction between you and Clark being a few emails now and then. 

The wine sends a pleasant tingle through your body, warmth spreading from your core, gliding over your limbs, and finally sparking at your fingertips. His voice drifts into the background, and at some point you realize you've stopped sitting so stiffly, your body relaxing into the couch beside him. 

The more you drink, the less attention you give to the conversation. You've found that you enjoy looking at his face more than listening to his attempts to assert his superiority for being a front-page journalist.

You feel the warmth of his thigh press against yours. With every refill, he's gotten closer to your side, but it wasn't noticeable until now. 

After finishing the last drop in your glass, you look over at him and find that he's already looking at you. 

His blue eyes are glazed as he studies your face. 

When did he stop talking?

"What?" Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, almost like you didn't mean to say it out loud.

"Your face looks hot," he says it so casually you almost miss it -- but when it registers, your heart skips a beat.

"Um…hot?"

"Do you get the alcohol flush?" His lips curve into a lazy smile.

Oh. Hot -- as in temperature.

You glance back down at your nearly empty glass, oddly disappointed by the clarification. 

"Yeah, sometimes."

He lets out an amused huff of laughter. "You thought I was talking about how pretty you are?" The bluntness of it lands like a punch to the gut.

How pretty you are… he thinks you're pretty?

"What? No," you reply quickly, your face suddenly warmer than the wine could ever make it. 

"You sure?" His fingers skim your jaw before resting there, warm against your skin. The touch is light enough that you could pull away, but somehow that makes it harder to. When you don't move, his thumb traces the faintest arc beneath your cheek. "I thought you'd be a little more observant with how quickly Perry brought you onto the team…" His voice is soft, but the words sting.

You roll your eyes at the condescending remark. 

Whatever little flutter his accidental compliment caused is promptly buried beneath irritation.

It's nothing new. Being a young woman in an office means hearing offhand remarks like that often enough. 

Though this is the first time you've had a man say it directly to your face.

His grip tightens. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"You never stand up for yourself. You just let people spew bullshit and go on with your day."

So he's noticed how the other guys talk about you in the break room, their voices carrying whenever you happen to walk by. He's known about it this whole time and done nothing.

And now he's lecturing you about standing up for yourself?

What a manager…

You look away, suddenly tired of the conversation. 

"I don't know. What's it going to change anyway?"

"Look at me." The softness in his voice catches you off guard. "You never... look at me."

You meet those intense blue eyes, now fully revealed without the glasses. He must have taken them off at some point, and you hadn't even noticed.

Why hadn't you noticed?

He looks familiar, but something about him feels completely different -- the darkness in his eyes, the bite behind his words. None of it feels like the man you're thinking of. 

"Why should I?" You challenge him, pulling away from his touch as your hazy mind finally catches up to the position you're in. "It's just a job. You're just a coworker -- You're my supervisor. Can't you and everyone else just let me live peacefully?"

"It seems like more than just a job, sweetheart." His eyes drag slowly over your figure, taking in the sweats you'd thrown on for your late-night shopping trip.The scrutiny makes you feel exposed, even though you're fully covered. He pinches the extra fabric of your hoodie between his fingers. "I mean, look at you. You don't exactly look like someone with a busy social life."

"And you do, Kent?" you retort.

"That's it. Fight back." He grins, his pretty dimples at odds with the cruel twist of his smile. 

The sudden pause pulls you out of the stifling tension between you. Your eyes land on the empty wine bottle sitting on the coffee table, and you realize there's nothing keeping you here anymore.

You straighten in your seat, "I think I should get going."

Clark doesn't move.

"Got someone waiting for you at home?" he asks as though he already knows the answer. 

"It's late."

"It is."

"I think we've drunk too much tonight."

"I'm not drunk."

He's right. He looks perfectly sober, if a little worked up from the argument. 

Meanwhile, the wine has left your head hazy, making it harder to think clearly.

You try to push yourself up, but your body feels strangely heavy. Something has settled deep into your limbs, turning even the simple act of standing into an effort.

"I heard that you're a lightweight, but this is a bit much, isn't it?"

"I'm fine." 

"You can barely stand."

You glare at him, but the effort of pushing yourself upright only makes your head swim harder. Your knees wobble, and you instinctively reach for the back of the couch. Clark catches your arm before you can stumble, pulling you against his body as his hands settle around your waist to steady you.

"See?"

Something is wrong. 

"What…?" Your body isn't listening to you. Your limbs feel disconnected, like they belong to someone else. The room seems strangely distant, and for a moment you feel like you're watching yourself from somewhere outside your own body. "Kent." 

"It's Clark." A hand spreads over the back of your thigh, gently massaging your body through your clothes as he pulls you closer. Even through your clothes, you can feel the warmth of his body. Desire pulses through you in uneven waves, each one fading only long enough to warn you to pull away.

The scent of his cologne settles around you, masculine and distracting. You feel weak against him.

"What did you do?" You ask softly.

Your hand lands on his chest, but you can't muster enough energy to push him away. The muscles beneath his shirt tighten under your touch, and he leans closer, as if inviting you to feel more of him. 

"Looks like it's finally kicking in…"

—

Kissing him isn't supposed to feel good. 

It isn't supposed to make you melt against his body as he presses you down against the couch. It isn't supposed to make you tilt your head and chase his lips when he pulls away for air. And you definitely aren't supposed to pull him closer, guiding his hands underneath your hoodie as if you want him there.

But the heat coursing through you smothers every logical thought before it can take hold.

His large hands cup over your tits, squeezing them greedily as he captures your lips once more. You try desperately to hold back your moans, but your breath stutters when his thumbs flick over your sensitive nipples. 

You can feel his erection throbbing through his jeans. It presses against your stomach as he deepens the kiss. 

Clark pulls away, staring down at your flushed cheeks and glistening eyes with a satisfied look on his face. With every heated kiss, eager grope, and dulled moan, the fire within has burned hotter. Now, your body is begging for a release. 

"I thought you hated me." He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. This would almost be romantic if Clark wasn't such a delusional freak. 

"I do." Your voice comes out weak and breathy.

"You keep saying that," he says quietly, "but you're still kissing back." 

"Because I'm hot, Clark."

"I know you are," he says smugly, "let me help you cool down." His hands slide to the hem of your hoodie, pushing it up just enough to expose your torso before one slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. "Didn't realize you get so wet for someone you hate." He teases, feeling the mess you've made of yourself. 

"Fuck you." You breathe out as his fingers slide through your folds. 

The words seem to piss him off because he isn't gentle when he pushes two fingers inside of you. Luckily, whatever pill he slipped into your drink already has you dripping down your thighs.

The stretch is immediate and has you gripping onto his arm to slow him down, but he ignores your pleading touch and starts pumping his fingers into your hole. The squelching sound has you burying your face against his shoulder, embarrassed of your body.

"Look at how easily you fall apart from me." He taunts. Your mouth gapes open as he reaches the soft spot within you, prodding at it incessantly until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. 

An unfamiliar ache builds between your legs, something intense. 

"Wait, s-something…" The angle of his fingers thrusting into you becomes too much. 

"Are you gonna cum around my fingers, baby?" His blue eyes drink you in and his hand speeds up, wanting to push your limits.

A broken moan is forced out of your throat as your climax hits. Ecstasy ripples over your body and your eyes roll back from the intensity. You feel your stomach tighten before you realize what's happening and you can feel yourself drench your panties.

Pretty stars dot your vision as you come back to yourself. 

Or are those tears?

"You made a mess of your sweatpants, honey." You feel him drag them down, but you don't have the energy to lift your hips to help him. He lets you recover a bit, using the pause to take off his shirt and unbutton his jeans.

You're breathing hard and you wish you could just go to sleep, but an itching arousal within you persists. 

He pulls himself out of his boxers, pumping himself lazily as his eyes wander over your half-covered body.

"You're so pretty, you know?" A hand pushes your hoodie up to reveal your chest, "Everything about you is pretty. Your handwriting, your voice, your eyes, your pussy..."

He leans over you, kissing down your chest before sucking a nipple into his mouth. Your body arches against his mouth, your fingers now finding their way into his curls.

He grasps at your other tit before moving down to languidly caress over your stomach and hips. This time he is taking it slow, working you up with his mouth and hands like a lover would do. 

But slow is the last thing you need right now. 

You pull at his hair, impatient. 

"What are you waiting for?" You groan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his lower body onto yours. 

A sharp pinch at your nipple makes you gasp. Did he just bite you?

"Be patient." He scolds, though he doesn't seem to mind the feeling of your wet cunt against the underside of his cock. He pushes himself between your folds, using your slick to easily move against you. His hips roll slowly as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the bud teasingly. 

"Please, I-I need something."

"What do you need, baby?" he asks softly, as though he doesn''t already know the answer. His mouth has moved up to your throat, painting the delicate skin with suckled marks. 

You shake your head, refusing to verbalize it. 

"I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong." You can feel his lips smile against your heated skin. 

"Clark -- Fuck." The blunt head of his cock teases at your entrance, and your desperate cunt flutters for more. "Please, just put it in." 

"Like this?"  He finally gives in, pushing into you gently so your body can open up for him. Blood rushes to your head as you feel him drag against your tender walls, forcing you to stretch out around him. 

"Oh." The size is nothing like you've experienced before. It fills you up so fully that you're unable to escape the overwhelming sensation of his cock finally bottoming out. 

"Feel good?" Clark keeps himself pressed inside of you, letting you struggle with the intensity of being filled so completely. 

"So big."

"I know, sweetheart. I can see myself right here…" He groans, pressing a hand over your lower stomach, "Too much for you, hm?" Clark pulls out, slowly, watching as each inch of him leaves your body. He doesn't waste time pushing back into you until your thighs start shaking around him. 

"Move -- Please, just move." 

Clark pulls out for a second to push your knees against your chest, positioning you into a mating press. When he reenters your body, his cock hits your sweet spot even easier with the new angle.

His hips snap against yours, forcing you to take all of him with every thrust. His pace speeds up as your moans start to flow out of you, the couch squeaking with every harsh move. 

"It's like you were made for me." Clark pants, pushing through your slickened walls. "Weren't you?" 

"I-I…" 

Your answer doesn't quite satisfy him.

"Weren't you?" He tries again, burying himself inside of you until the head of his cock nudges the deepest parts of you. It's so intense that you wish you could tap out, but all you can do is take it. You start losing yourself in a heady mix of intoxicating sensations.

"Yes." You rasp out, head tilted back as you reel against the pressure. This time, you seem to say the right thing. Clark starts fucking into you again, lower body smacking against yours as he feeds you his cock. 

Your cunt starts sucking him back in when he tries to pull out, frantically clinging onto anything as your body starts to lose itself to pleasure.

His cock stays so deep within you that he's basically grinding against your clit with each thrust. You can't help the whimper that escapes you when he prods against your g-spot, almost feeling him in your stomach.

"Clark!" You can feel the pulsing of his cock within you -- all because you said his name. That's all it takes to have you rushing towards another climax.

"Already?" He can feel you tremble around him as he pushes into you. 

"I c-can't–" The walls of your cunt start to tighten around him, throbbing insistently as he continues his vigorous thrusts.

You felt it coming, but you weren't expecting how overwhelming it would be. Heat vibrates through your body as your vision whitens, disorienting all your senses at once. You could barely feel the way your whole body tenses, muscles straining in exhaustion.

His hips stutter right against you and warmth shoots into you several times, completely painting your insides. He continues to move inside of you with small thrusts.  You're so full that it starts to drip out -- down the sides of his cock and onto the couch. 

"Fuck," You groan, "I'm not on the pill."

"Good." He nuzzles his face against your sweaty neck. The weight of his body rests on top of yours. You listen to his breaths start to slow. He doesn't seem to care about how sticky you are, or the fact that he still hasn't pulled out. 

You look over at your bag of forgotten snacks. 

You were supposed to be eating those.

Instead, you're covered in sweat, your pants somewhere on the floor, and Clark is still holding you like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

You stare at the snacks.

[kittennextdoor]

━ (18+) Your big strong boyfriend is always needy after his workouts.

He came home still in his gym clothes, muscles swollen and glistening with sweat. The second the door shut, that intimidating exterior crumbled. He dropped his bag, walked straight to you, and wrapped his huge arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck with a quiet, almost desperate sigh. “Missed you so much,” he mumbled against your skin, already nuzzling closer.

You smiled and ran your hands up his broad, damp back. “Come on. Shower.” In the bathroom, he barely waited for the water to warm up before peeling both of you out of your clothes. Once under the hot spray, he became even needier. His big hands roamed everywhere — squeezing your ass, sliding up to cup your tits, pulling you flush against his hard, slick body. His thick length was already half-hard and pressing hot against your stomach.

“Can I have you?” he asked softly, almost shy despite how massive he was. You answered by wrapping your fingers around him and stroking slowly. He groaned low in his chest and lifted you like you weighed nothing, pressing your back against the cool tiles. One strong arm held you up while the other guided his dick between your thighs. He pushed in slow, inch by thick inch, until he was buried deep. The stretch made you moan, and the sound seemed to break something in him. He started thrusting with deep, powerful strokes, the wet slap of skin echoing in the shower as water poured over both of you.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he rasped against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “I always get so fucking needy after the gym… just want to be inside you.” His hips snapped harder, fucking you deep against the wall. One of his hands slid between your bodies so he could rub your clit in tight circles while he pounded into you. The combination of him stretching you open and his fingers working your clit had you clenching around him within minutes.

“That’s it, baby… squeeze me,” he groaned, voice rough and wrecked. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up.” He came hard with a deep, broken moan, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing thick ropes of cum deep inside you. The feeling of him throbbing pushed you over the edge too — you came with a loud cry, walls fluttering around him as he kept grinding through both your orgasms.

Even after he finished, he stayed inside you, still holding you tightly against the wall, pressing soft, almost worshipful kisses to your wet neck and shoulders like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. “Stay with me a little longer,” he whispered, still soft and needy despite the mess he’d just made of you.

[seitosh]

men with big noses. 18+

“i like men with big noses. because you can sit on them”

that was the reprehensible phrase that had contaminated the conversation. a sweet laugh of yours dressed the statement, a fact, the truth. your friends thought it was a silly attempt at humor— a satirical way to present your taste in men. but to you, it was a conviction, like a saint’s certitude of a god’s presence.

it was a corrupted preference.

fetishizing someone’s body feature. a feature that was not standard on faces. not the type you see plastered on magazines, on billboards. but to you— the arc of the bridge, the broadness of it, the ‘unappealing’ making someone so appealing dampened your panties.

no one really understood you, but, there was someone else who did.

a torrent of pleasure impaled you again as his tongue thrusted in to your raw pussy. his hands moved with slumber, carelessly rubbing his thick cock as if it could wait because your cunt was his utmost priority.

your mushy whimpers of his name went to deaf ears as you faltered forward, gripping the headboard.

he deliberately flattened his tongue, increasing the surface area, deliriously rubbing it against your weary clit making you squirm out a moan. his greed was insatiable. the tip of his thirsty tongue traced your wet folds, memorizing the outline of the puff, edacious tasting of your squirts.

his large hands draped over your thighs, shifting you further. above his face, exactly on to his nose.

he suffocated with your sweetness, you were spilling your juice everywhere on to his face but you couldn’t care much about it— not while grinding on his nose.

the crooked slope of his bridge added great friction against your sensitive little clit, your hips fastened as one hand of yours still held on to headboard for support while other pulled on to his hair in sheer pleasure.

it didn’t take long for you to spurt out your water on to his face. the entirety of his face.

you moved back, slightly hovering with concern hoping you hadn’t been too rough, too selfish by thinking of your own’s enjoyment.

no, you weren’t.

you were far from it. because your man brought his finger on to his face, smearing your cum on to it and putting it in to his mouth— sucking it with an audacious groan.

he enjoyed it just as much as you.

[unholyyours]

Clark would hear your orgasm coming before you felt it, your heartbeat racing as your pussy began to tighten around his cock. He would press his thumb harder against your clit and keep fucking the same spot until you soaked him, listening to every helpless sound that slipped out of you. When your hips tried to pull away, his arm would close around your waist and hold you still because he already knew you had another one in you. ♡

[angeljaney]

you don’t know why you thought simon would be a cocky fuck.

maybe it was how cool and collected he always was. that hot, quiet confidence.

if only you knew when you’d finally got him into bed. ready for him to be rough, to be a little mean, not that you’d mind.

in reality, he was whining into your neck as he pumped into you at a primal speed. whispering and mumbling half words into your throat as he groped you anywhere he could. his eyes were rolled and he was drooling on your collarbone.

“o-oh.. oh, fuck- nghhhuhh… yyeah?.. awww… my baby.. gonna fill y-you… mhm…”

sweet little brain-numb nothings falling of the tongue of the smartest, coldest man you know.

and you could’ve cum just from the sight when he lifted his head and started actually panting and pathetically stuttering his hips against yours like a mutt.

[twolegsandbleeds]

foxes have been digging up your flowerbeds the entire time simon's been deployed. your carefully planted flowers dug up and pooped on by your local creatures of the night.

so as soon as simon comes home? you're asking him to pee in the garden - explaining that the testosterone scares them off.

you expect him to piss in a bottle, sprinkle it around - you know, like a normal bloke.

what you don't expect to see when you look out of the kitchen window at approximately seven in the evening is him standing with his cock swinging free in the garden, pissing over the grass like a dog marking it's territory, grumbling about fuckin' foxes ruinin' my petal's 'ard work. absolute cuntin' creatures.

well, if it gets the job done you won't complain.

(and edna next door isn't complaining either when she gets an eyeful from her bedroom window.)

[superhoeva]

tws: 18+/smut, fem!reader, strangers to lovers (?), drinking, tipsy sex, public sex, smoking (mentioned), blood (very quick mention, nothing serious), ruined wedding

driver!simon rescuing runaway bride!reader from the church where your wedding was supposed to take place. you’d left it all–your family, your phone, your responsibilities, your no-longer-husband-to-be–behind so you could sit in the back of simon’s cab and tell him all the reasons you ditched.

“he's just… he's boring. he likes to eat dinner the same time as our 74-year-old neighbor! he didn’t wanna go anywhere or do anything. he’d come home after all day at work, just to half-ignore me. doesn't believe in kissing for any longer than 0.7 seconds. and dear god–simon, is it? right?–the sex…”

simon lets you unleash it all as he circles in the streets, adding in his two cents here and there when you take a second to breathe.

“so a fuckin’ knob then, huh? too bad you got all pretty for’a bloke like that… y’sure he wasn’t the 74-year-old?”

that last one pulls a laugh from you that makes simon think about that pub on the other side of town.

half an hour later, there you are, in the pub. still in your gown and veil. simon’s arm wrapped tight around your side as the two of you squish against the wood of the bar.

surrounding you is a clamoring of happy drunks, who toast loudly to the assumed “marriage” between simon and yourself. for some reason, you don’t correct them. nor does simon, who instead holds you tight and shoves his tongue into your mouth after the tenth chant of kiss! from the rest of the pub.

you kiss him back, groaning at the touch that reaches to grip your chin. when you pull away, simon holds his breath at the tipsy grin on your face, a warm feeling running through his cock when you turn back to your glass and chug until the top of your lip is covered in foam from the second beer he bought you.

“alright?”

you bob a nod at simon’s question as he thumbs away the mess at your lip with dark eyes.

fourteen minutes later…

the pub bathroom is already small enough. feels even smaller with simon hanging over your shoulder and yanking you back by the hips. the fastening of your dress has been ripped well past your ass, buttons scattered under the sink you're holding onto for dear life. squeezing the sides of the porcelain every time simon pumps into you.

“f-fuck…” you whine, and simon digs himself deeper. “ah!-there-there…”

his cock is hitting deep. heavy. wet and stretching you out in a way the man you’d abandoned earlier. (what was his name again?) he even uses the veil still tucked in your hair to keep the view of your face nice and clear for him to stare at you in the mirror. the sight of you, groaning with running mascara, makes it easy for simon to imagine another world where you're his new, pretty wife.

mrs. riley. his missus.

“y’know… i’ll eat supper whenever y’want. kiss ya right. don’t quite like ignoring pretty things either,” he grunts in your ear, balls smacking loudly in between the slurred sentences. the wet peck he gives you under the side of your ear precedes a tragic pause of his thrusts. while you take the break to catch simon’s gaze in the glass before you, he pants with deep huffs.

god, you look a right mess. make up ruined. lips swollen. veil scrunched and the top of your dress tugged low enough for your nipples to show. simon looks over it all at the same time before peeling his front from your back so he can watching something else.

there’s a ring of cream at the base of his cock that’s still stuck halfway inside your pussy. your lips are spread wide, properly stuffed, and pulsate with a gentle rhythm.

“…you memorize your vows?”

you blink at the low question, trying not to squirm anymore than you already are. “uh. y-yeah? i think. why?–"

“go on, then,” simon directs, one of his arms wrapping around your front. with a tight tug, he stuffs himself the rest of the way, clenching his teeth at the way your voice cracks in the middle of a loud moan. scrunching his nose, he sniffs. then resumes fucking you.

slower.

harder.

like a proper husband should.

it takes you a while to sputter the first few words. simon is patient enough because the pay off is better than he imagined.

the recited promises are broken, but there. real-sounding enough just over the wet plaps that simon can flutter his eyes shut and pretend he’s the one you wrote them about. that you’ll always give yourself to him, to laugh everyday with him, to love him through it all.

the man proves himself easily, that much is obvious by how you end up squirting on his cock and down his dress; the way you sob his name and accidentally blubber out delirious i love you’s; how the three words you chant out like a prayer cause him to spill deep inside you as he makes sounds he’s never made for anyone else.

simon loves you back. feels like it, at least, when he comes with shaking legs and can’t think of anything worse than a future without you. he ends up sure of the fact when the first thing you utter, in a tired, hoarse voice, after finally finding your breath is–

“i meant to ask earlier… do you have a smoke?”

simon grins a bit, almost laughing. red stains on his teeth from how hard you made him bite his lip.

note: is this bad? pls don't let this be bad. anyways, runaway brides must be the new thing and i think @tojisteddy n i share the same brain :3

[softaestluv]

Ghost desperately needs to fuck his client. (You) pt. 2

tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, shotgunning, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, creampie, jealousy, not edited, my current brain worm

prev. part

──────────────

You text Simon a week later.

‘You got anything? Had a long day.’

‘Made some pre-rolls just for you, bird.’

‘Yay!!! Coming!!’

You give him a tight smile when you sit on his couch. It’s not like you. He doesn’t say anything until you take a few puffs and your tense shoulders start to sag.

“What happened?”

“Boss was just being a dick all day.” You turn to give a real smile, eyes crinkling, “Good thing my drug dealers got a soft spot for me though, huh?”

“Who told you that?” He smirks, raising his eyebrows.

Your mouth drops in surprise, smacking his shoulder playfully.

“That’s mean.”

He laughs before continuing softly. “You’re my favorite client, you know that.”

That makes you smile, head rolling onto the back of the couch and he decides he likes making you do that. You close your eyes and when your chest starts to slowly raise with soft breathes, he decides to let you sleep.

The next time he sees you, you’re leaving the club, and when you recognize his car you jog over with an excited smile on your lips. You’ve got this little black dress on that makes it awfully hard to focus on anything else besides the curve of your hips.

“Simon! What are you doing here?”

“Bird? The hell you doing out here?”

“I went out with my friend.” You point to a man standing close by.

His jaw tenses, “Get in.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car, bird. I’m not arguing.” He’s already climbing out of the driver's seat to open the passenger door for you.

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Simon!” You say, but you let him guide you into the car anyway.

“He’s a big boy. He’ll survive.”

When he gets to your house you turn to him with a mischievous smile, “Were you jealous?”

“Of who?”

“Don’t play dumb!”

“Just making sure you’re safe s’all.” He shrugs casually.

You lean across the center console, “It’s okay. I’m not interested in him.”

“Good.”

That makes you smile bigger, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, “You gonna come in and smoke with me?”

“Course I am.”

You drag him inside giggling, stumbling a little over your high heels. You waste no time changing, pulling the dress over your head as you walk down the hallway, giving him a glimpse of your lacy covered ass before you disappear into your room.

You come back out in an oversized shirt and shorts. “Proper smoking fit now.”

“Could’ve stayed in the dress for me.”

You frown, “Was getting uncomfy.”

“Like you like this more anyways.”

That makes you smile shyly, sitting next to him on your couch. He’s already lit a joint, it’s pink, and the sight of his big hands around it makes you giggle.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to start?”

“C’mere.” He grunts, pulling you on to his lap.

It’s the first time you’ve been there since you begged to ride him. The memory makes him chub in his jeans.

He takes a big inhale before gripping your chin, dragging you to his lips, and exhales the smoke into your mouth. You squirm in his lap in surprise, fingers fisting his shirt with wide eyes, but you inhale as much as you can manage. You cough when he leans back casually, licking your lips like you were trying to chase the taste of him.

“Let me try.” You murmur.

He places the joint in your lips. You inhale before leaning forward nervously and blow the smoke into his mouth. It’s not as big as his hit and he swallows it easier than you had. Theres a long pause, the both of you staring at each other, your fingers smoothing the edges of his shirt you had bunched, before he puts the joint back in his mouth.

The two of you eventually take turns shotgunning the smoke into each other’s mouth. The pause between each inhale gets longer and longer, agonizingly so. Even more so when you keep your lips close, not kissing, just there. Breathes fanning over each other’s faces, your body becoming heavier and heavier on his thighs with each puff, the weed pulsing in your veins making you more lax than before.

The space between the two of you has gone a little hazy and you’re not entirely sure if it’s because of the joint or the smoke filling the room, but all the two of you can focus on is the other. You smell like tequila, and there’s a part of him who knows he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re drunk, but you’re so fucking pretty in his lap, eyes lidded and edges stained red, lips parted to take shaky breaths.

“‘s all gone.” He says, holding the tip.

“Yeah.” You whisper, but your eyes stay focused on his lips.

The corner of his mouth twitches, “That’s not a good idea. You’re drunk.”

“But you’re high now too, aren’t you? Evens it out.”

He chuckles, “I need more than just one j to be high, pretty.”

You frown.

“You were on a date anyway. Don’t think you want this.”

Your frown deepens, “Wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend.”

He hums, ignoring the irritation pulsing at his temples, fingers smoothing along your hips instead.

“Just a kiss?” You murmur, “Hold me over til I’m sober.”

He tuts his tongue, but he pulls you down anyway because he’s a man after all, he can only resist so much when you ask so sweetly. You smile against his lips, eyes fluttering shut and tugging him closer to you.

It’s slow, the both of your lips are a little numb from smoking, and the taste of the strawberry paper he buys for you has left a fruity taste in your mouths. His fingers tingle where they’re at your hips and there’s a pressure in his head from smoking. He can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss when you taste like that and sound so sweet against him, maybe it’s the weed in system that makes it harder to resist.

You let him lick into your mouth then, and your hips start to grind along his hardened length in his jeans when his tongue meets yours. You gasp against his lips every so often like you can’t seem to fill your lungs with enough air before diving back in impatiently because it’s such an inconvenience that you have to part in order to breathe.

He’s strong, god he’s strong because he manages to pull away, your lips stained a darker color, and you blink at him sadly when he stops your hips. All he can think about is how wet you probably are, just ruining your lacy panties, but he slides you off him anyway.

“Should drink some water and go to bed.” He says.

Your brows crease, pout on your lips, but you nod anyway.

You text him in the middle of the night two weeks later.

‘You up?’

‘For you.’

‘I think I’m greening out andd I’m rlly scared can you pls come pick me up?’

‘Where are you?’

‘I don’t knowww.’

‘Send me your location.’

You’re at some random party, and you give him a wobbly smile when you see him. That same friend at your side.

“Hi.”

“Hi, bird. Let’s go.”

You nod, your hands shaking when you lace your fingers with his and he drags you through the crowd. He takes you to his, helps you change into some of his clothes, and presses a glass of water to your lips. You chug it like you’re parched, barely saving any room to breathe.

“You’re gonna stress me out.”

You laugh quietly, “Sorry.”

“Gotta be careful smoking too much when you’re not somewhere you’re familiar with.” He sits you down on his bed.

“I know. It just kinda happened.”

“How you feeling?”

“Better with you.”

That makes his teeth show.

“You want me to put music on?”

You shake your head, “Just want to lay with you.”

He invites you over for a smoke session a few days later. You roll the joint between your thumbs nervously like theres something heavy on your mind.

“If you don’t wanna smoke we don’t have to. Just thought since it’s kinda our thing now.”

You smile big, “Our thing?”

“Mmhh.” He hums with a nod.

“That’s not what I was thinking about.” You murmur quietly.

“What’s it then?”

“You sleep with a lot of your clients?”

He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled, coughing so much that tears well in his eyes.

“What?”

“Um, well. Have you fucked any of your other clients?” You bite at your bottom lip.

“Jesus, bird. No.” He coughs.

“Are you lying?” You squint.

“Never lie to you.”

“Okay.”

You smoke in silence after that. Your feet rest on his lap the entire time as you lean against the armrest. He runs his fingers along your ankles and up your calves to distract himself from the way your lips wrap around the joint. It’s innocent at first, he was being innocent at least, but then you nudge your toes on the bulge in his sweats and he raises his brows at you.

You shrug, a devilish smirk on your lips.

“Accident.”

But then your legs fall open a little, your pretty thighs parting slightly for him. It’s an invitation, an awfully tempting one and it all happens so fast, he almost doesn’t even realize he’s nosing along the wet patch of your underwear and placing your legs on his shoulders until you squeak in surprise. Foreplays not needed this time around, not when your drunken makeout session has weighed heavy at the recesses of your minds ever since.

Your panties come off easy enough and he beelines straight to the source. He kisses along your thighs once, twice, a third time and your breath gets faster with each approaching stamp of his lips. Except, his thumb finds your clit first, just soft strokes while his breath fans over your embarrassingly wet cunt.

When he does lick one flat swipe along your clit your back arches around the couch armrest. And then he dips lower and fucking groans into your pussy when he gets a real taste of you, eyes closed like he’s got sugar melting between his teeth and not you filling his senses. He indulges himself, just a little, slipping his tongue into your pussy, so he can lick the taste from the tap.

When he returns to your clit, your toes curl against his back, and your head slumps into the couch. You’ve got one hand stifling your moans and he’d make you take it off and sing for him, but he’s more concerned with laving at your swollen clit than anything else. He keeps his tongue gentle, each lick broad, to make sure he’s really smothering every inch of you.

You cry out when he takes the bead between his lips and sucks softly. Your mouth forms an o and the look you give him is so cute that he can’t help but smile into your pussy. Furrowed brows and big beady eyes, lashes wet at the edges like the stimulation was becoming too much.

You don’t try to pull away though, instead, you arch deeper into him, hand curling around the back of his head and pushing him closer to your clit. His big hands find your hips when you start to grind on his face messily, and it takes everything in him not to buck his own into his couch because he’s sure you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever fucked.

His nose bumps along your clit with each slow drag of your hips, and his face is drenched in juices down to his chin. He hopes the smell fucking sticks, hopes he can taste you on his tongue later tonight when you’re not there and he’s missing you.

You finish with his name on your lips and your thighs squeeze around his head tight. He licks it all up, lapping eagerly at your walls while your legs slowly relax, falling open onto his shoulders, and twitching with each followed lick in overstimulation.

When he comes up, your chest is heaving, like you were the one down there suffocated by your thighs and pussy. There’s this dopey smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile back, leaning down to kiss you with your arousal all over his face.

You don’t even scrunch your nose, you lick right into his mouth hungrily like he hadn’t just been feasting between your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He grunts between sloppy kisses, hands fumbling with his sweats.

He feels you smile, “You’re the one who just ate me out.”

You make a surprised noise when the fat of his head slips into your entrance unexpectedly, hands clambering to his shoulders to find purchase on anything. He slides right in, your pussy nice and lax from your orgasm or maybe its from the joint the two of your shared. He rests his forehead against yours when he bottoms out, eyes trained on your face. Your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth popped open in pleasure.

“Fuckkk,” He drawls, “She feels so good.”

You whine, nodding against his forehead.

He starts with shallow thrusts, fucking into you just deep enough for you to get used to the stretch. When you start to impatiently arch into him for more, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and pushes forward.

The new angle makes you moan loudly and the pace Simon sets is brutal. He’s got your knee to your shoulder and theres this ugly feeling swirling in his chest from your antics all fucking month.

“Been fucking stressing me out all month, you know that?” He grits his teeth.

You shake your head, but he wasn’t really looking for a response.

“Can’t just fucking stay home, can you? Always gotta get yourself into some trouble, don’t you?” His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.

You whimper at his tone, “It’s not on purpose.”

“Asking if I sleep with other girls, like you aren’t smoking with other men.”

His hips slam into you hard at the end of his sentence, like he’s emphasizing his words.

“They fuck you like this? Huh?”

You shake your head again, “No! No, just you Simon.”

He’s not even sure where that came from when you guys have only fucked once, you’re not his, but you’re wrapped around him, pressing kisses against his neck because you think he’s mad and how can he not be jealous?

“You all mine?” He whispers, hips stuttering with his strength to not finish.

“Yes, yes, god, yes.”

You finish around him again, pussy just gushing, and compressing tight. The way your pussy flutters around him helps assuage the feeling, your fingers gentle on his collarbone definitely helps. He buries himself deep and joins you then, pumping you full of the past month of blue balls you’ve given him and the horribly ugly tensions he’s been carrying ever since your little date.

[nothxbb]

Ryland who wakes up pressed to your back, hands immediately finding your tits, pinching and pulling like he's not even aware he's doing it, just slow movements and sleepy sighs as he plays with you. He'd roll you over once you're awake just so he can pull your shirt out of the way and lave his warm tongue over your nipple, his hand cupping the other breast, making sure it doesn't feel left out.

Maybe that's how he likes to start his day, or maybe it's a treat you only get when he's feeling particularly needy. You don't stop him, either way, because he gets all gooey above you, his eyes fluttering and soft whines falling from his lips. Once, you tugged his hair after he'd been working on you for a while and he came right there, totally untouched, just worshipping your breasts.

Fuck

[doctor-ryland-grace]

NSFW, MDNI, 18+

Ryland who gets so distracted while giving you head because he wants to remember what he's doing to make you feel so good, he wants to remember what faces you're making and what sounds are illicited when he moves his mouth just right against you, fingers working away. This way, with the data he collects, he can do it again then next time. Not to say he's a creature of habit he just... Likes to know what makes you feel good, and rather than you telling him, he'd rather find out on his own like the scientist he is.

Ryland who gets so distracted, that even though you're telling him you're close to an orgasm, doesn't seem to hear that. All he sees is your face scrunching up, all he feels is your body convulsing under him, your fingers digging into his silky blonde hair and all he chooses to hears is the desperate way you say his name. He can't really seem to process much else, but that's more than okay.

Ryland who doesn't immediately pull away when you come undone. He stays there, his own arousal a thing of secondhand note between his legs as he watches the aftershocks that run through your body in what he'd describe as intense shivers.

He can feel the way your thighs are trembling against his ears, propped and tensing against his shoulders where they ended up. He's memorizing the pattern of your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest, blue eyes intense and locked on the motion as his own hot breath scatters between you legs. Ryland swears he can feel the texture of you against his tongue as your fingers draw more of his hair in, his name a vague echo in the room.

He lifts himself up slowly, your legs dropping to wrap around his waist instinctually as a result, a sheepish smile pulled along his cute face, the minor glistening of your orgasm and saliva clinging to his beard and shining in the dim light. Now was his second favorite part. Watching you come back down to Earth. Never crashing, Ryland wouldn't allow that, but your breathing was evening out, your eyes seemed almost tired around the edges. He cranes his upper half down and rests a soft kiss against your lips with a content sigh. You can taste yourself against him and it makes you need Ryland even more.

Your fingers are still tucked into his hair, brushing through it as a grin explodes onto your face. Goofy, you were sure, post-orgasm expressions always seemed that way as you were drifting in-between mindless bliss and reality.

"Y'know," Ryland says under his breath, more to himself it seems as he re-adjusts to slot his large body more ardently between your legs, forearms now holding his weight so he wasn't crushing you, "The parallels between a star going supernova and orgasms is actually quite remarkable when you begin to factor in things like energy release and---"

You cut him off, grasping at the back of his neck and tugging him down for a kiss. Lips smash, teeth almost clatter against each other as Ryland's baby blue eyes slide shut in surrender. Not the moment to spill useless facts. There'd be time for that in the post-coitus snuggles.

"I was cataloging," Another kiss, this one harder, almost like a reminder for him of what was to come and his voice was coming out nothing more than a whimper. You got your end, it was almost time for his as your heels seemed to tuck into his lower back and your core shocked against his hard cock. "Mmm... Data..."

"I don't think comparing my orgasm to a star exploding is cataloging data, Dr. Grace." You whisper into his ear teasingly.

He chuckles deeply, drawing one of his hands between your bodies to guide himself into you. "I beg to differ..."

[lackadaisies]

simon teaches inexperienced!reader how to ride him. ♡ cw age gap. all characters are 18+.

TRAINING WHEELS.

fully undressed, no training wheels left for you / i'll pull them off for you.*

Embarrassment takes root somewhere deep in your belly at the proposition, a low-grade tingle spreading up your neck and your ears. A nervous laugh—that sound Simon loves so much, though he'd never say out loud—slips past your Berrylicious ChapStick lips. You can scarcely meet his gaze, the silver of his watch glinting out of the corner of your downturned eyes in the gauzy light. Simon, on the other hand, has never had any problem laying out his needs for you in that unhurried, plain-spoken way of his, like he's been deciding on this longer than you know.

The room is spartan, tucked corners and pine furniture. All business—save for your bra hanging off the bedpost, a pack of gum spilling onto his nightstand, your little sandals kicked off by the door. Heat shimmers off the gravel lot out front, the silhouette of his truck baking in the sun visible through the half-drawn blinds. You can hear the sound of the cicadas starting up over the distant drone of a lawnmower and the neighbors dogs.

“Let's get these off, then.” Simon gestures for you to lift your hips, his hands already finding the lace trim of your panties before bundling it down, down. Your denim cut-offs had been the first to go, and now even the loss of that thin, barely-there barrier of cotton makes all the difference.

“I'm not so sure 'bout this...” Your hands instinctively fly to his broad shoulders for support, your balance teetering on the mattress as the panties bunch around one knee. His grip on your hips tightens ever so slightly, tongue probing the inside of his cheek as he tries to ignore the stirring in his groin with your heat hovering right over him. You can see the vein in his forearm, the set of his jaw.

“I'm no good,” you pout.

You swear Simon rolls his eyes, vaguely. Just enough for you to catch a flash of it beneath that heavy, half-lidded look he gets.

“All I'm hearin' are excuses, lazy girl.” He raps his fingers against your hips in an off handed rhythm, his weight shifting under you expectantly.

“It's not like that! I wanna make you feel good—real good. I just haven't done this before. I told you, Si.”

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere. I’ll teach ya. Now go on, undo ’em.”

You know he's right, but you like your comfort zone—no chance of disappointment or embarrassing yourself. Your lips pinch together as you lower your gaze to the straining bulge in the front of his pants, the denim scratchy against your inner thighs. His silver belt buckle is worn at the edges, possibly almost as old as you.

Belt first, you hear his deep voice murmur and your fingers fumble at the clasp, your knuckles brushing against the warm flat of his stomach and flinching back like you've been burned. You can feel him watching you, patient, and it makes you clumsier. You hesitate at the button next, your breath shallow, aware of how still he's gone beneath your hands—how much restraint it's taking him to let you do this at your own pace, to not just take over and show you.

When you finally get his jeans undone, he lifts his hips just enough to shuck them down his thighs, and you try not to look at the thatch-colored hair trailing from his navel, the jut of his hipbone, the outline of him through his boxers. It's nothing you haven't seen before, but you've never had to take matters into your own hands up until now.

Simon's calloused palm is on the back of your hand, guiding it down the front of his boxers with a slow exhale, his muscles seeming to uncoil beneath you. Your painted fingernails stick out between his fingers like little jewels, your palm pressing flat against the cotton.

“Feel that?” His offhand grips the back of your hair, the prominent bridge of his nose bumping against yours before your lips touch, murmuring into your mouth. “That’s what you do to me. So go on, then—do summat about it.” He pulls his boxers down just enough, and you feel him spring free against your thigh, the sudden relief making him hiss.

You shift forward on your knees awkwardly, and he steadies you with a hand on your hip, warm and familiar. The position is strange—you hovering over him, his length pressed between your bellies, the head of his cock nudging against your softness. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself up, and you're distinctly aware that you're hardly as spry as you should be, while Simon has been the exact opposite in that department despite the years.

“Easy.” His hands settle under your ribs. “Go on. You heard me. Sit yourself down.”

His head tips back against the headboard, his voice unexpectedly hoarse as he notches himself at your entrance, and you gasp as the head of his oversized cock stretches you out.

“Now,” he says. “Nice and slow.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You sink down inch by inch, your breath coming in short, punched-out little gasps, and he doesn't intervene as you find your own pace. You feel the shape of him in your belly, and you're painfully aware of the way your body resists, then gives, the way his jaw tightens as you take him incrementally.

“Up—that’s it. Slow. Now, move your hips into it. No, don’t just bounce, sweetheart. You’re not a bloody jackrabbit. Roll ’em.” A small adjustment, thumbs pressing into your waist with pedagogical indifference to your whimpers as he impales you on his cock, maneuvering you along the slight curve of his cock. “Yeah. That’s it. Like that.”

Sparks shoot up the base of your spine as your clit grinds against him with each pass, palms braced against his stomach. You feel the sweaty muscle flex under your fingers in time with your hips, the wet squelch of each rise and fall making your cheeks burn, leaving a shining trail down his length before you sink back down with a gasp.

His voice remains low and even—the Lieutenant guiding instead of commanding for once. Praise is rare with Simon—only the occasional murmur of good—but the approval is there all the same.

You stop but once to huff and tell him your legs are tired, and while Simon does consider that perhaps he's spoilt you too much, you turn out to be a surprisingly quick study once you've had your fill of pouting. You're too accustomed to letting him take control, perhaps, to the point that you'll even be on top if that's what he wants.

— an: not a melanie supporter!*

[hailmarysdoll]

you're all i want - ryland grace

fandom: project hail mary

pairing: sleepy!ryland grace x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

content: smut, fluff, oral (reader receiving,) aftercare, pussy drunk ryland, sleepy ryland, masturbation (ryland,) hickeys

summary: after a long day of teaching, ryland loves to get his mind off things

a/n: hi! this is a quick little one. i love the idea of sleepy ryland being a little cutie, but also still wanting to eat his girl out! so cute! hope you enjoy 🤍

୨ৎ MY MASTERLIST ֹ ₊ ᢉ𐭩

A stream of white light cast over you as you settled into bed, the wind brushing gently through the window.

You and Ryland had spent the day conversing with the Eridian children and teaching them about various Earth science topics.

The little ones were very intelligent creatures, but they were also very talkative and have a lot of energy. (Which explains where Rocky got it from.)

You had been here on Erid for about two or three months, enjoying your time here before you had to go back home, but you had to admit it got a little tiring explaining things to energetic little rock children.

That's why you enjoyed your downtime at night. Once the sun had set and the moon had risen, it was just you and Ryland.

The two of you had been put on this mission together many years ago in attempt to save Earth and the rest of the planets affected by astrophage.

And now it was over.

You had all the time in the universe to do as you pleased.

Tonight was just like any night.

You had already gotten into bed, cozy in Rylands T-shirt that you had stolen. "I had potential," it said. It was one of your favorite shirts of his because the material was soft and held his smell.

He liked seeing you in it, the way it just barely passed your mid thigh. But not in an inherently sexual way. He loved being able to see your plush thighs, and being able to rest his head on your lap and feel the warmth of your skin.

He slid into bed beside you, instantly gravitating towards your body. He sighed, turning so he could lay himself against you and nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck.

"Mm.." he yawned, taking a deep breath to inhale your smell. "I'm so tired.."

You smiled softly, loving the sound of his sleepy voice. "I know, baby, me too." You said as you slid your hand into his hair, gently carding through it.

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to below your jaw. "I missed you.." He whispered.

You couldn't help but giggle. "We were together all day, silly."

A sigh left his lips again and he shook his head. "Yeah, but we weren't... together," He lifted his head up. "We.. weren't alone together, y'know?"

You hummed. "I guess you're right."

"That's why I love getting into bed so much.." He admitted.

"Yeah?"

He nodded, pressing his hand to your cheek and brushing a stray hair behind your ear. "Mhm. I love being alone with you. I get you all to myself.."

You smiled at him, holding his gaze as your hand slid to the back of his neck.

"My pretty girl.." He said, gently brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"My sweet boy," you murmured before pulling him into you, kissing him gently.

He kissed back in only a few seconds, his lips meeting yours with equal passion.

After a long moment, he pulled back, looking into your eyes with a sleepy expression.

"Sweetheart?"

"Mhm?"

"I love you so much."

You smiled, blush creeping onto your face. He said it a lot, but it always brought warmth to your heart.

"I love you too."

He hummed in content. He leaned back in, attacking your face with kisses and affection.

"Ry quit!" You giggled, despite the fact you absolutely did not want him to stop.

"Never." He grinned.

His kisses began to trail down your face, until they got to your neck. There he began to bite.. to suck gently on the sensitive skin there. You exhaled softly as he gently nipped, causing it to bruise almost instantly.

He did that for a couple minutes, leaving multiple purple bruises across your neck. He finally pulled back, admiring what he had done to you.

"Gorgeous."

"You think so?" You asked, tilting your head.

"Mhm" He nodded.

Silence waved over the two of you, you hand gently brushing through his blonde hair.

He pulled back, moving so he was sat by your legs. His hand brushed against your thigh, moving under the hem of the fabric on your body.

"Honey?" He asked.

"Yes, my love?"

"..Can I..?" He gestured to your legs.

You tilted your head. You knew what he wanted, he was a simple man.

"Aren't you tired?" You asked, teasing him.

"Baby pleaseeee?" He asked, giving you a small pout. "I just want to show you how much I love you."

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes.

"Okay, fine silly."

He grinned and immediately moved. He took your legs gently, spreading them apart before sitting up once more.

"Come over here, sweetheart" He said before moving to sit on the floor. You followed, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

It wasn't very long before his mouth was on you. He was kissing down you leg, starting at your knee until he got to your inner thigh.

He looked up at you once before finally suctioning his lips around your clit. You gasped softly, head tilting back as he then slid his tongue through your folds, drinking up the arousal that was there.

He circled around your entrance, teasing you before he pushed his tongue in.

"Oh fuck-" You whined softly, grabbing hold of his head.

You noticed that he was whimpering as well. You found that incredibly hot, of course.

He always got pussy drunk.

He was palming himself through his boxers below you as he shoved his tounge deeper inside you.

You began softly grinding into his face, only for him to grip your thigh tighter with his free hand.

"Mm- stay still baby-" He said, the sound muffled.

As you finally settled, he moved his hand, sliding it between the two of you. He took his middle finger and his ring finger and shoved them inside you.

You moaned, eyes rolling back as he slid his mouth back up. He circled your clit over and over, making sure he got a reaction out of you everytime.

You felt pleasure growing inside you, knees begining to close around his head. That only turned him on more.

He was whining into your pussy, grinding relentlessly into his hand that was palming him still.

"R-Ry-" You whined. Before you could say anything, he picked up his pace and made you cum only seconds after. You moaned out, legs clamping around his ears.

That pushed him over the edge and he came as well, right in his boxers.

You panted softly, looking down at him as you let your legs rest.

"Oh my god.." you breathed out. He was wrecked beneath you, breathing heavily against your thigh.

You sat there in silence for a few moments as you calmed down.

That was until he turned his head. He began to clean you up, but with his tongue. He was lapping up ever last drop of your cum, making sure nothing went to waste.

Once he was finally done, he got up. He was gone only a few seconds. He was in new boxers when he came back and he had a washcloth and a pair of your underwear in his hand.

He began to clean you up with the damp rag, making sure to prevent any infections of any sort and then he slid the clean under on you.

He finally got into the bed with you, you now under the covers with your head against the pillow.

He nuzzled his head into your neck again, breathing you in. "I love you, sweetheart." He mumbled, kissing again before slowly drifting off to sleep.