hearing his groans and grunts behind you as he fucks into you with a steady, punctual rhythm. his hands pressing into the fat of your hips and waist, callouses trailing up your skin to play with your erect nipples. everything having a messiness born of eagerness to it—his hands fumbling just bit as he wraps a hand around your waist and pulls your back to his chest, his fingers missing your throat the first time and sprawling possessively across your clavicle, his teeth baring against your earlobe and his canines slipping into the entrance of the canal just enough to make you jolt.
you're completely as his mercy like this, something so rare when the two of you fuck. because even though ilya has an innate dominance to him when it comes to sex, you love to pushback. to argue. to be bratty, as he puts it. and like this, on your hands and knees, taking cock from behind, you have no choice but to sit there and take it.
you have some say, sure. say in if you press your chest to the bed or if you rise up and link your arms around his neck for stability, but even then most of it is up to ilya. and that gentle, juxtaposed domineering comes to play.
you're spread so open like that, your most intimate parts bare to him, and ilya takes advantage of it. he spits on your puckered asshole and spread the glob around with his thumb. he pulls his cock out of you to tease his tip over your clit and up towards your asshole, never breaching that tiny threshold between.
because of your openness, things need to be a little more intense for you to feel it most times. strong thrusts to reach that area right before your cervix that makes your lower back tingle. a fast rhythm that makes your voice wobble pornographically. his fingers reaching to pass over your clit in blissfully mind numbing stimulation.
but then sometimes he slows it down and makes you feel every single thing. he pulls your legs together, inner thighs kissing, so you can feel the drag of his veiny cock inside of you. he bends over you, chest to your back, essentially mounting you as he prompts you with words whispered in your ear, making sure you're incredibly aware and disassociated at all.
"can you feel that? you feel my cock in you? feels good, no?"
cervix hitting, recording, slightly smug clark tehe
w/ CLARK KENT
MDNI 18+
"clark!"
the way you squeal your boyfriend's name now is a lot different from the way the same syllables escaped your mouth just a few minutes ago. then, you were a little peeved, having said his name sternly whenever he aggressively attempted to get you to answer a question. you know it was his goal—get you to answer whatever question he asked instead of letting your avoidance slide. it was an idea pitched by lois. she alleged that clark was too nice on interviewees.
"his time with superman has softened him. he needs some edge," came her explanation.
so of course, you volunteered to help your boyfriend out. you posed as an interviewee, sat in his living room, and let him record whatever questions the two of you would discuss.
and when things got heated, you sternly said his name. now, though, your squeal is completely different.
it's pleasurable, for one. there's a slight shake to your words, prompted by the way clark is bouncing you on his cock with his hands. there isn't a lick of sternness in your tone now, even though you're trying with all your might to muster it up. but the only thing you can muster up right now is more squeals of clark's name.
"yeah?" he asks, all smug and steady even though he's exerting himself just as well as he's exerting you. his dimples pop at the sides of his grin, his blue eyes are lidded in the way only sex could cause. "what is it, honey?"
you try to let out a frustrated groan, but what comes out instead is a throaty whine.
clark laughs this time. he slows you down, holding his hands on your hips and keeping you situated on his lap. his movements don't completely stop, though. his hips gently push up into yours, driving his cock just the extra couple of inches deeper needed to punch against your cervix.
you gasp and slump forward until your head rests in the crook of clark's neck. without missing a beat, clark wraps his arms around the center of your back.
"you still doing okay up there?"
you don't answer. you can't. not when clark is pushing right up against your cervix. you dig your fingertips into the flesh of his shoulders and bite down onto your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying out. you've also stopped yourself from speaking.
"hm?" clark asks, "you still with me, pretty?"
your answer is immediate now. you nod, telling him that yeah, you are still with him. after a moment, you add, "barely," with a breathless laugh.
clark shares the sound with you. he holds you tight against him as he starts to move. he twists to the side until he's laid you down flat against the sofa. he has one leg pressed into the cushion, and his other foot pressed into the ground. then, without unsheathing at all, he returns to fucking you.
laid back like this, you can't hide from clark's gaze and you figure that's why the two of you are in this position in the first place. he's always been incredibly vocal about how much he enjoys watching you take him.
he tells you so now.
"you look so pretty," he says. "love watching you take my cock like this. you feel good? yeah?" you nod, unable to do much else. "how deep can you feel me? show me where."
with an embarrassingly shaky hand, you place your palm right against your bladder. clark whistles lowly and shakes his head.
"jeez."
you nod. "yeah, jeez."
clark licks his lips and turns his head for a second. you don't know what catches his eye, at least not at first, but when he turns back to face you he has that glint shining in the blue.
one hand presses into the sofa above your head while the other sinks down until he can wrap his fingers around your wrist. he drags your hand down, resting it over your clit.
"you know what to do," he assures. and you do. you single out your favorite fingers and begin to tweak your clit. it doesn't feel nearly as good, not since you've gotten so accustomed to clark's soft hands doing it for you, but the added pleasure kicks in instantly.
your back arches off of the sofa as you push your greedy cunt further into clark.
"tell me how good you feel, honey," he pleads, "i need to hear it."
again, you quickly follow his directions.
"you're making me feel so good, clark. i can't ... i can barely take it." you're gasping the words out.
"you can take it." his words are low and a little breathless. most of all, they're earnest. when he says it like that, of course you believe you can take it.
"i can take it, i can take it." you start to repeat it like a mantra.
"yeah, there you go, thereeee you go." you don't notice his hand slipping back down to your stomach until he's pressed onto your bladder. you gasp, sharply. you squirm for a second but clark shakes his head. "it's okay, it's okay. i promise. just take it, okay? make us proud."
you just have enough in you to question, "us?"
"yeah," he nods. "me here and now, and both me and you when we listen to this tape later."
it's only now when you remember the recorder sitting on the coffee table. it's still recording, something you made sure of since clark still hasn't gotten the hang of it, and you know it's expertly picking up every word, every breath, every drive of clark's cock into you.
you don't say anything before your orgasm unexpectedly knocks into your body thanks to this new information.
clark helps you ride it out with a grin the entire time.
adam whines, he's not like other guys (positive), and he needs to be kissed to cum (idea from @st4rfckerz)
MDNI 18+
"oh my g-god."
truthfully, you never knew you could actually have this sort of affect on someone.
every other guy you've ever had sex with seemed so focused on having the sexiest sex ever.
everything felt so manufactured, curated, performative. unnaturally deep, lustful groans. cheesy one liners that were fine while you were being fucked, but caused you to instantly cringe over your coffee days later when it flashed banged your memory. calling you nicknames that have clearly never slipped from their lips until their cock was in you.
thankfully, adam is none of that.
everything about him is so earnest.
that first groan he let out when his tip sunk into you was pure and from the deepest pits of him. the hazy look that instantly took over his puppy brown eyes as soon as he started moving in tentative thrusts was so genuine. the sweet, practically adorable croak in his voice when you began riding him was honest.
the best part: he didn't try to cover up the crack in his voice afterwards. he sat there, soft fingertips digging into the fat of your hips, and watched you through that same hazy look that hadn't escaped his gaze once since you two started this.
"you feel so good," he tells you yet again. you don't know how many times he's actually said those same words tonight, but each time he utters them he seems to mean them even more, if even possible.
with how blissed out he is, you don't know how he hasn't came at this point.
your head tilts and you plant a hand at the center of adam's chest. he's smooth and a little soft there. the force of your bounces on his cock trigger the tiniest ripples in the flesh of his stomach. every so often, you see him tense and there's definition in his abdomen. paired with the strained look on his face, you catch on.
"adam," you coo, your voice strained from effort.
"yeah?" he asks, voice just as strained but definitely from a different kind of effort.
"are you close?"
his eyebrows knit together as if the mere mention of an orgasm puts more strain on him. his lips part to speak, but just then you put your weight into your hand and glide your cunt up and down over the tip of adam's cock.
the groan he lets out comes from the top of his throat—tight and punctuated. his teeth press into his bottom lip and he nods.
"you can cum," you tell him, your voice soft and gentle. "i want you to cum."
you're so close now that your nose knocks against adam's. instinctively, you lean back just a bit. and instinctively, you assume, adam chases you.
"i know," he clarifies.
"kiss me," he says. then, "kiss me, please," he begs.
your lips connect, adam's fingers press harder into your flesh and he gets strength in his hips, strong enough to thrust up into you.
your weight shifts and you topple over, collapsing onto adam's chest. one of his hands rush to the back of your head, locking your lips together.
he doesn't moan when he cums.
he doesn't whine or groan. he just kisses you harder. he breathes through his nose harder, each breath fanning out against your skin. he thrusts harder, punctuating each drive of his hips until he's warming your insides through the latex barrier between you both.
he doesn't pull away until his cock stops twitching inside of you. and even then, his hips remain in their elevated position. finally, his hips sink down, he pulls away from you with a pronounced smack!, and barely a second passes before he's asking you, "can i eat you out?"
summary. six months ago, you and adam were dating and happy until he randomly ghosted you. now, he's standing at your door.
includes. SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, exes hooking up, takes place after the end of masters of the universe, unprotected p n v, oral (f receiving), giver!adam, sex while wearing the he-man outfit
wc. 5.8k
a/n: it's finally done thank god. my first fic in forever so ... everyone be nice.
You shouldn’t have answered the door.
For once in your life, you should’ve stayed on the couch and hit play on yet another episode of the show you thought you would hate, but haven’t been able to put down all weekend. You should’ve pretended you didn’t hear the knocks, or you should’ve turned the volume on the TV all the way down, made as little noise as possible, and pretended that you weren’t home all together.
Because standing on the other side of the threshold, in your apartment complex hallway with a bouquet of flowers (your favorites, you notice) in one hand and a necklace you thought was gone forever in the other, is a man who undos months of healing and emotional growth with one small, shy smile.
“Hi,” Adam Glenn says.
The single word is tense, holding acknowledgement of his half a year of absence in the greeting.
“What the fuck?” The words leave your mouth before you can consider anything else to say. Truthfully, it is the best thing to say in this situation. Because you thought Adam was dead.
Six months ago, after a really great night out with Adam that ended with you falling asleep on his bare chest, there was some sort of alien attack downtown. The aggressor wasn’t your normal perception of an alien—resembling more of a freakish grizzly bear than a tiny grey being who wanted to be taken to your leader.
Luckily, you were not downtown during the attack. Which left you sitting in your office at work, neglecting the documents on your computer, and scrolling every single social media you possibly could in order to find more information. Someone in the office turned the break room TV from HGTV reruns to the news, which gathered every single person into the small room, all crowded around the disproportional TV.
That’s when you first saw him.
It was an aerial view at first from a news chopper, and on the ground he was nothing but a speck of blond hair and a dusty pink shirt. But then social media videos of the incident began to roll in a few nights later and you got the first clear look of Adam, standing in the park you were going to suggest for a Sunday date next week. He was standing next to a woman—a gorgeous woman who you quickly found out was some sort of extraterrestrial warrior goddess. The videos you saw were a little blurry, and didn’t have good sound, but it was definitely Adam. And you definitely saw him climb into a spaceship, and fly off.
Obviously, you didn’t hear from him after that.
Adam looks taken aback by your small outburst. Then, he recovers, as if he’d expected it.
“Can I come in?” He asks.
You hesitate.
Your fingers twitch where they’re still wrapped around your door with the urge to slam it. But Adam looks so earnest.
It’s the thing you liked most about him from the beginning.
In his slightly-dorky Hinge photos, he’d looked like any other guy. Obviously tall, obviously blonde, but the lack of a self-absorbed gym picture was the first thing to stick out. Then his surprisingly normal conversation (the lack of suggestiveness was a major green flag). Then, on the first date, just his eyes reeled you in. He had what your mom called honest eyes, completely devoid of any ulterior motives.
His optical honesty paired with his authenticity is what made you text Adam for a second date. Which became a third, which became dating. Unfortunately, you weren’t together long before the incident.
You pull the door open and step back, thereby letting Adam back into your life. At least temporarily.
Adam looks just a little bit uncomfortable in your apartment. Looking at him sitting with pristine posture on a stool at your kitchen island, you briefly remember before when you two had just gotten into the routine of being comfortable in each other’s spaces. Adam used to easily toe his shoes off at the door, hang up his keys beside yours, and join you in the kitchen with his frame enclosing you in from behind.
Now, he sits on one side of the island and you stand on the other.
Your eyebrows raise, prompting Adam to begin explaining.
He takes a deep breath, rests his hands on the counter. Then, “It’s all real.”
You wait for Adam to add on, but he leaves it there.
“...What’s all real?” You ask.
“Everything,” he says, oh so helpfully. “Eternia. Skeletor. The warrior goddess. The sword. My parents.”
Adam told you his origin story (his choice of words, not yours) very early on in your relationship. He explained how he held off on the first couple of dates because his backstory tended to scare women off. You, in a determined bout to be different from the others, told him you wouldn’t be scared off. But then Adam all but rambled about a place called Eternia, and his father who was a King, and the sorceress who sent him to Earth with a sword in tow. You blinked, smiled and nodded while Adam told you everything, and then put that entire story to the back of your mind.
Because while you wanted to believe him and be there for him, logic prevailed, and pushing everything to the back of your mind allowed you to appreciate all the amazing qualities about Adam while … ignoring the slightly offputting ones.
When he left you, his backstory was the first thing that came to mind as you told yourself that you should’ve taken it as the first red flag and avoided heartbreak in turn.
You did consider that everything Adam described was real, but since you didn’t have any proof, you couldn’t rely on that outcome. Until the attack.
Now, you’re ready to listen to him with more belief.
“Is that where you went when you got on the ship? To Eternia?”
Adam nods, face as stern and serious as before yet even more intense.
“What was it like?”
Adam closes his eyes as if he’s going back to the moment. “It wasn’t what I remembered. Everything was so dark and grey this time, but I vividly remember being surrounded by these large bursts of color when I was younger. And Skeletor and his goons ran everything, so it was like this police state in a way.”
“Do you have any pictures?” You ask, beginning to get more hopeful that all of this is real. Which means that you and Adam could pick up where you two left off, assumingly.
Then, Adam visibly deflates.
“No. I didn’t have my phone on me. I think it got smashed in the attack.”
“Oh,” you say. Convenient, you think.
Adam senses your tone. He perks back up just a bit, leaning even further over the island in an attempt to get closer to you. “But I swear to you I am not lying.”
He speaks with such determination. It’s nearly impossible for you not to believe him. Nearly.
“I thought you died, Adam,” you say. Initially, your voice wobbles. You stand a little straighter, plant your bare feet into the floor, and become stronger. “Or I thought you ghosted me.”
Adam’s face balks. He doesn’t know what to say, which is perfect because you’re not done.
“At first, I thought you were an unnamed casualty in the attack downtown because you just seemed so nice that there was no way you could ever ghost me, so you had to have fucking died. Then my friends started asking ‘what if you did just randomly ghost me’? And I started to really consider it.” It’s all coming out now and you can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it.
It’s one thing telling your friends and therapist how hurt you are. It’s another thing telling the person who hurt you—intentional or not—how hurt you are.
“But then I saw videos of you climbing into that fucking spacecraft with that girl and I didn’t hear from you for months. I know you were probably doing things that are incomprehensible for me, real or not, but I really missed you. I thought we had something good going.”
“We did!” Adam shoots up. He walks around the island, coming near you with tentative steps, giving you an out. You don’t take it. Maybe you’re too trusting. Maybe you’re foolish and naive. But you stay right there, letting Adam wrap his arms around your shoulders and rest your head on his chest.
Did he get bigger?
“I really liked being with you,” he says your name, so soft around the syllables in a way that only he can manage. “I’m sorry about everything that happened. I’m sorry I left like that. I swear I thought of you all the time and I came back as soon as I could. I would’ve come back sooner but…” he hesitates, the next words heavy on his tongue and too thick to speak around in his mouth.
“But what?” you ask against his chest, enjoying the way his newly endowed pecs act as cushioning on either side of your head.
You wouldn’t tell your well-meaning friends this, but you will gladly let Adam back into your life because of your time in the bedroom. At the end of the day, he was the most respectful and tender lover you’ve ever had.
“But my dad died.”
“Oh my god, Adam.” You lift your head, searching for his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he assures through glassy eyes. “I just had to stay back and help out since I’m king of Eternia now.”
Your head finds his chest again and you rub at his back. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Adam, seriously. And …” you chew on your bottom lip, “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
Adam wraps his arms around your shoulders and you feel at home. Your eyes close and you can’t help the sigh that falls from your lips. You’ve missed this. You’ve missed how you just slot perfectly in Adam’s arms.
“Is there anything I can do?” You find yourself saying without realizing.
“Actually yeah.”
You’re standing on the top floor of a neighboring parking garage in your little shorts, slippers, and an old college sweatshirt. Your arms are folded over your chest and your heart is beating so hard that you can feel it against your forearm. Your squinting at the object in front of you, trying to do as many grounding techniques as possible to prevent yourself from freaking the fuck out.
Because there is no way the spaceship in front of you is real. You have to be hallucinating, which induces your panic.
Adam is standing next to you, clearly trying his best to let you digest this information without pressuring you into anything. But you can sense the way he’s fidgeting in an attempt to mask his anxiety.
“So …?” He sounds hopeful, as if it’ll be easy for you to say yes and jump into a spaceship with your ex-boyfriend (even though you two never officially broke up) for two months.
“I don’t know if I can, Adam.”
Adam steps in front of you, blocking your view of the spaceship and instead giving you a full view of just him.
“I know it’s a crazy thing to ask but I just really want to show you where I’m from. The traveling part isn’t that bad and it’s really quick, all things considered. And I’ll bring you back as soon as you want. I swear.”
Adam speaks of it as if he’s asking you to come on a quick road trip with him, not as if he’s asking you to fly across the galaxy (or to a different galaxy? you aren’t really sure where Eternia is located) to visit his home planet. He’s asking you to casually do something that astronauts train for years to do, and never on this scale.
But, there is room for argument. He wants you to do this with him, but he certainly won’t make you. His eyes are kind, above all, just as they’ve always been. His tone, although pleading, is not demanding.
You aren’t sure if it is his tone that does it, or if you’re just plain stupid, but for some reason you find yourself agreeing.
At the end of the day you’re curious. And taking this risk, even though it’s a massive risk, is more interesting than watching reality TV on your couch.
“Holy fuck.”
Adam has his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he crowds you from behind. Just like before. You’re leaning back into him, letting him carry your weight along with his. Your head is tilted up, eyes taking in as much of everything as you can.
Eternia is colorful, extremely so. That’s the first thing you notice.
Maybe you’ve grown used to the monotonous flat tones that surrounded you back home, or maybe Eternia is just that vibrant and beautiful, but either way—it’s a nice change.
You turn to glance at Adam and he shares a look similar to yours: eyes big, smile even bigger, wonder and amazement written on every aspect of his face.
“I know,” he laughs. “Believe it or not but a few months ago everything was the complete opposite. When—”
“Skeletor was in charge?” You continue for him without intending to.
Adam hesitates, clearly shocked. “Yeah,” he says, smiling even bigger. He’s proud that you remember, you can tell, but even further, he’s glad that you believe him, even as you’re standing on the palace grounds of the place that everyone—including yourself, you’ll admit—refused to believe existed.
Adam is beaming. He has to force every word out of a large grin, larger than you’ve ever seen him have back on Earth. Your chest soars as you see how happy he is. At the end of the day, he was just trying to make it back home. Now he finally is. And Eternia looks good on him.
“Yeah. Exactly. When I first came back everything was so dull and grey. And disgusting. But after I defeated him in this really epic battle we took the time to rebuild everything back to how it used to be. Or as close as we could get it.”
And they did a great job.
You might’ve never seen Eternia before the destruction, but you can see it now and there is hardly any evidence pointing to this place ever looking anything short of breathtaking. There are a few cracks in the stone-covered ground, and when Adam points to things and tells you how exactly they fixed them you can tell, but everything looks nearly impeccable.
“I have one more thing to show you.”
Adam takes your hand in his, eagerly tugging you down the walkway and to the castle.
At first, you thought what Adam wanted to show you was the castle itself. You did marvel at it, despite Adam’s hurried attempts to pull you further into Castle Grayskull’s walls. He took you to his room, pushed you inside, and disappeared for a couple of prolonged seconds before returning with a sword in his hands.
You didn’t even get to ask any questions before Adam thrusted the sword into the air and loudly proclaimed that he had the power. Again, you would’ve asked about that, if you had the time. But the transformation started immediately.
A bolt of lighting (you had no idea where it could’ve come from indoors) came down and struck the sword, surrounding Adam at once. You watched his clothes materialize off, and then different clothes materialize back onto him. You had no choice but to sit there, mouth open, eyes wide and hungrily taking in all of Adam.
And there is so much of him on display in front of you.
Adam has always had a nice body.
He told you about his trips to the gym in hopes of bulking up and gaining more muscle, and truthfully, before he disappeared you didn’t see that much progress. Which was no issue for you! You loved his body.
But somehow, this sword and the ‘power’ that Adam possesses has given him new clothes and a new body.
What was once perfectly soft for you to lay on during movie nights is now magically sculpted, and glistening in the sunlight filtering in from Adam’s windows. He’s chisled—that’s the only way to describe it. His thighs are carved, each and every muscle accentuated beneath his leather skirt. The definition in his abdomen isn’t extreme, and it feels almost natural, surrounded by a healthy layer of fat that tells you that despite his new body, Adam is still Adam.
“So…” Adam prompts, his arms slightly thrown out to either side of his body. For a moment, he looks a little shy, a glimpse of the Adam you knew back on Earth. But then he glances down at his torso, seems to remember who he is, and then he slowly gives you a spin, letting you take in all of him in one slow turn.
Somehow, his back looks even better than his front. You’ve never seen a back and shoulders as sculpted as his.
“Jesus Christ," you say, not even bothering to hide the amazement in your voice.
Adam rushes to you, dropping to his knees to be on the same level with you as you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “I know, right! The first time it happened I couldn’t believe it.”
“What exactly just happened?”
He shrugs, gesturing to the almost-forgotten sword behind you both. “I have the power. By the power of Grayskull.”
Right. Whatever that means.
“What do you think?”
“I think this is so fucking cool, Adam.” Your hands cup his cheeks, the tips of your fingers reaching into his golden roots. Instinctively, you scratch at his scalp and instinctively, Adam melts into your touch. His eyelids flutter shut and he practically purrs, releasing a sound mixed between a sigh and a groan.
“I missed you so much,” he admits.
“I missed you more, Adam,” you admit. It’s the truth, wholehearted and vulnerable.
You were angry that Adam left, yes, but you were angry because you missed him. You were sad beneath everything else, and the sadness made you feel weak and exposed, especially to your friends who were quick to start shit talking Adam once you told them that you were essentially ghosted.
I knew there was something off about him.
No guy is that nice.
Didn’t you say he had some weird childhood or something? Never give one of those guys a chance.
There was practically nothing for you to do but be angry along with them. If you allowed yourself to be sad in their presence, that would be weak. You would be stupid to mourn a relationship that everyone else thought wasn’t going to work out.
So you hid everything beneath anger. You blocked his number and blocked his Instagram, just to unblock both a few nights later in hopes that he would reach out. You scrolled through the few pictures you had together, wondering where everything went wrong. You came to conclusion after conclusion, hoping the next one would make more sense than the last and make you feel better.
But you don’t have to do that anymore.
Because Adam is here, in your hands again.
You latch onto strands of his hair and pull him up and close, reclining back against the plush mattress throughout.
It doesn’t take long at all for Adam to pick up.
He wraps his large hands around your knees, reaching behind them to latch onto you and pull your legs further apart. He lets himself be guided home until your pelvis is flush together. One of his hands reaches up and steadies his body by pressing into the mattress, the other loosely gripping your hip.
HIs lips are hovering over yours, neither of you closing that space yet.
You tease the movement, lifting your head ever so slightly until your lips brush and the tip of your nose pokes his. Adam leans in, the movement minute and hesitant. Then, he goes for it, completely closing the gap.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t take you long at all to join each other in a familiar rhythm. This is a rhythm you’ve thought about for months now, eyes pinched shut in the middle of the night as you tried with all of your might to hold onto memories of Adam’s body against yours and your lips moving in near-perfect tandem.
It also is easy for you to reclaim this rhythm with Adam because you hadn’t attempted to find it with anyone else. Adam was the last person you slept with, making those six months of silence feel even longer.
Adam kisses hungrily. He always has—on your third date, you made a surprised sound into his mouth when he kissed you goodbye at the entrance to your apartment.
But now he kisses you like he’s insatiable.
It climbs, his hunger. He begins almost gently, tipping his head to the side just a bit to deepen the kiss. But when you hike a leg up his side and hold his head from behind, he inhales and presses into you with more force.
Your position is awkward enough to have Adam slightly hovering over you and you desperately desire to have him directly on top of you.
You climb up the bed. Adam follows you, kicking off his boots in his journey.
You end up with your head bracketed by pillows, the crown of your head pressing into the upholstered headboard.
Adam pushes the pillows to the ground. All except one which he lays beneath your head.
He descends your body until he’s face to face with your center. No conversation is required. You push your lounge shorts down your legs, your underwear following. You spread open for Adam, laying back and letting him make the decisions.
And his first decision is to stare.
Wide eyed, lips parted, warm breath gently fanning out to hit you where you’re most sensitive. He doesn’t make any moves, not yet. He just sits and appreciates you.
Before you can tease him about it (not that you were going to, of course), Adam makes his move. He leans in and he’s not timid at all.
He devours you now like he always has. His nose pressed into your hair, his tongue reaching and swirling and dipping, his eyes fluttering shut and his eyebrows pressing close together with concentration.
Your legs find their natural place over his shoulders, your thighs pressing into the leather straps of his chest piece that he still wears.
With how long it’s been since you’ve been with anyone else, and with how admittedly good Adam is at giving head, it’s not surprising how soon you start to feel the hints of an orgasm making itself known in your body.
You hold it off, though. This feels too good to give in quickly.
You press the heels of your feet into Adam’s toned back and twist your fingers into the bed sheets.
Your back curls when Adam swishes his tongue back and forth over your clit. You groan, loud and unabashed, when Adam licks a long stripe from your entrance to the hood of your clit.
He’s working you how he knows you like and you’re flattered when you realize that he remembers what you like. When he creates a point with the tip of his tongue and runs it up and down your cunt, something deep in you jumps.
“Don’t stop,” you whine, finally keen to chase the orgasm you’ve been attempting to ignore the whole time.
“Are you close?” Adam asks. You meet his big brown eyes and nod once before Adam’s dipping back down and doing his absolute best to get you there.
All it takes is a few more licks from him and then your back is arching, your mouth wide open even though absolutely no sound leaves it as you cum. One foot presses into Adam’s back, the other pressing into his shoulder. Your body can’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.
It’s not like you would have much success with either option, though.
Adam easily locks you against his mouth with two large hands gripping your ass cheeks. You’re stuck, not that you’re complaining.
The overstimulation kicks in quick, though. It’s not unfamiliar to you—this is something you’ve done often, both alone and with Adam.
You can’t help but whine when you try to twist out of Adam’s hold and he doesn’t let up one bit.
The reprieve you get is minimal, nothing but a quick moment when he removes his mouth to tell you “it’s okay, ‘m almost done”.
You have no choice but to breathe in the way you know how, and let it happen.
And when Adam makes you cum with his mouth for a second time, it’s nearly painful, but so worth it. Your toes curl and you feel the squirt of arousal release from within you.
It’s not clear when the fluid ends up until Adam lifts his head and his lips, nose, and nearly everything within the vicinity is coated in a thin sheen.
He smiles, big and dopey, clearly satisfied, and rests his cheek on your mound, absentmindedly pressing kisses into your thigh. “Hot,” he says. You aren’t sure what exactly he’s referring to, but you still grin.
“Do you want to fuck me?” You ask.
It seems like the option hadn’t crossed Adam’s mind. He looks almost surprised, his eyebrows lifting. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah. Sure.”
You tilt your head. “Do you?”
Adam nods vehemently. “Yes. Fuck yeah, I do.”
You grin and reach down, curling your fingers beneath the strap of his chest piece and using the leverage to pull him up to you. He wipes his mouth with the back of one hand before leaning in to kiss you, but even then you can taste yourself on his mouth.
You moan and purposefully make a show of sticking your tongue into Adam’s mouth and swirling it around, licking the taste of your cunt off of his molars and the back of his teeth. Adam lets you do it, mouth hanging limp.
And when you’ve had your fill, Adam eases you fully back into the bed, after lifting your shirt off of you. He presses kisses down your body, taking his time to appreciate all of you laid out before him. He swirls his tongue around your nipples, teasing the hardened bud with his teeth, and then repeating his ministrations on the other. He fondles your tits in his hands while he kisses you, and presses light, appreciative kisses into the side of your neck.
He brushes against your pelvis and you’re made aware of the boner poking against the leather flaps of his skirt. One of them brushes against your cunt and the smooth, cool fabric feels heavenly. You gasp, hips chasing the feeling. Adam gives it to you.
He presses against you fully, rocking his hips against yours in fluid motions. The leather glides smoothly until the metal decals at the end hit you. It hitches against your clit and enhances the experience even more.
“Oh my god, Adam.”
You press your fingers into his shoulders.
“What is it?” he asks, his head hooked into the crook of your neck.
“Put it in. Please.”
And he does.
He doesn’t bother removing the skirt. You watch him push down undergarments, and then the tip of his cock pokes out between two flaps of his skirt. The tip is flushed a deeper color than the rest of him, resembling a deeper mix of the color of his lips and the flush on his cheeks. You see a transparent bead resting at his slit, and Adam wraps his hand around his cock and glides it down.
The visual is obsense—Adam fully clad in his warrior outfit, sitting on his haunches, abusing the power of Grayskull to fuck his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend? You’ll need to figure that out later). The cherry on top comes when Adam brings his hand to his mouth and spits in it, using the saliva as makeshift lube to glide down his thick cock.
The Adam from your first date might’ve hesitated at doing something so blatantly lewd. But the Adam you started dating shortly after, the one who begged you to sit on his face and asked to cockwarm while watching The Godfather, began to delve into the obscenity.
He claimed it only came out with you—that you taught him how to revel in the vulgarity.
“Do you have a condom?” You ask.
Adam nods, staring down at you through lidded eyes as he continues to stroke himself. “There’s some in the bathroom. I can go grab one.”
And he should. You know he should.
But you want to feel Adam. You want to feel all of Adam for the first time.
“Forget about it.”
You reach for him with your feet, pressing the heel of one foot into his side and bending your leg in a pull.
“Are you sure? It’s really no problem—”
“I’m sure, Adam. As long as you are, too.”
He cock is close to your entrance now and Adam looks mesmerized. He doesn’t answer, not until you say his name once more.
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Then he slides home.
It takes a few shallow thrusts and deep breaths for you to adjust around Adam.
You don’t remember him being this thick and this long. You’re unsure if that’s a lapse in memory, or if the power of Grayskull also goes to his cock.
It doesn’t matter. Not when Adam is rocking into your with languid thrusts. He’s moving so slowly and it’s obvious that he’s savoring it all and taking it in.
He hasn’t slid all the way in yet, though. You can tell because you have yet to feel the cool leather against your mound again.
Adam takes his time with you. He kisses you while he fucks you. His kisses are slow and lingering, just like his thrusts.
He pushes in and his lips tangle with yours. He pulls out and he hovers above your mouth, the ghost of his lips against yours.
It’s not until you wrap your hands around his tousled golden hair that Adam bottomed out and everything hit you all at once.
The leather of his skirt ticked around your cunt, his mound pressing against your clit (you notice the lack of hair and it occurs to you that his entire body is smooth. Interesting), and his cock is so ridiculously deep that you gasp.
“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, pulling back just a bit, but you pull him forward, back into you.
No, he lets you pull him back into you.
“You like that?” He’s earnest when he asks it, seriously wondering if you like the pain of having his cock nudging close to your cervix.
You nod even though your face is screwed up.
But Adam seems to take the hint even better than you can give it to him.
He uses the new knowledge perfectly, never overabusing the length of his cock and hurting you by fucking your cervix. No, he keeps nearly all of his thrusts to a respectable distance from the deepest part of you. Only a few thrusts get that close again and each time feels even better than the last.
You’ve missed Adam so much and you’re so fucking horny that somehow, you can feel another orgasm making itself known in your body. But truthfully, you’re spent, and all you desired was feeling Adam again after so long. So, nobly, you ignore it.
You pull Adam down, pressing your lips to his, and allow him to focus on his pleasure. You attempt to pry your legs even wider, giving him even more room and access to your body.
“I’m close,” he croaks out, words spoken directly into your mouth. It’s like he doesn’t even want to be a couple of inches away from you, and you feel the same.
You lock your ankles around Adam’s back and hook your arms over his shoulders.
You know exactly what he needs, so you press your lips to his and put all of your attention into kissing Adam until he finishes.
And he does finish, and it’s quick.
He barely pulls out of you before he’s cumming on your stomach and chest, not even pulling away from your mouth when he pumps the last few drops out of his cock.
The first thing he asks you is, “Are you okay?”
You nod, smiling softly against his lips. “I’m more than okay.”
“Good. That’s good.” He’s winded and after pecking your lips and forehead, he falls onto his back beside you.
He reaches over, grabbing a handful of tissues from a box on the nightstand and uses them to tenderly wipe his cum off of your torso. When there’s still a residue left behind, he apologizes and goes to stand up, likely to grab you something more efficient than tissues until you assure him that it’s okay.
For a moment, you turn your head the opposite way, taking in more of Adam’s bedroom.
You see photos on the wall, assumingly of a younger Adam with his parents. There are newer ones, too, images of Adam standing next to a green lion, him next to a blue robot, and him sitting around a table with a few men and women enjoying a feast.
When you look back to Adam, he’s back to how you knew him—muscles less defined, everything softer, fully stripped.
“What happened?”
“Yeah it doesn’t last forever.” He seems to shy away, curling in on himself and putting distance between you.
You don’t let it happen. You move closer, pressing your torso into his side, nuzzling your head into his chest. A moment passes, then, “Do you wanna go again?”
Adam perks up. “Yeah.” He sits up and scoots towards the edge of the bed.
“Where’re you going?” You ask, propping yourself up on your elbows.
He gestures to the forgotten sword laying on the floor and you shake your head.
“No. Don’t worry about that. C’mere.”
And he does. He practically scurries back over to you, sitting on his haunches and spreading your legs out around his hips.
“Okay,” he agrees, grinning as he leans in and presses his lips to yours.
sometimes, you tell jake to fuck you without any prep.
when the two of you are laying together at night, his arms around you as you lazily kiss, and his hand starts to slide down your bare stomach, you know where he's going. it's hard not to know when you can feel his length pressing against the side of your thigh.
it would be nice to let his fingers pleasure you. it's always nice to feel his long digits slip around your cunt without any friction at all. it's nice to feel the callouses on his hand press against your clit while long, slim fingers dig up into you. but what would be even better is to feel your cunt struggle to stretch around his tip, unguided by a pathway that his fingers could have made.
and as soon as you tell him, words a gentle whisper even though there is no one else around to hear you, jake pauses. he blinks, big, dumb eyes staring down at you.
"are you sure, baby?" he asks, his words measured. he speaks as if fucking you without any prep could break you. and you understand where he gets the idea from.
from his point of view, it probably does look like you're breaking. with your cunt struggling to open up around him, and your breaths controlled and precise, jake probably does think he's going to break you.
but he doesn't. he won't.
as soon as his flushed tip is lined up at your entrance, he keeps his hands on your hips the entire time. his big eyes stare down at you, calculating, noticing every little twitch on your face and searching for the first sign of true discomfort.
it stings, and burns, and hurts just a bit, but it's not uncomfortable. you love it like this and jake knows. that's why he always agrees to do it like this.
and because, even though he probably wouldn't admit it without a bit of pressing, he likes to do it like this, too.
he likes to feel how tight you are around him. he likes having to shallow fuck you for a few because no matter how much he tries, your little cunt just isn't ready to swallow him whole yet. he likes listening to your moans when he's finally able to slip just a bit deeper, and he likes the newly added warmth that comes with each and every additional inch you're able to take.
and the best part is doing it all over again in a new position once your cunt gets used to the first.
idk if this is anything but ilya teaching u how to suck dick by demonstrating on ur strap.. does anyone care…
I CARE!!!! EYEE CAREEEE!!!
omfg you're sitting on the edge of the bed, nervous, feeling a little embarrassed, but so eager to learn from him. especially since he claimed that he's great at sucking dick. and he's sitting next to you, fully clothed, everything almost seeming like any other day except for your own lack of clothing and the dick you have strapped to your hips.
ilya looks over at you, scanning your body, likely noticing how polite and proper you're sitting. you have your back straight, legs pressed together, hands sitting on your thighs as if there's not a long pink added appendage between your legs. amusement comes to his eyes, fleeting, and it doesn't reach his lips. he's not making fun of your nerves at all.
"ready?" he asks, voice as thick and deep and casual as usual.
you nod. "mhm."
ilya moves to the floor gracefully, kneeling in front of your still closed legs. he places his hands on your kneecaps, gives you a small nod, and then peels your legs apart to give room for your cock.
"i cannot speak with this in my mouth. so you have to watch, ok?"
you nod again.
ilya moves forward just a bit, wraps his large hand around the base of the cock (it looks so average-sized in his grasp), and brings his mouth to the tip. pink, heart-shaped lips part, his tongue sitting on his bottom lip, then his lips wrap around the silicone. he sucks.
you wish you could feel every lick and suck of his mouth. you wish you could feel the heat of it. and if you pretend enough—if you stare hard enough down at him and really give into the fantasy of it all—you can imagine what it would feel like well enough to feel something.
but you're not here to feel. you're here to learn.
so you watch the way ilya takes time to lap and suck at the tip. you watch the way he teases by kissing around the shaft and heading down to suck at the taut balls all while passing his thumb and pointer over the tip. you take note of how he goes as far down as possible to gag himself, then uses the spit created to sloppily jerk your cock. you watch in awe at the ease in the way he works his mouth and hand in tandem.
he watches you the entire time, only breaking eye contact to close his eyes while he deeply breathes through his nose.
it becomes so clear to you that he's teaching you how to suck his cock, not just any cock. he's demonstrating what he likes for you. it's all laid out so clear and obvious. it's impossible for you to fuck up. and when you get on your knees in front of him, your pink cock put up for the night, you suck him off, making sure to do everything he showed you.
the speed at which he finishes on your chest speaks for itself.
"you know this isn't why i came to visit you, right?"
ben's hands rest on your hips, keeping you still on the top of his desk. he's technically the one caged in since his slender body is situated between your parted legs, but you feel like the one confined as you sit under his hungry gaze, neck craned up to look at him.
he dips his head, a smile pulled over his lips when he leans down to kiss you once before asking, "why are you here?"
you roll your eyes, jerking your hand to the forgotten picnic basket that sits in one of the arm chairs behind you.
"lunch, remember?"
ben pulls back enough for you to see the way his face scrunches into mock confusion. "not ringing a bell," he fakes, unable to hide the grin that takes over his face just a second later. he leans back in, knocking the tip of his nose against yours. "besides, i'm about to eat, aren't i?"
it's cheesy, but the way he says it, voice low and sultry in ways you're used to hearing late at night and not in the middle of the day in his office, almost makes you give in. with the little bit of strength remaining, you slap his shoulder, scoffing and pretending to be opposed to the idea.
if ben were to slip a hand between your thighs, he'd see just how you really felt about his proposal.
you let him kiss you, leaning up into his touch. his hands circle around to your back, pressing into the curve right above your ass before rounding back around to the front of your body and trailing down the tops of your thighs. when his fingers make their way towards your inner thigh and below the—admittedly high—hem of your skirt, you don't object. your legs even part a little bit more.
it's not until ben pulls away from your lips that you speak, left unoccupied and floundering to find something to do.
"isn't this the same desk your father used?"
ben groans, forehead knocking against yours as he stops. "can we not?" he asks, words a little breathless as he laughs at the end of them.
you're quick to apologize, sitting back and letting ben drop to his knees. you try not to think about the portraits of ben's parents staring at your back. you try not to think about the lock on the door, worrying if either of you turned it before getting here. you try to only focus on ben sliding your panties down and throwing your legs over his shoulders.
it's not until the introduction of his tongue onto you—nothing but a tentative lick disguised as a kiss into your inner thigh, right beside your cunt—that all of your worries disappear. you instantly become absorbed in ben, neither of you caring about the phone ringing or the trinkets you accidentally knock onto the floor throughout.
dad bf lestat ,, controlling/possessive behavior ,, dom/sub dynamics ,, period sex ,, reader calls lestat dad
Lestat de Lioncourt is nothing if not selfish.
He is like a child in that way. Petulant when someone has something he has already claimed, even if it is just a taste. even if he has only claimed the object of his affection deep within the depths of his mind, unbeknownst to anyone other than himself.
But how could anyone not know that you are his? It would take a fool to not recognize that Lestat has claimed you. A fool or someone daringly uncaring. In that case, Lestat would have to do what he would have to do. And he is prepared to do it.
Because you are his.
Lestat watches you from across the balcony. He knows you can feel him staring. You can always feel his carnivorous stares. Yet, you're pretending. You're ignoring him.
Frustration starts to bubble in lestat's core, but he readjusts his position, beginning to lazily and confidently lounge in his seat, and he waits.
When you make him wait, Lestat enjoys it. He enjoys your mortal display of power. It's all you have—you both know who here has the real power.
Lestat watches you entertain hopeful suitors. He watches their eyes linger on your form like you're nothing but a piece of meat. He muses on the irony as he remembers the feeling of his teeth puncturing your flesh.
He uses his time in the corner to think about how sweet your blood tastes at the tip of his tongue, think about how sweeter the blood that comes from forcibly stretching your cunt around his cock tastes. He thinks about how pretty you look beneath him and how pretty you look on his arm. He thinks about how obedient you are, and how well he has you trained.
Then, amidst Lestat’s (admittedly longing) thinking, there it is. A look that you send his way. Just one glance, no longer than a second, but it's all Lestat needs. He knows what it is—an invitation.
He stands and calmly makes his way to you. He’s not in a rush, he takes his time with each and every stride. As soon as he stands next to you, he easily lays his hand on your lower back and allows the warmth emitting from beneath your many layers of obnoxious clothing to melt in his hand and ignite the flame within him.
He's going to tear you apart when you get home.
If these foul boys (never men) do not stop looking at you like you're theirs, then he'll tear you up right here with them watching. Just to tear them apart, too, soon after, except not nearly in the same manner.
"Gentlemen," Lestat smoothly greets. It’s not as much of a greeting as it is a dismissal, though. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment, at least not for you to hear. But he knows you recognize the look in the boys’ eyes. He feels your body stiffen next to him and he knows you’re going to try and feebly chastise him for threatening these boys within the perverted caverns of their mind.
That’s none of your business, though, and Lestat is quick to make sure you know that when he escorts you out of the building.
You’re nagging in his ear, childish ramblings about how he refuses to let you have a life of your own, and how you’re an adult who can make her own decisions. Lestat listens and listens as he guides you down the streets, a hand on your elbow as he leads you home.
“You’re right, ma cherie. I’ll do better next time. Okay?” It’s a lie, a baldfaced, absolute lie that Lestat always feeds you.
Typically, it disarms you just enough to keep Lestat calm. And tonight, he expects the same. He levels you with a sweet look, blue eyes almost placating enough to work. Lestat thinks it works, until your nostrils flare and you’re squinting.
“It isn’t gonna work on me this time, Lestat! You’re so controlling and you hover too much and you act like you’re my father or something–”
Lestat doesn’t let you finish. There’s no point in letting you finish, not when you’re engaging in ridiculous ramblings.
It’s a good thing you’re inside now. Lestat has just what he needs to back you against the wall and tower over your cowarding figure.
“You are so pretty when you get angry. Do you know that?” The sharpened edge of his pointer finger nail lightly traces the edge of your jaw. “You get this little furrow between your eyebrows and your nostrils start to flare. It’s … cute, really. You're behaving as if you have any say. Any power.”
You’re becoming subdued without any influence from Lestat’s mind at all. He notices the way your gaze softens, the way your heartbeat slows, the way the blood rushes just where Lestat wants it.
“Undress,” he tells you.
You do what you can on your own, and when it comes to loosening the more structured elements of your garments, you turn around and let Lestat do the work until you’re standing in nothing but your undergarments.
He takes a moment to start at you—to admire you. He chose you because of your beauty, plain and simple. You are gorgeous. You are divine. You are a source of entertainment for Lestat, yes, but you are a beautiful one.
He doesn’t wait any longer. He sinks to his knees right in the foyer.
“Lestat, wait, I’m—“
“You’re bleeding, I know,” he purrs as he lifts up your slip dress.
You still don’t seem convinced and annoyance floods Lestat’s system. Why would you deprive him of what he owned any longer?
“You think I do not know that? I could smell you all night.” And he could. “It is my favorite part of you. It’s why I won’t turn you, no matter how much you beg and plead. You always sound prettier when you’re begging for me to fuck you, though.”
Lestat sinks to his knees as he speaks to you, his eyes lifted to watch you the entire time. His fingertips are dug into the waistband of your bloomers, and as he goes down, so do your undergarments. He keeps his eyes trained on the red puddle at the center of them. If he were anymore debased, he would suck the blood clean from the cotton fabric. But why would he humiliate himself like that when he has the source right in front of him?
Lestat doesn’t waste anymore time. He throws your leg over his shoulder, digs his fingers into your ass cheeks for stability, and plunges his tongue as far into you as it could go.
He’s not in it to pleasure you, not yet at least. That will come when you’re writhing about and begging for him to focus on you for a change. But right now, he’s focusing completely on himself. Lestat didn’t realize how hungry he was until he got a lick of you.
The tang that sits at the tip of his tongue is addicting. It’s what drives him to clean you up. He doesn’t stop until there’s barely anymore of your blood seeping out of your cunt.
He’d been deaf to your sounds up until that point. He has absolutely no idea what noises you’d been making, if any. He truly had tunnel vision for the first time in forever. He must admit, it felt heavenly to be blind to everything else in the world at that moment.
But now, he’s back, and you’re babbling pleas up there. He hears the name you call him, the syllables easily slipping past your mouth.
“Please, Dad, please give it to me. I gave you what you wanted, right? Please. I’ll be good, I swear.” He’d never corrected you from the first time you called him that–Dad. He was expecting something different, master or sir, perhaps, but that three letter word just gave Lestat such a rush that he started to like it. It grew on him. Now, when you call him that, Lestat grins, stands to his feet, and easily throws you over his shoulder.
