𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭. when someone else tries to do this trend w you.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. toji, satoru, sukuna, megumi, takuma, and suguru.
𝐜𝐰. pure fluff, strong words!
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. i loved this!! shout out to the anon who requested this... i missed writing scenarios w multiple charac.
𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈.
you’re just minding your business, scrolling on your bed, when a sudden THUD rattles your door. “what the fuck—”
ou jump up, heart in your throat. it sounded like a damn grenade hit your dorm. you open the door and there’s this dude in a tank top standing there, football in hand, flashing that fake-friendly grin.
“oh, shit—sorry!” he says, catching it like he’s in a Nike ad. “are you ladies alright?” and before you can even process what’s happening, there’s a shadow behind you. bare feet on tile. low voice.
“yeah,” Toji drawls, shirtless, towel hanging low on his hips, hair damp from the shower. “she’s good.”
the guy’s smile falters immediately. you can literally feel the air get heavy. toji steps into the doorway like he’s reclaiming territory, shoulder brushing yours as he towers over the dude. that lazy grin on his face doesn’t match the pure murder in his eyes.
“you throwin’ balls at our door now?” he asks, tone casual but dripping with ‘try me’ energy.
“no, man, it slipped—”
“yeah? then maybe aim better next time,” Toji says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, muscles flexing like he’s doing it on purpose. “before I start thinkin’ you’re tryna get her attention.”
“what? nah, dude, it’s not like that—” Toji tilts his head, that lazy grin spreading. “Sure. But you can tell your little frat buddies down there to fuckin’ chill before I start throwing them.”
the guy laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, yeah, sorry, man—my bad.”
“yeah, yeah. now go run along before I make you catch somethin’ else.” the poor guy bolts, practically sprints down the hall.
you close the door slowly, staring up at Toji like, “you seriously just said that?”
“what?” he shrugs, stretching, still standing there like a smug menace. “he asked if you were alright. I just confirmed it.”
“you scared the shit outta him.” “good,” he says, wandering back toward your bed. “maybe next time he’ll keep his fuckin’ ball to himself.”
you roll your eyes, muttering, “you’re insane.” he looks over his shoulder, smirks. “and you’re welcome.”
the comment section on the video ’cause of course the guy’s friend caught the whole thing on camera.
“bro almost died in 4k 😭”
"y is he only in a towel?"
"they did it, but i just can't prove it."
“no one’s talking about how the girl didn’t even flinch when her man showed up... like she knew”
“wait why he kinda..."
𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎.
you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, half-eating instant noodles, half-watching something on your laptop when there’s a loud-ass thud on your dorm door. you flinch so hard the noodles almost fly. “what the fuck was that?”
before you can even move, there’s a knock. then— a random dude with a football opens your door halfway, catches the ball like he’s in some kind of ad, smirks, and goes— “are you ladies alright?”
you blink. “…what?”
and then, from somewhere behind you— “ladies?”
gojo, shirt halfway on, hair still damp, steps out of the bathroom with his shades hanging off his nose. he looks between you and the guy like he just walked in on the dumbest shit he’s ever seen.
“nah, she’s fine,” he says, yawning. “you’re the one who looks concussed, bro.”
the dude laughs awkwardly. “nah man it’s a tiktok trend, i swear, it’s just a prank—”
“yeah, well,” gojo says, scratching his head, “how ‘bout you aim that ball somewhere that’s not our fuckin’ door next time before i shove it up your—”
“gojo!” you hiss.
“what?” he shrugs, grinning. “dude’s out here throwing shit at people’s rooms like we’re in a fuckin’ dodgeball tournament. i’m just sayin’, there’s consequences.”
the guy’s trying to keep it friendly but his face is red as hell. “nah for real, man, my bad—didn’t mean to—”
“yeah, yeah,” gojo waves him off, already walking back into the room, “get your ball and go play outside like a good boy.”
the guy bends down, grabs his football, and books it down the hallway so fast it’s almost impressive. you close the door, sighing. “you didn’t have to threaten him.”
“i didn’t,” gojo says, flopping onto your bed. “i just said facts.”
“you implied you’d shove a football up his ass.” “yeah, well, maybe he’ll remember it next time he tries to flirt with someone’s girl.” he grins, laying back, smug as hell. “you’re welcome, by the way.”
you roll your eyes. “you’re impossible.” “and sexy,” he adds immediately. “don’t forget sexy.”
yet again the video was still posted, “tried to do the trend and her boyfriend was built different 😭😭😭” top comments.
“why is he so sassy”
“cunt”
“bro's majestic"
“her bf looks like he hasn’t taken shit seriously since birth and i respect that”
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀.
you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling your phone, half ignoring the sounds coming from the hallway — it’s just the usual friday night chaos. then, out of nowhere, a bang rattles your door.
you jump. “what the—”
the door cracks open, and a guy standing there catches a football against his chest, smirk already loaded. he looks you dead in the eye and goes,
“are you ladies alright?” you just blink, confused as hell. before you can even answer, there’s a low voice from inside your room.
“who the fuck you talkin’ to?” and that’s sukuna.
he’s leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, shirt hanging off one shoulder, tattoos peeking down his neck, hair still messy from the shower. his eyes are sharp and that little scar on his lip twitches when he frowns.
the dude in the hall hesitates, laughs awkwardly. “yo, chill—it’s just a tiktok trend—”
“a trend?” sukuna repeats, pushing off the doorframe and walking closer, slow and deliberate. “what, harassing girls now counts as a fuckin’ trend?”
“nah, bro, it’s not like that—”
“oh, it’s exactly like that,” sukuna cuts him off, stepping right up behind you, one hand finding your hip, pulling you back into him. “you knock on someone’s door, throw a ball at ‘em, then try to sound smooth. yeah, real creative. did your brain come up with that or did your frat group chat?”
the guy tries to laugh again, looking anywhere but at him. “it’s—it’s just for fun, man—”
“fun,” sukuna echoes, scoffing. “you almost hit her in the face with that fuckin’ ball.” he reaches around you, plucks the football right out of the guy’s hands like it’s nothing. “this yours?”
“uh—yeah—”
sukuna turns it over once, then just drops it to the floor. it bounces once, rolls down the hall. “oops,” he says flatly. “guess you’ll have to go chase it, champ.”
the guy just stands there frozen. “go,” sukuna says, voice low now. “before i make you.”
the kid bolts, sneakers squeaking down the hall. you let out a sigh, turning to look up at him. “you could’ve just told him to fuck off nicely.”
he smirks, eyes flicking down to you. “yeah? and where’s the fun in that?”
“you scared him.” “good,” he mutters, fingers tightening on your hip, pulling you closer till you bump into his chest. “maybe next time some dumbass thinks about knocking on our door, he’ll remember what happened to the last one.”
you roll your eyes, trying to hide a smile. “shut up.”
“yeah?,” he says without missing a beat, leaning down to press his mouth to your neck. “don’t open that door for any fuckin’ idiot again unless you want me to lose my shit.”
“he didn’t even yell, he just looked and the guy folded 💀”
“HOW DID HE PULL THAT??”
“the way he dropped the ball like he was disposing of evidence 😭😭😭”
“i’d be shaking too bro looked like he eats people for cardio”
“you’re so dramatic.” “mm,” he hums against your skin, still half-smiling. “and you love it.”
𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈.
you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor by the door, folding laundry and watching something on your phone when a heavy thud hits the wood. you jump so hard a shirt flies out of your hand. “what the hell?”
the door handle rattles and before you can even stand, it cracks open. a random dude catches a football against his chest, grinning like an idiot.
“are you ladies alright?” he says, trying to sound smooth.
you stare at him. “there’s literally just—”
“do you mind?” megumi’s voice cuts in from behind you, sharp and low.
the guy blinks, caught completely off guard. megumi’s standing there in a black hoodie, hair messy, one hand still in his pocket like he’s two seconds from slamming the door.
“you just throw shit at people’s doors now?” he asks, stepping forward. “is your brain up your fucking ass?”
the guy laughs nervously. “nah, bro—it’s just a tiktok trend—like a prank—”
“yeah, congratulations,” megumi says flatly. “you invented being annoying.”
“it’s not that deep, man—”
“no, you’re right,” megumi interrupts, dead serious. “it’s not deep at all. it’s dumb. go pick up your ball before I throw it off the balcony.”
the guy blinks again. “uh—”
megumi gestures toward the hall with his chin. “go.”
the guy scrambles to grab the football and backs out so fast he almost trips. you close the door slowly, turning to look at him. “you could’ve just ignored him.”
megumi sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah, well, people don’t get the hint anymore unless you spell it out with profanity.”
you snort. “you sound like an old man.”
“good,” he mutters, heading back toward his desk. “maybe then they’ll stop trying to talk to you like it’s an open casting call for stupid.”
the video ends up online anyway.
"sIS IS WINNING IN LIFE"
“i need whatever prayer she said”
“you can hear the exhaustion in his tone”
“that man radiates ‘I hate everyone but her’ energy”
𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐌𝐀.
the knock hits the door and you flinch when something thuds against it—hard. you blink, confused, opening the door halfway just to be met with some idiot grinning at you, holding a football like he’s in a gatorade commercial.
“are you ladies alright?” he asks, voice all smooth and fake-deep like he practiced it in the mirror.
you stare. there’s no one behind you. no friends. just your dumb ass standing there in pajamas. and before you can even speak, a low voice cuts through.
“can i help you?” takuma’s leaning against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, hair messy, holding a mug like he’s been watching this whole trainwreck unfold. he looks at the guy, then at you, then back at the guy again—expression unreadable, bored even.
the dude just blinks. “oh—uh, my bad, it’s a trend—”
“yeah, i can tell,” takuma says dryly, crossing his arms. “you and your friend there look like dumb and dumber.”
the other boy snickers from behind the camera, but it dies fast when takuma lifts a brow. “no seriously,” he continues, voice flat, “is that your thing? just run around throwing balls at people’s doors? you want a medal or some shit?”
you’re trying not to laugh, hiding behind the door. takuma side-eyes you, unimpressed. “don’t humor them, baby. they’ll think it’s a collab.”
the guy stammers out a half-assed “sorry” before backing away, and takuma just shuts the door with a lazy shove, muttering under his breath. “jesus. every day it’s something. next week someone’s gonna come juggle knives or some bullshit.”
you’re giggling now, and he looks at you like you’re the entertainment. “what?”
“you called them dumb and dumber,” you laugh.
he shrugs, sipping from his mug. “well, I was being generous.” then, smirking faintly, he adds, “if another guy knocks, i’m answering naked next time. see if that’s part of their trend.”
“‘don’t laugh baby they’ll think it’s a collab’ 😭😭😭 he ATE with that”
“bro didn’t even raise his voice and still ended their careers”
“he called them dumb and dumber LIKE IT WAS NOTHING”
“why is he hot even when he’s roasting people?? tf ”
𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔.
you don’t even get to say anything. just a knock—no, more like a thud. something hits the door hard enough to make you flinch. you pull it open, half ready to scold whoever it is, and there’s this guy standing there with a football in his hand and a stupid grin.
“are you ladies alright?” he asks, all fake-smooth like he practiced that in the mirror.
you blink. and before you can even open your mouth, suguru appears behind you.
his hair’s messy, eyes still heavy with sleep, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. there’s this slow exhale as he leans against the doorframe—like he can feel the stupidity radiating off this guy.
he just looks at him. no words. no reaction. just this blank, are-you-seriously-doing-this-right-now expression that could make a priest apologize.
and then, flatly, “...losers.” he shuts the door right in their faces.
you’re still standing there, half in shock, half laughing under your breath, when he wraps an arm around your waist from behind and steers you back toward the couch.
“what was that even supposed to be?” he mutters, already lying back down and dragging you with him.
“a trend,” you say, still giggling.
“yeah?” his voice is lazy, already fading back into his half-sleep. “well, tell the internet to fuck off next time. i was having a good nap.”
and just like that, he tucks you against his chest, the sound of him sighing against your hair as the camera quietly cuts off.
“oh bro was REPULSED”
“he looked at them like they were beneath oxygen 😭😭😭”
“this is lit how i feel abt this trend..."
“he’s so effortlessly rude i love him 😭💅”
✦ drunken confessions with a jealous husband!sukuna ﾉ suggestive content
Every story starts somewhere.
And yours with Sukuna began a little differently than most conventional love stories—instead, boxed away in some dingy karaoke bar room with your friends and the suave new guy they’d been inviting the past couple of months.
You’d gotten used to the stark pink and unruly locks sticking out from the top of his head, and tatted canvas of a body pretty quick, as if it were something he popped out of the womb with.
For all you knew, he did.
He was a brash flirt, always leaning his shoulder into your side while the two of you lagged behind the group and chivalrously tossing his jacket around your shoulders even when you glared at him. He’d sport a smug grin when he’d compliment you with words ranging from hot, minx-y, occasionally woman when he was feeling especially romantical, and earn a timid blush from you. He’d check you out with no contrite either, red rimmed irises colored headily as he traced the curves of your body to commit such a sight to memory.
It never really went further than that, though.
At least, not until you kissed Geto.
The raven-haired guy was like a brother to you, so seven minutes in heaven was nothing more than teasing, fleeting touches, and a chaste kiss in the dark where you missed his mouth anyway.
Your pink gloss across the seam of his lips was enough evidence that the two of you accomplished something in that cramped space during your 420-second delinquent time alone.
As you left the closet with his hand on the small of your back sharing an awkward laugh, you nearly missed the holes that Sukuna was burning through your mutual friend like he was planning on slashing his tires and smashing his car windows in.
Geto had to console a jealous Gojo, pouting like his best friend had cheated on him and you took your seat and smoothed out the pleat of your skirt.
A couple of hours later with Shoko and Gojo screeching Celine Dion into scrappy mics and Sukuna had tossed back far too many drinks while you gingerly nursed cheap booze.
The brute, buzzed with puppy-love and whiskey, had his arms thrown over the back of the leather couch lining the walls with narrowed lids honed in on you.
He had quite the mouth on him throughout the course of tonight, lingering eyes to couple with it, and boom you’ve got the model admirer.
You knew he had a thing for you, but whether he wanted to get his dick wet or take you out to a candlelit dinner, you weren’t quite sure.
“Did you like it?”
You have your legs crossed and arms folded over your chest, eyeing Nanami and Geto passed out to your left before Sukuna broke you from a trance with his slurred jargon. You tilt your head, expressing your confusion. “Sorry, what?”
“The kiss. You like it?” He repeats, orbs glossy and blurting out words as they mesh.
You frown, gaze catching on the flush of his tan cheeks and the crowns of his ears, completely disregarding his green-tinged prompt. “How much have you had to drink, Kuna?”
Before he has the chance to answer, Shoko comes crashing onto you and shoves a microphone in your face with puffed cheeks and a heaving chest, blowing her inebriated and warm breath into your nostrils. “Your turn.”
You cringe, peeling her sweaty form off of you as Gojo passes the torch to Sukuna, and you’re surprised when the guy gets to his feet. He drags his sweaty palms against his leather jacket and towers before everyone on the mini-stage.
Your eyebrows knit, before you settle the near-passed out brunette on your lap onto the couch, standing and taking your place beside Sukuna. “What’re we singing?” You whisper, peering up at his sobered expression.
He gawks at you with blown pupils, trying to catch his heart from tumbling out of his mouth. “You’ll see.”
The track starts despite your best efforts to figure out the song you’ll be singing in moments and you peer over at the lyric screen, the familiar tune lulling into your ears.
Love by Keyshia Cole.
A flit of giggles leave your lips as the violin and drums sound through the padded room and Sukuna takes the first verse as it comes.
“I used to think that I wasn't fine enough
And I used to think that I wasn't wild enough
But I won't waste my time tryna figure out why you playin' games
What's this all about?
And I can't believe
You're hurting me”
You can’t help the boisterous laugh that echoes from your gut at how his voice cracks, the man entirely tone deaf and blending the syllables, his lids clamped shut as the passion coils through him with each line.
You take the chorus, not even caring that you’re butchering the rhythm and lyrics in your slightly tipsy stupor.
But Sukuna stops you, snagging the mic from you to toss on the couch and placing his hands onto your shoulder, an unreadable expression coloring his pallid face.
You cock your head, but then he keeps singing. …Right in your face.
“Now you're gone, what am I gonna do?
So empty
My heart, my soul, can't go on
Go on, without you
My rainy days fade away when you
Come around, please tell me, baby”
He continues, lips quivering and chest caving as he loses his mind in the music, a hand clutching his heart over his cotton tee. His fingers curl into the fabric and he claws at himself like his mental anguish has turned physical.
And you feel your heart stumble a bit, stomach lurching on why exactly his intoxicated mind chose this song.
You glance over at Geto, who is still knocked out and snoring, before a textured hand clasps your cheeks, smushing them together into a pout and training your focus back on Sukuna.
You swallow your nerves as your eyes meet, heart slamming against your ribcage.
“Never knew what I was missin'
But I knew once we start kissin'
I found”
The last chord rings through your ears. The music begins to fade, and so does Sukuna, his perspired forehead dropping towards your face…
And landing square onto your shoulder.
You still as the dimmed lights brighten, the heavy weight of him weighing you down, fingers flexing by your side as your heart rate doesn’t manage to come to a slow.
A certain white haired asshole starts clapping, making you realize he hadn’t passed out like the rest of your entourage, clasping his fingers behind his head comfortably and cocking his head. “Now that… was fucking gold. Again.”
The night winds down soon after, you and Gojo in charge of wrangling your friends into Ubers as the only level-headed ones.
Sukuna sticks to you like a clingy cat, asking if you can come back to his apartment and tuck him in.
You’re not quite sure where the fiery brute went, but you aren’t complaining.
You press a kiss against his cheek that renders him speechless and shake your head. “Take me to dinner first.”
He pouts, but then nods swiftly when it dawns upon him that the two of you would be finally meeting for dinner.
After you bid him ‘see you soon,’ his heart soars in the back of a rideshare jostling him down the bustling Tokyo streets. An uncanny and stupid grin is wide across his cheeks as he whispers your name like a chant in the dark of the night, the man whittled down to a broken record that only sings for you.
Summary: What happens when Superman responds to your 3AM thirst tweets
Warnings: sexting, flirting hehe, cybersex/phone sex, masturbation, descriptions of cunnilingus
a/n: I lowkey have midterms in a few weeks so i'm trying to post the few drafts that I have and get ready to kinktober lol. also I have a new series i'm working on but I gotta finish Super! first even tho I don't know how to end it lmaoo
It’s well past midnight when you realize your cheek has gone numb from pressing the phone to your ear for so long.
“…I’m just saying,” your best friend slurs on the other end, half asleep and completely unserious. “He has to know what he’s doing, wearing that suit.”
You grin, rolling back onto your bed. The only light in your room is the soft glow of your laptop and fairy lights strung across the ceiling. There’s zoomed in, paused footage from Superman’s last public appearance on your computer screen. He’s hovering over the smoking ruins of a half collapsed bridge, cape whipping behind him in the wind.
“I knew you were going to bring up the suit,” you giggle, picking at a stray thread on your comforter to keep your hands busy. “It does look… different”
“Tighter,” she sighs dramatically. “Like maybe his PR people or whoever fixed it up after that last big fight. Like, ‘Hey, while we’re reinforcing the heat resistance, let’s really accentuate the assets’.”
You press your lips together, trying not to laugh. “You think superman has a marketing department?”
“Babe, if I looked like that, id have a marketing department too.”
That breaks you both into quiet laughter. The kind thats muffled, but delirious gigging that only happens at ungodly hours. Hunched over and clutching your stomach when you’re too tired to be reasonable.
The two of you die down, then she yawns so loudly you flinch.
“God, okay, it’s like three. I need to sleep. We can thirst over supershit more tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay. Night,” you whisper, fending off your own yawn.
“Night, nerd.”
The line clicks, and the screen flashes with her profile picture. A photo you took when you both saw superman in public. Her eyes are wide as her hand is clasped over her mouth, while superman stands a couple feet behind her talking to a news reporter. It blinks a few times before fading black.
You lie there for a moment, staring at the slow swirl of your ceiling fan. Then, with a groan, you reach for your phone.
Your favorite social media app glows up at you. the familiar blue bird of twitter. Your notifications are flooded as usual. People tagging you in new fan art, retweeting your latest deep dive thread about kryptonian biology, arguing in your replied about whether superman is a good kisser. He would, obviously.
You scroll for a while, half zoned out, until an image of earlier pops back into your head. His broad chest, clearly outlined, that skintight blue fabric clinging to his carved muscles like it’s painted on.
And before you could stop and think about it, your thumbs are flying across the keys.
Do y’all think superman’s proportions are consistent?
asking for science
You hit post.
And then stare at in mild horror. Heart hammering as the likes begin to roll in
“God” you groan loudly, tossing the phone onto your pillow. “I need sleep.”
But you don’t.
You close your eyes and roll over, counting down in your head to at least try and fall asleep.
But a few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a new notification, sounding different this time.
You roll over and squint at the screen through the darkness.
And freeze.
@ Superman
Proportionate in all the ways that matter.
What the fuck?
You nearly flatline.
There’s barely a half second of pure silence in your head before the noise hits. Your brain screams at you, and your blood starts rushing. Your soul is attempting to leave your body.
Your hands fly to the sides of your phone, swiping up and panicking as Face ID struggles to work in the dark.
“FUCKING LOAD” you shout at the phone.
Then, just as quickly as it appeared, its gone.
Deleted.
Vanished like it was never there.
You blink, mouth open. Then, pure instinct, you start clicking every button and screenshot the notification
Your cat, who’s been asleep at the foot of the bed the whole time, lifts his head and looks over at you. Get a grip, loser.
You gasp and your throat goes dry and your hands start shaking. Your notifications are exploding as people notice something happened. A few of your follows are replying things like, “did anyone else see that??” And “did superman just reply to her??”
You clutch your phone to your chest and whisper, “there’s no fucking way. There’s no fucking way.”
And then it vibrated again.
And you squeal, tossing the phone away like it’s on fire.
It lands on the floor with a loud bang, screen lighting up at you.
@ Superman has sent you a message.
You sit up so fast your blankets tangle around your legs. You toss yourself off the side of the bed, crawling to your phone. Then your DMs are open, hands clammy, and your face burning.
Superman:
Sorry about that. I meant to reply privately
I probably shouldn’t be allowed near technology at 3AM
You stare at the screen. And blink. And blink again. Theres a tiny verification checkmark at the corner of his name, burning straight in your soul, like it knows you’re losing your mind.
You:
This isn’t real
Like ur pranking me rn right?
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Superman:
I promise its actually me
Do you want proof?
You’re already typing “YES” when a voice note pops up.
You gasp loudly and shakily press play. There’s a low hum of wind in the background, like he’s somewhere high up. Then his voice, warm and low in your speaker.
“Hi. This is… probably the weirdest way I’ve introduced myself to someone, but yes, it’s me. And yes, I really do read your posts.”
You let out a wheeze and fall back against your carpet, phone bouncing off your face and you just accept it as some sort of divine punishment.
You:
Oh my fucking god
Okay
Im screaming into my pillow rn
Superman:
Please don’t suffocate on my account.
Ive had way too many near death rescues this week
You bury your face in the carpet, feet kicking in the blanket still tangled around them as the full body waves of second hand embarrassment roll through you.
You:
You read my posts??????
Like
The serious ones orrr
Superman:
All of them.
The threads are impressive
The other ones are…
Flattering
You nearly short circuit, letting out a loud mix of a groan and laugh. The embarrassment is too much honestly.
Superman:
Im curious, actually
How did you get into all this?
You seem to know more about me than some of my coworkers
You:
I have a great wifi connection
And trauma
And a hyper fixation rn
He sends a laughing emoji, and that finally makes you laugh. Really laugh. Of course he uses emojis.
But there’s no way this is actually happening right now, right? The whole thing feels surreal, like you’re dreaming right now, but an ultra realistic lucid dream.
There’s no way one of the most famous men on earth is in your DMs right now
You:
This is not real
If 16 year old me knew superman wold be in my dms some day she’d die
Superman:
Well im glad I waited until now
And by the way
You still haven’t answered my question about my “proportions”
Oh this man is teasing you.
You stare at the screen before moving back onto your bed. “Holy shit I need to lock in.”
Your hands are slowly steadying, but your hearts still hammering.
You:
oh, that
You ever heard of scientific curiosity
For research purposes only I swear
He keeps responding almost instantly.
Superman:
Soo… “proportions”
Thats the word youre going with?
You:
It sounded more professional than “Is he big everywhere”
You toss your phone away, covering your face with a pillow and let out a strangled scream. Your cat meows in response.
“I know! I know! I am calm, gosh” you wiggle your toes at him and he swats at you, jumping off the bed and walking out of your room. you let out a small “Nooo…”, before your phone interrupts with a string of vibrations and you snatch it back.
Superman:
Careful…
Someone might think you’ve been imagining me.
Your mouth drops open and you blink hard, heart kicking into overdrive. Hes still teasing, but there something different now. Is it getting hotter in here?
You:
Maybe I have
Maybe thats part of my job description
Im am a professional superman enthusiast after all
You let out a squeal, kicking your feet slightly as you feel giddy. He doesn’t reply for a moment and your stomach tightens, but then the message comes.
Superman:
Im somewhere quiet tonight.
Just on standby
No alarms right now, just me and the wind.
And now apparently you.
Something in your chest skips. His words are simple, but you can practically hear his voice in your ear as you read them. Low and Husky, close enough to cause your hair to stand.
You:
You shouldn’t say stuff like that
Ill get the wrong idea
Superman:
Who says it would be the wrong one?
The world seemed to narrow down to the pale glow of your phone screen and the buzzing of your heart.
His next message quickly followed, though. Like he’s chasing something too.
Superman:
Ive been wondering…
What kind of person could make me blush just from words
Now I think I know
Your breath catches as a smile breaks across your face. The words hang in the air around you. You let your thumb hover over the buttons, then type:
You:
Maybe you’re just easy to fluster
Superman:
Not usually.
You might be an exception.
You let out a shallow laugh, the silence between each message you two sent getting thinner and tighter.
But you began to hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, before taking a small, reckless leap.
You:
If you think this I bad
You shouldn’t see my drafts
Superman:
Oh?
Is that a challenge
A laugh sputters out of you. It feels like youre standing at the edge of a cliff. High up, dizzying but exhilarating.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you send more
You:
This feels like something I shouldn’t be doing on my fan account
It’s too public, you know?
Superman:
Then give me somewhere else to find you
Your throat tightens, red creeping up your chest and neck.
You:
My personal instagrams safer
@ yn.unfiltered
You quickly add:
You:
If this isn’t actually you pls dont catfish me
He accepts your follow almost instantly, his coming right after. The page that loads is surprisingly simple. Less than a hundred followers, and private. It has only a few pictures, mostly the sky or buildings in Metropolis, with one candid picture of him in what looks like a connivence store dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie, his face half turned to the camera with a faint smile.
Before you could check his followers, your screen lit up:
Incoming call - @supe.in.motion
You freeze as your finger hovers, nerves shooting up into your stomach as the phone vibrates.
He’s actually calling you.
Your heartbeats in your throat, but before you could let yourself chicken out you swipe to answer and bring the phone to your ear.
There’s a quiet rush of air in the speaker first, then his voice:
“Hi.”
You swallow hard. “Hi.”
For a second, neither of you say anything. You just listen to the faint ruffle of wind around him, like he’s somewhere open, on top of a building like he mentioned before. And then you pull the phone away and stifle a laugh.
“Sorry, sorry”
He laughs in response. “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”
“I wasn’t sure you were real,” you smile so hard your cheeks begin to hurt, you try to keep your voice steady and light, although it comes out quieter than expected.
He lets out a low chuckle under his breath, and it runs through your veins as you hold the phone closer.
“Im real,” he says, “though I can’t lie, this feels… surreal. Talking to someone who’s been making me blush just from words.”
You blink, stunned and silent. “Blush?” You echo faintly
“Mhm.” His tone shifted slightly, slower than before, dipping below his normal tone. “Its been a while since anyones managed that.”
You start to feel fuzzy as your stomach tightens.
“Thats not fair,” you let out a soft huff. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
The quietness between you grows sharper, the air thinning. You hear yourself laugh softly, a bit nervous, but there’s no backing down now.
“Maybe you’re just easy to fluster.”
“Im really not,” he says simply. “I think you’re just an exception”
Your breath catches as you fight back a smile.
But you decide to test the water, careful and tentative, words draped with tease
“Do you always talk like this with people who tweet about your… proportions?”
A faint smile is heard in his voice. “Only the ones who make me wonder what else they think about”
Something sparks low in your belly, and your voice dips before you have the chance to stop it. “And what do you think I think about?”
There’s a pause at the end of the line. The wind softly rushing through the speaker, then, “I think,” his voices slow and deliberate, “that If I were there, you wouldn’t be thinking about much at all”
Your body floods with heat. A tingly sensation crawling up from down south as you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. You press your lips together to stop it, your pulse gone wild. “Thats a dangerous thing to say,” you whisper.
“Only if you want it to be.”
You’re the first one to break, soft voice flowing, “this… probably isn’t something I should be doing on speaker. God, if my neighbors hear.”
“Then dont.” His tone is pure velvet now. “I want it to be just for me.”
You switch to the app, your thumb trembling as it hovers. “You are impossible right now”
“I can’t stop picturing you,” he admits. Hes quiet, but certain. “It’s driving me mad.”
You hear soft rustling, the sound of feet against gravel before a short huff and what sounds like him lying down now.
Then something inside you finally gives. Before you can overthink, you switch apps, flicking to your camera and take a quick shot. Just of your legs curled up on the bed, your smooth skin and a glimpse of the hem of your sleep shirt riding high. Just barely suggestive.
You send it.
For a moment there’s only silence. Then his voice returns, rougher than before.
“God... youre beautiful.” A slow exhale. “I want my hands there. Sliding higher. Feeling how warm you are.”
Your breath hitches.
The next sound is a soft rustle, fabric shifting on his end.
“here, something for you.” He murmurs.
A photo appears.
Dark gray sweatpants outlined by the dark gravel he’s sitting on, the waistbands slung dangerously low on his hips, and a faint trail of dark hair disappearing even lower. His skin practically gleams. You can see the cut of muscle along his abdomen that looks like it’s carved in marble.
Your mouth goes dry.
“You’re unreal,” you whisper.
“I promise I’m not,” he starts, “I want you to know exactly how real I am.”
You end up going quiet.
Taking a moment to feel what’s happening, what’s unraveling.
It’s a heavy kind of quiet, thick with heat and possibility. Your breaths are shallow, and the phones warm against your cheek. You can hear him breathing slow and uneven now, holding himself in check by thinning patience.
Your hand drifts lower without thinking.
Fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your thin sleep shorts. Brushing the damp spot on your panties. You sigh softly, a shivering sound you didn’t mean to let slip.
His voice drops in your ear, “are you touching yourself?”
“Not yet,” you murmur.
“should I let you imagine it?” He’s just teasing you now, “or tell you what id do?”
Your eyes flutter shut. “Tell me.”
There’s a pause, as if he’s shifting his weight, grounding himself in this moment.
“Id start slow,” he purrs in your ear. “Lay you out on your back… spread your legs for me. Just look at you for a moment. Take my time.”
Your fingertips slip under the band, grazing your slick heat. You bite your lip.
“Id kiss your thighs,” he goes on, “over and over. So soft you’d start to squirm”
You let out a small, trembling sound.
“I wouldn’t let you close them,” he adds, gentle voice flowing through the line. “Ill hold your hips still and breath you in. All warm and wet and trembling for me. And then…”
He exhales, and it catches a little.
“Id put my mouth on you. Slow, deep, sticking my tongue inside and drinking you in. Over and over until you can’t stay quiet. Until you can’t even think.”
Your hips lift against your own fingers, breath catching as you stifle a moan.
“Id suck on your clit, like i’ve been starving for you.” He whispers, “id make a mess of you, wouldn’t stop til you’re shaking”
A faint rustle comes through the line, clothes shifting. His breath hitches, a soft groan breaking through, then steadies.
“Youre… so fucking wet, aren’t you,” he speaks softly
“Yes,” your voice comes out unsteady, “God, yes.”
There’s silence once more, but it’s not empty. You hear his voice catch again, hitching in his chest as another low groan curls through the speaker and into your ear, like he’s trying to hold it back.
“Are you…” heat floods to your cheeks, voice faltering. “Are you touching yourself too?”
A pause. Then, low and rough he breaks, “yeah.”
Sparks flood through your tummy.
“Im thinking ‘bout your mouth,” you mumble, “how you’d feel.”
Another rustle, sharper this time. And a shaky exhale, his composure fraying.
“I want you to keep touching yourself,” he says, voice tighter, “while I make you come just from my voice.”
Your fingers move in slow, aching circles. Picking up your slick as you swipe low, catching on the hood of your clit, and making your hips jerk with your own movements. The only sound is your uneven breathing and his, ragged, slipping through the speaker in cracks.
You squeeze your eyes shut, clutching the phone tighter as you imagine him: high up on some building, shirt hiked up beneath his chin as he grips the phone to his ear. Sweatpants yanked down haphazardly, and his hand moving in slow strokes as he jerks himself off to your voice.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and molten, flowing through your veins. “Just like that. Keep going… let me hear you”
You whimper, soft, helpless, and the sound draws a hiss from him, like you’ve punched the air from his lungs.
“God,” he mutters under his breath. You hear fabric shifting again, quicker this time, and the faint rhythmic drag of skin on skin beneath it. He’s not being careful anymore.
“Tell me,” you gasp, “what you’d do”
He pauses before speaking, lower now, rougher.
“Id get between your legs and pin your hips down.” He says. “Make you hold still while I eat you like I’ve been craving it. Tongue fucking you, tasting everything”
Your hips jerk up. Your fingers slide deeper, moaning softly against your palm.
“Suck on your clit,” he goes on, voice breaking on the word. “Slow, practically torturing you… Fuck. Id hold you open with my thumbs while you grind on my tongue. Until your thighs shake around my head.”
A choke sound slips out of you, your back arching off the mattress. You swear you hear him growl, followed by the quick, rough sound of his hand moving faster.
“Fuck—“ a groan tears through him “you’re so wet just thinking about it, aren’t you?”
“Yes—“ your voice cracks. “Id come so fast”
“I know you would,” a strained breath. “But I wouldn’t let you. Not yet.”
You bite back a cry.
“Id make you beg, make you say my name while she’s dripping all over my mouth. You’d be trembling for me.”
Your hand moves faster, wet sounds slick through the speaker. You hear his rhythm stutter, breath catching hard.
“Touch your clit for me” he rasps, “Do it now.”
You obey instantly, circling it with your fingers, breaths coming out fast and broken as your stomach starts to knot.
“God… there you go,” he moans. “Just like that, come for me”
Your thighs are trembling, every muscle tensing. you gasp as your head tips back against your pillow.
His breath shatters in your ear. “Sweetheart…” its barely a sound, just a rough exhale. “Fuck— come for me”
You break with a cry, pleasure ripping through you with a jolt, hips jerking against your hand. Your sounds drag a guttural groan from him, coming in his hand at the end of the line.
You hear him unravel, breath hitching in sharp gasps, turning deep and ragged until it draws into silence. Just his rough breathing and yours, tangled across the crackling air between the lines.
You’re smiling, dazed and still panting. Fingers wrapped around the phone pressed to your ear still. He laughs under his breath, like he can’t believe what just happened either.
“Wow,” he mumbled softly. “You’re gonna be the death of me”
You let out a small laugh, letting your chest rise and fall unevenly as you catch your breath. The phones still pressed against your cheek, burning hot. Your other hands limp, damp and pruning as you let it fall to your side.
“…you okay?” His voices low and warm now, still a little ragged. But softer with the hint of a smile through it.
“Yeah,” you whisper, breath finally catching up to you. “Better than okay.”
He chuckles, quietly, the kind of laugh that feels real in your chest. “Good. Because if you weren’t, id be flying straight over.”
You roll onto your side, tucking the phone closer. “So you do make house calls?”
He exhales through his nose sharply, then is straight back to teasing, “for you? Apparently”
You laugh, burying your face into your pillow all giddy. The air feels lighter now, not less intimate, but different. Just softer.
There’s a rustle on his end, like he’s shifting, settling back. You imagine him stretched out somewhere high up still. Clothes back in place, hair messed up, phone in one hand while the other rests on his chest. You shouldn’t be able to picture it so vividly, but you can now. And it makes you smile.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” He whispers
“Me?” You tease, “I wasn’t the one sexting from… where even are you right now?”
He hesitates, then admits with a laugh, “Rooftop. Empty one. Thought it’d be quiet enough.”
“Oh my god.” You bury your face again, half laughing, half horrified. “Superman, you had phone sex with me on a random roof?”
“Better than in the middle of Main Street,” he deadpans
That makes you snort, and he laughs with you. Both of you caught in the absurdity of the situation.
There’s a comfortable silence after you die down, broken only by his sigh. Gentle, but reluctant.
“I should… probably head home before someone realizes I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”
Your heart sinks a little, though you knew this was coming.
“Will I…” he stops, clearing his throat like the words aren’t easy. “Will I get to talk to you again sometime?
You grin, because the answer feels obvious. “Well, if I need to catch your attention…”
He lets out an amused hum. “Yeah?”
“I’ll just tweet about you again.”
That earns you a real laugh, slipping through the line just for you.
“Sweetheart, you’d get me in trouble,” he says, still laughing. “But I’ll be watching for it.”
WHY IN A MILLION YEARS ARE WE NORMALIZING INCEST, FICTIONAL CHARACTERS OR NOT? SUPERMAN AND HIS COUSIN INCEST?? ARE WE SO DEADASS PLEASE GET THE FUCK UPPPP AND OFF THAT PHONE.
I'm not giving the creator credits either because you're fucking sick in the head.. when we do requests let's maybe set boundaries.
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