Hi, I don’t make personal post too much but I just wanted to reach out to any people who will support and be a listening ear.
My grandma is looking for a kidney donor, she’s been dealing with kidney disease for the last year and we have tried and made so many changes to our daily lives to increase the quality of her kidneys. We are doing great so far(yay!!🥳) but only so much can be done at this stage. So, I’m sending out this post to see if anyone would be so kind to help us out here.
My grandma is a kind and sweet lady and she took care of me for years, in return I want to help her by reaching out to the world and see if someone responds back!
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when i was a tiny baby queer (aka a 24-year-old), i went to my first pride festival probably three months after i kicked ex-gay therapy to the curb and came out to my parents. being the people they are, my parents came with me. they weren’t really sure about this whole gay thing, but they loved me and wanted me to be safe and happy and wanted to be involved in what was important to me, so they came along. (i also think my mother still might have thought i might get drugged or murdered or beaten by a protester of which there were plenty.)
anyway i wanted a memento of my first pride, you know, and this one vendor was selling keyrings, and i liked it, so i bought one. do you remember those italian charm bracelets that were all the rage like 10-15 years ago? it was a keychain like that, and it had a rainbow rooster, a rainbow cat, and then just a rainbow, and so I bought it.
i run into my mom a couple of vendors over and she goes oh you bought something? what’d you get? so i showed her, and i was like, “I’m not sure why it’s a rooster and a cat. Seems kind of random. But I liked the rainbows.”
and my mom, who was some form of minister’s wife for most of my childhood and teenagerhood, stares at me like she thinks i’m joking.
“What?” i say.
“…it’s a cock and a pussy, Jules,” she says flatly, and that is the story of how i died at the age of 24 while attending my first pride festival.
—☆✗ TW: Fem! Reader, Sexual content, pwnp, established relationship, grammar errors, overstim, oral (fem), spitting, fingering, pussy drunk! Xavier, squirting, pet names, lil mean! Caleb, mating press, breeding, size diff, restraints, toy use, carrying position idk, creampie
A/N OML, I have not been writing because I was grinding so hard on lads like I’m done. I just got Zayne’s limited memories and I’ve been grinding it to level 30 HELP😭😭 take this as an apology <3 I’m sorry Rafayel lovers..but know your getting a long fic for him soon so I don’t feel too bad LOL
٠࣪☆XAVIER
“X-Xavier! ‘M sorry!” You squeal, a loud sob being ripped from you.
You feel so light headed, hot, and dizzy. Your toes curl up, that delicious heat in your belly sweeping and expanding, the heat getting intenser by the second.
Xavier hums in acknowledgement, his lips sealed around your aching clit, yummy vibrations running through your body. You drool, violently shaking in pleasure.
“P-please..-“ you wail softly, your pleas falling deaf to Xavier’s ears.
“If only you didn’t bother me while I was sleeping..” Xavier mumbles under his breath, his hot breath fanning in your swollen clit, your pussy fluttering around his slender fingers.
You can hear your heartbeat, pounding so loudly in your ears. He spits onto your cunt, his saliva trickling down from your clit to your hole.
He licks through your pussy lips, his tongue gliding through your pussy that’s covered in spit and arousal. It’s so messy, your sticky juices dripping down your ass onto the bed sheets.
Xavier’s fingers nudge over and over at your poor sweet spot, drawing wails from you each time. He sucks your engorged clit into his hot mouth, obscure slurping sounds filling the room as he messily laps af your clit.
He sucks the bud harshly, shaking his head side to side. Hours, he’s been eating you out for hours.
You can’t remember how many times you came into his mouth, your mind too foggy to remember useless numbers.
You can’t satisfy Xavier’s insatiable hunger. “Ngh! Hah- n-no more!” You squeal, attempting to push his head away from your overstimulated pussy.
He curls his fingers at your sweet spot, the little strength you had disappearing in an instant. He groans against your cunny, lapping and drooling all over your clit.
Xavier’s fingers plunge in and out of your sobbing cunt, your pussy squelching and gushing helplessly around his fingers. The sound is so loud, you would feel embarrassed if you could think about anything other than Xavier.
His fingers slip out of your pussy, covered in your sticky cum. He pulls away from your clit, a thin sheet of spit and cum connecting his lips to your clit.
“Hah.. so tasty” He sighs, licking your juices from his lips.
His eyes are clouded with hunger, hooded eyes. Your cum coats his
lower face, smeared onto his skin.
He’s pussy drunk, it’s obvious. He buries his face between your thighs, ignoring how you uselessly try to squirm away from him.
Xavier teases your gummy entrance with his hot tongue, whimpering at the yummy taste of you. He needs more, more, and more of your addictive flavor.
His tongue sinks into your pussy, wiggling inside your walls. Fat tears water in your eyes again, dried tears still on your cheek.
“Ooh~ Xavier! I-I can’t-!” You cry, gripping the pillow beside you tightly.
His nose is pressed against your clit, pressing against the little numb sticking beneath the hood. Your back arches off the bed, that familiar intense heat building in your belly.
Your pussy flutters around his tongue, Xavier instantly realizes how close you were. His drenched fingers rub at your clit in harsh circles.
He eagerly explores your walls, greedily drinking up your juices. “Ngh! Hah.. I-i can’t c-cum anymore!” You sob, your thighs twitching and throbbing.
He ignores your protests, too busy drinking up everything you have to offer to him. Squirming does nothing, Xavier just chasing after your cunny.
Drools seep from your lips, your eyes rolling back. “C-cumming!” You stutter, your juices spraying out of your sensitive cunt.
Xavier hums, pulling away. His fingers still rub at your swollen clit, guiding through your orgasm.
Your juices got everywhere, his face, the bed, and his shirt, soaking the fabric. “So messy..” Xavier sighs lovingly, gliding his fingers through your folds.
His fingers plunge back inside your drooling cunny, your walls instantly clamping around his digits. Your eyes shoot open, Xavier setting a toe curling pace.
“I-I can’t cum anymore..!” You choke, throwing your head back.
His fingers slap at your ass with every thrust, his fingers stirring up your walls. “You can.. you have no choice” he smiles softly
His smile seems so innocent compared to how he’s fingering the fuck out of your poor pussy. You swear, you can hear a loud ringing sound in your ear.
٠࣪☆CALEB
“What’s wrong, pipsqueak? Can’t take it?” Caleb asks, you could hear the jealousy and bitterness in his voice.
You made the horrible mistake of accidentally making Caleb jealous, now he’s rearranging your guts as punishment. “Mmh!” You can only moan in response, your mind is too foggy to give him a proper answer.
Only moans, whimper, and wails are the only thing that comes from you. To Caleb, you’re a masterpiece.
You’re a mess, sweat clinging onto your skin, drool seeping from your lips, hooded eyes, and your mouth making an “o” shape. His fat cock plunges in and out of your slutty pussy, your walls stretched open to accommodate his thick cock.
Every time his cock slams back inside your pussy, his bulbous tip would bang against your poor cervix. It would leave a heavy weight in your belly, making your toes curl.
“C-Caleb! S-slow-..” you help, a moan being ripped from you.
You can feel his cock rubbing against your g-spot, making you feel light headed. Caleb scoffs, keeping a bruising grip on your plump thigh.
He’s got you in a delicious mating press, your thighs pressed against your plump chest. At this angle, his cock can hit your deepest part with ease.
“Don’t beg now, honey” he groans, sweat trickling down his forehead.
You whimper, hatless pressing your hand against his abdomen, attempting to push him away from your sensitive cunny.
Hours, he’s been fucking you dumb for hours. His hot cum drips out of your sensitive pussy, rolling down your ass.
With every thrust, his heavy balls slap against your ass. Plap plap plap plap.
The wet slapping sounds are so loud and the obscure squelching sounds of your wet pussy echoes in the room. “Hng! I-I’m gonna-“ you drool, squealing when he free presses down at the fat on your belly.
His finger sinks into the chub, your skin hot against his hand. Caleb’s fingers digs into your belly, grabbing a handful of the soft flesh.
“Do it, pipsqueak. I’ll just keep fucking you until you’ve learned your lesson” Caleb grunts, groaning when your pussy clamps down around him tightly.
You can feel his dick twitching inside your pussy, swelling and throbbing deep inside your walls. His thrusts get sloppier with every thrust, he’s close.
“Cumming, cumming, c-cumming!” You babble, fat tears trickling down your cheek.
A loud moan escaped you, your back arching off the bed. Your pussy clenches down around him tightly, your cum coating his length once more.
Those tears drip down your cheek, quiet sobs escaping you. Poor you, an overstimulated mess.
You’re so tight, your pussy trying to milk out all of Caleb’s cum from his cock. He grunts and groans, throwing his head back, exposing adam's apple.
He buries his cock to the hilt of your cunt, hot cum shooting deep inside you, filling your pussy to the brim once again. Your pussy is too full from his cum, his load slowly spilling out of your sloppy pussy.
It’s messy, his thick cum dripping down your ass, making a mess into the bed below you. His cock slowly slides out of your gummy entrance, his cum overflowing out of your hole.
“You just don’t learn, do you?” He whispers.
“I suppose we have to go for another round” Caleb chuckles, scooping his cum with two of his fingers.
He slides his digits back inside your cunny, ignoring your whimpers of protests. He shoves his cum back inside, eliciting a whimper.
Caleb pressed his cock against your gummy entrance again, red tip threatening to slip inside. His dick plunges back inside your overstimulated pussy, so snug in your walls.
You wails meant nothing, Caleb setting a brutal pace, desperate to teach you a lesson and breed you.
٠࣪☆ZAYNE
“Hng! I-I said I was- fuck, s-sorry!” You gasp out, your back arching off the bed.
Your hands are tied together from Zayne’s tie, tightly wrapped around your wrists to ensure you don’t undo them. You wiggle and squirm, unable to escape the intense pleasure.
Your eyes glisten and water slightly, fat tears daring to spill from your eyes. You can barely keep your eyes open, they are hooded and clouded with lust and exhaustion, your eyes fluttering open and closed.
Zayne has a pretty blue vibrator pressed so nicely against your aching clit, intensely buzzing against the swollen bud. He hums, pressing the toy harder against your clit, eliciting a jolt from you.
Zayne’s slender fingers teases your gummy entrance, the tip of his fingers slipping inside your walls. Those slender fingers, that are so fucking long, reaches deep in your pussy.
Zayne’s fingers plunge in and out of your dripping wet cunt, the loud squelching sound fills the room immediately. Your pussy gushing around his slim fingers.
“Mmh.. sorry? Is that all you have to say?” Zayne asks, curling his fingers deliciously.
It’s your fault, really. If you hadn’t been constantly bothering Zayne while he was at work, none of this would ever happen.
But you can’t say you hate this. A choke moan escapes you, your eyes rolling back so far.
His fingertips nudge against your gooey g-spot, your pussy instantly fluttering around his fingers. You chew at your bottom lip, desperately trying to stifle the strings of moans that want to escape you.
Your clit feels so numb and sensitive, the buzz of the vibrator sending yummy vibrations through your body. “Ah! I-i..” you gasp, your back arching off the bed.
Quiet pants escape you, your chest rising and falling quickly. Your heartbeat has never been so loud and fast, pounding against your chest.
“You don’t seem sorry” He mumbles, stirring up your pussy, eliciting a yelp from you.
Zayne watches your struggle against the restraints, pulling at his tie. Drool seeps from your lips, that delicious heat in your belly building up again.
How many times can you cum? Your vision is blurry, you feel so exhausted, yet Zayne keeps pushing you over the edge.
“I am.. p-please” you plead, your walls clamping down tightly.
Zayne sends you a skeptical look, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe you. What more does he want from you?
You can’t even remember the amount of times you came around his fingers, only able to think about Zayne. He’s reduced you into a sobbing, shivering, overstimulated mess.
His free hand presses a button on the vibrator, the buzzing instantly gets quicker and intenser. You wail, your thighs twitching violently.
“Hng! N-no!” You yelp, uselessly flailing around.
You can’t take it anymore. You can’t cum anymore, you have nothing else to give.
Your poor pussy flutters and clamps down on his fingers, sucking him deeper in your walls. A familiar sensation fills you, that yummy heat in your belly gets stronger and hotter by the second, begging to explode.
“Zayne!” You moan.
Your eyes roll back, your mouth making an “o” shape as your pussy once again gushes around his fingers.
This orgasm wrecks you, your pussy juices gushing onto Zayne, soaking his arm in your juices. The liquid rolls down his skin, dripping down into the ground.
Zayne doesn’t seem to mind the mess, his fingers still finger fucking you. You jolt, biting down on your lower lip until you taste the metallic flavor of your blood.
“N-no more! I-I.. fuck” you mewl, new tears pouring from your eyes.
You squirm again, with all the squirming you’ve been doing the restraint must have loosen up. Right? It’s just another useless attempt, you aren’t able to get anywhere.
“Don’t struggle” Zayne whispers, leaning closer to your tear stained face.
“Next time, don’t interrupt me” He mumbles, his fingers still sliding in and out of your cunny, showing no signs of stopping.
٠࣪☆SYLUS
“S-Sylus.. hng!” You moan loudly, your eyes rolling back so far.
You saw Sylus as a man who couldn’t be easily annoyed, it would take skills to poke at him. It isn’t your fault, you were bored!
You weren’t expecting him to pounce on you! Maybe Sylus was bored out of his mind that he was playing into your schemes, punishing you for his own entertainment.
What’s the point of thinking about it anymore? You can barely think anyways, your head feels foggy, heavy yet so empty.
There were no thoughts in your head, other than how good Sylus wasn’t fucking you right now. You bury your head into his shoulder, inhaling his addictive cologne.
Muffled whimpers and moans escape you, your toes curling up from the pleasure. How long have you been fucking?
It must have been hours, a couple rounds can’t satisfy Sylus. You're so sweaty, your skin shining in the dim light.
You wrap your arms around his back, your nails digging into his skin, surely leaving red marks and crescent shaped imprints. It doesn’t hurt Sylus, he doesn’t flinch or groan in pain.
If it wasn’t for Sylus’s strong grip on your thighs, you might have already tumbled onto the ground. Your legs must be numb, you doubt you’d be able to walk without his help.
He’s got a bruising grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the fat, holding you still while he plows into your sloppy cunt. “Please! Please! Please!” You babble, drool seeping out of your lips, your eyes rolling back once more.
What are you begging for? For him to stop? Or for him to keep fucking you?
You arch your back, pressing your slick breasts against his naked chest. You whine, your sensitive nipples grinding against his skin.
Your pussy is so loud, squelching and gushing around his fat cock. His cock slips in and out of your gummy entrance, pressing against your cervix with every thrust back inside.
His cock is covered in your arousal, previous orgasms, and his cum. The mixture of the sticky liquids drips down his length, trickling down to his heavy balls, dripping onto the floor, creating a larger mess than it already was.
The room was hot, the intense smell of sex in the air. “Hm? What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sylus whispers into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your skin.
You shiver violently in his hold, heat pooling to your belly. Your walls tightens around his cock, eliciting a groan of approval from Sylus.
Drool trickles out of your mouth, your eyes rolling back. You open your mouth, attempting to reply, only to let out a moan.
You lift your head off his shoulder, your face scrunched up in pleasure. His scarlet eyes trace around your face, seeing how ruined you were.
Sylus slots his lips against yours, affectionately kissing you as if his cock wasn’t deep inside your pussy. You can feel his veins, his bulbous tip kissing your cervix, his cock rubbing against your g-spot.
You moan into the kiss, your nails digging into his skin. You pull away, drool connecting the both of your lips.
“S-Sy! N-no more.. please” you squeal, fat tears dripping down your cheek.
“Don’t act as if you didn’t deserve this..” He hushes.
“..sweetie” Sylus finishes, groaning when you clamp down around him tightly.
“Hng!” You wail, that heat in your belly getting hotter.
How many times does he plan on pushing you over the edge? You can’t remember how many times you came, you can’t remember how long you’ve been fucking.
Everything is blurry, your eyes water with tears again. You bite done harshly into your bottom lip, gushing around his thick cock.
The metallic taste of your blood fills your mouth. “N-no! P-please, Sy! I l-learned my lesson” you sob, weakly pushing at his pecs.
“You're.. not a good lier” he huffs, his brows knitting.
His cock twitches and throbs in your walls, begging to stuff you full with his cum once again. You sob, wrapping your wand around his neck.
His pace gets sloppier, keeping his cock stuffed to the hilt of your pussy. Sylus cock twitches twice, hot cum shooting deep into your pussy.
Sylus groans into your ear, his fingers digging into your thighs. “I think.. that you haven’t learned your.. lesson” Sylus breathes, his breath broken and quick.
“W-what?! F-fuck!” You squeal, your jaw going slack when his cock slips out of your pussy only to push back inside.
★‧₊All work belongs to ME, translating and copying is not allowed★‧₊
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My favorite thing to do to my brother is ask "can I tell you a secret?" and then rip ass. After a beat of shock and horror I tell him very seriously "don't tell anyone". I do this 2-3 times a year so he has just enough time to forget. He always says yes
clark trying to breakup with reader bc he thinks she deserves better than an alien boyfriend and reader is nottt having it and she’s yelling at him for ever thinking he could leave her (she knows hes just self sabotaging himself) and she ends up having clark underneath her and when she’s fucking his brains out she’s saying things like “how could you ever think i’d allow anyone else but me to have this cock ? this is mine”. i’d just loveee the concept of reader being possessive and standing her ground when clark thinks he can just walk away from her 😩
Waitttt anon your MINDDD!!! i love this plz be back when u have these sexy thoughts again
Thank u lots for the idea/request! love always, mani
Word Count: 1.6k
Content: MDNI (18+) Smut. Reader is a little rough with him but he likes it and deserves it. Angst and Fluff. Clark is called an idiot multiple times, but you'll see why.
Clark was an idiot. He was stupid, stupid man. He let some stupid comment from coworker get to him.
“I don’t think Superman could be in a relationship, y’know? He’s always busy and almost dying. Not exactly boyfriend material.” Steve said as Cat asked jokingly if Superman was seeing anyone. Clark glanced around the room at the seeming agreement of the comment and they moved on to another topic but it kept ringing in Clark’s mind. Not boyfriend material. And it was true. You sometimes stayed up late waiting for a message from him, worried sick. He’d flaked on a dozen dates because someone needed Superman.
And you, you were the best thing. So, so worthy of everything good but you had a boyfriend who couldn’t give that to you. He had always thought you were out of his league, c’mon, he wasn’t an idiot. He was your biggest fan, he had eyes. But you seemed to love him without any prejudice, any restraint or dissent. So he forgot about that and focused on being happy. And boy, was he happy. You were perfect, perfect for him. The dates were full of laughter, the late night talks were all comfort and honesty, the early mornings were sickeningly sweet like honey. And the sex, my god, the sex. It was insane. You were a siren, dirty and sweet. A challenge, he had the time of his life getting to know you and how to work your body, what you liked and what you loved. And you worked his just as well.
So, he was here, shaking as he held your hand and you sat in front of him. He had just spat it out, and your eyebrows were crossed as you inspected him.
“You wanna break up? With me?”
“I- uh. Yes.”
“Clark, at least have the balls to look at me.” You demanded, letting go of his hand and crossing your arms defensively. You looked particularly pretty today, so he rather not look up as he was saying it. Also, you could probably see in his face how awful he felt. He looked up, glancing at you once before his eyes drifted away to the window as if there was something interesting going on.
“And may I ask why?”
“Uh- I don’t think things are working out.”
“What things?”
“Y’know… things. Like you snore when you sleep sometimes.”
“You’re going to dump me because I snore sometimes?” You continued your inquiry because you didn’t believe for a second this was actually what he wanted. You knew Clark; he wasn’t a blabbering idiot. If he wanted to talk or had a problem, he’d come right out and say it. This wasn’t a sure Clark, this nervous and unserious man in front of you seemed like he had a gun pressed to his temple and was forcing him to do this.
“Among other things-“
“What other things? Clark, Jesus Christ, look at me. Look me in the eyes and repeat the words and I’ll believe you.” You put both of your hands on the table, smacking them down and making him look at you. He tried to focus on your eyes, a deep breath and instead of saying what he meant, his eyes started to fill with tears.
“I just think you deserve better.”
“Better? What are you talking about?” Clark looked up and blinked away the tears pricking his eyes as he looked up to the ceiling now.
“I- I’m an alien, for god’s sake! And I can’t be there for you all the time, I have so many things to do. You deserve someone who’s there for you.” Clark’s words were more rushed and seemed like he had been holding them in for a long time, like they had been hammering into the back of his brain since he thought them.
“Clark, you’re there for me! Where did this come from? You’re pissing me off now. You think I’m some sort of weak woman that can’t decide what she wants? What she needs?” You sounded angry, offended and confused as to the conversation you were having. You were supposed to go out for sushi and then come home and pretend to watch a movie while you fucked. How did it turn into this?
“No, I don’t think that. I think you’re amazing, as are all woman - not the point- but I don’t want you to settle.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m settling for Superman? Do you hear yourself? You’re a fucking catch, Clark. Do you not see what everyone thinks of you? How much they love you? I’m so lucky to have you. Don’t tell me what I want.” You whispered the last part, as if your anger was fading into sadness. The last thing he wanted. Clark’s mind had been somehow relaxed as he heard what you actually thought of him and let his fears and insecurities quiet down somewhat to listen to you. How there was no stutter in your breath, no doubt in your words. You were mad he had a considered doing this.
“I- fucking love you, Clark. I don’t want anything more, I don’t need it. I need you. Can you just- listen to me? To yourself?” Clark nodded, standing and taking you into his arms with a tight hug, mumbling sorry’s and I love you’s into your mouth as he finally convinced himself to push all those negative thoughts.
“Don’t do this, don’t sabotage yourself. Scared me to death, you idiot.” You said and finally took his kiss, the anger seemingly melting away from your mind as you felt how desperate and sorrowful he was against you. This had probably been eating at him, his stupid brain baiting him into thinking he was noble and kind to try and force you to find someone better. The tears kept falling from his eyes, and they were on the verge of falling once again half an hour later while you took a break from riding him with force of a knight in battle and were drawing small circles with your hips.
“Trying to leave me, huh? You want some other girl? Is that it?” You asked as you held his head back, pulling on his hair. His hands were steady and brushing on your hips, trying to get you to go faster again but with no increase. You were calling the shots and he was so into it.
“No, no, baby. I want you.” Clark shook his head, what a preposterous accusation to think you hadn’t ruined him for everyone else. There was nothing better, no one better.
“That’s right. How could you ever think I’d allow anyone else but me to have this cock? This is mine.” Clark groaned at your words, nodding his head eagerly.
“I’m yours. Everything is yours.” He was pretty sure your pussy had been molded to fit him too. It always felt like the perfect fit, the perfect press. You nodded with a smirk and went back to riding him with harder movements, hips grinding back and forth, up and down, feeling the perfect kiss of his dick onto your cervix.
Your hips rolled as you continued to ride him, still holding his hair back with your hand to force him to keep his head up looking at you. Looking at what he wanted to give away.
“You’re- you feel so good. Taking me so deep.” Clark whispered basically, eyes midway shut like he couldn’t keep them open with his dick receiving the tide of his life but he still wanted to look at you, not only because you wanted him to, but because he wanted to. You were a sight for sore eyes, sweaty and hot and your mouth hung slightly open to help you breathe. Your lips were plumped from the kissing and the necklace he got you for your sixth month anniversary hung from your neck. He was such a fucking idiot.
“What were you gonna do without me? Huh? Be alone? Find some Smallville girl? Some alien? Think they’d make you happy?” Clark shook his head, your grip getting harder and hips getting rougher as you even entertained the idea of Clark being without you. You could feel him twitching inside you, his palpitations on his tip making your pussy squeeze; Clark moaned at the feeling and pressed the fingertips of his hands harder into your hips. You knew he was close, you could tell all the signs by now. Idiot.
“No fucking way, baby. I’m it.” His moan was whiny and absurd as he unloaded inside you, a ridiculous amount of cum filling you up as you still fucked yourself on him, slower and with longer jumps. You pushed his head to look down; letting him see how his cum poured out of you with every slight movement. It wasn’t about finishing yourself off, you knew Clark wouldn’t let you go without making you finish; but about letting him see how much you knew him. What he liked; how to get him to spill his heart from his dick in copious amounts.
“I love you, honey. I love you to death. Forever, you and me. Right?” Clark spoke as he looked back into your eyes when your hand finally let go of his hair. You smiled, nodding as he kissed your whole face. You could tell he was sorry. You closed your eyes as you felt his mouth wander around your face, so it took you off guard when he grabbed harder onto your hips and lifted you off, gasp escaping your mouth. He placed you onto his face, holding you up by your ass as he looked at your pussy still gushing and swollen.
“I’m gonna spend forever between these legs.” He said and kissed the tip of your clit, looking at the mess of white he had created inside you, marked you his. He sucked your clit into his mouth, making your laugh get lost between a whine.
“I’ll take a break to get you a ring tomorrow, though.”
a/n: Here’s my little “get well soon” gift for @kryptidfiles !! Imagine this wrapped in a huge bow with flowers sticking out from every side. EVERYONE GO FOLLOW HER BLOG and I hope you enjoy!!
Summary: You made the mistake of turning sex into casual conversation with your coworker and accidentally start the worst HR violation of your life.
Classification: Smut +18 | coworkers to lovers, several smut scenes, alcohol consumption, rude/arrogant Scott Miller, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, rough groping, protected and unprotected sex, doggy style, missionary, squirting, ass smacking, marking/bruising, praise, dom/sub dynamics, workplace boundary issues and emotionally repressed idiots in love.
Word count: 9,2k
There was a difference between good sex and great sex, the same way there was a difference between getting fucked and being made love to...
Good sex was what you expected from anybody decent enough to make it that far with you. It was the kind people talked about casually with their friends, the kind that came up over drinks after someone asked, “So, was he good?” Good sex happened on Tuesdays after work with the guy from Hinge who insisted on taking you out somewhere too expensive for a second date. You split a basket of fries, drank half a beer because you still had work in the morning, drove home with exhaustion sitting heavy behind your eyes, then let him fuck you well enough to sleep for four uninterrupted hours.
Good sex was practical and predictable. It convinced your body you were living a normal life.
Great sex was different. Great sex happened after work parties when your mascara was already smudged and your heels were in your hand by midnight. It happened on weekends with nowhere to be the next morning. You never talked about great sex because it sounded exaggerated the second you said it out loud, like you were overselling a man nobody else would understand. Great sex made you cum or at least brought you close enough that your stomach tightened every time you remembered it afterward. You thought about great sex while driving long stretches of empty highway, your hands steady on the wheel while your mind wandered somewhere warmer.
Great sex stayed in your body for days. You caught yourself replaying parts of it absentmindedly while standing in line for coffee or brushing your teeth before bed.
Then there was getting fucked…
There was no cleaner way to define it. It lived somewhere between fantasy and urban legend, passed around between women in half-serious conversations that always dissolved into laughter. Everybody claimed to know someone who’d experienced it but nobody could explain it properly. Getting fucked was the kind of sex that distracted you in the middle of the day badly enough to make you stop what you were doing and change your underwear. It sat dangerously close to the limits of what sex could actually be before the whole thing collapsed under its own weight.
If a guy treated you too much like an object, it fell apart immediately.
If you didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count.
If you weren’t still thinking about him six months later at red lights and in grocery store aisles and during lonely hotel nights, then it wasn’t that either.
Getting fucked sat at the very top of the scale, lit up like something obvious and somehow most men still missed it completely.
Being made love to was worse and more dangerous, honestly.
For somebody like you, it could become embarrassing fast. Storm season kept you on the road for months at a time, bouncing between states, sleeping in motels with stiff sheets and weak air conditioning. Off-season meant office buildings, weather models glowing across multiple monitors, long meetings about funding, new equipment and data collection. Your life moved constantly and men liked that at first. A woman who was smart, busy, gone half the year, financially stable and difficult to pin down.
Men loved the idea of you because it excused the fact they never had to give very much. Most of them thought they were in love but really, they just liked access to somebody they found impressive.
Before all of that, you used to think being made love to meant passion…intimacy. That it was slow sex with somebody who knew your body so well they could pull an orgasm out of you patiently and confidently, like it mattered to them as much as breathing did. You imagined hands lingering at your waist, sleepy conversation afterward, somebody brushing your hair away from your face before kissing you again.
Instead, you ended up underneath men who mistook enthusiasm for intimacy. You stared at ceilings while they grunted above you, listened to them breathe your name like they were performing something instead of feeling it. Sometimes you felt your stomach turn from the boredom alone, your body rocking mechanically with theirs while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely to storm reports, grocery lists and whether you needed to change your oil before the next drive west.
You never let them finish once you realized you hated it, that was the one thing you refused to fake. You pushed them off, sat up and reached for your clothes while they blinked at you in confusion. You told them it wasn’t going to work, sometimes you said it gently and other times you just didn’t bother. Either way, you watched realization settle over them while they sat there flushed and humiliated, their ego bruised worse than their feelings ever were but somehow your harsh words still made them cum…
Needless to say, after a while, you stopped having sex altogether.
You were in your rental house after a long day spent staring at storm data and listening to Javi ramble about whatever breakthrough he thought he’d made this time. It was late, the entire house felt heavy and warm, every light dimmer than usual and lately, you weren’t alone nearly as often as you used to be.
Scott sat at your dining table with your laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched, completely absorbed in columns of numbers and radar models. You’d known him for two years and he’d been your partner for one of them.
People were right about him. He was direct to the point of rudeness, arrogant enough to make most people defensive within five minutes and mean when he thought someone deserved it but unlike most men in your field, Scott had learned how to admit when he was wrong, far from gracefully or happily but still, he did it.
The two of you were impossibly stubborn in almost identical ways, so sharing space with him sometimes felt like being trapped in a room with a sharper version of yourself. Separately, you were both good at what you did but together, you were nearly impossible to beat.
You couldn’t pinpoint when “coworkers” had turned into Scott walking into your house without knocking, helping himself to your fridge and sitting at your table like he paid rent.
“Best orgasm you’ve had during sex?” His voice came from across the room, casual and flat, like he’d asked you about rainfall percentages. He didn’t even look away from the laptop while he said it.
You’d forgotten he was meeting you there before the two of you drove to the bar together, which was why you were still walking around in sleep shorts and a bra, trying to find something decent enough to wear without looking like you’d spent an hour trying.
You took a sip from the beer he’d already pulled out of your fridge and nearly snorted into the bottle. “You think men do that?” you asked as you disappeared into your bedroom.
“To you?” Scott finally looked up. His eyes tracked your movement automatically while he reached for the beer the two of you were apparently sharing now. “I hope so.”
He took a drink as his eyes followed your movement.
You walked back into view holding two dresses on mismatched hangers. “You’re a fucking idiot,” you said plainly. “And maybe a pervert.”
Scott pointed at you immediately. “You’re changing in front of me. I could probably keep count of your bras at this point and I don’t. That actually makes me less of a pervert.”
You disappeared back into your room. He could hear hangers scraping against the closet rod while you searched through clothes with growing irritation.
“Just because it doesn’t make you hard doesn’t make you not a pervert,” you called back, your voice muffled through the wall.
“How do you know I’m not?” he shot back instantly, sounding almost offended by the assumption.
Silence followed but about a minute later, you walked back out wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was simple, fitted enough to make his eyes stop for a second before continuing downward automatically. You crossed the room toward him, letting your heels drop onto the hardwood before slipping them on one at a time.
“You’re not attracted to me, Scott,” you said flatly.
He looked up slowly then, his eyes dragging over the length of the dress with enough attention to make most people nervous. On you, it just made you impatient.
“You seem awfully confident about that.”
“I am.” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder before glancing toward his laptop screen. “So don’t say shit that makes me sound stupid.”
Scott looked back at the laptop fast enough to make the movement obvious. He pretended to scroll through data he’d stopped reading the second you started undressing in the next room.
“I’m ready,” you said. “Good to go?”
“Need five minutes,” he muttered.
You walked behind him toward the front door, tapping his shoulder as you passed. “The data will still be there tomorrow. C’mon, Scotty.”
The teasing grin in your voice made something in his jaw tighten. You disappeared outside before he could even think of an answer.
Scott closed the laptop harder than necessary and stood, quietly adjusting himself through his jeans with the irritation of a man betrayed by his own body. He shut off the lights one by one and grabbed your keys from the counter before locking the door behind him.
The porch light was off so you couldn’t see the tent in his jeans. Thank fuck for that.
“Scotty was an eight-year-old with chubby cheeks,” he muttered while locking the deadbolt. He glanced over at you waiting by the passenger side of his truck. “It’s Scott.”
“It’s whatever I decide it is,” you replied easily.
He rolled his eyes and walked down the porch steps, unlocking the truck with a sharp click.
“Come open my door.”
“Since when do you need me to do that?” he complained, already circling the hood anyway.
“Since you got comfortable commenting on my bras.”
Scott stopped in front of you to stare before reaching around your waist to pull the handle open. The movement brought him close enough to smell your perfume underneath detergent and beer.
You smiled to yourself while climbing into the passenger seat because for once, Scott didn’t have anything smart to say.
Talking about sex with your coworkers was probably the least professional habit you could develop but professionalism stopped mattering after twelve-hour drives, shared motel rooms, gas station dinners at midnight and enough close calls together to make normal boundaries feel unnecessary. There were barely any women in the field to begin with, which meant the few of you that existed clung together fast and Scott, despite being deeply irritating most of the time, was easier to talk to than most people.
Brutally honest people usually were.
At some point, conversations that started as jokes during long drives turned into real discussions about relationships, sex, exes and every disappointing person either of you had ever slept with. It happened slowly enough neither of you noticed the line moving until it was already somewhere far behind you.
HR would’ve had a heart attack.
That night, you learned Scott Miller did not do good sex. If good sex existed to him at all, it involved two people fully clothed and standing on opposite ends of a room.
The bar was more crowded than you expected, packed wall to wall with storm chasers, meteorologists, researchers and people who somehow always smelled faintly like dust and gasoline no matter how clean they looked. Whenever women in the field found each other, there was an unspoken tendency to group together immediately, so you spent most of the night at the bar talking with another researcher from Oklahoma while music pounded so loud you felt it vibrate through the floor beneath your heels.
Eventually Javi appeared beside you carrying drinks you absolutely weren’t going to refuse. He handed one over before leaning closer, lowering his voice.
“What’s wrong with Scott?”
You blinked at him. The question caught you off guard enough to make your brows pull together immediately because nobody ever asked about Scott. People either tolerated him, argued with him or avoided him entirely. Whatever problem Scott had, he usually fixed it himself before anyone could notice it existed.
Your eyes scanned the crowd automatically until you found him near the back corner of the bar with a soda in his hand. Of course he wasn’t drinking, he stood half-shadowed against the wall looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of social interaction…and staring directly at you.
Your eyes narrowed slightly until Scott finally got the message and looked away first.
You turned back to Javi. “Do you mean tonight or in general?” you asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure he was dropped as a child, but you’d have to ask his mother for confirmation.”
Javi frowned harder. “I mean tonight. He looks tense and it’s making me uneasy.”
“It’s Scott. He always looks tense.”
“More than usual.” Javi glanced over his shoulder carefully. “Tell him to relax for once…and to make some friends. That’s literally why we came here.”
You pointed at yourself immediately. “Why am I responsible for that?”
Javi shrugged like the answer was obvious. “Because you speak ‘Scott’ fluently. Translate what I just said into something he’ll actually understand.”
Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hand. “You’re bribing me.”
“And that drink cost me twenty-five dollars,” he replied. “So yes. Go.”
You snorted into the rim of your glass. “Pretty sure stress is what’s making you bald, by the way…not Scott’s burning gaze.”
Javi adjusted his baseball cap defensively. “Just go talk to him.”
You shook your head, already grinning despite yourself and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, which Scott noticed immediately.
The music got louder the closer you got to him, voices bleeding together into useless noise, so instead of trying to shout over it, you reached forward and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.
“Outside,” you said simply, tugging once as you moved toward the exit.
Scott followed without argument, that alone should’ve concerned you more than it did.
The plan was for him to ask what you wanted once you got outside. Instead, somewhere between the crowded bar and the exit door, he got distracted watching you walk ahead of him. Your dress moved against your hips every few steps, exposing flashes of leg skin under the low bar lights and the muscles in your bare back moved subtly every time you pushed through another cluster of people.
Inevitably, Scott’s eyes dropped lower before he caught himself.
By the time the two of you stepped outside into the cooler night air, he still hadn’t said a word.
You finally let go of his belt loop once the two of you were far enough from the entrance that the music had dulled into muffled bass behind you. You turned to face him properly, folding your arms across your chest as you looked up at him.
“What’s your current issue?” you asked.
“Current?” Scott repeated, brows pulling together.
You nodded once like the question made perfect sense.
“When’s the last time you had sex?”
A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged carelessly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “What? Are you the only one allowed to ask those questions?”
You laughed again, this time shaking your head as you pointed at him. “Yes. Obviously.”
Scott snorted.
“And those are long-drive questions,” you continued, motioning vaguely toward his truck behind you before pointing back toward the crowded bar. “Not ‘parking lot outside a packed bar’ questions.”
“You still need to answer.” He shrugged again. “Those are the rules.”
“Have I ever told you how stupid those rules are?”
“First time I’m hearing complaints since you’re the one who made them,” he replied with a grin.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath before taking another sip of your drink.
Scott stayed quiet as he just watched you over the rim of his own soda, patient and expectant in a way that immediately irritated you because he clearly thought he was getting an answer eventually.
“Are you seriously gonna make me answer?”
“I can’t make you do anything,” he said calmly. “But I can wait. I still have to drive you home.”
You looked up toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows you could still see people packed together under neon lights, laughing too loud, talking over each other about work, storm patterns and equipment failures. You’d already reached the point of the night where conversations started blending together into white noise.
“Can we leave now?” you asked.
Scott didn’t answer verbally. He just pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck with a click, then held his hand out toward your drink.
“Get in and lock the doors,” he said as he took the glass from you and turned back toward the bar to return it.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you called after him while walking directly to the passenger side and doing exactly that.
Honestly, you didn’t mind answering the question. The problem was that once you actually thought about it, you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long it had been. It had been long enough that you had to start considering technicalities and long enough that the answer became embarrassing and unfortunately, thinking about sex while sitting alone in Scott’s truck immediately led your brain somewhere unhelpful…
Scott eventually climbed back into the truck and shut the door behind him. He didn’t start driving right away, he just sat there in the dark, one hand resting on the wheel while the dashboard lights cut sharp shadows across his face…waiting, because the thing about car questions was that silence usually came first.
“A year and a half,” you blurted out finally. “Give or take.”
Scott’s head turned toward you so fast it almost looked painful. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t believe that.”
You laughed in disbelief and looked toward him. “Believe whatever you want, Scott. I answered the fucking question. That’s the game.”
“A year and a half?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d confessed to murder. “What the hell do you even do on weekends?”
“Currently?” you replied dryly. “Sit in your truck while you annoy me.”
“No,” he said, already turning the key in the ignition. “You’re irritated because you’re sexually frustrated.”
You barked out another incredulous laugh.
“And you’ve been sexually frustrated since I met you,” he continued as he shifted the truck into reverse. “Which explains why you piss me off every single fucking day.”
“Excuse you?” You turned toward him fully now, half laughing from sheer disbelief. “First the bra comments and now this? What’s next? Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?”
“Put your seatbelt on.” The command came out flat and automatic.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Scott. I’m not drunk enough to–”
The words died in your throat the second he reached across you.
His arm slid in front of your chest while the truck reversed smoothly with his other hand still turning the wheel. His forearm brushed against the underside of your breasts accidentally…or maybe not so accidentally and your breath caught hard at the sudden closeness. Scott grabbed the seatbelt beside your shoulder, pulled it across your body in one sharp movement, then clicked it into place at your hip without looking away from the rear window once.
You drove home in complete silence.
No radio or conversation, just the steady sound of tires against asphalt and the occasional flick of the blinker while Scott kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You’d heard every version of his voice over the last two years, sarcastic, irritated or sharp enough to make grown men defensive in meetings but hearing him tell you to put your seatbelt on while his arm pressed across your breasts had done something deeply unfortunate to your brain.
This was entirely your fault. You were the one who made sex an acceptable topic between the two of you, you were the one who turned it into a game, into background conversation during long drives and late nights. Somewhere along the way home, your definition of good sex had rewritten itself around that precise moment.
For most people, that probably counted as foreplay, but for you? It counted as a serious fucking problem.
By the time Scott parked outside your house, your thoughts had spiraled so badly that you barely registered the truck stopping. You stayed seated even after he cut the engine, staring forward blankly while the silence settled heavier around you.
Scott got out first without saying anything and walked around the front of the truck toward your side.
The passenger door opened. You looked up just in time to feel him lean in and reach across you again, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric stretched over your waist as he unclipped the seatbelt. The contact lasted maybe a second but that was already too long.
Only then did you finally move. You climbed out quickly, making an effort to keep close to the truck instead of brushing against him, then headed straight for your front door while digging through your purse for your keys even if it was practically empty and somehow that made it worse. You found lip balm…receipts…some loose cash, everything except what you actually needed.
Scott followed behind you quietly.
You still hadn’t found the keys when his arm appeared beside you, reaching around your body with frustrating familiarity. He’d had your keys the entire night, he usually did whenever the two of you went out together because you constantly lost track of them.
The metal clicked softly as he unlocked the door for you.
Your breath stalled as Scott stood so close behind you that you could feel the heat coming off him through the thin fabric of your dress. His chest nearly touched your back, one arm still braced near your shoulder while he turned the lock. It boxed you in completely, your body caught between the door and him and the worst part was that it felt good.
The sharp heat low in your stomach made that painfully obvious.
Good sex, apparently, was standing fully clothed on your own porch while your coworker unlocked your front door…all while standing right behind you.
The lock finally clicked open. You pushed the door open and stepped inside fast to put distance between you before turning back toward him.
Determination sat stiffly in your chest now…You were staying dressed. Whatever this weird tension was had to be alcohol-fueled, temporary, deeply stupid or preferably all three and gone by morning.
Unfortunately, Scott looked unfairly good standing on your porch under weak yellow light.
At some point he’d taken off his cap, you didn’t know when and hadn’t realized until now. Why did he look dreamy!? His hair was messy from running his hands through it all night and the expression on his face had settled back into that unreadable calm that somehow made things worse.
“Night, Scott,” you said quickly, then shut the door directly in his face…very determined to remain dressed.
“Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?” That sentence replayed in your head later for one humiliating reason: Scott Miller had never been the kind of man to hand off work he could do himself.
You’d been wrong earlier, completely wrong.
Great sex didn’t happen on weekends or after parties or during long-awaited moments with somebody you trusted. Sometimes it happened five minutes after you slammed your front door in a man’s face and tried convincing yourself you still had common sense.
You stayed standing by the door after closing it, palms warm against the wood, waiting to hear his truck start. You expected the familiar sound of the driver’s side door opening, shutting and the low rumble of the engine before he pulled away but nothing happened.
At first you told yourself you were imagining the silence because you were still too aware of him…then a full minute passed…followed by another and then three more.
Five long, miserable minutes where your brain refused to focus on anything except the fact Scott was still outside your house.
You opened the door expecting embarrassment or maybe annoyance, maybe him realizing he forgot something. Instead, he was still standing there in the same position with that same unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like you hadn’t just shut the door on him…five minutes ago.
You stared at each other for a second too long.
You never figured out what exactly snapped first. Pride, self-control or curiosity…maybe all of it at once again.
One second he was standing on your porch and the next you were grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward hard enough to make him stumble into you as your mouth crashed against his.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the fragile determination to stay dressed shattered. You didn't just invite Scott in, you practically hauled him across the threshold, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of alcohol and months of suppressed frustration. It was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless.
You stumbled backward, the friction of your bodies fueling a fire that had been simmering for far too long. As you navigated the space, your heels clicked erratically against the floor until you kicked them off with frantic movements, one flying toward the wall and the other sliding away as you backed into the dining area.
You hit the edge of the heavy wooden table and Scott didn't miss a beat. He gripped your waist with bruising force and hoisted you up, the sudden elevation making you gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop kissing you but his path shifted, lips sliding down your jawline to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were everywhere, frantic and demanding, sliding up the fabric of your dress and bunching it up around your waist until your thighs were bare and shivering against the cool wood.
You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them down with a sharp, decisive motion until you could kick them off, exposing you to the air. As he lowered himself, his mouth found the swell of your breasts through your dress, biting lightly against the fabric on his way down between your legs.
"You don't need to do that," you managed to moan, your voice trembling as he moved your weight, sliding you toward the edge of the table until you were perched precariously, your legs naturally falling open.
"Shut up," Scott muttered against your skin, his voice a low, arrogant growl that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit as he finally settled himself firmly between your thighs, the heat of his body radiating against your wetness.
Then, he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a shock of heat, it was wet and precise. He dove right in, tongue licking upward from your perineum to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke. You arched your back as a loud moan escaped you since it had been so long since you’d felt anything this raw, this focused. You were starving for it and Scott was feeding off of you with a primal intensity that blurred everything else out.
He used his hands to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so he could bury his face in you as he kneeled. He began to lap at you with a rhythmic, punishing speed, his tongue flattening out to cover as much surface area as possible before narrowing into a sharp point to flick relentlessly against your clit.
The sensation was overwhelming. You began to squirm, hips jerking instinctively against his mouth as your fingernails clawed at the tabletop. You weren't just enjoying it, you were unraveling.
"Fuck…Scott...please," you whimpered, though you didn't know what you were asking for.
He responded by changing your position. He pushed you flat onto your back on the table, the hard wood pressing into your spine and hauled your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, your pussy flared open and glistening in the dark room.
He didn't stop the oral but added more by sliding two fingers deep inside you, stretching you open while his tongue continued to hammer away at your clit. The combination of the internal pressure and the external friction was too much. You were shaking, breath coming in short, jagged gasps as your feet drummed against his back.
He could tell you were close, encouraging him to increase the pressure, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot while his tongue sucked your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that felt like it was pulling your entire soul out through your cunt.
“Holy s-shit!” Your head thrashed from side to side, a loud, unrestrained scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was violent and all-consuming, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you whimpering and twitching on the table.
As the peak slowly subsided, Scott didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, slowly lapping the remaining juices from your pussy. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue lingering on every inch of your swollen cunt until you were completely spent, lying limp and shivering on the table, finally satisfied.
He straightened slowly from between your legs, chest rising hard with uneven breaths that matched your own. His mouth was swollen and wet when he licked across his lips absentmindedly, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made heat crawl back under your skin even while your body still twitched from the orgasm.
From your place sprawled across the dining table, you stared up at him in stunned silence. Your thighs were still trembling now against his sides and you were almost certain your expression looked ridiculous, wide-eyed and dazed in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around another person in years.
Scott held a hand out toward you and you took it automatically.
He helped you sit up first before guiding you carefully off the table, one hand steady on your waist while your legs struggled to cooperate beneath you. The second your feet touched the floor, your knees nearly gave out entirely.
Scott wiped his mouth with his palm. “Goodnight,” he said and the gentleness of it caught you off guard more than anything else that night had.
His hand slipped away from your waist and the two of you just stood there for a second, staring at each other while trying and failing to breathe normally again.
Then Scott turned and walked toward the front door.
You stayed frozen in place while he opened it and left your house without another word. A few seconds later you finally heard the sounds you’d been waiting for earlier, the truck door opening, shutting and the engine starting before he drove off into the night.
You tried walking toward your bedroom afterward and immediately realized your legs barely worked. You ended up half stumbling down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall for balance because your entire lower body still felt weak and oversensitive.
Great sex…that had been unbelievably, painfully great sex.
You thought about it constantly afterward. In the shower, during calls and meetings, while sitting in traffic or lying awake at night staring at the ceiling with your thighs pressed together. You didn’t mention it to your friends or talked to Scott about it, even during the long stretches of silence that filled the truck during drives. The two of you understood what happened without discussing it directly, you’d crossed a line and both of you seemed aware that talking about it too much would probably drag you over it again.
The following mornings, you waited for him outside on your porch instead of letting him walk into your house like usual. Mostly because you’d spent the entire week masturbating to the memory of him between your legs on your dining table before getting ready for the day and you didn’t trust yourself to survive seeing him inside your kitchen before sunrise.
For one solid week, you slept perfectly. No insomnia or late-night work spirals, no pacing around rooms or answering emails at one in the morning just to keep your brain occupied. Whatever tension usually sat under your skin had disappeared completely and now it sat between you both instead.
Every drive felt heavier, the silence stretched longer and every sharp inhale from him made your stomach tighten unexpectedly until eventually you got sick of pretending neither of you noticed it.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted suddenly.
Scott glanced toward you briefly, eyes leaving the road for barely a second before returning forward. “Do you want to?” he asked.
“I don’t,” you admitted. “I feel like you do though.”
“You’re right.”
You snorted quietly and looked back down at the laptop balanced across your knees.
“I thought you liked being right.” Scott added.
“Fucking love it,” you replied automatically before grimacing. “Usually.”
Silence settled again until you broke it. “Okay,” you sighed eventually. “Maybe one thing.” You turned to him properly this time. “I wasn’t that drunk that night. Actually, I wasn’t drunk at all. I had that one beer before we left my place and the rest were mocktails.”
Scott turned his head enough to study your face for a second. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you were drunk,” he said flatly. “I’m an asshole, not fucking stupid.”
You leaned back against the seat slowly. “Even that’s changed.”
His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“The coffee for starters,” you said. “The lunches, too. You stopped buying disgusting gas station sandwiches and now we actually eat dinner out like normal people.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “You used to hand me coffee with five sugar packets on the side because you couldn’t remember how I took it. Now it’s magically perfect every fucking morning.”
Scott adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
“I thought eating around other people would make this less weird,” he admitted. “And I got tired of sugar packets all over my truck.”
“Our truck,” you corrected automatically before pointing at him accusingly. “And nothing about this is normal, Scott! You ate me out on my dining table!”
“Stop yelling at me.” His tone stayed frustratingly calm.
“Why?” you shot back. “Is it making you hard?”
Scott shifted in his seat hard enough that you noticed instantly. Both his hands locked tighter around the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead at the road. The tension in his jaw became visible because unfortunately for him, you weren’t wrong.
The last week had changed things. You looked less exhausted and less tightly wound. You hadn’t snapped at him once during work and he hadn’t gotten a single unhinged one a.m. email from you all week because for the first time since he’d met you, you were actually sleeping.
“So when are we doing it again?” he asked finally, against every ounce of common sense he had left.
NEVER…that should’ve been the answer. It was the logical answer, the responsible one, the answer two coworkers with already questionable boundaries should’ve landed on immediately.
It just wasn’t the truth.
You had always maintained that getting fucked couldn’t happen in motel rooms. It didn't matter how good the sex was, the second cheap carpet, bad lighting and a rattling air conditioner got involved, the whole thing dropped several levels automatically.
Motel sex could be great, sometimes even memorable but it couldn’t be that, so the next time it happened definitely wasn’t in a motel room.
The weather that day had turned bad enough to keep everyone grounded but not dangerous enough to send your team chasing storms through three different counties. There was heavy rain, low visibility and too much lightning for comfort but not enough rotation to justify going out.
At some point, without either of you actually saying it outright, waiting the storm out in Scott’s apartment became the plan instead of sitting cramped inside the truck for hours pretending the tension between you didn’t exist.
You still couldn’t pinpoint who made the first move once the elevator doors closed behind you.
One second you were standing beside him soaked at the edges from the rain, listening to distant thunder through the concrete parking garage and the next, Scott’s hand was inside your pants like it belonged there.
You gasped hard into his mouth as his fingers slid against you immediately, already somewhat familiar with exactly what made your hips jerk forward. The kiss that came after barely counted as one, it was messy and distracted, interrupted constantly by your breathing and the quiet sounds you kept failing to swallow down.
The elevator ride lasted less than a minute but by the time the doors opened onto his floor, your orgasm was already hitting you in sharp waves around his fingers while your forehead pressed against his shoulder to keep yourself standing.
If you weren’t already fucked, you were about to be.
You’d been inside Scott’s apartment before. A handful of times after late nights working or when weather reports needed reviewing somewhere quieter than a crowded diner. You remembered the big windows first, stretching across the living room area with a full view of the skyline in the distance. Tonight they framed heavy gray clouds and rain pouring so hard that it blurred the city lights into smears of white and yellow.
Scott barely gave you time to look around because the second the apartment door shut behind you, his hands were on you again. He walked you toward the living room with rough impatience, pulling your pants down from behind while you stumbled against the edge of an armchair. Your underwear followed immediately after, dragged down together in one quick motion before pooling around your ankles.
The air in Scott’s apartment was heavy, charged with the static of the storm raging outside. The gray light of the overcast sky filtered through the windows but the atmosphere inside was scorching.
"Kneel," he commanded as he pointed toward the armchair, his voice a low, authoritative rumble.
You didn't hesitate. The tension that had been building between you for weeks, the unspoken glances and lingering touches, had finally snapped. You sank to your knees on the plush seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You leaned forward, gripping the headrest with both hands, body already trembling in anticipation. You were completely exposed to him, your ass tilted back and waiting.
Scott disappeared for a moment, leaving you in a silence broken only by the distant roll of thunder. When he returned, the sound of a foil packet tearing echoed in the room. You heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling and the slide of a zipper.
The anticipation was agonizing. You heard him roll the condom on, followed by the wet sound of him spitting on the head of his cock to make the entry smoother.
He stepped up behind you, heat radiating against your backside. He lined himself up and then, with one powerful, decisive surge, he thrust deep inside you.
You let out a sharp, strangled whine, your fingers digging into the fabric of the headrest. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you and Scott was massive. The initial stretch was borderline painful, a blunt force that filled every millimeter of your tight, starving pussy. You blinked rapidly, tears pricking your eyes as your body struggled to accommodate his size, your breath hitching in your throat.
Scott didn't give you time to adjust. He reached forward, his large hands clamping onto your hips with bruising force and yanked you backward, pulling you deeper onto his cock until there was no space left between you.
"I wanna see you," you moaned, your voice broken and desperate, trying to twist your torso around to look at him.
He didn't let you. Instead, he leaned in and sank his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, a sharp bite that made you moan despite your best efforts. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, gripping it firmly to keep your head pinned forward.
"Just focus," he rasped calmly against your skin, the contrast of his steady voice and his firm grip sending a shiver of submission down your spine.
He let go of your jaw and began to thrust. He didn't start slowly, he hit you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. The apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of your sudden, loud moans and frantic curses. You collapsed forward, your chest pressed against the headrest, your body jarring with every hit.
As he hammered into you, Scott reached around, his hands finding your breasts. He didn't bother undressing you further, he grabbed your boobs firmly over your clothes, squeezing and kneading them with a rough, possessive grip that matched the violence of his hips.
"I'm gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment," he growled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me."
The sex quickly became raw and primal and so, so fucking good. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the wet, rhythmic thud of his pelvis hitting your ass filled the room, competing with the roar of the thunder outside. Every thrust shook your entire frame, quaking your body from your head to your toes. You were whimpering loudly now, the pain of the initial stretch having completely melted into an overwhelming, white-hot pleasure you never thought you could feel.
Your eyes watered, staring out into the distance of the room, the world blurring as the friction built. It was fast, harsh and so perfect that you found yourself wanting to bite the armchair, your teeth sinking into the fabric as your back arched violently. You were unraveling, the long period of abstinence making you hypersensitive to every inch of him.
"I'm right there, keep going! Scott, please! Don’t fuckin’ stop." you whined, voice echoing through the apartment.
He didn't, he instead increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic, drilling into you with an obsession that felt like he wanted to merge his body with yours. The thunder peaked with a deafening crash that seemed to trigger something inside you.
Suddenly, your internal muscles spasmed. A wave of heat exploded from your core and you felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of fluid. You were squirting, something that had never happened to you before, the hot spray soaking the armchair and your own thighs. You began to shake uncontrollably, your legs giving out as you sobbed out of pure pleasure into the headrest.
Scott let out a guttural groan, the feeling of you flooding around him driving him over the edge. He loved it, hell, he was obsessed with the way you were falling apart under him. He kept going, ignoring your tremors, continuously driving himself into you as you peaked into a mind-blowing, screaming orgasm that left you completely breathless.
With a final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, coming hard into the condom.
The momentum stopped abruptly. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you frozen, chests heaving in unison.
Slowly, he withdrew, the wet sound of his exit punctuating the silence with an obscene pop.
You both watch the rain lash against the glass, the gray light illuminating the wreckage of your passion. You took a long, shuddering breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks as your pussy twitched around nothing, back arching further needily, earning a smack from him.
"Holy fuck," you both breathed simultaneously, the weight of the encounter settling over you in the heavy, humid air.
There was no going back after that day. Not to abstinence, not to disappointing hookups or to pretending sex was something casual and forgettable that fit neatly between work schedules and storm reports.
Once Scott got his hands on you, everything else lost appeal embarrassingly fast.
What started as isolated incidents quickly turned into a pattern neither of you seriously attempted to stop. It was a terrible idea professionally, obviously, but somehow the two of you functioned better afterward. Meetings became easier, long drives felt lighter and you argued less viciously because the tension always had somewhere to go now instead of festering under your skin for weeks.
You started going home together most nights under the excuse of saving gas money. Then showering together afterward became another practical decision because apparently water bills mattered too now. Somewhere between shared coffee in the mornings and him keeping spare clothes for you at his apartment, things moved quietly into something neither of you had planned for and the worst part was that it worked.
The sex stayed incredible. Sometimes rough enough to leave hickeys along your skin and fingerprints fading across your thighs and hips by morning, or other times slow enough that you ended up tangled together for hours afterward while thunderstorms rolled outside the windows. Every now and then he fucked you hard enough to leave you shaking afterward, staring blankly at the ceiling while he stood in the kitchen making you food like that was a normal sequence of events but eventually you realized it wasn’t just about that anymore.
You started having actual dates without calling them dates, it was dinner after work that lasted until restaurants closed around you. You went grocery shopping together because both of you were too exhausted to go separately and you began falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch while weather models played quietly on television screens neither of you were really watching.
Off-season made it worse.
Without constant travel, motel rooms and adrenaline keeping you both distracted, there was finally time to explore whatever this thing between you had become. You drifted naturally between your house and his apartment depending on whose place seemed closer to the office that day. Half your belongings somehow ended up at his place and vice versa. You texted each other constantly during meetings despite sitting twenty feet apart, phones hidden beneath desks while coworkers talked around you.
Scott started bringing your coffee to your desk already made exactly how you liked it before you even decided you needed one. You started buying his preferred cereal without asking if he wanted any. He slept better with you in his bed and you stopped grinding your teeth in your sleep when he stayed over.
So naturally, being made love to finally happened exactly the way you once thought it would and it wasn’t some exaggerated version of romance men convinced themselves they were capable of after two drinks and mediocre conversation.
It sort of snuck up on you. It was Scott pulling you into his lap while both of you were exhausted after work, kissing your shoulder absentmindedly while you read through data on his laptop. It was him waking you up slowly on Sunday mornings with his hand sliding under your shirt and nowhere either of you needed to be. It was sex that lasted forever because he knew your body well enough to take his time with it, knew exactly what made you gasp, what made your legs tense and what made you hide your face against his neck when the pleasure became too much.
He paid attention and it made all of the difference. Scott learned your body like he learned storm patterns, thoroughly and obsessively, until touching you became instinct to him and it showed…
The morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom in soft, golden slats, painting the sheets in hues of amber and cream. The house was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of your shared breathing and the distant chirp of birds welcoming the dawn. You were tangled together, skin on skin, the warmth of the duvet trapping the heat of your bodies in a private, humid cocoon.
There was no rush, no storm to outrun and no urgency born of desperation. There was only the heavy, sweet weight of Scott pressing you into the mattress. You were both fully naked, your limbs entwined in a lazy, possessive knot.
Scott began slowly, his lips tracing a path of fire across your collarbone. He wasn't just kissing you, he was tasting you, tongue swirling against your skin in slow circles that made you shiver. He moved lower, mouth finding the sensitive curve of your breast as you let out a soft, airy moan. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other peak, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to your core.
You arched your back, your fingers sliding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The friction of his chest against your breasts was intoxicating, the rough hair of his torso grazing your sensitive skin.
He shifted, sliding his body up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with an intensity that felt more overwhelming than any of the rougher encounters you'd had. He didn't move to flip you or push you into a different position, instead, he settled between your thighs in a classic missionary stance and pushed inside. There was no latex barrier this time, no clinical snap of a condom. It was raw, wet and absolute.
The sensation of his bare skin sliding against yours was a revelation. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the full, throbbing heat of him filling you completely. It felt different, more intimate and permanent. The lack of a barrier made every ridge of his cock feel amplified, every pulse of his blood echoing against your own internal walls.
He didn't start with the punishing pace of the past. Instead, he began to rock, his movements slow and agonizingly deep. He pressed his palm flat against your stomach, pushing down firmly to tilt your pelvis, ensuring that every thrust hit the deepest part of you.
"Gripping me like a fucking vise…so perfect." he groaned, his voice a gravelly morning rumble that vibrated through your chest.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even deeper. You were lost in the rhythm, the slow, sliding friction creating a build-up of tension that felt like a tightening coil in your belly. You ran your hands through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you moaned into the first rays of the morning sun.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way possible. As he continued to rock, his movements grew slightly more urgent, the slow glide turning into a passionate, driving force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin while he continued to pinch and tease your nipples, hand roaming your curves with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, obsessive knowledge of your body.
It didn’t take long for your breath to become shallow, chest heaving as the pleasure began to peak. You could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him, milking him with every deep stroke. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets as a wave of heat crashed over you. You cried out, a long, melodic sound of surrender, as your orgasm ripped through you in slow, pulsing waves that left you shaking beneath him.
Scott didn’t slow his pace as his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. He continued moving, the intimacy of the connection almost too much to bear.
"Want to be done?" he whispered, his voice strained, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.
You looked up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and affection. The thought of him pulling away felt wrong because you wanted everything. You wanted the weight, the heat and the mark of him.
You shook your head with an escaped whimper, pulling his face down to yours. "Don’t you dare pull out…’want you to come inside." You breathed.
The request broke the last of his restraint. Scott let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sob and began to drive into you with a renewed, primal intensity. It was a desperate, loving hunger. He hammered into you, movements strong and deep, each thrust a claim and a promise.
As he reached his limit, his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible and you felt the hot, thick bursts of his cum flooding into you. The sensation of him filling you from the inside out was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between you.
In the height of his release, as his body shuddered violently against yours, he gasped out the words he had been holding back.
"I love you," he choked out, the confession raw and unplanned.
The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. You felt a surge of emotion that rivaled the intensity of the orgasm, a warmth that started in your chest and radiated to your fingertips. You tightened your hold on him, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss.
"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.
He collapsed onto you, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your own, both of you spent and glowing in the morning light, finally and completely entwined.
A few years ago, you would’ve hated the idea that Scott Miller of all people would end up teaching you everything worth knowing about sex. It would’ve bruised your ego badly, especially considering how seriously you once took those stupid categories and scales in your head before Scott showed up and ruined all of them completely.
Good sex stopped mattering.
Great sex became expected.
Getting fucked became routine enough that you lost count somewhere along the line, usually around the third orgasm of the day and definitely before he started dragging you into his lap halfway through work calls just because he felt like bothering you…with his hands and dick.
But somehow, even after all the rough sex and ruined schedules, Scott still managed to make love to you exactly the way you once imagined it should feel.
So if somebody offered you the chance to go back and do it all over again, you would without hesitation.
You were an absolute HR nightmare now and what a fucking delight that was!
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Look at him just chewing the FAWK out of that gum 😭 (wait chew me next)
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I respect the fuck out of people that are just like “yeah sorry that ship does nothing for me but you guys have fun” even when a lot of people get into something at once
synopsis: in which jungwon gets too drunk, too honest, and far too handsy, and somewhere between the pulled-over car and the way he begs for you, everything you thought you knew starts to snap.
genre: best friends au
pairing: drunk best friend!jungwon x afab reader
warnings: drunk!jungwon, super handsy!jungwon, dub-con, pervy!jungwon, teasing, dirty talk, oral (f.rec), pussydrunk!jungwon, sub!jungwon? dom!reader? mutual masturbation (m and f), car sex (sorta), someone’s watching….
wc: 8.4k+
a/n: i needed a needy jungwon fic…. also holy frick yall i haven’t written smut in months and i feel like ive lost all my talent 🤬 im not sure why i had so much difficulty writing this fic but ts better be fixed for next time…anyways hope yall enjoy :3
—
you barely put the car in park before the front door of the house swings open like someone kicked it.
jungwon stumbles out, supported on each side by two of his friends, sunghoon and niki, grinning like he just saw god.
or, apparently, you.
"THERE she is," he says way too loudly, pointing at you with a wobbling hand. "that's my girl."
you choke. his friends choke. jungwon doesn't notice, to busy admiring your form as you slam your car door shut in mild frustration.
you had your whole night planned out, your room was cleaned, all class work completed, no responsibilities to uphold. you made dinner and planned to rot on your couch and binge watch a new series you had started till you inevitably passed out.
however, that plan was soon ruined when your phone blew up with messages and calls from sunghoon and niki who begged you to come pick up your childhood best friend, a very drunk jungwon.
you walk up the driveway, jaw tight, hoodie half-zipped, t-shirt (his) hanging off one shoulder, hair messy from being ripped out of the couches warm embrace.
you are not in the mood.
but jungwon? jungwon looks like he just found heaven wearing shorts and crocs.
he breaks free from his friends with the grace of a baby deer and practically lunges at you.
"woah—jungwon—" you start, but he's already wrapping both arms around your waist and pulling you against him like you might vanish.
his face buries into your neck instantly. not your shoulder—your neck.
and he breathes. deep. your body shudders as you feel his warm breath fan across the sensitive area, knees trembling slightly as you position your hands to pull him away.
"fuck..." he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, "why do you smell this good? it's like... illegal. i should report you."
you blink. "you're actually insane."
he nuzzles closer. actually nuzzles. his nose drags from your jaw to the base of your neck like he's trying to memorize you by scent.
"you smell like... warm," he continues, drunk and poetic. "and sweet. and... fuck, i can't even explain it." another inhale, "you smell like i wanna bite you."
your knees almost give out. this was..new.
you grab his shoulders to steady him, but he freezes when your hands touch him. slowly, his fingers slide down your sides until they find your waist again.
his grip tightens.
"your skin is so soft," he says suddenly, like it's a crime you haven't been arrested for. he rubs a thumb against the sliver of skin where your shirt rides up. "right here... it's so warm. feels nice."
"jungwon—" you hiss, glancing at his friends, who are watching with the expressions of people witnessing a car crash.
"what?" he lifts his head, blinking up at you all innocent and tipsy. "'m just appreciating. you're soft. it's distracting."
he leans in again, brushing his lips against your jaw by accident. or drunk aimlessness. you can't tell.
your breath catches.
jungwon smiles, slow and lazy. "i can feel your pulse. right here." his fingers tap your waist.
"you always get like this when i'm close. it's cute."
you shove him lightly because you're seconds from combusting. jungwon was always touchy, but his usual touch which was innocent was replaced by something much darker.
"get in the damn car."
"only if you keep touching me," he says, grabbing your hand and placing it on his chest like you're claiming him. his heart is pounding in his chest, almost as if it was going to escape him.
"jesus," you mutter, trying to pull away.
he doesn't let you. of fucking course.
instead he laces your fingers together, squeezes once, and says, soft and drunk and devastating:
"i missed you tonight."
before you can respond, he leans forward and rests his forehead on yours—actually presses it there—and whispers, "your skin... your smell... you're making me crazy."
your heart is in your throat.
"jungwon," you murmur, "get in the car."
he grins like he won.
"okaaay," he sings, finally letting you guide him toward the passenger seat—but not without trailing his fingers slowly down your arm the whole way. like he's memorizing the shape of you by touch.
"you feel pretty too," he mumbles, his eyes dragging across your face. "not just look. feel."
you open the door and he plops into the seat. you lean across him to buckle the belt.
mistake.
your hair brushes his cheek and he shivers. actually shivers.
his hands lift—slow, clumsy—and settle on your hips.
"don't do that," he whispers, voice suddenly rough. "don't get this close unless you want me to think things."
you freeze, breath caught, inches from his mouth and you can't help but let your eyes dart down.
"think what?" you whisper back before you can stop yourself.
he smirks. even drunk, the boy knows exactly what he's doing.
"things i shouldn't say unless you kiss me first."
your entire body lights on fire. you rip yourself away from him and slam the door closed as you begin to feel your face burning.
through the window, jungwon watches you with a dreamy smile, cheeks flushed, fingers tapping the spot on his chest where your hand had been.
the second the door shuts, jungwon sprawls back in the seat like he owns it—like he owns you.
he's slouched comfortably, legs spread wide, hand already draped over the console like an invitation. or a trap.
"you drive slow when you're mad," he says as you pull out of the driveway. almost like he's studying you. like he enjoys it.
"i'm not mad," you lie. you were fuming. not only were you mad because your plans were thrown out the window, but now you had a cocky shit-faced bastard sitting in your passenger seat who wouldn't stop looking at you like you were his entire world.
"you're adorable when you lie," he counters immediately.
your jaw clenches, you shit your eyes momentarily to calm yourself down.
and that's when his hand finds your thigh.
not tentative. not testing. claiming.
his palm lands high—too high—and squeezes with purpose, fingers spreading over the soft inside of your leg like he's done this before in his head.
"jungwon—"
"shhh," he says, leaning back, eyes half-lidded.
"your thigh feels good. let me enjoy it."
you inhale sharply.
he smirks—slow, knowing.
"see?" he murmurs. "i knew you'd sound like that."
his thumb drags up the inside of your thigh, higher, deliberate, slow enough to make you sweat but not enough to cross a line. he's hovering in the worst possible place.
"confident tonight, aren't you," you mutter.
"i'm always confident around you," he says simply. "i just pretend i'm not so i don't scare you."
your pulse stutters at his sudden confession.
his hand squeezes again—firm, warm, the kind of grip that makes your breath hitch.
"eyes on the road," he adds, voice dropping.
"unless you want me to take over."
you almost choke. "take over what?"
jungwon laughs—low, husky, intoxicated in the way men get when they're turned on and fearless.
"whatever you'll let me."
your grip on the wheel tightens. he notices, of course he notices.
"god, you're tense," he says softly, leaning closer until his breath ghosts over your cheek. "do i make you nervous?"
"no."
he grins. "another lie."
his thumb begins rubbing slow circles into your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you're warmest.
"stop messing with me, jungwon." you snap, the flush on your cheeks only getting darker.
"i'd rather mess with you than leave you alone," he murmurs. "you know how long i've wanted my hands here?"
your stomach drops at his words, swallowing harshly and controlling the urge to snap your head to the side to see his facial expression.
he tips his head, studying your reaction like a man savoring his favorite dessert.
"keep driving," he orders, voice low and wicked.
"i'm not done touching you."
you open your mouth to argue—but his hand slides higher, fingers brushing the seam of your shorts.
your breath breaks. audibly.
jungwon smirks. "that's the sound i wanted."
"jungwon, seriously—"
"relax," he says, squeezing once—slow, firm, deliberate enough to send heat up your spine.
"if i wanted to really touch you, you'd know."
you swallow hard, whatever that means.
jungwon leans in—close enough that his lips graze your ear when he speaks.
"you smell good," he whispers. "so fucking good. i noticed it the second you pulled up."
his nose trails down your jaw—not touching, just close enough to burn.
"sweet," he says softly.
"warm." another inhale.
"like you'd taste even better."
you shiver and he feels it.
"yeah," he murmurs, voice dropping to something darker. "bet you taste unreal."
your thighs tense up, big mistake. jungwon notices instantly.
"ohhh... she liked that," he purrs. he squeezes again, fingers pressing in just right. "you're so obvious, baby."
you nearly jerk the wheel. "don't call me that."
"why?" he asks. "you clench up every time i say it. you like when i talk like that, right baby?"
you're sweating bullets at this point, wishing that you lived much closer so you could get out of this car. jungwon on the other hand, he's thriving.
"stop," you whisper.
"make me."
you look at him and he's staring right back, eyes blown, full mouth curved into the cockiest, laziest grin you've ever seen on him.
his voice drops to a whisper that ruins you: "pull over."
"no."
"pull over," he repeats, calmer, warmer, dead serious. "or i'm going to keep touching you until you do."
your breath catches. his hand on your thigh slides half an inch higher—barely anything, but enough to make your heart slam against your ribs.
"last chance," he murmurs, his voice now hazy and clouded. "pull over, sweetheart."
and the way he says it—low, confident, hungry—
makes your whole body go hot.
your hands are tight on the steering wheel. ten and two. eyes glued on the road. jaw clenched.
you can do this. you can get him home. you can ignore the way he's been touching you for the last ten minutes—his fingers drift higher on your thigh.
okay maybe you can't.
"jungwon," you say through a breath that's definitely not steady, "keep your hand still."
"my hand is where it is," he murmurs, sounding way too innocent for someone whose fingertips are now brushing the hem of your short sleep shorts.
"jungwon," you warn again.
he laughs softly and leans his head back against the seat, eyes sliding over to you with a lazy, drunk, confident smirk.
"you keep saying my name like that," he says, voice low, "i'm gonna think you like it."
your throat goes tight. you press your foot on the gas, just a little. just enough to get home faster.
but jungwon doesn't care about your plan. he drags his fingers up another inch—slow, deliberate, like he's giving you time to react.
you do. you choke on air.
"stop," you whisper.
"you don't sound like you want me to." you don't.
you squeeze the wheel. you try to focus on the street signs. you tell yourself you can hold it together for five more minutes.
his hand slides higher. higher and higher.
your hips jerk right when you feel his fingers graze your panty clad core and the car swerves. "fuck— jungwon!"
he hums, pleased. "you're shaking."
"because you— you're distracting me—"
"good." he squeezes the inside of your thigh, firm, almost possessive. "then pay attention."
you feel heat pool low in your stomach. your heartbeat snaps into something fast and stupid. he's drunk but he's too confident, too controlled. his thumb strokes slow circles against the soft skin there, dangerous and knowing.
"jungwon, i swear—"
"pull over."
you blink. "what?"
"pull over," he repeats, quieter this time, leaning in until his lips almost brush your cheek. "before i make you."
your breath stops. you're not even sure if he means with his touch or with your own reaction to it, but either way—you can't keep driving like this.
especially not when he drags his fingers up again, grazing the very edge of your inner thigh, so close it's practically illegal.
"jungwon—"
"pull over, pretty girl."
your stomach drops. you pull over.
the car rolls to a shaky stop, and the second it's in park he exhales sharply—like he's been holding himself back, too.
"good," he murmurs, turning his head toward you slowly. "that's better."
"you're drunk," you manage, your mouth parting when you see how predatorial his expression had become.
"yeah," he agrees, leaning closer, voice dropping into something dark and warm, "but i still know what i want."
his hand moves again. purposeful. slow. claiming.
"and right now," he whispers, breath brushing your ear, "i want to touch you so fucking bad."
your entire body lights up. heat floods your face, your chest, your stomach. you can't move. can't breathe. can't think.
his mouth hovers right by your jaw.
"you don't even know," he murmurs, "how hard it's been all night saying how good you smell and not being able to actually taste you."
your pulse stutters.
he laughs, drunk and bold and sinfully confident.
"bet you taste even better."
the car is silent except for both of you breathing too hard. your hands are still on the wheel like you're afraid to move. jungwon's hand is still on your thigh like he owns it.
he looks at you. really looks. and then he shifts closer across the seat, slow like he's stalking you.
"come here," he murmurs, his legs spreading as if he was expecting you to climb over the console and situate yourself in his lap.
you freeze. "jungwon—"
"i'm serious." he nods at you lazily, eyes hooded, pupils blown wide from alcohol and whatever the hell you're doing to him. "c'mere for a second."
your voice wavers. "why?"
he lets out a low, drunk laugh. "you know why."
his hand moves higher again, and your breath just stops.
"jungwon, don't—"
"i want a taste," he says, plain and shameless.
your stomach drops straight through the floor.
"wha— what?"
he leans in until your noses almost touch. his breath is hot, alcohol-sweet, desperate.
"let me put my mouth on you. i can't promise i won't ever ask again but just this once" he whispers, eyes flicking down to your lips, then lower—way lower—before dragging back up again. "please."
your thighs clench involuntarily, and he notices.
his smirk is slow and devastating, you can see his eyes lingering.
"yeah," he murmurs, "you want it too."
you shake your head because you're supposed to, because someone has to be the adult. "you're drunk—"
"i'm drunk," he agrees, "i'm not dead. i know exactly what i want."
his hand squeezes your thigh, harder this time—enough to make your breath stutter. enough to make everything inside you tighten.
"let me taste you," he says again, softer, dirtier. "just once."
you swallow. hard, "y-you said you can't promise it'll be the only time..."
his eyes darken instantly.
"yeah," he admits, brushing his thumb along the inside of your thigh like he's mapping out exactly where he wants to put his mouth. "because if i get one taste?"
he leans in closer, lips ghosting your jaw, your cheek, your neck—hovering but not touching.
"...i'm not stopping."
your breath catches. his mouth gets dangerously close to your skin, and he whispers it again—more desperate this time.
"please. lemme have you."
your body goes hot all the way through.
"i'll be good," he murmurs, already lowering his head like he's imagining the exact angle. "i'll make you feel so good, pretty. just— just let me taste you."
your knees actually go weak even though you're sitting. you don't answer immediately, your mind racing as you finally realize what your oh-so innocent best friend was asking from you.
and jungwon notices—he fucking feels your hesitation—so he gets even bolder. he brings his free hand up, fingertips brushing under your chin, tilting your face toward him.
his voice is low, raspy, hungry. "say yes," he whispers. "please. i've been thinking about your body forever ."
your heart slams into your ribs. you're drowning. absolutely drowning.
and then—just to ruin you completely—he whispers the final blow against your cheek: "i swear, baby... you give me one taste and you won't walk straight tomorrow."
his words are still hanging in the air — you won't walk straight tomorrow — when you finally find your voice again.
barely.
"jungwon... no." you whisper it. weak. breathless. not convincing at all.
he hears the word, but he hears everything underneath it too. so he doesn't move. he just looks up at you from where he's leaning into your neck, eyes dark and glossy, mouth parted like he's two seconds from losing his mind.
"no?" he repeats softly.
you nod, almost as if you were convincing yourself more than him. "we're not doing this. you're drunk."
he presses his lips together in a slow, almost pouty line... then drags his hand up your thigh again like he's testing how much of that no is real.
"you're saying no..." he murmurs, fingers sliding higher, "but you're shaking so bad right now."
you grab his wrist—finally, some resistance—but your grip is nothing. he could move your hand whenever he wants.
he kind of likes that.
"stop," you say, but your voice cracks like a goddamn glass.
jungwon lifts his head. his eyes are hazy, heavy-lidded, but his expression is so intense it makes your stomach twist.
"don't push me away."
"jung—"
he leans forward suddenly, forehead touching yours, breath warm and uneven against your lips.
"please don't push me away."
the shift in him almost knocks the air from your lungs. he's still drunk, still bold, but now there's this raw, aching need layered under every word.
"jungwon, you're not thinking straight—"
"i'm thinking about you," he shoots back instantly, nearly desperate. "i'm thinking about how fucking good you smell. it's driving me insane."
your fingers loosen around his wrist without meaning to.
he notices. he always notices. he slides his hand higher. too high. hot against your inner thigh.
you gasp. "jungwon—!"
that does it.
he groans—actually groans—like the sound rips straight out of his chest.
"don't do that," he whispers, sounding almost pained. "don't say my name like that if you want me to stop."
you try to pull back, but he follows. his mouth chases your skin. his breath hits your jaw, your cheek, your neck. he still doesn't touch you with his lips... but he is so, so close it's torture.
"i said no," you manage.
"and i heard you," he murmurs, voice rough, "but god, baby... the way you're breathing right now? you're killing me."
your thighs squeeze together.
jungwon sees. jungwon reacts.
he lets out the quietest, filthiest little laugh—low, breathless, hungry.
"you're trying so hard to be good," he whispers, fingers pushing higher until he's a hair away from where you're burning. "but you want me. you want me."
"i don't—"
"yeah?" he cuts you off, tilting his head so his lips graze the shell of your ear without touching. "then why are you clenching your thighs like that?"
heat surges through you, molten and humiliating.
you shove at his chest—not hard, not enough to move him but just enough to pretend like you're resisting.
he catches your hand. interlaces his fingers with yours. holds it against his chest so you can feel how fast his heart is beating.
"don't push me away," he whispers again, voice cracking now. needier. "please. i've wanted you for so fucking long."
your breath stutters.
his other hand leaves your thigh for a moment—just a moment—to grab your waist and pull you closer across the center console. not rough. not gentle. just drunk and desperate.
you land half on his lap, half in his arms.
his mouth falls open. his voice goes wrecked.
"fuck... you feel so good," he breathes, burying his face against your throat. "please, baby. please just let me taste you."
you swallow a moan. you actually swallow a moan.
he hears the sound anyway, muffled as it is and that's when jungwon truly loses it.
he fists the fabric of your shirt. pulls you in tighter, like he's afraid you'll evaporate if he loosens his grip.
his lips hover over your neck—trembling, hungry, one second from crossing the line.
"i'm begging you," he whispers, voice raw. "just one taste. just one. i swear..."
he laughs weakly against your skin, breath shaky.
"...i swear i'll lose my fucking mind if you don't let me."
he tugs at you again and the moment you land fully on his lap, something in jungwon snaps. his hands grip at you, pushing you around till you're forced to straddle his lap. his hands fumble slightly, pressing the lever at the side of the seat so you were practically laying against him causing you to yelp in surprise.
you feel it. your breath catches as he presses his face to your neck again—only this time, he doesn't stop at hovering.
he kisses you. soft at first. warm. barely-there. then deeper. slower. hungrier. a low, desperate sound rumbles out of him—almost a whine, almost a groan—like he's been holding this in for years and the dam finally cracked.
"jung—won—" your voice fractures, fingers clutching his shoulders.
but he's gone. completely gone.
he drags his mouth along your pulse point, lips open, breath shaking like he can't believe you're real. each kiss is wetter, hotter, more desperate than the last.
your whole body lights up.
"fuck..." he whispers against your skin, voice breaking. "you taste— you taste so good already, i can't— i can't stop—"
your heart stutters.
his hands grip your waist, not exactly gentle, pulling you closer, pulling you into him like he's starving.
then his mouth opens wider— his tongue grazes your neck.
you gasp, your eyes squeezing tight when you feel his thick bulge press into you in combination to his tongue laving at your neck.
he moans. outright moans into your skin, a needy, ruined sound that makes your legs weak even though you're sitting.
that's when you realize he's truly not stopping.
he's trembling. he's breathing too fast.
his eyes flutter open and they're glossy, blown wide, dark with something feral and desperate.
"jungwon— stop—" you stammer, pushing at his chest.
he doesn't even hear you.
he keeps kissing lower, toward your collarbone, his lips hot and messy and hungry.
"please," he whispers into your skin like he's praying. "please let me— let me taste you properly..."
your thighs instinctively press together, a small groan escaping his mouth when he feels your core press into him.
he makes a broken sound, hands sliding from your waist back to your thighs.
"don't do that," he whines, fingers pressing into the soft inside of your thighs. "don't close them— please— please—"
you push at him harder. "jungwon, stop— we can't— you're drunk—"
he lifts his head finally, but only to look at you, eyes shining, lips swollen from kissing your neck.
he looks wrecked. ruined. desperate in a way you've never seen.
"i'll be careful," he says, voice cracking. "i'll be so good— i swear— just... just let me in."
his hand slides up your thigh again and you grab his wrist instantly, panting. he whines—actually whines, the sound high and breathless.
"don't," he pleads, leaning forward as if he's chasing your mouth now. "please, don't stop me— i've wanted you for so fucking long— i can't— god, i can't think straight—"
you try to shift off his lap, but he tightens his grip on your thigh, head dropping back into the crook of your neck like he's clinging to you.
"just— just let me taste you," he whispers again, voice hoarse, completely gone. "i want you so bad— i need... i need your thighs open for me, please—"
your breath punches out of your lungs. you shove him one more time—harder this time—and you manage to pull yourself off his lap just enough to break his mouth away from your skin.
jungwon actually gasps.
he chases after you instinctively, fingers flexing like he's reaching for you without thinking.
his voice comes out broken.
"baby— please— don't—"
you hold him back by the shoulders, panting, heart racing. he looks up at you with glassy eyes, flush high on his cheeks, chest rising and falling like he just ran miles.
"come back," he whispers, voice raw. "i'll beg— i'll fucking beg if you want— just come back. i just need one taste. one. please— please— i'm losing my fucking mind—"
your stomach lurches. your thighs press tight again and jungwon notices, he feels it.
his head falls forward, forehead against your collarbone, breath shaking.
"please," he whispers one last time, voice crumbling. "just let me have you. i swear i'll be gentle. i swear i'll make it so good for you... just open your thighs for me, baby, i'm begging—"
you keep him at arm's length, palms against his shoulders, chest heaving, heart in your throat.
jungwon looks destroyed.
hair messy, lips swollen, eyes glassy and blown wide with something deeper than lust—something raw. something that's been living under his skin for a very long time.
his breath shudders as he tries to lean forward again, but you hold him there.
"jungwon," you whisper, "just—stop for a second."
he shakes his head instantly. violently. "i can't."
his voice splits open on the last word. "i can't stop. i can't—" he drags in a breath, shoulders trembling. "you don't understand what you're doing to me."
you swallow hard. "you're drunk—"
"i'm drunk and i'm honest," he snaps, voice cracking. "i can't lie right now even if i wanted to."
you freeze and that hits harder than it should.
his hands lift—slow, shaking—and hover near your waist but don't grab. he's bracing himself on the seat, gripping the upholstery like he needs something to anchor him.
then he looks at you.
really looks.
"i've wanted you for so fucking long."
your breath catches. his chest rises sharply, like saying it hurt.
"you don't get it," he whispers, voice soft and rough and absolutely ruined. "you walk around looking so— so soft. so pretty. so fucking... touchable."
your stomach flips.
"and you don't even realize it," he goes on, words tumbling out with no control now. "you don't know how crazy you make me."
your hands loosen on his shoulders—just a little.
he sees. he swallows hard and keeps going.
"every time you sit next to me," he breathes, "i stare at your thighs and think about putting my mouth on them. every single time." heat shoots through you so fast you almost choke on it.
"jungwon—"
"i know," he whispers, "i know i shouldn't say this. i know i'm drunk. but i— i can't hold it in anymore."
his voice wavers. his eyes flick down your body for a split second—slow enough to feel like a touch.
"you always look so fucking soft." his jaw tightens, breath shaking. "so perfect. so sweet."
your pulse stutters.
he laughs once—quiet, broken, shameful. "i think about tasting you every night. how you would squeeze my head in-between your thighs and how they would shake and the noises you'd make." he's panting at this point, his eyes squeezing shut.
your knees actually go weak.
"don't—" you try, but the word falls apart halfway.
jungwon lifts a hand again, hesitates, then rests it gently—gently—on your knee. so different from the desperate grabbing earlier. softer. more honest.
"you have no clue what you do to me," he whispers. "i look at you and i just— i want you. i want every part of you."
his eyes rise back to yours, glossy and bare and unguarded.
"i want the sounds you'd make," he breathes. "i want the way you'd taste on my tongue. i want your thighs around my head. i want all of it. i've wanted it for so fucking long."
your hands slip off his shoulders completely. you don't know when your breath left your lungs but it still hasn't come back.
jungwon bites his lip. hard. like he's trying to stop more from spilling out. but it doesn't work.
his voice drops to a whisper that hits you like a punch: "i don't just want your body."
you blink.
his words tremble. "i want you."
you feel your heart drop into your stomach.
"i watch you all the time," he says, voice unsteady. "the way you talk, the way you laugh, the way you get mad. fuck— the way you walk into a room like you don't even know everyone looks at you."
your throat tightens.
"i look at you like you're mine," he admits, breath catching. "even though you're not. even though you probably never will be."
your chest actually hurts. his voice cracks completely: "i just... i want you so bad it makes me sick."
you stare at him—soft hair falling in his eyes, cheeks flushed, lips parted, breathing too fast, hands trembling as he reaches for you again.
this time he manages to touch you. a shaky palm against your waist.
"baby," he whispers, sounding like he's breaking. "say something. please."
you open your mouth to say something—anything—to ground him, but jungwon is already leaning back in, chasing your lips like he physically can't stop himself. his breath trembles against your skin, warm and desperate, and his fingers curl harder around your waist like he thinks you'll disappear if he loosens even a little.
"w-wait—jungwon, slow down, i'm tryna—"
"don't—" he cuts you off on a ragged whisper, nose brushing your cheek as he tries to kiss you again. "don't pull away from me. please. just—just let me have you."
his voice cracks. actually cracks.
his eyes are glossy, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed that soft rose-pink that always gives him away. he looks ruined already, like you've been doing something to him instead of just sitting here trying to breathe.
"jungwon," you murmur, trying to steady him with a hand on his chest, "you're not thinking straight—"
"i am," he insists, shaking his head, lips brushing yours because he can't stop leaning forward. "god, i am, i promise—i've been thinking straight for months and it's always the same thing. you. you on top of me. you using me however you want."
your fingers twitch.
his eyes flick down, immediately catching the movement like a starving animal catching scent of food.
"see?" he whispers. "you want me too. i can feel it."
you try to speak but he's already going again—mouth grazing the corner of yours, breath shaky, almost panting because he's so wound up it's pathetic.
pathetic and so, so pretty.
his grip slides lower, fingers pressing into your hips, guiding you closer like instinct is taking over. "just— just let me be good for you," he begs, voice cracking again. "you d-don't even need to do anything. you don't have to take care of me. just—" his forehead drops to your jaw, hot, needy breath fanning your throat. "please use me."
you swallow. hard.
"jungwon..."
he makes a sound. a broken whine into your neck that makes your spine stiffen.
"i'll do anything," he says, voice thready, trembling, "anything you want. you can put me wherever you want me and i'll stay there. i'll listen. i'll be quiet— or i won't, if you like hearing me beg. i'll be whatever you want. just... don't tell me no right now."
your heart kicks painfully.
his arms wrap fully around your waist now, pulling you against him like he's bracing for impact—like if you reject him he'll completely collapse.
"jungwon, you need to breathe—"
"i don't need to breathe," he whispers, voice turning low, hungry, unhinged. "i just need you. i just want your thighs around my head, i want your voice in my ears, i want—"
"jungwon."
he freezes, but only for a heartbeat. then he lifts his head. he looks at you like you're oxygen and he's drowning. his lips part, his breathing shaky, pupils blown like he's seconds from losing the last bit of control he has.
"please," he whispers, leaning in again, mouth barely brushing yours, begging in every possible way a person can beg. "just let me taste you. let me be your mouth. i'll do everything. i'll be good—so good for you, i swear."
his thumbs stroke your hips desperately.
"just say yes."
your breath stutters, just once, but it's enough.
jungwon feels it like a shockwave. his whole body tenses beneath your hands, head lifting from your neck, eyes snapping up to your face like he heard a door unlock.
"...what was that?" he whispers, voice low, raw, hopeful in a way that makes your stomach flip. "do it again. please."
you swallow, but it's loud in the quiet room. too loud.
his fingers tighten instantly—reactive, instinctive—digging into your hips in a bruising, claiming way that doesn't match the sweet, shy café owner you know. this is the version of him that lives underneath: needy, starved, a little feral.
"jungwon," you breathe, barely getting the word out, "you need to calm down—"
"i can't," he cuts in, voice breaking. "not when you sound like that. not when you're this close. i've wanted you for so long i—" he chokes on the rest, leaning in until his forehead presses into your cheek. "just tell me i'm not imagining this. tell me you want me too."
you try to pull back. big mistake.
he lets out a sound—somewhere between a whimper and a groan—and his grip snaps tight around your waist, dragging you right back into his lap like he can't bear a centimeter between you.
"don't go," he pleads, breath shaking. "please don't go, don't do that—i'll be good, i swear, i'll—i'll stay right here, i'll keep my hands where you want them, just don't pull away again—"
"i wasn't leaving." your voice is barely a whisper.
jungwon freezes. absolutely still.
then his head lifts slowly, eyes glossy and blown wide as he searches your face like he's scared he misheard.
"...you weren't?" he breathes.
you shake your head once. and that's it.
whatever thin thread of control he had snaps.
a broken sound slips out of him as he surges up, kissing you again—messier this time, hungrier, like he's trying to pour every bottled-up year of wanting into a single touch. his hands travel up your sides, hesitating only long enough to make sure you're not pulling away, before gripping the back of your shirt like he's terrified you'll disappear.
you gasp, fingers instinctively grabbing his shoulders for balance.
he feels it. he feels you holding onto him and it destroys him.
"please," he whispers into your mouth, hot and trembling. "just—say it. say i can have you. say you'll let me—" his breath catches, a shiver running through him as he presses his forehead to yours, "—let me show you how good i can be for you."
your pulse kicks. your thighs tighten around his.
his eyes drop instantly, pupils dilating so hard they practically swallow the brown.
"god," he murmurs, "you're killing me."
he kisses you again, slower this time, more certain, one hand sliding to your waist with careful reverence—as if he knows this is the final moment, the tipping point, the part where you either shove him away or—
you take his jaw in your hand.
not rough. not gentle. just decisive.
jungwon's breath punches out of him. his eyes flutter, lips parting like he's about to beg again, but no sound comes out.
you look at him. really look at him.
flushed cheeks. swollen lips. eyes glassy with desperation. every inch of him trembling under your touch, waiting for permission like a prayer.
"jungwon..." you murmur, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, "you want me that bad?"
he nods so fast it's almost frantic.
"i'll do anything," he whispers. "anything you want. just—let me. let me have you. let me be yours. tell me yes and i'll—" his voice cracks again, "...i'll make you feel so good."
your chest rises. falls. slow. then—you lean in, brushing your lips against his ear.
"okay," you breathe.
jungwon goes completely still. then he shudders—full-body, uncontrollable, like he's been hit by lightning.
"o-okay?" he repeats, voice breaking, knees trembling beneath you.
"yes."
and just like that—he loses it.
his hands fly to your waist, his breath hits your neck, a desperate, wrecked sound escaping him as he finally—finally—lets himself touch you the way he's always wanted.
you feel his mouth opening against your skin, right at the spot he's been dying to taste. his hands find themselves gripping at you feverishly, gripping your thighs, your waist, your butt.
"so good..s-so good," he almost murmurs to himself as begins to rock his hips, using his grip on your butt to push against him.
you couldn't help but let a whimper escape you when you feel the outline of him thrust against your clit, letting him move you around.
his grip on your butt is a vice. not rough, exactly, but firm, utterly non-negotiable. he pulls you in so tight you can feel the strained trembling of his muscles, crushing your slick core against the insistent, painful heat of his pants.
"oh god," he whimpers, the sound raw and shaky against your neck. he drags his mouth along your pulse point, leaving a wet trail. "you like that?" his voice is thick, full of drunken wonder and possessive triumph.
you try to answer, but the words are swallowed by a choked whimper. he groans, a needy, ruined sound, taking it as consent, and then he moves.
he doesn't bother with the console. he scrambles up, grabbing your hips, and pushes you over the barrier with reckless, sloppy urgency. you land in a trembling, messy heap across the drivers seat, your legs falling open, shorts pushed up and offering him everything.
he's not gentle. he just needs access.
jungwon is half-kneeling, half-sprawled over the console, his face right between your thighs. he looks absolutely destroyed: sweat beading on his temples, hair clinging to his forehead, his pupils wide and black.
"i knew it," he whispers, breath shaky and hot. he reaches out a trembling hand, his fingers spreading wide over your inner thigh, right near your heat.
his grip is firm, claiming, pressing in just enough to bruise later. "you're so warm right here. you're shaking, pretty girl."
he nudges your shorts crotch to the side with his nose, whimpering when the fabric resists, until your damp, exposed core is right in his line of sight.
"mine," he declares, the word a slurred, drunken promise.
he leans down, and you gasp as his tongue, thick and wet, sloops right over the thin, damp fabric of your underwear. he doesn't care about the fabric, he just needs the taste. it's messy, sloppy, and overwhelming.
"fuck, you taste so good," he hisses, pulling back an inch, his eyes dark and glazed. he looks absolutely starved. "sweet. like i knew you would be. i need to see it."
he fumbles at the waistband of your shorts, shoving them down hard until they bunch up around your knees. he's not careful. he just needs you bare.
he settles right between your thighs, pulling your knees wider with his needy hands. he takes a moment just to look—his eyes tracing the wetness, the flush, the vulnerable, beautiful mess you are.
"open your legs for me, sweetheart," he orders, his voice a raw, low rasp. he doesn't wait for you to comply, his hands squeeze your inner thighs, forcing you wide open. "i want to see how much i ruined you."
then he's there. his mouth clamps down, and the feeling is instant, consuming. his tongue is relentless, moving with a desperate, sloppy urgency that is entirely focused on your pleasure. he's not trying to be sophisticated, he's a drunk man finally tasting the obsession he's held for years.
you cry out loud, a sharp, uncontrolled sound that hits the ceiling of the car. he groans, a thick, muffled sound of pure satisfaction against your slick skin. his hands slide down, gripping the back of your thighs and squeezing, pulling you tighter onto his mouth, forcing your legs to tremble.
"say my name, baby," he begs, the words vibrating against your core as he licks harder, faster. "say you love how sloppy i am for you. i'm right here. i'm yours. you can use my mouth however you want. whenever you want."
he pushes deeper, his breath hot and uneven, panting in the short gaps between desperate licks. he's completely focused on driving you higher, his movements aggressive and needy.
"you're so wet," he whispers against your skin in disbelief, "you're soaking my mouth. i'm drinking you. god, you're making me so fucking messy."
you're trembling violently, your fingers digging into the seat, your hips involuntarily thrusting down onto him. he anchors you with his strong hands on your thighs, pushing you back up every time you try to pull away, forcing you to take his tongue.
he speeds up again, mercilessly, his tongue pushing, flicking, sucking with a rhythmic intensity that brings that familiar pit in your stomach to rise.
"just for me," he murmurs, his words barely audible over the loud, wet sounds he's making with his mouth full of pussy. "cum for me, pretty girl. i want to drown in you."
he gives you a final, deep, punishing drag, and you completely shatter. your back arches, your body going rigid as a shaking moan is torn from your throat.
he doesn't stop. he holds you there, letting you tremble against his mouth, his arms tight around your thighs, ensuring you feel every last ripple of the climax.
when you finally settle, panting and wrecked, he keeps his face buried in your lap for a long, heavy moment, simply tasting his victory.
he lifts his head. his mouth is wet, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with a feral mix of lust and possessive adoration. you almost came again at just the site of him.
he smiles—slow, lazy, utterly ruined—and his fingers slide down, reaching for the waistband of his open jeans.
jungwon lifts his head, his face flushed and wet, his eyes shining with feverish anticipation. he's breathing hard, his lips swollen and glistening. the messiness of his desire is plastered all over him.
"you said yes," he whispers, voice thick and ragged. he lets out a pathetic little choke of anticipation. "what do you want? tell me. i'll do it right now."
his hands, still firm on your inner thighs, tighten as you look at him. he's exposed, kneeling between your spread legs, panting, completely at your mercy.
you lean forward, placing a hand on the back of his neck, running your fingers roughly through his damp hair. not knowing what was coming over you, you pull him closer.
jungwon instantly melts into the touch, a low, needy whine escaping his chest. he presses his face against the inside of your thigh, his breath shuddering.
"god," he mumbles into your skin. "that's it. you're touching me. don't stop."
you use the leverage on his hair to tilt his head, forcing him to look up at you again.
"you said i could use you," you whisper, the authority in your voice making his eyes widen. "i'm still wet, jungwon. and you're hard." your eyes dart down, his cock straining against his pants.
he swallows hard, his breath catching. "yeah. take it. take me."
he fumbles with the rest of his jeans, peeling them down just enough to expose the thick, rigid length straining against his boxers. he doesn't take his eyes off yours, searching for approval. he's so desperate for your gaze he can barely breathe.
"you're going to touch yourself," you say, your voice low and commanding.
jungwon freezes, a shock of confused, thrilled desperation hitting his face. "w-what? on your lap?"
you shake your head, using the hand still on his neck to push his head lower, his damp hair brushing against your inner thigh.
"no. you're gonna watch me. and you're going to obey."
he lets out a broken, pathetic sound, his whole body trembling. he's confused, aroused, and absolutely ruined by the instruction. "i—i can't look away. i won't."
"i'm not telling you to look away, im telling you to watch."
you press your hand down on the nape of his neck, demanding his stillness. you push yourself closer to him, now sharing the passenger seat with him as half of your body lays against the console while your legs over his lap.
his erection is now pressing firmly against his boxers, right near your hip, a hot, agonizing distraction.
you reach down and slide your hand down your aching core, fingers moving slowly and deliberately towards your still-sensitive cunt, making sure he sees every agonizing movement.
jungwon lets out a loud, strangled gasp. his eyes are fixed on your fingers, wide and glossy. he's panting, his lips parted, unable to move a muscle.
"do you like watching me, jungwon?" you ask, your voice soft and challenging.
he shakes his head violently, a deep, frustrated groan rumbling in his throat. "i hate it. i hate that i can only watch. please—"
you ignore the plea. you slide your fingers home. the movement is slow, wet, and direct.
jungwon cries out, a raw, needy sound of agony and pleasure. he squeezes his eyes shut, his hands flying up to grip the back of the passenger seat, his knuckles white. his entire body is shaking.
"don't look away," you command, your voice hard. "i told you to watch me. i want you to see how easy it is for me to get off when you're begging like this."
his eyes snap open, dark and tortured, fixed on your hand. he's breathing in shallow, panicked gasps.
you start to move your hand. slow, focused, relentless. you look down to see him rubbing himself through his boxers, grinning when you see the large wet spot.
seeing your face jungwon takes it as permission to touch himself, freeing himself of the restraints of spandex and allowing his hand to grip himself all while watching your fingers disappear into your cunt.
you watch mesmerized, the moonlight peaking through the window and directly on to the sweaty and whiny mess that was jungwon. your tongue darts out instinctively as you watch him fuck his fist, his thick cock pink as cum dribbles from his tip.
jungwon is completely undone. he starts to make frantic, whiny noises, choked little sounds of desperation that he can't control.
"fuck, fuck, you're so dirty," he manages, his voice thick with tears and lust. "stop—please—i can't—"
you increase the speed, your focus absolute, riding the high, needy energy radiating off him.
"you said you'd do anything," you remind him, moving your hips slightly to grind against the top of his head. "now beg me to stop. beg me to let you take over."
he lets out a broken, anguished sob, his composure completely gone. he doesn't know whether to grab you or run. he's completely helpless.
"i'm begging you!" he cries, the sound pathetic and raw. "please, i can't watch, i need to touch you—let me, please—i'll be good, i'll be quiet, just let me use my hands, i'm gonna explode—"
he's panting, shaking, tears streaming down his face as he watches you bring yourself to the brink again. he's utterly destroyed by his own subservience.
you use his breakdown as fuel, focusing entirely on your own pleasure, riding the intensity until the tremors start again.
just as you feel the your high approaching, you snap your head back and issue a final command, your voice rough with impending orgasm. "now, jungwon!"
he lets out a final, agonizing moan, arching his back violently against the seat, his hips slamming forward, eyes rolling back as he loses himself completely, spilling hot, messy release right against his boxer briefs.
you watch his flushed face, streaks of cum painting his hoodie and fist and you wish you could take a picture and have it engraved into you.
the car is silent except for the frantic, ruined sound of both of your gasping breaths. he collapses, his forehead hitting your inner thigh, trembling uncontrollably. he's spent, ruined, and completely gone.
"fuck," he whispers, his voice thick with tears and the sheer, overwhelming mess of his release. "i love you. i love that you did that to me."
his sudden words had you gasping, a deep flush covering you and you couldn't help but murmur the words back as you watched him jitter.
the intensity broke slowly, like a fever finally receding. jungwon slumped against you, his breathing ragged but evening out. the desperation was gone, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.
he didn't lift his head, just shifted until his cheek was resting against your collarbone, his arms settling around your waist in a loose, purely comforting hold. he was a heavy, dead weight in your lap.
"i'm so sleepy," he mumbled into your shirt, the words muffled and childish.
you ran a gentle hand over the damp hair at the back of his head. "i know. let's go home."
he sighed, a deep, shuddering sound of pure relief. "stay right here."
you didn't respond with words, just kept running your fingers through his hair. he closed his eyes, his breathing growing slow and even against your skin.
you swallow harshly as you begin to peel his grip off of you, attempting to retreat back to the drivers seat so you could drive back home.
after successfully doing so, you hazily pull up your shorts and start the car, glancing at jungwons sleeping form. a soft smile gracing your lips before a pit in your stomach begins to grow.
just as you were about to pull out from the side of the road, your eyes catch a figure sitting 10 feet away from your car on a bench. mouth agape and body tilted, the elderly man seemed completely and utterly shocked at whatever he had witnessed.
well fuck.
— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!
Are YOU gonna let THE GOVERNMENT tell YOU what YOUR GENDER is? That doesn't sound like Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness to me! PROTECT your individual FREEDOMS and call your senator: we want the GOVERNMENT to stay OUT OF OUR PANTS! GENDER FREEDOM NOW!
Two men in your neighborhood are married... to EACH OTHER? Congratulate them for exercising their AMERICAN RIGHT to follow the footsteps of our FOUNDING FATHERS! They've got a fully AMERICAN spirit of FREEDOM and REBELLION! GOD BLESS THE USA.
Your coworker has a different RELIGION from yours? Well, that's just INTERESTING and you should talk about it on your UNION-APPROVED LUNCH BREAK. The UNITED STATES OF AMERICA was FOUNDED on Freedom of Religion and ANYONE should be allowed to seek the AMERICAN DREAM!
You think someone might be in this GREAT country ILLEGALLY? NO YOU DON'T! No one is in this country illegally! The minute anyone steps on our SOVEREIGN SOIL they're your FELLOW AMERICAN and where they come from is NO ONES BUSINESS.
Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader x Bruce Wayne
WC: 1.2k
CW: Voyeurism, cucking, orgasm denial, spit-roasting, Eiffel Tower position, exhibitionism risk, dp, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, creampie , you’re their lil fleshlight, > fem! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns), fingering, overstimulation , bicep biting, teasing, male whimpering, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, talking you through it, hair pulling, bruce and clark are described as big, creampies,
The Watchtower was supposed to be empty at this hour. Zeta tubes were locked. The league had cleared out after a briefing that ran long. You knew Clark was still here—he'd messaged you, said to meet him in the observation wing.
But the observation wing was dark when you arrived. And the main corridor was not empty.
You stopped dead at the intersection.
Bruce had Clark pressed against the reinforced glass of the panoramic viewing deck, his hand fisted in Clark's hair, his mouth locked onto Clark's throat. Clark's head was thrown back, eyes closed, a low groan rumbling from his chest.
Neither of them had heard you.
You shouldn't watch. You should turn around, go back to your quarters, pretend you saw nothing. But your feet wouldn't move. Your thighs pressed together. Your cunt throbbed.
Bruce's other hand was inside Clark's suit. You could see the bulge of his forearm working, the way Clark's hips bucked forward. The Man of Steel—the invincible, untouchable alien—was whimpering.
"Please," Clark gasped. "Bruce—"
"Not yet." Bruce's voice was gravel, pure command. "You don't get to come until I say so."
You bit your lip. A small sound escaped.
Both heads snapped toward you.
Clark's pupils were blown wide. His suit was half-open, his cock—fuck, it was huge, slick and straining, the tip already wet—visible through the gap. Bruce's hand still held him. Neither moved.
Then Bruce smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
"Well," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Looks like we have a witness."
Clark's breathing was ragged. "Bruce..."
"Ssh." Bruce released Clark's hair and turned fully toward you, crossing the space in three long strides. He stopped inches from you, so close you could smell the leather of his suit, the sweat on his skin. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not—not long."
"Heard anything good?"
You swallowed. "Everything."
Bruce's hand came up, cupping your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb pressed against your lower lip, pushing into your mouth. You sucked without thinking.
"Good girl." He withdrew his thumb, slick with your saliva, and turned back to Clark. "Looks like your little pet wants to play."
Clark approached slowly. His suit was still open, his cock jutting out, precum beading at the tip. He stopped behind you, chest to your back, and his large hands settled on your hips.
"You want this?" Clark murmured against your ear. "Want to be our secret? Stuffed full while the whole league sleeps two floors up?"
"Yes."
Bruce's eyes burned. "Then strip."
They took you on the viewing deck. Right against the glass. Any passing ship, any league member wandering the wrong corridor, would see everything.
Clark had you bent over the observation console, your hands gripping the edge, while Bruce knelt behind you. His fingers were inside you—two, then three, stretching you open, curling against that spot that made your vision white.
"So wet," Bruce muttered. "She's been watching longer than she admits."
"Let me taste her." Clark's voice was desperate. "Bruce, please."
Bruce pulled his fingers out, brought them to Clark's mouth. Clark licked them clean, moaning at your taste.
Then Clark was between your legs, his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping at the wetness Bruce had left behind. You cried out, your knees buckling, but Bruce held you up.
"Quiet," Bruce warned, his hand clamping over your mouth. "You want to wake up the league? Want Hawkgirl to walk in and see Superman eating you out?"
You shook your head frantically. But the thought—being caught, being seen—only made you wetter.
Clark's tongue worked you expertly, circling your clit, dipping inside, fucking you with his mouth while Bruce twisted your nipples. You were so close, so fucking close—
"Not yet." Clark pulled away, his chin glistening. "I want to feel you first."
He lifted you like you weighed nothing, settling you onto the cold metal of the console. Bruce positioned himself behind Clark, his hands on Clark's hips.
"Eiffel Tower," Bruce said. "She takes both of us. One in her mouth, one in her cunt. You pick."
Clark's eyes met yours. "I want her mouth first."
He stepped forward, his cock brushing your lips. You opened, and he pushed in—thick and heavy, the taste of your own arousal on his skin. He filled your throat, and you gagged, tears springing to your eyes.
"Breathe through your nose," Clark said, his voice strained. "You can take it. Good girl."
Behind him, Bruce pressed into Clark's tight body. Clark gasped, his hips jerking forward, his cock sliding deeper into your throat. Bruce's balls slapped against Clark's ass, his rhythm slow and punishing.
"This is what you wanted?" Bruce grunted. "Caught in the act? Watching your lover get used?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Then watch."
Bruce fucked Clark in long, deep strokes, each one driving Clark's cock deeper into your throat. You were drooling, your jaw aching, your hands clawing at Clark's thighs. Bruce reached around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles.
"You feel that?" Bruce's voice was ragged. "Feel me inside him while you choke on his cock?"
You moaned around Clark's shaft, the vibration making him shudder.
"I'm close," Clark whimpered. "Bruce, I'm—"
"No." Bruce's hand clamped down on Clark's hip, stopping his thrusts. "You don't come until I say."
Clark sobbed. Actually sobbed. His body trembled, his cock pulsing in your throat, denied release.
Bruce pulled out of Clark and circled around, his own cock—thick, veined, intimidating—hovering in front of your face. Clark withdrew from your mouth, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip.
"Switch," Bruce ordered.
Clark lifted you, positioning you over Bruce's lap. You sank down onto Bruce's cock in one wet slide, both of you groaning. Clark moved behind you, his cock pressing against your other entrance.
"Ready?" Bruce asked.
You nodded, and Clark pushed in.
You screamed into Bruce's shoulder. The stretch was unbearable—two cocks, two massive men, filling every inch of you. Your belly bulged, the outline of them visible under your skin.
"Look," Bruce said, his hand pressing on your stomach. "Look how full you are."
They moved together, perfectly synchronized, a machine of pleasure. Bruce's thumb found your clit, rubbing while they fucked you from both sides. Clark's hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back.
"Quiet," Clark hissed. "Everyone on the station will hear if you don't—"
You came without warning, your body convulsing, your cunt clenching around Bruce's cock. A loud, broken moan escaped before you could stop it.
They froze.
Footsteps in the corridor.
Bruce's hand clamped over your mouth, his eyes locked on the door. Clark stopped moving, buried deep inside you, his breathing ragged. Your pussy clenched involuntarily, and Clark whimpered—a tiny, desperate sound.
The footsteps passed.
"Fuck," Bruce breathed. "That was close."
"Don't stop," you begged, the words muffled against his palm. "Please—"
They didn't stop.
Bruce fucked you through your second orgasm, then your third, his rhythm never faltering. Clark came first—hot, flooding your ass, his voice breaking as he emptied himself. Bruce followed, filling your cunt until it overflowed, his cum mixing with Clark's, dripping down your thighs to pool on the observation console.
They pulled out slowly. You collapsed between them, trembling, spent. Bruce caught you. Clark kissed your forehead.
"Clean up," Bruce said, his voice soft now. "We'll talk tomorrow.
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Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
OP is so right!! I genuinely feel so sucky when I’m reading an x reader fic and I have to start mentally changing things in my head so I can convince myself I’m included. I get if writers write for themselves but then you should say it’s a self insert or even based on you. I’m in so many fandoms, some were male dominated, some were woman dominated, some were poc dominated, but they both have a habit of not even considering black women in the equation.
And being defensive or hostile about bringing up this problem doesn’t fix anything. You look just as sucky saying “it’s not for you, it’s for me!!” As you did writing a fic that excludes poc.
Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader x Bruce Wayne
WC: 1.2k
CW: Voyeurism, cucking, orgasm denial, spit-roasting, Eiffel Tower position, exhibitionism risk, dp, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, creampie , you’re their lil fleshlight, > fem! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns), fingering, overstimulation , bicep biting, teasing, male whimpering, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, talking you through it, hair pulling, bruce and clark are described as big, creampies,
The Watchtower was supposed to be empty at this hour. Zeta tubes were locked. The league had cleared out after a briefing that ran long. You knew Clark was still here—he'd messaged you, said to meet him in the observation wing.
But the observation wing was dark when you arrived. And the main corridor was not empty.
You stopped dead at the intersection.
Bruce had Clark pressed against the reinforced glass of the panoramic viewing deck, his hand fisted in Clark's hair, his mouth locked onto Clark's throat. Clark's head was thrown back, eyes closed, a low groan rumbling from his chest.
Neither of them had heard you.
You shouldn't watch. You should turn around, go back to your quarters, pretend you saw nothing. But your feet wouldn't move. Your thighs pressed together. Your cunt throbbed.
Bruce's other hand was inside Clark's suit. You could see the bulge of his forearm working, the way Clark's hips bucked forward. The Man of Steel—the invincible, untouchable alien—was whimpering.
"Please," Clark gasped. "Bruce—"
"Not yet." Bruce's voice was gravel, pure command. "You don't get to come until I say so."
You bit your lip. A small sound escaped.
Both heads snapped toward you.
Clark's pupils were blown wide. His suit was half-open, his cock—fuck, it was huge, slick and straining, the tip already wet—visible through the gap. Bruce's hand still held him. Neither moved.
Then Bruce smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
"Well," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Looks like we have a witness."
Clark's breathing was ragged. "Bruce..."
"Ssh." Bruce released Clark's hair and turned fully toward you, crossing the space in three long strides. He stopped inches from you, so close you could smell the leather of his suit, the sweat on his skin. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not—not long."
"Heard anything good?"
You swallowed. "Everything."
Bruce's hand came up, cupping your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb pressed against your lower lip, pushing into your mouth. You sucked without thinking.
"Good girl." He withdrew his thumb, slick with your saliva, and turned back to Clark. "Looks like your little pet wants to play."
Clark approached slowly. His suit was still open, his cock jutting out, precum beading at the tip. He stopped behind you, chest to your back, and his large hands settled on your hips.
"You want this?" Clark murmured against your ear. "Want to be our secret? Stuffed full while the whole league sleeps two floors up?"
"Yes."
Bruce's eyes burned. "Then strip."
They took you on the viewing deck. Right against the glass. Any passing ship, any league member wandering the wrong corridor, would see everything.
Clark had you bent over the observation console, your hands gripping the edge, while Bruce knelt behind you. His fingers were inside you—two, then three, stretching you open, curling against that spot that made your vision white.
"So wet," Bruce muttered. "She's been watching longer than she admits."
"Let me taste her." Clark's voice was desperate. "Bruce, please."
Bruce pulled his fingers out, brought them to Clark's mouth. Clark licked them clean, moaning at your taste.
Then Clark was between your legs, his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping at the wetness Bruce had left behind. You cried out, your knees buckling, but Bruce held you up.
"Quiet," Bruce warned, his hand clamping over your mouth. "You want to wake up the league? Want Hawkgirl to walk in and see Superman eating you out?"
You shook your head frantically. But the thought—being caught, being seen—only made you wetter.
Clark's tongue worked you expertly, circling your clit, dipping inside, fucking you with his mouth while Bruce twisted your nipples. You were so close, so fucking close—
"Not yet." Clark pulled away, his chin glistening. "I want to feel you first."
He lifted you like you weighed nothing, settling you onto the cold metal of the console. Bruce positioned himself behind Clark, his hands on Clark's hips.
"Eiffel Tower," Bruce said. "She takes both of us. One in her mouth, one in her cunt. You pick."
Clark's eyes met yours. "I want her mouth first."
He stepped forward, his cock brushing your lips. You opened, and he pushed in—thick and heavy, the taste of your own arousal on his skin. He filled your throat, and you gagged, tears springing to your eyes.
"Breathe through your nose," Clark said, his voice strained. "You can take it. Good girl."
Behind him, Bruce pressed into Clark's tight body. Clark gasped, his hips jerking forward, his cock sliding deeper into your throat. Bruce's balls slapped against Clark's ass, his rhythm slow and punishing.
"This is what you wanted?" Bruce grunted. "Caught in the act? Watching your lover get used?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Then watch."
Bruce fucked Clark in long, deep strokes, each one driving Clark's cock deeper into your throat. You were drooling, your jaw aching, your hands clawing at Clark's thighs. Bruce reached around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles.
"You feel that?" Bruce's voice was ragged. "Feel me inside him while you choke on his cock?"
You moaned around Clark's shaft, the vibration making him shudder.
"I'm close," Clark whimpered. "Bruce, I'm—"
"No." Bruce's hand clamped down on Clark's hip, stopping his thrusts. "You don't come until I say."
Clark sobbed. Actually sobbed. His body trembled, his cock pulsing in your throat, denied release.
Bruce pulled out of Clark and circled around, his own cock—thick, veined, intimidating—hovering in front of your face. Clark withdrew from your mouth, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip.
"Switch," Bruce ordered.
Clark lifted you, positioning you over Bruce's lap. You sank down onto Bruce's cock in one wet slide, both of you groaning. Clark moved behind you, his cock pressing against your other entrance.
"Ready?" Bruce asked.
You nodded, and Clark pushed in.
You screamed into Bruce's shoulder. The stretch was unbearable—two cocks, two massive men, filling every inch of you. Your belly bulged, the outline of them visible under your skin.
"Look," Bruce said, his hand pressing on your stomach. "Look how full you are."
They moved together, perfectly synchronized, a machine of pleasure. Bruce's thumb found your clit, rubbing while they fucked you from both sides. Clark's hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back.
"Quiet," Clark hissed. "Everyone on the station will hear if you don't—"
You came without warning, your body convulsing, your cunt clenching around Bruce's cock. A loud, broken moan escaped before you could stop it.
They froze.
Footsteps in the corridor.
Bruce's hand clamped over your mouth, his eyes locked on the door. Clark stopped moving, buried deep inside you, his breathing ragged. Your pussy clenched involuntarily, and Clark whimpered—a tiny, desperate sound.
The footsteps passed.
"Fuck," Bruce breathed. "That was close."
"Don't stop," you begged, the words muffled against his palm. "Please—"
They didn't stop.
Bruce fucked you through your second orgasm, then your third, his rhythm never faltering. Clark came first—hot, flooding your ass, his voice breaking as he emptied himself. Bruce followed, filling your cunt until it overflowed, his cum mixing with Clark's, dripping down your thighs to pool on the observation console.
They pulled out slowly. You collapsed between them, trembling, spent. Bruce caught you. Clark kissed your forehead.
"Clean up," Bruce said, his voice soft now. "We'll talk tomorrow.
