A product of:
1. One Piece 1021 Demonio Fleur is kinda cool
2. I miss Robin's pre-time skip design
3. The discovery of Oda actually considered for her to go short hair post time skip!? ( But now we know why he did not do that haha )
In which Jason Todd's older brother cares about him to the point of obsession.
Tags : Oc x canon, Hudson Todd, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce has an adopting addiction, Little brother Jason Todd, Big brother OC, implied underage prostitution, underage prostitution, mentioned drug addiction, mentioned Catherine Todd, mentioned Willis Todd
A/N: first tumblr post. Lowk nervous. Canon? What's that? Please leave comments! This is just a small blurb for now! I'll keep posting if people like this ehe
---------------
Hudson was still mildly reeling from how he got into this situation.
His mother? Dead from aan overdose. His father? Dead from something (probably a gang taking revenge).
His little brother Jason had somehow gotten a billionaire CEO to adopt them-- and get this. It was *Bruce Wayne* of all fucking people.
Bruce Wayne. The millio-billio-somethingillio--nare schmuck that was known for partying and sleeping around. Sure he donated a lot to charities and also had like what? 10,000 in Gotham? (There were 59 currently active Wayne Foundation charities that operated only in Gotham. He knew)
That didn't mean Hudson automatically trusted the man. He was.. Quieter than he expected.
He wasn't loud. He was kind, at first glance.
Hudson thought he adopted them just to have bed warmers on-call.
--
(Hudson straddled the man on the library couch, taking off his shirt and quietly begged him to not touch Jason. Bruce stared at him horrified and confused. He only hugged Hudson and tearfully promised that he never intended for them to think that he was some pedo who wanted to sleep with them--)
--
Okay so maybe he wasn't a pedo but that doesn't mean he was someone Hudson trusted to take care of him and his little brother--
--
Well. Whatever.
("Bruce!" Jason gasped, turning over the Christmas gift in his hand-- a collector edition of Frankenstein. Hudson quietly tucked away his gift for Jason-- stationary supplies. Bruce had showered Jason in the better version of the gifts Hudson had gotten him anyway. He ignored the large boulder settling in his stomach. He'd just have to make himself irreplaceable. )
--
His little brother who tried to get Hudson to quit the illegal boxing ring. Stupid child. The money he won put good food on the table. The next tournament had a prize big enough to put Jason through college. Hudson just had to fight men more than half his age and size. He'd done it before! And won!
He'd just stick to Jason's side at all times to keep him safe. After all, who else would he trust with his little brother? His little brother who tried to sell his body in place of Hudson--
--
(Hudson stared at his bruised fists, then down at his little brother, face bruised and swelling, baby teeth missing from his mouth, marks around his neck. What a stupid child, trying to take over Hudson's contract. This should teach him. He's just like his father)
--
That was the night Jason tried to steal a Bat's tires. Jason didn't trust the bat but knew he'd take down the ring and save his brother.
--
Batman had somehow gotten wind of the tournament.. Hudson fled home before the bat got to him. Who knows what he might have done?
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
summary. when he was younger, satoru had a big fat crush on one of the teachers from the kyoto school. ten years later, you come out of teaching retirement to join him in tokyo, and his crush is back with a devastating vengeance... only this time, he might stand a chance!
wc. 10.4k
tags. smut | sub bottom gojo, dom top reader. older!reader, ex-teacher!reader, virgin!gojo. age gap (unspecified, reader has salt n pepper hair), size difference, first time, multiple orgasms, sir kink, daddy kink, reader calls gojo 'princess', rimming, crying, belly bulge, mirror sex, mating press
notes. based on this ramble post of mine which people really liked lol, so kinda requested?? enjoy.
"Will you miss me, sensei? When you go back to Kyoto?"
Satoru holds out a little pink packet of candy the size of his hand. He wears a hopeful smile and those trendy round sunglasses that make him look like a polar bear cub. He brightens when you accept his gift with a nod, admiring the cute branding before slipping it into your jacket pocket.
You hum, turning your attention to him from the sunset over the forest encircling the campus. You adjust your legs where you sit on the engawa, leaning back against a wooden pillar and resting your arm over your knee. A can of soda hangs from your fingers. "Of course, Satoru. You're shaping up to become a great sorcerer. That trick you pulled with Suguru today was clever – brawn alone won't win you every fight, so I'm glad you're putting effort into strategising."
He puffs out his chest, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin. "I took your words to heart... even though I could have won with strength alone. Still, it was a good challenge. Don't you wish I were your student, sensei?" He strikes a pose and tosses up a peace sign, making you smile. "I'd make your class average go up since I'm smart and strong."
"That's true. I've heard from your teachers that you like to slack off, though, and you drag your classmates into it. Not sure that's in your best interests."
"I wouldn't if you were my teacher. The ones here talk so slow and boring. I know most of the stuff anyway, so what's bad about napping a little?"
"Well, if you're doing fine with the content, then I don't see much of an issue. The bosses send you out far too often and I know how late you can return, so it's good to catch up on sleep. Though I wish they'd ease up on you – you're still kids, after all." You shake your head. "I digress. I have more of a problem with how you distract your classmates. Don't you think that's unfair to them?"
Satoru pouts, taking a seat next to you and tucking his knees up to his chest. He wraps his arms around his bare legs, wiggling his toes in his slides. "It's their fault for not ignoring me."
"They wouldn't have to ignore you if you weren't doing anything."
"Stop poking holes in my argument. That's mean, sensei."
You laugh softly, raising the can of soda to your lips. Condensation gathers in little droplets down the colourful brand art. "Alright, alright. I'll stop harping on about it – you probably get enough of that with your teachers." You settle down more comfortably. "Have you been taking care of yourself, Satoru? Three proper meals a day?"
He blinks. It's been a long time since anyone's asked him how he was. Every letter from his clan only requested updates regarding his technique and whether or not he'd gotten stronger, better, more efficient – he doesn't want to admit it, but on bad days, the weight of their expectations grows heavy. They can call him a natural prodigy all they like, but having to figure everything out by himself is anything but easy.
You watch him patiently, a soft concern in your gaze which you don't try to hide. His heart flutters. It feels good to be cared about. To be... seen.
"Yeah, 'm okay," he murmurs, pressing his cheek into the tops of his knees. "Just tired sometimes. I get headaches if I leave my eyes uncovered too long, or even if I just focus too hard. Hope I'll get it under control before graduating – it'd be such a pain to deal with that every single day."
"I'm sure you will, Satoru. You're resilient. More than you know." You offer a smile that's so trusting and wholehearted that Satoru knows you aren't lying. He finds himself smiling back.
"Thanks, sensei," he breathes, giggling shyly. It's almost pitiful how much you affect him. He scratches the back of his head. "I'll really miss you when you leave tomorrow. Can't you transfer campuses? I promise I'll be quiet in your classes. I'll even, like, raise my hand to answer questions. I never do that, by the way. But I would for you."
You chuckle softly and reach over to ruffle his soft white hair. He pouts, whining, but doesn't stop you. When you retract your hand, he finds himself leaning towards you, subconsciously searching for your touch. He stops before he topples over.
"You know I can't. I have family in Kyoto. Even if I didn't, I think spreading our strength across the country is better than piling it all in one place, no? We can protect more people that way."
He hums non-committally, disappointed but not too upset by your refusal; he can't expect you to change your mind just because he asks for the twentieth time, though it'd be nice if that happened. It's a net win, anyway – he likes the sound of your laughter and the warmth of your smile. You're patient and gentle, and god knows he needs that.
"Do you have a wife?" he asks suddenly. "Children?"
You tilt your head. "Hm? No. Where'd that question come from?"
He shrugs, gnawing back an ecstatic grin. "You just seem like the kind of guy to have some. I mean, you're really nice... and handsome. Thought someone woulda snatched you up like that." He snaps his fingers.
"Oh – well, thank you, Satoru," you laugh, pleasantly surprised. "But I travel far too much to make my own family. It would be cruel – not to mention difficult – to lie to someone about what I do, too."
"You want to marry a normie?" He frowns. "What's wrong with sorcerers?"
You laugh suddenly, a little flustered. "Ah, I don't know why I didn't think of that.... I suppose I could, but clans don't take well to people who don't come from one. Nothing is gained in those partnerships. Honestly, I wouldn't really want to marry into a clan – their drama sounds ridiculously tiring from everything you've told me."
"I wouldn't want you to, either. They have a way of sapping the joy out of life. Maybe they feed off it or something – it would explain why my clan elders look so much older and wrinklier than any old person I've seen on the street." He sighs, resting the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically. "Ugh, I'm really sad that you're leaving me so soon, sensei...! You're so dependable. Feels like I can trust you with anything."
You hum, patting his back sympathetically. His skin prickles with pleasant warmth under his t-shirt. "Don't worry, I'll be back next year. Time will fly by in the blink of an eye. After that, you'll be a fully-fledged sorcerer, and we might run into each other more around the workplace! Doesn't that sound fun?"
Satoru grins, nodding. He shuffles closer, exploiting your hand on his shoulder to lean against your side, tucking himself in there as if it's home. Your hand shifts to his other shoulder in a more comfortable position, and giddiness bubbles in his chest – it's as if you're cuddling, he thinks gleefully.
"Yeah," he sighs contentedly, watching the golden sun dip below the treetops. "Crazy to think we'll be co-workers soon. Felt like it was just yesterday that I got detention for being late for my first ever class. Time flies, huh?"
"High school's hectic, even without all the jujutsu. It's not unusual to feel that way." Finishing off your drink, you let out a soft grunt as you stand up, dusting off your trousers. You offer Satoru a brief smile. "Now that I think about it... What do you think of heading to a restaurant tonight? My treat – it's Friday. It bothers me to see you kids get swamped with the same amount of work they give me – you deserve to have some fun, relax, make the most of your youth. Maybe we could try out some karaoke afterwards? I'm pretty good, in my humble opinion."
An off-campus dinner? With you? Satoru needs to do his laundry right fucking now. He also needs to break out the ironing board, and the leather shoe polish, and his favourite cologne. But did you have preferences? Did you like stronger scents or clean ones? Floral? Vanilla? Wood?
You're still looking at him.
To his great embarrassment, he has to consciously close his mouth, his jaw gone slack. He flushes red, stuttering – your eyes crinkle in amusement.
"Dinner? W-With you? Absolutely I'd want that, holy fuck! I-I mean—" He clears his throat. "Yes. That sounds great. Thanks, sensei."
"Anytime," you laugh as he tugs and twists his hair, just for something to do with his hands. He'd bury his face in them otherwise. "Do you mind letting the other Tokyo students know? I'll tell my kids as well. I wonder if I could rope Yaga into chaperoning, too... Nah. I can look after a handful of teens. You're all well-behaved – I think."
Satoru tries not to show the way he deflates. You're inviting everyone? Damn it. There go his dreams of being hand-fed canapés under golden lights in a private booth.
"Okay," he mumbles dejectedly, only to brighten immediately – like a light switch flicked on – when you pat his head fondly. He beams, cheeks dusted pink.
As you card your fingers through his hair, he melts into your touch, and you chuckle at the sight of him butting his head into your hand like an affectionate cat. "What a sweetheart. Tell you what, Satoru – why don't we eat dinner together in the school holidays? I can come down to Tokyo. If you like, no one else has to come. You can tell me what's on your mind and ask for advice, and I'll do my best to help. You won't have to clam up because of the company."
He stares up at you with large blue eyes. You think he's disappointed because he wanted private career counselling? While you couldn't be further from the truth, it does make his heart squeeze unreasonably tight. He's Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer alive, reputed as perfect and confidently assured in everything... Yet here you are, treating him like a normal high school student with fears and worries of his own. You want him to eat good food, get enough sleep, and do well in classes. Yes, he's strong, but you neither worship him nor coddle him.
With you, he's not the Six Eyes. Not the Limitless. He's just Satoru, loud and mischievous with an obsession for anything sweet.
You refuse to let him crumble to weight and pain like so many of your peers have. You watched them isolate themselves and wave off your concern with a scoff, just to be haunted by what they run from. Because they are protectors, they can't show vulnerability, lest others begin to doubt them.
"Really?" Satoru whispers, and as much as he wants to, he can't set aside the churning emotion in his chest for simple boyish excitement over an intimate dinner.
You care for him. You really, really care for him, seeing beyond the weapon that he is.
You nod, leaning against the pillar on the engawa with one hand in your pocket. "I think you'd benefit from it. My students tell me I fret like a mother hen, but I get the feeling that having a real, honest chat with someone would do you some good. Of course, if you don't care for that kind of talk, we can always just catch up. What do kids like these days? Movies? Super Mario?"
"I like Digimon," he says softly.
"Digimon? That's different from Pokémon, right?"
He nods, still wide-eyed. Suddenly, he throws himself at you, arms wrapping tightly around your middle. He buries his head in your chest.
You laugh, startled, but you rest your arms around his shoulders anyway. "Satoru? Everything okay?"
"'M just really gonna miss you, sensei," he sniffles, his voice thick with emotion. "Damn it, it's so not fair that Kyoto gets you every day! Those dummies don't deserve you."
"Don't be mean, Satoru," you chastise, patting his back gently. "I'm not vanishing off the face of the earth, you know. You'll see me again."
"Next year's way too long," he mutters, arms tightening around you. "Even Christmas is too far. But you promise you'll come down then, right? I'm staying on campus so I'll be free every single day." Just for you, he doesn't say. "Isn't like I'll have anything more important to do."
"Then I'll let your principal know a few weeks in advance and ask him to tell you the date. That alright?"
He pulls back and nods eagerly, his thousand-watt smile almost blinding. Date! You said date! Not in the way he wishes it was, but he'll be getting ready at the asscrack of dawn regardless. He's already thinking up outfit ideas and fretting about his 'needed-a-cut-a-month-ago' hair.
He feels like he's on cloud nine. Surely Suguru won't mind being kidnapped for an hour or three while he gushes about you like a lovesick idiot, right?
—
Ten years later, Satoru stands in front of a small, mossy shrine a few steps off the forest path. Below the mountain sits the beleaguered village, quiet at this time of night and heavy with superstitious fear. Apparently they're being haunted by a grade one curse, but if Satoru is being honest, he's having a hard time coaxing it out of hiding so he can validate those reports. It seems that it only comes out when it stands a chance against unarmed and frail old villagers.
With a long-suffering sigh, he kicks a tuft of grass and shoves his hands into his pockets, scrunching his nose up at the scent of someone cooking a really good soup, carried up the hill by the rustling wind.
"Ugh, I'm hungry," he whines to the open air, nearly stomping his foot during his tantrum. "Can you just come out, already? I'm going to die of starvation before you manage to do anything. Ughhh."
Suddenly, a hand pops over his shoulder, holding an unusual-looking talisman between two fingers. He glances at it, surprised.
"Burn it," you say simply. You smile, those oh-so familiar eyes of yours crinkling with mirth. "Hello, Satoru. Been a while, hasn't it?"
Satoru stares. Then, with an excited squeal, he launches himself into your arms, kicking his feet up behind him and putting his whole weight on you. You don't stumble or even have to shift your footing, simply wrapping one arm around his middle with a hum.
"Sensei!" he gasps, feet paddling in the air. "Oh my god, hi! Hello! I missed you so much, sensei, you don't even know!"
You chuckle, a soft rumble that reverberates through your chest and sends shivers up Satoru's spine. Your hair is dashed frosty silver through your temples, and the crow's feet around your eyes are deeper when you laugh – Satoru's heart races even faster.
You smell good, too, your cologne warm and inviting with notes of cedarwood. You've changed it in the last ten years; it used to be lighter – blue – and it's not so much a betrayal of his memory of you than it is a logical evolution. You're older now, calmer. Makes sense that your signature smell is less 'soda on the beach' and more 'coffee by the fireplace'.
He's getting ahead of himself. He never did manage to catch you in the workplace – you were needed wherever he was not, and those assignments rarely overlapped.
"Hey, kid," you greet, releasing your hold on your cursed energy. Once it's no longer suppressed, Satoru recognises you immediately, warm and constant like a good hug, and his grin grows wider as he giggles and tightens his arms around your shoulders. "You havin' trouble with this curse?"
"No," he denies immediately, trying to ignore how your voice is rougher now than when you were a teacher. There's a low, pleasant gravel to it – he assumes it isn't a permanent change. Probably just tiredness, given the plane ticket stub poking out of your pocket. London? Geez. He can sympathise with those long flight hours.
He continues, "It's just embarrassed 'cause it's so much weaker than me. Where'd you get the talisman?"
"Someone from the village gave it to me. Said it was how they began their prayers to ensure the gods were listening. Try it their way – rites like this usually contain pieces of truth."
The case file never mentioned local customs. It also advised staying away from the villagers because they were snappy and suspicious of outsiders and would impede a sorcerer's work – you appeared to ignore that paragraph completely. Getting difficult people to work with you seemed to be your specialty.
Reluctantly, Satoru puts his feet back on the ground, taking the offered paper talisman and inspecting it. It doesn't seem particularly interesting, certainly not like it could summon a cursed spirit, but he's seen much weirder things. Maybe all the weirdness has been like exposure therapy for him, because he doesn't even question the idea.
"Did the higher-ups send you?" he asks curiously as he snaps his fingers and lights the paper on fire. It burns efficiently, bright orange swallowing curled blackened edges until only a corner remains. Satoru lets go, and the flames consume the remnants of the fluttering talisman before it touches the ground.
"Mm. Apparently, you've been acting extra rebellious recently, which they don't think too highly of. I'm here to supervise and report back." You push one hand into the pocket of your casual clothes. Satoru feels a flicker of annoyance spark in his chest. Can't they let you at least go home to shower after a fourteen-hour flight?
"Oh, that! Ha-ha. Did you hear about Sukuna's vessel?"
Recognition flashes in your gaze. "Yes, actually. That's part of the reason why they requested my return so suddenly. They say you've delayed the kid's execution until he consumes every finger. Is that true?"
"Affirmative," he says, playfully saluting. "He's my student at the Tokyo campus. You can't have him."
"I wouldn't want him in Kyoto, anyway. Gakuganji would probably try to kill him in his sleep, and I'm no longer there to oppose him." You glance around when your skin prickles. The wind whispers through the dark branches, picking up speed. "Feel that?"
"Yup," he says, popping the 'p' as cursed energy gathers in the air. He grins, eyes sparkling under his blindfold. He loops his arm through yours and grabs your hand, trying not to giggle nervously at the feeling of your muscles beneath your shirt. You're so tall and broad... Your thigh's the size of his waist, he realises as you stand shoulder-to-shoulder. He blushes so hard he feels dizzy.
He stands up on his toes to whisper in your ear. "Can you kill it for me, sensei?" he pleads, a cute pout on his glossy lips. Of course he'd wear lipgloss to a rural countryside exorcism. "I'm scared."
You give him a look. "No, you're not."
He blows a raspberry. "I'm tired?"
"You're not."
"Senseiii," he whines, tugging your sleeve as the curse manifests from the shadowy undergrowth, too many eyes flicking and rolling white like a terrified horse. "Please kill it for me! It's so ugly I'm gonna cry. I really will! You don't want your favourite student to cry, do you?"
You can't help but smile as Satoru cowers behind your shoulder, peeking out behind your arm and giving a dramatic little yelp when the curse scuttles closer on long, spider-like legs. A dozen eyes blink open on the legs, all pivoting towards you.
"Ew! Ew ew ew, sensei, it's getting closer!"
"Alright, alright, you big baby. Stay here," you chuckle, patting his spiky white hair. He pouts up at you as you mess it up, whining miserably.
"Hey! I spent a long time on that!"
You drop his hand. He opens his mouth to bawl about it, but his words get stuck in his throat as you dash towards the bus-sized curse.
You're barely a blur as you fight, and Satoru doesn't flinch as an insectoid leg goes flying over his head and pierces a tree behind him, making its roots shudder in the earth. He waves his hands like he's at a concert, smoothly sidestepping a section of carapace as it sails past him like a frisbee. "Whoa! Go, sensei, go! Ten outta ten, what a thrilling performance!" He claps as he watches you exorcise the curse, pinning its writhing body under a boot and wrenching off its head with a grunt and a flex of your biceps. Your jacket sleeves are putting up a better fight than the curse.
You toss the head aside with a deep sigh and step away. You glance up, wiping purple blood off your cheek with a playful wink. "Who's your daddy?" you tease, beckoning him closer with a curl of your fingers.
His knees almost give out from under him.
Satoru's on you before the curse dissolves into nothingness – he wraps his arms around yours, propping his chin on the corner of your shoulder. "You are," he says dreamily, nearly tripping over himself as you begin to walk back down the hill side-by-side. "Ahh, you're so cool, sensei... You saved my life."
You toss your head back to laugh, and Satoru's blush darkens as he admires your features. He's never been gladder for the blindfold as his gaze trails down to your lips. "You don't have to call me that anymore, Satoru. We're co-workers now, aren't we?"
He swings your hand in his own, taking little skipping steps so he brushes against you more often. "It feels weird to call you by your first name, and last names are so formal... I like calling you sensei."
You hum. "Alright, if that's what you prefer. Oh – I nearly forgot. I've got some news for you."
"You got married?" he says immediately, devastated. He clamps your arm closer to his chest.
"No, Satoru," you laugh, "I'm still single. No, I'll be based in Tokyo until Sukuna is defeated. I'm residing on campus. That's my news. I guess you got your wish after all, hm?"
Silence. Then an ear-piercing wail.
"Senseiii...!" he cries. Without a moment's notice, Satoru jumps into your arms, wrapping his limbs around you and burying his face in your shoulder where your cologne is strongest. "Sensei, this is amazing! 'M never letting you leave ever again! Never ever, okay?"
Chuckling softly, you pause to set him down. You continue towards the car on the edge of the village together, with him skipping along as he grasps your sleeve. When you try to unravel your arms to reach for your keys, however, he makes a distressed noise, locking his limbs tighter around you.
He really is a big baby, you think fondly. Shifting Satoru to free up your side, you eventually get the passenger door open and slide him inside, guiding him down on the leather seat as gently as a princess. He beams up at you, happily belting himself in, and hunts down the AUX cord in the glove box as you close his door and round the car to the driver's side.
He blasts S&M by Rihanna and half a dozen Lady Gaga songs on the ride back to campus. You wonder if he's trying to tell you something.
—
Satoru has been having the time of his life. Not even the situation regarding Sukuna could bring him down – he skips through the halls like a character in a musical, smile widening and his demeanour shifting whenever he crosses your path. He never denies the opportunity to run up to you and ramble about anything and everything, even walking in a completely opposite direction to his goal just to linger a little longer by your side.
If he had any shame, it'd be horrifically pathetic behaviour. He's lucky you think it's sweet.
Late one night, Satoru is alone in his office cubby, systematically grading tests. The room is silent, not a single soul left, and all he can hear is the scratch of his pen and his own breathing.
A gentle knock resounds at the door. "Hey, Satoru."
He perks up at the sound of your voice, a smile automatically creeping across his face. He clicks his pen and twists in his office chair. "Oh! Hi, sensei. It's late, you know. What're you doing here?"
You lift a brow, entering the room. The door swings shut behind you. "I was about to ask you the same thing. You doing alright?"
He nods agreeably. "Yep, peachy. Just couldn't really sleep, and I thought getting a head start on my work would be more productive than four hours of phone time in bed. If I had any more than a handful of students, though, phone time sounds infinitely more manageable."
Humming, you step closer and reach out to place a white plastic bag on his desk. The ends are tied to make bunny ears. "Quite mature of you. I, uh, brought you some food – I didn't see you eat today, and while I know you could've just teleported elsewhere for lunch, I just couldn't shake the thought. You don't often buy proper meals when you're alone, either – it's always candy or sweet treats, things easily eaten on the go. Plus, I remember how much you liked yakisoba, so..."
You trail off your rambles, nudging the bag closer toward him. He continues to stare at you, lips parted, as you push your hands into your pockets and rock on your heels. Heat crawls up his neck.
"You noticed that?" he asks softly, tilting his head and sitting straighter in his chair.
"Of course I noticed – when you're the only one not eating, it makes you stand out a little. You can always keep the food for tomorrow, but I thought I'd just pop by. You have a lot on your plate and I wanted to make sure you're not burning yourself out."
How were you so perfect? In this cruel world where human lives are currency and children are taught to kill, how did you manage to retain such gentleness? Such... humanity?
It was easy to forget he was a person. People turned to him for reassurance and safety, turning him into something bigger than life: a protector, a saviour, a shield. Sometimes he fears he'll lose himself – his morals, his opinions on mundane things, everything that makes him human – and become something as scary as Tengen: alive for one purpose. Sequestered away until needed. Known only for what they can provide.
Alone until the end.
Satoru stands, placing his pen down, and wraps his arms around you. He doesn't jump on you, doesn't squeeze you until you wheeze – just a firm, gentle hug, every available inch of him pressed against you as if to lock you in place and keep you from leaving.
He sniffles. Silly Satoru. You'll never leave when he needs you.
"Hey?" You place your hands on his back, patting him. "Not getting sentimental over some street food, are we?"
"I am," he laughs wetly. He buries his face in your shoulder. "I'm crying over yakisoba. It's so stupid."
Even this is a little embarrassing for Satoru. He really had no walls at all around you – just pure unguarded openness.
Your arms close around him, stroking his shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous. A good meal is worth crying over."
He laughs again, airy and soft. He gives you one last squeeze before stepping back, his fingers dropping until they entwine shyly with your own. You glance down at them, but don't pull away.
"Can you stay with me, sensei? Just for a bit. I don't really wanna be alone right now," he murmurs.
You tilt your head at him, watching him closely. He swings your hands between your bodies idly.
"Alright," you agree, reaching up to rest a hand on his shoulder. You squeeze, offering a reassuring smile, and move past him to steal a neighbouring chair. You cruise your fingers over the bookshelf against the wall, picking out some academic text about the Tokyo region's topography at random. "I'll go before midnight, though, and I'm not leaving you here. Trust me when I say that overtime like this isn't a habit you want to make."
He nods, sitting back down and opening up the plastic bag. He peeks inside and lets out a satisfied sigh as he reaches in, rustling around for the disposable chopsticks and pulling out the clear plastic box, warm to the touch. "I won't. Thanks, sensei."
Cracking open the book, you settle into the chair. "Anytime, Satoru."
As promised, an hour later, you pull Satoru away from his desk. You place a hand on his back to keep him from running off, and he trots happily by your side as you lead him towards your car. He doesn't use one regularly on account of his abilities, generally finding them time-consuming and restricting. So many rules to obey.
For you, though, he'd suffer through anything.
He pulls you past the threshold of his apartment before you can protest; he shuts the door and leans back against it so you can't escape. He wears an unusually apprehensive expression.
"Sensei," he begins softly. "Can I ask you something?"
Your attention flicks down to his arms, folded around his middle. Self-soothing? "What is it, Satoru?"
Technically, he's just kidnapped you. Into his house. You don't seem particularly concerned despite the fact that he could spaghettify you in a blink.
He sighs, nibbling on his lower lip. He tugs his blindfold below his chin and ruffles his hair, stunning blue eyes flitting over your features with full clarity. His cheeks warm. "I think you know already that I really like you... as something other than a friend or co-worker."
"Oh. I do, yes."
Your lack of judgement bolsters his confidence. He straightens up, taking a deep breath. "So... if I were to, um, ask to kiss you... what would you do?"
Your eyes widen, and you pause to mull it over. He holds his breath. Then you offer a small shrug. "Why don't you find out?"
"Really? You mean it?" His heart somersaults when you nod. He barely refrains from jumping for joy. "C-Can I kiss you, YN-san?"
"Sure, Satoru." Your eyes are soft, obliging. "You may."
Like a little firework, he launches forward, lips crashing against yours. You catch him like always, but this time you place your hands on his waist in new, intimate ways.
It's happening. It's really happening. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, making you hum softly and raise your hand to rest in the small of his back.
When you part, Satoru wears the widest, giddiest smile you've ever seen on him. It beats the time when he demolished your entire second-year class during training – you were watching and even congratulated him on his improvements afterwards. He pants softly, glancing down at your lips hopefully.
"You kiss well," you say approvingly, and Satoru nearly melts on the spot. "Have you had much experience?"
"Just a couple times. None were as important as this." He flashes a nervous smile. "This is the first time where it matters what the other person thinks."
"Oh, please. You'll make me blush." You rest your palms low on his waist, massaging his hipbone. "Satoru, are you sure you want me?" you ask in a low, careful murmur. "I'm old enough to be your father."
"Please don't say that if you want me to stay away. It has the opposite effect."
You bark out a laugh and shake your head in disbelief. He grins in return. "You're something else, Satoru. Something else entirely."
He answers with another kiss. God, he remembers dreaming about this every night, wishing he could see you more than once a year. That innocent desire faded with time, but recently, upon your return, he's been plagued with reckless dreams of a bare-chested figure above him, pressing him into the sheets and making him take and take and take until he wakes in a hot rush, breaths sharp and laboured. He can never quite remember the face, but those strong, large hands cradling him are unmistakable. All he's left with are a needy ache and a name: daddy.
It's fucked up, Satoru thinks as he plays with your silver-dashed hair, well-maintained. He gasps as you push him back against the door with a quiet thud, moaning against your lips. It's so fucked up that he chases your authority even when you're equals.
There's probably quite a bit to unpack there, but what does it matter? You're kissing him, and you're letting him feel you up under your t-shirt. That's enough of a dopamine rush to tide him over for the next few weeks.
He can feel the strength rippling beneath his touch, your muscles flexing as he pushes your shirt higher to expose your stomach and chest, and he pulls away to admire them with a debauched moan. With a shaking hand, he reaches for your lower stomach. Your skin is warm – he traces your happy trail with awe, breath hitching when his fingers dip into your belt. Dazed, he cups your chest in one hand and plays with your happy trail in the other.
"Having fun?" you murmur, amused.
Satoru blinks himself out of his trance. He turns bright red. "S-Sorry! You're just so—" He gestures vaguely towards you. "Big..."
"Yeah?" Teasingly, you place his hand on the front of your jeans, making him whine softly at the implication. You kiss the spot below his ear. "Does that excite you?"
He nods so hard his head threatens to fall off. You laugh, crow's feet deepening, and Satoru nearly forgets his name.
"Cute," you comment, tucking his hair behind his ear as you brace a hand against the door by his head, a classic pose he's sure you're doing on purpose to make him yelp. "What do you want me to do to you tonight, Satoru? Remember, tomorrow's still a weekday. Can't have you limping everywhere."
Weekday? Who cares if it's a weekday? Satoru's not giving up this chance. "Want you to fuck me," he whispers, gulping as you nibble at the side of his neck. It tickles and pinches, and heat zips down his spine and pools between his legs. "Want it hard and rough."
"Didn't I say I don't want you limping tomorrow?" You lift a brow.
Satoru clutches the front of your shirt, whining as he presses his lips against yours to sweeten the deal. "I can heal it," he protests, though he knows he won't. Why break what you fix? "Please. I'll be good."
Your eyes flash, and his heart skips a beat. You liked that.
"That so?" you mutter, hand tightening on his hip. "You gonna be a good boy for me, Satoru?"
He swallows the whine that threatens to slip out. He bobs his head desperately. "Mhm, your good boy! I'll do whatever you want as long as you fuck me. Want you to make me yours."
"Mine," you repeat, playing with a lock of his snowy hair. Your eyes flicker to his. "Could you handle being mine? Just look at you – delicate little thing, already hard from a couple of kisses. Might end up breaking you if I'm not careful."
His fists twist in your shirt, knuckles white. He's already panting hard, deep pools of blue fixed on you. His hips shuffle against your thigh, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a choked whimper as you press roughly into him.
You tilt his chin up with your finger and rest your temple against his, your lips brushing his ear. "Cat got your tongue, baby?"
His hips jerk, his cock throbbing in his pants. He gnaws on his inner cheek, grinding roughly into your denim-clad thigh. The inside of his zipper digs into his shaft. "Hn – s-sorry... I can han-handle it. You can break me... i-if you want," he whispers. "As long as I can keep kissing you, I don't mind what you do to me."
He's going to be the death of you.
"Satoru." Your voice is gentler now. He blinks, straightening slightly. "Is this your first time?"
He squeaks, trying valiantly to push aside his lust to dig up the correct memory. "Ah, y-yeah... I never had time to go all the way with someone." He peers up at you from beneath snowy white lashes. "I like that you'll be my first, though. I want you to take control."
"You like giving in to me, do you?"
He bites his lower lip and nods, playing with your collar as he gazes up at you. "Mhm. Makes me feel good."
"Oh, I can do that."
Satoru grins and leans up to kiss you, hands resting on your biceps, and he lets out a soft moan as you tug his clothes off and toss them over the nearest barstool by the kitchen island. Soon he's down to just his socks; he'd tried something similar with you, but he'd gotten completely distracted when your shirt came off. He couldn't stop touching you long enough to shed your clothes.
He squirms against the back of his front door, gasping as you hike one of his legs over your hip. He flinches when your jeans rub against his bare, swollen cock, the rough material and cold steel zipper sending sparks up his spine.
You admire his cock, sweetly flushed and leaking. You take it into your hand and his heel digs into the back of your leg as you pump him, smearing his pre into the hollow of your fist and making the glide wetter and easier. You lean in and kiss him – his eyes flutter shut.
His back arches as you squeeze his length. He sucks in a sharp breath, moaning into your mouth. Scrambling, he reaches for your belt and fumbles it open. "Ah, fuckfuckfuck – your hand feels really good—"
You glance down at his throbbing, leaky cock in your palm, engulfed completely. If you close your fist, you can't see it at all. Satoru gulps, stomach flexing at the sight, and precome dribbles down his tip. He lifts his eyes pleadingly, tugging ineffectively at your belt with clammy hands.
"So needy," you say – not meanly, but Satoru's gut still clenches – and you use one hand to flick your belt buckle free. Immediately, he moves on to your zipper. "I've barely touched you."
"I just—" he stutters as he reaches into your jeans, gliding against the warm bulge that fills his palm. "Don't be mean, sensei."
You chuckle. "Alright, princess." You don't give him time to respond before you grasp his wrist, pulling it out of your pants. "Let's not have your first time in the hallway. Bedroom?"
You can't keep doing this to him! Talking about breaking him, calling him princess, then being all gentlemanly about his first time? He's going to die! Or come. He's not sure yet.
Satoru's head bobs in assent as he takes you by the hand, dragging you hastily through his apartment. It's smaller than you thought he'd go for, cosier – and it's not a penthouse, which also comes as a surprise, given his wealth. Eight floors up, he's far enough from the street to not be constantly assaulted by the sounds of traffic, but not so high that all he sees are clouds and flashing neon billboards.
As you step into his bedroom, you wonder if you're the first person he's allowed inside. He hastily shoves unfolded laundry into his closet and shuts the door before it can fall out, then pulls you down onto the bed, leaning up to kiss you.
"Do you have protection?" he asks, a little nervously. He's never said those words in his life, and saying them now makes it all the more real. "I mean, I could probably alter Infinity to act like it, but I've never tried that before so—"
With a grin, you pull a black square from your wallet. He sighs in relief.
"Oh, good, thank god. Yeah, what was I thinking, using Infinity as a condom? Ha-ha, that was embarrassing..."
You move closer, letting him tug at your jeans. "Innovation isn't weird, Satoru."
He pouts as he slides your pants down your thighs. "Don't call it innovation... 'S far too clean a word for what I wanted to do with it."
"Maybe it's my age talking, but you get shy over the smallest of things. Funny, for someone who acts so shameless with others. Didn't you beg one of your coworkers to take you out to dinner?"
His cock jerks. "Don't... Don't keep talking about your age. Please."
"Hm?" Your gaze rakes his slender body, and you take his jaw firmly in one hand, lifting his face so he can't avoid your eyes. His breathing stutters as he grasps your wrist, eyes wide. Your voice is low, a warning. "Did my boy just try telling me what to do?"
His mouth waters and he swallows harshly, gripping his own thigh so hard he leaves red crescents in his skin. "No. No, sir, I'm sorry."
His voice is breathy, easily dispersed in the cool bedroom air. You inspect him, checking for lies, but you find nothing that indicates he's only saying what you want to hear. Those big shiny eyes tell you that he truly is remorseful.
Satoru seems surprised when you let go of his jaw without punishment. He squeaks when you grab one ankle in each hand and tug his legs apart. Instinctively, he tries to pull his thighs together, only to moan when you yank them apart with more force.
Kneeling at the end of the bed, you pry his pale thighs open and examine him coolly. He whimpers and covers his face, already growing hot with embarrassment, and his pink hole twitches as it comes into contact with the air.
"What's this, princess?" Your thumb presses against his puffy rim, shiny with lube. His breath catches in his throat. "Did you plan on bringing someone home tonight? Tsk tsk, Satoru. I thought you liked me."
He mewls as your thumb threatens to slip inside. He shakes his head, burying himself in too many pillows. "No! No. I just – I t-touched myself a bit, okay? When I couldn't sleep. It didn't, um, w-work..."
"So you're a filthy little thing, then."
"No!" He sounds devastated. He sniffles behind his hands. "Nnh... Y-You're so mean, sir..."
"Oh, sweetheart." You sigh, feigning disappointment. "Did you even manage to come?"
He bites his lip and shakes his head meekly.
"Why? Fingers not long enough?" Teasingly, you entwine your hand with his, and he shudders as yours envelops his wholly. He's not small by any means, but fuck... He can't even speak.
"How about I give you something smaller to start with, then?" you hum lightly. "Give you a little taste-test?"
He whimpers. He clutches your arms and nods so intensely he makes himself dizzy. You smile and peck his nose.
You drag him towards you and flip him over with just your hands, making a soft cry spill from his lips at the show of strength. He gasps as you spread his ass with your palms and lean closer, your intentions made crystal clear. His insides clench as your tongue – hot, wet, and firm – begins to circle his rim.
"Oh," he gasps, hips jerking backwards onto your face. His arms tremble beneath him. "Oh, mmh – f-feels weird, feels really weird!"
"Just relax, sweetheart. When you get over the embarrassment and focus on the pleasure, you'll feel better. I promise."
He's glad you can't see his face. He mumbles, "I-It already feels good..."
"See? Already doing so well for me. Don't be nervous. I got you."
He moans as your tongue flicks against his hole lightly, tempting him to push his hips back to chase more. He caves to the desire, sighs and gasps escaping his lips as you spread his cheeks and bury your face in his ass.
Your stubble scratches pleasingly against his soft, sensitive inner thighs. It sends hot sparks up his spine and out to his limbs, making his toes curl and his fingers dig into the bedsheets. You press into him deeper and your tongue slips inside his rim.
His back arches. He lets out a sharp sob, fisting the sheets so hard they threaten to rip. He shoves his hips back, your writhing tongue reaching new depths and making his cock spurt.
"Mmh, daddy!"
Immediately, he claps a hand over his mouth, horrified. He glances over his shoulder, but you're not glaring at him in disgust. In fact, you haven't pulled away at all, and the only reason he knows that you heard is because of the way you suddenly eat him out more fervently, hands pushing and pulling at his creamy thighs and ass until his legs are shaking. You groan into his skin, hungrier the more you devour him, and Satoru keens, burying his face into the sheets to hide the heat in it.
Heart pounding in his chest, his lips part, quivering with nerves as his voice comes out in a whisper. "'M gonna c-come, daddy..."
In response, he receives a low, raspy groan and a tongue that thrusts deeper inside him, licking the inner edge of his rim. It's joined soon by your thumb – he mewls as it slowly pushes in and pulls out, gently stretching him open.
The pleasure and the shame light a fire in his stomach, ecstasy hot, heavy, and sharp like a poker. His body feels uncharacteristically weak, disobeying his orders to hold steady – it's all he can do to stay propped up on his hands and knees, his hips twitching shyly to force your tongue deeper inside him.
You pull away and a sound of distress pierces the room, high and desperate. He burns red. It's far louder than he expected.
"Easy, princess," you chuckle, licking your lips and dragging your thumb over the corner of your mouth. His hole feels wet and tender, hypersensitive – there's a lingering tingle on his inner thighs where the scratch of your stubble had him clenching and shoving his ass into your face.
He shudders, lips jutted out in forlorn shame as the depravity of his own actions catches up to him. You're eating his ass. His dick is inches away from your face – the one he's imagined countless times kissing him all over and telling him how loved he is. It feels corrupting, taking his dreams and twisting them into icky fantasies about his dick in your mouth and his come on your broad chest.
He squeezes his eyes shut, panting harder as you press two fingers, then three, inside him to the first knuckle. No, Satoru, don't imagine coming on your face! Don't imagine your face buried below his cock!
Fuck. He's imagining it. His dick pulses in time with his heartbeat as his nails claw the sheets, a string of sobbed whines torn from his throat. He arches like a cat, hips chasing your mouth with trembling jerky movements, and comes like a truck, nearly screaming as your hand swiftly attaches to his cock and jerks him off. He shudders, eyes damp and blurry, as each movement, backwards or forwards, brings him to a new high.
Finally, he collapses onto the bed, arms too weak to hold himself up. You pull away, kissing his twitching hole, and gently guide him to lie on his back, his long legs limp and spread apart. His flushed, pretty cock twitches against his pale stomach, a messy trail of come shiny all the way up to his chest. His lip quivers when you roll the condom over your length, his dick jerking to life and already weeping.
Huh. Youths these days have so much energy.
He sighs in pleasure as you settle between his legs and lean down to kiss him, making him taste himself on your tongue. He moans with reddened cheeks.
"Good boy, baby, you did so well for me," you murmur, and he shudders hard, gripping your shoulders. He glances down, swallowing the gathering saliva in his mouth. You're not wearing any pants. You catch him staring and you grin as you take yourself into one hand, stroking yourself and slapping your thick tip against his balls. He flinches, biting back a needy moan. "Want it, Satoru?"
"Please," he nearly weeps, reaching down and pulling his hardening cock and balls out of the way. They fit comfortably in his slender pianist's hand. He arches his back. "I want it, daddy. I want it so bad! F-Fuck me, please."
Then, he feels you press against his puffy entrance, big and thick and heavy. It twitches against him, and as it presses forward, his bravado absolutely shatters, a pitiful whine echoing off his bedroom walls.
"Wait! 'S'too big, it's never gonna fit," he sobs, pushing weakly against your shoulder. "It's too big, too much, oh, god..."
"I'm not even inside you yet," you say, a touch amused.
He takes a deep breath, his exhale shaky. He shifts on the bed. "Ah..." He gulps as he notices your cock resting against his stomach. "It really is big, daddy..."
"Yeah, baby. Think you can take it?"
He whines. "J-Just go slow, please...?"
"Mm, of course. Wanna hold hands?" Your voice is light, playful, as you offer one – he takes it, pouting slightly but appreciative. It's obvious how nervous he is.
You talk him through it, murmuring in his ear as you push in, making him gasp at the unfamiliarity. The stretch burns, but you take it slow enough that it doesn't hurt too much, and the tears that prick at his eyes are from pleasure rather than pain. His nails dig into your shoulders, his mouth perpetually open to pant and moan, and he's so tight you swear you can feel his heartbeat through his walls.
Squeezing your hand, his head falls back against the pillows, breathy moans puffing warmly on each exhale. You caress his soft thigh as you inch inside him, pausing and thrusting shallowly until his expression loses its edge. His hair sticks to his temples, dark silver with sweat.
Eventually, you pause deep inside him – so deep that with each breath, he can feel your dick shifting inside him. The idea makes him unreasonably needy. He's never going to feel as good with anyone else – not when his hole's perfectly shaped to fit your cock.
He reaches for your other hand, teary azure eyes glazed and glossy. Limp on the bed, he tenses every so often, desperately trying to stave off his high. What would you think of him if he came twice and you hadn't even come once?
"'S'it in...?" he slurs, eyelids fluttering. "Mmh, 'm so full..."
Your mouth twitches in a sympathetic smile. "Not quite, baby. Just a little more, okay? Can you do that?"
He lets out a choked whimper but nods, gripping your hands. You shift, leaning on your knuckles with his fingers entwined with yours, and ever-so-gently bury yourself inside him to the hilt with a soft plap.
Satoru's jaw drops as his eyes widen. Your hips are pressed against his ass, your balls hot and velvety against his skin – that's all of you inside him. This is how big your dick is. When he clamps down, he can feel you pulsing inside him, hot and hungry deep in his belly.
When he looks down, his mind goes fuzzy – there's a slight bump in his stomach that moves as you do. He sniffles and lets out a hiccuped sob as he presses down on it, the pressure setting his nerves alight with bliss. He raises his clouded eyes to yours, so full he can barely breathe, and comes with a silent scream, body seizing up and eyes rolling as thick ropes of white spurt onto his stomach and chest, dripping down the split of his chest and gathering in the dips of his heaving stomach.
He throws his head back against the bed. He lets out a belated cry, loud and ruined, as his hips jerk and his hole milks your cock with rippling waves, his walls slick and hot like oil.
He cries out when you begin to move, your shaft tugging his swollen rim with every thrust.
"Oh – fuck, fuck," he half-sobs, wrapping his shaking legs tighter around your waist. His breath catches in his throat as you tug him closer, holding his hips up to fuck into him at another angle – harder, faster, deeper. Your balls slap his ass. "Fuuuck...!"
You hiss, low grunts drowned out by Satoru's constant whiny moans. "Shit, boy, got a dirty mouth on you. This is what you wanted, isn't it? I told you I might break you. Have I got you hooked already?"
The speed and vigour with which he nods makes his head spin. He clutches your wrists on his waist, your callused warm palms firm on his ass, and feels so damn small as you fuck into him, jostling his body back and forth as if he weighs half of what he does.
"Yes, daddy," he mewls, body rolling in a clumsy attempt to match your pace. He gives up after a few tries, too busy drooling over your dick to spare the brain power for anything else. He's perfectly pliable, taking you like he was made for it. The outline of your cock shifts in his stomach. "Ah, mm – only w-want your cock, only ever wanted you, daddy! Awh, fuck, 'm gonna come again—!"
You grab his jaw and force him to look at you, making him cry out as you fold him further in half. His cock bounces above his stomach, painfully red and leaking fervently despite the ample mess already glazing his stomach.
"That right, Satoru? You never thought about picking up a boy your age with that pretty face of yours?" you ask softly, and he shudders at the use of his name. It feels far more intimate. 'Baby' makes his thoughts melt, but his name has an extra layer to it that sharpens the pleasure – he's got years' worth of memories where you call out to him, and hearing it now while you drill into his ass reminds him of how he used to feel about you.
"N-No," he whimpers, tongue darting out to wet his lips. His glossy eyes flit between your face and the bulge in his tummy. "W-Wanted a real man's cock t-to – hahh – pop my cherry." He giggles dreamily, his hands twisting the pillow under his head. "Nnh—! S-So fucking good, daddy," he slurs, voice thick with bliss. His eyes are half-lidded, the whites showing as you crush his swollen prostate, every drag making his thighs jolt. The sheer size of you means you're almost constantly pressing against it, and Satoru swears he can feel your dick in his damn brain.
You let him slump back to the sheets, picking up the pace. He huffs sharply as you hook his knees over your elbows. He can't tell if he's dizzy from a lack of air or from coming relentlessly. Regardless, he feels like he's floating, and he really wishes he'd chased you down at work so he could've gotten this treatment earlier. Years of missing out... he has to make up for it, doesn't he?
You can barely recognise Satoru. Usually so chatty and composed, he can no longer string together a single proper sentence without stuttering. And Satoru never stutters. You're probably not helping by knocking the wind out of him, but he looks so adorably helpless that you can't gather the strength to pity him. It isn't as if he can't handle it – he giggles between shouts and moans, locking his ankles behind your back to keep you from pulling out too far. Seems as if he enjoys being filled so completely.
"Oh, sweetheart – can't resist a cock like mine, huh? If only you could see yourself right now." You go to say more, but you cut yourself off, mulling over your words. You glance at his wardrobe's mirrored sliding doors, and an idea pops into your head. You grab him like a doll and pivot, making him gasp, and twist a fist in his hair, pinning his head to the side.
"Take a nice long look, sweetheart," you murmur as he babbles, eyes wide and wet as he watches your dick disappear into his hole over and over again. "Look how needy you are, taking all my cock like a champ – you sure you're a virgin? Couldn't've guessed an ass so greedy would've never tasted cock."
Satoru whimpers wetly, eyes trailing over his pale, flushed body, so slender under yours. Even your hand in his hair looks big compared to his head, your forearm thick and heavy. His dick weeps as it bounces against his stomach, and he can barely think, pounded into the mattress like a common whore. His lips are parted, one of his arms looped limply around your hand in his hair, and he lifts his trembling thigh against your shoulder to get a better glimpse of your thick cock sliding into him, every thrust making his ass ripple.
His moans grow louder, more desperate. He looks like such a slut! It's so embarrassing. He wants to close his eyes, look away, but you're watching him closely, making sure he takes it all in. He sniffles, whining, as you kiss his calf, his leg pinned high over your shoulder.
"Daddy," he gasps, voice pitching higher as his balls tighten and pleasure boils in his core. "Ohh, daddy, 'm coming! I love your dick so muh-much! Gonna come, gonna come, I c-can't hold it, fuck—!"
You pick him up only to shove him back into the bed, making him cry out in bliss as his tears wet the sheets. You hike his other leg onto your shoulder as well and he cries out as you fold him in half, slamming into his ass with relentless desire. He hiccups, eyes rolling back to show their whites as he comes hard, semi-clear fluid splattering his chest in long pulses.
You slap his thigh, making him warble out a drawled moan. "Eyes open," you order, and his lashes flutter as he forces his body to obey. "Watch yourself come."
He sobs as you fuck him harder, rougher, your pace losing its rhythm as you chase your high. He can barely keep his mirror's reflection in focus, and his gaze drifts from his body to yours – against your wishes, but he can't help it. Why would he look at himself when you're right there?
"Daddy," he whispers dreamily, voice high and soft and sweet as sugar. You growl as you thrust once, twice, and your high crashes over you as he tightens, walls rippling hungrily as he milks you, as if he can bypass the latex through willpower alone. He lets out a string of loud, sharp moans as he feels heat bloom inside him, your dick throbbing and twitching against his prostate and dragging out his own peak. Creamy warmth douses his stomach and drips down his sides.
Gently, you let go of him, bracing against the mattress as you lower his legs to the bed. They fall limply, his hole still clenching and hips still jerking, as you lean down and allow him to pull you into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, more panting than actual kissing. He moans as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, his whole body trembling as you lazily thrust into him, letting his mind catch up before you pull away completely.
"Still with me, baby?" you murmur, breath hot against his jaw. He giggles and nods, working his lower lip between his teeth, and sighs adoringly as you pull out of him with a hot, slick pop. He pouts, dazed and feeling all too empty all of a sudden. His hole throbs, stretched and gaped far wider than he's ever done by himself. It feels heavenly.
You toss the condom into the bin, moving to get up, but Satoru whines and curls himself around you, twisting you over and pinning you to the bed. He nuzzles into your shoulder, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of sex and body heat, and moans quietly, your bare cock pressed against his stomach. If he moves just right, he can grind against it, his dick twitching as his tip catches on the ridges and veins.
He swallows an unholy amount of saliva. Would you let him suck it next time?
Eventually, you let out a soft hum, your hands rubbing patterns into his waist. "Gotta clean up, Satoru."
"Don't wanna, daddy," he argues, words slurring as he holds you tighter. He buries his face in your shoulder, taking deep, slow breaths. "Jus' wanna... wanna stay here..."
And, just like that, he's snoring softly on top of you, out like a light with his limbs twisted with yours.
You chuckle, a low rumble in your chest, and gently shift his hips off to the side, letting you turn slightly to cradle him. "Really tired you out, hm?" At least he's no longer unable to sleep. You wonder if it'll become a regular thing to fix his insomnia – you can't promise you'll deny him if he ever asks for it again.
Your lips thin into a line as you lean back against the pillows. Oh, what's the harm? He deserves a little happiness in life, and if he finds that in you, then it'd be cruel to shake him off when you feel the same way.
Rather than standing up to collect your clothes, you tug the bedsheets over Satoru's waist and tuck his hair gently behind his ear. You slide an arm under your head and close your eyes, cradling him to your chest, and sink into a deep sleep to the soft sound of his breathing.
hiii ur red hood fic really opened my third eye like it was scrumptious !! but may i request tim drake with a bimbo/himbo reader (gn or whatever u prefer !!) who is tired of people thinking that they're the submissive one in the relationship by the media (doesn't help that tim likes to be a brat and feed into the rumors) so they take it upon themselves to put him in his place ! yummy brat taming mmm
“LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!”
pairing. Sub!brat!Tim Drake x Top!himbo!male reader
synopsis. Tim Drake has the internet fooled—he’s got everyone thinking he’s the one in charge, And you? The soft, golden retriever boyfriend who carries his bags. It’s cute. Until Tim starts leaning into the act just a little too hard. Now it’s time to remind your baby boy exactly who’s in charge—and shut that bratty little mouth the only way he’ll learn. — 4.6k
warnings. mdni, nsfw, amab reader, brat taming, blow-job, soft dom, hair pulling, power play, dumbification, overstimulation, choking, light degradation, spanking, praise kink, subspace, name-calling (slut, baby boy, etc.), aftercare, Tim is a little menace <3
Tim Drake had been smirking all damn day.
It started small—barely-there glances during the morning interview, the casual way he leaned into your side when the camera panned your way. But it escalated. Fast.
By the time lunch hit, the internet was already eating it up. A now-viral clip of Tim sitting in your lap at last night’s gala, fingers twirling lazily through your hair while he whispered something into your ear. The caption? "tim got that man wrapped around his finger 😂😍"
You weren’t mad.
You knew what you looked like next to him—six foot something, soft-voiced, sweet to a fault. The golden retriever boyfriend. And Tim? Sharp suit. Sharp eyes. Sharper mouth.
Of course they thought he was the one in charge.
But Tim knew better.
“You’re really gonna let them think that?” you asked, sometime after dinner, when he curled up on the couch beside you, phone in hand and that same smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Think what?” he asked, too innocently.
You narrowed your eyes. “That you call the shots.”
Tim didn’t even look up. Just shrugged, thumbs still tapping the screen. “Well. I mean. Have you ever said otherwise?”
You stared at him.
He smirked wider.
“I’m joking,” he added, too quickly, slipping the phone into the pocket of his hoodie. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Tim climbed into your lap again, just like he had in the video. He settled in like he belonged there—like you were his throne—and looked up at you, all lashes and mischief.
“I mean,” he said, voice low, “you don’t exactly correct people when they say I keep you in check.”
You arched a brow. “Because I think it’s funny. You, keeping me in check? Baby, you cry when I change the Netflix password.”
“Okay, that was one time. And I was stressed.”
You leaned in. “You pouted for three days.”
“I missed my show!”
Your hands found his waist, big and warm and just a little firmer than before.
“And now you’re feeding into it,” you murmured, tone dipping, breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Retweeting the edits. Dropping quotes in interviews. Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked, too fast.
“Like you want me to prove you wrong.”
That shut him up.
His breath hitched.
And when he met your gaze again, the smirk faltered just enough to tell you everything you needed.
You pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, light and sweet.
Then you whispered, “Upstairs. Now.”
Tim didn’t move right away. He blinked up at you like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it out loud.
You arched a brow. “Did I stutter?”
He swallowed. “No, sir.”
God, he was such a fucking brat. You loved him.
You stood, tugging him up by the hand. “Then go.”
He turned, smirking again—but quieter this time—as he walked. And you let your eyes drag over the way his hoodie hung too loose around his waist, the curve of his ass in those smug little tailored pants.
You followed him up the stairs. Watched him slow at the bedroom door, as if debating whether to keep the act going or not.
He stopped just inside the room and turned. “You sure this isn’t about your ego?”
You tilted your head. “You sure you want to test me?”
Tim stepped back, slow, walking toward the bed. “I’m just saying… all those edits aren’t wrong.”
You stalked in after him.
“You mean the ones where I’m apparently your soft little boyfriend who gets flustered when you hold my hand in public?”
“Mm.” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at you. “I mean, you do blush kind of easy.”
You stepped between his knees. Let your hand curl into the collar of his hoodie and tugged him up, just a little.
“I blush because you’re cute,” you said, lips brushing his. “And also because I’m thinking about shoving my dick so far down your throat you forget how to spell your own name.”
That broke something.
Tim’s smirk cracked.
You pushed him back onto the bed, gentle but firm. He landed with a little oof, arms spread, eyes wide.
You pulled the hoodie off. Tossed it to the floor.
Then crawled over him, bracing your arms on either side of his head.
“You think you’re in charge?” you murmured, voice low. “You think you can keep running that mouth, posting those captions, letting people think I’m the one getting fucked?”
Tim swallowed. “I mean, technically—”
Your hand closed around his jaw.
Not hard. But enough.
His words cut off with a sharp inhale.
“You’re real bold for someone whose knees shake when I say ‘good boy.’”
Tim exhaled shakily. “...You haven’t said that yet.”
You smiled.
“Oh, baby. You’ll earn it.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
You dragged him upright by the wrist and sat down at the edge of the bed, spreading your thighs wide as you pulled him between them. He blinked at you, confused for half a second, until you patted your lap.
Tim’s eyes widened. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh,” you said, gripping his hips and manhandling him across your legs, “I am very serious.”
He squirmed. “You can’t be—this is childish.”
You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your palm settled against the curve of his ass.
“You wanna act like a brat, baby? Then you’re gonna get treated like one.”
Tim went very still.
His breath hitched when your fingers hooked into his waistband and tugged both his pants and briefs down to his thighs in one smooth motion.
“You should be grateful,” you murmured, smoothing your hand over his skin. “Most people don’t get punished this pretty.”
He made a sound—half protest, half flustered noise—but you didn’t give him time to think.
The first spank landed with a sharp snap of skin.
Tim jolted. “F—fuck—!”
You rubbed the spot you’d just struck, fingers tracing the flush rising there.
“Language,” you said calmly. “Now count.”
Tim hesitated. Then, sullenly: “One.”
You nodded. “Good boy.”
And brought your hand down again.
Harder.
Tim gasped. “T-Two.”
“Louder.”
“Two!”
Another slap. Sharp. Deliberate.
He arched off your lap with a hiss. “Three.”
You kept going. Not fast. Not cruel. But hard enough that each strike landed with purpose.
“Four… Fuck, five—!”
You raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”
Tim froze. “...Five.”
You hummed. “That’s not what I heard.”
He groaned into his arm. “C’mon—”
“No. Start over.”
His breath caught. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”
You smoothed your hand over his burning skin again, slow and warm.
“Don’t make me add more.”
Tim growled softly under his breath, but said nothing.
He took a breath.
And started again.
“One.”
Smack.
“Two.”
Smack.
He was breathing hard now. Not from pain—but from the pressure of it. The control. The way you wouldn’t let him wriggle out with sass or sarcasm.
You felt him twitch every time your palm landed, felt the slight tremble in his thighs. His hips had started to subtly shift with each strike.
And his cock—trapped between his stomach and your thigh—was getting hard.
You grinned.
By the time he reached “Eight,” his voice was cracking.
“...Nine,” he whimpered, burying his face in the sheets.
You held still. Let your palm rest on the warmth of his ass.
“You sure about that number, sweetheart?”
He sniffled.
“Yes—Nine, I swear.”
“Mm.” You gave it a moment. Let him breathe. Let him sweat.
Then delivered the final blow—firm, with your hand curled slightly to catch the same spot as before.
“Ten.”
Tim’s voice was raw. “T-Ten.”
You hummed in approval. Ran your hand down his back.
“Good boy.”
He shuddered.
The words hit harder than the spanks.
You leaned over him, letting your mouth graze his shoulder.
“Now,” you murmured, “maybe you’re ready to earn a little more.”
Tim stayed there a moment too long after the tenth strike. His head was down, cheek pressed to the sheets, hips lifted like he wasn’t quite ready to move—like the weight of you across his back had melted him into something obedient.
You rested your hand on the curve of his ass again, rubbing gentle circles into the pink skin.
“Look at that,” you said softly, fingers dragging down the side of his thigh. “Didn’t even need to tie you down.”
Tim made a sound—something caught between a scoff and a sigh. “You’re acting like this was your idea of mercy.”
You chuckled and leaned in, letting your chest press to his back, breath warm against his neck. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to be mean, you’d still be on the first round.”
He shivered. You felt it beneath you—the slight tightening of his core, the way his hips shifted just enough to let his hardening cock drag against your thigh again.
“I see the little show’s over,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Where’s all that confidence now, huh?”
Tim groaned quietly. “I hate you.”
You smiled, wide and full of teeth, and kissed his shoulder again.
“No, you don’t.”
You let your hand trail forward, brushing down his stomach, just barely ghosting the underside of his cock—enough to make him jolt, but not enough to give him what he wanted.
His hips jerked forward instinctively, but you pulled your hand away before he could grind against your palm.
“Nuh-uh,” you said, clicking your tongue. “Not until you ask.”
Tim twisted just enough to look at you over his shoulder. His hair was a mess, cheeks red, lashes wet. His glare didn’t have half the heat it usually did.
“You really want me to beg?”
You tilted your head and let your thumb drag over his lower lip, pressing just enough to part it.
“I want you to be honest. With me. With yourself.”
He sucked in a breath and held it. You waited, still stroking lazy circles on the side of his hip, letting the silence stretch like silk between you.
Then, softer than you expected:
“I want your mouth.”
You didn’t move.
You didn’t answer.
You just kept looking at him—slow, patient, adoring.
Tim swallowed. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again.
“Please.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Please what?”
Tim’s lashes fluttered. His hips flexed again, like his body was begging faster than his mouth could keep up.
“Please use your mouth. I—I want you to suck me off.”
You could see the tension in his jaw as he forced the words out, how much it cost him to say them without a smart-ass smile. No games. Just need.
You kissed his spine, slow and reverent.
“There he is.”
Then you flipped him.
Strong hands under his thighs, you lifted and shifted him effortlessly onto his back, laying him out like a gift on the bed. His legs dropped open on instinct. His cock twitched against his stomach, red and leaking.
You settled between his thighs and looked up at him with a grin.
“You want my mouth, baby?”
Tim nodded quickly. “Yes—please, just—”
You cut him off with a kiss to the head of his cock.
“Then you better keep still,” you whispered. “Or I’m starting from one again.”
He whined.
And you licked the drop of pre from his slit like it was honey.
Tim tried not to squirm.
Tried being the key word.
You hadn’t even taken him into your mouth yet—just kissed the tip, licked him slow, let your tongue tease the slit until he was gasping—and he was already trembling. His fingers twisted in the sheets, tight-knuckled and white, like he was holding onto something just to keep from falling apart.
You looked up from between his thighs, chin resting lazily on his hip. “You’re shaking already?”
Tim glared down at you. “You’re teasing me.”
You smiled. “I’m preparing you.”
His breath hitched.
“For what?” he asked, voice breaking on the second word.
You leaned forward, dragging your tongue from base to tip, slow and deliberate.
“To get fucking ruined.”
He groaned—loud and raw—and let his head drop back to the bed.
You took your time.
You let your lips part just around the head of his cock, letting it rest warm and heavy on your tongue, your hands bracing his hips down to keep him from bucking. He gasped the moment your mouth closed around him.
“Oh—fuck—”
You didn’t stop.
You went deeper, slow at first, letting the weight of him stretch your lips open until your jaw ached in the best way. Your tongue flattened beneath him, tracing the underside with every pass. You could feel every twitch, every pulse.
He tried to lift his hips again. You pressed down harder, holding him still.
“Stay. Still.”
His voice cracked. “C-can’t—fuck, you’re so—”
You took him deeper.
Tim’s breath choked off halfway through the word.
You swallowed around him, gagged once—deliberately—and moaned around his dick like he was the best thing you’d ever tasted.
He whimpered. “Oh my god—”
You pulled off just enough to speak, spit clinging between your lips and his shaft. You smiled, voice hoarse and low.
“You wanted my mouth, right?”
Tim nodded frantically, his pupils blown wide.
You licked a slow stripe up the side, fingers tightening around the base of his shaft.
“Then fucking take it.”
You dropped your mouth back down—and this time, you didn’t stop.
You pushed deep, let his cock slide past your tongue, past the gag reflex, until your nose was buried in the soft skin of his lower stomach. Your throat clenched around him instinctively. You heard the breath rush out of him like he’d been punched.
“F-Fuck—M/n—!”
You didn’t let up.
You pulled back only halfway, spit bubbling around your lips, and sank down again with more force—deliberately.
Tim was moaning now—long, drawn-out, helpless sounds that echoed off the walls.
You kept choking on him, mouth slick and hot, eyes locked on his face the whole time.
He looked wrecked.
Beautiful.
Totally undone.
“I can’t—I can’t—gonna—gonna—”
You squeezed the base of his dick and pulled off just in time.
Tim sobbed.
His hands reached for you on instinct, desperate, grabbing for your shoulders, your hair, your face. You caught his wrist mid-reach and kissed the inside of it.
“You don’t get to cum yet.”
He looked like you’d just killed him.
“You’re evil.”
You grinned.
“I’m thorough.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
You sat back on your heels, wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. Tim was panting, chest rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles. His thighs were still trembling.
You tilted your head, dragging your gaze down his flushed body.
“You’re shaking.”
His eyes fluttered. “That’s your fault.”
You laughed, rich and low, and ran your palms up his thighs—thumbs circling the twitching muscles, moving closer to where his cock still throbbed against his stomach.
“No, baby,” you murmured. “That’s yours. You’ve been like this all day, haven’t you?”
Tim didn’t answer.
So you leaned in closer. Let your mouth hover just above his navel.
“You were hard in the car. Hard when I told you to get upstairs. And I bet,” you whispered, dragging your fingers lower, toward his inner thighs, “I bet if I spread your legs right now...”
You paused.
Then pushed.
Tim’s knees dropped open without resistance.
And there—between his cheeks, slick already shining against his hole—you saw it.
You went very still.
“…Timothy Jackson Drake,” you said slowly, voice edged with something between amusement and hunger. “Did you prep yourself before I got home?”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just turned his head to the side, cheeks flushing deeper, the tips of his ears bright red.
You grabbed his chin gently and turned him back to face you.
“Answer me.”
Tim’s voice was hoarse. “...Yes.”
Your cock twitched.
You exhaled hard through your nose, trying not to let the groan slip free. But fuck—he really had. He’d done all this knowing how it would end. He’d spent the day riling you up, waiting for you to crack, knowing that when you did, you’d fuck him hard enough to shut that smart little mouth for hours.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” you muttered.
His lips curled into a small smile. “Takes one to—mmph!”
You kissed him—filthy, fast, full of spit and the taste of his pre. He moaned into it, open-mouthed, greedy. You pulled back only to let your voice sink into his throat again.
“You really want it that bad, huh? Couldn’t wait? Walked around all day with your hole fucking ready?”
Tim nodded fast, desperate. “I wanted you to make me wait.”
You blinked.
“Yeah?” Your voice dropped. “You like it that much? Laying there, open, knowing I wouldn’t touch you until you earned it?”
He bit his lip and looked up at you from under his lashes.
“I like being your problem.”
You groaned and kissed him again, hand sliding down between his legs, fingers slipping easily through the slick gathered around his entrance.
“You’re not a problem,” you whispered, sinking two fingers into him with no resistance, “You’re a fucking addiction.”
His voice came out wrecked—quiet, needy, breathless.
“Then don’t stop until I forget my own name.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
“F-fuck, M/n—too much, too much—”
Tim moaned like he’d lost his mind.
It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t contained. It was loud, cracked, real—the kind of sound that only came out when everything else had already broken down.
You had just pushed into him—slow at first, just enough to stretch him—but the moment your hips met his ass, flush, heavy, full?
He sobbed.
You gripped his thighs harder, pinning them to your sides. He was already shaking, the insides of his knees clenching around your waist like he was trying to keep you close and push you away all at once.
“You’re the one who got ready for this,” you said through clenched teeth, sweat already rolling down your neck. “You did this to yourself.”
Tim was barely listening. His hands were in your hair, on your shoulders, grabbing at your arms like he didn’t know what to hold onto.
“You’re so fucking deep—”
You leaned down until your forehead pressed against his, panting into his mouth as you rolled your hips once, slow and hard. He whined like a kicked dog.
“I’m not even moving yet.”
His whole body jolted when you pulled back and thrust again—harder this time. Sloppy. Loud.
There was no rhythm. No grace. Just slick skin, the sound of your cock sliding into his soaked hole, and the wet slap of your hips hitting his ass, again and again.
Tim gasped, voice high. “Don’t—don’t stop—just like that, just like that—”
“You sound so fucking needy,” you growled, hands sliding under his back to lift him, to pull him in tighter. “Is this what you wanted all day? Getting stuffed so deep you can’t even lie to yourself about who owns this pretty little ass?”
Tim couldn’t form words. His head tipped back, mouth open, voice caught in his throat.
You slammed in again, dragging a scream out of him. “Say it.”
His lips moved, but nothing came out.
So you stopped moving entirely—just kept yourself buried, cock twitching inside him, chest heaving. “Say it, Tim.”
His eyes snapped open. Desperate. Wrecked.
“You,” he croaked. “It’s yours, it’s all fucking yours—please, don’t stop—”
“Good fucking boy.”
You grabbed his legs, shoved them higher, nearly folding him in half, and pounded back in without mercy.
The moan that ripped out of him didn’t sound human.
You drove into him like you’d lost patience—like he needed to feel it in his ribs—and you knew the angle was hitting him dead-on because he kept clenching around you like he couldn’t take it.
His cock was leaking all over his stomach, untouched.
You didn’t reach for it. You didn’t need to.
Not when he was already babbling.
“Fuck—oh my god—yes, yes, right there—M/n, I’m gonna—”
You snarled and leaned down, biting at his neck just hard enough to make him jolt. “You better not cum without permission.”
Tim whimpered.
You could feel it—his whole body was right on the edge. His toes curled. His legs shook. He was crying, soft little gasps mixing with broken moans, eyes rolled halfway back.
“You wanna cum?”
He nodded frantically, face flushed and wet.
You slowed your thrusts, just enough to grind.
“Beg for it.”
His voice cracked. “Please—please, let me—let me cum, I can’t—I can’t hold it—please, sir—”
You slammed into him one last time, rough and deep, and held there, grinding into his prostate with punishing pressure.
“Cum for me, baby.”
Tim screamed.
His cock jumped against his stomach, ropes of hot cum shooting up his chest as he seized in your arms, whole body spasming from the force of it. His hole clamped down around your cock so tight it dragged your own release right out of you.
You didn’t even pull out.
You just buried yourself deeper, groaning as you emptied into him, your fingers digging into his hips, holding him still as you spilled everything inside him.
You stayed there—buried deep, panting against his throat, still twitching inside him as your cm warmed his already-slick hole. He was limp beneath you, chest rising in shallow pulls, lips parted in that dazed little O-shape that always told you you’d wrecked him just right.
But you didn’t move.
Didn’t pull out. Didn’t let go.
Instead, you kissed his cheek, soft and slow, and murmured, “You still with me, baby?”
Tim made a sound. Not a word—just a breathy little whimper that cracked at the edges.
You smiled.
“That’s a yes,” you said gently, brushing your nose against his temple. “Color?”
He nodded once against the pillow. “Green.”
His voice was small. Floaty. Like his brain had drifted somewhere far, and he was only now swimming back toward you.
“Good boy,” you whispered.
You pulled back just enough to look at him—his flushed cheeks, tear-slick lashes, and mouth still a little open like he hadn’t remembered how to close it.
“You look so dumb right now, sweetheart.”
Tim blinked at you slowly, like the words were getting stuck on the way to his brain.
You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
“You like getting used like that, huh?” you asked, voice soft and low, like you were telling him a secret. “Letting me fuck you stupid? Letting me fill you up ‘til you can’t even talk?”
He moaned again—soft, almost shy.
But you could feel his cock twitch against your stomach.
You hummed and rocked your hips forward, just enough to grind. Not thrust. Just let him feel the weight of you still inside him.
His body jolted like a live wire.
“Sensitive,” you said, smiling as he whimpered. “Poor baby.”
“I—I can’t—” Tim’s words stuttered out. “Too much, I already—”
“I know,” you cooed. “You already came so hard, baby. Made such a mess for me.”
You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, one hand sliding down to his thigh. You traced lazy circles on his skin with your thumb.
“But your pretty little hole is still so greedy,” you murmured, giving a slow, shallow thrust that made his eyes roll. “Look how it’s holding onto me. Like it doesn’t wanna let go.”
Tim keened. His fingers scrabbled at your shoulders, his whole body arching without control.
You kissed the underside of his jaw. “You can take one more.”
He shook his head—but his legs were already spreading wider.
You smiled against his throat.
“I’ll go slow,” you promised, voice velvet. “Won’t hurt you. I’ll make it so good, baby, you won’t even have to think.”
You started to move—deep, slow grinds that made him feel every inch. His walls fluttered around you, overstimulated, raw, and dripping, but he didn’t say stop.
He never did.
“Look at you,” you whispered, lips ghosting over his ear. “My sweet little thing. All open. All mine. Can’t even form a sentence.”
“C-can,” Tim gasped, but it was a lie and he knew it.
You chuckled low and deep. “Okay. What’s your name?”
He blinked.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
Your next thrust was harder. Not punishing. Just firm. Measured. Intentional.
His whole body jerked.
You kept your voice soft. Sweet.
“You love when I talk to you like this, don’t you?”
Tim was crying again. Quiet, overwhelmed tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.
You kissed one. “You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good for me.”
You shifted your angle, pulled one of his legs higher, and aimed a thrust directly into that sweet little spot inside him that made him scream.
His voice cracked.
His cock jumped, untouched.
“You gonna cum again just from this?” you murmured, breath warm against his lips. “Gonna let me fuck your brains out till there’s nothing left in that pretty little head?”
Tim nodded frantically. He was gone. Gone.
“I wanna—wanna cum, I wanna—”
“You need permission, baby.”
“I—I—please—please, let me—”
You slammed in one more time and held there.
“Do it.”
Tim shattered.
He came untouched—again—cock spurting weakly between you, body twitching under yours like he didn’t know how to stop.
You rocked through it, slow and careful, riding out his orgasm until he went limp again, arms wrapped around your shoulders, breathing soft and uneven.
And this time?
You pulled out.
He whimpered when you did.
But you kissed his lips, slow and sweet.
Then you cleaned him—gently, warm cloth and whispered praise, your fingers rubbing soft circles into his hips and arms while he blinked up at the ceiling, too blissed out to speak.
You crawled into bed with him afterward, pulling the covers over both of you, letting him curl into your chest like always.
He pressed his face into your neck and mumbled something soft you couldn’t quite make out.
You smiled and kissed the crown of his head.
“Love you too, baby.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
You were half-asleep.
Tim was curled into your chest, breath soft against your skin, legs tangled with yours under the blanket. He hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Still twitchy, still sensitive. But content.
You were just about to drift off when the tablet on the nightstand lit up.
You didn’t even flinch at the ringtone—Wayne comms had a specific ping. One that usually meant: “Gear up.”
Tim groaned into your collarbone.
“Don’t answer it.”
You reached blindly for the device, not bothering to sit up. “It’s probably just an update.”
The moment you tapped accept, Dick Grayson’s face filled the screen. He looked sweaty, in uniform, leaning half-out of a fire escape window somewhere across the city.
“Hey, sorry, quick one—Tim are you doing Uptown or should I grab it?”
You blinked blearily, still squinting against the screen glare. “Tim isn’t scheduled for tonight.”
Dick frowned. “Really? I thought Tim was on the rota for North End—”
Then he paused.
And tilted his head.
“…Are you naked?”
You didn’t answer.
Dick’s eyes flicked to the side, squinting.
“Is that—oh my god, Tim?”
You turned the tablet slightly.
Just enough to show the very flushed, very shirtless, and very recently-ruined boy sprawled half across your chest, lips kiss-bruised, neck marked, hair destroyed. His eyes were open but barely.
He blinked once.
Then groaned into your shoulder, trying to hide.
Dick lost it.
“Oh my god. I’m hanging up. I am hanging up right now.”
“You could’ve just called,” you said calmly.
“I thought this was urgent!” he snapped, already fumbling for the end call. “I didn’t know I was about to see my little brother looking like—fuck, Tim, are you drooling?”
“I hate you,” Tim mumbled.
Dick’s cackle echoed even as the screen cut to black.
You tossed the tablet face-down on the nightstand.
Tim didn’t move.
You kissed his hair once and pulled him closer.
“I’ll cover your shift.”
He groaned again. “You better. He’s never gonna let me live that down.”
I don't have a spooky Halloween fic, so here's one with knotting to suffice??
Warning for smut, bottom male reader, Clark going through heat, no refractory periods, knotting, and breeding kink (kind of).
“There you are!” Perry said after the elevator doors ding open, “where’s Clark?” He asks as you step out of the elevator, “I want an update on your story!”
Normally, you’d give Perry your undivided attention, still being slightly intimidated by the man even after working for the Daily Planet for years now. But right now, all you want to do is get to your desk and drown yourself in a different assignment.
“I don’t have one,” you snap, tossing your bag onto your desk. From the corner of your eye, you saw Jimmy quickly look away, seemingly fearful of being caught under your angry gaze.
“Where’s Clark?” Perry repeats, “does he have one?”
“I don’t know,” you hiss, “I haven’t seen or spoken to Clark in days,” you say, finally looking at Perry.
“Go find him then,” Perry replies, picking up your bag and pushing it into your chest, “and don’t come back until you’ve written that first draft.”
On top of an already annoying situation, you turn to see most of the office looking at you. They all quickly turn back to their desks or their conversations, including Lois and Jimmy, whose eyes you could feel on your entire walk back to the elevator.
Not normally being the type to cowrite stories, Clark practically begged you a week ago to let him join. On Monday, it made you shudder when you sent Clark the email inviting him to edit the document, but as the week went on, you warmed up to the man.
Clark was… awkwardly charming, you’ve come to learn, something that Lois made sure to highlight the second she heard you were writing a story together.
“Be nice,” Lois said, leaning her hip against your desk.
“I haven’t done anything!” You hissed, looking around in confusion, but when Lois sent you an unimpressed look, you opened up, “I don’t like having my livelihood messed with.”
“Your livelihood?” Lois mocked, a smile breaking her serious expression.
“I could lose my job!”
“This isn’t Clark’s first story,” she said, “and it’s not like he’s that intern we had last summer,” she said with a grimace.
“The one that spilled coffee on Jimmy’s desk?” You asked, trying to think back.
“Mmhmm,” Lois responded, leaning closer when she began to laugh at the memory, “and do remember what happened afterwards?” She asked, glancing at Jimmy’s desk.
“He helped her clean it up,” you said, rolling your eyes.
“Clark’s a nice guy,” she said, “he likes helping people, and plus,” she leans down closer, her voice coming out quiet when she speaks again, “he likes you.”
“He likes everyone,” you said with another roll of your eyes. The ding of the elevator pulled you out of your conversation, and, of course, the person who came out was Clark. You shoo Lois away as Clark walks to his desk, Lois turning to smile at you over her shoulder when he makes a detour straight to your desk.
“Hey,” Clark says to Lois, smiling at her before his attention is turned to you, “hey.”
“Hey, Clark,” forcing a smile. You send a glare Lois’ way when you see her mouth be nice over Clark’s shoulder. It did help, knowing that Lois probably had to raise herself up onto her tiptoes to even get her face over his shoulder.
“Hey,” Clark repeats, “would you wanna brainstorm ideas over lunch?” He asked.
Past Clark, you see Lois and Jimmy share a look of surprise. “Sounds good,” you replied, wanting to shake your head at them, but not wanting Clark to get the wrong idea.
But as it turned out, you had gotten the wrong idea of Clark. You could tell that he was crushing on you by the end of lunch, but you could also tell how sweet and charming he was.
It had to have been some sort of spell he put you under, especially from the way your stomach heats when Clark holds open the door for you. It makes you feel crazy knowing that it only took one lunch with Clark for your feelings to change.
Although your feelings had changed, a part of you was still apprehensive about writing a story with another reporter. Something you learned about Clark during lunch was that he was as smart as a whip and was able to pick up on your apprehension.
“Listen,” Clark said, “if our article doesn’t go the way you want,” he looked around on the busy sidewalk you stood on before guiding you with a hand around your arm to a park. “I’ll get you an interview with Superman,” he said quietly, looking around even when there were fewer people.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, now being the one to reassure the man. You left your arms crossed over your chest so you wouldn’t do something stupid like place your hand over Clark’s.
“So you don’t want an interview with Superman?” Clark asked.
“Let’s worry about our story first,” you replied, already thinking of the angle for your story with Superman.
-
You headed back from your lunch with Clark with his phone number and the address to his apartment. Though it was a Friday, Clark jumped to work on the story by making additional plans to bring you over to his place to work the next day.
That afternoon, you left with a blocked-out time in your calendar to meet Clark tomorrow. It felt like every second since you had gotten back home, you were counting down the time until you would see Clark again.
When the next day finally came, Clark was nowhere to be found. You waited by your phone for the go ahead to come to his place, but it never came. Hours after you were supposed to meet, the only thing your mind could focus on was the worry you felt for him.
It had you leaving your apartment and getting to Clark’s as fast as you could.
“Clark?” You say after you got his voicemail again, “you better open the door when I get there to check on you,” you panted into the phone, “and you better have a good explanation for ignoring me all day!”
You took a second to breathe and calm down when you got into the elevator in Clark’s apartment building. “What am I doing?” You ask yourself out loud. Clark could be completely fine, while you could be minutes away from embarrassing yourself.
“Fuck,” you whisper when the doors open. You could leave and act like this never happened, but the worry you felt seemed to overshadow your other feelings.
You knock on the door, hoping that if Clark was inside, he would come quickly to ease your mind. On the other side of the door, you could hear heavy footsteps approaching before the door swung open.
“Clark?” You ask, greeted by the sight of his flushed face. It could always be weird seeing your coworkers outside of their work attire, especially when they wear a white shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Are you-”
“You need to go,” Clark said, cutting you off.
“Why?” You asked, “are you sick? You don’t look too good,” you observe, giving him a once over. His cheeks were pink with heat, and his body had a light sheen of sweat. He looked like how a normal sick person looks, save for the bulge in his pants.
Clark let out a huff, his broad chest moving up and down, “not exactly,” he said quietly, covering his crotch.
“I can help,” you said, trying to push him back into his apartment. The second your hand made contact with his shirt, you were pulled inside. Moving faster than you could keep up with, all you could do was gasp as you were slammed against the door.
“You should’ve left,” Clark said, the line of his body pressing you against the door. “I told you to leave,” he said, his voice gravelly. He pressed you harder into the door, his hips rolling into yours. The hard line of his cock pressed against yours, making you feel the heat of it, even through the layer of cotton.
“Clark,” you gasped, fear and arousal coming together to sit heavily in the pit of your stomach.
Clark’s fingers dug into your chin roughly to turn your face up. The kiss he pulled you into was rougher than you expected from someone like Clark. He claimed your mouth hotly, his tongue plunging deeply into your mouth.
“You can still go,” Clark said, ripping himself from the kiss, a string of spit remnants of the union.
You brought your hands up to Clark’s face, holding his warm face between your shaky fingers. Clark’s eyes opened to reveal stormy blue eyes, his expression full of anguish. “You’re in pain,” you whispered, unsure if you meant it as a question or observation.
“I can handle it on my own,” Clark replied, stepping away to leave you cold as his warmth left. He turned his back towards you to lean his forehead against the wall.
The sight made your heart lurch seeing Clark in such pain. You walked the few steps it took to wrap your arms around him, your chest resting on his back, “let me help,” you pleaded, lips dragging against his shirt.
Clark was shaking against you, his body moving with pent up energy. You could hear the soft noise of his head pressing against the wall as you slid one of your hands down his chest. As you went lower and lower, Clark’s legs spread, making more than enough room for your hand between his legs.
Clark lets out a long whine at the first touch to his cock, his hips twitching into your hand. It’s hot underneath your fingers, even through the sweatpants Clark wears.
He pulls you until your positions are switched, with your back against the wall, his lips pressed to yours. Clark moans into your mouth as he drives his hips forward, your cock slowly hardening against his.
You stumble your way to Clark’s bedroom, your lips only ever parting to suck in quick breaths. You don’t even have time to look around Clark’s room before he’s got you pressed down on the bed with his heavy weight.
Clark’s a tall guy, so you knew he wasn’t going to be light, but he surprised you in the way his weight pushed the breath from your lungs. You didn’t dare try and push him off; however, you were happy being nearly crushed to death if it meant you kept him around.
His lips moved against yours as his hips did, his hard cock meeting yours over and over again until you were fully hard.
Clark pulls away to wrestle your clothes off, tearing at the fabric like it offends him. It’s difficult as he does it while still trying to kiss you, but you manage.
His shirt comes off first, “fuck, Clark,” you murmur, running your hands up his chest.
Clark’s eyes came into focus, back from pulling your shirt off and drinking in the sight of your body. “What’s wrong?” He asked, full of concern.
“You hide this under the suits you wear?” You questioned, your hands resting on his broad chest.
“I do a lot of walking around the city,” Clarked replied shyly, a blush rising up his cheeks.
“I do too,” you said with a laugh, looking down at your body, “and I don’t look like that.”
“You look perfect,” Clark says, ducking into another kiss.
If you were surprised by Clark’s upper body, his lower body was even more of a surprise. But with a body like Clark’s, it shouldn’t be such a shock to find such a big cock between his thick, muscular thighs.
Your fingers were barely able to wrap around it for a second before Clark is cumming with a long moan, his mouth fallen open in pleasure.
“Clark,” you said nervously, as he came down in what felt like forever, accompanied by a sizable number of spurts. “What’s going on?” You asked, knowing that it wasn’t normal for a man to still be this hard.
“I’ll explain after all of this,” Clark said, looking like he’s close to tears. He gathers you in his arms, his hard cock digging into your stomach as he hides in the crook of your neck. “After it passes,” he added, “I promise,” he whimpered, “please- I promise.”
You hush Clark softly after putting space between your bodies. You force yourself away to get the rest of your clothes off before making your way back into Clark’s arms. The kisses you initiate are softer than before, your hands running softly across Clark’s skin.
“Need you,” Clark moans between kisses, his cock smearing wetly across your stomach.
“What do you need?” You questioned, your hands moving down Clark’s body slowly. You pull Clark into another kiss, not giving him the chance to answer.
Instead of wrapping your hand back around his cock, you instead grab the globes of Clark’s ass, the man moaning into the kiss.
You use it as leverage to bring your hard cocks together, Clark pulling away to gasp. He rolls you over onto your back before breaking the kiss.
You lose his heat when Clark goes to grab something from his nightstand, returning with a kiss and a bottle of lube held in his hand. Though, you wondered if you needed any with the amount Clark came earlier. It made your entrance clench thinking of Clark fucking you with just the tip of his cock and using his cum to lube the rest of the way.
You could settle for lube, though. You spread your legs for Clark’s fingers, gasping through the slick slide of his thick finger. You waited for the pain to set in, but all that came was pleasure. It made you wonder if whatever sickness Clark had, rubbed off on you.
“More,” you moan, clenching down on nothing after Clark pulls his finger free.
One finger becomes two, Clark’s fingers finding your prostate when he curls them. As your moans grow louder, two fingers turn to three.
You reach down to wrap your fingers around his wrist as Clark’s fingers abuse the bundle of nerves deep within your body. Clark groans through the squelch of lube as he fucks you with his fingers, a glob of precum dripping from the head of his cock onto your stomach.
Clark presses his fingers as deep as they can go, his other hand moving to collect what drips from his cock onto his fingers. His eyes look up to your face as he slowly brings his fingers to your mouth. He moans when you wrap your lips around his fingers to suck the salty taste onto your tongue.
Clark’s cock gives a violent jerk, like the heat of your mouth was what he needed to cum again. You gasp around his fingers when another drop of precum falls onto your skin. Clark pulls his fingers free to replace them with his mouth, his tongue immediately making its way inside. Clark groans at the taste on your tongue, his hand moving to the back of your head to angle the kiss to get his tongue deeper.
It probably wouldn’t hurt to get another finger to help relax your body further, but you felt like you would fucking die if you didn’t get his cock instead of his fingers.
Clark laughs softly, “I’ve got you,” he says, making you realize that you just said that out loud. He lifts your legs and rests them on his broad shoulders, his cock kissing your rim. Clark whimpers, rolling his hips and using his cock to gather up the excess lube.
You didn’t know if it would be enough, but still felt your body relax and open up. You raise your hand to Clark’s side, pulling him down when you feel the press of his cock to your hole. Your head falls back onto the bed with a gasp as Clark’s cock carves its path deep within your body.
You feel Clark’s cock throb wildly only halfway inside, the man’s mouth falling open with a moan. “Clark,” you say, looking between your bodies, “did you just-”
“Sorry,” Clark responds, his eyes squeezed shut, “m’sorry,” he repeats, his body shaking through his orgasm.
Through your gasps, you feel the heat of Clark’s cum coating your hole, Clark fucking what drips out back inside. “Clark,” you call, bringing your hands to his face.
Clark’s eyes open, looking upon you wetly. He groans when he finally bottoms out with his still hard cock. He leans down to kiss you, close enough that your cock is sandwiched between your chests. His hard stomach rubs against your cock, the friction making you whimper.
Clark was on his second orgasm, the third you could tell quickly approaching when he started thrusting. Your first, you could feel building steadily, aided by the hard slide of Clark’s stomach.
After wrapping your fingers around your cock, it only takes a few pumps for your orgasm to shoot through you. You moan through it, clenching down on Clark’s cock. It nearly feels endless with Clark giving you constant stimulation to your prostate, but it eventually mellows out.
However, what doesn’t calm is your erection, still hard against your stomach. “Clark,” you whisper, an edge of worry to your voice, “what’s happening to me?” You question, looking up into Clark’s dark eyes.
“It’s okay,” Clark responds, gathering you into his arms, “I’ll explain everything,” he repeats like earlier. Held to Clark’s body, he’s left grinding his hips into your ass, “it’s okay,” he whispers into your ear.
You can barely move, nowhere to run when you feel Clark’s cock get bigger. You both fall into climax as the base of Clark’s cock grows larger, giving the copious amounts of cum that shoot from his cock nowhere to go.
“Clark!” You sob, “what’s-”
“It’s my-” Clark tries to say, but the sentence is interrupted with a groan, “my people go through heat,” he says, his cock throbbing from deep within you, “to repopulate,” he practically purrs, licking the shell of your ear.
It’s hard to focus on Clark’s words, too overcome with pleasure. “I can’t,” you say, your cock spurting out another load as another orgasm rips through your body.
“Your body is changing for me,” Clark whispers darkly into your ear. He reaches between your bodies to grasp your still hard cock, “who’s to say it isn’t possible?” He asks.
Pleasure engulfs every fiber of your being, your eyes rolling back. Your brain is only barely able to register Clark’s words when he speaks into your ear. You’re able to pick up the words, pump you full and breeding before you black out.
You come to slowly, your eyes opening to an unfamiliar space. You aren’t sure how long you’re out, but it’s long enough that the body you could feel behind you was able to arrange you onto your sides.
“Clark?” You ask, your brain catching up when you see a framed article on his wall. You recognized the headline as one of Clark’s first front page stories. The endearing sight made you smile tiredly.
Clark’s body shook softly behind you, his arms around your waist tightening as he buried his face into your nape. You could tell he’s crying, his warm tears running down your skin.
“Clark,” you repeat, running a hand softly down his arm, “are you feeling better?”
Clark lets out a sarcastic laugh, “how can you ask that?”
“I told you I’d help,” you respond, clenching experimentally. “Do you feel better?” You repeat, breathily.
“For now,” Clark responds, “stop!” He hisses when you clench down once more.
“How long will it last?” You question, unsure if you’re asking about his heat or-
“My knot?” Clark asks, licking the back of your neck, “it’ll go down soon, I hope,” he says sheepishly.
“You hope?”
“I’ve never spent my heat with someone else,” he answers. His voice is steady, like any sadness he felt from his tears flew out the window the second you clenched down on his cock. “How do you feel?” He questions, one of his hands running across your stomach.
“Full,” you whine, a hot flash running through your body. Clark was right: whatever fever he had rubbed off on you, and now burns underneath your skin. You grab Clark’s hand on your stomach and move it down until it’s wrapping around your hardening cock, “I need-”
“Shh,” Clark says, circling his hips, his hard cock still lodged deeply within. “I know exactly what you need,” he says darkly.
Summary: The night was rough and didn’t seem like it would let up. Eventually stumbling upon a strange man. Both of you a bit on edge from the night.
Warnings: Dialogue Heavy, MLM, On The Table, Top Merchant, Merchant Is Flirty, Strangers To Lovers, Reader Referred As “Handsome/Prince”, Blowjob
Characters: Merchant
Category: One-shot
Series: Resident Evil 4 Remake
From constant running, shooting, fighting. You were exhausted. All you wanted was to slump over on some surface and sleep all your worries away. However, to your luck, you needed to fight a little longer.
Just a few minutes ago you had crowned mutant black wolves with a rain of bullets. Their massive teeth tore through their gums as they lay now dormant in the mud. You sighed heavily as you lifted to your feet. The corpses of the creatures littered around where you stood.
It was about to rain, you could smell it in the air and the dark clouds that loomed across the sky was a clear sign that it would storm. You need to find shelter… and soon.
Treading on further your feet led you to a staircase that dipped down within a cave. Wood surrounded the area with a skull of some creature above the double doors. This seemed promising.
Wood creaked beneath your weight as you tread down the stairs. Before your eyes was an open space with docks and wooden floors. A fishing outpost, you assumed. Vacant and empty with life… perfect place for a quick rest to wait out the storm.
You plopped down beside a wooden chest, fatigue ripped through your body the second you sat. Finally you could rest comfortably. And so you did.
…
Stirring awake it felt like an hour had passed. You lifted your head to look around, only something was different. A heavy blanket laid across your body, tucked around your frame.
You tugged it down to lay it in your lap. Confused as to who could’ve possibly put it there.
“Hello handsome…” a thick graveled voice caught your ear. Immediately you snapped your head in the direction of whoever owned such a voice.
“Whoa stranger… no need to get riled up. I ain’t no harm to you.” He let out a heavy chuckle.
“Who are you…? Were you the one who—“
“Tucked you in n’ kissed you goodnight? Suppose… but to answer who I am. I could be many things so to speak…”
“I… thanks? For uhm.” You began to stand to your feet, grabbing the blanket. “This…” you waltzed up to the table where he stood on the other side. Placing the blanket in front of him.
“What brings a sight like you in such a ruined place like this? Hmm…”
“Trying to get out of here with the skin on my back. I’m assuming you can relate?”
“You could say… although I quite like it here. Found home where home isn’t exactly four walls n’ a roof.”
“I can see that…” you let out a small laugh as you looked around the surrounding area.
“But tell me handsome… are you the type to take risks? I can tell by the way you look. Care to prove me roght?” He lent over the table with his thick voice repeating his words in your ear. Letting his bigger form rest into the wood. “Few lads n’ laddies came thru here, all of them not looking quite as dashing as you…”
“I’m surprised there’s a few others… I wasn’t expecting it. Besides you and me.” You gestured towards him and grinned. He smiled back with his eyes. “And uh… seems like you’re pretty set.” You aimed your finger towards the large array of weapons that were mounted for your view.
“You gunna ignore my compliments now?” He pushed himself off the table. Now letting his full height show.
“…sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. From ur looks it seems like a diamond such as urself ain’t used to bein’ shined.”
“No not really…” you gave him a light shrug. He gave a quick chuckle with his blueish grey gaze never leaving you.
“How ‘bout I show you exactly what you deserve. Free of charge.” He stepped back and began to make way through the small shop. Eventually slipping past a doorway and out into the open space you resided in.
“What does that intel exactly..?” You faced him. He stood a foot away from you in that cloak of his. Still masked but easily visible eyes that winked at yours.
“Such a thing like you should get the whole package deal. Besides… think you n’ I both need a bit of a “stress reliever” after this night. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Well we did just meet… plus I don’t exactly know you.”
“These are true. But by that glint in ur eyes and that look on ur face. Tells a story that I can quite easily see… think us bastards lookin’ for something or someone to ease our needs is just what we want.”
You hesitated for a mere moment. Biting your lip and debating on if you should be reasonable or throw morals out the window for this one.
“Christ… what could be the harm. What about this “package deal” you got?” You leaned back into the table. Still facing him.
The man clapped his hands together and gave a heavy chuckle. “Oh I got just what you need.” His gloved hands lifted to his mask, pulling it down to reveal his lopsided grin. It was actually pretty cute. “Shall we prince…?”
…
“God you’re so good at this—“ your head was rolled back with your hand tugging with a hiss every so often on the hood of this stranger.
With your legs resting in his grip he had your length down his throat. Small grunts and groans of pleasure rolled up causing a reverberating sensation making your legs shake just a bit every time.
A slick pop came from his mouth as he was grinning up at you. “How’s it feel handsome?”
“… feels like you’ve done this before-“ between pants and flushed cheeks you look down at him.
“Can’t lie to you and say I haven’t prince.” He chuckled, “Blonde agent that is runnin’ around here needed a little ‘pick me up’ so to speak.”
The large man rose from the floor. The planks creaking under his weight as he stood. His gaze was strong on you. Fixated.
“But you…? Ah, I’m givin’ you the deluxe.”
…
The whole table rocked with each thrust. Every time his length slammed into you hitting that sweet spot deep in your body was sending you over the edge. So much so you could barely talk without your words coming out in struggled moans or long breathy pants.
You swallows heavily, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. When reality he was sending you to the stars.
His mask was back on. Not that you asked for it to be. But somehow seeing less of his face was more appealing, like your mind had to guess what facial expression he was making. His eyes would either close shut as he sped up just for a few seconds. Then open and look straight into your soul as he slowed down. Even digging his hips in deep to simply bury himself in you. That’s when his eyes rolled back.
“Right there is that sweet spot ain’t it?” He groaned. Sliding his full cock out just enough where his head was still inside.
“You… you’re seriously too good at this… holy f-“
He began to fuck you again. One thrust that turned into three then five and then you lost count.
Your mouth hung open as the last word was fucked out of you. Ramming his hips as fast as he could into you. Whether it was to simply shut you up or what. You couldn’t speak again, your sounds of pleasure wouldn’t allow it.
Coming to an end he laid on top of you. His whole body caging you in as he rested himself onto the table you were laying on. He didn’t move, his hips not even an inch away from your skin.
With a few heavy pants and a small deep chuckle he raised himself just enough to look down at your teary face.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. he doesn’t just love you with his words. he loves you with the full strength of him. over and over again.
𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. headcanon / blurb collection [1.7k].
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 corenswet!clark 〳 established relationship 〳top!clark 〳 bottom!reader 〳 cockwarming 〳 size kink 〳 belly bulging 〳 cumplay 〳 overstimulation 〳 deep penetration 〳 worship (of reader’s body + clark’s body) 〳 soft dom!clark 〳 dirty talk 〳 fingering 〳 muscle kink 〳rimming (r!receiving) 〳body worship 〳 post-sex intimacy 〳 reader has a gaping, cum-leaking hole 〳 clark cums a lot
What the Body Remembers
He kisses you like he’s sorry he wants you this much.
Fucks you like he never learned how to stop needing.
Clark Kent isn’t unaware of his body—the strength of it, the size, the way people look—but he never uses it to dominate. Not unless you ask.
Not unless you beg.
When he’s inside you, he’s not a god or a weapon. He’s a man. One who loves you, fills you, touches you like a prayer said every night in private.
One who breaks your body open with reverence, and then makes pancakes.
This is what it’s like to be undone by Superman.
Muscle Memory
He fucks you slowly at first, like he's afraid of being too much.
He knows how big he is, how your stomach bulges when he presses in just right. He sees the way your back arches, the way your mouth parts, trembling and breathless, already stuffed so full of him. And he still asks if you're okay. Always. Softly. A kiss at your temple, even while you're shaking.
But then there's the moment he hears your breath hitch and sees you look down. Sees you watching your own belly stretch with the obscene outline of his cock. Something flips. That quiet awe in his chest turns into hunger.
He rocks into you harder, the bed frame groaning under both your bodies. He watches your thighs start to quiver. Watches your hands scrabble for anything—him, the sheets, your own cock— and he doesn’t stop. Just breathes heavy and praises you, voice thick with arousal.
“You take me so good, baby,” he whispers. “Every time, I swear, you fit around me like you were made to. Just perfect.”
Worship
Sometimes he’ll slow down just to admire you like this. Not during foreplay—no, during. When you're already panting under him, hips slick and hole drooling with the stretch, and his cock keeps pressing deeper.
He palms your thighs with reverence, kisses down your chest like you’re some sacred thing. Big hands spreading your legs wider. Thumbs digging into the softest parts of you. He’ll murmur things under his breath that make your skin feel hot and holy.
“Love your body,” he says. “So soft. So pretty. All mine.
And when you clench around him at the praise, he fucking smiles.
Making His Mark
He cums too much. Always has. The first time he stayed the night, you woke up sore and leaking and still full—because you’d passed out before he’d even finished cleaning you up. Kryptonian stamina.
He apologized with breakfast in bed and a guilty smile, but when you told him you liked it, he blushed so hard it reached his ears
Now it’s become part of the routine. Every time he finishes, he stays inside, grinding in shallow, greedy circles like he’s trying to fuck it all in deeper. The sheets stained, your thighs sticky, your hole raw and red and dripping down the curve of your ass.
He watches you try to crawl away, boneless and overstimulated
“You can’t just… fill me like that,” you mutter, dizzy.
“You’re right,” he says. “I should do it again.”
Spent
He loves looking at you after. Really looking. Your chest rising and falling in slow, wrecked rhythm. Your lips parted, your eyes glazed, your thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. His cum leaking from your hole in thick, messy ropes, all down your skin, soaking into the sheets. You always look ruined, used, perfect.
He touches you like he’s not sure he deserves the sight. Just drags a hand down your chest, your thigh, breath caught in his throat. You’re gaping, still stretched wide around the memory of him, and he swears under his breath every time.
He brings a hand between your legs and drags two fingers through the mess. Shudders when you whimper from the touch.
“Jesus,” he whispers. “Look what I did to you.”
Muscle Memory II
Clark’s a big man. And when you worship him—really let your hands explore the stretch of his abs, the thick strength of his thighs, the wide expanse of his chest—he gets flustered. Because he doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t think you see him like that. But you do.
You kiss the line of his stomach, trace your tongue up to the cleft between his pecs, and he sucks in a breath every time.
“You’re beautiful,” you say.
He huffs out a laugh, ducking his head. “You think so?”
You palm him through his briefs—heavy, half-hard, already huge— and smile up at him.
“I know so.”
When you finally get him naked, you take your time. You kneel between his legs, run your hands across every inch of that body, skin warm and golden under your palms. You stroke his cock slow—long, thick, flushed pink at the tip—and tell him how good he looks like this, hard and wanting for you.
“I want you inside me,” you whisper. “Want you to fuck me open with this big fucking thing. Want you to fill your boyfriend with all that cum until it’s dripping out of me.”
His breath hitches. And then he gives you exactly what you asked for.
"Sweet heaven."
Where You Go Softest
There’s something about your body that Clark loves with aching intensity. Your thighs, especially. He says they’re his favorite place to rest his head, his hands, his mouth. You’ve seen him fuck himself stupid just from the sight of you spread open, thighs trembling, your cock flushed and leaking against your belly.
He grabs handfuls of your ass while he thrusts, steady and deep, burying his face in your neck to muffle the sounds he makes. Sometimes he just moans your name like a broken prayer.
“Could stay inside you forever,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. Squeezing me like that, fuck.”
And when he’s just eating you out? Forget it. He’s obsessed. Tongue buried in your hole, big hands pinning your hips down, leaving finger-shaped bruises across your ass as he devours you like he’s starved. He doesn’t stop until your cock’s twitching untouched on your stomach and your thighs are shaking around his ears.
Without Harm
When he holds you down, it’s not with force. It’s with care.
Clark cradles your waist with one hand, the other under your ass to angle your hips up, and it’s almost absurd how easy it is for him to manhandle you. He could bend you in half with one arm, pin your wrists above your head with a single hand, keep you in place while his cock drills deep.
But he never rushes.
Even when he’s fucking you hard: sweat beading at his temples, his broad chest slick and flexing over yours—he checks in. A hand brushing your cheek. A kiss between thrusts. A question, murmured against your throat.
“Still good, baby? Can you take more?”
You always say yes. Even when your body’s shaking. Even when your hole is raw and stretched wide open, swallowing him deeper than you ever thought you could take.
He presses a hand to your lower belly and moans when he feels himself inside you.
“God. That’s me.”
Overflow
Clark doesn’t need toys. Doesn’t need anything but you on your back, legs spread, begging him to go slow while your body contradicts you and sucks him in.
He’s thick from tip to base, flushed and heavy, the kind of cock that curves just enough to ruin you. You’ve never been able to take him all at once, not without working up to it. He helps; spit, fingers, gentle coaxing—and still, every time, your body trembles when he breaches you.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, rocking his hips. “Let me in. Let me fill you up.”
And he does.
You feel him for hours after. His cum drips out of you long after he’s pulled out—thick, cloudy, sticky strings that leave you ruined between the legs. Sometimes you can’t even close your thighs properly. Sometimes he doesn’t pull out at all.
You’ll feel it trickle out when you’re washing dishes or putting on pants, and he’ll catch you pausing with a faraway look in your eyes and murmur, “Still leaking?”
Evidence of Him
He never tires of seeing you like this.
Sprawled out beneath him, wrecked. Limbs slack. Hole gaping. His come dripping out in slow, shiny streaks down the curve of your ass and the inside of your thighs.
Clark watches. He runs his hand down your spine, dips his fingers between your cheeks, and hums at the sight of your trembling rim, twitching open, pink and raw and leaking. He never says much. Just soft sounds of awe.
A whispered “Christ,” maybe, or “You look perfect like this.”
Sometimes he spreads you open again just to see it.
To see how loose you are. How thoroughly he’s fucked you. How your hole flutters like it misses him already.
“You need me again?” he asks, almost innocent. Thumb still dragging through the mess he left.
You nod. Of course you do.
He’s already hard again.
The Unravel
It doesn’t take long to unravel.
Clark can take you standing up, bent over the sink, pressed against the wall, or face down in bed with a pillow under your hips. Every angle stretches you in new ways. Every time feels like the first time.
Sometimes it’s fast. You’re soaked already, hungry for him, and he’s in you with one smooth thrust. Sometimes it’s slower. Long strokes, deep grinding, his hand around your cock while he fills you.
Your body doesn’t know what to do with him. It tries to reject the stretch, even as your moans get louder, your back arches, your legs shake.
And when you come: ruined, overstimulated, voice cracking from how hard you cry out. Clark follows with a deep, full groan.
He never pulls out.
Rest, Ripe, and Heavy
Afterward, he’s always starving.
You’re still trying to catch your breath, still aching and loose and wrecked, and Clark’s already pulling on a pair of sweats, padding barefoot into the kitchen. You call after him.
“Can you give me like five minutes before you start making dinner?”
He pops his head back in, cheeks pink, curls messy.
“I wasn’t gonna make dinner,” he says. “Just a snack.”
You laugh, rubbing your stomach. “You just blew my back out.”
He shrugs, sheepish. “I’m still a growing boy.”
You roll your eyes and tell him to come back to bed, and he does, climbing under the sheets with you, hand pressed to your belly, whispering he’s sorry for how sore you’ll be tomorrow.
He’s not sorry.
nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!
happy superman day!! i don't have anything specifically for today but here's some kissing practice turned painting practice that i (predictably) got carried away with
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