loversreads

[loversreads]

feeling like a sinner in church rn, wait wait let me curse. feeling like a fuckin sinner.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝑺𝑨𝒀 𝑰𝑻 𝑰𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼’𝑹𝑬 𝑵𝑨𝑺𝑻𝒀 || 𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑨𝑵 𝑯𝑶𝑾𝑳𝑬𝑻𝑻

|| logan masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

ᯓᡣ𐭩 WC: 2k

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ANON SAYS: I saw a text post and it said something to the effect of him telling you to watch your mouth if you swear when he’s railing your brains out and this made me think of Logan IMMEDIATELY.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI, FEM!READER, established relationship, swearing, smoking, p in v, rough sex, riding, dumbification, degradation, pussy pronouns, logan howlett has a pain kink, god he talks so much shit mid-sex UGHH i hate him, belly bulging, size kink, creampie, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 NAT’S NOTE: everyone needs to thank this anon for single handedly making logan howlett relevant to the blog again. this ask came in my inbox and i genuinely had to set my phone down and just take a lap.

dividers by me! inspo from love @saradika-graphics!

logan teaches you a lesson…

Logan Howlett is big on manners.

You'd never know it by looking at him. He’s all grit, all sharp edges. You know him too well by now, you can see through all the gruff scowling and machismo.

The man’s old school. He doesn’t like when people interrupt or speak out of turn. Doesn’t like when people whine, or chew with their mouth open, or show up late. He’s got rules, standards. Expectations.

“Say please.”

“Get your elbows off the table.”

“Sit up straight.”

Logan was raised in time where you stood when a lady entered the room, said your pleasantries, and got your mouth washed out with soap if you dared to let a swear slip.

He’s also the biggest fucking hypocrite on the planet.

Even with your tits bouncing in his face, your pussy fluttering around the base of his cock as you ride him hard enough to shake the cheap motel bed frame, he still has the audacity to correct you.

“Fuck–Logan, god, you’re so fucking big–”

A hand slaps your thigh, enough to sting. Not too hard. Not too soft—just right. You moan at the warmth blooming along your skin, rocking down harder on him like it’s a reward.

“Watch yourself.” The cigar in Logan’s mouth bobs up and down as he talks, the cherry red tip burning brighter when he takes another slow drag. 

You’ve got both hands splayed out on his hairy chest, the metal of his dog tags clinking together with every bounce. There’s sweat beaded across your brow, dripping down your temple and the length of your spine.

The burn in your thighs is nothing compared to the stretch of him. Thick, hot, pulsing inside you like he owns your pussy, like he’s just gonna sit back and let you fuck your own brain right out of your pretty little head and feel no guilt about it.

The room smells like smoke and sex and something else that’s entirely him.

Logan is leaned up against the scratched headboard, all tan skin and rippling muscle. He’s not even sweating. Smoke curls up past his nose, eyes half lidded, watching you with that dangerous smirk like he’s letting you ride for your sake, not his.

He’s come twice already. You can feel it, the gooey warmth flooding out of your abused hole to drip down the length of his cock and soak the scratchy sheets beneath you. The creamy ring around the base sticks wetly to your drenched folds as you start grinding your hips in slow circles.

Logan hums, another thick plume of smoke flowing from his lips. “Feel’s good, huh?”

His free hand falls to clutch at your hip—a big, strong palm that could crush your pelvis to dust if he wanted to.

You whine, more high pitched than you mean to. “Yes, feel’s so good.”

You moan helplessly, trying to lift yourself again, trying to slam back down. It’s hard—he’s too fucking big, too thick, every drag of him against your insides dizzying and deep, like he’s rearranging something important.

Your head tips back. You swear you can feel him in your belly. And you know he can too, because that big hand drags up from your waist to press flat right over the bulge in your stomach.

“There,” he mutters, rubbing circles into your skin like it soothes the ache instead of making it worse. “That where I’m sittin’, baby?”

You whine, a pathetic sound clawed from the back of your throat. Your hips finally start to rise and fall faster, impaling yourself on the thick length of his cock again and again. The sound of your pussy sucking him in deeper has your ears burning, the wet noise of your slick bouncing off the walls.

You try to nod, but it comes out more like a trembling jerk of your chin. You nails dig little crescent moons into the firm muscle of his pecs, pressing down on the skin until it’s white and threatening to break under your touch.

“Answer me,” Logan rasps, voice thick with smoke and that low growl that never really goes away. “Where am I?”

“In my belly,” you gasp. “Shit, Logan–”

Another sharp slap lands across your ass, this one loud, echoing off the walls of the motel room. You yelp, clenching hard around him.

“What’d I say about that mouth?” he snarls, not even bothering to take the cigar out of his teeth. “You know I don’t like you swearin’ like a goddamn sailor when I’m bein’ so nice and lettin’ you get off.”

You whimper, hips stuttering as he grabs a handful of your ass, spreading you wide. “M’sorry,” you breathe, eyes glassy and wide, “jus’—jus’ feels too good—can’t think.”

He grins around the cigar. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Dumb little thing can barely ride without losin’ her damn mind.”

Logan plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting up hard. Once. Twice. Three times.

It knocks the air from your lungs, a moan getting trapped in the back of your throat as you collapse against his chest. You bury your nose in the space where his neck meets his shoulder, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck–”

“You say ‘fuck’ one more time, sweetheart,” he warns tersely, leaning over to drop the cigar into the ash tray resting on the nightstand. His rhythm doesn’t even falter, doesn't stutter in the slightest. “And I’m puttin’ you on your back.”

You smirk, even through the daze, even with your mouth hanging open and drool threatening to slip from the corner. You lean in closer, enough to speak directly into his ear, hushed and sugary sweet. “Fuck me, Logan.”

The moment shatters like you took a hammer to a pane of glass.

The next second, the world tilts and you’re flat on your back. 

Logan’s body blankets yours, his skin white hot where it drags against your own. Those heavy, metal laced bones press you into the mattress so tightly that you can only lay there and take it.

“I said watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he growls, voice like gravel, like it’s been dragged over a hot engine. His hand slaps down hard on your ass, makes your hips jerk forward and your moan catch in your throat. “Usin’ language like that when I’m bein’ so nice to you? That isn’t the sweet girl I know.”

He feels even bigger like this, his cock carving a place for itself inside you so deep you can feel it in your throat. You can feel the fat head pounding against your cervix, the thick vein running along the side dragging across that special bundle of nerves inside you that have your nails raking angry red welts down his back.

You can feel the tacky beads of blood slicking the tips of your fingers before his skin knits itself back together. 

Logan groans at the feeling of it, at the pain. His hands tighten around your hips as he thrusts impossibly faster. Impossibly harder. The lewd slap of skin on skin is all you can hear, loud and sticky with sweat and slick and pre-come.

“Count ‘em for me, baby,” he breathes against your skin, fever hot lips brushing the lobe of your ear with every word. “You’re a big girl. Show me what that smart mouth can do.”

You can’t think, can’t talk. You can hardly breath around the choking pleasure, your thighs pressed to your shoulders restricts your breathing enough to make you feel lightheaded in all the best ways.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” He drags his cock out halfway, the head catching just enough to make your walls flutter and your toes curl, before slamming back in with enough force to jolt your whole body up the mattress. “Come on, now. Count.”

Your brain fizzes like static, like all the lights in your head got knocked loose and the wiring’s melting. Logan’s cock keeps pounding into you, each thrust punching a weak little noise from your throat, but you try. 

You try, because he told you to. And that’s what good girls do.

“One.” The word bubbles up raw from your chest, broken and wet and needy.

Logan fucks into you hard.

“T-two.”

“That’s it,” he coaxes, grinning like the devil, like he owns you. And maybe he does—because you don’t know where you end and he begins anymore. Your body’s his to play with, his to use.

Another thrust, hard enough to sting the skin of your ass.

“Three, ah! Logan, please–”

The edge is so close, so sharp. You’re trembling all over, eyes glassy and unfocused as he presses his palm back against the slight bulge in your stomach, grinding the heel of his hand down until you feel like you’re gonna burst.

“You’re takin’ it so fuckin’ good,” Logan growls, and this time it’s not mocking—it’s reverent. “So fuckin’ deep. Look at you. Stuffed full of cock and still cryin’ for more.”

You clench around him at that, tight and involuntary.

“Oh, you like that?” He grins, eyes gleaming wicked. His teeth, sharp and biting, nip along the side of your neck. Bright red marks lay claim to your skin, you know they’ll be a deep, blotchy purple come morning. “That dumb little pussy squeezin’ on me like she’s tryin’ to keep me. Like she don’t already got all of me.”

You nod again, desperate. Sloppy. Mouth hanging open.

He leans in, foreheads touching, breath mingling. “You want it, baby? Want me to come again in this soaked fuckin’ pussy? Fill you up good?”

You make some pathetic, strangled noise in the back of your throat that could’ve meant yes, could’ve meant please, could’ve meant I love you—but all it earns you is a low groan from Logan as he starts fucking you even harder.

“Better not waste it,” he pants, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “You wanna act like a dumb slut, you take it like one too.”

You’re already gone.

Everything inside you coils and then unravels all at once, your orgasm tearing through you so violently you scream. You wail like it hurts, like you’re scared, like it’s the first time you’ve ever come in your entire life.

You crest over the edge hard, your orgasm tearing through you so violently your whole body seizes. You scream his name, thighs quaking as your pussy clamps down around him like a vice.

Logan doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow. Just chases his own high through the tight, spasming grip of your pussy, snarling against your throat as he thrusts through your aftershocks.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Over and over. Each time a little more hoarse. A little more broken.

Logan hisses, the muscles in his back tightening under your calves. “Jesus Christ, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—gonna milk me fuckin’ dry—”

With one last hard thrust, he buries himself in you as deep as he can and groans into your neck like he got shot.

He snarls when he comes, biting down into your neck like you’re prey and he’s more beast than man. You swear you feel it flood you, hot and thick, leaking out around his twitching cock before he even pulls out.

Your body shakes under his, legs locked around his shoulders, hips twitching helplessly as the last embers of your own orgasm fizzles out to smoke.

“Such a messy girl,” he murmurs, rocking into you even after you’ve gone limp, chasing every last drop of heat he can push into you. “Took it so fuckin’ good, baby. So proud of you.”

You whimper something that might be his name, might be gibberish, but it makes him smile.

Logan finally pulls out with a wet, obscene noise—and you can feel the mess of it, sticky and messy, dripping down between your thighs.

You gasp, hips arching slightly as the emptiness throbs.

He just laughs, low and warm. He falls onto his back beside you with a content huff, chest rising and falling with every quick breath.

“Now,” Logan mutters, eyes glittering with satisfaction, “you gonna watch that mouth, or am I gonna have to fuck the rest of the attitude outta you?”

You grin, slow and sly, voice wrecked and syrupy. “Fuck no.”

He growls—and just like that, he’s on you again.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: oh logan howlett how i've missed you. thank you again anon for sending this ask in, your mind is so beautiful and so big and i wish i could kiss it.

thank you so much for reading, love you!

[loversreads]

doctor! help! i have come down with another horny fever!

prone bone position with robby and hes got a hand wrapped around both your wrists above your head and two fingers in your mouth that you suck down on and bite (when he just hits that fucking spot) muffling your whines and cries and hes telling you you’re such a good little brat taking what it is that you so desperately wanted.

​then he tugs on your hair when the hot salty tears are streaming down your face and cooing at you like the pretty little baby you are.

“go on, bite down again if you need to,” voice a raspy mess. “ain’t gonna stop till you give me everything, sweetheart.”

and then just to fuck with you when you’re reaching your peak he starts syncing his thrusts and rhythm to every breath hiccup and sob you let out at the undeniably overwhelming stretch of him. and he just smiles and kisses your shoulder like the gentleman he is.

“you’re so pretty when you cry, angel”

[loversreads]

impatient intentions

michael robinavitch x female reader

summary: robby’s innocent obsession with his neighbor takes a turn after a dinner invite that leads him straight into your kitchen and renders him a slave to your touch

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, cursing, mutual pining, harmless flirting (well i guess not that harmless), illusions to male masturbation, smut with a whole lot of lead up, oral m!receiving, someone needs to get that man a blowjob stat!, we’re swallowing that old man down y’all buckle up

word count: 2.8k

author’s note: take this as a prologue to late night visits, like a deeper view into their little relationship and their first hookup. however, i wrote this so that it could be read as a stand alone, so do whatever you want. written in robby’s pov cause i’m a sick freak who loves getting in the mind of a pathetic man who desperately needs to be touched.

Robby sat with his hands clasped together over the cool granite of your kitchen island. Watching as you expertly moved around the cramped space, pulling spices from your cabinet with an undeniable muscle memory as you cooked him dinner. 

You were cooking, for him. He offered to help you so many times that the slow cadence of your voice the final time you told him to just sit down and relax was almost laced with annoyance. Almost, but not quite; because you were the one who invited him over for dinner in the first place.

Sure, maybe he was the one who offered to help carry your grocery bags up three flights of stairs, but you— you were the one who asked him if he wanted to come over for dinner. Your voice so rich with enthusiasm that it had him agreeing without a second thought.

It wasn’t until he was leaning against the countertop of your kitchen, that he realized this was more than just a conversation in passing outside his doorway. 

After months of living across the hall from one another, meeting face to face in the communal space between your doors, this was the first time he was given the opportunity to bask in your presence for longer than five minutes. 

You were a temptress. One operating in secrecy, naive to your own charm. 

Robby had attempted to brush off his immediate attraction to you by telling himself you were just young and bright-eyed. A girl with a sweet voice, and an equally saccharine smile. It was essentially ingrained in him to take a second look at you. But, your oblivious persuasions persisted through kind words and simple exchanges as Robby got to know you over the course of several conversations strew out over weeks of hallway greetings.

The more moments shared between the two of you, the more he couldn’t pin-point his giddy feelings surrounding your interactions. Was it an innocent infatuation— a harmless little crush that would cause him to steal glances or let his mind occasionally verr off at the thought of you? Or was it deeper; like when he got home late from work and knew he just missed you by the light seeping under your door. The longing to talk to you one last time before turning in for the night could be blamed on his growing need to hear your voice in the evenings.  

The timing was always impeccable when you got home from work; meeting Robby in the same position, both of you exhausted and ready for the tender release of uninterrupted rest. Your “Hi there” and “How was your day” would meet him as his key entered the lock or— if he was lucky, it would find him in the elevator, three floors before he’d come to expect it.

The light rhythm of your words had become essential to his nightly routine. After a day filled with rigorous overwhelm at every turn, Robby would finally head home, ready to hear the pleasant sound of your voice filling the hall and preparing him for a peaceful night on the other side of his front door. The nights he didn’t get to talk with you for those few precious moments before you disappeared to your side of the hallway— those nights, he found it especially hard to relax. It was almost as though a pivotal part of his day was suddenly missing, keeping him from being able to sleep peacefully at night.

Being with you, like this, hearing sentence after sentence fall from your lips in that sugary sweet tone, there was no doubt in his mind he would be getting the best night of sleep in his entire life. 

He couldn’t get enough of you, watching intently as you stood at the stovetop, drinking in all your mannerisms, each movement of your body etching itself into his head. And when your hands reached above your head to open a cabinet, your shirt stretched with them, exposing an inch of your lower back that had previously hid underneath the fabric. He should’ve felt guilty for letting his eyes linger on your skin, but he didn’t. He allowed himself a moment of sinful appeal as he took in the unfamiliar territory. 

He'd thought about you like that a time or two.

Thought about what your soft skin would feel like on his fingertips, or how your body would fit perfectly underneath his. He’d touched himself thinking of you before— shut his front door after a brief conversation with you and gone straight to his bedroom to shove his hand down his pants like a teenage boy. Finishing in his fist to the fictitious version of you that writhed under his touch. They were only ever visions in his head, making him feel sick and perverted seeing as though you’d never shown any explicit interest in him.

It was all his little secret, the way he felt about you. The way you inhabited every last corner of his mind. You continued entertaining him with small waves every day and the naively flirtatious quality of your voice each time you crossed paths, only for it to completely unravel him. 

And unravel him you did— all throughout dinner. You reacted to his every word, hanging onto his anecdotes about work with an entertained sparkle in your eyes. Your attention trailed behind each one of his words as empty plates sat on the table. You swapped stories and delved further into your personal lives, talking in your kitchen for far too long. 

Once you realized how much time had passed, you practically forced Robby out of his chair, apologizing for keeping him so late. He tried to assure you that it was fine, attempting to stay longer to help you clean up, but you were already standing next to him, your hand lightly holding his forearm as you guided him to the front door.

You stood facing each other in the entryway, evidence of goodbye’s hanging on your tongues but neither of you working up the courage to actually speak them aloud. 

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his, intercepting his intent gaze on your hand; the one that still lingered on his arm. Your touch was subtle, but the effect you had on Robby was strong. Taking over all of his senses as his feet weighed him down to the floor. The room felt heavy as you peered up at him through your eyelashes. Your stare holding a curious purpose— lasting far too long to be a simple meaningless glance. 

Neither of you moved. He was reduced to complete immobility with the delicate weight of your hand brushing his skin. Your wishful eyes remained on him, full of impatient intention. 

In a cautious trail, your gaze fell to his lips. He copied you, letting his stare drop to the perfect pout of your smirk— so pure and inviting. His eyes must’ve idled too long on the lower half of your face because the familiar chime of your voice broke his stare as he watched your lips move.

“You could kiss me you know...” It was a confident statement, fixed with a low purr as you put the newfound tension of the room into words. 

It was the permission he so desperately needed, melting into the air between you, assuring him that he wasn’t some sick and depraved old man thinking about his much younger neighbor in ways he probably shouldn’t. You wanted him to kiss you, you were practically asking him to, and all restraint he had swiftly broke loose.  

A hand pulled gently at your waist while the other cupped your cheek, his face meeting yours in a careful kiss. 

The bitter-sweet relief of surrender came to him in the form of your mouth against his. Finally succumbing to his foolish infatuation and getting washed away by the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. 

Gracefully, your hands slid up his torso, resting at his shoulders until they clasped at the nape of his neck, pulling him further down into you. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for the shock that tore through his entire being at your touch on his body, the way your hands effortlessly floated up his chest, pressing into his neck as your lips moved with his. Your bodies pushed and pulled against one another, the kiss taking a sharp turn as the weight of Robby’s chest had you caught between him and your front door. 

In a whirlwind of desperation, he brought his hold to your hips, thumbs sliding underneath your shirt and relishing in the warmth of your midriff.

A quiet moan simmered off your tongue and into his mouth at the pressure of his fingertips rubbing into the skin just above your jeans, and the sound caused an involuntary jerk of Robby’s hips. All control was lost as his grasp on you tightened, your frame melting further into the door at your back. You welcomed the contact, pulling him further into you with your hold on the back of his neck. Careful open-mouthed kisses trailed down his throat, sweet sounds of approval still leaking from your lips as they nipped and sucked at his skin.

He nearly wasted away at the feeling of your mouth on his neck. Then the devilish touch of your hands slid back down the front of his body, dancing against the material of his shirt and trailing down further until your fingertips threatened to tug at the waistband of his pants. He could feel the anticipation in your touch, the way your fingers curled into the material at his waist. 

“This okay?” You didn’t even pull back to look at him as you murmured into the crook of his neck. 

He was always in command, never afraid to assert his dominance; but something about the way his most private fantasies were playing out in front of his eyes, had him taking on a more docile image. He was completely bent into your touch, leaning forward and hanging onto every sound that left your body with his hands still buried underneath your shirt. He couldn’t find his voice to reply to your question, but he’d be a fool to say anything other than yes as your hands ventured down another inch into his pants, the feeling of your knuckles brushing against his abdomen nearly making his knees buckle. 

He nodded; the movement drawn-out as a breathless “yeah” made its way from somewhere deep within his chest. 

Robby’s hand met the door, now directly in front of him as you descended to your knees. 

The mix of adrenaline and disbelief coursing through his veins sent his forearm extending and his palm pressing into the solid wood to hold up his weight as you were wedged between the two, kneeling on the tile floor. 

With your eyes looking up at him once more as if to ask for a final approval, your hands tugged at his pants, pulling them, along with his underwear, down his legs and Robby pushed harder into the door, his arms flexing under the pressure. He never would’ve imagined that an innocent dinner invitation would evolve into him standing with his pants around his ankles in the entryway of your apartment. 

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve been a gentleman and insisted on making you come on his fingers— leading you into the next room and spreading your legs open on your living room couch, but your lips met the head of his cock, and every single thought left his head. 

The warmth of your mouth enveloped him after a gentle kiss to his tip, and a raspy groan trickled into the room from Robby’s lips. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

His instinctive gasp had you taking him even deeper, a small hum of pleasure releasing from your throat and buzzing onto his skin.

His hand was splayed out against the wall, fingertips grasping at nothing as he threw his head back in a state of pure paradise. After less than a minute of seeing you on your knees for him and feeling your cheeks hollow in a way that perfectly encased his throbbing length, Robby had to stare up at the ceiling to keep himself from spilling into your mouth. 

His chest warmed with flames of pleasure induced fulfillment with each bob of your head at his hips. Indulgence sunk into his bones and another pathetic pant found its way onto his lips when your tongue flattened against his base, your mouth sinfully stroking him in rhythm. 

“Fuck sweetheart that feels good.”

The nickname found his lips as an incoherent mumble— an attempt of praise floating down to you in a groan. The otherworldly suction of your lips as you drew him toward the back of your throat had Robby letting out grunts of contentment.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. You were like an angel sent down to to set him free of his daily anxieties, kneeling before him on a pedestal of vinyl flooring. 

You worked him in and out of your mouth, the intricate consolation of your movements making him crave more. He hadn’t even finished yet and he was already itching to get his hands on you. An addiction was forming in Robby’s brain like a mental pathway. Hungry for more of you, needing to find comfort in your body more than just this once. He knew he would be seeking it out, crawling back to you every night in desperation to feel the burning in his core and the peace of his mind he found in your touches. 

You moved faster, his whole body growing rigid from the friction of your perfect lips. 

“That’s it- shit.”

He was already spiraling toward release, one more caress of your plush mouth around his cock and he was done for. His body tensed and little puffs of raspy breath fought against his lips as he felt all the tension in his body culminating in a taut strand that stretched unbelievably tight as he waited for one more pass of your tongue on his length.

“Fuck.” 

With a low grunt he wrestled against his own strength, the arm holding him up at the door threatened to give out, nearly sending him doubling over into the solid structure as relief surged through his body. He pulsed in your mouth, his release dripping onto your tongue and you enjoyed it. Drinking down every last drop of him while he slumped into your touch.  

His vision returned after a few seconds of his senses getting corrupted by overwhelming pleasure, just in time to watch you pull back from him, springing to your feet like you hadn’t just changed the chemical makeup of his brain. 

Your expression was smug, a smile flickering onto your face before addressing him for the first time since you were bowed before him.

“Goodnight Michael.” Like a dribble of honey, his name fell from your lips. Michael. No one called him that. But here you were whispering it like a serpent in the garden of Eden, as you simultaneously reached behind you to pull the handle of your front door, nudging him through the doorway.

“Now hold on-“ He began to protest the push of your hands at his lower back, but you were quick to interrupt him.

“I’ve already kept you from sleep long enough. I can’t have you going to work tired tomorrow- gotta save lives and all that.” You were smiling through your words, leaning against the doorframe and watching in amusement as Robby’s rattled mind swam with possible responses.

He knew he couldn’t fuck you— knew it would be nearly impossible for him to get it up again after the earthshattering release that just ran rampant through his body, but he could repay you. He could finally fulfill his dirty daydreams, worshipping you in ways he’d only ever imagined; really taking his time exploring your body and watching you come undone in front of him. In fact, there was nothing he wanted to do more than spend the rest of the night feeding his newfound addiction to your body. 

But the self-righteous smirk curling on your lips stopped him from pushing you back inside and taking what he wanted. This was just a trial run, the challenging expression on your face confirmed it. So, he would wait. Let you soak in your pride for the evening until the next time an opportunity arose for him to satisfy his craving. Because something in the deceitfully innocent stare of your eyes told him this would be the first of many late-night visits between doorways.  

He surrendered, shaking his head with a low chuckle.

“Goodnight.” 

The word hardly left his mouth when you offered him one last playful grin and shut the door to your apartment, leaving him standing alone in the lonely expanse of the hallway. 

my masterlist

[loversreads]

this is everything. god this is my religion

professor robby professor robby professor robby profes

now why… would you put this in my brain. just fucking rude (

also it reminded me of this, highly recommend: lectures by @superhoeva

It was really just a stand-in gig. A favor for a friend who needed to take sick leave for a few months.

And, Robby wanted to dip his toes into teaching, anyway, see if it was something he’d be interested in doing when his back finally decides to give out.

So, here he is, at the front of a cadaver lab with thirty pairs of eyes staring at him as he tries to explain how you can tell when you’ve cut too deep, the importance of tactile feedback, shit that none of the students will be able to fully grasp until they’ve got a few years of experience.

Still, it’s worth it just to put the idea into all the fledgling doctors’ heads, encourage them to pay attention and take note of what it all feels like.

Robby feels awkward for the first week or so, mostly because he’s not used to having to start with the basics—shit he hasn’t had to think about for years. Decades.

A receptive group, at least, most of whom watch and listen to him like he’s delivering messages from Christ himself, scribbling down his scripture.

You’re one of them, a little more intense than the rest, if he’s being honest. You stare unblinking as he talks, nibbling on your bottom lip, a sort of determined look in your eyes that’s only slightly shadowed with nerves.

The only time you’re not looking at him is when you’re looking down at your cadaver instead, and even then, Robby can still see the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, that lip still held between your teeth.

All things he shouldn’t have ever noticed, things he shouldn’t still be seeking out, things he definitely shouldn’t be enjoying.

It helps him get through the labs, though, because after a few weeks of this, Robby finds that it’s pretty fucking boring. Worlds away from the breakneck speed of the pitt. It’s not that he misses the stress and trauma—he still works his shifts, still runs the damn place—but he does miss having something to do at every given moment.

He doesn’t have that here. Fuck, he doesn’t even have to write up curriculum (probably for the best). It had all been left for him. All Robby really has to do is share knowledge and guide shaky hands.

Literally. He has to demonstrate how much pressure it takes to cut through adipose, through muscle, through just about everything that can be cut through.

And, he never thought himself to be an intimidating guy, but it turns out having a 6’1” man basically holding your hand will freak a lot of students out—make them even shakier. (God, save them when they get to their emergency med rotations. Gonna have to get used to being literally on top of other doctors in order to get the job done.)

Most of the time Robby doesn’t even register the proximity. He’s so used to the pitt, to being pinned and leaned over or against by coworkers just like he’s used to pinning and leaning himself. Here, in the lab, the only time he only notices his own lack of personal space is when it’s you he’s so close to.

And, it’s because you fucking shiver.

Every time.

At first Robby thought it had to do with nerves. Or, maybe it’s the way that he stands halfway behind you, his voice probably warming the shell of your ear.

Then, one day you fucking look at him in a way that that screams trouble.

Your hand is wrapped in his, Robby’s index finger on top of yours to guide you through the small incision you made at the fifth intercostal space.

“Feel that?” he questions, tone low as he speaks only to you— “the way it gives under pressure?”

He’s talking about the pleural space. Mostly. There may be a little bit of subconscious innuendo in there because you’re cute—all wide eyed and curious, and Robby is, ya’ know, a man.

A man twice your age (at least) who has no fucking business enjoying the feeling of you shuddering against him.

But, he does. He definitely does. It makes his dick twitch a little, makes a certain kind of heat travel from his neck down, makes him deepen his voice until he’s lost any real inflection, words nothing more than a low scratch.

You turn your face just a little, just enough for you to be able to look over your shoulder, up through your eyelashes, and when you pull your bottom lip between your teeth like always, Robby knows he’s absolutely fucked.

[loversreads]

working on a req right now so here's a draft of perv! bucky barnes being pervy again. also do you guys ever think about chase collins? i do! minors dni

the second you walk in wearing that tank top.. thin, tight, the neckline dipping just low enough to show between your cleavage-bucky's brain short-circuits.

his coffee cup hovers halfway to his lips, his eyes sticking to the way the fabric clings to your body when you stretch to grab a file from the top shelf.

fuck. fuck.

he can already picture it: bending you over the conference table, your palms flat against the wood as he rucks up that useless, no good tank top, your tits spilling into his hands.

the whole team would watch as you moan loud enough to echo off the walls. he'd make sure of it.

his fingers twitch around his pen, imagining how your nipples would peek through the cotton when he teases them, how you'd whimper when he pinches just to see the blush spread down your chest.

and the best part? you'd try to stay quiet at first, biting that lip, but he'd fuck that out of you too, his thrusts hard and deep enough to make the table shake. your moans would be punched out with every snap of his hips against yours.

"congressman barnes?" your voice snaps him back to reality. you're staring, head tilted, with those stupid doe eyes, oblivious to the way his dick is straining against his zipper. "are you okay?"

he licks his lips, slow, and leans back in his chair.

"just thinkin' about dessert already." his grin is all teeth. "for lunch. real sweet."

you smile, clueless.

he's already planning how to ruin it.

[loversreads]

A lil drabble cause the pic had me frothing at the mouth🤤 / tw: spanking, bratty reader, brat tamer!Robby, degradation…:>

You know you pushed him to his limit, crossing all the lines and ignoring every single warning. On purpose or not, you’ve messed up real bad — not that you minded that, it only meant you would achieve what you wanted the most.

Angry Robby.

Angry doesn’t even begin to describe how he actually feels. He is furious with you so bad he is shaking, fingers twitching and eyes burning over your naked back.

He doesn’t bother to take off his clothes he had on since morning, instead he is fisting his belt and pulling on the ends while he glares at your bent over body, chuckling darkly when he sees how you are fisting the bedsheets already.

“I haven’t started yet and you are already shaking, how pathetic,” he rolls his eyes, fingers tracing the edge of his belt slowly, “You shouldn’t have mouthed off earlier, sweetheart. Definitely not when another attendee was there, belittling me in front of my coworker.”

“I didn’t—Ahh!”

He brings the belt down on your asscheek, making you jump at the contact. Heat blooms in your skin, the delicious sting spreading all over your back.

“Yes. Yes, you fucking did,” he spits the words out, slapping the belt on the same spot twice in a row, making you yelp into the mattress, “Not only that, but you had the audacity to be touchy in front of the new residents like a bitch in heat.”

You groan when he knocks your thighs apart, pushing your legs away from each other with his foot, rubbing his rough cargo pants against your soaked folds, biting his lips when you push your hips back, trying to grind down, but he is faster and pulls himself back, bringing down the belt a good three times on the other cheek, and he chuckles when he sees how you bit down on the bed, trying to muffle your noises.

“I told you to be a good girl today,” he bends down over you, pressing his lips to your ear, “now I’m gonna wrap this belt around your throat and fuck you like I hate you.”

[loversreads]

Simon Riley eating you out (nsfw)

His mouth slanted all over your pussy, tongue sliding down between your folds to your entrance before traveling back up to your clit.

He tastes you, drinks your slick patiently, forcing himself to not bite you. He loves the way you smell, loves the way your wetness gets all over his mouth, his chin, his nose.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide from lust as he watches the way you moan, the way you quiver. Your chest heaving with each breath, hips bucking against his mouth in search for more, more, more.

And he gives it to you.

He slides a finger into your cunt as his mouth focuses on your clit. He adds a second finger, curls them up, and your legs start shaking.

“Si, please—” you gasp in a broken moan, shaking.

He hums in response, a sound of acknowledgement, and runs his teeth over your clit.

It sends you over the edge, makes you shake and gasp and cry out his name as your hands move to grab onto his hair and hold his mouth to you while you ride out your orgasm.

He laps up your slick eagerly, moaning at the taste, cock rock-hard. And then you come down, slowly, boneless and spent. And Simon kisses his way up your body, kissing your mouth, making you taste yourself as he sinks his cock into your heat to get more of you.

---

Taglist

@booboobear-12 @lilychristine01 @smzyyx @mxsatorisimp @akkahelenaa @crypticlxrsh @m-0-ssy-m-3-ss @actualpoppy @dawnnightshade666 @dethspllz @massivecandycrusade @mentally-unstable-hottie13 @shushyoudontknowme @readinggeeklmao @despairingrat @h0lydrag0ns @poseidonsbichild @sillylittlereader @vanillarosekiss @jangles-the-clown @lem-hhn @doubledizzy22 @http-bell @readingthingy @velvetdimond @thegaywitchofwhimsy @weaniebeaniebaby @havoc973 @lucienofthelakes @keiminds @8pmismybedtime @i-wanabe-yours @happysmappy @jp600fox @moonbluff @hobiebrownenthusiast @dragons-flare @canyonmooncreations @foxintheferns @dreamland08 @fertilise-me @dravenskye @hobiebrownenthusiast @liidiaaag @viviansvault3 @alwayzmsbehavn @nicolebarnes @tysukier @icouldntthinkofanythingclever  @cd-mr 

*if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk 💛

---

Ghost masterlist

[loversreads]

pussy-drunk pope who comes way too fast after being inside you raw for the first time. so fast to the point where it's almost pathetic.

you roll your eyes and push him off you, thinking that's a wrap, but then he's sinking down onto his knees by the foot of the bed and pulling you by your ankle.

he eats you out for what feels like hours before he's inside you again, this time with the intent to make you come on his cock.

by the end of the night you're the pathetic one—whimpering and shaking and crying bc of how many orgasms he gave you in return for letting him come inside you <3

[loversreads]

blurb about how jack likes things messy cause I lost both of the beautiful asks that were sent in 😔

warning: rough blowjob, one gentle ish slap, i guess technically somnophilia? Sort of? Idk

He’s orderly in so many ways. Clean. Organized. Prepared.

All that goes out the window as soon as he gets you on your knees. The professional front is gone, stoic nature nowhere to be seen as he grabs a handful of your hair and pushes into your open mouth.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he groans, staring down at you with hooded eyes, lips lifted on one side, “just love having somethin’ to suck on.”

You’re not sucking as much as choking, but he’s right. There’s something incredibly satisfying about being able to do this, take him, swallow him.

“Open that throat up for me, honey, come on…”

Your eyes roll back, jaw slackening further and letting drool leak from your swollen lips. Jack gives a few experimental thrusts, cockhead slipping past your soft palate to trigger your gag reflex.

He pulls back when your shoulders curl in, the hand in your hair tilting your face up so he can look at you. His thumb gathers the shiny spit that covers your chin, tacky against your cheek when he slaps you just hard enough to sting.

“You can do better, I know you can.”

You know you can too, and you want to. Wanna do this for him.

So you sit back on your heels and open your mouth again, beckoning for him to come back to you.

It takes a second for you to get used to the feeling and relax into it, but when you do, Jack praises you, stroking the back of your head as his hips piston back and forth, thick cock sliding deep into your throat.

You shake and grip his thighs when he pushes you all the way down, your nose to his pelvis, then grinds into you.

And, he sounds so fucking pleased when he throws you the bone you love so much, the one that never fails to make you smile— “‘atta girl.”

You would moan if you could, grin if he’d let you, but your mouth is stuffed and your airway is blocked, and you’ve long since hit that point of dazedness. Now, you’re just dumb.

Taking everything you can, licking the base of his cock, drooling down his balls just like your pussy is drooling on the puppy pad beneath you ‘cause the towels you used to use get too wet, too fast, but the little pads catch everything that Jack forces out of you.

And, Jack forces a lot out of you.

He also forces a lot inside of you. Dildos, speculums, panties, his best friend…

You adore all of it. Every second, no matter how sore you might be the next day, no matter the looks you get at work when your voice comes out raspy.

Jack uses you like an object, then holds you like a lover. He could do anything to you, and you’d let him.

That’s pretty much the last thought you have before you black out for a second… a minute… maybe longer. You open your eyes just in time to see cum shoot out of Jack’s cock, thick and hot as it splatters all over your face.

[loversreads]

the only man i’d give the princess treatment to. i saw it i want it, im giving that man my number. and the glasses stay on during makeouts, yes! uggh, that man can just look at me funny and ill come. some might say the orgasms are super. i loved how you made everything in three’s (ok james gunn i see you.)

“A shift of your hips as a very human impatience thrums through you both, but it’s fruitless. It’s like pushing against a man of steel, impossibly strong.”

ordinary human man defies gravity after powerful orgasm (a headline i’d like to read)

“OH GOLLY” OH GOLLY I WANT THAT DICK IIN MY MOUTH. who said that?

— bring me sunshine

clark kent x f!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: good things come in threes, smut with feelings, first time together, oral sex, multiple orgasms, reader mentions being on bc, bit of a size kink, PiV

a/n: in love with the thought of his clark kent-ing slipping because he’s so overcome 💕

It’s been three months since Clark Kent first stepped into Jitters Coffee. Three weeks since you memorized his order - medium mocha, whipped cream, chocolate curls - and plucked up the courage to say hi.

Three days since your first date at Mo’s Cafe. Three hours since the third - conversations and texts spanning the time between.

And three minutes since you came against his tongue.

It’s been three months since Clark Kent first stepped into Jitters Coffee.

Standing a head taller than your regulars. Impossible to miss, and his smile quickly became a fixture in your daydreams.

Three weeks since you memorized his order - medium mocha, whipped cream, chocolate curls - and plucked up the courage to say hi.

Unable to help grinning at the way he leaned over the counter to shake your hand. Old school and sweet, and it stuck with you as much as he did.

Three days since your first date at Mo’s Cafe.

Your number inked carefully on the cup - he had called the second he saw it. Turning when he heard your voice answer, those blue eyes finding yours from across the street as he lingered outside the Daily Planet.

Smiles and salty fries dipped in milkshakes - long conversations lasting after close, Clark’s hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked you home.

Three hours since the third - phone calls and snuck-in lunch breaks spanning the hours in-between.

Anticipation hummed beneath your skin this morning, as he turned and waved after grabbing his coffee. Heat pooling low, with lingering looks and fingers that brush, entwine, squeeze.

You’ve thought about it long before it happens.

The eager press of his mouth against yours. Already a hint of familiarity, in his touch and the way he gripped your waist. The warm curl of his cologne around you, and the way you parted so easily for him when he deepened the kiss.

His bulk blocking you from the street, feet following when your fingers finally twisted around his tie and tugged.

And three minutes since you came against his tongue.

That had been a surprise.

You hadn’t known what to expect from this corn-fed, Kansas man. Pretty eyes framed beneath dark curls. A kind mouth that smiles too easily.

Flushing at your own sweet words. Two fingers pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as his head ducked.

The kind of man you could open up to, when you were ready.

Not ready to pick at that knotted web that had lead you to Metropolis from Gotham. The job at Wayne Enterprises that you’re not even sure how to begin to put on your resume - but you think that if anyone would listen, you’d want it to be him.

So sure that you’d be corrupting him.

But there had been an assurance in the way his mouth met yours, as the front door shut behind you. The careful way he lead you through your house, as if he didn’t need the hushed directions murmured out against his lips. As if he already knew where to go.

Your clothes carefully peeled off - reverently, left folded on your bedside table.

“I don’t do this often.” He had confessed, in between kisses.

Between the flit of his tongue against yours. Lips pressed against your cheek, then your jaw. Hungry and unhurried.

Eyes shadowed by curls, when his mouth dragged against your collarbone. Too big for your mattress, having to fold himself to fit.

“Take girls to bed?” Your brow raised, amused -and his eyes had dropped.

“No.” His head shook, a huff. “Yes. Not just that-. Date, I guess.”

The words had sent a spark alighting in your chest. Radiating, filling up the cavern behind your ribs, tracing down your veins until it pulsed between your thighs.

“Too busy writing about what everyone else is doing?” Your lips tugged up at the corners. Fingers loosened his tie, traced along the buttons.

“Something like that.” Another look, before he added, “I just want you to know that I-“

It hung - open ended - but you were ready to fill this, if nothing else.

The first three button tugged free, and your hand pressed against his heart, “I like you too, Clark.”

Something in him loosened. A sigh and a soft smile. Glasses left folded on top of your sweater, as he inched down - your thighs parted around him.

Struck by how blue his eyes were, when they flicked up to meet yours. You don’t know how you missed it the depth of them - a cloudless sky on a bright, summer day - as often as you looked.

But there’s something different about them.

About him, about the mouth that pressed against your hip. Against the elastic band of your underwear, then the damp spot against the silk.

About the deep groan - pitched low - when you arched into him. Breathless as his fingers hooked your underwear to the side. A murmured-out string of small-town interjection, as his thumb slid against slick skin.

As if you were truly seeing him for the first time.

There’s another murmur of his name - more instant - before he’d given in. Head ducking, letting his tongue flatten against your clit.

Groaning at your taste. Something tentative in his movements, until he caught the hitch in your breath, the way your hips moved to meet him.

A hand fitting against the curve of your ass, palm splaying wide, as it tipped you up to meet him. Slipping beneath later, until he could tease the tip of his middle finger between your thighs.

Pleas had tumbled from your lips. Your hand found his free one - flattened against your belly. Dragging it up to the swell of your tits, letting him cup you.

Your own had wound in his hair. Pushing back the thick curls as those eyes fluttered shut. A single one breaking free, dipping across his forehead as he slowly worked you open.

And as the pleasure swelled, your mind flicked back to before. Wondering how he could have you this close this quickly. If he was just a quick learner. Or if there was something more between you - if he felt that connection, too.

The thought left just as quickly. Too much - not enough room left for wondering as the orgasm crested inside. And then, breaking - crashing over you.

Letting your thighs clamp around his ears, and all he did was groan against you. Breathless and unyielding until you were boneless, legs finally splaying wide as stars burst behind closed eyelids.

And somewhere between then and now - in that timeless stretch of space - he wound up beneath you.

An easy shift as he had stretched out on the mattress - helping you hook a thigh over his hip, palms flattened out on his chest.

And it’s as you come back to yourself- you’re not sure how you missed this, either.

A slight twinge in your hips, as your thighs widen to straddle him. His dress shirt tugged fully open now, exposing a peek of his chest and the tight cling of the white undershirt.

Just how broad he is, beneath the ill-fitting clothes and the curl of his shoulders. Not cut, not exactly. You couldn’t picture him hitting the gym as dawn broke, with how busy he was. Just - solid. Impossibly so, as the muscles flexed beneath your spread-wide palms.

And as your eyes drag down - big.

You want him, and you’re not sure he realizes just how much. How the feel of his fingers, buried deep and crooking - the flick of his tongue and the way he was moaning into you - only made your hunger grow.

Nestled in your pillows, content. Smile loose and tasting of you, when you lean forward to kiss him - his arm quick to loop around, keep you close.

Feeling the sharp exhale against your cheek, when your hand drops to work at the silver belt buckle.

“Don’t have to.” He breathes, chasing your mouth when you lean back, “That, I mean, this is enough.”

But he does nothing to stop you. His hand warm, as it spans the back of your neck. Solid as it curves against your spine - the softest nudge until your forehead is pressing to his.

“You don’t want me to?” You coo - the button popped, zipper dragged down.

“Well-” It cuts off as your hand dips beneath - the groan after pitched low. Your fingers dragging down velvet skin, teasing across a thick vein.

The rest come in a rush, as you finally wrap around and squeeze. Marveling at the way he fills your hand, fingers stretching to meet, and you would swear you felt him throb in your grip.

“I definitely want whatever you want.”

You laugh, and he smiles back.

“I want to ride you.” You admit - something that you might have been shy about saying, if it was anyone else.

But the way he looks at you - has been, that little nod and the way his hips lift so you can free him - it sends a rush of boldness through you.

Enough that your hands reach behind. Loosening the pretty bra that you wore for him, the strap twisted against your shoulder. Lifting enough to peel the slick underwear down your thighs, kick them free.

Those eyes dark - stormy - when you’re pressed flush again. Your own admiring the parts of him you can see - flushed skin, the dark hair that leads down.

Human perfection, if there was such a thing.

“It’s been a while for me, too.” He’s nestled against you - thick and hard and warm, “I’m on birth control. Is this okay, or-?”

A roll of your hips against him - bare, and a sharp breath is inhaled through his nose. His eyes finally pulling away - bright, as they drag over you. Lingering on your abdomen, dropping to where he juts between your thighs.

“Yeah.” Clark husks, “Yeah, baby.”

He’s called you other things. Your name - laughing, exasperated, blushing. A soft ‘hey, sunshine’, in greeting in the weeks that had passed, with the way you grin so bright and so early for him.

But this - baby - how soft and sweet and possessive it sounds-

Something inside you flips.

And you think - you just might be falling.

His thumb brushes against your hip, “That’s good. Uh, great. I mean-”

A self-deprecating huff.

“Yes, please.”

Another hushed laugh, your teeth biting down against your bottom lip as you lift up.

Hovering, then - the head of his cock slick, as it rubs against you. Inhaling a breath, preparing to drop down - to take him - when his eyes make an effort to pull up.

Hands moving before you can process them. Catching around your waist, holding you in place.

“Wait, sunshine.” His fingers pinch, voice strained, “Hold on.”

“Clark.” It comes out short. A shift of your hips as a very human impatience thrums through you both, but it’s fruitless. It’s like pushing against a man of steel, impossibly strong.

“I know,” He breathes, “I know. Just, please-”

You slacken, at that. At the way his lips part, the press of his fingers, denting your skin.

Letting him take over. Achingly slow in the way he lowers you down. Your gasp rattling through your chest at how he sinks inside you for the first time - the slick slide and the pressure as you make room for him.

And then, back up.

Only to repeat, again.

A whine ripping free as you take another inch. Lifted, his cock left shining and glossy and a heartbeat of a minute where you’re so painfully empty - before you’re stretched around him again.

Moving you like a doll. You might have more thoughts about that if your head wasn’t so blissfully blank and so wholly consumed, all at once. Eyes snagging on his - how he hasn’t looked away, hasn’t blinked, once.

Fixed on your face. Every expression flicking across it, even the dip of your eyes when you hadn’t been able to help it. Dropping down, needing to see how he looks, half-nestled inside you.

Every second of pleasure that flits across your face, it is caught and captured. And when he shifts you - angling your hips, sinking deeper - it drags him across a space inside you that feels otherworldly.

Your fingers wrap around his wrists, as you beg him not to stop. That experimental bounce becoming intentional. Focused, until you can feel that tension winding deep inside you. Knees pressing into the bed as you try to move with him, that burn in your thighs melding with the mind-numbing pleasure.

Head tipping back, eyes closing when it becomes too much. When you’re left, muscles stringing tight - his name coming in a rush as you clench down hard around him.

His answer comes - breathless and lost as your world closes in around you.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

It’s so different than the first.

You don’t know if you’ve ever come this quickly or felt this full - his pace slowing as your nails dig into his skin. Panting through the waves of bliss that wash from your spine to your toes.

Clark’s breathed out “That was, oh my gosh-“ would make you laugh, if it didn’t feel like he was taking up the space between your lungs.

If your mind wasn’t fuzzy, clinging to him as you lost your rhythm - depending on him to keep moving you through it.

And it’s this, that finally has his eyes dropping. Lingering on the slow bounce of your breasts. Caught on the soaked, slick shine against his curls and the base of his cock - the tight pulse as your pleasure wanes and the clenching promise to take every drop he gives you.

Letting you take over, now. That control loosening with the way you take him to the hilt, molded around him. Your hands lowering to his chest. Feeling the thundering of his heart, a pace that matches yours.

Letting your hips roll. Letting himself watch, stretched out beneath you and just as enchanted as before.

An encouraging sound when your hands lift to tease your tits. His cock jerking inside you, another bitten back curse when a hand drifts down.

His tongue dragging across his lower lip - a rough, bitten-back groan as you part yourself. Fingers splitting to feel him, dragging through your slick. Circling two fingers against your clit.

“You’re beautiful.” He says it so plainly, so suddenly, that you can’t help but believe him, “Should’ve done this before.”

You smile, “Should have given you my number sooner, huh?”

He can only nod, and it only spurns you on.

The third tears through you, soon after - brought on with the with press of your fingers and the slow rock of your hips. His own palms flat against the mattress soon after your second, the tips digging into the sheets.

Teeth gritted like he’s in pain, the rough exhale of breath each time you shift up on your knees.

Drop back down.

Holding himself back, for just a little longer. Until he could feel you squeeze around his cock a second time.

He doesn’t make it long. That thread of self control fraying, snapping.

“Fuck.” It punches from him like a bullet, unexpected and ragged and harsh through soft lips, “You feel so good, baby. I think I’m gonna-”

His hands shift. Feather-light against your hips, like he can’t help but touch you again. Needing an anchor.

A shake of his head, as if retracting his previous statement - amending it.

“You’re going to make me come.”

Goosebumps prickle across your skin, and it only makes you double your efforts. The pleasure still an echoing memory each time your hips bounce against his, each time he rubs against that spot inside you again.

“Want you to, Clark.” It’s breathless, “Please-”

And it’s only now, on the brink, that he moves. Thrusts that stay shallow, deep and grinding inside you as his jaw tightens. The scrape of nails against your skin, muscles strung tight.

And then your name is on his lips in a soft moan. Tugging you down and flush, taking every inch as Clark spills inside you - your name a drawn-own gasp that lingers in the air, after.

It has your back arching, the fullness. The heavy jerk and throb, the panting breath and the leaded, sex-drunk weight of your limbs. Bringing you down to meet him, as his arms envelope you. Hips rocking together, until he finally goes still.

There’s a prolonged and blissful moment, after.

His head tipped back, with you spread out over him. Face nestled in the curve where neck meet shoulder - lips at his throat, feeling the fluttering thrum of his heartbeat as his fingers trace senseless patterns along your spine.

The warmth of him flooding inside you, leaking out - and it almost feels like you’re weightless. Hovering above the mattress. Frozen in time and space.

But then, it becomes more than just a feeling. The soft drag of your toes against the bedsheets, the bent curve of your legs lengthening.

Your eyes slipping open to see how his shirt pools beneath, gravity pulling the fabric down to the bed below.

“Clark?”

His eyes open, and then - you’re falling.

No more than a short distance - a foot or two at best - but your heart is leaping to your throat, and the sound of his back colliding with the mattress sends a shudder through the room.

A groan, and then the worn particle board is cracking in its frame. The legs beneath the footboard snapping, tilting the bed on its axis for a terrifying second before the headboard follows - sending the bed crashing against your rug.

You’re left staring at him, wide-eyed.

His expression matching your own, and it’s so unexpected and his face is so comical that you can’t help the laugh that’s barked out - your palm slapping over your mouth to muffle the sound.

“Oh no.” He gasps - a hand sheepishly drawing over his face, “Oh golly. I’m so sorry. I-”

The briefest hesitation, but then your mouth is tipping to his. Stealing a kiss - too chaste, after everything - and red blooms across his cheeks.

A small grin, as he finishes.

“I can explain.”

I saw superman this week and oh my god clark was so sweet I couldn’t stand it 💖 thank you so much for reading and I really hope you like this!

[loversreads]

𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞

pairing: dark step-father!robby robinavitch x f!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. taboo. dub con -> noncon. reader is over 21. pussy pronouns. fingering. asphyxiation. special guest appearance! no beta. w.c: 518

author's note: well, I finally did it. I finally wrote some dark!Robby.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬

The second your mother backed out of the driveway, your stepfather pinned you against the kitchen countertop. 

Your spine curves under the hard marble as the older man presses his larger body into yours. "Thought she'd never leave." Robby grits, hastily shoving one of his sleeves up his forearm and licking two long fingers before shoving them under your skirt and past the elastic of your panties. 

A deep groan rumbles from his chest as he finally gets his hands on you. "Been thinkin' of her all day," he confesses, swiping his digits across your slick folds. His fingers worm their way into your warmth, making you hiss from the invasive touch and immense stretch. 

A devious smirk tugs at his lips. "Poor thing. She's so fuckin' tight."

His free hand covets the back of your neck, encircling the fragile column, easily allowing him to meet your wary, wide-eyed stare as he slowly begins to fuck you with his fingers.  

"S'ok, Sweetheart. Just give in." He presses soft kisses along your hairline, trying his best to soothe the worry from your brow. The graying, dark brown whiskers of his beard bristle the shell of your ear as he leans in, "You know it feels better when you do."

Wet, sticky sounds fill the room despite your effort to rid his hand from between your thighs. The pleasure he pulls from your body makes it hard to breathe, let alone think straight.

The heel of his hand grinds your sensitive clit while he scissors your velvet walls. He curls his competent fingers against that hidden spot, the one that makes you come hard enough to see stars. He teases the spongy spot just enough to make you pitifully writhe in his arms. 

"Got a friend comin' over tonight." He begins, standing straight until he can hold your frantic gaze once more. "Remember, Jack?"

A raspy mewl slithers from your lips as your core involuntarily tightens around his fingers. You anxiously paw at his chest, digging your smaller digits into the soft, strong muscle that's hidden beneath his shirt.  

Robby chuckles at the way your body responds to his best friend's name. "'Course you do, Sweetheart." He tenderly rubs a thumb along your carotid, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart as your nerves begin to spike. "We're gonna have some fun tonight, like old times."

Your strength pales in comparison to his, but still you push, desperate to free yourself from the older man. Robby's skilled thumb presses down on your carotid, cruelly denying the supply of blood to your brain. "No need to be nervous. We know how to take care of you, don't we?"

Robby's cock throbs as he watches your eyes unfocus and your body slowly go limp in his arms. He softly caresses your cheek just as the front door opens and an uneven tread pads through the house. 

"In here, Jack!" Robby yells out.

A sturdy, silver-haired man stands at the precipice of the kitchen with his hands on his hips and a slight frown on his face. "Looks like you started without me."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[loversreads]

tw: blood

Medic!reader who can’t fucking stand Ghost. You’re much rougher when patching him up than anyone else, tugging on his bandages a little too harshly, applying just a little too much pressure on his wounds.

The masochist fucking likes it.

He has to take his mask off so you can treat a gash on his lips and the motherfucker just smiles at you. Eyes a little wild, lip split in two, blood dripping into his mouth and down his chin. It’s smeared on his teeth, red and copper to the taste.

He’s smiling like it doesn’t hurt—or maybe it does and he just likes that, but it only widens when you dig a towel roughly into the gash.

[loversreads]

need it in me. rn. right this moment.

robby putting his dick in your cheek to give you a break after fucking your mouth (don’t look at me. i’m shy)

god. he's staring down as you as you heave, eyeing the way the thick of his tip pokes an impressive bulge in your cheek with sweet strokes of his thumb as he cups your face.

you're wheezing with wet pants and looking back up at him with watery eyes, still suckling and kneading his heavy sack with soft fingers.

"somebody's hungry, hm?"

your answer to his question is a nod and needy, unexpected suckle that makes robby's entire body twitch. groaning, he bends a little in his stand with a choked out groan. hands moving to hold your head and press himself even harder against the warmth on the inside of your cheek.

his thighs shake when your tongue starts lapping at him from the side, sucking in air through your nose as the wet muscle lathers him until his eyes roll.

watching with hooded lids, robby's enchanted by the sight of you all cock drunk like this. taking whatever he gives you and guzzling with sloppy sucks. a low sound slips though his clenched jaw as he drags himself back and forth against the flat of your tongue and the inside of your mouth. throbbing with a pleasant ache.

even with robby only halfway inside, your lips are stretched wide around his dick. sloppy with the same spit that he praised you for gagging up a few minutes ago.

he soon struggles to keep him composure, and has robby gulp before speaking. hand still on your face and palm pressed into your other cheek in a desperate grip.

"ready to keep chokin' on it, sweetheart?"

yanking him closer, your tongue dances along the veins on the underside of his cock, and robby croaks. nearly crumbling.

"shit," he breathes out, tiny smile interrupted by the feeling of you swallowing around him. "i'll take that as a yes..."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[loversreads]

— bring me sunshine

clark kent x f!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: good things come in threes, smut with feelings, first time together, oral sex, multiple orgasms, reader mentions being on bc, bit of a size kink, PiV

a/n: in love with the thought of his clark kent-ing slipping because he’s so overcome 💕

It’s been three months since Clark Kent first stepped into Jitters Coffee. Three weeks since you memorized his order - medium mocha, whipped cream, chocolate curls - and plucked up the courage to say hi.

Three days since your first date at Mo’s Cafe. Three hours since the third - conversations and texts spanning the time between.

And three minutes since you came against his tongue.

It’s been three months since Clark Kent first stepped into Jitters Coffee.

Standing a head taller than your regulars. Impossible to miss, and his smile quickly became a fixture in your daydreams.

Three weeks since you memorized his order - medium mocha, whipped cream, chocolate curls - and plucked up the courage to say hi.

Unable to help grinning at the way he leaned over the counter to shake your hand. Old school and sweet, and it stuck with you as much as he did.

Three days since your first date at Mo’s Cafe.

Your number inked carefully on the cup - he had called the second he saw it. Turning when he heard your voice answer, those blue eyes finding yours from across the street as he lingered outside the Daily Planet.

Smiles and salty fries dipped in milkshakes - long conversations lasting after close, Clark’s hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked you home.

Three hours since the third - phone calls and snuck-in lunch breaks spanning the hours in-between.

Anticipation hummed beneath your skin this morning, as he turned and waved after grabbing his coffee. Heat pooling low, with lingering looks and fingers that brush, entwine, squeeze.

You’ve thought about it long before it happens.

The eager press of his mouth against yours. Already a hint of familiarity, in his touch and the way he gripped your waist. The warm curl of his cologne around you, and the way you parted so easily for him when he deepened the kiss.

His bulk blocking you from the street, feet following when your fingers finally twisted around his tie and tugged.

And three minutes since you came against his tongue.

That had been a surprise.

You hadn’t known what to expect from this corn-fed, Kansas man. Pretty eyes framed beneath dark curls. A kind mouth that smiles too easily.

Flushing at your own sweet words. Two fingers pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as his head ducked.

The kind of man you could open up to, when you were ready.

Not ready to pick at that knotted web that had lead you to Metropolis from Gotham. The job at Wayne Enterprises that you’re not even sure how to begin to put on your resume - but you think that if anyone would listen, you’d want it to be him.

So sure that you’d be corrupting him.

But there had been an assurance in the way his mouth met yours, as the front door shut behind you. The careful way he lead you through your house, as if he didn’t need the hushed directions murmured out against his lips. As if he already knew where to go.

Your clothes carefully peeled off - reverently, left folded on your bedside table.

“I don’t do this often.” He had confessed, in between kisses.

Between the flit of his tongue against yours. Lips pressed against your cheek, then your jaw. Hungry and unhurried.

Eyes shadowed by curls, when his mouth dragged against your collarbone. Too big for your mattress, having to fold himself to fit.

“Take girls to bed?” Your brow raised, amused -and his eyes had dropped.

“No.” His head shook, a huff. “Yes. Not just that-. Date, I guess.”

The words had sent a spark alighting in your chest. Radiating, filling up the cavern behind your ribs, tracing down your veins until it pulsed between your thighs.

“Too busy writing about what everyone else is doing?” Your lips tugged up at the corners. Fingers loosened his tie, traced along the buttons.

“Something like that.” Another look, before he added, “I just want you to know that I-“

It hung - open ended - but you were ready to fill this, if nothing else.

The first three button tugged free, and your hand pressed against his heart, “I like you too, Clark.”

Something in him loosened. A sigh and a soft smile. Glasses left folded on top of your sweater, as he inched down - your thighs parted around him.

Struck by how blue his eyes were, when they flicked up to meet yours. You don’t know how you missed it the depth of them - a cloudless sky on a bright, summer day - as often as you looked.

But there’s something different about them.

About him, about the mouth that pressed against your hip. Against the elastic band of your underwear, then the damp spot against the silk.

About the deep groan - pitched low - when you arched into him. Breathless as his fingers hooked your underwear to the side. A murmured-out string of small-town interjection, as his thumb slid against slick skin.

As if you were truly seeing him for the first time.

There’s another murmur of his name - more instant - before he’d given in. Head ducking, letting his tongue flatten against your clit.

Groaning at your taste. Something tentative in his movements, until he caught the hitch in your breath, the way your hips moved to meet him.

A hand fitting against the curve of your ass, palm splaying wide, as it tipped you up to meet him. Slipping beneath later, until he could tease the tip of his middle finger between your thighs.

Pleas had tumbled from your lips. Your hand found his free one - flattened against your belly. Dragging it up to the swell of your tits, letting him cup you.

Your own had wound in his hair. Pushing back the thick curls as those eyes fluttered shut. A single one breaking free, dipping across his forehead as he slowly worked you open.

And as the pleasure swelled, your mind flicked back to before. Wondering how he could have you this close this quickly. If he was just a quick learner. Or if there was something more between you - if he felt that connection, too.

The thought left just as quickly. Too much - not enough room left for wondering as the orgasm crested inside. And then, breaking - crashing over you.

Letting your thighs clamp around his ears, and all he did was groan against you. Breathless and unyielding until you were boneless, legs finally splaying wide as stars burst behind closed eyelids.

And somewhere between then and now - in that timeless stretch of space - he wound up beneath you.

An easy shift as he had stretched out on the mattress - helping you hook a thigh over his hip, palms flattened out on his chest.

And it’s as you come back to yourself- you’re not sure how you missed this, either.

A slight twinge in your hips, as your thighs widen to straddle him. His dress shirt tugged fully open now, exposing a peek of his chest and the tight cling of the white undershirt.

Just how broad he is, beneath the ill-fitting clothes and the curl of his shoulders. Not cut, not exactly. You couldn’t picture him hitting the gym as dawn broke, with how busy he was. Just - solid. Impossibly so, as the muscles flexed beneath your spread-wide palms.

And as your eyes drag down - big.

You want him, and you’re not sure he realizes just how much. How the feel of his fingers, buried deep and crooking - the flick of his tongue and the way he was moaning into you - only made your hunger grow.

Nestled in your pillows, content. Smile loose and tasting of you, when you lean forward to kiss him - his arm quick to loop around, keep you close.

Feeling the sharp exhale against your cheek, when your hand drops to work at the silver belt buckle.

“Don’t have to.” He breathes, chasing your mouth when you lean back, “That, I mean, this is enough.”

But he does nothing to stop you. His hand warm, as it spans the back of your neck. Solid as it curves against your spine - the softest nudge until your forehead is pressing to his.

“You don’t want me to?” You coo - the button popped, zipper dragged down.

“Well-” It cuts off as your hand dips beneath - the groan after pitched low. Your fingers dragging down velvet skin, teasing across a thick vein.

The rest come in a rush, as you finally wrap around and squeeze. Marveling at the way he fills your hand, fingers stretching to meet, and you would swear you felt him throb in your grip.

“I definitely want whatever you want.”

You laugh, and he smiles back.

“I want to ride you.” You admit - something that you might have been shy about saying, if it was anyone else.

But the way he looks at you - has been, that little nod and the way his hips lift so you can free him - it sends a rush of boldness through you.

Enough that your hands reach behind. Loosening the pretty bra that you wore for him, the strap twisted against your shoulder. Lifting enough to peel the slick underwear down your thighs, kick them free.

Those eyes dark - stormy - when you’re pressed flush again. Your own admiring the parts of him you can see - flushed skin, the dark hair that leads down.

Human perfection, if there was such a thing.

“It’s been a while for me, too.” He’s nestled against you - thick and hard and warm, “I’m on birth control. Is this okay, or-?”

A roll of your hips against him - bare, and a sharp breath is inhaled through his nose. His eyes finally pulling away - bright, as they drag over you. Lingering on your abdomen, dropping to where he juts between your thighs.

“Yeah.” Clark husks, “Yeah, baby.”

He’s called you other things. Your name - laughing, exasperated, blushing. A soft ‘hey, sunshine’, in greeting in the weeks that had passed, with the way you grin so bright and so early for him.

But this - baby - how soft and sweet and possessive it sounds-

Something inside you flips.

And you think - you just might be falling.

His thumb brushes against your hip, “That’s good. Uh, great. I mean-”

A self-deprecating huff.

“Yes, please.”

Another hushed laugh, your teeth biting down against your bottom lip as you lift up.

Hovering, then - the head of his cock slick, as it rubs against you. Inhaling a breath, preparing to drop down - to take him - when his eyes make an effort to pull up.

Hands moving before you can process them. Catching around your waist, holding you in place.

“Wait, sunshine.” His fingers pinch, voice strained, “Hold on.”

“Clark.” It comes out short. A shift of your hips as a very human impatience thrums through you both, but it’s fruitless. It’s like pushing against a man of steel, impossibly strong.

“I know,” He breathes, “I know. Just, please-”

You slacken, at that. At the way his lips part, the press of his fingers, denting your skin.

Letting him take over. Achingly slow in the way he lowers you down. Your gasp rattling through your chest at how he sinks inside you for the first time - the slick slide and the pressure as you make room for him.

And then, back up.

Only to repeat, again.

A whine ripping free as you take another inch. Lifted, his cock left shining and glossy and a heartbeat of a minute where you’re so painfully empty - before you’re stretched around him again.

Moving you like a doll. You might have more thoughts about that if your head wasn’t so blissfully blank and so wholly consumed, all at once. Eyes snagging on his - how he hasn’t looked away, hasn’t blinked, once.

Fixed on your face. Every expression flicking across it, even the dip of your eyes when you hadn’t been able to help it. Dropping down, needing to see how he looks, half-nestled inside you.

Every second of pleasure that flits across your face, it is caught and captured. And when he shifts you - angling your hips, sinking deeper - it drags him across a space inside you that feels otherworldly.

Your fingers wrap around his wrists, as you beg him not to stop. That experimental bounce becoming intentional. Focused, until you can feel that tension winding deep inside you. Knees pressing into the bed as you try to move with him, that burn in your thighs melding with the mind-numbing pleasure.

Head tipping back, eyes closing when it becomes too much. When you’re left, muscles stringing tight - his name coming in a rush as you clench down hard around him.

His answer comes - breathless and lost as your world closes in around you.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

It’s so different than the first.

You don’t know if you’ve ever come this quickly or felt this full - his pace slowing as your nails dig into his skin. Panting through the waves of bliss that wash from your spine to your toes.

Clark’s breathed out “That was, oh my gosh-“ would make you laugh, if it didn’t feel like he was taking up the space between your lungs.

If your mind wasn’t fuzzy, clinging to him as you lost your rhythm - depending on him to keep moving you through it.

And it’s this, that finally has his eyes dropping. Lingering on the slow bounce of your breasts. Caught on the soaked, slick shine against his curls and the base of his cock - the tight pulse as your pleasure wanes and the clenching promise to take every drop he gives you.

Letting you take over, now. That control loosening with the way you take him to the hilt, molded around him. Your hands lowering to his chest. Feeling the thundering of his heart, a pace that matches yours.

Letting your hips roll. Letting himself watch, stretched out beneath you and just as enchanted as before.

An encouraging sound when your hands lift to tease your tits. His cock jerking inside you, another bitten back curse when a hand drifts down.

His tongue dragging across his lower lip - a rough, bitten-back groan as you part yourself. Fingers splitting to feel him, dragging through your slick. Circling two fingers against your clit.

“You’re beautiful.” He says it so plainly, so suddenly, that you can’t help but believe him, “Should’ve done this before.”

You smile, “Should have given you my number sooner, huh?”

He can only nod, and it only spurns you on.

The third tears through you, soon after - brought on with the with press of your fingers and the slow rock of your hips. His own palms flat against the mattress soon after your second, the tips digging into the sheets.

Teeth gritted like he’s in pain, the rough exhale of breath each time you shift up on your knees.

Drop back down.

Holding himself back, for just a little longer. Until he could feel you squeeze around his cock a second time.

He doesn’t make it long. That thread of self control fraying, snapping.

“Fuck.” It punches from him like a bullet, unexpected and ragged and harsh through soft lips, “You feel so good, baby. I think I’m gonna-”

His hands shift. Feather-light against your hips, like he can’t help but touch you again. Needing an anchor.

A shake of his head, as if retracting his previous statement - amending it.

“You’re going to make me come.”

Goosebumps prickle across your skin, and it only makes you double your efforts. The pleasure still an echoing memory each time your hips bounce against his, each time he rubs against that spot inside you again.

“Want you to, Clark.” It’s breathless, “Please-”

And it’s only now, on the brink, that he moves. Thrusts that stay shallow, deep and grinding inside you as his jaw tightens. The scrape of nails against your skin, muscles strung tight.

And then your name is on his lips in a soft moan. Tugging you down and flush, taking every inch as Clark spills inside you - your name a drawn-own gasp that lingers in the air, after.

It has your back arching, the fullness. The heavy jerk and throb, the panting breath and the leaded, sex-drunk weight of your limbs. Bringing you down to meet him, as his arms envelope you. Hips rocking together, until he finally goes still.

There’s a prolonged and blissful moment, after.

His head tipped back, with you spread out over him. Face nestled in the curve where neck meet shoulder - lips at his throat, feeling the fluttering thrum of his heartbeat as his fingers trace senseless patterns along your spine.

The warmth of him flooding inside you, leaking out - and it almost feels like you’re weightless. Hovering above the mattress. Frozen in time and space.

But then, it becomes more than just a feeling. The soft drag of your toes against the bedsheets, the bent curve of your legs lengthening.

Your eyes slipping open to see how his shirt pools beneath, gravity pulling the fabric down to the bed below.

“Clark?”

His eyes open, and then - you’re falling.

No more than a short distance - a foot or two at best - but your heart is leaping to your throat, and the sound of his back colliding with the mattress sends a shudder through the room.

A groan, and then the worn particle board is cracking in its frame. The legs beneath the footboard snapping, tilting the bed on its axis for a terrifying second before the headboard follows - sending the bed crashing against your rug.

You’re left staring at him, wide-eyed.

His expression matching your own, and it’s so unexpected and his face is so comical that you can’t help the laugh that’s barked out - your palm slapping over your mouth to muffle the sound.

“Oh no.” He gasps - a hand sheepishly drawing over his face, “Oh golly. I’m so sorry. I-”

The briefest hesitation, but then your mouth is tipping to his. Stealing a kiss - too chaste, after everything - and red blooms across his cheeks.

A small grin, as he finishes.

“I can explain.”

I saw superman this week and oh my god clark was so sweet I couldn’t stand it 💖 thank you so much for reading and I really hope you like this!

[loversreads]

Part 2- Johnny can’t make you cum. (18+)

Part 1- not a necessary read but if you want a bit of a backstory.

johnny is sleeping when simon absolutely bashes the door open, the ferocity in his movements sending the wood slamming against the wall.

the sergeant jerks, fumbles beneath his pillow for a gun that isn’t there.

you feel kind of sorry for him, especially when he furrows his brows in utter confusion at your frame swallowed behind simon’s.

he grabbed your hand just before you walked in, soothed vibrating insides by a consistent brushing of your knuckles with his thumb. when you realized what he was planning to do, the anxiety grew faster than you could beg him to stop, and you ended up afraid of facing both him and johnny. there was no good way out, you were trapped.

but he helps, he soothes. in a way the handsome scot just was never able to do.

“steamin’ jesus L.t., go on and help yerself why don’t ya,”

simon huffs, unamused. “gladly.”

all it results in is the flailing of johnny flopping back down onto his back, hand scrubbing dejectedly down his face. “bloody hell, what do ye want?”

“i want you to stand up,”

this results in overly boisterous laughter from johnny as he looks back at simon, eyes piercing through the mass of man to look at you.

you can’t really make it out, but it sets unease throughout your bones, quickly followed by regret.

“simon this-it’s fine. please can we just-” you’ve got your grip on his bicep, rippled shreds of pure muscle thrumming beneath your fingertips. he’s so big. so so big. every piece of argument you had queued up dies immediately and is all replaced with saliva, drool ready to fall down your lips.

simon scoffs. “look at tha’, you see tha’ johnny. got ‘er so worked up she can’t even talk.”

his words bring you back, make your entire body go hot. this is embarrassing, really really embarrassing.

“oh, i’m-i’m fine i-simon can we please-”

he spins around, the simple narrowing of his eyes making you go compliant and utterly quiet. “y’r gonna hush y’r mouth and let me ‘andle this. yes sir?”

only your breath is heard, the rapid rising and falling of your chest making your throat tighten, eyes lighting up and fizzing out all at once. he notices, pries your hand off of him and puts it at your side, tucking two knuckles beneath your chin. “hm?”

you swallow, thickly, finding softness in his features, in the way he caresses your cheek. you nod, licking your lips. “yes sir.”

“good. now,” he turns, facing the sergeant, tone changing into this commanding force you know as your lieutenant. it’s the one nobody challenges, the one that means one wrong move and there is punishment ahead. “johnny. get. up.”

he doesn’t, he just waits. his eyes have questions, thousands of them, confusion swirling in a baby blue sea. you think he might be hurt. guilt slams into your chest, makes you lose all air. you cant help but put a hand on your sternum, heel of your palm trying to draw you back.

this is wrong. this is bad this is wrong. fix it fix it fi-

“why should i listen to a thing ye have to say?”

he’s standing toe to toe yet they’re ten feet apart.

“ye come barreling in my room, have my girl on yer arm, telling me i dinnae know how to please a woman.” he sits up, spinning around in his bed so that big, bare feet slam frustrated on the ground. “tell me why not even an hour ago i had the lass crying in my bed,” he runs a hand through an unruly mohawk, and its only then you notice the flush to his cheeks. he’s flustered. “don’t tell me i don’t know how to fuck sir, because every woman that comes through this building has a different say so.”

simon’s back goes tight, taut, and you can see the way his shoulders rise and fall with each calculated breath. he’s not hiding his anger, but he’s not making a show of it either, he’s just listening.

“she’s not every woman.”

you’re still rubbing your chest, hiding away and trying to breathe. there’s too much tension in the air, enough to make your skin uncomfortably hot, and usually johnny’s room is like a tundra.

this is your fault. they’re going to fight and hate each other and you’ll be in the middle of it, all because you couldn’t get over cumming, or rather the lack of.

how childish are you? how stupid?

you hear your name and it feels like a smack to the side of your head. it’s disorienting, and it makes everything ache when it comes from the lips it does. “tell him bonnie, get whatever fantasy is in his head out of it so i can get my arse in bed.”

you can’t read him again. can’t tell if he’s being true or if it’s begging you see in his eyes. don’t embarrass him, don’t make him feel like a fool.

he huffs, scratches his neck, yawns. his mannerisms are too calm, and you realize it wasn’t begging but frustration. he thinks he’s right.

you can feel tears, and the emptiness between your thighs throbs.

simon looks at you, softly, expectantly, and all you can do is flicker between the two faces. two familiar yet strange features. do you tell the truth? fix it?

or let it go? you’ve always been decent at taking care of yourself, why make this bigger than it is?

just fix it. fix it fix it fi-

the words come before you can stop them. “it’s not, i’m not trying to be um, to be mean, but i-” the thing that stops you is the way johnny pauses, for a mere second you see a teenage boy in him. soemthing yearning to pleasure, to please. something new and confused. he just needs guidance, to be taught. to learn and figure it out on his own.

yet you’re calling him out, plastering his name on flyers and forcing peoples heads where the pages are stapled onto a tree.

look at this man. he doesn’t know, he’s stupid. look at him. laugh.

simon analyzes, ushers you forward with a flicker of his fingers. “c’mon,”

you have no confidence, nothing to make you continue, but he’ll force it out of you.

and you want to cum. you really really do.

“i-”

johnny looks up, and you think you see the moment his stomach drops. it makes the tears noticeable on your face, makes you pick at your nails, rub your chest, mess with your hair, anything to keep from hurting him, anything to-

“everytime we’ve um, that we’ve done this, i can’t-i’ve never finished.”

“what?”

“but it’s not, it’s not just with you! i mean every guy i’ve been with i’ve had this problem so it’s probably me so don’t feel um weird or bad or, like, anything.”

you try to smile, to make him feel like less of the problem, but he’s got his mouth open, teeth poking out, tongue dry.

your belly hurts again, and you look at simon, sniffling, trying not to absolutely lose it.

he just shakes his head, wipes away all tears with his thumb. “we don’t make excuses for the foolish baby, isn’t that right mactavish?”

when simon moves out of your eyesight to look at his sergeant, you notice johnny is on his feet, pants on, eyes stone cold and unreadable. like a soldier.

he’s following his orders.

it makes you sick, makes your insides twist, but simon only hums, the sound reaching nerves you didn’t know you had and lighting them on fire. he’s satisfied, happy even. “good boy johnny,”

he nods, eyes looking right at you and yet he’s nowhere to be found in them. it’s like simon flipped a switch in johnny’s head, turned off the lights and lost him somewhere in the dark.

“simon-”

“let’s go, my room ‘s warmer.” he puts a large hand on your hip, forces your body to turn and applies pressure to make you move forward.

like a horse with a bit in its mouth, thick thighs guiding you each and every way you need to go.

simon’s room is down the hall on the right, numbers pried off and leaving behind a lighter and more faded section of the wood. your heart thunders like hooves on asphalt when he reaches around you to grab the door handle.

his neck is directly under your chin, breath hot on your jawline. the mask is still lifted, revealing wet, pink lips. they kiss your skin softly as he opens the door, whispering encouragement like a prayer to make your body cooperate.

“first lesson johnny, you ‘ave to make ‘em want.” his voice is in your ear, making you shiver. “shut the door,”

you hear a click, some shuffling of feet, and simon is in front of you, hand cupping your cheek. lips press underneath your ear, kissing a slow trail down your neck and to your chest, then back up to the other side.

“there are a lot ‘a women that might like to jump in with both feet sergeant, but some of ‘em like you to take your time. you ‘ave to learn to read ‘em.”

you think you feel him smile, and suddenly your hands are on his chest, fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until his body is as close as your skin can be in this position.

“i um-i like the build up,” the words feel sinful. you’re not supposed to give suggestions, you just shut up and take what you’re given. but simon likes this, in fact, you feel teeth graze across your jaw.

“i know ya do baby, but johnny ‘s used to the ones who open their legs for a bit of fun yeah, but you, you like the way it feels. don’t ya?” you’re looking up at the ceiling, breath caught in your throat. every touch of his hands, of his skin, sends liquid lava through your veins. it’s an odd feeling.

there’s warmth in your belly akin to butterflies, and there’s an aching coming from your cunt. it screams at you, begging to be filled.

he grabs your face, forces it back down from where it was focused on the ceiling. his pupils are blown wide, tongue peeking between his teeth.

you hesitantly grab at his cheeks, slipping fingers beneath the mask to feel his features. he’s sturdy there too, stubble poking at your skin and tickling the creases beneath your knuckles.

“you gotta kiss ‘er, make ‘er feel wanted.” he does so. soft at first, like he’s asking for something. you give it to him by having your knees buckle, his strong arms squeezing the plushness of your thighs and lifting you around him. “there’s a time and a place t’ feel like a toy, but when you’re tryin’ to please ‘er, you gotta let that fantasy go johnny.”

he lays you back softly, says every word against your lips so he’s never apart from you. the tension in your shoulders eases for some reason, even when he tugs off your shirt, undoes your bra.

normally you’re afraid, goosebumps littering your skin, but it’s so warm in here. not the prickly kind, but the kind that makes you sigh, makes your eyes flutter shut with content.

he kisses down to your chest, and you arch your back in a way that’s never happened before when he starts sucking on your tits. he’s experienced, in his own simon riley way. the tongue does a lot of the work, teeth stimulating your nipple when he grazes oh so slightly before moving to the other.

you can feel little mewls coming from your lips, sounds you’ve never considered making before.

there was always too much to think about, too much to dwell on. now your brain is shut down, you move in tandem with him, body following his instructions like it’s the most natural thing in the world. an instinct to let him lead.

his hands begin to wander as he kisses your neck, dipping in your waistline and coming back out to rub your sides.

it’s sensual, you guess is the word.

a feeling you can’t place but recognize so well.

you turn your head so he can kiss your neck, but when blurry eyes flutter open, something happens inside your chest.

johnny looks sad.

he’s posted up in a chair, stiff and lonely. you feel the guilt again, and suddenly there’s no excitement anymore, no pleasure. just pain.

“simon st-” you find yourself cut off by the barbed wire around your vocal cords. the tears come fast. the frustration comes faster.

he obeys, immediately, backs off a little bit to look at your face. you think you see johnny lean forward, like he wants to do something, anything.

“‘ey it’s olright, you’re olright.”

you’re hiccuping, choking on emotions and feelings that haven’t come to the surface in a long time. it’s overwhelming.

your face is wet, eyes bloodshot, and simon is trying. he’s gently kissing your cheeks, pushing baby hairs behind your ears and away from your forehead.

“everything is fine, i promise. johnny,” you choke on a sob, clenching your eyes shut.

you’re afraid to hear his voice, to hear the disappointment and betrayal that’ll come with it. you’re not dating, there’s been no commitment or conversation of such, but you’re nothing if not a loyal woman and this feels wrong.

you feel dirty. bad. even as your cunt turns its back on you, as it clenches from each and every touch of simon’s fingers.

“listen t’ me, breathe yeah? shh, just- ‘ey, look at me for a moment.” he kisses your lips, big palms running down each cheek to rid the remnants of tears. you open your eyes, blink some more away to clear your blurry gaze. he’s looking at you softly, maybe even sadly. you think it might be pity? empathy? he gets it, and that’s enough to have you sniffling, swallowing away the thick lump in your throat.

“‘m sorry,” the apology makes you cry again.

“no, this isn’t you. it’s never been you. we should’ve-listen-i should’ve talked to you some more. johnny should’ve told you it’s olright.” he’s nodding, caressing your sides. “isn’t that right? she’s okay, yeah?”

there’s silence, eerily so. you feel pain trickle in, emotions kickstarting all over again. you look at simon, bottom lip beginning to tremble, when johnny finally speaks, voice stern. “yer fine pretty girl,”

it doesn’t feel fine, none of this feels fine.

the way he says it isn’t soothing you, isn’t making you feel better. no, his eyes still seem distant, and you immediately slam your own shut.

you don’t think you can do this, you’re undeserving, a burden, bad, bad, ba-

“sometimes johnny,” simon’s voice is muffled by something, and you think you feel lips working down your stomach. “sometimes pretty little ladies get in their ‘eads, start questionin’ things.” lips above your waistline, leaving featherlight kisses. you feel your breath hitch, legs squirming all on their own in anxious anticipation. “you gotta turn that off, make it oll go quiet.”

it’s a tongue now, running up your side. thick, calloused fingers dipping in the hem of your pants and tugging them down. he does it slowly, a bit of permission being asked in the way they hesitantly slide down your hips.

you don’t fight it, just nod, lifting up your ass so he can finish tugging the leggings down.

your brain still whirs, images of the man just feet from your naked body passing through in clips, making you inhale sharply through your nose, fighting off more tears.

“hush it now,” you startle, eyes flying open to find simon right above you. one hand is on your cheek, thumb ghosting over your jawline. it draws your attention, makes you look at him and him only. “good.” that other hand wanders. it runs over the cotton of your panties, feels the way they’re a bit wet with slick.

“better, but if they’re not soakin’, well then, you’re just not doin’ it right.” he dips his thumb in the crease of your folds, over the fabric, running it up and finding an oddly perky clit. “mm, gettin’ somewhere.” you watch him smile, watch a scar twitch in satisfaction. his cheekbone seems to flutter too. you focus on that for a moment, focus on the way it ticks.

he’s fascinating, oddly enough. he’s complex and emotional, but there’s a wall, a mask if you will. something in his eyes, crowded by thread. it says this is him tearing it apart for you, says that he’s trying.

a moan breaks out before you can stop it when he pushes aside the crotch of your panties, testing the waters with a finger in your cunt and a thumb on your clit.

it shuts your brain off completely, makes your hands fly to his shoulders. “you ‘ear that? means she’s feelin’ better.” he smiles, all teeth and gums, before moving down your body yet again, taking your underwear with it and tossing them to johnny when they’re off.

they hit him on the neck, making you slap a hand over your lips before they let out a ferocious giggle. simon likes it though, he’s loosening up each limb little by little, making you human again. “smell that, feel ‘em. let it be your souvenir from tonight’s lesson. cause once i bury my face in this pussy, it’s mine.” he bites the inside of your thigh for emphasis, making you yelp, fingertips curling in unruly sheets.

“now, tell me one thing sweet’art, can you do that for me?” he’s placing open mouth kisses against the top of your pelvis, circling your cunt, making you clench with want.

“wh-what?”

“what’s so wrong about the way johnny boy over ‘ere eats y’r pussy, and be honest, we don’t mind, do we?” you look over, try to ignore the lips on the crease where your thigh meets your pussy, but fail with a mewl, even as johnny nods yes.

“i dunno it’s just,” there’s a warmth gliding up your slit now, making you still. “um, he just, he’s really rough, and he-fuck,” simon moves up, circles your clit with a flattened tongue. “he never does that.”

when he perks his head up, his eyebrows are raised beneath the balaclava, your arousal glistening on his chin and the black fabric. you think it might turn you on a bit.

“you mean he’s never touched y’r clit.”

you feel bashful again, meekly shaking your head as warmth floods your cheeks.

“ohhhhhh johnny, fuckin’ rule number one mate. that’s where a lot of it comes from yeah, the way ya feel?” it’s rhetorical, he knows. of course he does.

he looks at johnny though with a down right death stare, adjusting his grip on your thighs so his forearms are over the tops of them, shoulders keeping them pushed forward while his hands massage your tummy. every touch of his fingers keeps you here, present. it’s a bit harder to float away with the feeling of hands on your tits.

“looks like i’ve got some makin’ up to do then. right on, let’s get to it.”

then it begins, like a man starved of his meal. you feel simon open his mouth against your cunt, tongue seeking its way through your entrance before pulling out again. it’s all warm and wet, a tingly feeling shooting up your spine each time he moves up, lips wrapping around that little bud and sucking with the lightest of motions.

that has you singing a bit, hand now tugging the sheets up. “fuck, oh my go- simon,”

you think he chuckles, not because you hear it but because you feel it. it sends fire through your cunt and pooling in your stomach, tightening this odd coil resting in your gut.

he tilts his head, tries to find an angle to go in deeper, you don’t think that’s even possible. the man isn’t breathing, isn’t asking to stop, he’s fully willing to drown in your pussy. and for once you don’t think there’s enough coherent thoughts in your mind to care.

you think his mouth is making noises now, light sounds from how sloppily he’s going down. he’s taking his time, unlike johnny, building up this delicious flame that, once completely ignited, will set your whole body alight.

you arch when he takes your clit again, and there’s an unfamiliar sound coming from your lips when he decides he can add his fingers as well.

“oh simon, right the-” he found your sweet spot within seconds. you wait for him to lose it, even grind your hips down to beg him to continue, but it was unnecessary, because he’s hitting it over and over and over again.

somehow, on instinct, your free hand flies to the back of his head, pushing him down further into your cunt. you need more. more, more, more.

he reads it and begins to move in tandem. his mouth solely focuses on your clit while his fingers work your insides. it’s takes two more strokes of his fingertips and you’re a goner, that coil he’d been winding snapping full-force.

you call out his name, moan it breathlessly. you whimper and writhe, feeling arousal literally leaking onto your thighs.

it’s messy and hot, and simon takes in every last drop.

he works you, slows down his pace to very carefully take you down from your high. it’s only when you start spasming does he stop, fingers pulling out and going in his mouth.

“taste like honey sweet’art, just like i knew y’ would.” he crawls back over your body, places lips wet with cum over your closed eyelids in gentle kisses. “might just ‘ave to bottle y’ up, put it in my tea.” he grins against your jaw, laughs when you giggle. “what do ya think a’ tha’?”

“that’s,” you’re heaving in deep breaths, struggling to crawl out of the syrupy sweetness coating your mind. “that’s yucky simon,”

his chest shakes, belly vibrating against yours, and suddenly you hear a sound like thunder right up against your ear as he collapses onto you, squeezing your hip with ferocity as he fights off laughter. “i wouldn’t-fuck-i wouldn’t call it, in y’r own words, yucky baby. might just be the best sweetener a man could ‘ave. a delicacy.”

“no.”

he’s still laughing, now combining it with kisses on your cheek. “oh yeah, could sell it to the boys. make a fortune. bet they’d like tha’.”

you swat at his chest, but it doesn’t beat the smile you manage when you finally open your eyes to see his own staring back at you in something that could be described as nothing other than awe.

they swirl like a storm, heading straight toward you. ready to rip apart your life and set it anew onto its own path. destruction with willpower. and you accept it. even as a foot taps, even as you remember there’s another man watching, analyzing.

because he’s never looked at you like this before. and now that you’re really paying attention, you think simon always has. just a duller version in the past.

either way, this isn’t something you want to let go of. ever.

simon comes back when you kiss him, slowly, reverently. “right, well,” his tongue searches for answers among your teeth, finding his answer and coming back with a sigh. “let’s finish this lesson up, send mactavish ‘ere on ‘is way. and then we’ll ’ave a bit of fun. hm?”

sounds like pure bliss.

“i accept your offer.”

he kisses you, as loosely as he’s made your limbs. this is what it should be like. you should feel this comfortable, this at home.

maybe you never had before because johnny was just a vacation.

“now, sergeant, when ya fuck a woman. ‘old on, ‘ere baby, lemme-there we go,” he grunts, adjusting himself properly between your thighs. he’d put his hands under your knees and pushed them against your stomach as far as they’d go, splitting your pussy open for him. leaving it warm, leaking, and inviting. “where was i? yeah, when ya fuck a lady, sure y’ might like it tight, and it might be, but if she’s not drippin’, not a fuckin’ fountain for ya dick, y’ might ‘ave an unhappy woman. and well, that just won’t do will it?”

simon shakes his head no for emphasis, and you follow, like an obedient little puppy. a kitten who whines when he runs the tip of his dick up and down, gathering your slick.

“i know ya think this is all about the way ya feel johnny, and it is sometimes, but if you’re feelin’ good when y’r missus isn’t and ya just keep goin’ to get a decent wank, then you can fuck right off. not under my roof, not under my rank. is that understood?”

johnny is silent and simon is beginning to press inside you, sending a stinging stretch that makes your nails dig into his biceps.

“yes sir, johnny?”

a little more and he pulls back out, making you whimper before pushing back in again, further.

“yes sir.”

simon kisses your neck, whispers in your ear. “doin’ good for me. i know it stings a bit but just give it a moment and it’ll feel better.”

you nod, trying to focus on the way his tongue feels in your mouth instead of the intrusion in your pussy.

johnny isn’t small, not by any means, but it’s never really gone that far if you’re being honest, and you’re not sure right now if it’d matter anyway because well, simon is very true to his size.

you agree a bit loudly, trying to convince yourself. “okay okay,”

he tries to go further but it almost feels like you’ve hit a wall. he widens your thighs, makes them burn, and keeps inching in, trying to coerce your body into loosening for him.

it makes you hiss. makes him pause. “it’ll stop, just relax for me.”

“promise?” you whisper this one, focus your eyes on his own when they come up to look at you.

he doesn’t hesitate to show you the intensity in them, doesn’t hesitate to guide you to safety.

“if it doesn’t, you just tell me and we’ll quit. not doin’ nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”

you nod, choke back some tears, and squeeze his biceps to let him know he can just do it.

“want a countdown?”

“no.”

before you know it his hips are flush with yours and you’re muffling a whimper in his neck, feeling his hand massage the back of your thigh. “easy,” he waits, lets you breathe, and then his thumb finds your clit again.

at first it doesn’t do anything, because there’s a stretch, a big ass fucking stretch. but then something hits the ends of your nerves, makes your eyebrows furrow in a different way.

now there’s a pressure but it’s nice, and you wiggle, testing the waters.

“move, please,”

you don’t have to ask twice.

he’s starting off slow, panting a bit, trying to speak but failing to find words.

“ya start off at an even pace, somethin’ she can count on.”

you find your ankles locking around the base of his spine, and now your neck feels less tense, there’s jelly in your bones.

“the main thing you’ve got ta-mmph-fuck,” he hangs his head, stifles a grown in your neck. “oh you’re killin’ me, feel so warm so-ah-tight.”

his reactions cause reactions of your own and you moan alongside him, letting your body guide you.

“every wo-woman ‘as got a sweet spot.” he grabs your hips, quickens his pace to a speed where you can feel every curve and vein that makes up his dick, where it slides deliciously in and out, where it builds up a tightness again, sitting low in your belly.

“you might ‘ave to try a few different angles, but you’ll know by the sounds she makes whenever you’ve found it.”

he adjusts so he’s hitting one side more than the other, it doesn’t do much, feels good but not life-changing.

“hm, not that one,”

your sounds are too breathy, weak.

he moves to the middle, pulls one thigh down and pushes it to the side. that feels better, really good actually. you moan a little louder, arch further into his chest. “almost got it, but not quite. you want ‘er singin’.”

again, he moves, angles his dick once more and slides out. “right,” it’s a skull-splitting movement when he slides back in and holy fuck what the-

“oh my god oh my god,”

“there. right there. that’s it. yeahhhhh,”

you let out a noise that never happens to you, something that would normally have you crawling with embarrassment, but simon just keeps hittting that spot, and hitting it, and hitting it.

“don’t stop fuck, simon please, please,” you’re begging him, tears in your eyes, praying he’ll just keep going.

you’re close, soemthing strong and yet so weightless beginning to take hold.

“shh baby, ‘m not, i got ya. you just let go, let me teach.”

you nod, frantically, let him set the tone. all you know is his tip is hitting a place that sets your nerve endings on fire, that makes your toes curl and fingers tingle, makes something in your brain begin to sparkle and tickle.

“johnny, we’re not sloppy when we’re pleasin’. if y’r tryin’ to get yourself off, sure, but women’s bodies are-fuck-” he lets out a deep whimper you think, folds into you a bit. all you did was clench down, pussy trying to suck him in and keep him forever.

“‘m sorry,” you think tears are pouring, but there’s too many feelings all at once that you can’t tell anything other than if he touches your clit you’re an absolute goner.

“don’t-baby, fuck you gotta-shit-don’t apologize.”

you hear how close he is in the way his voice pitches up. how his hands start caressing again, trying to ground himself.

“johnny, this’ll ’ave to wait i’ve got-fuck-i’ve got other matters of business.”

you don’t know what happens, but an explosion goes off inside your head. you throw it back, feel liquid lava creep throughout your veins.

and simon keeps going. again and again and again. he pushes your knees back, elbows holding him up, and something in him snaps because there’s a pace now so fast and so perfect that it has the feeling you thought was over building up in delicious overstimulation.

it crawls up your neck and wraps tendrils around your brain, squeezing until there’s no air in your lungs because you’re moaning it all out in the form of his name.

your arms were lazily thrown over his neck but now they’re on the bed, weak fingers trying to find solace in the blankets beneath you.

but you’re in space, floating, pleasure in every crevice of your body.

“baby fuck, you’re perfect. just-i’m so close, i’m almost finished fuck i know you can give me another. gonna give me another?” you don’t know if he hears you but you’re screaming yes inside, it only comes out as his name though just like everything else.

“yeah simon’s ‘ere, i’ve gotcha. just let it go, cmon, you can do it.”

he merely grazes your clit and you’re swallowed by a black hole, a place deep and dark that’s dragging you down into something disorienting.

warmth spills into you, tugs you further back into this vastness.

then there’s weight on you, muffled voices speaking and trying to yank on your tether.

you think you beg it to stop, to leave you alone and let you float away. but it doesn’t listen, it just keeps calling you back, tugging and pulling and now there’s light peeking through.

your rocket ship is landing. which is highly unfortunate because there is no way in hell you can step out of it without falling on your face.

you open your eyes, just mere slits, but simon is over you, saying your name, running a hand over your warm face.

“-ee’art? you okay?”

you think you nod, but by the way his voice keeps carrying you don’t know if that’s true.

“‘m fine.”

it’s slurred and weak, but he smiles, kisses your nose softly. “welcome back baby, thought we’d lost ya.”

“no,” you want to say more. to tell him about all the planets you visited on your trip around the universe. but there’s something throbbing inside of you, and you squirm, whimpering.

“yeah yeah, just breathe.” when the feeling inside of you begins to pull out, you hiss, trying to stop him as harshly as you can. it suddenly has reality flowing back through your veins.

“ow ow, fuck what did you do to me?”

he winces for you, hesitantly pulling out the rest of the way and kissing you when you cry out. “a bit sensitive are we?”

“yeah i-i dunno i feel like i blacked out or something,” you laugh but it hurts, so you settle for a smile, trying to coerce your legs into being less tense.

“somethin’ like that. feel good though?” he slides an arm behind your back, lifts you up so you’re closer. it gives you a touch of vertigo, makes you lean your head into his chest.

“don’t know if i’ll have better.”

you feel his laugh before you hear it and he kisses the top of your head. “think i can top it.”

“cocky much?”

“mm, just know what i’m capable of.”

you sigh, snuggling into him as exhaustion creeps in. you feel so empty yet so full. everything aches, there’s guilt in your chest, but he’s so warm. and can’t that be enough?

unfortunately he has to ruin it by being good.

“let’s get you cleaned up now. johnny, get out.” he keeps you calm with a warm palm on your back.

you hear footsteps, and he says nothing. all you know is there’s a small pause between when his feet stop and when the door opens.

you’ve hurt him. wounded his pride and his trust.

but he wounded yours first. badly.

and since when did anyone in this place not give a fuck about good ole revenge?

you hear him walk out, feel saliva pool on your throat along with a feeling very close to nausea. how do you patch this one up? and can you?

“you need ta take a piss love, then we’ll get ya in the bath, some warm clothes, maybe a bite.”

you whine, forget for a moment, and try to scooch further into him. “can’t i just take a nap?”

“i wish but, ya need to pee. just trust me.”

you grumble, groan, but he lifts you off the bed and to his chest so you guess it’s worth something.

simon sits you down on the toilet with the light off, kisses your head and claims he’ll be back when you’re finished. you think it’s all okay, that your sleepy daze will last. wrong, very fucking wrong.

this piss is like a second orgasm and you cling to the sink in horror when your body shudders, legs shaking, pussy absolutely pulsing with each moment that passes by.

it’s weird and uncomfortable yet oddly pleasuring at the same time. it sends anxiety through your chest, makes your brain ask for relief.

“simon,” you don’t know why you call his name, why moisture is pricking at your waterline, but he comes, clothes in hand.

he crouches down so he’s eye level, and suddenly this is all too intimate, too overwhelming. you’re still pissing, still trembling, and simon is rubbing your thigh, hushing your noises.

“‘m sorry this is weird i know it’s weird i-”

he shakes his head, runs his hands down to your calves to massage the tense muscles. “not weird baby, normal.”

you think you’re done, but there’s a sensation sitting in your vagina saying you’re not. and for some reason there’s no connection between the two of you to say you trust her at all. or really that she trusts you.

“i didn’t kn-know this was a thing.”

he’s working out a knot in your left leg, barely even looking up, like this is a casual tuesday.

“mmhm, learned it a while back. funny story really.”

round two comes fast and hard and you clench your eyes shut, waiting for the sting to pass and relief to flood.

“easy there, let it ‘appen.” and it does, faster than before, and finally your body is connecting its circuits back together again, making you feel like a whole instead of fragments of parts.

“done?”

you nod, eyes still closed, body lurched forward and dripping down further with exhaustion. “no, shower first, sleep later.”

you groan, obnoxiously, but he just flushes the toilet, turns on the shower and grabs your hands. “up and at em baby let’s go.”

“bossy.”

“mm, it’s my job.”

that makes you roll your eyes but you laugh nonetheless, liking the way he smiles. liking the way his nose crink-

his nose.

you can see the way his nose connects to his eyes. how it all wrinkles and crests and fuck he’s beautiful.

you stand there in something of amazement, because he took off his mask. for you.

your breath catches, eyes finding each freckle, every scar, and memorizing it, mapping out his skin. he’s perfect.

“in the shower, now.”

you grumble, stepping under the hot water and moaning. “thank you, thank you, thank you,”

he steps in behind you, hands sliding over your hips.

the silence that falls after is the most soothing part of the night. it’s two bodies moving like they’ve known each other for decades, reading cues and seeing signs that should take forever to learn, but they know.

they know when to step and when to turn, when to touch and when to back away. they sway and dance like strands of kelp side by side in ocean waves.

eternity together really.

simon has to drag you out, dries you off, puts the shirt on. he makes you sit on the counter while he takes care of himself. watches in amusement when your head tilts forward as your sleepy eyes close.

eventually you lay your forehead on his shoulder, waiting for him to stop brushing his teeth.

he carries you back, lays you down softly on what you’re recognizing as fresh sheets. ever the gentleman.

it’s cozy, a cocoon of safety.

you think you could fall asleep now, curled into his chest like this, but your eye catches the indent in his armchair, and suddenly it’s wide awake.

“y’r thinkin’, what about?”

you huff out a humorless laugh, tucking the thick comforter further beneath your chin. “how’d you even know?”

“felt the change in y’r breathin’, figured it was somethin’. but, ya know, just a hunch.”

he kisses the back of your head, follows your gaze to the place where it seems a little too stuck on.

“ah,” he knows. “ don’t worry about oll that tonight baby, we’ll ‘andle it tomorrow.”

you shake your head. and whose surprise when you’re crying again? “how do i even approach him simon? i mean i just-fuck-i was a horrible friend.”

“no, you made no commitments, there was no strings.”

“yes but,”

“no. don’t want to ‘ear it.”

you try to spin around to face him but he pins you still, kisses your neck with dry lips. “it’s time for bed. tomorrow.”

he leaves no room for argument.

“fine,”

“good, now sleep.”

you do, for a while. and sure, there’s nothing to worry about tonight. no responsibilities, no worries.

but tomorrow has them, in tenfold really. it has an agenda, and you think it’s going to be a bad one.

I hope this was worth the wait. turns out i had it in me the whole time i was just procrastinating!!

@senopa @kaylakenobi @ghostlyshieldmimic @shushyoudontknowme

[loversreads]

i feel like an animal in heat after reading this. this has easily become one of my favorite fics ever. this is so robby. i love it.

contents: car s*x rambling

robby loves his truck.

a used 1979 ford 100 in cherry red, bought on facebook marketplace two years ago from an older couple up on lake erie.

it didn’t drive when he bought it. took the weekend off with jack and hauled it back into town, kept it in the garage of his town home for four and a half months before he could even start to think about working on it.

it’s run solid for a year now, and robby loves to take you in it on test drives every other weekend. pull on the 279 up north past franklin park, stop at that little farmers market at mile marker 72 that you love before pulling into the westside’s walking trail parking lot - lovingly abandoned now in the summer time.

after sharing a bag of fresh peaches, robby’s got you on all fours across the bench seater, breeze tumbling through the open windows making the sweat stick to your skin. his soft stomach on your back as he fucks you deep, pushing you further into the car, his feet planted on the parking lots shaded concrete.

“r-robby, fuck-“ you gasped out, cheek pressed into the leather seat, right knee slipping off the bench as he pulled your hips back to meet his thrusts, forcing himself deeper inside you.

“where you going, baby? hm?” he laughs, propping your leg back up, just for it to slip and fall again. “feel too good? can’t stand no more?”

“not — oh, fuck — my fault you just.. fucking.. shined the leather,” you moaned out before slipping again, jolting forward to grab the door handle for balance. “robby, please!” you whined, looking back at him over your shoulder, overstimulated from hitting your knees against the built in cup holders & so, so desperate to cum.

“i got you baby,” he hummed, large hand running down your back as he held you steady, pulling out with a lewd schlick. he bent over you, popped the passengers head rest off the seat before nodding his head to the side. “roll over ‘n lift your hips.”

you did so, watching as he raised your hips up to place the headrest underneath, tilting them up just enough to — “fuccccck, that’s it, there’s my fucking girl,” he groaned, living for the angle, the way you took his cock to the hilt like this, one easy and fucking insatiable slide in. “lay back,” he panted, hand pressing against your lower tummy. “relax - let me make you cum.”

[loversreads]

lois lane x f!reader | headcanons

lois lane, the daily planet reporter who’s top of her game every day, breaking stories before the dust has even seemed to settle.

lois lane, your slightly older girlfriend who’s more stubborn than she’s worth, never letting you lift a hand when ‘i can just do that for you, baby.’

lois lane, your girlfriend who still gets flustered when you do manage to work around her stubborn ways, surprising her with flowers at her desk or with a meal as she walks in the door after a long day at work.

lois lane, who savors the feeling of your hips against her palms as she sneaks up behind you whenever she can, pressing her lips into your hair (and pretending like she doesn’t stick her nose in your neck to smell the remnants of the day’s perfume).

lois lane, whose hair falls onto the pillow in a beautiful obsidian arc when she pulls you onto her lap, staring up at your with that smug smile when she can tell how badly you need her.

lois lane, who cracks a grin the second you roll your hips against hers, only caring that you ‘take what you need, baby. i get mine when you get yours.’

lois lane, who guides your hips with a leisurely pace, adjusting your position so your legs are slotted perfectly, pressing your core against hers. clothed or no, this is her idea of perfection.

lois lane, who sneaks a hand under your shirt to paw at your chest, twisting a nipple in her fingers and inhaling sharply with a smile when you yelp at the contact.

lois lane, who waits no further to pull you down to her face, rolling her hips into yours as she lifts her chin to kiss you, swallowing each one of your moans with a smile.

lois lane, who lets a hand wander to your ass, squeezing it and pressing it further, creating more friction between you.

lois lane, whose cheeks flush when she can tell you’re close…

lois lane, who can take off both hers and your clothes in a flash, just to flip you onto your back and return to her place between your legs, weeping pussy against weeping pussy.

lois lane, who throws back her head with a, ‘that’s it, baby,’ each time your clits jolt in ecstasy as they bump against one another.

lois lane, who only lets you come when her face is level with your opening, coaxing your release until it splatters sinfully against her lips, her blue eyes darkening with each of your moans.

lois lane, who presses her throbbing clit against your sensitive one, wiping her mouth and swallowing your release as she rides you into overstimulation just as she comes against your spent pussy.

lois lane, who cups your cheek with a hand and pinches your nipple playfully before shifting to lay beside you, letting your shared release sink into your skin, not wanting to wash away the evidence just yet.

lois lane, who smiles when you tell her you love her, and—

lois lane, who loves you back.

-

soooo idk what i was doing there but i was just feeling it. dont tell me you watched superman (2025) and thought lois DOESNT kiss girls. saw her in that damn vest/pantsuit situation and said ‘i know what you are’

reblog to support a writer!!