Reblog To Give Your Headache To Elon Musk Instead

𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

the barn creaked around you, the night still and heavy with unspoken tension. clark’s chest heaved as he stood before you, his eyes aflame—not with his power, not yet, but with the kind of yearning that bordered on painful. his hands were warm on your hips, fingers flexing as if testing his own strength, afraid he might break you, though the idea seemed to excite him just as much.

“i can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing your cheek as he leaned in closer. his lips hovered over yours, hesitant, trembling, until you finally bridged the gap. the kiss was electric, his softness giving way to something raw as he surrendered to it, the barn’s dim light wrapping around you both like a cocoon.

your hands moved instinctively, sliding up his broad chest, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. he shivered under your touch, a deep groan escaping him as your fingers brushed his collarbone. but it was when you trailed your hand down, over his taut stomach, and cupped him through his jeans, that he stilled entirely, his breath catching in a strangled gasp.

“is this okay?” you whispered, your voice soft but teasing. his pupils dilated, swallowing the oceanic blue of his eyes, and his answer came not in words but in the way his hips pressed forward into your hand, seeking more.

“y-you’re perfect,” he stuttered, his voice rough, needy. you smiled and leaned in, kissing him again as you unbuttoned his jeans, your fingers slipping inside to find the hard, pulsing length of him. he groaned loudly, his hands gripping your waist harder, his body trembling like a live wire under your touch.

“clark,” you murmured against his lips, your voice dripping with amusement. “you’re shaking.”

“i—” he tried to speak, but his words were lost to another sharp intake of breath as your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him slowly, testing his reaction. his head tipped back, the muscles in his neck straining as a guttural moan escaped his throat. “oh god… oh god…”

and then it happened.

a flicker of crimson danced across the room, the hay bale nearest you smoking as a stray beam of heat shot from his eyes, searing through the wood. clark froze, his entire body rigid, his breathing erratic as his glowing eyes snapped to yours, terror and shame painting his expression.

“i—” he began, but you cut him off with a soft laugh, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth.

“it’s okay,” you soothed, your hand not faltering, your strokes deliberate, coaxing. “i trust you. besides, it’s kind of hot.” you grinned up at him, and his face softened, the fear giving way to something darker, more primal.

“kind of hot?” he repeated, his voice gravelly as his gaze darkened, the ember in his eyes simmering as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a ferocious kiss. his hands moved with more confidence now, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, his cock twitching under your touch as you stroked him faster, firmer.

the barn filled with his groans, low and guttural, mingling with the sound of your breathing and the creak of the old wood under your shifting weight. he was coming undone beneath your hands, his composure unraveling with every stroke, every kiss, every whispered tease.

“god, you feel… i can’t—” his words dissolved into a strangled cry as your hand twisted at the tip, your thumb brushing over the slick bead of precum. another beam of heat flashed from his eyes, charring a beam above, but neither of you cared now. you were lost in each other, in the heat, the danger, the overwhelming pull of him.

Meaningful Gestures Prompts

Welcome to my side-prompt blog! Ask me anything from writing, to prompt requests, and even join my discord where I can be frequently found!

Smoothing your fingers down your lover's tie, fixing where your lover couldn't tie it right.

Brushing your lover's waist/shoulder as they pass.

Instinctively pressing your hands against your lover's cheek as they passionately rave, only for them to stop talking and gape, completely distracted by the lack of distance.

Hooking your ankles together underneath the table.

Linking your hands together as you walk through school/a building/the streets--finger rubbing over your lover's knuckles softly.

Putting your hand on your lover's chest as they doze peacefully into the couch arm, focusing on the subtle beat of their heart on your hand.

Unflinchingly settling your head into your lover's lap while they watch television/are reading a book/doing their favorite hobby. Then asking your lover to explain what's going on/what they're doing.

On a whim, pulling your lover into an alley and pressing your lips firmly against theirs, getting lost in each other's touch while the streets bustle outside.

Holding your jacket over your lover's head as they hide from the rain, finding their formal outfit more important than your casual wear.

Whispering jokes/loving words in a lecture/school/church/a meeting. Trying not to laugh/flirt back in fear of disturbing everyone else who's trying to pay attention.

Putting your hand on your lover's thigh and feeling their eyes on you as they try to figure out your motives. Whether the touch is teasing or just for fun.

Mapping out your lover's features while they sleep in your arm, smoothing your thumbs down their cheeks, throat, collarbones, chin and nose.

Hooking a thumb into your lover's belt loop/pocket as a crowd surrounds you, making sure that you don't lose them in the people.

Pressing tiny kisses against your lover's shoulder while they're bent over a desk, trying to focus even though your touch is distracting them.

Wrapping your arms around your lover's waist and pressing your forehead against their back/resting on their shoulder, swaying to music only the two of you can hear.

At your lover's complaining, rubbing a spot where they ache, smiling as they lean into your touch and melt at both the touch and warmth.

Standing still as your lover rubs smudged lipstick/lipstick stains off of your skin, catching them off guard by pressing a kiss against their fingertip.

Pushing your lover against a wall after one too many teasing comments, but being met with unsaid tension instead of the quiet. Both of you unable to continue with the jokes.

After coming home from work/a long trip, finding your lover sobbing on the couch/in bed after a hard day, wiping away their tears with soft touches and gentle words--trying to convince them it's okay, and that you're there for them now.

Softly resting a hand on your lover's shoulder as they face something more difficult than ever, not bothering to exchange words as the touch does it all the same. You've got this in the bag.

Having your lover list everything they're insecure about, and responding with gentle caresses, kisses, and compliments about those areas.

While someone demeans your lover, standing up for them. Either in word, or by physically placing yourself right in front of them as a protective barrier.

Carding your fingers through your lover's hair after a bad nightmare, not caring that it's sweaty or matted, but just that they'll be able to get a good night's sleep, even if it's at the sacrifice of your own.

Protecting your lover's sleep as they doze on your lap, making sure nobody bothers them as they entrusted their peace to you.

Reading up on the things your lover enjoys so that when they talk about them, you'll understand a little better and be able to hold a conversation.

Tracing invisible shapes on your lover's skin as they're busy doing something stressful, keeping their attention half on what they're doing, and half on you.

Very softly placing butterfly kisses on your lover's skin up the length of their arm, either stopping at their neck, or drifting back down to their pulse point.

Reassurance in the form of food/movies/games, forcing them to take a second away and relax with you.

Not accepting that it's time to start the day, and pinning them onto the mattress with either your whole body, a leg, or more risque touches.

Visiting them at work, either with lunch, or just to spend the afternoon with them as they try to get things done. Whether they actually get things done, or thing devolve into flirting/romantic gestures is up to you.

DIALOGUE

"Hold on, let me fix this for you."

"God, you look so good."

"I'm... uh, dammit, your lips are so distracting. Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Your hands are always so warm."

"Be real with me, love. Do you really care about what I'm doing, or do you just want me to talk you to sleep?"

"If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it's on you."

"Couldn't you wait to kiss me at home?"

"Please, I don't want the rain getting both of us sick. I volunteer to be tribute--take my jacket."

"Stop, stop! We're going to get in trouble, and I refuse to be yelled at because of you!"

"I am trusting you with that hand, darling. I hope my trust isn't misplaced."

"I promise I'll stay close."

"You know, I am trying to focus... but I can't deny that it doesn't feel good. Keep going, please."

"Take a small break, for me?"

"Never thought I'd have someone to sway with me in the kitchen... I'm glad I was wrong."

"You have lipstick on your cheek, here let me-- oh."

"I-- you-- where we we?"

"Kiss me, please."

"It's going to be okay, I promise."

"Let yourself cry, I'm here now. You're safe."

"You may think differently, but I love this about you."

"Every part, no matter how you feel, is amazing to me. I could spend all day explaining everything I love about you."

"You want to get to them, you go through me."

"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."

"They're just a jerk, why don't we just go somewhere else?"

"I won't let them put their hands on you."

"I'm right here; I won't leave your side. Go back to sleep, darling."

"C'mere, I don't mind letting you sleep on me."

"Hey, leave them alone. They just fell asleep."

"Don't you dare wake them up."

"Wow, you really did your research, huh? That's amazing..."

"Next time, we can talk more about--"

"You know, you make these kinds of things not so painful, so thank you."

"Hmm... I don't whether to appreciate or complain that you're distracting me."

"I love how your pulse races for me..."

"Do I make your heart jump?"

"Come on, watch this movie with me. I promise it won't be as bad as the previous one."

"I bought this really cool game. Come and play it with me?"

"Hey, I got some food. Why don't we go eat in the kitchen for once?"

"Hrmg, I'm not moving. Don't make me."

"It's far too early for this..."

"Please, we need to get up."

"Touch me again, and I'm pushing you off the bed."

"I'm staying here, and I'm not moving. I do not care about your empty threats! Hey-- wait-- what are you doing?"

"I bought two sandwiches... by total accident, of course. Thought I might come give one of them to you, and maybe while I'm here spend some time with you, hm?"

"This... isn't doing work. But I don't think I mind."

"Thank you for joining me, love."

OKAY OKAY so i was thinking right?

a smut where peter and the reader are doing it and she gets a phone call, idk from her mom or something??? and shes trying to get peter to stop, but he won’t so she has to try and cover it up while on the phone

🫣

i love this idea SO much! heres somethin sweet i cooked up for the kiddos<33

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HUSH, HUSH- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Bf! Peter Parker x Gf! Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: SMUT, breeding kink, gagging on petes fingers, teasing, swearing, petnames, teasing, slight dumbification kink, blowjob mentioned, peter being a menace

You had left your phone tucked away in your bedside table, stuffed under piles of junk, so far down it was swimming in papers of all shapes and sizes.

You were sure of it.

The reason you did this, was so when your mom did her weekly, over the top check in, you couldn't pick up. You’d have no option but to let it ring and ring, because you wouldn't be able to hear it. But yet, there it was, ringing on the floor of Peter's bedroom.

You cursed yourself, wishing you could melt into a puddle right then and there.

It would be simple really, as Peter had already turned your bones to jello. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, body quivering from under him. Sweat trickled from your brow as he teased you, a wild grin plastered across his face.

He had made you cum more times that night than any man in your life had been able to in five months. You fell in love with Peter before you knew the added benefits that came with the package of dating him. Those being that he was excellent with his tongue, his fingers and his cock.

His talents showed true tonight, starting at sundown. The moon now was shining down at the two of you, a twinkling glow illuminating his body like a halo. Peter's fingers traced your curves, fingers teasing as he neared the spot you needed him most. His actions came to a halt as he heard the shrill ring from the side of the room.

He knew that ringtone, and he knew what happened if you didn't pick up. “You gonna get that Bambi?” he teased, grin turning mischievous at your shaking frame. “I don't really have a choice, now do I?” you whimpered, smiling faintly as he allowed you to wiggle from under him, as if to say be my guest.

You rolled off the bed, silk sheets brushing your thighs as you wobbled over to the buzzing phone. Stumbling over your own feet in the darkness, you heard a deep chuckle sound from behind you, and you quickly flipped off your boyfriend. Handsome prick!

Finally, you managed to grab your phone, the bright light making you squint as you hit accept. “Hello?” you croaked, voice still hoarse from screaming and sucking Peter off earlier.

“Hi sweetheart! What's my girl been up to?” your mother's cheery voice rang through the other end.

She's been getting her brains fucked out, you thought, holding back a laugh as Peter raised his eyebrow expectantly at you from the bed. “Oh um- nothing! Nothing’s new!”

Your eyes widened as you saw Peter's finger coaxing you back over to where he sat. Frantically, you shook your head. The look in his eye was gleaming, a boys in grin still on his face.

His fun was just starting, which meant things would not be good for you.

“Nothing? Nothing at all? You’re telling me you’ve just been sitting around in your apartment all week?” You slowly found yourself wandering over to Peter as you paced, his hand slipping in yours to tug you back on your back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of homework lately ya know? Classes n all that.” you faltered, holding the phone tightly to your ear as Peter shifted back on top of you.

What are you doing?! you mouthed, confusion plastered across your face as he smiled.

“Hmph. Classes in all that. How's the cute boyfriend doing?” she laughed, making you roll your eyes. “He’s not cute. He's mediocre.” you lied, earning a pinch on your side from Peter. You stifled back a laugh as he scoffed, placing a hand on his heart as if your words had physically wounded him.

“I beg to differ.” the cheery voice said from the other side, making Peter tilt his head in agreement. “Peter’s doing good. Hasn't gotten tired of my fictional crushes yet. He supports the Felicia Hardy obsession.”

Peter began to slowly spread your legs, revealing your slick mixed with his cum that stained your thighs. You bite back a moan as he brought his hand up to cup your cunt, smearing around your mess.

Head lolled to the side, you tried using your free hand to shove him off, with no luck. He continued his teasing as you shook your head wildly, silently mouthing every synonym of wait! you possibly could think of.

Your mom's voice continued to sound from the speaker, as Peter lined himself with your entrance, his only warning being a wink as he slid into you with ease.

“Yeah mom I think- OH GOD!!” you wailed as he entered your tight hole, his fingers coming up to slide in your mouth, making you choke around them. Gargling was all that could be heard from your end as you wrapped your tongue around his digits, savouring the taste of your cum that coated them.

“Sweetheart are you okay?” your mom asked, her voice full of worry. Peter leaned down to your ear, whispering so quietly there was no way of your mother hearing.

“Be a good girl and save those noises for me mkay? Gonna stuff you full till you're drippin, you just keep talking to her. Let me have my fun.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head at his words alone as he hit home, fully seated in you. “Got it?” he murmured, shoving his fingers a little deeper as you clenched around him madly. You nodded desperately, earning a smile from him as he slid his fingers out. “Honey?!”

“Yea-yeah I’m okay mom, just stubbed my toe.” you attempted to keep your voice neutral, but it was getting harder and harder as Peter began to slowly slide out of you, thrusting back in so hard you saw stars.

At this point you were begging. Pleading with your eyes, trying so hard to get Peter to stop. There was no way you’d be able to continue a conversation like this.

No way in hell.

You quickly hit the mute button, your mother still rambling on about something your father had done for house renos. “Peter I can’t, please. Not now-”

He answered you with a rough slam of his hips, making you scream his name in protest as he griped your hips even tighter. “You there?”

Oh fuck. She had asked you a question.

“Answer her sweetheart. Didn't anyone teach you any manners? Or do I gotta fuck those into you too?” he growled, cock brushing your g-spot as you mewled.

Quickly unmuting, your thoughts scrabble to process an answer for a question you didn't even hear. “Mhm. Sounds good.” You were biting your lip so hard you could taste blood, the coppery, tangy red liquid beginning to smear on your parted lips. It was hell with the way Peter was pleasuring you, igniting every nerve on fire as he rocked into you, but you couldn't do anything about it.

You needed to scream, needed to cry out his name, needed to do anything. You were long gone, cockdrunk and stupid. Trying to form a sentence was out of the question, the only word you could think was Peter.

Peter, Peter, Peter.

“Look mom I really gotta go I’ll call you back soon!” you cried, cutting her off as you quickly slid your thumb to hit the button that was tempting you for the past twenty minutes, throwing your phone to the ground.

“Now was that any way to treat a future grandma?” he tsked, shaking his head in a mocking manner as you clawed at his biceps, trying to grab anything you could reach to keep you from floating up with the stars. “Mghm please Peter need- need-”

“Awh poor baby can't even form a sentence? It's okay sweetheart, I’ll just have to do all the thinking for you hmm? Just keep making those pretty noises for me, yeah?” he pouted, leaning down to kiss the blood clean off your lips.

Avatar / Avatar: The Way of Water Lo'ak I'm Good At Letting You Go (You Were Never the Enemy) part one - part two

Neteyam Don't Let Yourself Be Hurt This Time

Friday Nights

pairing: riff (wss) x reader

warnings: 18+, minors dni, oral (m receiving), exhibitionism

summary: After having Riff’s hands all over you at the dance, you can’t help but pull him away into the shadows.

a/n: mike faist world domination ‼️ I’m hyperfixating so bad rn. He’s just so gorgeous.

“Where the fuck is Riff?”

The Jets without dates shrugged from their places on the outskirts of the dance floor. Ice clenched his jaw, his date securely tucked underneath his arm.

“He’s dancing with… Y/N…” Baby John scanned the crowd of dancing couples, failing to see either one of you.

“Numbers and Action left with their girls so if anything happens without Riff here, we’re outnumbered,” Ice said pointedly to the Jets within earshot.

Mouthpiece and A-Rab nodded, as Ice and his date rejoined the dance floor.

Unbeknownst to them, you had taken Riff’s hand halfway through a number and weaved him out of the crowd underneath the bleachers.

You found privacy there and, after the past few hours of being so close to him, you couldn’t deny yourself any longer.

As soon as you were in the shadows of the bleachers, you crowded him against the wall of steps.

“We should go,” Riff panted with pink kiss-bitten lips as your hungry mouth moved to his neck, licking and sucking his sweat-salted skin.

You shook your head with a mischievous grin, “I wanna keep dancing… Just need you to myself for a couple minutes.”

“Oh yeah?” A wide smirk plastered across Riff’s lips and his eyebrows lifted, looking down at you. His strong hands gripped your hips tighter and held you close to him.

You and Riff had been going steady for a few weeks. He treated you to milkshakes at the diner, he took you dancing every Friday night without fail and you two even went to the drive-in movie theatre once.

He was certainly charming.

But you weren’t sure you were quite there yet. Riff has a special way of making your stomach swirl but the Jets had a reputation amongst your friends for being… town bikes.

“Yeah, I like seeing you like this,” You smiled, letting that hang in the silence for a moment before taking a step back, “Wanna head back?”

Riff watched you with half-hooded eyes as you straightened your appearance. His hair was mused and his cheeks were rosy pink.

Looking through the gaps between the stairs, Riff assessed the dance hall. Lonely singles sat above you, waiting to be asked to dance, their shoes tapping to the beat of the music against the bleachers.

Did he want to go back..? Riff would rather spend the rest of the night hidden away with you, but you wanted to dance so he’ll dance.

He turned back to you and stood up straight, “Let me cool off for a minute.”

The bulge in his trousers was evident as he stepped further out of the shadows. It looked sizeable and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

Riff adjusted himself and the front of his trousers, straightening out his shirt and collar.

“You need a hand?”

The words escaped your mouth before you could think and Riff almost snapped his neck turning to look at you.

Silence hung between you for what felt like eternity but was in actuality a few seconds.

“I mean… if you want,” You shrugged, only now realising that you were ready to give yourself to Riff in that way.

“Sweetheart of course I want that,” Riff took your face between his hands, “Are you sure? We can just go back to dancing.”

Wordlessly, you wrapped your fingers around his belt and pulled him closer, your hips flushed to his. His unfastened belt buckle caught against your hand as you tugged down his zipper and lowered to your knees.

Riff helped you pull his boxer briefs low enough to free his aching cock. You gasped at his size and he groaned at your reaction to him, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

He was being so gentle with you. It was hard not to give him your all right away.

You started with kitten licks and soft kisses to his shaft, running your fingers through his happy trail and settling your hand on his thigh.

The other held the base of him as your tongue traced the vein across the underside of his cock.

Riff groaned from deep in his chest, gripping a metal bar from the bleachers framework above him. His other hand flailed in the air as he struggled to decide whether to hold onto you or not.

The hand on Riff’s cock ran along his toned stomach and took his free hand in yours, interlocking your fingers, as you wrapped your lips around him and took him into your throat.

“You can take it sweetheart,” Riff encouraged, his voice thick with lust.

Bobbing your head up and down, you worked up a rhythm that had Riff tipping his head back and biting his bottom lip.

He managed to muffle most of his moans and heaving breaths but the slick sounds coming from your mouth around him were hard for him to ignore.

Luckily the lively Jazz music of the dance hall bounced around the room, concealing your noise.

“Fuck baby, you’re so good at this,” Riff praised, low and rumbling. A smile graced your face despite your mouth stretching around Riff’s thick cock.

You moaned in appreciation, the vibrations making Riff moan and buck his hips, pushing his cock deeper down your throat.

Saliva dripped down his cock onto his balls. You pulled back to catch your breath, kissing his hand before untangling your fingers from his and stroking him.

Gripping him at the base, you took him in your mouth again and worked up another rhythm to prolong his pleasure.

Sweat beaded at his temples and his chest heaved. Riff wrapped his hand around the side of your neck, his thumb tilting your head back to meet your eyes.

The sight of him above you, ruined by pleasure, made you moan. The vibrations made Riff shiver. You met his eyes and his muscles trembled, pleasure shooting through him.

“Oh baby I’m gonna cum,” Riff groaned, biting his lip. His grip on the bleachers framework tightened, his bicep bulged and the veins in his forearm protruded.

You smiled giddily around his cock and reached up to massage his balls. A sinful moan sprung from his throat and his head fell back, ropes of warm salty cum coating the back of your throat.

Swallowing everything he gave you, you couldn’t help but laugh. Riff tried to catch his breath, a sheen of sweat coated his skin.

You rose to your feet, refastening his trousers and belt before tucking his shirt in and straightening it out.

Riff wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flushed against him. His face buried in the crook of your neck and pressed soft kisses to your skin.

You stood like that for a moment before pulling away. Riff looked you over before crouching and brushing his fingers against your slightly scuffed knees.

“Worth it,” You giggled as Riff stood to his full height, towering over you. He adjusted your dress and ran a thumb under your bottom lip, tidying your smudged lipstick.

“Beautiful,” Riff whispered with adoration in his eyes.

An arm wrapped around your waist and held you close, “Ready to dance, girly girl?”

“Just one more kiss and then we dance,” You rose onto your tiptoes, meeting him halfway and kissing him with raw passion.

Riff pulled away, barely an inch, “Just so you know, I’m returning the favour as soon as you let me.”

“You’ll have no complaints from me,” You kissed him quickly and nipped at his lip before taking his hand and heading back to the dance floor.

The eagle-eyed Jets whooped as you and Riff reappeared, less put-together than when they last saw you.

“Enough’a that,” Riff was stern but in good spirits, pulling you under his arm as you giggled.

The Jets fell silent, despite mischievous smirks and knowing looks.

None of the Jet boys would ever say anything to you. Riff was their leader and he’d have their necks if so much as one bad word went against you.

You were his girly girl, his sweetheart, his.

“C’mon doll, let’s dance,” Riff grinned down at you, swerving you between other dancing couples to the centre of the room, “Wanna show you off… and then you’re coming home with me.”

At that, your mouth went dry. Riff bit his lip as he watched you swallow thickly.

After a moment to recover, a smirk twitched at your lips and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “One more song then we go.”

Riff dipped his head to capture your lips with his before twirling and dipping you in time with the music.

You couldn’t wait for what was to follow, and every Friday night to come.

serving up suds!

parings: patrick zweig x fem!reader / art donaldson x tashi duncan

word count: 3.9k

summary: you and the rest of the girls on the tennis team need to figure out a way to earn money for new uniforms. your boyfriend suggests the best idea.

contains: SMUT 18+ with lots of cute boyfriend patrick plot, fluff, only contains art and tashi as side characters (sorry), suggestive language between art and tashi, oral (m receiving), inaccurate numbers probs, if you think anything else should be added, please let me know!

note: wrote this simply because i love and miss pookie patrick zweig so enjoy… i planned to post i choose you but wanted to post this instead! also, not edited – will be doing so shortly.

You stood in front of Coach Williams, arms crossed and brow furrowed, your frustration barely masked. “We don’t even have proper uniforms,” you said, voice tight. “They just told us to wear red tank tops and the shortest white shorts we could find. It’s ridiculous. No one takes us seriously.”

It had been a minor irritation at first, something you could almost shrug off as a small injustice. But when you found out that the boys' team, including your boyfriend Patrick, had crisp, matching uniforms—with collars and the school logo stitched on the chest—your irritation curdled into anger. They looked like a team. They looked respectable. And you? You and the other five girls on the team looked like a mismatched afterthought.

A few of you had approached Coach Williams, hoping she’d understand, hoping she’d do something. You told her how embarrassing it was to stand on the court, mismatched and disheveled, while the boys walked by in their pristine gear. She’d just sighed and said the school didn’t have the funds. “Those boys raised the money themselves,” she added, almost proud. “If you girls want uniforms that badly, you’ll have to do the same.”

You groaned. Right, like it was that simple. You had done the math in your head—the cost would be at least a thousand dollars to get anything decent, something that would make you all look polished and cohesive. You wanted sharp collars, the school name embroidered in neat white stitching over your hearts, maybe even matching skirts. But there were only six of you, and $200 each was a lot to ask from college girls already juggling tuition, textbooks, meals, and a list of other expenses that never seemed to end.

The thought gnawed at you for days, and finally, you did something you never would’ve considered before. You went to Patrick. The two of you were sprawled out on the campus quad, the grass prickling your skin, the sun warm on your back. Patrick was fiddling with a Rubik's Cube he’d picked up from god knows where, twisting it clumsily, his focus entirely absorbed. You were trying to study, your math textbook open in front of you, but the thought of those damn uniforms kept distracting you. You sighed, louder than usual, trying to get his attention. He didn’t look up.

Another sigh, this one practically a groan. Patrick smirked, eyes still fixed on the colored squares in his hands. “Something on your mind?” he asked, voice teasing, as if he was enjoying your distress.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, sitting up and crossing your legs. “The girls’ tennis team needs uniforms.” He finally glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes. “And I was wondering…” you trailed off, giving him a mischievous grin before reaching out to tickle his side. He jerked away, laughing, and caught your wrist. “...if you could, you know, maybe donate a little to help out.”

“You’re cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But I’m broke. Spent my allowance for the month already.”

Your head slumped against his chest, and you whined, letting the sound drag out, like a child who didn’t want to go to bed. “C’mon, Patrick. We need this.”

He chuckled, but you could sense his patience thinning. “Why don’t you do a fundraiser or something?” he suggested. “I don’t know, a bake sale?”

It was a simple idea, but it sparked something. You sat up straight, eyes bright with sudden inspiration. “A car wash!” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “We could do a car wash! Who wouldn’t want to donate to a group of girls in bikinis?”

Patrick’s smile faded. “Wait, I meant like selling cookies or something, not—”

But you were already on your feet, packing your things, a plan forming in your mind. Oh you’ll be selling cookies all right. “Thanks, babe! I’ll call you later,” you said, barely looking back as you headed off to find the other girls.

Patrick’s voice trailed after you, a mix of amusement and resignation. “Great. This is going to end well, I’m sure.” But you didn’t care. For the first time in days, you felt a thrill of hope. If it took a little shamelessness to raise the money, so be it. At least the girls’ team would finally have the chance to be seen.

You stood outside Art Donaldson’s dorm room, tapping your foot impatiently, half-wishing you didn’t have to do this. You were almost certain Tashi was hooking up with him. Everyone on the courts could sense the weird tension between them, the way they eyed each other during practice. It wasn’t admiration for his technique, that was for sure. Art was talented, sure, but he played like a baby deer—deft, but awkwardly loose, stumbling into his own brilliance.

Your knuckles rapped softly against the door, and when it finally creaked open, you caught sight of Art’s glassy eyes and his half-buttoned shirt. You had to stifle a laugh. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and not because he was taking a nap. “Uh, is Tashi around?” you asked, already guessing the answer. Art glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he was checking to see if she was still there.

“Yeah, but she’s busy,” he said, with a casual shrug that didn’t quite hide his irritation.

“I’m sure,” you replied, tilting your head with a knowing grin. You leaned past him, raising your voice. “Tashi, come out here! I’ve got an idea!” Art winced, his expression morphing into a tight-lipped smile, the kind you give when someone’s overstaying their welcome. “She’ll be out in a minute,” he muttered, stepping back to let you linger in the doorway.

You could hear the faint sounds of shuffling before Tashi appeared, her hair tousled and her expression caught somewhere between glee and annoyance. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Patrick gave me the best idea,” you said, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism—those words didn’t belong in the same sentence, and she knew it.

“No, really,” you insisted, giving her a playful shove. “We should do a fundraiser!”

Tashi’s face softened slightly, but her arms remained crossed, a single brow arching. “A fundraiser?”

“Yes! Think about it—tight bikinis, soapy cars, a bunch of frat boys with too much cash to spare. We’d make bank!” You bounced on your toes, grinning, your excitement spilling out uncontrollably.

She scoffed, but you caught the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Maybe she was amused, or maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of the situation. “I’m not selling my body to a bunch of frat boys,” she said, shaking her head firmly.

“You’re literally in there with Art Donaldson,” you shot back, your shoulders slumping with exasperation.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s that supposed to mean?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving your hands. “Oh, nothing. Just making an observation.” You could see her jaw tense, but you pressed on, undeterred. “Anyway, I’m telling the other girls. We’re doing this, with or without you.” You winked, trying to keep things light, but Tashi’s expression was unreadable as she watched you turn and leave.

A week later, you found yourself in your dorm room, sorting through an array of colorful bikini tops. The whole plan felt like a gamble, but you were determined to make it work. You wanted it to be fun, at least, if you were going to be out there scrubbing cars for spare change. Patrick was sprawled on the edge of your bed, watching with a bemused expression. “You’re seriously going through with this?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You suggested it!” you argued, as you adjusted the lettering on a handmade sign with your glitter gel pens.

“I suggested you bake cookies and sell them on campus,” he corrected, waving his hand as if to swat away the absurdity of your plan. “This is not what I meant.”

“We’re just washing cars,” you said, shaking your head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And besides, it’s for a good cause.” You added a few more swirls and hearts to the sign, mockingly repeating his earlier words in a high-pitched voice before tossing a pink towel at him.

Patrick caught the towel and laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

Grabbing your keys and the finished signs, you turned to him, flashing a grin. “Walk me over there,” you said, already halfway out the door.

He groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “I better get a free car wash out of this,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. The two of you headed down the hall, and as you passed by, you could almost imagine the scene—the sun beating down, water glistening, and a line of cars full of guys willing to fork over their cash just to see a group of girls make a splash. Maybe it was shameless, but you were desperate, and desperate times called for bold, glittery, bikini-clad measures.

The sun was barely up, but the day was already heating up as you and a few of the girls set up the buckets of sudsy water, sponges bobbing in the foam, and wrangled with the nearest hose. Patrick stood nearby, scanning the growing crowd like a bouncer at a club, his eyes narrowing at any guy who dared stare a little too long when you bent over to dip your sponge. He was protective like that, and maybe just a bit possessive, but you couldn’t deny it felt good having someone in your corner, even if he looked ready to body check anyone who ogled you.

You were just about to yell something smart at him when Tashi strolled up, the sound of her flip-flops soft on the concrete, and every head turned as she made her entrance. She was all long, tanned legs, glistening in the sunlight, a tiny bikini peeking out from under her daisy dukes, and she moved with a sort of effortless grace that made you want to both envy and applaud her. You let out a sharp whistle, catcalling her as she approached, unable to resist. She rolled her eyes.

“Careful, those eyes are gonna get stuck back there one day,” you said with a small smile on your lips, and you could tell she was enjoying the attention.

“You look so hot!” you squealed, bouncing on your toes. Tashi flicked her hair over her shoulder, pretending to be exasperated, but she knew she was killing it, and so did everyone else.

Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, scorching the asphalt, and the music thumped from the speakers you’d set up, loud enough to echo down the block. You and the girls took turns yelling at passersby, daring them to get their cars washed, and you couldn’t believe how fast the line grew. It felt like every guy within a five mile radius had suddenly remembered he needed a wash, and they queued up, engines idling, windows down, some leaning out just to get a better look.

Your bodies were practically spilling out of your clothes, skin glistening, slick with soap and sweat. You pressed up against car windows, sponges swirling over the glass, your laughter and chatter floating above the music. “Thank you!” you sang out, flashing bright smiles as you took crumpled bills from hands reaching out of car windows, a parade of faces you didn’t even recognize. You skipped over to where Patrick was standing, collecting the money, and tossed the latest stack of bills into the box he was holding.

The pink, glittery box which you wrote ‘Stick something in me!’ on. It was heavier than you’d expected; you were actually making bank.

Before you could turn back to the cars, Patrick caught your wrist and pulled you close, his hand warm and firm. He cupped your cheeks between his fingers, smushing them slightly, and before you could even register the movement, he kissed you hard, right there in front of everyone. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft. It was a claim, a brand, like he was marking his territory for all to see.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. He wanted to remind you.

You blushed, caught off guard, but then a grin spread across your face. “I’m yours,” you repeated, just as firmly, before pulling him down and planting another kiss on his lips, making sure the message was clear. As you pulled back, you saw a few guys in line avert their eyes, and you laughed to yourself, a mix of pride and relief swelling in your chest. You had Patrick, you had the girls, and if things kept going this well, you’d have those uniforms too.

"Six-fifty… seven-fifty," Patrick counted, his voice low and steady, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and purples. You were sprawled out across the lawn, grass tickling your bare arms, and you watched him with a warm, tired smile, the kind of smile you give when everything feels just right for once. It had been a long, sweaty day, but now the breeze was gentle, like a cool kiss against your skin, and you felt almost weightless, your body thrumming with a sense of accomplishment.

“Okay, that’s great!” you said, grabbing his arm, a burst of giddy excitement surging through you. Around you, the girls broke into their own cheers, hugging and high-fiving each other, still buzzing from the success of the day.

“And $100 from me,” Patrick said, pulling out a crisp bill from his wallet and tossing it into the box with a casual flick. The girls swarmed him, shaking his shoulders and showering him with thank-yous, calling him sweet, generous, the best. Even Tashi, who’d been leaning coolly against Art, broke into a grin, and she nudged him with her elbow. Art, who’d been half-pretending not to care, rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist. With a reluctant sigh, he parted with another $100, mumbling under his breath as he handed it over.

“Fine,” he said, almost as if the word hurt, but he was grinning a little, too, when the girls shrieked and patted his back. Rich people, you thought, shaking your head with a smirk. They always made it seem like giving was a struggle when it barely scratched the surface of their wallets.

You took a breath, pushing yourself up to your feet and looking at the small circle of girls around you, their faces flushed and glowing under the dimming sky. "I just want to say… thank you," you started, your voice slightly hoarse from yelling all day but still earnest. "I know this wasn’t exactly easy, but we did it. And I’m really proud." You reached into your own wallet, pulling out a $50 bill, twirling it between your fingers, and held it up like a trophy. “Here’s to us. And new uniforms!”

The girls erupted, their cheers echoing across the lawn, loud and jubilant, as if they’d just won a championship. For a moment, it felt like they had. The line between a football team scoring a last minute touchdown and a group of college girls hustling for their dignity had blurred, and you all basked in the glow of it, even as the day faded into night.

Later, you stumbled back to your dorm, too exhausted to think but too exhilarated to sleep. You flopped down on your bed, sinking into the mattress, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. You barely had time to close your eyes before Patrick followed, landing on top of you with a playful thud, his chin digging uncomfortably into your stomach.

“Ow,” you laughed, swatting at his head as he tried to adjust, mumbling an absent apology. He shifted, then propped himself up, and you cradled his face in your hands, tilting it up so you could look into his eyes. They were the soft blue of summer berries, glinting with mischief and tenderness, and you felt a sudden rush of affection that made your chest ache a little.

“I have the best boyfriend in the world,” you said, the words coming out soft, almost like a secret you were finally ready to admit. Patrick’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, something he did so rarely it was almost a treat to see. He gave you a shy, crooked smile, and you could tell he was savoring the moment, letting it hang in the air between you.

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, slow and careful, his mouth tasting faintly of your pomegranate chapstick. It was gentle at first, then firmer, like he was memorizing every bit of sweetness. When he pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, and his lips curved into a teasing smile.

“So, what’s the reward for being the best boyfriend?” he murmured, his gaze flicking over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn’t already committed them to memory. His eyelashes fluttered, casting a silhouette across his cheeks, and you felt a shiver of warmth spread through you.

His reward for enduring the humid, sticky air all day, the sun beating down relentlessly on his already sunkissed skin, was right here, pressed against him. He had been patient, sitting there with the box of crumpled bills, sweat glistening on his forehead, eyes darting protectively every time someone lingered a little too long on you. He deserved something for putting up with the heat, the endless chatter, and the occasional, awkward guy who looked like he wanted to challenge him just for standing there. And this was it. You, warm and pliant under his hands, your fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing his, teasing, like you were savoring every second as much as he was.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head in mock contemplation. “Hmm, I guess I’ll have to think of something…” you said, running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until your noses touched. “Maybe a little more of this,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, letting the promise linger in the space between you.

You rolled over, his back sinking into the worn mattress. You let your lips graze his jaw, then drifted down to his neck. He shifted under your touch, laughter mingling with a nervous squirm as your breath tickled his skin. “You’re so good to me,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his earlobe. “So supportive,” another kiss at his temple. “And so, so handsome.” A faint smile broke across his face, eyes closed, lost in the moment.

You let your fingers glide over the cool, metallic buttons of his shorts, tracing each engraved design as if it were spelling out something only you knew. You helped him pull them off, giggling as you threw them across the room. Your hand dipped into the dark mouth of his boxers, rummaging past his trimmed bush of curls, until your fingers closed around the smooth, familiar shape.

His hard cock slid out, catching the light above, precum gleaming, almost tauntingly. You held it up to your mouth, breathing in the faint trace of scent that lingered, delicate but intoxicating.

You stared at it for a moment, feeling a slow, subtle warmth unfurl in your chest. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at your lips, like the beginning of a secret, and you could feel the tension building under your skin, pooling low in your stomach. Something about holding it in your hand made you feel powerful, like you were in control.

The head was your favorite color—deep, cherry red and glistening like a polished gem when you pulled back his foreskin slowly. You slid it between your lips, supple and sweet. Your tongue circled over his tip, feeling the tiny slit. His sap dissolving against your taste buds. You closed your eyes, savoring the taste.

His arousal melted on your tongue, sweet and syrupy. A thin string of saliva stretched between your lips and the tip when you pulled it away, snapping when you moved it too far. It was deliciously wrong, like sneaking a piece of forbidden fruit.

"You’re so sweet," you murmured, almost to yourself, but loud enough for Patrick to hear. He glanced up, his expression lustful and high.

“Wanna taste it?” you asked, slightly lolling your head to the side. The way you said it was innocent, almost playful, but there was a glint in your eyes, a subtle edge to the offer. You leaned up to him, grazing your tongue over his lips. He moaned at the contact. You grabbed his jaw, letting the glob mixed of your saliva and himself fall onto the heart of his tongue. He groaned, letting it slide down his throat. “I love you.” he whimpered, sloppily inhaling your lips.

You furrowed your brows, mocking the desperate look in his eyes. You watched him, a slow smile curling on your lips. You hadn’t realized how much you’d loved being in control. It reminded you that, for once, you weren’t following the rules, and that felt more delicious than anything you’d tasted in a long, long time.

You pumped your hand up and down his shaft, practically begging him to release all over your pretty face. “You wanna come for me?” you asked with a sweet, honey tone. “I’m so close,” he panted, fingers tangling between your strands of hair. “Fu– please,” he cried, mouth gaping open while hips desperately bucked toward you.

Taking him in mouth again, you slapped his stiff cock against your tongue, the familiar sensation flooding your mouth as saliva pooled in your cheeks. His fluids mixed with spit, oozing down your lips and pooling on your chin. It felt disgusting, the wetness creeping along your skin, but deep down, every drop was a small victory for making him feel good.

With each stroke, you watched the fizzy mixture drip, the mess clinging to your hand and wrist as you pumped vigorously. You squeezed him in your palms, watching him sputter. Come painting across your face. You bit your lip, trying to steady your hand, hoping you milked him empty. His slit deflating a little more with every squeeze. You could see the droplets peeking through, mocking you.

He threw his head back, catching his breath. “Feel good?” you teased, sucking your fingers. You slid your body up his, his bare cock still hard, brushing against the skin of your thigh. His body jolting at the touch.

"Thank you for your help today, baby," you murmured, letting your lips brush gently against the tip of his nose, a soft, affectionate kiss.

“Anytime,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “And don’t hesitate to bring me any other problems you’ve got,” he added, only half-joking, clearly savoring the reward you’d just given him. “I’m always glad to help.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, as you slipped off the bed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you teased, padding across the room toward the bathroom to shower. You glanced back at him once more, a smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth, “You coming?” you ask, disappearing into the bathroom.

He slid off the bed in a hurried, awkward motion, the springs letting out a sharp, staccato creak that echoed through the room. His feet barely touched the floor before he was shuffling off, making his way into the bathroom behind you.

no. 1 smut with argyle 🤭

1: “do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

Girl im so sorry but im just, dom reader for sure here. I just I'm sorry but it's necessary bc we all know argyles a simp, best friends to lovers YUH. This one is honestly more sweet, not a ton of smut but its cause i too am a simp and i havent written much for argyle so yk i gotta get the simp shit out first before i unleash the whore kraken

WARNINGS: mentions of male, hand job/blow job, eye contact, def dom!reader vibes, sub!argyle vibes (hes just down bad and a simp), wet dreams tee hee

Join the Sleepover

Tonight was no different from any other night that Argyle crashed at Y/n's. The two had been best friends since the fourth grade-they'd practically grown up together. But lately things have felt a little different-at least for Argyle-and by lately that meant the past six months when with the help of Jonathan he realized that he was actually really into Y/n.

Apparently it wasn't normal to talk about how sweet, pretty, and interesting your best friend is every single day, nor is it normal to constantly call the guys she dated "annoying douchebags that wear knockoffs" or "fake skater surfer boys".

So he knew the truth, he was into her, sure that changed things for him, when they smoked-regardless of where-his eyes would focus on her lips for long periods of time and anytime she touched him it was like a jolt of electricity sent through his entire figure. Not to mention the way he found himself checking her out-eyes glued to her curves anytime she asked him how she looked, and the most recent shameful development.

The dreams. He'd dream about being with her, about fucking into her as she laid below him, his hair brushing against one of her shoulders while she looked up at him with parted lips and hooded eyes. The way she'd moan and whimper his name as her nails scratched along his arms and back, or the way she'd look on top, biting her bottom lip the same way she did when she rolled, all the while she massaged her own tits, eyes held on his. The worst dreams though-were the ones where she was on her knees, staring up at him as her tongue trailed along his cock.

She always looked so pretty like that, mascara stained cheeks as she looked at him through her lashes.

The only thing that made tonight different was when Y/n woke up at two in the morning and went to grab some water, as she crawled back into her bed she heard it-the first low whimper from his sleeping figure, then it happened again, this one a little louder-more of a groan and she had no idea what to do-her eyes wide as she stared.

Then he moaned her name-it wasn't loud but it was coherent and clear-he was having a wet dream about her and it turned her on, her body engulfed in a white heat as she stared, her lips parted now. She opted to wake him up, gently shaking his shoulder "Argyle, argyle get up" her harsh whispers were the first thing he heard as he stirred away-her face a few inches from his.

"Wha-what happened?" she raised a brow "you tell me, sounds like your dream was interesting" she was teasing him, her sultry tone had his eyes widening and brows raising-a look of shock and embarrassment on his face "y/n-hey man it's not what it sounds like okay-i just-you-we-shit okay you caught me" she giggled and shushed him.

"I have a question do you think of me when you touch yourself?” he didn't know how to answer that, blinking several times in shock, still processing that this was real and not just his dream "yeah-obviously" then he placed a hand on her cheek, gently caressing it before sliding along her throat then her shoulder, her brows knit together "what're you doing?" she couldn't help her giggle. "making sure you're real"

"I'm definitely real" he nodded his head "yeah-your skins really soft" she rolled her eyes, a smile on her face as she glanced at the evident tent under her sheets, his thin shorts doing nothing to restrain him. "can i help you with that?" he nodded his head "please-oh shit" he groaned as her hand slid down his bare chest, then below the sheets and the waistband of his shorts.

His head lulled back as she palmed him, biting his bottom lip while he shut his eyes "look at me baby" her dominance was evident, he immediately opened his eyes, looking at her face, holding eye contact as she grasped the base of his thick cock, then she started slowly pumping her hand along his shaft-thumb running over the tip over and over again, small whimpers and groans leaving his lips.

Then she moved from her spot, sliding the sheets down-pulling him out of his shorts, repositioning herself between his thighs, laying flat on her stomach, her legs kicked up in the air as she stared at him. The moonlight shining through her blinds reflecting against her figure-and he swore he had to be dreaming.

She ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, then she swirled it around his tip, gliding against the slit-gathering every drop of precum and his mind was officially fuzzy while he watched her. Then she took him into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, opting to take him further and further-until he was hitting the back of her throat.

He bit into his fist to stop his loud moans from coming out, his hooded eyes focused on her while she stared up at him-a few tears leaving her eyes as she took him down her throat-gagging around him. She let him go, then brought him back down her throat again-keeping the same rhythm up until she felt his cock twitching, then she took him out of her mouth, opting to wrap her hand around him-jerking him off while she stared at him.

Then she took him into her mouth again, sucking on the tip, his groans getting harder to hold back "y/n-baby-I'm gonna cum and fuck I don't know if you want me to in your mouth-like i don't wanna be rude or anything dude" she pulled him out of her mouth, biting her bottom lip and raising a brow "i want it down my throat"

He rubbed a hand over his face "oh god man-you really can't talk to me like that when you're this close to my dick" she giggled, rolling her eyes playfully before taking him back down her throat-he only lasted a few seconds after that.

Then once she swallowed and finished running her tongue along his cock-cleaning him up, she tucked him back into his shorts and laid back down, this time opting to rest her head against his chest.

"You wanna go on a date or somethin?" she giggled "yeah-i'd like that"

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: with a new problem in smallville ridding people of their inhibitions and exacerbating urges, clark finds himself confronted with a dilemma as his neighbour arrives in his loft, afflicted by the same epidemic

WARNINGS: where to start?, slight dubcon (purely because reader's emotions are being exaggerated by an outside force (not a person though, it's unspecified)) but consent is verbalised later between both parties, clark is kind of pathetic (what did you expect from me?), kissing, palming(?), he's a sensitive guy, clark reacts to seeing reader's bare skin like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle, kind of dirty talk, clark in that white t-shirt (i KNOW you know what i mean), blowjob, handjob, clark compares every sexual experience to ascending to a new plane of existence and finding paradise, he's a loud boy, couch sex, semi-public sex? (in the loft in the barn, but literally no one is around and they're alone for hours), fingering, clark using his super speed for illicit activities, cowgirl, missionary, it's not said whether or not clark is a virgin, but he's definitely inexperienced, clark being scared of his strength being a danger to reader, praise kink (neither of them react to the praise in any particular way, it's just that there's a lot of praise so if anything i'm just showing off my praise kink), mention of sex against a wall, creampie

this is inspired by the episode of smallville in season one where there's that flower that makes people make poor decisions and behave rashly, and also by this scene that i saw on tiktok with clark and lana (if anyone finds this i need them to send me the link... for research purposes) (EDIT: someone found it so here's the link) where he just folds the moment she kisses his neck. i also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from my clark jacking off headcanons.

also for someone who rarely spells the word rhythm right first try, i use it a lot in this. fair warning there may be accidental tense changes and pronoun changes but i've tried to go through and eliminate that.

this will probably be the last instalment of the neighbour clark series, although i'll probably return to this idea eventually to add thoughts, but they won't be tied directly to this series, just to neighbour clark as an au. thank you to everyone who has enjoyed and supported this series and been so patient with me (i had no idea it had been over a month since part four).

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five!

Clark can’t seem to escape you over the next week, not that he really minds much. But it’s become almost impossible to make it through an encounter with you where he doesn’t feel like he’s at risk of coming undone. 

You’re always hanging out with Lana and Chloe in school and out of it, you’re at the Torch whenever he is, same with the Talon. He’s even come home to find you baking with his mother! What divine power hates him so much that you have to be everywhere he turns? 

Sometimes you’re not even doing anything particularly scandalous. The only remotely salacious thing you did while baking was licking the batter off your fingers, and that definitely did send Clark through the loop. Your pure existence anywhere nearby just threw him off. 

~~~ 

You have one thought and one thought only as you walk towards the barn that contains Clark’s little hideaway. The farm is empty besides him - Mr and Mrs Kent are in town at the market, so they’ll be gone for a while. You’ll have plenty of alone time with Clark. 

“Clark?” You call as you enter the barn. 

“Hey!” He greets, voice a little breathy. 

“Can I come up?” 

“Yeah, no problem.” You make your way upstairs, finding Clark reading through some book when you reach the top. “Hey, what’s-” 

He turns, and the sight he’s met with has him pausing. You’re in a pair of teeny denim shorts, a black cropped tank top with thin straps, and an open button-up. It’s a warm summer’s day and your skin is practically glowing in the light that filters through into the barn. The cute little brown cowboy boots on your feet really tie it together. There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about your outfit, but something about it feels different. It feels… he can’t place it. Although maybe it’s just to do with the air you have about you as you stand there. 

“What are- what are you doing here?” He asks. 

You shrug. “Well, it’s just been such a long, hard day, and I missed you. Kept thinking about you. Thought we could hang out. We haven’t hung out together in ages, you know? Just the two of us.” You’re moving towards him as you speak. Well, it looks like you’re just moving further into the space - pacing, perhaps - but he’s sort of backing away the entire time, keeping equal distance, and you’re turning to match his direction the entire time. “It’s been so long, Clark.” 

Your hand grazes over the telescope, but you don’t move it, don’t look in it (which he’s more than thankful for, because it’s currently aimed towards your house). 

“Y-yeah, we can hang out.” 

“What have you been doing?” You ask, looking around, then at him.

You take off the shirt, and it feels like he’s watching it in slow motion. The way your head turns, the way the material just gently, slowly glides down your smooth skin, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair. You stretch, arms reaching into the air above your head and showing off more bare skin. And as you reach the peak of your stretch, fighting the tension in your muscles and bones, you let out a purposeful moan. 

Clark is going to die. 

“Uh, just homework,” he says, swallowing to combat the dryness in his mouth as you turn towards him and begin to approach him. 

You smile a little. “So smart. You’re so good, Clark.” Well, you and he both know exactly where that comment’s going. 

“Uh- hm. Not- I’m not…” He’s backing away from you to keep some distance as you keep walking towards him. His foot hits a metal bucket, a loud clang! ringing around the barn as he stumbles a little. 

“Not what, Clark? Not smart? Not good?” Clark glances behind him to make sure that he’s not going to trip over something else or fall down the stairs, and when he turns his head back to face you, he’s shocked to find you directly in front of him. 

Your fingers hook onto his belt loops, tugging him closer to you by his hips. His eyes go wide as he looks down, then at you, multiple times in very quick succession, his face the epitome of bewilderment. 

“We both know that’s not true, Clark. You’re good. And smart. And strong. You’re amazing.” 

“Wh-what are you doing?” He manages. 

“Come on, Clark, I know.” 

“What?” 

“I know how you feel. I get it now. I’ve been totally blind to it because you’re too polite to look. But I want you to. I want you to look. I want you to touch-” His eyes turn wider still, and he’s still looking confused beyond anything. “I want you to taste. I want you to do whatever you want.” 

He sees then how dilated your pupils are, how heat radiates off you. You’re not yourself. Whatever’s been going around and getting to people the past few days has reached you. This isn’t you. 

But everything he knows points to this thing, whatever it is, exacerbating existing feelings, not creating new ones. So maybe you do really want him. It doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s still taking advantage. 

“Y-you’re sick,” he tells you as you lean in and begin to mouth at his neck. 

His eyelids flutter and a smile begins to pull at the corners of his lips. No. No, he needs to be responsible. He can’t do this now. Even though you’re handing yourself to him on a silver platter, telling him you want him to. Even though his heightened senses are letting him know the way your heart begins to beat a little faster, the way your breath turns shallow and gaspy, the way you smell as arousal begins to form a little patch in your underwear. 

“This isn’t really you. You’re sick.” 

“Oh, trust me, Clark, I’ve wanted this for a while.” 

“N-no, you’re not yourself. You can’t - ah!” He’s cut off by his own high whine when one hand releases his belt loop and instead directly palms him. His hips buck into your touch involuntarily. “Oh my God.” You apply the slightest bit of pressure, and watch proudly as his eyes roll back momentarily. Oh, he’s pent up. “N-no, no you- you’re sick. This is wrong.” 

“Don’t you want me?” You ask. 

“Baby, I’ve never wanted anything more than this, but-” 

“Then take me!” You whine. “Fuck me!” 

“Please,” he tries, although with your hand still on his clothed cock and his neck still tingling with the lasting effect of your kisses, it comes out more like a whine. 

You lean up, kissing at his jaw. “What if it makes me feel better? What if it cures me?” 

“I-I don’t think-” 

“Don’t think, Clark. Please. Just- just let go. Just be with me.” 

His eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck,” he breathes out as he reaches his verdict. He turns his head, meeting your lips. It’s a messy clash of tongues, desperate for one another. 

You back him towards a desk that’s been set up against a wall, and push at his shoulders to make him sit down. He looks up at you with those angel eyes, pupils blown and eyebrows raised a little, lips pouting and all coming together to create a look that just begs you to ravish him. 

You meet his lips with yours again, hands reaching blindly to find the hem of his sweater. You find it, pulling it up and over his head with as much speed as possible, finding that tight white t-shirt underneath. 

“Fuckin’ love this shirt,” you mumble, kissing him again. “But I need it gone.” 

Clark nods, eagerly reaching to pull the t-shirt over his head. His desperation means it gets stuck a little on the way up, and you have to help him get it off, but you don’t mind. You’re quick to get your hands on him, as he begins to kiss down your neck, you trail your hands over every muscled inch of him. 

He sucks a mark into the skin of your neck, kissing over it when he’s done, like a finishing touch. “Oh, Clark,” you breathe out, nails lightly scratching over his stomach. He shivers a little, breath shaking. 

Your fingers find his chin, tilting his face up to give him another kiss, before you’re getting to your knees in front of him. He watches with wide, adoring eyes as you begin to undo his jeans, kissing down his stomach as you do. 

You make quick work of his jeans, bringing them halfway down his thighs, then pulling his boxers down far enough to free his cock. He looks painfully hard. Clark knows that this is his body’s standard reaction to you. You don’t. You’re also not aware of the way Clark’s thoughts run wild when he fists his cock to the image of you at night. Granted none of his fantasies have ever played out quite like today has, but he’s going to be thinking of this for a very long time. 

Your hand wraps around his thick base, and he lets out a precious little gasp. You smile up at him, and from this angle, you look like a fucking enchantress. He swears you’ve got him under some kind of spell. 

You move your hand. Clark is ascending to a new plane. 

And then, with your hand still pumping him, and as Clark watches, you lean your head closer to his tip. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. 

You lick over his slit, and his head tilts back against his wishes. He doesn’t want to look away. Doesn’t want to miss a single moment. He wants to bask in the glory of this image forever. 

And then your lips wrap around his tip, a sensation like no other, and you press forward, taking him as far as you can. “Oh, baby, please-” he moans, wrangling the urge to flex his hips forward. “Y-yeah, that’s it, honey.” 

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. You watch him through your lashes, waiting for him to look back at you. But he doesn’t. 

So you pull off. 

Clark just about suppresses the whine that threatens to escape at the loss of the wet heat of your mouth, and instead a rather disappointed sigh leaves him. The world outside your mouth feels cold and lonely. 

But you fix it by leaning forwards and beginning to kiss around his pelvis, smirking a little against his skin as he shudders. Your hand is still moving to a steady rhythm, and even though Clark misses the feeling of your mouth, the combined sensation of your slick hand and your kisses on his hips is too good. “Clark, honey,” you mumble, nipping at the skin over his hip bone. He gasps. “Would you look at me?” 

“C-can’t,” he denies, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” 

“Because - oh, God-” You suck his skin just a couple of inches away from his base, disappointed to find no mark when you pull away. “Because if I look at you, I think I might cum.” 

You give him a sympathetic look. “What would be so bad about that?” 

“I can’t. Not yet. Have to - have to last.” 

“Oh, Clark,” you hum with a pout. “It’s okay if you cum. I want you to. We’ll go as long as you can. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” You reach a hand up, smoothing it over the planes of his chest. “Look at me? Please?” Clark nods, looking down and meeting your eyes. “There’re those pretty eyes.” 

You plant a final kiss on his hip before taking him in your mouth again. “Oh, please,” he whimpers, his hips twitching. 

His hands rest against the desk beneath him, but not gripping it, instead clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white. You reach for one of his hands, guiding it towards you, but Clark shakes his head and pulls it back, placing it firmly on the desk again. 

“Keep going, baby, please. I’m almost there.” 

You pull away to breathe, jerking him off with newfound speed, and Clark’s breaths turn into panting moans. This time, when he feels the urge to throw his head back, he fights it. He holds the eye contact you’re giving him, just like you’d asked. 

“Let go for me, Clark. Wanna see it. Wanna taste it.” Your tongue meets his tip as you wrap your mouth around the blushing tip of his cock, and you drag along his slit. 

“Yeah. Right there. Yes, yes, fuck!” 

Clark crumbles as he cums, shooting spurts onto your tongue and moaning through it, your hand and mouth working him through the pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth. 

You grin up at him, kissing the head of his cock, and standing. He lifts a hand, cupping your face and shifting some fallen hair, smiling at you, blissed-out and awe-struck. 

He leans forwards, catching your lips in a sweet kiss. “Couch?” You mumble, and he nods, taking your hands in his as he walks towards the couch. He sits down on it, an old and worn piece of furniture - but it’ll do. It looks sturdy enough. 

You sink into his lap, knees either side of his hips, kissing him. You blindly find his hands, pulling them to the button of your shorts. The way his fingers move to get you out of those shorts is nothing short of eager, quick and fumbling in his desperation to become impossibly closer to you. 

He finally gets the button undone and the zipper down, and you clamber off him, pushing the shorts down till they hit the floor, and you step out of them. Clark sits forward, pretty green eyes gazing up at you, flickering down to the hem of your tank top. 

His nose nudges at the skin revealed beneath the bottom, and he takes a long breath in, eyes closed, as though he’s savouring a sweet smell. Through all this, though, his hands remain balled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t grip the couch cushions like you’d expect, doesn’t dare touch you, for whatever reason. 

You toy with the hem of your tank top for a moment, Clark watching with hopeful eyes, and then you pull it up and over your head. You hook a finger into the band of your underwear - another light blue set Clark remembers fantasising about, silk and lace and matching the bra - and pause. “You wanna help me take these off, Clark?” He nods, lifting his hands and hooking his fingers into the material on your hips, tugging them down gently. 

“Oh-” he breathes out. You push him back softly with a hand on his chest, straddling him again. His eyes trail down from yours, landing on your clothed chest. 

You laugh a little. “Touch me, Clark. Then I’ll take it off and you can get a look.” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay.” 

You smile, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your core, fingers gently stroking over your folds. One finger slips through, and Clark almost gasps. 

He’s slow with it at first, tentative, until you kiss him and whisper, “Clark, please.” 

He adds a finger, finds a rhythm, faster, but still so gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. He curls his fingers just right, prompting a moan from you. 

“Oh, God,” he whispers to himself at the feel of how wet you are. Because of him. 

You reach a hand between you, middle and index finger on your clit, and you begin to rub tight circles, gasping at the spike in pleasure. 

Clark is watching every response to every bit of stimulation, and he looks down at your moving fingers. “Does it- does it feel good when you do that?” He asks. You nod. He meets your eyes, innocent as can be for someone who’s got two fingers buried inside you. “I want- can I?” He asks. 

“Uh-huh.” Clark replaces your fingers with the thumb of his free hand. His hands are huge. You’ve thought about it before, plenty, about Clark’s large hands on you, on your chest or cupping your ass, but now that you’re actually with him in this setting, the thought turns you on even more. If only he didn’t seem scared to touch you. 

“Am I-” Clark begins, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. 

“You’re doing so good Clark,” you praise. “So good. Please.” 

He leans forwards, kissing your neck, collarbone, down until he finds the tops of your breasts. He kisses you there too, while his fingers below speed up in their rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Clark- Clark, oh, please.” 

“Good?” He questions. 

“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, breathless. 

Your hips begin to move with the rhythm of his fingers, and Clark watches in awe as you do, adding pressure to your clit and practically doubling his speed. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, intense but so, so good. He’s so fast, you think it’s inhuman. In fact you’re pretty sure it has to be. 

“Hhhmmmm, Clark, how are - fuck, oh, God - how are you doing that?” 

Clark doesn’t respond, and you don’t get the chance to ask again because all of a sudden, your orgasm crashes over you in a heavy wave that feels like it’ll never end. 

You collapse onto him, legs trembling and chest heaving. You bite into his shoulder, hard enough to break skin possibly, which you feel bad for, but he doesn’t seem hurt by it. 

“Oh my God, Clark. That was incredible.” You lean back, cupping Clark’s jaw and tilting his head so he meets your eyes. 

“Can I- can you, uh…?” His gaze lowers to your chest momentarily, and you smile. Your hands reach for his wrists, lifting them up, pushing his fingers towards his mouth. He knows what you want, and he complies wordlessly, sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean of your slick. 

“That’s it,” you hum, guiding his hands to your back, to the clasp of the bra. 

He unhooks it, dragging the straps down your arms, and discards it to the side. He stares at your bare chest in complete awe, green eyes shining. 

You reach down, pumping his cock to get him good and ready, and Clark still struggles to shift his gaze. “You ready?” You ask, and he nods. 

You push yourself up on your knees, and Clark’s eyes widen a little suddenly. “Wait, wait, what about protection?” 

“I’m on the pill,” you say. “And I’m clean. Are you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And do you still want to do this?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Good.” You line him up with your entrance, and sink down onto him. 

If Clark thought anything before was good, this was a whole new level of ecstasy. “Fuck, oh my God,” he gasps. 

His hands clench into fists at his sides again. You ignore it for now, even though you want nothing more than to feel his hands on you. 

You begin to move, starting with a slow rhythm to ease Clark into it, and hooking your arms around his neck, kissing him. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “You’re tight, and wet, and warm.” He kisses you softly. “Baby, please.” 

“I know.” You pick up your pace, bouncing on his lap, smiling at the way he moans. Your ass meets his thighs with a rhythmic plap! plap! plap! sound, your hands clinging to his shoulders for some stability, because he’s still not touching you, and more than confused, you’re starting to feel even a little insulted. 

You kiss his pulse point, just beneath his jaw, and bite at his earlobe. Your hands slide up to his hair, giving a tug, and he moans. You notice his hands twitch, but he doesn’t touch you. 

“Why won’t you touch me, Clark?” You ask, leaning back and slowing your hips. 

He meets your eyes, guilt flashing through. “I-I just… I’m really strong.” 

“I know,” you say, one hand squeezing at his bicep. 

“N-no. I mean… like, really strong. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I’m not fragile, Clark.” 

“I know, but - I’m inhumanly strong. And if something goes wrong…” 

“I don’t care. It’s a minor risk. You know what I do care about? The fact that I have an insanely hot guy under me who refuses to touch me. And my legs feel like they’re gonna give out. So unless you want this to stop right now, you’re gonna have to take the risk.” 

He nods. “Are you sure? I don’t want-” 

“You won’t hurt me, Clark. I trust you.” 

He nods again, hands finally finding your hips, and with the aforementioned inhuman strength lifts you up and lays you down on the couch, crawling on top of you. 

“There we go,” you say, grinning and looping your arms behind his neck. 

Clark slips back into you, beginning to thrust slowly. “You look so pretty under me,” he muses. 

“Clark, you can’t just say that to a girl,” you giggle. He laughs a little, kissing you softly. He’s still keeping a slow pace, which you presume comes from the fear of hurting you accidentally by using too much force, but you’re impatient. “Clark, can you go faster?” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” He speeds up, and props himself up with one arm above your head, while the other heads south, fingers finding your clit and beginning to rub circles onto it, just like before. 

“That’s good. That’s good.” 

He nods, and more sounds begin to flood from his mouth, matching your moans. “Oh, God, baby. You feel so good. You’re so good. So pretty.” 

“You’re doing so well Clark,” you tell him. You wonder about his strength, about what he means by inhuman. Certainly, there was something inhuman about his speed earlier as he worked your clit. “Do I get to see this inhuman strength later?” 

“Uh- I probably-” 

“Please?” You clench around him for a moment. 

He falters, hips stuttering a little as a whimper escapes him. “If you do that, I think I’d give you anything you wanted.” 

“So I can see?” 

“Yeah, you can see. I’ll show you. Promise, baby.” 

Clark lets out a breathy moan, head falling into the crook of your neck as his hips gain speed, and he adjusts his thrusts to match it. “Are you close, Clark?” 

He nods. He hardly trusts his voice. “Just need a moment.” 

“It’s okay. You can cum.” 

He shakes his head. “Not before you.” God, you’d think his invulnerability would give him some advantage in holding out, but poor Clark’s so sensitive that every stroke feels like absolute heaven and it feels like he’s barrelling full-force to what will no doubt be the most incredible finish of his life. 

And then his fingers are moving against your clit just as fast as before, if not faster, desperate to get you to finish before he does. “Oh my God, Clark, what the fuck? How are you doing that?” A loud moan escapes you. “Fuck-” 

“You like that?” He asks. 

“Fuck, yes. What other inhuman abilities are you hiding from me?” 

“I’ll tell you later?” 

“You better.” 

He leans down, kisses everywhere he can reach, your jaw, your neck, your chest, your lips, even drags your earlobe between his teeth and gives it a gentle bite. You really don’t care about Clark hurting you, because it doesn’t exist as a thought in your mind that he could. He wouldn’t ever lay a hand on you, and you know that. In fact, at this point you’d willingly let him throw you against a wall and take you there. 

“Clark, I - I’m close. Please.” 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, baby.” He adjusts himself to grab your hand, holding it by your head and intertwining his fingers with yours. 

You lift your head, searching for his lips, and he’s more than happy to gift you a kiss, soft in comparison to the speed and desperation of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as you reach your climax, body twitching as Clark carries you through it, your walls clenching around him like a vice, drawing a particularly loud moan from him. 

“That’s it,” he hums as you come down from your high. “You okay?” 

You nod, a blissed smile on your face. “So okay.” 

You card your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, and Clark moans. “I’m close, baby. Please, I need it. Need it so bad. Can I - where do you want me to-” 

“Inside,” you say. “Want to feel it.” 

“Okay.” 

His eyes meet yours properly, finding your dilated pupils, hazy eyes, and the utter joy in them, and that’s all it takes for him to be thrown headfirst into his own climax. He presses his forehead to yours, gasping your name as he spills his load inside of you. “God, you feel so good. Oh, fuck.” 

“There you go. That’s so good, Clark,” you praise, kissing him and swallowing his whimper. “You’re so good, honey.” 

Clark pants as he slows to a stop, giving you a soft kiss before he pulls out. He watches in awe at the way his cum drips out of you and onto the couch beneath you. 

“You were amazing, Clark.” 

“You were incredible,” he says, smiling at you. 

You pull him onto you and wrap your arms around him, smiling when he does the same to you. 

Needless to say, when Clark later demonstrates his inhuman strength by lifting a literal tractor above his head (not forgetting the joke you made when you met him about him benching a tractor), you’re quick to drag him up to his room before he can show you all the other superpowers he possesses. Although he does a damn good job of showing you that super strength.

taglist;

@mariswxt @blueeweeb @ssnapsaurus @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this @milestellerismybf @purple-1995 @writergiih @elysianrosie @glennussy @rainwaterxx @brinascorpio @withthistreaserisummon @babble28 @mollymal @alexcole1326 @mizzfizz @jiminie1028

“The bed’s right there”

I decided to write this bc of the lack of Elliot smut on this app, and bc of my fat crush on Dominic Fike. I’m very new to the smut writing game so any feedback is appreciated <3

Pairing: Elliot x Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Content warnings: NSFW, slight possessiveness, lmk if I missed anything

“Rue and Jules can’t come over,” you read Rue’s text and pout.

“Can’t, or won’t?” Elliot counters without looking up from the music sheets spread in front of him. He’s sitting on the carpeted floor of his room, guitar in his lap.

You turn your phone off and glance at him from your place on his bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You demand, shifting so you’re sitting cross legged.

Your boyfriend glances up to you. “It means they’re probably fucking,” he huffs out a laugh.

You roll your eyes, but he’s probably right. They can never keep their hands off each other. Well, Jules more than Rue, but still. One time, Elliot swore that Jules fingered Rue while they were staying over.

You sigh and lie on your back, staring at the roof. Elliot plucks discordant notes on his guitar, occasionally cursing or scribbling down a chord.

You slide off the bed and take a pre-rolled joint from the bedside table before joining Elliot on the floor. You press your torso against his lean, muscled back, wrapping your arms around his chest. Elliot tenses briefly before relaxing into your hold, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. You breathe in his heady scent, a mix of weed and aftershave.

Elliot presses a sweet kiss on your forehead before focusing his attention back to the music stem he’s working on. You wedge the unlit joint between your lips before trailing one hand over his shoulder, continuing down the hard planes of his chest and stomach until you reach the hem of his jeans.

Elliot’s breath hitches, and he goes still.

Your fingertips graze his dick over the fabric before reaching into his front pocket and extracting his lighter.

“Really?” He demands, but his tone is still light.

You look down at his jeans, which’ve grown tight over his bulge. “What?” You muster all the innocence you can, flicking the light on and raising it to your joint. It’s barely a centimetre away from the tip when Elliot snatches it from your hand, tossing it carelessly among the music sheets.

“Hey,” you complain, setting the joint on the corner of the bed. Elliot turns around to face you, grabbing your face roughly and kissing you. It’s possessive and hot and drives you crazy. A whimper sounds from the back of your throat, and that only encourages Elliot. He eases you onto your back, pinning one of your forearms over your head, pressing kisses against your throat.

“Elly, the beds right there,” you say before gasping as he finds your sweet spot.

“Mmm, too far,” he says, nipping and sucking as you arch your back.

You giggle. “It’s like, half a foot away.”

“Oh, I know. Way too far.” He presses kisses along your collarbones, pushing your shirt up and exposing your stomach. “Sit up for a sec, love,” he murmurs.

You sit up, raising your arms over head. Elliot slides your shirt over your head and tosses it to the side. The look in his eyes is so lusty and intent, it fills you with confidence.

You cup Elliot’s stubbly face, kissing him slow and open mouthed until your heart is beating rapidly. You lace your fingers in his hair and straddle him, his hard dick pressed against your pussy. Elliot runs his fingertips along your hips, waist, and ribs, before settling on your tits, massaging and groping them. You moan at the feeling, rocking slightly on his erection.

“You’re so sexy,” he groans, biting the soft flesh of your breast. You’d worked out pretty early on in the relationship that Elliot had a thing for marking you up.

“Elliot, please,” you grind harder on his lap, desperate for some kind of relief.

He grinned, unbuttoning your shorts and tugging them off. Now you’re in your bra and underwear and he’s still fully clothed. You tug his shirt over his head as quick as you can, briefly admiring his broad chest and shoulders before turning your attention to his jeans. You struggle for a minute, trying to unbutton them. Finally, Elliot grabs your wrists and removes your hands. “How about I handle these and you grab a condom?” He smirks. If he didn’t have such a charming damned smile, you’d slap that smirk right off his face.

You retrieve a condom from his bedside table, grumbling about how poorly designed mens jeans are. Elliot pulls off his jeans and boxers.

“I’m not fucking you on the ground when there’s a perfectly good bed right here,” you sit on the edge of the bed, folding your arms stubbornly.

Elliot, unable to lose any argument ever, stays where he is and you just stare at each other for a minute. Eventually, though, the desperate ache in your pussy becomes too much to just ignore and, locking eyes with Elliot, you slide your lace panties off and lay back on the bed, one hand creeping between your legs.

You begin to rub your clit, moans escaping your lips until Elliots resolve breaks and he crosses the room, pausing only to tear open the condom and roll it on, before lying on top of you. His forearms are braced on either side of your head, his face hovering millimetres above yours.

“El’,” you groan as he teases your entrance. “Elliot, I need you inside of me.”

He pushes into you completely, and you gasp at the sensation. He pulls out slowly before thrusting slowly again.

“Harder,” you say through gritted teeth.

He huffs out a laugh, brushing one hand tenderly through your hair before setting a contradictorily furious pace.

“Oh, shit,” you choke out, closing your eyes as bolts of pleasure ran through your body.

“I know, baby,” Elliot says.

You reach a hand between your bodies, playing with your breasts as a pit begins to form in your stomach. You roll your hips, moaning as he hits all your spots just right.“That feels so good,” you manage to say.

Elliot watches you with hooded eyes, by the pleasure you’re experiencing.

Soon you’re at the edge, walking the line between pleasure and anticipation so strong it’s almost painful. “C’mon, baby, cum for me,” Elliot urges you, biting down on your neck. That tips you over the edge, and you roll your eyes back as the pleasure overwhelms you. Elliot’s thrusts grow sloppier and he finishes soon after you.

You ride out your highs together, staying where you are for a minute. Eventually, Elliot pulls out of you and holds you against his chest.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Elliot asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You look up and smile at him brightly. “How lucky it is for us that Jules is such a horn dog.”

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