🌿[Everything on this list will have the tag ‘Mickey’s Thoughts’ in case you ever need to find anything, but can’t remember my blog name!!]
⛈️[PSA: I don’t have a particular uploading schedule! I just kind of write when I feel like it. If I’m not feeling it, the quality probably won’t be great. So I try to keep it for when I’m invested. If an ask takes a while, that’s why!]
[if you’re a minor reading this please leave, 18+ only]
🌺[tip me on Ko-fi! :D]
💭[My works will soon be available on my ao3! my handle is dimly_lit_torch :3]
Call Of Duty Masterlist🪖:
Arcane Masterlist🪐:
Marvel Masterlist🗯️:
Extra Characters Masterlist🍁:
My Fic Recommendation List💘:
🌙please check out my newest full length fic !!
🌤️Character List and Details:
Arcane: Viktor, Jayce Talis, Silco, Vander
Call Of Duty: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, John Price, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, König
Marvel: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, Logan Howlett, Scott Summers, Remy LeBeau
The Boys: Billy Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie Campbell, The Deep, Black Noir
Star Wars: Din Dijarin
Sherlock: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade
LOTR/The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins, Legolas, Thranduil, Aragorn, Boromir
Miscellaneous: Erik Destler, Nanami Kento, Mr. Darcy, Ransom Drysdale, Thomas Barrow, Indiana Jones, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Izzy Hands, Gilbert Bougainvillea, Dietfried Bougainvillea, Claudia Hodgins, Joel Miller, Tommy Miller, more to be added
🌾Extra Info:
• I only write for male characters
• These are characters that I probably won’t write for without prompt, but you are welcome to request: Ekko, any other men in Arcane; Alejandro Vargas, Rudolfo Parra; any other Marvel men; Poe Dameron, Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker, Obi Wan Kenobi, Kylo Ren, any other Star Wars men
• I cannot guarantee that any character I write for will be close to an accurate representation of said character. I have never played CoD, I have only seen the main marvel movies, I have yet to watch the x-men movies (I’m working on it), I have never read the marvel comics, and I haven’t watched Star Wars in a while :(
• Other fandoms I will potentially write for when prompted: Doctor Who, Sherlock, LOTR/The Hobbit, JJK, more to be added
• I do take character recommendations :3
🪷Asking Rules:
1. I am willing to write fluff and smut. When it comes to smut, I’d like to focus on the softer stuff. You’re welcome to ask for darker or more kinky things, but there’s no guarantee I’ll write them!
2. I am a transgender man, so I am writing for transmasc readers; but to all my fem’s out there y’all are very welcome here too! Once I start writing more smut and getting into detail, I plan on only writing for AFAB readers. Warning: My writing is for pre-op transmasc readers who are fine with the usual names for female genitalia as well as other terms (breast, cunt, clit, boycunt, t-dick, pussy, etc.) I will not be changing this rule, so if it makes you uncomfortable please do not read my smut writings.
3. Feel free to send me anything you like! Questions, suggestions, porn links, other fic links- anything you’d like :D
4. Please be kind and respectful in my asks! Being anonymous isn’t an invitation to be rude and or disrespectful.
5. This is a safe space for everyone, but especially afab people. While I only write for transmasc!readers, that doesn’t mean any fem!readers out there can’t engage as well. I often read x fem!reader writings and I just swap the pronouns in my head, so I imagine y’all might do that too. This is not an exclusionary place by any means :3 I simply write for transmasc!readers because I write these with myself in mind as the reader.
6. Things I probably won’t write of my own volition very often, but you are welcome to request: reader being anything other than soft, sweet, playful, kind, etc; step-cest; hybrid!au’s; breeding kink; dub-con; more to be added
7. Hard no’s for my writing: any impact play other than spanking, breath play, any of the crazy ones (scat, etc), heavy degradation, more to be added
8. t4t: hi! So I wanted to give this its own explanation to make sure I explain myself well. I will not be writing t4t. This is because I myself as a transgender man, have a preference for cis men. I have a genital preference, as well as being with other trans men heightens my gender dysphoria. The reason this matters, and may affect my writing, is because when I write x reader things I imagine myself in what I write. So it may be harder for me to write t4t things, as I can’t imagine myself in those scenarios. It’s just not my cup of tea. Thanks for understanding!
🪻Bonus Info:
hey !! so this is just a quick little thing about me in case anyone is curious :)
the full rundown: 20, American, communications major doing online university, lives at home, dad to 4 cats and 2 dogs, medically complex, gay, transgender man, plus sized, neurodivergent, writer and photographer as a hobby, film lover, friendly neighborhood sweetheart🌃
this is literally just a link to a running creek video to listen to when i sleep
i love the concept in films of being like “i know a guy” and it cuts to someone who’s very clearly autistic and their special interest happens to be making bombs
hi diva!! so.. just a thought. dean winchester who calls himself your big brother while fucking you🫠 ugh i hate that i’m not brave enough to write fauxcest except for the occasional daddy kink, i figured i’d bring this one to the professionals. totally ignore if it’s not your thing! tysm!!
tyy for the request! sorry it took so long, tbh I feel like I don't really know to write fauxcest, so I don't think this fic is good but here it is
dean winchester x gn reader fauxcest smut/minors DNI
you grew up with the winchesters, practically seeing them both as your own brothers. you developed a crush on dean early on. always blindly following his orders during hunts. whenever he lightly scolded you, you took it to heart. improving whatever he criticized because you wanted nothing more than him to be proud of you. you were currently on a haunting trip with him and sammy. sam went outside to investigate a haunted building which left you alone with dean in the car.
"can't believe sammy is making us stay here like statues instead of helping. god,he's such a stubborn idiot at times" dean stated. you opened your mouth, he always made you so nervous and stumble over your own words "you know...maybe it's good to keep an eye out on things" before he could say anything you saw a cat and with excitement you leaned over dean's lap accidentally resting your hand on his denim clad bulge "omgg dean look, we should take the cat home with us" dean let out a strained groan and you covered your face in shame when you realized the prior placement of your palm "oh my god, I'm so sorry" your cheeks heated up in shame. he let out a groan and leaned his head back "oh fuck sweetheart." with a gulp you look up at him "you know, there still is some time before sammy gets back" he gazed down at you with bedroom eyes "yeah pretty? do you think you can suck me off in time?" you eagerly nodded, this was the perfect opportunity to make him proud. you got out of the car and he opened the car door on his side. he handed you one of his flannels to place under your knees "you know it will get dirty right?" you asked quietly "baby, just get on your fucking knees before I make you" you instantly obeyed.
dean hastily unbuckled his pants and pushed down his boxers. his thick cock sprung up, your eyes widened at the sight of it for a brief second before your lips wrapped around the tip of it. you started bobbing your head, your tongue twirling around the shaft. dean was covering his mouth trying to not be too loud "fuck I raised you right, I'm so proud of you" you let out a moan at the praise. his hand tugged roughly on your hair as his thrusts getting rougher "c'mon, make your big brother proud of you" him referring to himself as your big brother made you freeze up, ultimately causing you to choke. you were coughing barely catching your breath as he roughly pulled you close to his cock again, your mouth wrapping around it. he started thrusting like a feral man "yeah you heard me mhm' right sweetheart. fuck, we have to hurry before sammy comes back. mhm I'm close" you let yourself be guided by him, drool was dripping down your lips as his pace relentlessly picked up. with a final thrust he came in your mouth and you swallowed it all obediently. just then sam came back around "what the fuck?"
replying to an email at 4am is hoping they think i’m incredibly efficient and wake up early and not that i haven’t gone to bed yet and plan on sleeping until 1pm
hi, i just wanted to say its so awesome to meet another writer for transmasc readers!! your name being michael and mine being mick is also a crazy coincidence😭 love your works! <3
We're brothers now, I've decided also OMG ANOTHER TASNMASC WRITER HIII!!
random thought but it’s just kind of funny how sometimes when someone close to you dies, all self hatred, self dislike, the disappointment you feel in yourself for not being where you imagined yourself years ago- suddenly it doesn’t matter. because that person that died doesn’t get the chance to live anymore. they may have died loathing themselves, wishing they could’ve been better, and never got the chance to get past those feelings. everything you do is worth your self love, because not everyone gets to do what you’re doing. being alive is enough. do what they may have never gotten the chance to do. love yourself.
✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦
✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦
✦warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 10.5k✦
✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦
Clark has been acting strange all week.
He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.
“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.
“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.
He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.
Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.
You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.
“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.
“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“
“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“
Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘
“It’s not a mating dance!”
“It seems like a mating dance-“
“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”
Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.
You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.
“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“
You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.
He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.
His eyes are black, and gleaming.
You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.
Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.
You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.
“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”
Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.
Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.
But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.
He looks dangerous.
And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.
But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.
“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”
Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“
Clark looks at you.
And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.
“You smell good.” He mutters.
He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.
“What the fuck is up with him?”
Nobody seems to be sure.
On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.
“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.
“There are no other words I could use, though-“
“Corrupt?”
“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”
You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.
“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.
“Dogshit.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“
“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“
“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.
“Yeah. Because I had a source.”
“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.
You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.
“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“
“Shut up, I’m excited-“
“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.
He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.
Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.
You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.
And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.
Today you keep it under control.
It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.
“It’s- Uh- Superman.”
You blink. “What?”
“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”
“I- You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“I can find someone else-“
“No, I- I’ve got it.”
He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.
You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.
But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.
You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”
He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.
Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.
He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.
He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.
And you have no idea what to do.
Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.
He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.
You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.
And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.
“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”
His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.
“Clark-“
“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”
You blink. “Back up?”
He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.
He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.
But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.
You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.
He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.
“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“
“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.
“You’re sick-“
“No. I’m not.”
“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”
He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.
“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”
That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.
His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.
And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.
It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.
The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.
But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.
“Clark- Please-“
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.
“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”
You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.
And you look back. You can’t help it.
But all he does is stare at you.
So you walk away.
Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.
“Is he-“
“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”
You frown. “But-“
“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“
Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.
“Don’t go visit him.”
You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“
“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”
“But-“
“Don’t.”
“What if he needs something-“
“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”
“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”
Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Lois-“
“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”
She walks away without another word.
On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.
You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.
Don’t.
His door is right there.
Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.
Don’t.
You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.
But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.
You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.
Don’t.
But you want to.
Don’t.
He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-
Don’t.
Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.
And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.
He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.
You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.
Before Clark can open it, you walk away.
On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.
It’s a distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-
You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.
This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.
It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.
He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.
He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.
Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.
You miss him.
Goddamnit.
Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.
You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.
He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.
You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.
You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.
Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.
But why is he home visiting you.
Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.
You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.
“Hello?”
Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.
He doesn’t look well.
Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-
Like Clark.
Just like Clark.
And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.
Or something else.
Without the glasses, there’s something else.
He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.
He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.
“Clark?”
“I’m here for your interview-“
You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.
He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.
Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.
His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.
“Clark- Wait-“
Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.
At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.
You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.
He’s burning at 150 degrees.
He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.
The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.
You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.
Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.
That time it was definitely your name.
Superman moaned your name.
You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.
Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.
It does nothing for hearing him.
And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.
It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.
Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-
Oh.
That’s… Big.
You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.
The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.
You still haven’t really dealt with that.
Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.
And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.
To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.
When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.
You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.
Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.
Dear lord.
Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.
You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.
Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.
He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.
You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.
Clark is Superman,
And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.
His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.
“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.
This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-
You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.
He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-
No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.
But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.
The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.
If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.
And you’re not that strong at all.
Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.
You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.
When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.
He’s naked.
Fully naked.
And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.
He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.
But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.
And his cock.
You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.
Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.
“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“
“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”
He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of release on his thigh. He’d been humping the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-
“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”
“Clark-“
“Stop saying it like that.”
You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.
His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.
“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”
Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.
“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”
You laugh softly, despite everything.
Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.
“Don’t laugh either.”
“I- I’m sorry-“
“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“
He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.
“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”
“No- That- That’s weird-“
“Kal-El?”
“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.
“I need to be able to call you something.”
“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”
That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.
“No, not- Not like that-“
“Not like what-“
“It’s just, when you talk-“
“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.
It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.
“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.
“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”
“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“
“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”
“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“
“You said I shouldn’t talk.”
“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.
“You better fix the wall, Kent.”
“I will. ‘M sorry-“
“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”
You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.
“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”
That’s not promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.
“You know kryptonite?”
You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”
“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“
“Clark.”
“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.
“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.
His cock twitches. You try not think about it.
“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“
“It what-“
“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”
He trails off, words hanging in the air.
Saw you.
You activated the red kryptonite in him.
There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.
“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.
Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.
“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.
“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“
“Can’t you?”
Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.
And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.
“You- You can’t mean that-“
“Why not?”
You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.
“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.
“You don’t have to pity me-“
“It’s not pity.”
He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“
“Who says it’s not how I feel?”
You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.
“Uhh… Steve?”
You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”
Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.
You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.
“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.
You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”
His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.
“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”
“No, you-“
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.
“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”
He nods, tight and controlled.
You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.
Not with fear.
With excitement.
“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”
And Clark snaps.
He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.
Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.
If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.
But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.
He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.
There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.
You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.
You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.
He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.
“Clark-“
“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“
He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.
“Smell so good.” He almost whines. “So good.”
You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.
Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.
It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.
“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“
“You- You can’t-“
“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“
“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.
You don’t mind at all.
“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“We talked about this-“
“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.
You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.
And you feel it.
The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.
Oh.
Right.
Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.
“I need to get you ready.”
You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“
Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”
“How do you know-“
“Nose.”
“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“
“Not enough.”
He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.
“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.
That’s his agreement hum.
Your jaw drops.
“Are you serious-“
“I can’t help it.”
“You- You could wear nose plugs-“
“No. Like it too much.”
Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.
“You- Can’t move-“
“You should move-“
“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”
You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.
“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”
Clark grunts. You smile at the air.
“You came in bed last night.”
He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”
“About who?”
You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”
And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.
“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”
“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.
“Yeah? Like what?”
Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.
“A brat.”
A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.
And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.
“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.
Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.
“You- You can’t just say that-“
“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”
Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.
“Can you please look at me-“
“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.
“Clark-“
“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.
You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.
“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”
“I- I need to get you-“
“I’m going to touch you, okay?”
His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.
Enough.
You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.
“Sorry-“
“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”
He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.
You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.
The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.
He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.
You add a second, and squeeze at the base.
Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.
“Be- Be careful.”
You pause. “Does it not feel-“
“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“
Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.
You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.
And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.
You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.
Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.
“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“
He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.
You want to taste him.
When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.
“What- What are you-“
You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.
The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.
There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.
You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.
“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“
You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.
It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.
“Are you-“
You moan, and Clark gives in.
He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.
“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“
Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.
“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“
You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.
And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-
Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.
He’s cumming.
And he’s not stopping.
Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.
Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.
“If you-“
“Do that inside me.”
You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.
“I- I mean- Clark-“
He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.
“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”
His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.
“Don’t- Don’t tease-“
“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”
Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.
“Oh- Oh god-“
“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”
You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.
“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”
He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.
“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.
You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.
He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.
“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“
You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.
Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.
Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.
You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.
You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.
There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.
It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.
“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”
His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.
“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.
Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.
“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”
Well. If he needs it.
It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.
“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“
“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”
It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.
You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.
“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.
“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”
And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.
“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“
“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.
Clark hears it.
“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”
You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.
Maybe Clark could let you live with him.
Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.
Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.
That’s a good plan. The best plan.
There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.
“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.
You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.
“Don’t do that.”
Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.
He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.
“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.
You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.
He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.
Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.
He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.
His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.
You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.
Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.
“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.
“I liked it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”
Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.
And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.
He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.
“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”
You nod. It’s all you can manage.
He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.
“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“
He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.
Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.
“Big.”
He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.
“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“
You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.
“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.
“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”
You blink, and his eyes widen.
“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“
Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.
“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.
Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.
“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”
Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.
“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.
Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.
You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.
He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.
Safe and attended to.
You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.
It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.
“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“
He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.
Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.
He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.
Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.
It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.
Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.
Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.
And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.
Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.
Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.
You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.
There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.
Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.
You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.
He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.
It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.
If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.
On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.
There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.
Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.
It’s an oddly romantic thought.
There are lots of those to go around.
Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.
“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.
“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”
“See it-“
“X-ray vision.”
“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.
Clark bows his head, almost in shame.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.
You shake your head. “It fine-“
“I wanted to-“
“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”
He blinks at you, then relaxes.
“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.
“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”
Clark laughs at that, and you beam.
It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.
“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.
“I-“
“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“
“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”
He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”
You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.
“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“
“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“
Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”
You laugh. “Bring it on.”
✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
Mick, dude, I was looking at Tumblr on pc and it has you listed as my "biggest fan" just bc you've liked 2 recent reblogs I've made. which I find very funny
Billy Butcher x pre-op!on-testosterone!transmasc!reader
18+ MDNI
cw: referring to readers genitals as clit, cunt, pussy, t-dick, cock, boycunt, etc all used pretty interchangeably; general smut; cunnilingus; both equally annoyed with each other; butcher is ever so slightly manipulative; “it’s just boy talk”
My Masterlist🌱
wc: 3k+
He’d started to notice it in the van. You were sitting in the passenger seat while the rest of the boys were inside of the building you were scouting out, you and him keeping look out. You were shifting uncomfortably in your seat, as much as you tried to hide it. He saw how your thighs kept squeezing together, your face a little flushed as you flick through your phone.
“S’pposed to be keepin’ watch.” He mutters, reaching over and grabbing your phone from you, slipping it into his pocket.
“Hey! No fair” you protest quickly, huffing in frustration and standing up from your seat and moving towards him to try to reach into his pocket.
Before you even reach into his jacket pocket his hand is around your wrist, pulling you down so your face is a few inches from his own. “Listen ‘ere sunshine” he says lowly. “Yer fuckin’ distracted. Shiftin’ in tha’ seat, actin’ like we ain’t on a high stakes mission. Better sit down like a good lad and focus.” He spits out, letting go of your wrist and pointing towards the passenger seat.
You stare at him for a few moments, face blank with surprise. It takes a few seconds for it to hit you- but shit. It hits hard. The testosterone had brought on a few.. changes. Your bottom growth hadn’t been the most comfortable, hence the shifting around so much. But the impact testosterone had on your libido? Fucking hell. A guy could breathe in your direction and your mind was in the gutter. Letting out a shaky breath, you gently back up to sit back down in the passenger seat, gaze instantly shifting anywhere but him. You move one of your thighs over the other, tightening them as much as you could as you tried to calm yourself.
You loved being on testosterone- you really did. But shit like this? Was fucking embarrassing. You hadn’t told anyone you started, thinking they’d figure it out eventually. It wasn’t really their business in the first place. But now it was starting to involve them. When was the last time Butcher looked this good?
Butcher’s attention shifted over to you, watching with a narrowed gaze at how you’re avoiding him completely. The muscles in your leg were tight, your arms over your chest and leg bouncing at a fast pace. “And now yer gonna fuckin’ pout?” He scoffs, taking off his sunglasses and tossing them up onto the dash. “Yer a piece of work, mate. Would tell ya to grow some balls.. but we all know how that’s goin’ for ya.” He smirks, knowing it would rile you up.
Before testosterone, you might have gotten angry occasionally. But now.. it was a much more common occurrence. Billy noticed how you’d been on edge lately, and being the prick he is he loved to exacerbate your annoyed state. You turned your head towards him with a glare, your leg still bouncing. “You’re one to talk.” You mutter. “You’re not exactly in there scoping out the place, are you?”
He snorts with no amusement, leaning back in the drivers side seat. “‘Course not.” He hums. “Someone’s gotta watch ya’. Make sure ya’ don’t burst into a ball of flames.” He chuckles as he pulls out a cigarette. “You’ve been all pissy lately. Startin’ to spread to the rest of the boys.”
You scoff, sitting back in your seat as well and shaking your head. “You were all assholes before me.” You mutter.
He hums, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. “You weren’t though, mate. Big difference.” He murmurs. “So.” He says as he snaps the lighter shut. “Gonna tell me wha’ yer fuckin’ problem is?”
You stay quiet for a few moments, your fingers tapping against your arm repeatedly. How the fuck do you tell him you’re constantly hungry, horny and angry? “I’m..” you murmur faintly. “On testosterone.”
He falls silent as he releases a puff of smoke, his eyes shifting over to your form. He stays like that for a few moments before sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “No fuckin’ wonder. That’ll do it, alrigh’.” He huffs with a faint chuckle. “So.. wha’ does that shit do to.. ya know.”
“Me?” You murmur.
“Mhm.” He hums as he takes another drag of his cigarette.
Your leg starts to slow down as you take in a breath, thinking where to start. “Um- well. I’m fucking starving all the time. Mainly for protein.”
He snorts with amusement, a faint smirk on his lips. “Tha’ why our grocery cost wen’ up?”
You can’t help but laugh with him, shaking your head. “And um.. I’m easier to anger.”
“Stevie fuckin’ Wonder could’ve seen tha’ love.” He chuckles.
Resting your head back against the headrest, you pull one of your legs up onto the seat, your arms wrapping around it. “Ever heard of bottom growth?” You murmur faintly.
He thinks quietly for a moment, his eyebrow raising as he looks over at you. I guess that’s a no.
“It.. basically means my- um” you say quietly, shifting your gaze away from him. “Clit. It gets bigger.”
An awkward silence falls over the van, not a sound to be heard from Butcher other than him inhaling and exhaling his cig.
“Bet tha’s a sight to see.” He says with a huff. “Figure that’s why you’ve been shiftin’ ‘round like ya’ need a fix.” He hums.
You feel your cheeks heat up from his words but you stay quiet, your eyes towards the floor. “Mhm.” You hum.
There’s a long silence between the two of you in the van, neither moving or speaking. That is- until you hear Butcher’s seat creak.
“Would ya’ show me?” He murmurs as he turned towards you a little more in his seat, leaning up for the ash tray.
You practically freeze when you hear his words, your head whipping around to meet his gaze. “What?” You say suddenly, your cheeks hot.
He sits there as relaxed as a house cat, his eyes shifting over your form before meeting your eyes. “I like ta’ know what’s goin’ on with my boys.” He murmurs. “Medical conditions ‘n all. Gotta keep yer boss in the loop.”
You stare at him for what must be a whole minute, after which he stands up and walks over to your seat, hovering over you. “C’mon lad. S’just me. Good ol’ Butcher.” He hums as he crouches down next to your seat.
It feels like you have cotton in your throat when his hand reaches out to your thigh, gently resting on top of it and starting to rub, his eyes never leaving yours. With your leg still up on the seat he had a good view of your crotch, the idea of what’s behind making him smirk. When he first let you join the boys he wasn’t sure what to think. You weren’t like the rest of them- too soft. Not a killer. But when you flashed him that smile of yours? He was gone. He’d be keeping you around, even if it was just for a perfect opportunity like this. Was it a bit manipulative? Sure. He’s not a good man- never claimed to be either.
“I don’t..” you start to whisper faintly, but your voice cuts off when his hand moves up, his thumb brushing against the seam of your pants. You flinch slightly and he can’t help but chuckle, gazing up at you with amusement.
“Fuckin’ hell lad. Sure are sensitive.. wha’ was tha’ you were sayin’? Gotta speak up for me.” He teases as his other hand moves to your other leg, gently hooking under your knee and turning you in the seat so you’re facing towards him.
You gasp faintly at the touch, your eyes starting to hood at all of the attention you’d been needing for months. “Butcher” you whisper softly, not protesting as he spreads your legs and rubs against the seam of your pants with a little more pressure. You shift in your seat, your back arching for a moment as you glance out the window of the van, your face hot. “What happened to keeping watch?” You say softly, the slightest hint of pleading in your voice.
He hums lowly as he looks up at you, his eyes hooded. “Fuck.” He murmurs faintly as he moves his hand to rub his face. “Look at you. Bein’ the voice of reason.” He mutters as he stands back up, moving back into the drivers seat.
Your heart is still beating out of your chest when he slips his sunglasses back on, lighting another cigarette- as if nothing had ever happened. You think you must’ve dreamt it for a moment; but the ache in your core says otherwise. You stare at him for a few moments, eventually settling back into the seat like normal. Obviously getting with Butcher like that was.. problematic. But a part of you couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
Before you even get a chance to say anything the back doors of the van open, the rest of the boys loading back up. The drive to the safe house was quiet- for you at least. You were too in your own head, replaying that moment over and over again. You knew there was a little bit of tension between you and Butcher. But he’d never actually done anything. It was completely out of the blue; not to mention out of character. But then again.. you’d been pretty out of character lately too.
Later that night you’re in your room per usual, headphones in as you laid on your bed staring at the ceiling- still replaying that moment over and over again. The lamp in the corner of the room cast a soft glow over the space, just how you liked it. It was the perfect mood for feeling contemplative. Sighing softly you move to turn on your side- suddenly being met with the sight of Billy Butcher leaning against your closed bedroom door. You gasp as you jump to sit up, yanking your headphones out.
“What the fuck, Butcher?” You spit out as you set your headphones aside.
His gaze shifts over you for a moment, his hands in his back pockets. “T’be fair. I did knock.” He says with a small hint of mischief.
You roll your eyes, lying back down and tossing an empty water bottle towards him. “Get out.” You mutter.
Instead of heeding your words he walks over, standing over the bed with a small smirk. “Would’ve thought after today you’d be more..” he trails off.
You huff, looking up at him. “Yeah. Speaking of today.” You murmur as you sit up once more. “What the fuck even was that?”
His eyebrow quirks up as he looks down at you, a slow breath leaving him. He reaches his hand out, gently grabbing your chin between his finger and thumb, tilting your head up more. “Wasn’t anythin’ ya don’t want it to be.” He murmurs.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” You say quietly, caught off guard by his touch- and trying not to react to it.
He hums as he leans forward, his face a few inches away from your own. “Reckon y’can talk ‘bout yer clit with me an’ I won’t get worked up?” He mutters. “Tease.”
Your eyes narrow as you look into his eyes, letting out a soft breath. “It’s just.. boy talk.” You whisper. “Just like guys comparing dick sizes in the locker room.”
He audibly laughs at that, his fingers tightening on your chin. “Guess so.” He murmurs. “Still turns me on though, mate. Gotta be careful with yer words.” He says faintly as his thumb traces over your bottom lip.
Your breath catches at the faint touch, letting out a shaky breath as you stare up at him. “Didn’t know you swung that way.” You say faintly.
“Swung what way?” He hums, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as he lets go of your chin. “S’just boy talk. Wanna compare sizes is all.” He muses as he moves to kneel in front of where you sat on your bed.
Your eyes widen when his hands grab at your waist, pulling you to the edge of the bed and spreading your legs- less concealed than earlier, only by a pair of briefs. Before you even get a chance to protest your briefs are halfway down your thighs, your legs clenching together in embarrassment- or shyness. Whatever it was? He liked it.
He looks up at you expectantly, you staring back down at him- neither breathing for a long moment. “Yer goin’ through a big change, mate.” He murmurs faintly. “Know it’s uncomfortable. Jus’ let me help.”
Staring at him for a moment more, you let out a shaky breath as you spread your legs slightly, your eyes flitting up to the closed door.
“Already locked.” He hums, sensing your apprehension from a mile away. Pulling your briefs off of your legs completely, he tosses them aside and rests his hands on your calves. “Good lad.” He whispers.
Shifting your gaze back down, you hesitantly spread your legs enough that he catches a glimpse of your cunt, and he audibly groans. Your legs snap closed again, cheeks hot with embarrassment. “It’s not.. that hot.” You mutter faintly. “Don’t over sell it.”
His eyes snap to yours and his eyebrows pinch. “Yer fuckin’ delusional.” He scoffs, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing them up, tucking your feet against the bed enough that you couldn’t move easily, your core on display for him.
You refuse to look at him for a long moment, staying quiet and silently regretting you’d let this happen at all. After a few moments you feel his thumb brush against your outer lip, a surprised gasp leaving you. “Fuck” you hiss, your gaze snapping to where he sat, completely locked onto your cunt.
He grins when he hears you, his thumb shifting to pull back your folds slightly. “Sensitive little thing.” He muses. “Been thinkin’ about this all day.” He murmurs, suddenly moving forward more, his chest against the mattress as he slips his arms around your hips and tug you into his face.
Your legs find purchase over his shoulders, your hands immediately slipping into his hair to ease yourself. “Butcher-“ you choke out before gasping, his lips meeting your cunt.
Sinking into you, his grip on your hips is tight enough to leave marks. A low groan leaves his lips when he finally gets you onto his mouth, his lips kissing along the seam of your core as quickly as he can. Within a matter of seconds your clit is more prominent, and he can’t help but stare for a moment. “Best fuckin’ cock I’ve seen” he mutters before wrapping his lips around your t-dick, sucking it past his lips.
Your head falls back against the mattress, biting your lip harshly as your hand slips into his hair. “Ah- fuck, Butcher!” you hiss, trying to keep quiet. “Slow- slow up” you manage to choke out in between shallow breaths, tugging on his hair- wanting him closer and to slow down all at once.
He smiles against your boycunt, that stupid smirk that you can practically visualize. “Needy fucker” he muses, letting his tongue slip down to your hole and pushing past the tight ring, making your thighs squeeze around his head. “Shoulda’ told me sooner.” He hums lowly, one of his hands cupping your ass, kneading at your flesh.
“Hey- hey” you manage to say in between moans suppressed by your arm over your face. “Gonna- holy fuck- m’gonna cum, Billy” you confess, the raw honesty making his cock throb between his legs. His lips shift back up to your cock, two fingers pressing past your tight hole- almost just to feel how tight you get when you cum.
Curling his fingers inside of you, he presses a rough kiss to your clit. “Be a good lad” he murmurs. “Cum real hard- jus’ f’me.” You already knew he would never let this go.
The smugness was rolling off of him in waves, and if his tongue didn’t feel so good you’d tell him to fuck off. You tug on his hair in retaliation, your mind already starting to space out from the pleasure. “F-fuck you” you manage to choke out before you’re cut off by a moan you didn’t even know you could produce. If your vision wasn’t spotty and your brain wasn’t all white noise you’d be cringing at the noise. Lucky for you- he managed to keep you floating for as long as possible, still working his tongue over you, pumping his fingers tenderly to guide you down from your high. “Mmph- fuck” you huff, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress.
When he’s satisfied with his work he sits back in his heels for a moment, admiring the mess he’d caused. “Diabolical.” He grins smugly, patting your thigh as he stands up, looking down at you. “Gotta say- I’m a fan of the changes. Even if it makes ya a right cunt.” He smirks before leaning down and grabbing you by your shirt- pulling you up with a rough tug. “Yer more fun when ya fight like a man.” He murmurs before kissing you roughly, making sure you can taste yourself on his lips.
Your body reacts before your mind can, melting into the kiss with a groan falling from your lips. “You’re the worst.” You mutter, not one hint of honesty in your tone.
He huffs out a gruff laugh at that, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Yeah. And you like it, don’t ya? Lettin’ the mean bastard touch ya like this.” He says knowingly, a smug smile on his lips. “Ain’t even gotta ask. Yer boy here-“ he smirks as his hand reaches down to pat your boycunt. “He seems plenty happy.”
You jolt with a hiss when his palm makes contact, quickly grabbing his arm on instinct. “Ow-“ you yelp, a retort on the tip of your tongue. But for once- you hold it back. Your eyes meet his own, gaze hesitant. “Can you.. do that again? Sometime?” You say faintly, the words feeling like cotton in your mouth. You knew it felt like admitting defeat- but you also knew you needed attention sometimes. And he had more than proven himself.
He stilled for a moment- like he hadn’t expected you to give in so easily. Everything was a fight with you, especially these last few months. Was that all he needed to do to get you to calm down? Make you cum? “Bloody hell.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hand. “Yeah. S’pose so. Like I said- gotta keep a close eye on that.” He says as he gestures to your crotch. “Make sure everythin’s in order.. doctor’s orders.”
Your eyebrow quirks, and you can’t help but let a small smile creep across your lips. “Some doctor you are.” You snort.
A smile cracks on his lips too, and he lets out a huff. “Best doctor you’ve had though, ain’t I?” He muses before wiping his hands off on his jeans and taking a step back. “I’ll stop by again, mate. Make sure ya finally get tha’ comparison.” He winks before disappearing out of your door- as if it had never even happened at all.
Al-Hashimi's cry in the car was so fucking relatable to anyone who has a chronic illness that feels like they're being barred from doing what they want because of something that they had no choice or control over.
