synop: clark seems insatiable after your first night together.
wc: 3.5k
cw: smut! 18+ MDNI!, pwp (heavy on no plot), afab!reader, borderline gn!reader, p in v, dry humping, condom use (bc we practice safety here), teasing, orgasm, squirting, embarrassment
a/n: y’all it’s been a YEAR since i’ve written ANYTHING. excuse me if im rusty, the gears haven’t guzz in a while. i read thru the first half a couple times then started overthinking so i just spewed. anywayyy as always pls reblog to support <:3
To say the morning after your first night together was anything but ridiculously picturesque would be a down right lie no matter how embarrassingly true it was.
Nothing could have prepared you for the view that graciously blessed your eyes so early in the morning.
It was that early morning sun spreading throughout the room that first came to your senses, eyes fluttering slightly at the sunlight peaking past the window. It was then you realized this wasn’t your usual sunshine through a dingy subletted window, it was better, you could practically feel the sun rays touching your skin.
Getting a better grip on your senses, something or rather— someone shifted beside you causing the mattress to dip you further into warmth. Instead of turning flat on your back though, your shoulder blade makes contact with a fist.
Quickly adjusting yourself you come face to face with Clark Kent lying dormant beside you in such a grotesquely endearing manner.
Lying on his side he faces you, with impossibly large shoulders hunched in on himself as his head rested on the downy plush pillow. One hand, turned fist, was tucked gently beneath his chin, while his other hand was open and wedged between his face and cushion. His palm pressed against his cheek, causing that side of his mouth to purse as soft puffs of air leave his lips. The hair that isn’t matted flat against the pillow sticks out in all directions and it takes everything in you to not reach out and rake your fingers through.
The sunlight rising through the window gives him a softer edge, as your eyes trace his unguarded face. Peach fuzz decorates the side of his face as you follow his jawline, down his neck and around his shoulders, his body slowly rising up and down in steady beats, soft snoring leaves his lips.
As your eyes take note of his shirtless torso, ribs and muscles contracting with each breath it’s then you realize the thin sheet draped across his bare hip that spreads over your own form and flashes of last night’s events have the room suddenly feeling hotter.
For some reason shyness gets the best of you, and you’re suddenly all too aware that aside from the blanket there’s nothing truly covering you. You tug the blanket in your hands and tuck them to your chin, covering your face slightly to hide the small grin spreading on your lips.
Looking over again, your heart nearly sharts out of your ass as blue eyes bore into yours.
“Hi.” You whisper, eyes wide, wondering if he even heard it. You fidget underneath the sheet.
“Cold?” He asks, voice rough with sleep. Without looking away he grabs the material from his hips, lifting his arm out, opening a space between him and the mattress— a silent invitation.
“No,” You shake your head, but your body betrays your words as you scoot over into his side. His arm immediately drops around your frame, chin resting on your head as you nuzzle into his chest — a thousand percent sure he can feel your heart thumping in your chest.
Leave it to Clark to be the most gentleman of gentlemen and completely ignore the fact that you’re both still as bare as the day you were born.
As if reading your thoughts he speaks up.
“Don’t be shy.” He says, a glint of a smirk on his lips.
Again, your mind flashes back to the night before, your hand guiding his fingers beneath your top. Those exact same words leave your lips as you encourage him to undress you.
You smack your teeth and give his chest a little shove. He lets out a deep breathy laugh as he pulls you in closer to him. You both lay like that for a second, the sunlight now starting to paint the room in a golden hue. You’re sure Clark’s fallen asleep again as you stare at the freckles coating his chest, but again he breaks the silence.
“Did you sleep okay?” His fingers are lightly tracing your back. Goosebumps follow each caress, and heat crawls up your neck.
“Yessir.” You mumble, trying not to break whatever it is that’s between you two at the moment.
“Knew you would.” He mutters into your hair, his hands finding your lower back pulling you further towards him. You don’t miss the hint of smugness in his tone.
“Yep, must’ve been the fancy outer city atmosphere, or the cushy mattress in this luxury apartment within the fancy outer city atmosphere.” You tease him, blaming your exhaustion on the atmosphere and definitely not anything you maybe have gotten up to last night, nudging his knee with yours you place a hand against his chest.
“‘s that all?” He asks. Looking up at him, his eyes are closed again but his hand continues to ghost your skin.
“Yeah, too much wine.” you tease.
He stops. His hands are splayed across the plane of your back as he taps his thumb against your skin, pensive. Thinking you may have struck a nerve, you’re about to pull back when he just lets out a sigh caressing the back of your arm.
His hand slips between the warmth of your arm pressed against the side of your chest, frigid fingers brushing against sensitive skin making you take a quick breath which he ignores as he maneuvers your arm, throwing it over his shoulder, your hand finding purchase on the back of his neck. Subconsciously your fingers rake through the short hair feathered at his nape, nails grazing lightly.
“That’s too bad.” He lets out a shaky sigh of contentment at your fingers momentarily before he’s pulling you face to face, his finger hooking beneath your chin forcing you to look at him. Heat rises to your cheeks as you examine his face, a deep blush paints his face and hooded eyes zero in on your lips.
“Yeah?” Unthinkingly, your tongue darts across your skin.
It’s then that his eyes meet yours and dizziness flutters your mind. His eyes are filled with the same desire you saw last night right before he practically devoured you whole. And it’s clear he’s hell bent on doing it again.
Before you can answer his question he grabs your face in his hand, putting pressure on your cheeks, pursing your lips slightly, which he takes as an invitation. Leaning closer, Clark plants his lips against yours, once, twice, and then a small hum leaves his lips after the third time as he pulls back to look at you, fingers still gripping your face.
“Guess I gotta remind you then.” His voice is dripping with arousal as he pulls you in for a breath searing kiss.
Almost immediately Clark's lips part, tongue prying your mouth open. All the air that leaves your lips is devoured by your boyfriend as he tosses the flimsy sheet off to the side. The chilly air nips at your skin, but only for what seems like a second as Clark quickly grabs the meat of your thigh, hooking your leg around his hip, flipping you onto your back.
He kisses at your cheek and down your neck, as he guides your bodies so he’s slotted between your legs as his elbows cage you in. It’s then that you feel just how worked up he’s gotten himself as he holds himself above your body. Your hands roam his rippled back, and your thighs spread wider in anticipation, nudging him with your heel.
“Well, good morning to you.”
He pulls back long enough to give you a lazy grin as he slants his hips against yours, his cock teasing your slit. Hearing your breath hitch he takes it as a sign to completely suffocate you with his frame. The weight and heat of his body has a huff leave your lips which Clark happily swallows as he kisses you again. Your nails dragging up the side of his torso make him shudder, but he refuses to let you go, sucking and nipping at your lips.
He grabs at your waist, pulling your chest against his as he presses down onto you while your arms wrap around his neck, hands caressing his hair. You feel his hips jerk lightly, his dick twitching against your skin, a low purr leaves your lips but Clark quicly swallows your sounds. He’s lapping at your mouth like a dog, breaths intertwining, thickening, suffocating your lungs, as the faint smell of his cologne lingering on his skin from last night invades your nostrils and drowns the last of your senses in Clark, heat shooting up your spine.
You’re suddenly acutely aware of everything Clark is as he overloads your senses with practically every fiber of his being, his body smothering yours in his yearning.
Lightheaded, you try to wrack your brain for some sort of purchase, tugging on the long curls that wrap around your fingers. Clarks gives a low whine in return causing a wave of arousal to hit you so hard a slight panic builds. The only thought that invades your mind is ‘Clark, Clark, Clark’ as you give a hard yank to his hair, lungs burning. He pulls back with a wet pop, a string of saliva following as he pulls backs.
“Breathe, baby. Breathe.” He coaxes, thumb swiping at your lower lip, before slowly sitting up. Kneeling between your thighs his fingers slide down your form, squeezing at your waist before moving down your body and grabbing at your thighs. He brings them flush to the top of his, hooking your knees over his forearms. This new position has him laying hot and heavy against your hip.
Your stomach shudders as he rubs his length along the coarse hair littered across your skin. He lets out a breath shaking moan, pushing himself harder against you, shifting your body up the bed.
“Ffuh—” Clark mutters under his breath. Your cheeks burn at the sight of Clark. His eyes are shut, his head thrown back, heavy breaths escape his swollen lips. His chest heaving with a light sheen while his grip moves to your thigh as he shifts his hips, angling his hips.
“Oh…” Leaves someone's lips when his dick finally sits heavy against your folds. The room stills for what seems like a minute. Neither one of you moves, save for the pleasant buzz that prickles your skin. Again, you look at Clark, but he looks down. Your mouth goes dry as you realize how swollen Clark is. Sure you felt him and the heat but — poor thing, it looked like it hurt.
But the look in his eyes as he stared at where he laid was pure filth. With flushed cheeks, and parted lips he watched as precum leaked from the tip of his shaft onto the soft skin of your stomach. Another wave of desire washed over you and out your core spilling down your folds and onto his dick. His hips stuttered as his dick twitched, tapping against your stomach.
Gosh, the sounds that he made were no help to the situation either. With his hands gripping at your thighs and the shallow thrust of his hips smearing mixed slick against your soaked cunt, a soft whine would leave his lips. The more he rocked his hips, the further back he went until the tip of his cock grazed your clit.
Oh, fuck. You don’t think you’ll last.
As if reading your thoughts Clark slows his movements, spreading his knees so your as is flush against his thighs, while your legs are thrown over hips. His chest is heaving as he grabs the base of his cock slapping it against your cunt, a soft mewl leaves your mouth. He looks at you with hazy eyes, skin glistening in the sunlight.
Feeling impossibly shy, you squirm under his gaze, fingers nipping at taut muscle causing him to let out a lazy chuckle as he grabs his cock again, pumping his fist a few times, knuckles grazing sensitive skin. His other hand rests right below your chest, thumb kneading the soft underside of your breast. He swivels his hips gyrating, involuntarily, in slow sloppy circles before using both hands to lift your back side off the bed, arching your back.
You become completely pliant in his arms, another quiet moan leaving your lips as his fingers press into your back, there's an obscene sound of his balls slapping against your backside, the tip of his cock catching your clit.
“Can I put it in?” He asks breathless, almost mesmerized, letting go of your hip, and leaning forward to envelop your body again. He nudges his nose against the side of your neck.
“Do you even have to ask,” You’re smothered, throwing your head back as the heat turns to a boil in your stomach, Clark grabs at your jaw once more, finger prodding at your lip.
“I like hearing you want it.” He whispers into your ear, nipping at your skin. His confession catches you off guard, causing your ears to ring and your vision to blur, your throat pressing against his palm as you swallow. You hold his wrist in your hand.
“S’can I?” He kisses down your neck, humping your hip faster, goal clearly in mind. You nod but all he does is turn your chin towards him, stalling his hips, as he forces you to stare at him. He stares expectantly. Your stomach flips at the loss of friction, and your hips twitch involuntarily, humping his thigh.
“Clark.” You huff out, kneading at his chest. You gaze at him in bliss. The wine from last night must’ve cleared your inhibitions well enough to make you forget just how tantalizing he was. “P-please…” leaves your lips, you’re not sure it’s enough so you try again, hands spreading your thighs open hoping to alleviate the burning between them.
“Put it inside me…” you’ve never sounded so desperate in your life it was practically pathetic, but at this point you couldn’t care less. You’d do anything to make the ache go away. And with Clark offering himself up to you on the silver platter that he is, you’d scream naked from the rooftop if it meant you could have him.
A deep shuddered laugh leaves Clark's lips as he runs his hands down the inside of your thighs over yours, spreading open delicate skin.
“Well since you’ve asked so nicely.” He murmurs, completely entranced at the way your slick coats your lips, his thumbs teasing the sides of your clit. You cry out in aching joy, hips jerking against his.
“Do you think it’ll fit?” He straightens up once again, trailing your fingers up his body, spreading your palm flat across his chest. Once he’s sure you can feel his heart beat, he wastes no time using his other hand to smear the pooling wetness between your legs up and down your hole. He pauses, feeling you twitch against him.
“Clark…” For some reason, you’re on the verge of tears. Why is he taking so long?!
He watches you writhe beneath him, your back lifting off the mattress as he presses three fingers slowly against your sopping entrance, sliding in with no strain.
A deep breath leaves Clark’s lips, a sinister smirk spreads across his face.
“Gosh Baby,” He breathes, “You’re so swollen.”
Blood rushes to your head in embarrassment, hitting your fist against his chest.
Clark just snickers in response. He grabs your hand, throwing it over his shoulder as he leans down to pepper kisses across your face.
“Sorry, sorry,” He says between pecks, before catching your lips in a kiss. One hand comes up to cradle your ear, while the other shifts to the side. Without missing a beat he brings his fingers to his lips, the sound of crinkling can be heard as he tears at plastic. Before you can even comprehend what’s going on, he slips plastic between your teeth pinching at something inside. You watch as he closes in again, grabbing the wrapper with his teeth and tongue blowing it to the side while sliding his hand between your hips.
His natural ability to protect while still maintaining the sheer magnetism that he does is another wonder you’ll have to think about some other time because at the moment all you can think about is the way Clark uses his thumb to spread you open, using your juices to coat his condom clad cock. He aligns your hips to his before guiding the tip to your entrance, tilting his hips slowly.
A shaky whimper chatters your lips, arms clutching Clark by the skull, as your eyes flutter shut. With your head thrown back against the pillows Clark teases himself further, the burn slowly turning to a simmering boil as he stretches you out.
You’re clawing at his back, while he’s mouthing at your shoulder practically drooling at the way your walls clench against his dick. He’s moaning with every breath he takes.
“Ah…” He whines, his hips stuttering as he tries to take his time. Your heels are digging into the back of his thigh as he slides in another inch.
“Clark…clark…” you whimper, grasping onto his shoulders, the ache in your loins reaching a crescendo you’ve only touched twice in your life— last night and right now.
He’s shushing you, lips pressed against your ear as he attempts to bottom out.
Ecstasy blurs your vision hot white as your lungs burn, sharp cries claw at your throat. Your eyes are screwed shut while dots dance across nothingness. Your head pushes further into the pillows as the tip of Clark’s cock buries deep against your core.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” moaning between curses, you hiss as your walls relish in the overwhelming sensation.
“I know Baby, it’s okay.” He’s giving you open mouth kisses, his hips pulling back before driving his hips forward again.
“Fuck!” You’re sure at this point there are scratches all along Clark’s back but you couldn’t care less at the moment, pleasure yo-yoing up your spine and down to your core.
“Shhh~ Gotta make sure you can take it, sweetheart.”
Pure Filth, he was.
“I can take it.” You breathe out, chest brushing against his with each intake of air. Clark leans back to see the want—the need—etched in your eyes and he lets out a small sigh.
“I guess I’ll just have to take my time with you later.” And before you can really know what he meant he places a kiss to your forehead, and grabs your hips pulling you away from him while he draws his hips back.
He quickly thrusts in, a small grunt leaving his lips setting an almost brutal pace–unbeknownst to you this was considered light work. Your voice falls into some harmonious echo alongside his as he rocks his hips, each thrust inching you further and further up hitting that same sweet spot over and over again. In the midst of your delirium, you’re suddenly aware of the sensations pooling in your womb.
“Clark,” You call out, “Clark, wait—” you fail to get his attention, the sound of your voice drowned out against his own moans. He’s also reaching his tipping point, his hips faltering every few thrusts. Seemingly hellbent on chasing the high he grazes his teeth against your neck as he wraps his arms around your body, hooking his hands on the swell of your ass. With the new grip he has he angles your hips, hitting deeper than he had at this point, your head thumps against the headboard with each slap of skin against skin, the ache scorching your insides.
“Fuh–uh–” He moans in your ear, thrusting into you in rhythm with each sound that leaves his mouth.
“No…” you sob quietly, at the same time Clark cries out hips giving out as you both reach that euphoria you’ve been chasing.
You’re whimpering beneath him as he stutters, heat pooling in your cheeks. Hips immediately faltering, he sits up when he hears you.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, automatically scooping your hands in his face to look at you. You grab at his wrists, your eyes glisten in embarrassment.
“I-I–” You’re shy as you glance down to where you and Clark are still connected. He follows your gaze down to the dark patch of cotton that now sits beneath you. For a second he doesn’t say anything, just staring at where you two touch until you feel him pulse inside you.
“Clark!” You exclaim, hands flying to your face in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry I—” He trails off, watching himself slide out of you.
A soft mewl leaves your lips at the feeling of being emptied out, wetness dribbling out of your hole, chasing his cock as Clark pulls out completely.
“Gosh, Baby.” Is all he says as he looks at you in awe. All you can do is stare at him, bewildered as he comes down to kiss your cheek, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.
“Thank the Gods, it’s the weekend.”
an: y’alllllllll what a wild freakin ride. i could write abt clark forever i had to force myself stop. also lots of overthinking went into this lol pls leave comments good or bad! if u have any words u feel i need to use more lmk lol .. dk if u could tell i avoid certain things sometimes. plus it’s been a year sue me lol.
I really liked this!! Idk if you wrote this with David Corenswet’s Clark Kent in mind but I could definitely imagine him in the scene. I would totally read a series with your Clark Kent, esp how you characterized him in this (if you were thinking about it 🙂↔️) thank you!!!
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, new relationship, coworkers, clark is a mess, you find a toy in clark's closet, no mention of reader's appearance (but implied they have a vagina), PATHETIC CLARK KENT !!!
notes: crossposted onto my ao3! this post was inspired from a request here :D my first request oh em gee tysmmm <3 as always reblogs and comments r most appreciated ily all!!! i hope u enjoy 🙂↕️
two months of stolen glances at work — of clark’s fingers lingering just a second too long when handing you files, of lunch dates where clark would blush whenever your knees brushed under the table. clark had been a picture-perfect gentleman, almost to a frustrating extent. it wasn’t the cute kind of frustration either, but the kind that made the air thick whenever clark cleared his throat around you, only for the tension to fizzle when he inevitably asked another annoyingly chivalrous question like if you wanted a refill on your coffee.
you half-expected him to ask permission to hold your hand by now.
it was during one of these painfully polite coffee breaks in the break room that clark managed to muster up some semblance of courage. his fingers drummed nervously against his mug as he leaned against the counter-top. “um,” he started, then stopped, adjusting his glasses with one hand while the other gripped the counter edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “i was wondering if — that is, if you weren’t busy tonight — maybe you’d like to come over? for dinner?” his voice pitched upward towards the end, turning his question into something more akin to a plea.
you arched a brow in response, stirring your coffee with deliberate slowness. “dinner, huh? you cooking, smallville?”
clark’s ears turned pink. “i — well, i can try? unless you’d rather have takeout? i have menus. too many menus, actually,” he rambled.
“i’d prefer you tell me what you want, clark.” you leaned just a fraction closer into clark’s personal space.
he swallowed hard in response. “i —”
before clark was able to get a coherent thought out, the break room door swung open and jimmy bounded in, whistling obliviously. “oh, hey guys! perry’s looking for those corruption notes by the way, clark.”
clark nodded nervously in jimmy’s direction. “oh —! i’ll, uh, i’ll get those to him. right now.” he fled without another word, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
two months of this. two months of clark kent — your boyfriend, guy you were dating, something — avoiding anything remotely close to intimacy. you were getting impatient.
your knock on clark’s door that evening had the force of someone who’d waited exactly two months and seventeen minutes too long for this moment. inside, the sound of something clattering to the floor was followed by a muffled “coming!” that sounded suspiciously like it was pitched three octaves higher than clark’s normal speaking voice.
when the door swung open, clark stood before you in a button-down shirt that had clearly been ironed within an inch of its life, the faintest scent of slightly-burned garlic bread wafting behind him. his glasses were fogged, presumably from condensation during the cooking process, and his hair stuck slightly to his forehead.
“you’re right on time,” he said, then immediately winced at how expectant he sounded. “i mean — good! that you’re here. on time. or early, or —” he swallowed the rest of his sentence down, fingers flexing against the doorframe like he was physically trying to center himself. “uh, come in!”
from the kitchen, you heard the distinct sound of something boiling over.
clark’s head whipped around and he bolted to the kitchen, leaving the front door swinging in his wake.
by the time you followed him, clark was already engaged in a losing battle with a pot of violently bubbling marinara. his attempts to lift the lid resulted in a spectacular eruption of red sauce that splattered across his pristine white shirt. you couldn’t help but giggle.
clark’s ears burned crimson. “gosh,” he muttered, staring down at the carnage with a sorry expression. “i — i can clean this up and change. just give me a minute —”
“relax,” you smiled, already moving towards the hallway. “i’ll grab you something from your closet. your rooms just down here, right?”
clark made a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but you were already pushing his bedroom door open before he could complain. the evening city light slanted through the blinds, causing visible dust particles to permeate the air as you rummaged through clark’s closet for a shirt. in the midst of your search, your fingers brushed against something that was decidedly not fabric. it was smooth, slightly yielding, and tucked behind a stack of neatly folded sweaters. maybe a camera lens? a bottle of something strong that clark didn’t want you to see? curious, you pulled it out, blinking at the object in your hands.
it was unmistakable; clear silicone wrapped in a plastic casing with a particularly lewd-shaped opening. you couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. clark kent, the boy who was often too scared to even touch you, owned a fleshlight.
from the kitchen, the frantic clatter of pots and pans had ceased. a beat of silence passed before clark’s voice, strained with panic, called out, “uh, did you find something? anything? because i, uh, really need to organize the closet. it’s probably hard to find anything in there at all —”
clark appeared in the doorway, sauce-stained shirt half-unbuttoned in his haste. his gaze locked to the item in your hands, and his entire body went rigid.
“that,” he squeaked, “is — that’s not — jimmy gave it to me! as a joke! a very unfunny, inappropriate joke that i was going to throw out, i swear —”
you tilted your head, running a thumb along the smooth silicone. “jimmy, huh?”
clark’s hands flapped uselessly at his sides. “yes! absolutely. one hundred percent jimmy. you know he has a terrible sense of humor. it’s awful. the worst.”
a drop of marinara slid from clark’s shirt and landed on the hardwood floor with a soft plop as you turned the toy over in your hands. the silence stretched.
“mhm.” you took a step closer, watching the way his breath hitched when you tapped the toy against your palm. “and you haven’t used it?”
clark hiccuped out a whimper, his adams apple bobbing violently. “i — i wouldn’t!”
“wouldn’t you?” your smile curled as you backed clark against the wall. “it’d be a shame to let a gift go to waste.”
clark’s knees nearly buckled, his eyes darting between your face and the fleshlight like a deer in headlights. “i — i should really check on the pasta,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. his attempt to sidestep was thwarted by your foot sliding between his, effectively caging him against the wall.
you clicked your tongue. “ah ah, i’m not done,” you hummed. “tell me something, smallville,” you pointed the toy at him, “you ever think about me when you use this?”
clark could only manage a strangled, “that’s — that’s not —!”
you waited patiently for a response. the silence echoed throughout the room until clark’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “… once,” he admitted in a quiet whisper, “maybe twice.”
“take your shirt off,” you spoke plainly, tapping the toy against your palm again. “and go turn off the stove before your apartment burns down.”
clark immediately began to fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. “look, i swear i was going to throw it away after the first time, it’s just —”
the distant hiss of boiling water interrupted his spiraling. with a yelp, clark threw his shirt off and ran to the kitchen. you followed behind him at a casual pace, marveling as clark stood stiffly upon turning the stove off, his bare shoulders tensed as he gripped the edge of the counter. his reflection warped in the stainless steel microwave door in an image of flushed cheeks and thoroughly mussed hair. you leaned against the fridge, rolling the silicone toy between your fingers as you waited for the pasta water to gurgle its last bubbles.
“can we —” his voice cracked. he refused to look at you. “can we pretend you never found that?”
“clark,” you sighed, you voice intentionally light. “you’ve had this,” you gave the toy a little shake, “for how long? a month? two?”
“um,” he couldn’t muster an answer.
“and yet,” you continued, standing straight in front of him now, “you haven’t even tried to kiss me properly, let alone get me in bed.”
“i didn’t want to… presume.” clark focused intently on a singular tile on the kitchen floor. he shifted his weight, his face and neck flushed.
“presume?” you stepped close enough to see the hairs on his neck sticking up. “clark kent, reporter extraordinaire, scared to make assumptions?”
he made a sound like a deflating balloon. “that’s completely unrelated —”
“you know what i think?” you mused, “i think you should show me exactly how this works.”
clark’s hands flew up; whether it was to touch you or to grab the toy from your hands, even he didn’t know. you traced the rim of the silicone opening, watching his pupils dilate behind smudged lenses.
“you liked thinking about me when you used this,” you murmured. “imagine how much better it’ll feel with me actually here.” you paused, holding the toy out for a moment as if to allow clark to grab it before you deliberately pulled it back. “unless… you’d rather i guess how it’s used?”
clark whined in response, pouting at your suggestion. “i —” his voice cracked spectacularly, “the — the instructions are pretty simple?” he voiced it as a question, clearly embarrassed.
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “oh, smallville,” you sighed, teasingly tapping the plastic sleeve of the toy against his bicep. “you’re funny.”
with a firm grip on clark’s wrist (as if he couldn’t easily free himself from your grasp), you tugged him toward the hallway. clark stumbled after you, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly to be casual. he shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, nearly tripping over a crack in the floorboards when you stopped abruptly at his bedroom.
fleshlight still gripped in one hand, you sat on the edge of clark’s bed. “sit,” you instructed, tone soft but leaving no room for argument.
clark sank gracelessly beside you, his hands fiddling awkwardly in his lap. the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting you just slightly toward him. you placed the toy onto the mattress between you. clark could do nothing but watch, transfixed.
“tell me how you like it,” you spoke in a tone so casual that you might as well have been asking clark about his sandwich preferences. “slow? fast?” there was a beat before you continued, quieter now, “lots of lube, i imagine.”
clark covered up a whine with a cough, his fingers digging into his palms. “it’s not —!”
“not what? not enjoyable? not good?” you clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “jimmy’s gonna be crushed.”
his head bowed. “no! i mean — it’s not — it works fine. it’s just…” his eyes screwed shut. “… embarrassing.”
with a hum, you picked the toy back up and placed it into clark’s hands, closing his fingers around it. “that’s it. good.”
a small tremor ran through clark’s form, his knuckles turning white around the plastic as his eyes slowly blinked open. then, with a shuddering exhale, he whispered a small “okay.”
the word was so soft that you almost missed it. you rewarded him with a slow smile, trailing two fingers along his bare forearm just to watch the goosebumps rise in their wake. there was something truly delicious about watching a man built like a brick wall melt like this. you leaned back slightly, giving him some semblance of space.
a long moment of silence passed between you as clark made no effort to move. “don’t mind me,” you cooed, your voice smooth with anticipation. you waited patiently, smirking as you watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“… lube…” clark muttered under his breath, his cheeks red.
you blinked. “hm?”
clark only ducked his head further, voice barely above a whisper. “i, uh, need lube.”
you giggled; clark was asking you for help because he couldn’t bring himself to move. cute.
you watched him with undisguised interest, the corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “where do you keep it?” your voice was low, amused. clark’s eyes darted toward the nightstand.
you reached over, pulling the drawer open with a deliberate sense of slowness. inside was a mess of pens, loose change, and there it was — a plastic bottle tucked discreetly beneath a folded receipt.
clark’s hand shot out, snatching the bottle from your fingers before you could fully grasp it. his eyes flickered in frantic embarrassment as he held the small bottle in his grip. now with the bottle clenched in one hand and the toy in the other, clark looked over at you, his eyes glassy as he seemingly waited for your instruction.
“looks like your hands are full, smallville. need some help?” you gestured, your hand landing on clark’s thigh. the contact made him jolt, his breath catching under your touch. “it’s a yes or no question, clark,” you teased, tracing idle circles on his skin.
clark’s hands, still clutching the lube and toy, moved slowly from their spot covering the bulge in his pants, causing clark to whine at the sudden exposure. his eyes darted to yours for the briefest second before skittering away again, but not fast enough to hide the spark of nervous anticipation.
your hand gravitated towards the waistband of clark’s trousers, his breath stuttering as you hooked an eager finger into the metal tab of his zipper; the quiet click of the zipper teeth separating seemed absurdly loud in the stillness of the room. clark’s chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as you eased the zipper down. when your knuckles brushed against his bulge through the fabric, clark made a choked noise that he attempted to play off as a cough.
after finally undoing the button of his pants, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “you’re doing so well,” you murmured, reveling in the way clark’s entire body shuddered at the praise. your fingers lingered at his waistband for a moment before withdrawing, your hands settling back against the mattress with an expectant tilt of your head. “your turn,” you nodded toward the objects clutched in his grip.
clark swallowed hard enough to make his throat click. he twisted the lube bottle open with trembling fingers, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch a thin stream of lube pour into the toy’s opening. the strain in his boxers began to ache as he swiped at the excess lube accumulating at the entrance of the fleshlight with his thumb, smearing it across the silicone pussy in a way that made his head fuzzy.
“is it — can i —” clark whined, his throat dry.
you gently plucked the lube bottle from his hand, placing it on the bedside table. “use your words, clark.”
he inhaled sharply through his nose, the flush of his cheeks deepening. “can i… can i take it out?” the question came out strangled, like he was confessing to a crime rather than asking for permission to pull his dick out of his underwear.
you gave him a slow nod, humming in approval. clark’s fingers quivered as they hooked under the waistband of his boxers, hesitating for a fraction of a second before finally tugging them down just enough to free himself. the moment his length sprang free, his breath hitched — partly from relief, but mostly from sheer mortification as your gaze dropped to take him in.
and oh, there was plenty to take in. thick, undoubtedly heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, you mused as a bead of precum glistened at his slit. his thighs tensed under your scrutiny, his hips twitching as if he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“oh, clark,” you let out a low, appreciative hum. “look at you, all worked up just from me looking at you.”
clark whimpered, high and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as he wordlessly begged for friction. his face burned hot as he choked out a stuttered “please.”
you let your fingertips brush against his outer thigh, your touch featherlight. “easy, big guy.” you soothed, though your voice was anything but gentle. he made another strangled sound, his length bouncing against his stomach in response. “aw, does that do something for you, clark? me praising your cock?”
“you — you know it does,” he managed, voice small.
your fingers trailed up his thigh before you pulled them away, causing clark to let out a small sound in protest. “hmm,” you tapped a finger against your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “you sure you can even fit in that thing?” you whispered, “looks like a tight squeeze.”
clark flushed a shade darker, his head snapping up. “i do —!” he blurted out indignantly.
you had to fight back a smirk. “prove it, then.”
he exhaled shakily in response, adjusting his grip on the toy as his other hand hovered uncertainly over his length. he hesitated, then let out a stuttered breath as he finally wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a tentative stroke. his hips jerked into his own touch, a quiet whine escaping him. with shaky hands, he guided the toy towards his tip, the slicked silicone dripping lube onto his cock. clark’s legs tensed, his brows knitting together as he pushed the toy down, the tight resistance making his breath come in short, uneven bursts.
you watched, rapt, as he worked himself slowly into the toy inch by inch, his entire body shuddering with the effort. the resistance built steadily as clark worked the toy down his cock, and once you saw through the clear plastic that he had reached the halfway point, his hips stuttered involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping his throat.
“it’s — it’s tighter than i — oh god — remember,” his biceps flexed as he tried to push deeper, the silicone stretching obscenely around him. the sight alone was absolutely pornographic. clark’s eyes glazed over.
“doing so well,” you hummed, scooting a bit closer to him on the edge of the bed. “you got it, baby.”
clark let out a shuddering exhale, his grip on the toy adjusting slightly. his thighs trembled as he tried angling himself differently, the tip of his cock catching against the tight interior.
“i can — haah — usually —” he cut himself off with another whine as he forced himself to sit still. “it fits. it does, i swear.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. his breathing slowed marginally, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to let the toy slide another fraction of an inch downward. a punched-out whimper left clark’s lips.
“that’s it,” you praised, watching the way his eyelashes fluttered at your words. “look at you, taking it so patiently.”
clark’s cock twitched visibly inside the toy, your praise urging clark to finally lower the toy the rest of the way so he was buried to the hilt inside it.
“s’too much,” he slurred, his voice thick with embarrassment and pleasure. “feels — nngh — so different with you watching.”
you hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward just enough to cover clark’s hand on the toy for a moment before pulling away. “different good or different bad?”
clark’s reply came out in a rush: “good. so good. please —” he cut himself off abruptly, biting his lower lip hard as the words threatened to fall out.
you smiled, watching him squirm for a second before speaking, “please what, clark? cmon, use your words.”
he whined high in his throat, his hips making abortive little thrusts into the toy. “want —” his voice cracked pathetically. “please keep talking. please.” the toy made a squelching noise as clark shifted slightly, the sound obscenely loud in the room. clark froze, humiliation flashing across his face before dissolving into a desperate whine.
“good boy,” you dragged the words out, slow and syrupy. “such a sweet boy, holding still for me… you wanna move, baby?”
clark made a choked sound, his hips twitching before stilling again, willing himself to wait for your permission. the toy gave another wet, sticky noise that caused clark’s breath to come in shallow puffs. “yes… please,” his voice was small and warbled.
“go ahead, baby. fuck your toy for me.”
clark’s movement was tentative at first, the slick drag of the silicone paired with desperate little thrusts causing his rhythm to be terribly clumsy. “that’s it, just like that,” you coaxed, delighting in the way he whimpered hopelessly at the praise.
he continued working himself for a few more moments before it happened — one particularly enthusiastic pull, a choked-off whine, and suddenly the toy popped free with a wet plop. clark let out a soft sob as the sudden loss of pressure left his cock twitching in the air, flushed and glistening.
for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the toy in his hand. he let out a soft, frustrated humph. “that doesn’t usually happen,” he tried to justify himself, the apple of his throat bobbing wildly.
you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and fond as you reached out to cup his knee. “aw, too excited to hold onto it properly?” the teasing lift of your voice made him whimper, his cock throbbing. “poor thing,” you mewled, shifting closer on the bed until your knee brushed against his thigh. “looks like you might need a little help, big guy.”
clark’s grip on the toy tightened reflexively, then loosened as he considered the idea. “i can — i can try again —"
you tsked softly, reaching out to take the toy from his trembling fingers. the plastic was warm from his grip, and you made a show of examining it, turning it over in your hands while clark watched, wide-eyed and breathless.
“mm, no,” you said finally, your voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “i think we both know you’re a little too worked up to manage it on your own right now.” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly down clark’s body before meeting his eyes again.
clark’s breath hitched audibly under your gaze. his cock leaked a small puddle of precum against his stomach, and he looked utterly wrecked; his hair slightly damp, his lips bitten pink. so desperate and pliant for you.
you continued fiddling with the toy in your hands as clark swallowed, forcing out another barely-there “please.”
clark let out a moan that could only be described as pathetic as your fingers finally curled around his weeping length with a purposeful slowness. his cock throbbed instinctively in your hand before his voice broke in apology.
“easy, clark,” you soothed, your thumb briefly brushing over the slick head of his cock. “i’ve got you.” you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke before you brought the toy back to his tip, sliding the slit against him to spread the lube along his cock.
clark’s fingers twisted into the sheets beside him as he struggled to figure out what else to do with his hands. he watched intently as you eased him back into the toy, applying gentle pressure.
“look at you,” you breathed, “so eager…” the resistance became tighter as you watched the toy swallow him back up.
a high, keening noise escaped clark’s throat as he bottomed out once more, the feeling increasingly dizzying due to you being the one controlling the fleshlight.
you gave the toy a slow glide upwards, watching clark’s entire body shudder as you pulled it nearly all the way off him before pressing down again, not quite as gently this time.
“you’re —” he whimpered as you stoked him again, “you’re moving it differently than i — gosh — than i do.”
with a giggle, you twisted the toy slightly on the next stroke to see him jolt. “yeah? you like it, baby?” clark made a strangled noise of protest that you took as answer enough, your free hand skating up his thigh just to feel the way his muscles jumped under your touch. the toy made loud, slick noises with every movement now, and clark’s mouth had fallen open without him realizing, little desperate whines escaping between ragged breaths. “tell me what you imagine when you use this, clark,” you ordered softly, slowing your movements a bit to watch his face scrunch.
clark fought to keep his eyes open, a high and desperate whine building in his throat. “you — you — riding me,” he keened once more.
you rewarded him with a faster pace. “yeah? and what do i say to you, baby?”
clark’s head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat. “that i’m good,” he whimpered, = “that i fill you up so nice —”
you crooned, twisting the toy once more. “mm, you imagine me bouncing on your pretty cock?” you punctuated the words with a firm stroke, hearing his breath stutter audibly. “filling me up so much that you can see your cock bulging from my tummy?”
clark’s hips jerked violently up into the toy with a wet slap, his entire body tensed. his cock pulsed visibly inside the clear silicone, a strangled moan cascading from his lips. “gonna — nnh — can’t —” his words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as his stomach muscles clenched, his knuckles white as he willed his body to hold back.
“such a pretty boy, clark,” you rested your chin on his shoulder as you continued stroking, “all worked up just from my voice. you close already?”
clark sobbed as he attempted to fight the building pressure. “please, please,” he gasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “too much, too good.”
his hips arched slightly off the bed as you sped up. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” you teased, “gonna be a good boy and let me see you make a mess in your toy?”
clark panted raggedly as he frantically nodded, too far gone to form coherent sentences. his cock pulsed again, the flushed tip leaking against the slick interior of the toy. his toes curled, thighs trembling violently as he teetered on the edge of release.
you gave him one last slow, deliberate drag of the toy, your thumb pressing lightly against the base of his cock just to hear him whimper from the feeling of your skin on his. “go on,” you coaxed, your voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “let go for me. been such a good boy.”
clark came with a broken cry, his hips jerking helplessly as pleasure wracked through him. he canted his hips up to meet the toy halfway as you stroked him, his release spilling into the silicone in thick pulses. his lips parted around shallow, gasping breaths as he blinked up at the ceiling. he whispered soft ‘thank you’s when the aftershocks began to hit him.
when clark gasped in oversensitivity, you eased the toy off him with a soft, wet sound, setting it aside before pressing a soft kiss to his temple and nuzzling against his sweat-damp hair. “there you go,” you hummed, “did so good for me.”
clark let out a soft, contented noise as he caught his breath. “maybe next time i’ll let you feel the real thing,” you teased after a long moment of silence. he opened his mouth — probably to stammer out some flustered objection again — but you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could embarrass himself further. you patted his thigh sympathetically. “so, you said you have a bunch of takeout menus around here somewhere?”
clark blinked hazily, his post-orgasm haze clearly still clinging to him. he practically slumped against you, breathing you in for a moment before he mustered up the strength to gesture vaguely towards the kitchen. “mmph… i’ll get them in a minute.”
no man in your life could ever compare to the masterful oral skills your boyfriend nanami kento had. he takes the words out of your mouth every time he goes down, somehow intuitively knowing exactly what you need.
from long, slow licks that spread your folds, to wet, messy kitten laps on your clit, his head was always beyond good. sometimes too good.
pride ignites in him when your trembling hands grip his hair, holding onto the amber strands like a lifeline. the dull pain that radiated through his scalp was oh so good, made him groan into your overstimulated cunt over and over again.
while he did love your hands on him, it'd be a lie to say it wasn't occasionally a... hindrance, to say the least.
"shiii, i-i can't take it!" you'd moan, as if he hasn't heard that before.
"yes, you can, baby. you took it last night, didn't you?" of course you did, but not without a fight. he's lucky there's no bald spots from how hard you were pulling at his hair.
sometimes you'd cover your aching wet core, a weak attempt at stopping his heavenly tongue work.
kento is a man that likes control, ease, for things to be done in the most efficient way possible. and while he does love when you squirm, how easy it is to overstimulate his pretty girlfriend, it's getting in the way of eating you out!
for this reason, he's tied your wrists to the headboard, trapped to the hardwood as he has his way with you.
"ohmygod ohmygod, oh!-" meaningless cries fall from your lips, kiss bitten and drool glazed.
he pays them no mind—well, if not responding and grunting into your cunt counts.
your eyes almost get stuck in your head when he uses his nose, the bridge of it grinding onto your clit just how you need. it drives you crazy every time, he knows it.
"hump for me," he commands, voice steady as ever. he still manages to be dominating when he has a mouthful of pussy.
of course, you follow his command. in no time, messy shlick and other rubbing sounds are being produced from between your thighs, trembling with need. he can barely breathe, both of your mouths hanging open, but you don't care. it fills the bedroom, your space, his aura, the very fiber of your being.
the only other noticeable sound are your ties, digging into the wood the same way kento was digging you out last night. it's like a mini construction team has set up camp in your bedroom, only it's you sawing without noticing.
"o-oh, keeen! let me go!"
for a second, his eyes flicker up at you, drinking up your exhausted figure. you look so cute and pathetic; all the more reason to keep you tied up.
"are you going to use your safeword?" he asks, occasionally stopping to lap at your clit.
"no!"
"then i'm not letting you out."
it goes like that for a while: you begging to be free (but not really meaning it), him saying no, then another barrage of pleasure on the soaked petal of your pussy. he seriously considers stopping when the wood sounds like it'll break if you go on any longer.
the pink rope—of the finest material— bites at your skin, hurts in the best way possible. he chose it specially for you. it's akin to fluffy pink handcuffs, so very erotic yet girly and almost laughable.
"ken, c-" "yes, you may."
he already knows that you're trying to beg to cum, regardless of how few words you can get out. you've said it a thousand times and you'll say it a thousand times more.
writhing against the bed, hands still bound, cream cascades down your slit, right into kento's expecting mouth.
he lets it sit there a bit, relishing in every minute flavor as his eyes roll. he looks possessed.
snapping back to his senses, he keeps lapping, trying to get every drop of your essence before your orgasm is over. not once do his eyes leave yours, pinning you in place.
he watches your chest heave, the stray hairs sticking to your sweaty neck, every twitch of your lips as more silent cries, never to be heard are motioned.
"fuuuck! i'm gonna cum again!"
there's no time for him to give you permission to release, to soak his face once more. waves of pleasure are already crashing down, clit already on fire with stimulation.
he realizes he's made the mistake of not tying your legs together. instinctively, you squish them together, catching his face in a headlock he doesn't want to leave. immediately he groans, intoxicated by the aching pressure of your powerful legs clamping against his head.
the only bad part? now he can't move his head to eat you out!
in a moment of sexual frustration, or maybe pure frustration, he wrangles himself out of your grasp and to the closet.
you watch in fear (and a little hornyness) as he pulls the last coils of rope out, already gripping your legs to tie them where your hands are.
"spread" is all he demands before your knees are tucked neatly by your head, ankles tied in a bow by your wrists.
it was going to be one hell of a night.
masterlist | @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred
a/n: mean nanami for ya! this was longer than intended, at least for what i normally post. tell me if it dragged on. also, i think i want to start writing some more explicitly black reader x nanami stuff. if you have any ideas, do tell me!
᭡୧ synopsis: in which nanami is a longtime divorced man but got a very active sex life. and in which a new, bimbo… and a very much younger neighbor moves in next to his apartment. worst part is, he’s not able to control himself around you. especially when you’re at his door, asking him to fix your wifi late at this hour.
᭡୧ pairing: older!nanami kento x kinda bimbo fem!reader
᭡୧ c. warnings: age gap, heavy sexuál tension, eyefu cking, solo m. mast urbation, nanami is in his 40s and reader is early 20s, belly/tummy bulge, fing ering, did i say heavy se xual tension?, pus sy eating, overstim ulation, squi rting, weak plot/heavy po rn — if there’s more to tag lmk.
nanami kento has always kept his life neat and quiet, the kind of man who folds his shirts the same way every morning and times his coffee exactly seven minutes after the water boils. forty years old, divorced once a long time ago, and now he lives alone in the corner apartment on the fourth floor where the hallway light flickers just enough to remind him he should probably call maintenance but never does.
his sex life is the same as everything else he controls, sparse and deliberate. a few times a year he lets himself download one of those bland apps, meets a woman his age in a hotel bar, fucks her slow and polite in the dark so neither of them has to look too closely at the other.
most nights though it is just his own hand in the shower, quick and efficient, eyes closed while he thinks about nothing at all. he likes it that way. clean. no mess. no complications. until you moved in next door three months ago and ruined every single one of those careful rules without even trying.
you showed up on a rainy tuesday with too many cardboard boxes and a laugh that carried through the thin walls like it belonged there.
early twenties, fresh out of whatever college or job that spat you into this building, always in oversized shirts and tiny sleep shorts that rode up the back of your thighs when you bent over to pick up your mail. nanami noticed you the first time he passed you in the hallway, the way you smiled at him like he was just another neighbor instead of a man who suddenly felt every one of those twenty years between you. he told himself it was nothing. just new noise in a building that had been quiet for years. but then the noise became something else.
the soft thump of your music when you cooked dinner, the way your balcony light stayed on late while you scrolled on your phone, the faint vanilla scent that drifted under his door every time you took out the trash. he started catching himself pausing at the peephole when he heard your keys, hating the way his cock twitched at the mere sound of your footsteps. hating it more when he realized he was hard again in the shower that same night, fist wrapped tight around himself while he pictured those sleep shorts pooled around your ankles.
he tried to ignore it at first. threw himself into longer office hours, came home later, kept the volume on his television higher so he would not hear you humming in the shower through the shared wall. it did not work.
every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.
he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.
then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.
nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.
your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.
you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.
you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.
“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.
nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.
you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.
his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.
fuck.
he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.
“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.
he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.
every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.
he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.
he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.
he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.
“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.
his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.
“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.
“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.
he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.
he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.
nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.
the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.
he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.
you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.
your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.
“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.
“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.
nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.
and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.
+
a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.
nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.
it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.
it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.
he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.
you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.
each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.
he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.
tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.
the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.
nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.
you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.
“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”
he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.
he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.
you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.
the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.
nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.
he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.
“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”
you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.
your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.
the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.
his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.
you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.
he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.
you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.
nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.
he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.
you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”
“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”
you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”
caught him red handed. fuck you.
he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”
the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”
his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.
“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”
you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”
the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.
he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.
nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.
he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.
his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.
his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.
he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.
the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.
nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.
he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.
he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.
he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.
the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.
he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.
only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.
he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.
nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.
when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.
your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.
he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.
you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.
the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.
“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.
he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.
you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.
nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.
his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.
the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.
he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.
“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.
your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.
his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.
now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.
he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.
you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.
nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.
but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.
with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.
your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.
he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.
the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.
your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”
the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.
nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.
“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.
nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.
his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.
the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.
nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.
for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.
nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.
your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.
finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.
a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.
the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.
he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.
“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”
the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.
he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.
“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”
the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.
well y’all i had to claw my nails onto a wall to storm this idea so it better do good or you’re not hearing from me again.. (i’m literally posting in few hours again 😛)
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wherein clark kent gives you his most sincere apology (mindblowing head) in his fraternity house.
a/n: this got wayyyyyyy longer than expected. nsfw under the cut. mdni.
Clark Kent is sunshine in a bottle, really.
So it’s confusing, no, outright bewildering that his fraternity brothers are absolute dogs to women, and what’s worse is that Clark can’t help but seem to go along with it sometimes; which brings you to his room hanging out with him after he begged for to see you. To talk and hopefully smooth things over.
“I just wish you’d stop doing that weird nonchalant thing when you get in your head,” Clark says out of the blue, his big azure eyes staring at your unamused form.
You’re lying in his bed at the frat house, regrettably, you think, letting him trace shapes onto your thick thigh. You swore you wouldn’t be back here. Swore you wouldn’t speak to Clark again after seeing him with some girl at a party.
His hands all over her, her hands all over him. Your stomach turns that the thought, even though you have no right. It’s not like you and Clark are together or anything.
Clark kisses his teeth, already knowing where your head is at. For the supposed ‘sweetest’ guy in his fraternity, he sure can be a dickhead.
“If it’s about Lana, I’ll… I’ll stop entertaining that, like, now. I’ll stop entertaining all of ‘em.”
You sigh, internally cringing at your own lack of resolve and self respect. You really shouldn’t have come over.
“It’s the principle, Clark,” You huff out, shifting away from him, “That shit was so embarrassing.”
It’s like a switch flips in Clark’s brain; all of the relaxed bravado of his college frat boy persona dries up like water in the desert. He wilts for a second, looking like a kicked puppy as he reads your body language.
“Hey, no,” Clark almost whines, his big hands encircling your waist to drag you into his arms, “Don’t do that, honey. Please.”
A grunt leaves your throat as you turn tour face from him, yet you don’t pull away or worm your way out of his grip. Internally, Clark smiles. He’s still got you, for now.
“Hey,” he says again, “‘M serious, baby.” He kisses at your cheeks and neck, attempting to coax a noise, a quip, some sort or reaction from you, “Let me make it up to you.”
It’s embarrassing, how quickly you respond to a few measly kisses along your jugular. Despite yourself, you’re tilting your head up, allowing Clark to drag his hands along your body like it’s the first time, savoring every second.
“Gonna let me make it up to ya, yeah, baby?” Clark asks, taking your quiet acquiescence as a good sign. He lets his thumbs brush over your nipples through your crop top, grateful you were too lazy to put on a bra today. His perfect girl.
“Mkay,” You say breathlessly, trying and failing to keep your voice from sounding all small and needy, “Make it up to me, then.”
He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s grateful in the way he gently lays you on your back, pressing a short kiss to your lips before kissing down; down your neck, between your breasts, over your belly button and down to the waistband of your shorts.
He kisses his way down your thighs, murmuring apologies and compliments interchangeably. He slides your shorts down, careful to keep your cute cotton panties on as he leans in, pressing his face to your clothed pussy and taking a sinfully long inhale, breathing you in. “Clark!” You whine, looking away from him with reddening cheeks, “That’s so— like…”
“Jus’ missed my girl, is all,” He huffs, nosing at your clothed clit, “You smell so, so good, honey.”
His thumb brushes over your clothed center, his eyes watching the way your face twists up in need. He presses a few kisses to your pussy through the panties, his pink tongue darting out to lick you through them.
“Off, Clark,” You breathily demand, “Take ‘em off.”
He marvels at you for a few moments before he’s shoving your legs apart, pushing his face into your folds to press hot, open mouthed kisses to your pussy.
“I was bein’ stupid,” he whines into your cunt, two of his thick fingers pushing into your velveteen folds, “‘M so sorry, honey.”
You mewl as he angles his fingers, his mind working quickly to establish a rhythm that pulls more of those precious sounds from your lips.
“So, so, sorry,” He says again, looking up at tori through furrowed, dark brows, “Promise I’ll never take this sweet girl for granted again.”
Your mind is hazy with pleasure, unable to decipher whether he’s talking about you or your cunt; though you suppose it really doesn’t matter, as long as he keeps going.
You seize around him as his long fingers find that gummy spot inside you, your thighs clenching around his head. “Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” You sob, your eyes screwed up in pleasure, “Clark, ‘M gonna— I’m gonna…”
“‘S okay, baby,” Clark praises, bringing his other hand to rub your clit, “That’s all I want, honey. Give it to me, please, baby… You can do that for me, can’t you?” You nod with a cry letting your impeding orgasm wash over you in waves. Your thighs tremble as Clark slowly fucks you though it with his fingers, nodding along as you whine.
Maybe coming to his place was a good idea, after all.
pairing: curse!satoru gojo x fem!reader
wc: 1.5k
cw: 18+ / mdni. Please read blog rules before interacting. Mature themes. Blood & Injury. This chapter includes themes of domestic abuse and coerced/neglectful intimacy within a relationship. Please read with care.
tags: mini-series · reincarnation · soulmates · hurt/comfort · eventual smut
summary: you moved the countryside for quiet, but before you even had a chance savor your newfound freedom...something falls from the sky, and into your kitchen.
a/n: this has been sitting in my WIP graveyard for quite some time, and it went through a lot of rewrites. I've been trying to experiment with shorter wc and more parts. Thank you for reading! x
Master List: part 2 (to be continued) >>
PART 1 - Sky Fall
Be careful what you wish for.
And should you truly wish for something, you ought to be precise.
You prayed for a miracle. All you wanted was your husband back.
And so, the universe granted your wish.
Except he came back to you as a curse, three lifetimes later.
In sickness and in health. Till death do us part. But you knew, even on the day you exchanged vows, that not even death could part you from him.
When they brought the news that he had perished at sea—with no body returned—all you could do was curse the heavens for taking him away.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to die.
Though it was the grim reality of war, and many had endured similar losses for the sake of a better tomorrow, you couldn’t accept it.
He was the light of your life.
A decorated marine commander, always boasting of his undying devotion to his wife and his love for the sea.
Yes, a part of you resented him. Sometimes you wished he had chosen a simpler life, like most aristocrats. He came from a noble bloodline; he could have lived comfortably, untouched by war.
But no. He had to join the frontlines.
Being part of the marines had always been his dream. His convictions were what you came to both love and despise.
And when the two of you married, he bought a house by the port so he could always return to his beloved wife swiftly.
Alas, that was who your man was.
That was who Satoru Gojo was.
You should have let him rest. You should have accepted fate. Because sometimes, the greatest act of love is to let go. To sacrifice.
But you were selfish.
You don't remember your past life. They come in dreams—fragmented, forgotten by morning.
Sometimes you wake in tears. But you never know why.
…
You had just moved to a quaint seaside town in the countryside. The house was immaculate for the price—almost too good to be true.
According to the real estate agent, the house had once belonged to a marine commander and his wife. After their passing, with no next of kin, it was auctioned off to an eccentric artist from overseas.
No one ever lived in it.
It stood untouched, surprisingly well-kept, as though time itself had been too afraid to disturb it.
Now, you were the proud owner.
Naturally, you gave the real estate agent a hard time. Questioned him incessantly: was the place haunted? Prone to UFO sightings? Was someone murdered here? Why had it sat so long on MLS?
From the look on his face, he seemed to regret ever taking the listing. But you digress. A good deal was a good deal.
And there was just something about this home by the sea that felt…right.
Everything seemed perfect. This was the life you’d wanted—in quiet solitude. You wanted to spend the rest of your life alone.
After all, you had come here to escape.
Because you broke off your engagement—two weeks before the wedding.
Your ex-fiancé was Naoya Zen’in.
On paper, he was the ideal man. Charming. Charismatic. Handsome. He had a stable career, backed by an even greater family name.
Looking back now, you realize the reason he chose you was far more sinister than you could have ever imagined. At the time, you naively thought you were special.
But behind closed doors, he was jealous. Demanding. Rough.
Insecure.
You thought you could overlook it. Told yourself that he was still a suitable partner. That the feeling of “rightness” was just an unrealistic expectation—some childish fantasy.
After all, everyone has flaws and shortcomings. No marriage is perfect.
You ignored it when he said he’d prefer you didn’t work.
You ignored it when he berated you.
When he became rough.
When he only cared about his own pleasure.
When you told him it hurt, and he acted like it was your flaw.
When he only took, but never gave.
You ignored it when he said he could look at other women—but still only loved you.
You even ignored it when he got down on one knee and asked you to marry him.
But eventually, it all became too hard to ignore.
You didn’t know it then, but you know now: the most dangerous men are not bred by arrogance. They are bred by insecurity.
So, you set a quiet plan in motion to disappear.
Far, far away.
You took nothing with you. Just a few sets of clothes, your ID, and a bank card.
You left your engagement ring on the bedside table. Beside it, a handwritten note.
Then you vanished.
…
A small sigh escaped your lips as you turned the key and opened the front door.
It was all behind you now.
You know better. You can protect yourself.
He won’t find you. He won’t touch you. Not this time.
You’re not a victim anymore.
You’re a survivor—and you remind yourself of that every time that ugly thing named doubt tries to crawl its way back in.
It hadn’t been long since you moved in, but something about the air felt different today. Charged, in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
The sky was clear, its blue hue expansive above the vast windows of your greenhouse kitchen. It was your favorite feature of the house—a little sanctuary of warmth and light.
But as you glanced upward, something curious caught your attention.
A shooting star in broad daylight?
Your eyes stayed fixed on it as you raised your cup of tea, watching the streak of light carve across the sky.
Was this some strange, beautiful trick of nature? A rare phenomenon?
Whatever it was, it was beautiful.
As you continued to admire it, something began to feel off. The star was growing—bigger, brighter. More brilliant by the second.
Your eyes widened in horror at the realization.
It wasn’t drifting. It wasn’t fading.
It was moving. Fast.
At its speed and trajectory, the damn thing was coming straight toward you.
In a panic, you dropped your teacup. The delicate porcelain shattered into a million pieces beneath your feet.
You bolted, racing for the front door, desperate to escape before you were completely annihilated by some cosmic freak accident.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and time became warped. It was as if you were watching yourself run, your body detached from your mind.
As your hand grazed the brass knob, a loud, deafening crash erupted from the kitchen.
The force of the impact shook the walls. Dishes in the cabinet shattered. Wood splintered. Framed decorations smashed to the floor.
You screamed, then dropped into a fetal position by the door, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as the world unraveled behind you.
By the grace of the universe, you had somehow miraculously survived.
Your body trembled uncontrollably from the aftershock, limbs buzzing with adrenaline.
When you finally looked up—fully expecting to see a meteorite, or at the very least a smoking crater—what you saw instead nearly caused you to pass out.
To be honest, you think you would have rather passed out in this scenario.
Before you, among the shattered glass and blood splatter, lay a man—or at least, you thought it was a man. The sight was too confusing. Six cerulean eyes. Six wings. Long white hair. A body shaped like a man’s, adorned with glowing golden glyphs.
What was it? A man? A creature? E.T.?
It reminded you of those “biblically accurate” angels—or an eldritch god. But those were only folklore and fiction. They don’t exist.
Then again, you weren’t so certain you were even in your right mind anymore. After all, you had literally watched it fall from the sky.
Still, a pang tugged at your chest. It was bleeding. An unmistakable crimson—blood like anyone else’s.
Do you call for an ambulance? Animal control? The Vatican?
Cautiously, you approached. It twitched at the sound of your feet brushing past the glass shards. Even though it had completely trashed the pride and joy of your home, you felt bad for it—given its current state.
“A-Are you alright?” you squeaked.
Dumb question.
Deep lacerations covered its body. It looked fatal, and a sinking thought washed over you: it might not have much time left.
And yet, as you crept closer, it didn’t lash out. It stayed still. Maybe it was too weak to move. Maybe it didn’t see you as a threat. Or maybe—despite everything—some part of you believed it meant no harm.
Something told you not to run.
You reached out slowly, your hand trembling.
It didn’t move. Had it succumbed to its wounds?
Your fingers were just about to brush its skin when it snapped.
In a blink, the creature surged forward, seizing you by the wrist. You barely had time to register the movement before its teeth sank into your neck.
In your final moments of consciousness, you cursed your damn luck.
This was not what you had imagined. Your new life had only just begun—and now it was ending prematurely. You had come for peace and solitude, not to get mauled by…whatever the fuck this was.
Now that thunderbolts is near I keep seeing posts talking about who they want or don't want Bucky in a relationship with, so i'd like to mention THE ONE person Bucky has shown interest and initiative to not only talk but flirt with after ww2, did we forget bucky was ready to be a step father in tfatws? he couldn't stop that smitten smile every time he saw Sarah Wilson
Look at them checking each other out
Look at this man proving he's good with kids and Sarah's smile?
I don't know, the whole thing is really sweet, both finding family and love again after tragedy? So much potential, very soft
They better not pair with none of the Thunderbolts or I'm just going to burst into tears. There, I said it. I know I ought to be mature about it, but Sarah x Bucky has inspired some of my best writing. I know it's immature to say.
I’m in team Sarah & Bucky, too! It’s a shame they didn’t get a chance to show more of their flirting in TFATWS. But I do think they make a great couple. Both went through so much, they simply deserve a loving and caring partner. They fit perfectly. A match made in heaven.
I cannot believe there's absolutely no way to watch free shows and movies anymore, there are too many paid streaming platforms and pirating websites have viruses and ads preventing you from watching it uninterrupted((.)) id rather follow the rules and purchase media moving forward because it is too inconvenient. Seriously, free and no ads or viruses with 1080p streaming is DEAD.
Exactly! It's freaking annoying when I want to watch movies but I would have to subscribe to like 24 different services . Just to watch the shows that I like.
i like using streaming apps but there are waaaay too many and they're all stealing my data .i wish there was a secure and organized way to have millions of shows and movies available one one app. but alas. we've truly gone full circle back to cable + now it spies on you. its a real shame. i dont want to fill my device storage with tons of boring and stupid cash grabs.
i know, it's so annoying for everything to be paid nowadays, especially movies and tv shows. it would be perfect if i could watch them without getting infected by some virus or some shit. i'm fine with ads, they gotta run themselves somehow, but i want to watch stuff and .live! if they have to use different domains i'm okay with that too, because free media is .top dog either way.
for mobile users, it especially sucks, because you can't just use websites and you have to not only pay, but you have to download a billion apps just to find what the thing you wanna watch is on. it doesn't help that the streaming services take up...so much space. so much.
Please do donate to Sudan initiatives. The news we hear from Sudan is absolutely terrible. Even if you can't donate, share it anywhere you think might get people to donate. Share it on ig, Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, whatever. Just please do share and if you can spare a few dollars once and a while....
LOVE failed chosen ones. Chosen ones who failed and chosen ones who aren’t special and never were and chosen ones by chance and chosen ones by a choice not their own and chosen ones who succeeded at what cost
“I don’t like Motaz anymore!” “We should cancel Bisan!!” “Should we support Palestine if Motaz has xyz belief??” the answer is it’s a GENOCIDE. You should not even be glorifying these people in the first place, that you’re shocked by their actions to the point of no longer supporting Palestine. You should not be caring about Palestine because you have two genocide blorbos you’re unhealthily attached to. You should be supporting Palestine because people are dying, babies are losing their lives on birth, whole cities are being razed to the ground, and an entire country’s being erased in live time. You should be supporting Palestine because you value human life. I don’t know how many times people need to hear it for it to stick. Palestine is not a trend. Palestine is not a trend.
in honor of the media blackout this week, i wanted to compile a list of links and resources regarding what’s going on in gaza. i advise all of you to give these links a look at, or to at least reblog them. the people in gaza need the bare minimum from us in that sense. &, well, if you can’t take enough time out of your day to give these links at least a look, a like, or share, then, bye !
& for all the the last of us fans out there, you need to see this. it’s genuinely a must. not to call anyone out, but i see a lot of people who have not spoken out about this at all, who, for example, keep publishing or reblogging fics etc during the blackout. i love a good fic as much as anyone else, but you can wait a week. there’s really no excuses here. if you didn’t know about the previous blackout, then now is your chance. don’t turn a blind eye to this.
at the end of this post are links specifically for those engaged in the last of us tumblr. if you aren’t going to look at the links before that, then at least look at those.
oh, & for the dumbasses who are unfollowing me for spending a week to post about a fucking genocide? fuck you, & good fucking riddance. you are not and never were welcome on my page. i don’t want you here anyways!
PALESTINE LINKS
SEVERAL ways you can help the people in gaza. some of which are fully free.
SEVERAL links regarding info around this genocide, such as places to boycott, and ways to learn more about the nature of it all.
SEVERAL ways you can help, including ways to donate, petitions you can sign, and campaigns you can join.
places you NEED to boycott. don’t buy from them, regardless of if they really fund israel or not. if they support them, that is more than enough. boycotting is a way to resist, so do it. at the end of this post are also places that are helping those who are in gaza, and families you can help escape by donating.
know that this conflict did NOT begin oct. 7th. this is so much deeper than you know, and has been going on for 70+ years. click the above link to educate yourself on that front.
CLICK HERE TO HELP PALESTINE! this site has already been debunked on if it really helps the people in gaza or not, and it does. just one click is all you need. one button, once per day. you can even do it on different devices or browsers so you get more than one click in. click it daily!
CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVES using this link, and this link (this will help you find ways to call or email them depending on where you live). also, urge biden and congress to do right by the people in gaza. the U.S. sends billions of dollars to israel every year, funding the genocide that’s ensuing as we watch on from the comfort our homes. do the bare minimum, & hold them accountable. please.
HERE ARE WAYS YOU CAN DONATE or find a PROTEST near you! not everyone is readily available to do these things, i know that. but looking into them could never hurt, or at least sharing it elsewhere so there is more awareness surrounding it.
LEARN OF AFRO-PALESTINIAN EXPERIENCES, & the efforts they have made over the years. i think it’s so, so crucial that we hear their voices, &, god, learning of all that they’ve been through, & all that they’ve done, is so inspiring.
here is some more info regarding BOYCOTTING. boycotting does, and has been proven to work. this post explains the subject a bit more in case it happens to confuse anybody, along w/companies and such that need to be boycotted, & why. as i said before, boycotting is a way to resist. so do it!
HERE IS A 🇵🇸 MASTERLIST including ways to educate yourself, donate, books you can read, & films you can watch. this is one of the best links i have regarding this conflict, and i highly recommend you look at it!
SOUTH AFRICA took israel to court for this genocide! read about it in the above link.
FOR THE LAST OF US FANS
do not remain in the dark about the last of us’s link to the ongoing conflict in gaza. neil druckmann, the director of the game, is a ZIONIST. he grew up in israel, and TLOU2 is rooted in israeli themes. now, no one is saying you have to quit playing the game, or dislike it, for all you dense ones out there. but i ask that you remain aware of this aspect of it, especially if you are regularly engaged in the last of us tumblr.
this is a link that i highly, highly recommend you read through. it discusses the HEAVILY ISRAELI THEMES TLOU2 displays. click the following link to learn more on TLOU2 & NEIL DRUCKMANN.
DO NOT BUY TLOU, TLOU REMASTERED, TLOU2, TLOU2 REMASTERED, OR ANY GAME FROM ND! neil druckmann has donated money to the IDF in the past. & where do you think he’s getting his money from? yeah, you got that. watch gameplays, pirate these games, or buy them secondhand. several shops sell used games. & for those of you who went and purchased the game anyway, knowing about all of this? fuck you.
if you think your $10 doesn’t matter, then think about this: okay, one person spends $10 on the game. whatever. but when 100,000 people do it? that’s a million dollars, going into the hands of a zionist, who is using YOUR money to help kill innocent men, women, and children. put that in your pipe and smoke it.
it is not just the games you need to boycott. HBO’S show also needs to be. follow this link to learn of more movies and shows you need to boycott, & the reasons why, including the last of us. let’s also not forget that dina & abby’s actresses are in support of israel, and BELLA RAMSEY, ellie’s actress, has also shown support.
boycott. the fucking. show. there are a million websites where you can pirate it, so you are not giving any of your support to it. resist.
i understand that not everyone is educated on this subject, and that not everyone knew of the previous media blackout. for the last of us fans, i understand that not everyone knew about the game or show’s israeli nature. but it is never too late to take part. it is never too late to care. i promise you that. if you purchased the game, at least donate to one of the sources above. that’s just bare minimum.
get educated, get loud, & GET PROUD! these are innocent people who are dying as you read this from your bed, couch, whatever. the least you can do is like & reblog so this reaches more people. your voice matters, big account or small.
FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE 🇵🇸🍉
