devourrrmee

[devourrrmee]

off day | clark kent

synopsis: you and clark both work for the daily planet. you get called into work on your off day & clark can’t take his eyes off of you in your “outside” clothes.

you weren’t even supposed to be here today. your day off was supposed to be you, takeout, and a long bath—until perry called asking if you could please swing by to help edit a breaking story. he quote on quote, “needed your skills.”

you almost said no, but then you thought of the overtime pay.

so here you are, walking into the daily planet newsroom in a black bodycon dress, small gold hoops glinting in the overhead light, sandals clacking on the floor. hair down, lip gloss catching every flicker of the light.

you weren’t dressed for newsroom politics, hence the cleavage.

which is why you notice it immediately—the way clark’s eyes find you the moment you step in. he’s leaning back in his chair, glasses sliding low, lips curving just slightly as his gaze sweeps over you.

“well, well,” he says, voice warm and annoyingly amused. “didn’t realize we had a new dress code.”

you roll your eyes, dropping your bag onto your desk. “don’t start, kent.”

“relax,” he says, smirking now. “i’m just saying… if i’d known you looked like that on your days off, i would’ve found a reason to get you in here sooner.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, trying to focus on your screen.

“maybe,” he says, leaning over the partition just slightly. his eyes flickered down to your chest when you weren’t looking. taking notice that you had on no bra.

you groan, tossing a paperclip at him. “go write your article, farm boy.”

before you knew it, it’s past nine, and the newsroom is nearly silent except for the hum of the vending machine and the soft clack of your keyboard. most people have gone home, but you’re still chasing down a last-minute source.

you thought clark left hours ago—until you hear his voice.

“still here?”

you look up, and there he is, leaning against your desk with his jacket slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up, tie off. he’s got that dangerously relaxed look, like he’s not in a hurry to go anywhere.

“working,” you say, eyes flicking back to the screen. “some of us actually have deadlines.” you say teasingly.

he hums, circling your desk slowly. “mhmm. and here i thought you just didn’t want to leave me alone in here.”

you bite back a smile. “you really think that highly of yourself?”

“no,” he says, stopping behind your chair, “i think highly of you.”

your hands still on the keyboard. you can feel him standing close—too close—his voice low enough to feel against the back of your neck.

you swallow, your pulse ticking up. “clark—”

“i have a question” he continues, tone dipping even softer, “kinda been stuck in my head all day.”

you nod, not trusting your voice.

“do i ever cross your mind? outside of work…when you’re not around me?”

the question catches you off guard. his tone isn’t cocky—it’s genuine.

you bite your lip, trying to hide your smile. “more than i’d like to admit.”

that answer makes his mouth curve into a slow grin, the kind that tells you he’s already planning what to do with that information.

“you’ve been stuck in my head for months, so i need to know if you feel what i feel or if im just crazy.”

“well… you aren’t crazy, farm boy.” you murmur.

clark’s hand moves to your jaw, tilting your face further into his. it’s not rushed, but it’s not hesitant either. the clean scent of his cologne wrapping around you.

“you have no idea,” he murmurs, “how hard it’s been keeping my hands to myself all day.”

your breath catches, and you give him that look—the one you know drives him crazy. he catches it instantly, his smile darkening.

“stand up,” he says. it’s not a request.

you do, the chair rolling back slightly, and he steps in, closing the space between you. one large hand finds your waist, the other slipping up the curve of your back.

“you’ve been taunting me since the second you walked in here in that outfit,” he says against your ear, voice rougher now. “and i’ve been trying to be patient…”

he pulls away for a second to fully look at you.

“…but i’m done being patient. baby, you are gorgeous.”

your hands grip the front of his shirt, and in one smooth motion he lifts you onto your desk like you weigh nothing. papers scatter to the floor, but neither of you care.

you lean back, and clark steps between your legs, his fingers skimming your thigh before tugging you forward until your hips meet the edge of the desk.

“clark—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss that leaves you dizzy.

when he finally pulls back, his hand is cupping your chin, holding your gaze steady.

“you still think i wasn’t watching you all day?” he says, lips brushing yours.

you shake your head slightly, a dazed little smile pulling at your mouth.

“the way your tits bounced every time you moved, the way this dress hugs your every curve,” he says, thumb stroking your lower lip. “these lips. you drive me crazy.”

his mouth trails along your jaw, slow, deliberate, until his lips are at the hollow beneath your ear.

his glasses are the first thing to go—he pulls them off with one hand, tossing them somewhere behind him without looking, and that soft, bumbling co-worker persona vanishes instantly.

he’s all heat and focus now, jaw set, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing in the world worth his time.

“lean back,” he says, voice low and rough.

you do, and he steps right between your knees, hands skimming up your thighs before gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. he doesn’t ask permission—he just pulls you closer, until your legs are wrapped around his waist and your dress is bunched up around your hips.

he kisses you again, but this time there’s nothing sweet about it—just hunger. his tongue brushes yours, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck while his other one slides under your dress, splaying across your bare skin.

“you’ve been driving me crazy since i met you,” he mutters against your mouth, pulling back just enough to speak.

the wood is cool under your palms, and you feel the desk shift slightly when he pushes you back farther, standing between your knees like he owns the space—like he owns you.

“look at me,” he says, and when you do, the intensity in his gaze nearly makes your knees buckle. “good girl.”

he bends, kissing your neck, dragging his teeth lightly over your skin before sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

his hands grip your thighs tighter, lifting you just enough to press your hips flush against his. the heat radiating off his body is dizzying, his strength undeniable, but every movement is careful enough to make you moan uncontrollably.

“you’re mine tonight,” he whispers into your ear, one hand sliding between your thighs, the other holding you firmly in place.

he enters you in one swift thrust, making you cry out in pleasure.

you arch against him instinctively, fingers clutching at his broad shoulders as he rolls his hips, thrusting deep and slow, letting you feel every inch of him.

his lips find your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that burn deliciously against your skin. his hands slide higher, cupping your breasts, thumbs tracing over your nipples with a precision that makes your back arch and your knees shake.

“clark—baby—” you moan, voice breaking.

he chuckles darkly, pressing his forehead to yours. “say it again. i want to hear you.”

“i…i’m yours,” you gasp, nails digging into his back.

“that’s right,” he whispers, rolling his hips faster now, the desk creaking beneath you. “all mine. all this… just for me.”

every thrust, every touch, every growl from him is completely unrestrained, primal, and overwhelming. he buries himself deeper each time, letting you feel the full intensity of his strength, the weight of him pressed against you, the way he’s completely all in.

you’re trembling, gasping, clinging to him as he rides you over the edge, his name falling from your lips in desperate moans.

“come for me,” he commands, voice thick and low.

he follows you almost instantly, groaning your name, pressing himself into you, grounding you in the intensity of everything he’s been holding back.

finally, he collapses beside you, breath hot against your skin, holding you tight. for a moment, neither of you speaks—just letting the silence, the warmth, and the ache of him pressed against you sink in.

“that,” he whispers, voice ragged, “was a long time coming.”

you smile weakly, still shaking. ��understatement of the century.”

[devourrrmee]

|| lean back, just like that ||

Pairing: Johnny Storm/Reader

Summary: He's annoying, he's irritating, he drives you fucking crazy. So why the hell are you in bed with him?

Word count: 3.3k

Tags and warnings: Smut (a little more explicit than my usual style), next to no plot, not so much hate sex as it is strongly dislike sex, Johnny's a little mean, reader's into it and mad about it, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

(I have absolutely no excuse for this. Blacked out and there it was, sitting in my notes app. Whoops. Title is from Vampire Bat by Glass Animals.)

Johnny Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

If there's one person you absolutely cannot stand, it's Johnny fucking Storm.

He's the single most irritating man you've ever met. He has an answer for everything, has to have the last say in every argument, has to start every argument, and seems to find genuine pleasure in getting on your last nerve every chance he gets.

He drives you crazy. Given the opportunity, you'd gladly punch him square in the jaw.

And yet, here you are. In bed with him.

Look, you never claimed to be perfect, alright?

It's late, sometime past 1am. The light of your alarm clock casts a dim red glow, spilling across the bedside table.

You're laid out on your bed, half-dressed and lying against Johnny, who sits behind you. His legs are spread out on either side of yours, strong thighs pressing tight against you. He's been toying with you for what feels like forever at this point, his hands tracing feather-light patterns across your bare skin. You refuse to make his ego any worse by begging, or asking, or even telling him what you want, so now you're trapped in your own self-made hell, as Johnny amuses himself by slowly driving you mad.

Why break the habit of a lifetime, right?

"Y'know, it's funny," he says, as he trails his fingers along your sides. "You spend all day acting like you can't stand me, and yet you just can't seem to stay away from me, can you?"

"Last I checked, this is my bed, Johnny," you retort with an indignant little huff.

You feel him move behind you, as if he's shrugging.

"Semantics," he says dismissively.

Before you can continue arguing - and boy is there nothing you would love more right now than to put him in his place - his hands travel up along your torso, pressing you back tight against his chest. Despite his air of confidence, there's no ignoring just how hard he is against you, and you can't help but squirm in his hold.

"Easy there, doll," he murmurs in a low voice. His breath ghosts along the shell of your ear, making you shiver. "I've hardly even touched you, and you're already falling to pieces on me."

He tilts your head back, fingertips pressed beneath your chin to gently hold you in place. His lips brush against the line of your jaw. You push yourself back further against him, hoping he’ll take the hint. Because there's no way you're about to admit how much you want this. To him, of all people.

You feel his mouth curl into a smile against your skin. “Are you really that desperate for it?” he asks, persistent.

You know the more you refuse to tell him what he wants to hear, the more he’s going to keep pushing. He’s so fucking stubborn.

But you aren’t much better, and you press your lips together instead. He slides a finger beneath the strap of your bra, lifting it up to let it snap against your skin.

“Johnny,” you gripe, your voice far too breathy for your liking.

He chuckles to himself. “Oh, you can talk?” he asks in a patronising tone. “So you just don’t want to, is that it?”

You grit your teeth.

“Come on, use your words,” he persists, as his hands move to your chest. “You’re always so good at telling me what’s on your mind. What’s stopping you now, huh?”

He squeezes you then, just hard enough that you jolt forward. It takes every ounce of your willpower to stifle the moan that he was so close to pulling out of you. 

“Oh…I see.”

He does it again, and this time you can’t stop the tiny, broken sound that slips past your lips. Johnny laughs again, clearly very much enjoying making you suffer.

“You don’t wanna admit to yourself how good this feels, right?”

You shake your head in frustration. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right. Because that’s the worst part about this, it does feel good, and you need more from him, but you can’t tell him that. You just can’t. Your pride won’t let you, because you know you’ll never hear the end of it. 

Instead, you push yourself back against him again, a little more insistent this time, hoping to God he’ll shut up and just give you what you want already. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I get it. I do,” he says, and you hate how he does that. How he always seems to know what you’re thinking. “But I wanna hear you say it. You can do that for me, can’t you, doll?”

You hate the pet names. Johnny’s always calling you something - doll, baby, sweetheart - anything but your actual name. It drives you mad. He thinks it’s hilarious.

“Just tell me to stop,” he’s always saying.

Why should you have to? He should just know.

But it’s not just that. You won’t admit it to yourself, but deep down, you don’t want him to stop. Because you like it. 

“Here, let me make it easier for you, since you’re so stubborn,” he says. “I’ll ask you questions, and all you have to do is give me a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. How’s that? Sound good?”

You’ve got half a mind to turn around and slap him right across his pretty face, when he squeezes your chest again, hard this time, and all coherent thought goes right out the window. Your face burns with embarrassment as you hear the whimper that escapes you. 

“Sound good?” he asks again.

You force yourself to nod, with the quietest “yes” you can manage. He might be winning, but you’re sure as hell not gonna make it easy for him. 

“Good girl. See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You refuse to dignify that with an answer. Not after the way your stomach just clenched.

His fingers slide beneath your bra straps, slipping them off your shoulders. 

“You’re so pretty like this, you know that?”

He presses a light kiss to your left shoulder, along the indents the fabric’s left on your skin.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re very sexy when you’re telling me off.  But this…?”

He moves to your other shoulder, pressing another kiss to the fading red marks.

“I like you like this the most.”

His tone catches you off-guard. The way he says it…It sounds almost soft. Vulnerable, even. 

The moment’s gone as quickly as that. No sooner has he said it than he’s pulling his hands away from you.

“Do me a favour?”

He taps at your bra.

“Take this off for me.”

You’re about to ask him why he can’t just do it himself if he wants it that badly, when you feel another tap against the fabric of your underwear.

“And those.”

You let out a huff, reaching back to unhook your bra. His hands close over yours.

“Not like that. Up.”

He gently pushes you forward, and you get the hint. You climb off the bed, turning to face him.

“What’s the point in me doing it like this? It’s not like you can see-”

The words are barely out of your mouth when a small, bright flame bursts to life in the palm of Johnny’s hand.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I interrupted you,” he says with a smug smile. “What were you saying?”

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep, even breath to calm yourself. You’re not going to kill him. You’re not. Instead, you give him a big smile in response. It doesn’t reach your eyes. 

Johnny watches you as you undo your bra, sliding the straps off your arms and letting it drop to the floor. You hook your thumbs under your underwear, pulling them down and off with as little finesse as possible, before your brain catches up to what the hell you’re doing right now.

“Happy now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, very,” Johnny replies, very self-satisfied.

He holds out the hand that’s not currently on fire, and you take it, letting him pull you back up onto the bed. He leans back against the headboard, beckoning you closer to him. He’s still fully dressed, and you really need to do something about that. It hardly seems fair, considering your state of undress. You move to unbutton his shirt, and he tilts his head.

“How long have you been wanting to do that, huh?”

You roll your eyes, not letting him deter you. “What, you’re just gonna sit there fully clothed all night?”

Johnny shrugs. “I dunno. You into that?”

You pull a little harder than you mean to, and one of his buttons now dangles by a loose thread.

“Oops,” you mutter, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

Johnny gives you a wry smile, and the room is suddenly plunged into darkness again. He grabs your shoulders, yanking you close to him. You can’t even bring yourself to stop him, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself as his mouth meets yours. 

This game’s gone on long enough, you think.

You might not be willing to admit defeat entirely, but you both know why you’re here. What’s the point in delaying the inevitable for the sake of winning an argument?

You climb into his lap, pressing your chest against his. His hands wander the length of your back, his touch warm against your skin. He stops just below your ass, at the very tops of your thighs, dragging you closer until you’re straddling his hips. You let out a shaky breath, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. For all his cockiness, you can feel how quickly he’s losing his own self-control right now in the way he kisses you. It’s messy and desperate and dirty, and it’s fucking perfect. 

Without warning, Johnny moves, letting you slip right out of his lap and onto your back. You’re about to protest when he’s pulling the rest of his clothes off and throwing them unceremoniously to the floor. 

“Now who’s desperate?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Thought I’d catch up to you,” he retorts, grabbing you behind the knees and pulling you down to him.

You let out a yelp, and he laughs, leaning back just out of your reach as you attempt to swat at him. Damn his quick reflexes. 

“So, are you gonna keep arguing with me all night, or are you finally gonna admit you want this?” he asks.

“God, you are just so full of yours- Oh.”

Whatever you were about to say is completely forgotten, as Johnny drags the pads of his fingers against you. His thumb brushes lightly against your clit, and your hips involuntarily jerk up.

“Damn, I interrupted you again, didn’t I?” he says, feigning innocence. As if he isn’t fully aware of what he’s doing. “Sorry, sweetheart, that was so rude of me. What were you saying?”

You know you shouldn’t fall for it - it’s bait and you know it - but it’s so hard to resist temptation. You’re about to repeat yourself, when he does it again; only this time, his thumb stays in the same spot, rubbing little circles against your clit over and over.

“I’m all ears this time, I promise,” he murmurs, and you can hear him smirking at you.

“F-Fuck you,” you manage to shoot back, furious at yourself for how your voice is trembling.

Johnny leans in a little closer, his hand not letting up for a second. 

“Did I hear that right? Are you finally telling me what you want?”

Your jaw clenches. How is it possible for one man to be this fucking infuriating? You reach up, curling your hand around the back of his neck and dragging him down to you.

“Johnny, I swear to God, I’m done playing games with you. If you don’t fuck me right now-”

Thankfully, his patience seems to be at its end too, and he doesn’t even bother trying to make you finish that sentence. He lines himself up, leaving you breathless as he pushes his cock into you. 

Fucking finally.

His hands grip your hips, letting himself get used to you as he finds his rhythm. He’s slow at first, and you didn’t think he could possibly make himself any more frustrating, but it’s Johnny - he’s always so full of surprises. He’s dragging it out, digging his fingers into your skin hard enough to leave marks. Slow, in, slow, out.

Your patience finally snaps, and you push yourself down to meet him halfway. A sudden groan escapes him then, and you smile to yourself.

“Didn’t take you as the type to fight dirty, but if that’s what you want…” 

He pulls out of you, ignoring your protests as he turns you over onto your stomach.

“Up. Come on. Don’t make me do all the work here, doll.”

You take your time, pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees.

“‘Please’ is the word you’re looking for,” you mutter.

“You begging already?” he asks, with a low chuckle to himself.

You reach behind you to swat at him again, and he catches your wrist, pressing it to the small of your back. The sudden movement throws off your balance and you collapse, your cheek pushed against the sheets.

“I’d be careful if I were you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’re starting to give me the impression that you don’t want this.”

He gives your wrist a quick squeeze, and you gasp, weakly trying to wrench it from his grasp. You’re not trying very hard, and you both know it. 

“If you’re gonna keep being so stubborn, let’s try something else.”

He lets go of your wrist, and your arm drops to the mattress with a soft thump.

“I think you’ve made me do enough work already, don’t you? If you want it so bad…show me.”

God, he’s not serious, is he?

He taps his fingers against your hip, over and over in a slow rhythm, as if he’s waiting for you to move. 

Oh, he is.

You bite the inside of your cheek, determined to hold in the insults threatening to burst out of you. Awkwardly, you lean back, trying to figure out how you’re supposed to do this when you can’t see. Johnny lets you struggle for a bit, before finally feeling sorry for you.

“Okay, okay. You made a good effort, even if it was a little pathetic,” he says, with a patronising little pat to your thigh. 

You swear under your breath as you feel him press against you again. It feels so much dirtier from this angle, and he’s barely done anything yet.

“Is that better?” he asks, a slight strain to his voice. 

He thrusts into you, hard and slow. Taking his time. Like he has nowhere to be but right here.

“Normally, I can’t get you to shut up, but look at you. Haven’t said a word.”

He leans over you, chest pressed to your back as his arms bracket yours. His mouth is so close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, and a shiver runs through you. He laughs, a low sound. He sounds so pleased with himself.

“God, you feel good,” he murmurs. “I could keep you like this for hours. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Your head drops down as he pushes into you again and again. He feels so fucking good.

“How many do you think I could drag out of you before you tell me to stop, huh? Three, four? Would you even tell me to stop?”

No is what you would scream at him if he were anyone else. But you can’t. You can’t.

“Do you ever shut up?” you snap at him instead, teeth clenched. 

“I’m clearly not doing a good enough job if you’re still able to bitch at me like that.”

His touch is practically scorching against your already overheated skin as he keeps fucking you, and there’s little else you can do but let him. Your head feels like it’s swimming; that warm, tight feeling in your stomach growing bigger and bigger. A broken sound close to a sob is ripped from you, and he slows down, his hand gentle as it touches your arm.

“You okay?” he asks gently. “Need me to stop?”

You quickly shake your head, and the laugh that escapes him makes your stomach clench again.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he grits out, and suddenly that softness is gone.

He picks up the pace again, fucking into you harder, deeper, exactly how you need him. Your mouth drops open, little moans pushing past your lips. You can’t think straight. All you care about right now is this. This and nothing else.

His name falls from your lips in a sharp intake of breath.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

It drives you mad that he can still find the capacity to patronise you right now, even if his heavy sighs give away how desperate he is too.

“You gettin’ close?”

You manage a nod, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you say it.

Johnny, bastard that he is, slows right down.

“Yeah? Tell me how close.”

You shake your head, clutching at him frantically, trying desperately to urge him on.

He stops entirely.

“Tell me how close, and I’ll give you what you want. You can do that for me, right? Just this one. Little. Thing.”

He punctuates the last three words with hard thrusts into you, before he stops again, holding your hips still so you can’t move either.

You could kill him. No, scratch that, you’re going to kill him.

But God, he feels so fucking good.

“Not asking too much from such a smart girl, am I?” he asks, his tone so self-satisfied.

You try to collect yourself as best you can.

“Johnny,” you manage to say, your voice little more than a whisper.

“Yeah? I’m listening.” 

“I’m- I’m close.”

“I gathered that. But that’s not what I asked, is it? I asked how close.”

He pulls back slowly, before slamming back in, hard.

“Fuck- I’m close, very close, okay? Johnny, come on-”

He does it again, and the moan that falls from your mouth then is nothing short of filthy. 

“Ask me nicely.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Ask me. Nicely.”

God, he’s the fucking worst, but you don’t have the energy, the willpower, to argue anymore. You’re close, too close, and it’s not worth it anymore, the fighting, the power balance, it doesn’t fucking matter anymore-

You rest your forehead against your hands on the mattress, fingers gripping the sheets.

“Johnny, please, I’m close. I’m so close, and I need to come. I need it, Johnny, please. Please.”

You’re not even paying attention to what you’re saying, letting yourself babble whatever you think he wants to hear. Whatever it is that will get him to give you what you want. 

Whether it works, or he’s just run out of patience, you have no idea, and honestly, you don’t care, because he finally, finally moves again, and it’s somehow too much and not enough all at once. 

“Johnny-”

No sooner have you said his name when he’s picking up the pace, rutting into you like a fucking animal. One hand rests firmly against the small of your back, the other sliding down between your legs to rub your clit again. You jolt against him, you’re pushing the point of over-sensitive already, it’s too much, it’s too fucking much-

“That’s it, doll. Come on. Come for me,” he grits out, low and hot against your ear, and that’s it, that’s what pushes you right over the edge.

You’ve never felt anything as intense as this, it’s so overwhelming, it's incredible. You feel hot all over, like-

You wake with a start, trembling and completely winded. You manage to peel the blanket away with unsteady hands, desperate to cool yourself down.

You’ve never had a dream that…vivid before.

And it just had to be him, didn’t it?

You rub a hand over your face, glancing over at your alarm clock. Big mistake.

06:55.

The glowing red numbers mock you in the dark. You let yourself flop back down with a long groan.

Oh, today is gonna be rough.

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[devourrrmee]

me the whole time i was reading this btw

Younger!Reader with a raging daddy kink who spots simon and simply has to have him.

Hes exactly your type. Military, bulky, probably emotionally unavailable judging by the mask he lifts occasionally to drink. Its not hard sliding up next to him when his friend ducks into the restroom. He looks even better up close.

Muscles layered under thick fat, a solid pudge around his stomach that you really want to knead, scars from battles you could probably never understand. Oh and his eyes. God his eyes. When he looks down at you, his eyes wrinkle with a heady mix od condescension and desire. "What're you doing here, kid?"

Kid. Fuck, you have to have him. You hook a foot over his ankle, no need to be subtle when he looks at you like that "just looking for some guidance, a fun night, maybe?"

You watch as his eyes trail over your body, you know you have him. His hand rests on the back of your neck when he calls an Uber, hands resting on the inside of your thigh the entire ride. Youre wet already just thinking about what those hands would feel like inside you. You knew you picked the right guy, hes already shoving you into the floaty headspace without even trying.

Maybe it says something about you that you actively seek out older military guys, but you prefer not to examine that. No, youre much too focused on the way he pulls you into his lap and licks into your mouth like hes trying to taste your heart. He takes his time, has you squirming against him, pulling away to whine "fuck- please can you hurry up? Please daddy?"

Its always a gamble but you know how to count your odds, and his mouth splits into a grin. Hes just the right side of mean, pressing you into the matress and hitting all the spots that make you boneless. He edges you, bites at your skin and tells you "you gotta ask your old man nicely, okay kid? Cmon, beg your dad to help you."

And you do, all damn night. Whining and begging for the man you dont even know the name of, calling him dad between moans. He refuses to stuff you like you want, but your face and chest are covered by the end of the night.

Oh, and in the morning, when you wake up to a cold bed? Hes in your kitchen, cooking eggs with a towel hung low, hair wet. An omelette is sat in front of you next to two ibuprofen and water. He taps at one of the many pictures you have around your flat. "Who's this, kid?"

Oh. Hes pointing at the only photo you have with your dad. Its old, from about middle school when he surprised you for your birthday. He was still wearing his fatigues, rushing straight from the airport to make it. Your tone is flat when you reply, a clear indicator to drop the subject. "Thats my dad."

The man snorts for some reason, probably drawing more than a few connections with your choice of bed partners and obvious daddy issues. "Military?"

"Mhmmm," you take a bite of the omelette, its passable "dont worry, you probably wont ever meet him. He runs some elite task force the last i heard from him."

"That so?" The guy leans against your counter while he eats his own food, "well, if you ever need someone to give you the guidance your dad obviously never did..."

He trails off, ends the conversation as he ducks back into your room to get dressed. All you get is a hand ruffling your hair as he leaves, mouth by your ear when he adds "be good for dad, okay kid?"

....yeah. youre definitely inviting him back.

[devourrrmee]

"keep doin' it and don't you ever fuckin' stop- y'hear me? want you to mark me up, yeah? want everyone to know i fuck you so good you start clawin' at me." taking laps as we speak.

simon loves everything you do during sex. when you clench your cunt around his cock and make him see stars, the pretty noises you make as he stretches you open on two thick fingers, the way you taste when you gush all over his tongue- everything.

but his favourite thing? when you scratch down his back while he's pounding you into the mattress. the way you desperately claw at his shoulders as he shoves his cock deep inside you. he's reaching places you didn't know could be reached and you need to grab onto something- anything to cope with the overwhelming pleasure he's bringing you.

the first time you did it he was caught off guard, his hips stuttering in their rhythm as your nails raked along his back, leaving a streak of red irritated flesh in their wake. you noticed the way he hesitated, noticed the groan that left him, and the way he adjusted his pace of his hips against yours.

you force your hands off him, opting to tangle them into the sheets instead. simon scowled- actually looked visibly upset, and a moment later he was grabbing you by the wrist, placing your hand onto his back again. you were confused now- you thought he didn't like it.

you couldn't have been more wrong.

he leans down so his mouth is pressed right next to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "keep doin' that," he groans, tilting your hips so the tip of his cock grinds against the squishy spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head. "keep doin' it and don't you ever fuckin' stop- y'hear me? want you to mark me up, yeah? want everyone to know i fuck you so good you start clawin' at me."

please leave a comment/reblog if u liked this!!! it means the world & keeps me motivated!!! <3

[devourrrmee]

quickly too😔

you’re in trouble with clark kent and when you try to walk away he snaps his fingers real loud, tinge of super strength making it echo, and points to the ground in front of him. uses his superman voice to instruct you, “get back here.” and you walk your happy ass right back to pa <3

[devourrrmee]

whoever put him in eyeliner needs their ass ATE.

vid: .hawkcs

[devourrrmee]

“gonna show you how much i fuckin' missed you because you don’t fuckin’ believe me.” oh! well!

cw ✧ 18+ mdni ﾉ f!reader, sexually explicit content, set after friends and family night, implied once casual/fwb arrangement, *rough* oral & fingering (f!recieving), fucking doesn't solve anything, mean!carmy, jealous & bratty!reader

carmen is furious. 

after being stuck in the walk-in, a heated argument with richie, breaking things off with claire, and your stubborn refusal to listen to his incessant voice notes that begged you to come to friends and family night, he needed to blow off steam; lots of it.

you swore that you'd never see carmen again; vowing to slam the door shut the moment he stepped foot on your doormat or tried to call you back. it was ridiculous when he expected you to show up. 

you couldn’t bear to be hurt again, especially not by him. 

despite the seething anger and bitter resentment that consumed you when he started seeing claire again, you still desperately longed for the way he fucked you: the sweet feeling of his thick girth filling you up inch by inch or how the rough pads of his fingertips roamed the contours of your body in a tender—bordering romantic way.

you knew these trysts and stolen moments at the back of the beef or tangled up in his place would eventually come to an end, after all, you were—they were just casual. 

no strings attached. no feelings. you felt foolish. 

on the lonely, touch-starved friday nights where you missed him just oh, so much, with a pillow stuck in between your thighs, you convinced yourself that you were just horny and that your insatiable lust was fleeting. surely anyone—someone much better and emotionally stable than carmen could give you just what you wanted. 

right?

maybe it was the way his chef whites hung loosely over his burly shoulders, how his sleeves were rolled up and the veins of his arms bulged out of his calloused flesh. the way he convinced you so easily into letting him in—just for tonight, one more time, it can’t hurt—beads of sweat gathering at his brow, and two seconds later, shoving you shamelessly against your front door; effortlessly tearing down the cemented brick wall you’d spent months carefully rebuilding with a gritty determination that bordered spite. 

you knew better. at least, you should’ve. 

one thing led to the next, and you found yourself here: your body spread out on your kitchen counter with your leg slung over his shoulder as his lips—hot and silky—slope harshly against the smooth, creamy expanse of your slick inner thighs.

you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why every alarm bell was sounding off in your head—begging your body to stiffen and forcefully resist the man in between your legs—was reduced to nothing more than indiscernible tv static the moment the wet cavern of his mouth suctioned firmly on your succulent folds.

“why didn't you fuckin’ come to opening night, huh?” carmen spat, punctuating each syllable with a harsh suck of your cunt. “been ignoring me for weeks, why’s that?”

you barely registered carmen’s words or your sagacious judgement for that matter. the last vestige of any wise reasoning was clouded by the blissful feeling of his feverish mouth on you, your nimble fingers threading patterns through his sweaty strands. 

“m'sorry, i was busy..” you writhed weakly, knowing it was a futile excuse. you subtly maneuvered your hips towards his face, feeling the tip of his nose graze against your clit nearly making you drool. “mmph...got a new job and—”

“and?” carmen jeered, retracting from your heat.

offended and deeply frustrated, you glared darkly at carmen. your gaze met his, a brief flicker of sweltering desire and humor gracing his blue irises. 

with a sudden keening cry, you quickly seized your legs around his head, trapping him in between your thighs. your shaky hands shot to pull on the back of his head, desperate to find purchase and coax him to continue.

"jesus fuck!" carmen grunted. "fuck!"

your boldness paid off, for carmen was nose deep in you once more. with the sweet, intoxicating scent of your slick luring him in, your hips churned wantonly against his face as his tongue pumped greedy circles against your throbbing core.

"jesus—fucking hell—for once in your life—stop. fucking. thinking." he gritted out gruffly. "i-i broke up with claire, happy?”

elated was an understatement. 

with a moment of relief washing over you, you suddenly felt two of carmen's tattooed digits plunge fiercely inside your gaping pussy. 

"shit!" you howled out, your velvety walls steeling and clenching against the punishing thrusts of his fingers as the euphoric, white-hot waves of release began to crash in. "hngh—carmy—what the fuck?"

your vision was obstructed by the tears that threatened to spill out from the swollen corners of your eyes; you wanted to scream. 

“you happy?” carmen sneered, your stomach fluttering at the way his pupils dilated the very moment he slipped a third finger into your core. 

you were so done for. 

“this is what you fuckin’ wanted, right?”

"carmen! fuck!" your teeth gritted hard enough to crack. carmen leaned back down, lapping at your raw, overstimulated flesh with a perfect precision; drawing out near sobs and an overwhelming feeling of pain and pleasure—you couldn’t make out which. 

with his free hand, he began to fumble with his belt, the metallic clasp clinking against the hard muscles of his lower abdomen.

carmen was hard. rock hard. achingly so. 

so hard, that a damp smear pooled dubiously on the cotton fabric of his boxers.

you needed him; he needed you. 

"legs open, now." carmen demanded, ravenously eyeing the slick dribbling down your thighs and onto the kitchen counter. “gonna show you how much i fuckin' missed you because you don’t fuckin’ believe me.”

[devourrrmee]

I LOVE WHWN PEOPLE WRITE STUFF LIKE THIS. it’s so cute

trendy .ᐟ

summary: carmy is chronically offline, which of course means that he has no idea about trends but will still happily go along.

contents: fluff, established relationship, carmy has no idea about social media, reader is kinda chronically online/deep in tiktok, tiktok couples & recipe trends, carmen is very strong and reader gets picked up and spun (see trends used), slightly suggestive but not that much

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this was originally just going to be the second one (extended) which is still might but i had this overwhelming urge to write carmy confused and obedient… how obvious is it that i’m really into the idea of being picked up by carmy? ofc thank u to the wonderful @dumbbandpoetic for ideas i’m incredibly obsessed with ur brain. the videos/trends mentioned are this quenelle dessert video, this trend to she’s always a woman (but pretend it’s his left hand), bumping into each other trend, upside down trend, kissing with lipstick trend, “current boyfriend” trend, slim pickins (a boy who’s jacked and kind) trend.

check out the masterlist if u want

Carmen really didn’t use his phone. Texts and calls for inventory and schedule, communicating with you and the staff, but not much more. Very much unlike you.

It’s not like you were glued to it. A normal amount for any twenty-something year old, which, yes, was more than it should be, but not too much. However, asking Carmen to participate in couples trends with you made way for… interesting situations, ones where he’s incredibly clueless, but just as eager to make you happy.

“Bear, have you done this?”

Carmen hums, raising his head from where he’d buried it in your neck as you two are lying on the couch to peek at your phone. A video plays of a girl scooping up whipped cream, warming the bottom of the spoon in her hand then placing it on top of what looked like pudding.

“Mm,” he confirms, “quenelle, the actual dish is.. French. It’s a technique for creams and similar stuff too,” he mumbles, resting his head on top of yours. Your mouth parts slightly, then closes. He looks up at you, your eyes fixed on the replaying video.

“Is it really so hard?”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “With something like whipped cream? Yeah. No, if it’s denser.” He meets your eyes before he speaks again, “Want me to teach you, baby?”

You nod eagerly, sinking into his side and the couch further as you scroll past the video, “Yeah, obviously. You’re my personal culinary instructor.”

“So… I’m holding a flower to cover your head?”

Carmen stares at the phone screen, a singular forget-me-not in his hand as he tries to figure out the perspective. You stand in frame with a very cute outfit (that may or may not have caused you two to go out a bit later than planned), nodding. “Like… a flower instead of my head, bear. It’s not that complicated—”

He cuts you off with a “Shh,” then repositions the phone, “You don’t get the intricacies of filmmaking.” The remark is met with a scoff, which he ignores in favor of positioning the flower perfectly to cover your head.

“Okay, ready?”

You nod, and he records you as you turn 360° once then wave as he’s focused on moving the flower accordingly. The end result is a video in which his forget-me-not tattoo shows in the way he holds the matching flower. It ends up going viral and Richie sings She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel at work for two days before Carmen catches on.

Carmen stares at the phone set up on a ledge on the street, squinting his eyes.

“Are you sure your phone’s not gonna get stolen?”

You roll your eyes, trying to drag him away from being directly in front of the phone, “Barely anyone on the street, baby.” He scoffs, opening his eyes wide as if to punctuate his words, “Exactly! Someone could take it and run— It’s also snowing, what is this even for?”

It takes about five minutes to convince him it’s fine, and another ten to explain to him what the hell you’re doing. You seriously underestimate how absurd it sounds to Carmen to pretend to bump into you in the street then grab your face to kiss you. By the time he agrees, you’re basically jumping in place to keep your warmth, which stops the moment he nods, “Fine, you go… check your fit, I’ll bump into you.”

You don’t bother explaining to him that it’s a fit check, but instead push him back lightly so he’s out of frame and go to start the video on your phone. You walk a few steps back when he “bumps into you” and you’re positively surprised when he roughly grabs your face to pull you into him for a kiss. The video ends, but his hands don’t let go, one finding its place behind your head and the other going to grab your waist, slipping under your coat. His cold hand presses into your skin, making you gasp lightly into the kiss, which he takes full advantage of to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him closer, relishing in the moment before you part, panting.

“The phone… should probably get it,” you breathe out, and walk over to put it in your pocket. He’s grinning with his hands in his coat pockets when you walk back to him and start making your way home, “You know,” he starts, “I’m starting to love these videos.”

Carmen lifts you up, holding you a few inches above the ground and swaying you from side to side a bit, as if to test his own strength. He puts you down, then lifts you up again, this time with one hand holding onto your hip and the other almost wrapped around your thighs. He does this a few times, testing the steadiness. He spins around while holding you once, in another he lifts you up as far as his arms allow, and by the fifth try, you’re convinced he's trying to mess with you or just nerved about lifting you.

“If you’re nervous,” you start, only to be cut off by him, “To spin you? Of course I’m nervous.” You stare at him as he turns you to face him with a smirk, “I can also do it.”

You furrow your brows, “Why have you been lifting me for the past ten minutes then?” The question is met with an overly-innocent shrug, his gaze going to the ceiling, “No reason. Not for my own benefit certainly.”

“Don’t try to get us off course,” you start, tapping his shoulder to be let down to which he obliges quickly, “We’re doing this.”

You set up the phone, starting the timer and going to stand in front of Carmen. The music starts playing and he places one hand between your knees and the other on your hip, then picks you up, spinning you upside down once before placing you down with his hands now on your hips. You laugh in amazement, turning to look at him as one of his hands slides to your waist to pull you closer. The music stops, signaling the video’s end, and you rush over to watch the video. You’re in awe watching him spin you effortlessly when he suddenly picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder and making his way to the bedroom.

“Hey!” Your exclamation goes ignored as he pats the back of your thighs once, “You’ll continue watching the video later.” He throws you (gently, or as gently as he could) onto the bed. You save the video then place the phone beside you and lean to wrap your arms around him as he moves to hover over you.

You swipe the lipstick over your lips one last time before closing it and placing it aside, shifting on Carmen’s lap to grab his face. You start to plant kisses over his face carefully, covering it and taking note of the placements as he chuckles, rubbing over your hips.

“Can’t say I get it, but also can’t say I’m complaining,” he grins as you lift his hair to kiss his forehead. His hands tighten on your hips when your kisses trail to his neck, lifting a brow, “You sure that’s gonna be in frame?”

You shrug, lifting your head and checking over his face to make sure it’s covered, “Those were just for fun,” you correct, smiling at your handiwork.

You climb off his lap, much to his disappointment, and grab your phone and lipstick, “So I’ll put this on,” you lift the lipstick, “and purposefully smudge it. You reach and wipe it off, and I turn the camera to you. Got it?”

He rolls his eyes, “Not rocket science, baby,” his words ring confident, though you both know he appreciates the step-by-step. You lean to press a last kiss to his lips, grinning before you shift your focus back to opening the app and setting up the video. He leans back on the couch for a moment, eyes trailing over you as you reapply to lipstick, the video not yet started, looking at you as if you were a divine being. He averted his gaze after a second, fearing that if he kept staring, the color of his cheeks would match the red lipstick left over them. An unsuccessful attempt, as he looked right back over to you, unable to stick to his previous resolution.

You start the video as you apply the lipstick then “smudge” it, his tattooed hand coming into frame to wipe the corner of your lips. You turn the camera to him, catching his dazed and mesmerized look. The video stops soon after, and after quickly saving it, you put your phone aside to climb back over onto his lap.

“Wanna test how much this lipstick stains?”

He raises his brows, an amused smile making its way to his face when your lips start trailing down his neck again, “Definitely.”

You balance the phone on the counter in the kitchen, pots and bowls scattered over the counter along with ingredients for your dinner. You’d told Carmen that you wanted to do a “cook with me and my chef boyfriend” video, which he found reasonable. He checks over the stuff laid out on the table, making sure everything is ready as you set a timer for the video. He looks at you on the phone screen as the video starts and you clap your hands together.

“Okay, so today, me and my current boyfriend, who is a chef, will be cooking—” He cuts you off with an arm wrapped around your waist and another wrapped around your chest, “Wanna retake that?”

You try not to laugh, you try to keep it going but the smile on your face is undeniable, “No, I think I said it right,” you grin, finally letting out a laugh when he tightens his arms around you, smiling against your shoulder with a shake of his head, “I think you wanna rerecord that.”

Your wriggling doesn’t make much difference, his arms flexing as he keeps you still then lifts you up enough to move you in front of the phone, “Come on, because you know I’m not current, I’m pretty permanent.” He moves the arm previously wrapped around your chest to hold your hand, guiding it to stop the recording. You’re still laughing, causing him to tilt his head.

“That’s a trend, baby, the ‘current’ thing,” you let out between laughs, turning in his arms to press kisses to his face. He rolls his eyes, lets out a huff as if he’s oh so annoyed, but catches your lips with his at the first opportunity.

“I remember this song,” Carmen says, looking at the video of a guy lifting his girlfriend and placing her on his shoulder as Slim Pickins plays. You nod next to him, smiling at his recognition, “You might,” you grin, “So can you do it?”

He rewatches the video as he replies, “I can try, let me try,” and throws the phone onto the couch, tapping your thigh for you to stand up as he does so too. “Might need you to jump,” he mutters, which is met with a “Might?” from you, brows raised. Carmen just nods, moving to stand on the carpet, behind you, and grabs your waist. 

You do a few test runs. It’s obviously lighter when you jump to meet his lift, but you discover that it’s way too easy to lose balance that way (proven by the two times you almost both fell down, only saved by him grabbing onto the arm of the couch). You settle on you going limp as he lifts you, then securing yourself by holding onto his head. 

You set the phone up, taking a deep breath as you set the ten second timer and step back in front of him. “I won’t drop you, don’t be so tense,” he mumbles with a kiss to your cheek as the video starts, then before your relaxed smile from the kiss even disappears, Carmen grabs your waist to sit you on his shoulder. You hold onto his head, laughing as he spins around once, then lowers you to his arms in a bridal carry, causing your arms to wrap around his neck instead. You press a kiss to his lips, which is eagerly returned before he sets you down on the ground, safe and sound. You look at him for a while, shocked and unmoving, before he speaks up, “Jacked and kind, hm?”

hope u guys enjoyed this! likes and reblogs are eternally appreciated :]

[devourrrmee]

read this like it’s the morning paper

Big

Carmy makes it fit.

Tags - big dick Carmy Berzatto (specs in the fic), talking you through it, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, hella size kink, dubcon aspects, gentle dom!carmy, painful sex, you’re kind of a crybaby. 2k words

You’ve never been much for fluorescent lighting. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Migraine-inducing, though what isn’t migraine-inducing here? Between all the constant fucking yelling and the unending onslaught of demands and problems, well. It’s enough to make anyone fucking nuts. You wonder daily what the hell you got yourself into, and when’s a good time to leave. 

The clock on the wall shows the time, 1:57 AM. You can do five more minutes, at least. Five more minutes of this - Carmy’s tongue lapping at your folds, his strong nose rubbing against your clit - and you’ll be cumming. The fluorescent lighting of Carmy’s kitchen doesn’t much bother you when your eyes are squeezed shut as he fucks you on his tongue. The once-cold marble counter is now warm with your body heat, and there will be a mess left on it when Carmy’s done with you, cleaned away with the rest of the day’s work. 

“Carmy,” you pant, looking down at him as he eats you. He’s got two fingers deep in your cunt, stroking away at that delicate place inside you. You can’t see the lower half of his face, only his gorgeous, striking blue eyes. It’s amazing how much of his iris has been eaten by pupil, all that endless, sparkling black. 

Carmy’s half-naked, and one of your knees is tossed over his broad shoulders. His free hand is on your thigh, squeezing you to keep you still when you start to shake, losing yourself to your own pleasure. Carmy draws circle after circle onto your throbbing, aching clit, steadily pushing you to meet your peak. You’re making a mess of him, you know. Dripping down his reddened, swollen lips and his chin, dripping down his calloused fingers and into his palm, too. It’s a good thing. He’ll need you soaked. You’ll need yourself soaked. 

He holds you tight when you cum, fucking you through it all on his skillful tongue. His messy curls are tangled around your fingers, and you’re tugging hard enough to hurt him - not that Carmy minds any, no. He’s all but numb to physical pain at this point, that tolerance built up through years of burns and sliced fingers and aching feet that stood for too many hours on end. You’re moaning incoherently until you’re not, instead moaning broken whimpers of his name, in between breathy pleas to stop, Carmy. S - too much, too much. M’done, Carmy. Fuck, fuck, please…  

Carmy pulls away finally and wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, then stands up. You kiss him then, tasting yourself on your lips. Your hands are on his cheeks, flushed the most gorgeous shade of red, then travel lower. Down his thick neck, taking care to trace the pulsing veins in his throat. They stop at his shoulders and you allow yourself to squeeze his biceps before sliding down his toned torso, reaching for the button of his pants. Carmy stops you, and you give him a look.

He’s hiding something. You can see in his eyes that he is, and you wonder what’s up. “Carm?”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Just close your eyes.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want you to, okay? Would you do that for me? Please?” 

You smile, tilt your head. “Is it a surprise?” 

Carmy exhales shakily, pulling his tattooed hand down his face. “Yeah, maybe. Just close ‘em, okay?” You look at Carmy skeptically, but gently close your eyes anyway, nerves on fire as you anxiously anticipate what comes next. 

Carmy takes a deep breath, then unbuttons his pants and reaches into them. He knows he’ll hurt you, that’s all, and he doesn’t need you to be intimidated by his size. That’s why he doesn’t let you look, and it’s why he doesn’t let you feel. It’s like getting bloodwork done, right? You’ll feel that pinch either way, but it’ll be worse if you watch it happen. So don’t look. 

He pulls himself out and reaches between your thighs, using your arousal to lubricate his length, then repeats the action. He spits into his palm for good measure, too.

Carmy spreads your legs and tilts your hips and god, you’re feeling fucking electric. You feel it everywhere, in your fingers and toes and in your fluttering stomach. It’d be a disservice to yourself not to witness his cock parting your folds, right? And fuck Carmy, anyway - how many times a day does he ignore you? 

He positions himself at your entrance, then slides his cockhead through your slippery folds. Right as he notches himself inside you and you feel the initial, painful stretch of that, you open your eyes to get a look at that completely gorgeous and utterly erotic sight.

Your face drops and your lips part, at a total loss for words. You shake your head and try to squirm away, but Carmy keeps you right at your place on the countertop, holding up a hand. “Carmy–”

“No, no, no, don’t get all fuckin’ freaked out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Mm-mm, Carmy. You’re fucking - you - you’re–”

“It’s gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Hey - it’s. Fine. You can do this.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

You should have expected it, honestly. It was naive to think Carmy would be anything less than above average, when the rest of him is so fucking…big. All that man, those big fucking shoulders and his thick thighs, that big personality. His hands are big too, knuckles are thick and his fingers are long. 

Eyeing his cock, it looks maybe eight inches in length, give or take. Fuck, not that that’d help you any. He’s girthy, and thick like a fucking beer can. Maybe even more than that. You’re not sure you could wrap one of your hands all the way around him, and that scares you. He curves gently to the right, and his pubic hair looks like it’s not been trimmed in a while. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispers. 

“You already are,” you reply. Carmy looks up and away, sighing heavily. He runs his hand through his hair and then firmly holds your hips, making you squeak when he inches himself a hair further into you. And this is exactly why he didn’t want you to look. But hey, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, right? Does he not experience that law every day in this godforsaken restaurant? 

You cry out, watching in distress as Carmy readies to fit himself deeper into you. “Hey, relax, okay? Don’t look, honey. Eyes on me. Can you do that, hm? Can you look at me?” Carmy stops you from shaking your head, then holds your cheek in his large palm. “You can look at me. Right here. We’ll do it a little bit at a time, yeah?” 

“I don’t know, Carm,” you tell him. “Fuck, it’s scary.”  

“Nah, it’s not scary,” Carmy murmurs, pushing into you a little more. “You got thick skin, don’t you? You’d have to, right? Working here, for me,” he jokes, though you don’t laugh. Humor never was his strong suit. 

“No,” you mumble.

“Oh, I think you’re full of shit. Yes, you do.” 

The argument stops there for no reason beyond that’s simply Carmy’s will. If he lets it go on, you’ll be here all fucking night crying with his cock all but an inch inside you. He’s not mean about it, he’s not forceful. He’s just…assertive. And you need that, don’t you? His gentle yet firm hand nudging you into place. Carmy gives you a kiss, then tells you that you can do this. 

Your eyes drop to where his body begins to meet yours as he slides into you so excruciatingly slowly, all that length stuffing you nearly full already, and he’s not even a quarter of the way in. You moan in pain, wriggling in his grasp as he fills you. 

“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, maintaining steady eye contact with you as he guides himself into your slick, aching cunt, ignoring the pain of your nails digging into his muscled shoulders. “Easy - woah, easy. Let up,” he tells you when you squeeze him. Not that he doesn’t love your tight fucking pussy, but you really are only making it worse for yourself. And Carmy’s not a psychopath, despite what Richie says. He doesn’t want to hurt you. God, never. You already have such a low pain tolerance to begin with. You can’t handle a cut or a burn the way others usually can, and that’s not a flaw on your part, but it is something that probably needs to be worked on. He’s just helping you, is all. 

Your face breaks, the pain written in your expression. It’s your furrowed brows, your frown, your worried eyes. Carmy slides maybe four inches into you, about halfway there. “We’ll take a minute,” Carmy says, pausing. He keeps you where you are and reaches for a nearby plastic takeout container full of ice water, taking a sip for himself before offering it to you. 

You’re a fucking wreck. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks, which Carmy wipes away with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says, waiting patiently for you to finish. He takes the container back from you and sets it down. 

“I know it hurts,” Carmy says, breathing deeply. “But you’re doing good, okay?” His neck and chest are flushed, too, all red and splotchy. His skin is damp with his own sweat. He feels for you, really. He wouldn’t want to be in your position either, truth be told. 

“Promise?” 

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” Carmy rubs your cheeks, offering you a sympathetic look. And you’re still fucking squeezing him, even while he’s not actively pushing into you. Poor thing, only hurting yourself. Carmy knows what your answer’s gonna be when he asks you, “How about I rip off the bandaid, huh? Let me do that?” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No, no, Carmy–”

“Yes, yes. Yes, because we’re gonna get nowhere if you keep fuckin’ squeezing on me like that, huh?” 

“I’m not trying to.” 

“I know you’re not trying to. Just let me–” Carmy sighs and wipes sweat off of his brow, then takes your hips and thrusts into you quickly and smoothly, eliciting a sharp noise of pain from you. You feel him deep inside yourself, and it’s painful in every conceivable way. The stretch, the dull ache that comes from his cockhead hitting your cervix. 

“Carmy!” 

“Mm, my fuckin’ girl,” he groans, bottoming out inside of you. “Yeah, there. There, okay? Worst is over,” he tells you, knowing that’s probably not true. The song and dance happens all over again as he pulls out of you and then pushes back in, the pain dissipated then renewed. He hushes your whines as he moves his hips, looking down at his cock all coated in creamy rings of your arousal. 

Pleasure comes eventually, which makes it all easier, though only marginally so. Carmy’s thick fucking cock fucking you in half is a sensation you never get used to. The ache and the fullness is ever present, never vanishing. It’s so big and so fucking commanding, so inevitable. “Oh, Carmy. Fuck me, oh my god.” 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carmy moans, steadily snapping his hips into you. “So fuckin’ - fuck, you’re tight.” 

Carmy rubs your clit to bring near your orgasm while chasing his own, losing the rhythm he had going. He fucks you wildly, pulling your hips off the counter, his heavy balls slapping against you. When you cum, the fierce pulsing of your cunt coaxes his own, and Carmy empties himself into you. He makes the most beautiful noises as he does so, breathing heavily through his nose when he’s done. 

You whimper when he pulls out of you, feeling satisfied by your orgasm, and relieved that it’s over. Carmy reaches for a nearby dish towel and wets it with water, then comes back to you. He nudges your thighs apart, then crouches down. “Let me see, let me look,” he says, assessing the damage. Your poor cunt is gaping, dripping his cum, and your folds are all puffy and swollen. He gently cleans you with the towel, then has you press the cloth against your center. “Hold that there for a minute, yeah? You’re okay, dude.” 

Carmy cleans himself up, then goes back to cleaning the kitchen. He’s got a few things left to do before locking up for the night. 

Ty for reading 🩵 comments, asks, and especially reblogs would be muchly appreciated if you enjoyed

ETA - shutting off anons for the night. You know how it is 🙁 if you have something horny to say, they’ll be back on in the AM 7/2/25

[devourrrmee]

“Full of yourself Kent?”…”No, but you’re about to be”

.⋆｡Almost One Bed｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

On a work trip where so far everything has gone wrong, it all culminates in having to share a bed with your super hot coworker, except you could’ve sworn there were two beds in the room just a minute ago

Warnings: one bed trope, down bad!Clark, little bit of gaslighting but it’s ok cause he’s cute, smut, friends to lovers, protected sex, size kinky, dry humping (i cannot stop thinking about the kitchen scene), tiny hint of sub!Clark WC: 3.4k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

There was always something that inevitably would go wrong, you thought as you sagged into a chair in the hotel lobby. It was nearing three in the morning and yet you were still being denied a room, something about reservations and hotel policy that you really didn’t have the mental bandwidth to understand at this point. After travelling all day for an interview that was cancelled half-way during your flight, so now you were trapped in fucking Oregon with the one coworker you found unbearably hot even if he was the biggest dork you had ever met.

“I’m sorry, it seems like they’re holding firm on this one.” You hummed and looked up at the man who somehow, given his size, snuck up on you as you wallowed in your misery. You wanted to wave him off, he had gotten his own room without any problem though refused to leave you alone to deal with your own issue, but instead you just looked up at your work partner with hazy eyes.

“It’s alright Clark, it’s not like I haven’t slept in a hotel lobby before.” His frown deepened but he quickly caught himself and readjusted the thick frames that had slid down the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” He swallowed thickly and glanced over his shoulder, as if confirming that an empty room wasn’t about to magically appear in the lobby. And when it didn’t, he gave you a nervous grin, his cheeks blooming with a soft pink. “Why don’t- why don’t you stay in my room with me? I’ll sleep on the floor.” He rushed to add on, his blush growing darker as he shuffled.

Your stomach fluttered. “You don’t have to do that, you deserve a good night’s sleep more than I do. But if you are insisting-“ he cut in with a quick ‘I am’, “-then I’ll take the floor.” His lips pulled downwards, tugging your heart with them. 

He looked around one more time, blue eyes sparkling with an idea that he seemed almost too bashful to admit aloud. One dark curl bounced against his forehead as he looked down at the floor, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum. “We could share the bed?”

Heat rushed through your body, the thought of sharing a bed with the dorky mountain man of your dreams filling your head before you could stop it, sending your heart into overdrive. It was no secret to anyone you worked with that you had a crush on Clark, being his designated photographer you had unparalleled access to the man, seeing sides of him that no one else had the privilege to. And you were not passing up this chance.

“Ok, just for tonight. I’m sure they’ll have another room open by tomorrow.” You prayed that they didn’t. 

Clark smiled and before you could move, he scooped up your bag and slung it over his shoulder. “C’mon let’s get you to bed, we can deal with everything else in the morning.” 

The lady at the front desk gave you a tired smile as you passed, a genuine look of apology on her face but at this second, you really just wanted to hug her in gratitude. You didn’t even realise the elevator doors had opened, too lost in the thought of just how warm his body would be next to yours as you settled under the cheap hotel duvet until Clark laid a massive palm against the small of your back, guiding you inside.

You bit down hard on your lip, swallowing back the whimper that almost escaped you. The elevator moved up with a deep rumble, leaving a charged silence hanging between you. With each floor that passed, your stomach knotted tighter and tighter until you were struggling to breathe normally while beside you, Clark was the image of calm.

The hallway that opened up in front of you was virtually identical to every other you had seen yet it felt so different as he led you forwards, the duffle bags hanging from his broad shoulder bouncing against his back, one hand already holding his key card, the other still resting on the dip of your spine. You wondered vaguely if he would insist on putting pillows between you, then your mind slipped into what he wore to bed.

“Here we are.” His smile was nervous and a little keen, the same smile he had given you when you were told that the two of you were going on this trip. The lock beeped and the little light turned green. This was it, finally something was going to go right. You let yourself imagine just how noble he would be, turning his back while you slid into bed, wanting to give you as much privacy as he could in the small room before he would join you, that adorable pink blush covering his cheeks as your legs bumped together. Maybe he would wish you a goodnight in that soft voice of his while turning out the lights, maybe it would get cold during the night and he would unconsciously tug you to his chest, maybe, just maybe, he would kiss your forehead to soothe you back to sleep.

Darkness encompassed the room, leaving you blindly fumbling for the light switch while Clark shuffled in behind you, blocking out the light from the hall. Your finger tips brushed against the switch and you took a deep breath, willing the butterflies in your stomach to stop for just a second, and then you flicked the lights on. Both of you froze as you took in the room.

There were two beds, two queen sized beds.

“Huh.” The sound came out as more of a laugh but it seemed forced. You turned to Clark, his mouth still hanging open, his shoulders slumped. As soon as he caught your gaze, he righted himself though he seemed so disappointed. “Why don’t you take the shower first, I should call Perry and leave a message for him.”

Your mood plummeted and suddenly your exhaustion returned. Of course the universe wouldn’t give you this. Maybe next time you thought as you took your bag from Clark’s hands, planning to sulk in the shower for a while before you had to suck it up and be normal about this whole thing.

The hot water helped relax the throbbing behind your eyes and washed away the stickiness between your thighs. You had thought briefly of taking care of it but Clark was right on the other side of that wall and as much as that made your mind fuzzy with desire, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it. You cut off the water abruptly, resting your forehead on the tiles and letting the condensation cool you down. 

Just as your hormones levelled out, there was a loud scraping sound just outside the door.

“Clark?”  You called, stepping from the shower and wrapping a towel around your body. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! Yep! Totally ok here, just stubbed my toe against the desk.” He stammered, voice slightly muffled by the wood between you. You couldn’t help but smile. What a dork.

The room was considerably colder as you left the bathroom, donned in your pyjamas. You stumbled over the threshold making you miss the guilty expression on your partner’s face before he dashed to the bed. You giggled. “I think I’m a lot tireder than I initially thought.” And then you looked up, and for the second time in half an hour, you were frozen to the spot.

Clark was now lounging on the bed, the only bed in the room.

“What happened to the other bed?” His dark brows furrowed.

“There’s only one?” He responded, looking down at the single queen before back up to you. “I think you’re right, you are way too tired, especially if you're seeing double.”

He sprang up from the mattress, his hands immediately landing on your wide hips, and herded you towards where he had been sitting. You could do nothing except obey, your mind spinning with confusion. 

“Are you sure there was always one?” He threw the sheets open for you before helping you under them with a sad if not slightly guilty expression on his face. 

“Just get some rest, I’ll be back in a minute.” You watched him run to the bathroom, snagging his bag on the way. The door slammed shut and you rolled onto your back, eying the now weirdly empty room. The bed seemed too small for the space but he was right, there was only one bed with no evidence of another anywhere. The only weird thing was that the big window at the far end of the room was slightly cracked open.

You sat up, the sheets pooling around your hips. The shower turned on again. You could check it out and be back in bed in less than a minute but then you looked at the empty side of the bed. Clark was a big man, he would take up most of it, forcing you both to cuddle if you wanted to stay fully on the bed.

You flopped back down and something in your chest eased. The sound of water and the occasional movement from Clark provided the perfect white noise for your exhausted mind, lulling you into a contented doze. By the time he finally emerged, steam following him out of the bathroom, you were almost asleep but awake enough to open your eyes to catch the view of a lifetime.

His bare chest was the first thing you saw— he was toned but not ripped, a healthy layer of fat covering his body as well as a thatch of dark hair on his pecs that led to a trail of it disappearing beneath the plaid sweats he was wearing. He had left his glasses behind, letting you see his face completely unobscured. He was tired, no doubt, but blindly beautiful and you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling at him as he approached.

“Feeling better?” You nodded into your pillow and he graced you with a relieved grin. You had never noticed how pronounced his canines were before. “Good.” The mattress dipped with his weight, making you roll over slightly to his side of the bed. His shoulder brushed your cheek as he settled, his skin was warm and unbelievably soft, like he was born from sunshine. 

His arm pressed against yours, your thighs touching in a way that made many parts of you flutter. “This ok?” 

“More than.” You murmured, eyes shutting again. He hummed contentedly before he leaned away from you and the light by his side of the bed flicked off and he returned to you.

The night settled over you, dragging you closer and closer to sleep but your mind still gnawed at one thought. “I really thought there were two beds for a minute there. Thank you for letting me crash here, I can’t even think what would’ve happened if I fell asleep in the lobby being this tired.” 

Clark pressed his nose to the top of your head, his fingers plucking softly at your wrist. “You don’t have to thank me for that… not when it wasn’t really selfless for me to insist.”

You were wide awake now. “What do you mean?” You lifted your heavy head from the pillow, looking at him in the low light of the moon streaming over you both.

Clark refused to look down at you. “What man doesn’t want to share a bed with a gorgeous woman?”A few moments passed and he took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself. “And I, well this sounds really awful, but I was kind of hoping that this would happen. Is that wrong?”

You could feel his anxiety in the way his muscles seized beneath your touch, his fingers ceasing the gentle caressing of your skin. For a moment, you let it sink in, some part of you feeling completely vindicated in your disappointment. “No. I really wanted it too, how could I not? Not when you’ve always been so important to me.”

Your whispered admiration stilled him before, finally, blissfully he spoke once more. “Thank god.” 

His lips were just as soft as you had fantasised, his touch just as gentle. His nose pressed into the swell of your cheek while your hands grabbed at his shoulders, encouraging him to deepen the kiss till all you could think of was him. “God, you drive me crazy. Just so beautiful and smart.” He groaned into your mouth, his touch now firm on your hips, pinning you to him.

“Clark.” Your moan seemed to set him alight. 

“Please keep saying my name like that.” He dove back into your lips and rolled over, covering your body completely with his. He settled happily between your soft thighs, pressing close to your warmth. “Please.” His hips rolled against yours and you gasped. Pleasure rocketed through you, his cock rubbing your clit like it was made exactly for you.

Your ankles locked behind his back, meeting each roll with one of your own. He chased your lips as he humped you, his pants growing tighter to the point of tugging on him uncomfortably. 

“Can I take them off?” 

“Only if you take off mine too?” He shuddered above you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He whimpered but quickly went about shedding both of your clothes and then laid down over you again, sending a whole new sensation through your veins. His skin against yours, his (fucking massive) cock resting between your lips, his curls which you loved so much obscuring your vision as he tilted his head to drink in the sight of your nakedness. It felt so right, consuming your exhaustion and frustration, leaving you only wanting for him. 

He gave a restrained thrust and immediately pulled himself away, one large hand grabbing the base of his cock and squeezing tightly. “You feel too good and we haven’t even done anything yet.” 

“Then maybe we should do something, cause I also need you so badly Clark.” He nodded and kissed you before scrambling off the bed, reaching for his bag. You caught the flash of the metallic packet in the moonlight. He quickly rolled the condom onto himself and crawled back onto his side of the bed. As he leaned back against the headboard, you finally saw the sheer size of him. Long and thick and painfully hard.

“It might be easier for you if you’re on top.” He pulled you into his lap eagerly and it was all you could do to watch his cock twitch with excitement as you settled above him. 

“Full of yourself Kent?” You teased though your heart twisted and your pussy fluttered at just the thought of trying to take him.

“No, but you’re about to be.” You froze as he easily lifted you, guiding his tip to your entrance. He inched inside and already you burned with the stretch. The whimper that escaped your swollen lips had him pausing. “We can stop, if it’s too much. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You pulled the hand on your waist into your own, twisting your fingers together with his. “No, it’s ok. Just give me a few seconds.” Clark tilted his head upwards, kissing you softly as you lowered yourself down, taking more and more of him with each shared breath and moan. His cock carved itself through you like he had done to your heart so long ago. Everything within you chanted his name, calling desperately for his mind, his body, his soul, and he was finally giving it to you, with each and every inch. 

In no world would you last long, already teetering on the edge but you had to last, for this to last. Your hips met his and the breath was stolen from your lungs. He squeezed your fingers like he was trying to comfort you but the way his jaw ticked and his muscular thighs spasmed beneath you told you that you weren’t the only one struggling to hang on.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so scared I’m gonna open my eyes and this will all have been a dream again.” You slumped down, pressing your forehead against his own.

“You dream about me?” You lifted off of him, your wobbly legs keeping you up for only a few seconds before they gave out and you swallowed him to the hilt once more. He moaned and grabbed at your hip with his free hand.

“Every night.” You started to rock, gently at first, gauging just how much your body could take without breaking, then a little faster as Clark’s grip got tighter. “You feel so good, you can’t be real.” 

“I am. I’m real ‘nd I’m yours.” You pulled your joined hand upwards, letting his palm spread across your bouncing chest, right above where your heart was racing. “Feel me, ‘m real.”

His mouth chased your pebbled nipple, catching it between his teeth, making you gasp. “Yeah you are.” He snarled against your skin, now meeting each roll with a desperate punch of his hips, tying your nerves tighter to the point you found it hard to breathe. He sucked and licked, groaning loudly as you tugged on his hair with each motion.

“Clark I’m-“ You hadn’t realised how close you were until suddenly it was barreling right for you.

“Let go, it’s ok. I’ll catch you.” He held your hips, rocking them for you. The head of his cock brushed against that spot deep inside of you that had your fingers and toes go numb. 

“Want this to last.” The words forced themselves from your lungs and his pace stuttered just like his breath. You felt him twitch violently inside of you as he pulled you down all the way. 

“Don’t- don’t say that. I need you to finish first.” He planted his feet onto the mattress, now firmly in control, hitting that spot over and over again. “I’ll give you everything you want, need. You just have to ask.”

“You’ll sleep next to me again?” You were close, so close, just needed one little push. 

“Every night. Forever.” You shattered above him, your body seizing with pleasure you’d never felt before. Your moans echoed through the room, undoubtedly carrying out into the night but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you felt too full and warm and finally content after so long yearning for it.

Clark moaned with you, his chest rumbling with its force, keeping his pace until your pussy finally relaxed around him and you were eased back to reality. “Cum for me Clark.” You whispered.

“God please!” He cried, thrusting up into you, chasing his own end. You grabbed onto his hands and threw your head back. Your pussy burned with overstimulation but you never wanted him to stop. Your neck rolled to the side, your vision swimming, but it was just clear enough to make out the weird shape in the tree right outside the window. It kind of looked like a queen sized bed, sheets and all. Just when you squinted to try and get a better view, Clark bucked up, his thighs seizing beneath your ass as he gave a loud cry of your name.

Your head snapped back and watched as he fell apart, shattering beautifully between your legs. His thumb found your clit, driving you to one last orgasm as his tapered off. “Clark!” You squealed, trying to get off of him but he was relentless, expertly throwing you into ecstasy. You trembled above him, just barely keeping yourself upright before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

His heart hammered beneath your ear, bringing you back down to earth while he stroked your back. A hand on your ass helped guide your hips upwards and let his softening cock pull out of you. “Thank you.” He whispered into your temple, pressing kiss after kiss to your sweaty skin.

“I should be thanking you, you made me cum so hard I thought I saw a mattress in the tree outside.” You giggled, tracing the gentle lines of his body with your fingertips.

Clark’s eyes widened, not that you could see, and glanced towards the open window. He really thought he angled the throw perfectly so that the bed would miss the branches.

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[devourrrmee]

i need to be locked up in a cage

little thief | richie jerimovich

summary: working late one night, richie catches you taking cash from the register, and offers you a deal in exchange for him keeping quiet. (spoiler alert, the deal is sex)

warnings: smut, fingering, workplace relationship, language, kind of dub-con at first, richie is his own warning, mikey is alive but doesn't appear, unprotected sex (they're both stupid), degrading language (whore, slut, etc.)

————————————————————————

You weren’t a thief. You’d never stolen anything before, never done anything like this before, and really, it wasn’t a big deal. You had to get home and you didn’t have any bus fare and it was pouring outside, and you’re pretty sure if Mikey was there, he’d have no problem with it. You’d put it back in the morning and no one would ever know.

And you were so sure you were the last one there. Mikey had asked you to close up, you'd seen everyone leave. You were so sure. Which is why you jumped out of your skin at the sound of the voice you'd come to hate over the last few months of working at The Beef.

"And what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

You turned, trying not to look guilty. Richie was leaning against the wall, eyebrows raised and arms folded across his chest, looking like the cat that caught the fucking canary.

He hated you and you hated him, had done since the very beginning, since he'd first introduced himself, pretentious and sly and sleazy, calling you sweetheart and grabbing your back a little too low as he squeezed behind you, always there with a joke or an innuendo. You'd called him out on it and he'd called you a bitch, and there hadn't been a day since where you didn't argue, much to Mikey's annoyance.

You plastered a look of innocence on your face, trying to subtly move your hand behind your back, knowing it was useless, that he'd clearly seen you take the money from the register.

"Nothing, asshole. What are you even still doing here?"

He stood straight, stalking towards you, and you fought the urge to back up, standing your ground as he crowded into your space.

"You know me, all work and no play. What the fuck you got behind your back there, sweetheart?"

You scowled as you stared up at him, a million excuses running through your head, but you knew the game was up.

"I was going to put it back," you mumbled, and he smirked, and you wanted to slap him.

"Oh, you were gonna put it back, were you? Done that before?"

"No! Of course not, I don't...I don't do that, okay, I just needed to get home, and I was gonna put it back, honestly."

You were rambling and you hated it, hated that Richie of all people had been the one to catch you, hated him standing there with that smug look on his face, hated that you had to explain yourself to him.

"Right, and I'm just supposed to believe that? Pretty serious shit, you know? How you think Mikey is gonna feel knowing he took a chance on you, treated you like one of the family only to find out you've been stealing from him? Shit's gonna break his heart, kid."

"No, I'm not stealing, this isn't like that, Richie! I'm not even gonna take it, I can walk home. Please, don't fucking tell him, okay?"

God, you sounded weak, reduced to begging Richie, but he was right, wasn't he? Mikey would be so disappointed and what if he didn't understand? What if he fired you? You needed this job, you loved this job.

"So you want me to lie to him?" Richie asked, shaking his head as he sighed. "I don't think I can do that."

"It's not lying if you just don't tell him. Look, I've never taken shit, ever, and I never will. Please, for once in your fucking life, don't be an asshole. Please."

He thought it over, biting his lip as he let his eyes wander down your form, and you fought a shiver at the look in his eyes.

"Suppose I could keep it quiet."

You let out a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding, shoving the cash back in the register before turning back to Richie.

"Thank you," you were reluctant to thank him for anything, but he was saving your ass, so you owed him at least that.

You went to shove past him, wanting nothing more than to walk home as quickly as you could and bury yourself beneath the covers, forget this had ever happened, but before you could even take a step, Richie moved to block your path.

"Woah, hold on a second, sweetheart. I wasn't finished."

You froze, staring up at him, not liking the smug look in his eyes. You raised your eyebrows, trying to regain some of your confidence, but he had you, and he fucking knew it.

"I mean...this is a pretty big favour I'm doing you here, you know? Mikey's my best friend, my brother, and keeping this quiet, it isn't gonna be easy, right?"

"I said thank you, Richie. What else do you want? Want me to get down on my knees and praise you?"

"In a sense."

He smirked and your heart skipped a beat, because there was no way he was fucking serious. And there was no way that was heat you felt stirring in your stomach. Not at all.

You laughed, moving to shove past him, but he just blocked you again, head tilted and that stupid smile on his face.

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking? Come on, sweetheart, don't pretend all this tension between us isn't something."

"It is something," you scoffed, staring him dead in the eye. "Hatred."

"Bullshit. Isn't the line between love and hate thin, or some shit like that? Besides, your shitty attitude tells me you aren't exactly getting dicked down on the regular, and you could probably use a good fuck."

You flinched at his crassness, even if it did hit the mark. It had been a while, but you were damned if you were gonna admit that to him.

"Well if it's a good fuck I need, I better look elsewhere, huh?"

"Never know unless you try."

God, he was so smug, and you wanted to slap that look off his face, and why weren't you saying no, shoving past him and leaving, telling him to go fuck himself, fuck this job, let him tell Mikey. You tried to open your mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and you hadn't thought he could smile any wider, but he did, stepping as close to you as he could, chest brushing against yours, and had he always been this tall?

He leaned in, brushing your hair behind your ear and whispering, breath warm against your skin.

"Not saying no, are you, baby?"

You stopped yourself from resting your cheek against him, determined to leave this situation with some sense of pride, with some shred of your dignity, but the moment you opened your mouth to say that word, to tell him no, you couldn't, and all that came out was a breathy moan that had you immediately regretting ever even getting this fucking job in the first place.

You prayed to whatever was out there that he hadn't heard it, but of course he had, and you closed your eyes just to avoid seeing whatever look he was giving you.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Fuck off, Richie," you murmured, but there was no force behind it, and even you didn't believe you really meant it.

"Just say no, sweetheart."

No, no no. Why couldn't you say it?

"You can pretend I'm the bad guy if it helps, that you're only doing this to keep your little robbery a secret. We can pretend you don't really want this, haven't wanted it all along, just waiting for me to fuck that bad attitude out of you."

You felt him move and your eyes snapped open just in time to see him lean in, lips so close you could feel them ghosting yours.

"Say it."

You know it's your last chance, and you don't take it, and then his lips are on yours and he tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, but you somehow like it, like how rough he is, how almost out of practice he seems.

You forget this is the Richie you hate, the Richie who drives you mad day in and day out, who nudges you just as you're plating up, who knocks utensils out of your hands, who purposefully tries everything he can to annoy you, like a little kid on the playground trying to get attention.

You forget everything, and you let him kiss you, and you let him trail his lips down your neck and shove you against the counter a little too rough, a bruise sure to blossom on your hip by tomorrow.

"Knew it," he whispered, and you wish he'd just shut up, and you tell him so, and he just laughs, spinning you and pushing your chest down, and maybe it's better this way, now you can't see his face, can't see that it's him, can just feel his hands ghosting your back, sliding up your thigh.

His fingers slide under your skirt and you're almost embarrassed by the amount of slick he finds, but the way he groans when he feels how wet you are is so hot, every emotion but a deep, burning need leaves your body.

"Such a fucking liar, pretending you hate me. Should have just asked for this at the start, could have saved a lot of arguing."

"Just shut up and fuck me, asshole," you snapped, but the moan that interrupted your sentence as he finally touched you where you needed him lessened the effect.

"Nah, I think it's your turn to finally shut up, huh? This all it takes, all I needed to do to get you to empty that pretty little head?"

You wanted to answer, wanted to think of something smart, but his fingers were sliding against you, finding your clit with an almost irritating ease, because of course he could. Your mind went blank as he pushed them into you, deep, curling just right, and you couldn't believe how wound up he already had you, how on edge, and you almost wonder why his wife left him when he could make you feel this good this quick.

"Yeah, nothing to say now, does she?"

You pushed back against him and he quickened his pace, and right before you were about to plunge over the edge, he pulled away, leaving you empty and aching.

You whined, lifting your head just enough to look back over your shoulder, silent question in your eyes.

"Sorry, you need something?" He asked, hands already moving to his belt, and you tried to roll your eyes, but you were so fucked out already, you're not sure if you managed it.

"Asshole," you muttered, watching as he slid his belt loose, shoving his jeans down, and all you can think is, are you fucking kidding me, because of course that cockiness comes from somewhere and you're never going to be able to look at him again without remembering how much he's packing.

You tried to hide your reaction, but you're too late, and if Richie's head got any bigger, you'd have to take this party outside.

"Don't look so surprised," He grinned, and before you could reply, you felt him against you, hot and heavy and hard. He looked up, eyes on yours, and you nodded.

He pushed in, agonisingly slowly, and it was probably for the best with how big he was, but you wanted to feel full, fast, wanted to get right back to that edge he'd had you dangling over just moments before. You tried to sink back, but his hands came straight to your hips, fingers digging in as he held you in place.

"Patience, sweetheart, there we go," he teased, and there were tears in your eyes by the time he bottomed out, stilling as he waited for you to adjust. "Just say when, babygirl."

"When, now, please Richie," you begged, and he pulled out instantly before slamming back in, setting a mind-blowing pace that had you slamming forward with each thrust, your hands gripping the edge of the cheap linoleum.

"Fuck, you feel incredible, should have done this fucking forever ago," he murmured, praises spilling from his lips.

You were barely paying attention to anything he said, each thrust hitting something inside of you no one ever had before, and you knew this was it, that you were ruined, that the only person you'd ever want like this was Richie fucking Jerimovich, and the worst part was, he definitely knew it too.

You let your head fall to the counter, moans filling the otherwise silent restaurant, and God, how could you stand here tomorrow and serve customers after this?

"Such a little slut for me, letting me fuck you like this, all so poor little Mikey doesn't find out you're a thieving little whore, huh?"

His hand fisted in your hair, pulling you back flush against his chest, and the new angle had you whining, so close you could almost taste it.

"Say it, tell me you're my little whore," he groaned, and you didn't even think twice.

"I'm your whore, Richie," you whimpered, and then his fingers were back on you, sliding over your clit once, twice, and you were gone, orgasm washing over you.

Richie fucked you through it, letting your breath slow and your whines quieten down before slowly letting you drop back to the counter.

"Fuck, can't hold it after that little show," he laughed, breathy and desperate.

"Want it, Richie, want it in me, now please," you begged, and that was all it took.

He fell heavy against you, stilling as he came, sweat-soaked skin coating yours, and for a minute, you were both quiet, letting the gravity of the moment settle over you.

And then he laughed, and you couldn't help joining in.

"What the fuck," you mumbled, giggling against your arm.

"Oh shut up, you loved it," Richie joked back, before pulling out of you and grabbing a bunch of napkins from the side.

He cleaned you up, gentle and soft, a side of Richie he rarely ever showed to you, though you knew he let others see it, that there was a reason everyone seemed to want to keep him around.

You straightened up, smoothing your clothes before turning to face him, almost shy.

"So."

"So."

"You're definitely giving me a ride home," you raised your eyebrows, and he laughed again, and you decided you liked the sound of it.

"Only if you promise to invite me in."

"Deal."

[devourrrmee]

i’m gonna put him in my pocket

edit: ajkoqunam

[devourrrmee]

all of a sudden i’m miss lane

edit: norravalin

[devourrrmee]

“come back to me pretty thing, i need you here”

MDNI 18+

— clark kent talking you through it

cw: vaginal sex, size difference, soft dom clark

“i know baby, i know,” his words soft has his large hands gripped onto your waist, gently squeezing the soft flesh as tears welled up in your eyes. “but you’re doing so well,” he cooed, “making me so proud.”

your sniffles filled the room paired with a small pathetic whine that left your lips when you sank an inch deeper, your small cunt barely accomodating his size. “just one more yeah? biiig stretch.”

it’s been a good few minutes of this, clark whispering words of reassurance whilst wiping the tears from your eyes.

once you finally settled down his full length, a groan escaped his mouth. “feel so damn good,” his head tilting against the headboard. “clark,” you whined as you adjusted slightly, your warm gummy walls clenching around his cock.

arousal dribbled down your inner thigh, making it glisten ever so slightly. “move,” your voice soft as you held onto his shoulders, your hands looking comically small in comparison to his large fame.

clark gently bounced you, his hands dropped down to your waist as he caressed the skin there. “you look so pretty baby,” he sighed as he tried his best to not blow it, but the idea of filling you up was too good to not.

your moans filled the room as your body trembled, his thrusts making you bounce harshly as you gripped him tightly, tears streaming down your face as you started to feel a little light headed from the pleasure.

gently, his big palm came in contact with your cheek, giving you a small tap. “hey,” his eyes staring at yours, “come back to me pretty thing, i need you here.”

[devourrrmee]

UNDENIED

warning - p links! dni if uncomfortable.

marvel men (johnny storm, bucky barnes, bob reynolds) x fem!reader

warning! must be logged into twt/x for you to see the links :p

incl ⤷ fingering, face-sitting, oral (munch johnny agenda!), food play, rough sex, unprotected sex, size kink, belly bulge, groping, spanking, car sex, outdoor sex, panty rubbing, anal play, creampie, dacryphilila, male whimpering, intense orgasm, lmk if i missed any!

JOHNNY STORM ➃ ˖ . ݁

munch!johnny having you sit on his face

it’s johnny’s birthday and he doesn’t exactly want a cake—keep the frosting and sprinkles though!

not even galactus could rip him from between your legs❤️

johnny knows exactly what you want

“take what you need from me, yeaaah, there y’go.”

BUCKY BARNES ✪ ⋆˙

bucky knows you’re just needy, you don’t mean the attitude you’re giving.

he really did try to wait until you guys got home, he just couldn’t help it :((

“you should let me take you camping sometime.” bucky said.

he’s addicted to watching you slowly sink yourself in his cock

BOB REYNOLDS ⋆˚࿔

he likes to be a tease.

he fills you up so nicely

“just..try to stay still for me, ‘kay? shiiit.”

he barely waited until you got inside before he started undressing you

sometimes he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and crying

a/n: hope you enjoyed! kinda shit. i’ve been busy, sorry for being MIA.

lmk what characters you’d like to see!!

[devourrrmee]

oh! … #needthat

Reader with a biting problem who uses ghost as a chew toy.

You take one look at this cathedral of a man—strong muscles layered under delicious fat arms and thighs bulging with each shift of his body—and decide you have to get your mouth on him. Absolutely no shame about it, too. The second you feel like ghost wont kill you for it, you lean into his space and chomp at a meaty bicep. Ghost only flinches slightly, then chuckles "really kid? Should I buy you some chew toys?"

Despite all the teasing he does, ghost never makes you stop. The only thing he does is grab you by the nape and pull you off if hes really got things to do. Otherwise, hes content to let you gnaw at him all you like. Usually its just his arms, bruises all over his bicep and forearm. He wears short sleeves around base more often so you have easy access instead of having to roll a sleeves up. (This definitely earns him a few side-eyes)

Its routine, now. You find ghost lounging in his room or on the couch in the lounge after a long day, and hes already holding his arm out to you. Giving you the slow easy look like hes got you trained. Honestly, he kind of does, a large hand on your neck while you chomp and a low voice humming "needed this, didnt you? Feeling stressed, that it?"

He makes the fortunate mistake of wearing shorts during a heatwave, and before he even knows what's happening youre crawling between his manspread legs to bite the inside of his thigh. "Fuck! Hey-" he jerks, whines when you adjust your jaw to bite harder. Apparently his thighs are sensitive, because hes gripping your hair and breathing hard "dont start something you cant finish."

Hes looking at you like he wants to eat you, very obvious boner straining through the loose gym shorts. You only grin up at him and get to work. Whines and whimpers echo from the room, ghost gasping and cursing.

He walks out of there thighs absolutely covered in bruises and bite marks, looking like the happiest man on earth. You walk out of there with a satisfied grin and three loads from ghost in your stomach.

[devourrrmee]

this was fucking delectable

clark being so big you have a belly bulge every time he gets inside you 😵‍💫😵‍💫

warnings: smut (mdni), pwp, feral!clark !!!!! fem!reader, size kink, bulge kink, little bit of dumbification, belly bulge.

“g-god,” he can't help but stare at the obscene bulge every time he bottoms out. clark’s a missionary lover through and through. partly ‘cause he needs to see your face while he's fucking you good.

to keep eye contact with you while your lashes flutter. because yeah, he's got a big, veiny cock. and it reaches places you didn't know could be reached before. and it hits your g-spot over and over again so precisely that it wrecks you until your vision goes blurry and the sheets get ruined when your juices gush out without warning.

but no, he's a true missionary lover ‘cause he gets to see and feel how his dick moves inside you. gets to press your hand right to the bulge in your belly and whisper, “you feel me, sweetheart?” like he’s not already rearranging your guts. like it's even possible for you not to feel it.

his big, warm, heavy hand covers yours. and he's so still. not even moving yet. just stretching you out and feeling you clench around him.

you nod, barely, ‘cause you're already dizzy. he thrusts once, slow and deep and mean, and you moan like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

“c-clark—‘s so—s'fuckin’ deep,” you whimper, slurred and shaky.

he kisses your flushed, sweaty cheek, gentle even with that monstrous cock buried inside you.

“i know, baby,” he groans right against your lips before kissing your swollen bottom one. “feels good, huh? you like that?”

you nod again. you have to nod. he’s leaking inside you already, and your brain is melting into something warm and dumb and dripping. and he’s still watching you like you're the only thing in the world.

he's trying to be polite. he swears. but it's so hard when you’re squeezing him like this. when you’re wrapped around him so tight it makes his fingers twitch on your belly.

he kisses you again, slower now, but his hips shift just a little and—fuckfuckfuck—you clench so hard around him it knocks the air right outta your lungs.

you gasp. “c-clark—baby—wait, wait, i c-can’t—can't—”

“you can,” he says, voice molten, lips brushing yours. “takin’ me so good, sweetheart. so fuckin’ perfect f’ me.”

and then he grinds. rolls his hips forward, like he’s trying to etch himself into your body, like he’s not already kissing your goddamn diaphragm from the inside.

the bulge in your belly moves. you feel it drag under your palm, slick skin stretched taut beneath your joined hands.

“oh my god—”

“i know,” he breathes, kissing your jaw, your neck, the corner of your mouth. “so tight for me,” his teeth scrape over your throat. “could stay like this all fuckin night.”

you wiggle your hips, try to chase friction, try to make him move, and he growls and grabs your hips in those massive hands.

“you keep doing that,” he warns, low and rough against your neck, “and you won't be walkin’ ‘til next week.”

you do it again anyway, hips tilting just slightly, greedy little thing that you are, because the pressure is maddening. you need him to fuck you now, you need that delicious stretch to turn into that brutal, devastating grind that’ll have you melting all over him in seconds.

clark hisses through his teeth. “jesus, baby,” he pulls out just a little—just enough for the fat head of his cock to kiss your entrance— then slams back in with a sharp, heavy thrust that knocks a sob from your throat.

you arch. you keen. your nails dig into his back, your thighs trembling around his waist.

“there she is,” he groans. “that's m’girl. look at you—look how full you are.” he thrusts again, harder this time, and the sound it makes—the wet, filthy slap of skin on skin—echoes through the room.

you’re shaking now. you feel slick dripping down your thighs, soaked with both of you. your moans are all breath and broken vowels now—“ah, ah, fuck, please—”

“i got you,” clark pants, fucking into you slow and deep and so insanely good your eyes roll back. “gonna cum for me, baby. always do. this pretty pussy just can’t help it, can she?”

you don’t even answer. you can’t. your hands are shaking, your thighs clamping around his hips, and your belly tightens like a rubber band about to snap-snap-snap—

and then it does. you cum hard—harder than you knew you could— “clark! ohmy— fuckfuckfuck.”

he keeps fucking you through it. keeps cooing soft praise against your mouth. “that’s it, honey, that's it. ride it out. so beautiful like this, so good for me.”

you’re still twitching around him when he finally lets go—groans so deep, so fucked-out it makes your toes curl—and spills inside you in hot, heavy pulses. his whole body shudders with it, hips grinding down until he’s empty, spent, tucked deep inside where he belongs.