After roaming around for a year or so i think it’s time to step out of the shadows.
Call me Occult or Petty or Bunnyboo whatever comes to you naturally.
I enjoy consuming dark content (you might have seen me liking your posts or in your comments ;) ) that includes Slashers, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches and anything of the likes.
I also float around anime content like Blue Lock and Jjk (i might have forgotten some..).
I’m sure you can see the connection between all of them so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Be not afraid of talking in private, might take a while tho im still not too familiar with the place.🤧 This is a safe space, no hate will be tolerated.
Imagine Damon Salvatore drinking your blood during sex 🫣
I hope he's not ooc!
(blood drinking (both Damon and reader), blood kink ig?, vampirism, gn!reader, readers a human, unprotected sex, I think this is it!)
"Holy fuck.. the things you do to me," he sighs, his voice wavering as your walls squeeze around him. He groans something about how tight you are, but you're too lost in the pleasure to understand him. All that comes out of your mouth is moans and whines. He takes one of his hands off your thigh and wraps his fingers around your neck, and he squeezes. The feeling has your eyes rolling back. His finger traces your pulse point, and he leans down to kiss it. The tips of his fangs brush against your soft skin. He kisses the spot just under your pulse and bites down. The feeling of being fucked stupid, and him drinking your blood is all too much and you aren't able to get a word about before your orgasm hits you. He takes a few more nice drinks of you before he pulls off your neck. His pace never faltered once, through the whole ordeal. When he's looking down at you, his eyes follow the drops of blood that drip down onto the bed beneath you both. He leans down once more to lick it and get one more taste of you.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰
His hips quickly snap into yours with inhuman speed. You know what he is, but it still shocks you just how fast he is. Each thrust the tip of his cock brushes against that one spot inside you that you've never been able to get with your fingers. He leans down to kiss you, a deep growl vibrates in his chest when his lips touch yours. He lifts your thighs up to wrap them around his hips, letting him get deeper than before.
"Hah... Damon, nghh," you whine and your muscles twitch, you're sensitive, and he just keeps on pounding you. "Shh... I know, I'm right here," he breathes and kisses you once more, his hips moving a big slower now, and he bites his wrist and presses it against your lips, and you quickly drink. He groans, and you can feel him twitch inside of you. It's not long before his orgasm hits him, emptying himself inside of you.
He pulls out of you, and you whimper. He lays beside you and gently strokes your face, pulling you close to kiss you. You can taste the metallic tang of your blood on his tongue, and it's the best thing you ever tasted, and from the growl he lets out into your mouth, you know he can taste his own blood on you. He litters kisses down your jaw and neck, and he kisses your pulse point once more before moving away. "You did so good for me. Now come on, let's get cleaned up, and maybe if I'm feeling nice, we'll have some shower sex," he smirks and kisses you again, effortlessly lifting you up into his arms and into the bathroom.
A/N: I've a thing for doing Headcanon ABCs rn they're so so cool
A = Aftercare (What he’s like after sex)
Damon is surprisingly good at aftercare when he actually cares. He’ll pull you against his chest, stroke your hair, kiss the bite marks he left, and murmur filthy praises mixed with soft “you did so good, baby girl.” But if he’s in a dark mood… aftercare is just him licking his own cum off your thighs while smirking.
B = Body Part (His favorite body part of his and yours)
His favorite body part of himself is his own face. He loves making you look at him while he fucks you, forcing eye contact so you see every smug expression, every smirk, every time his eyes darken with lust. His favorite body part on you is your wrists. He’s obsessed with pinning them above your head, wrapping his fingers around them, biting them, and feeling your pulse race under his tongue.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)
Damon loves to cum inside you. He finds it primal and possessive. He’ll push it back in with his fingers afterward, whispering “Mine” while watching it drip out. He also enjoys cumming on your tits or stomach just so he can see you covered in him.
D = Dirty Talk (He talks you through it?)
Extremely filthy and constant. Damon never shuts up. Expect lots of “Look at you, taking my cock like such a good little slut”, “You’re dripping for me already?”, “Cum on my fingers, princess. Let me feel you squeeze.” He mixes praise and degradation perfectly.
E = Experience (How experienced is he?)
Extremely experienced. 170+ years of practice. He knows exactly how to play your body like an instrument. He can make you cum in under a minute or edge you for hours. He’s tried almost everything and has zero shame about it
F = Favorite Position
Any position where he can manhandle you. He loves doggy style because he can grip your hips, pull your hair, and slam into you while watching your ass bounce. Missionary with your legs over his shoulders is another favorite – he can pin you down, choke you lightly, and look into your eyes while he destroys you. He’ll also fuck you against walls, on counters, or bent over furniture so he can move you however he wants.
G = Goofy (Is he more serious or humorous?)
He can be playful and sarcastic even during sex. He’ll smirk and make cocky comments like “Aw, can’t handle it, baby?” right before pounding you harder just to prove his point. The cocky grin never leaves his face when he’s making you fall apart.
H = Hair (How well-groomed is he? Does the carpet match the drapes?)
Damon keeps himself well-groomed almost bald but not completely bare (except his balls those are completely shaved) . He likes the way your fingers feel tugging on the dark trail leading down. He doesn’t care much about your hair – the wetter and messier you are, the better.
I = Intimacy (How is he during the moment?)
Can be surprisingly intimate when he’s in a rare soft mood. Slow, deep thrusts, eye contact, biting your lip while he tells you you’re his forever. Most of the time though? Raw, animalistic, and possessive as hell.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
He does it thinking about you constantly. Especially when you’re mad at him or ignoring him. He’ll stroke himself in his room while imagining punishing you later. Sometimes he’ll send you a voice note of him moaning your name.
K = Kink (One or more of his kinks)
Damon is into blood play, choking, light bondage, edging, overstimulation, and exhibitionism. He loves feeding from you while he fucks you, leaving possessive bite marks, and making you wear his shirt with nothing underneath in public just so he can slip his hand under it whenever he wants.
L = Location (Favorite places to do it)
He’ll fuck you anywhere. The boarding house, your room, the Mystic Grill bathroom, the woods, the roof of the Grill, Stefan’s bed (just to piss his brother off), the Camaro, even the cemetery when he’s feeling particularly wicked.
M = Motivation (What turns him on?)
Nothing turns him on faster than you being a brat. Talk back to him, roll your eyes, wear something short just to tease him — he’ll have you bent over the nearest surface in seconds. Your moans and the way you say his name when you’re desperate also drive him insane.
N = No (Something he wouldn’t do)
Sharing. Absolutely not. He will kill anyone who even looks at you too long while you’re naked Damon is extremely possessive and jealous. He will never let anyone else touch you. Also hates gags — he wants to hear every single moan, whimper, and scream you make. He wants to hear every moan, whimper, scream, and “Damon” that comes out of your mouth. No silencing his favorite sounds.
O = Oral (Preference giving or receiving)
Expert level. Damon loves eating you out like he’s starving, using his tongue, fangs grazing just enough to make you jolt, and sucking on your clit until your legs shake. He also loves when you suck him off — he’ll grip your hair, fuck your throat, and praise you the whole time. But definitely likes more to receive it feeds his ego so so much watching you on your knees
P = Pace (Is he fast and rough or slow and sensual?)
He can go from slow and teasing (edging you for hours) to brutally fast and deep. He usually starts controlled and ends feral, pounding you until you can’t think straight. Cause honestly soft is not his thing is always rough
Q = Quickie (His opinions on quickies)
Master of quickies. He’ll drag you into a closet, the bathroom, or the back of the Camaro and fuck you hard and fast, making sure you both cum before anyone notices. And are a regular thing due to his insane libido
R = Risk (Is he game to experiment? Does he take risks?)
Vampire stamina is unfair like insane. He can fuck you for hours straight no round count, all night, without getting tired. He’ll make you cum over and over until you’re a trembling, oversensitive mess begging for mercy.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can he go?)
Vampire stamina is unfair literally inhuman and he fucking knows it. He can fuck you for hours no interruptions, all night, uncountable rounds without getting tired. He’ll make you cum over and over until you’re a trembling, oversensitive mess begging for mercy.
T = Toys (Does he own/use toys?)
He’s not against them. He loves using vibrators on you while he fucks you, or watching you use one on yourself for his entertainment. But it's not really his thing he always says his favorite “toy” is still his own body and his fangs and doesn't needs anything else.
U = Unfair (How much he likes to tease)
So unfair. Damon is a mother fucker and he fucking loves teasing and edging you until you’re crying and begging so hard . He’ll pull out right when you’re about to cum, smirk, say “Not yet, baby. I want to hear you say please like you mean it.” and give some tiny clit slaps n repeat
V = Volume (How loud is they?)
He's so fucking loud and vocal. He groans, growls, moans your name, and talks dirty the entire time. He wants you loud too — the louder you are, the harder he fucks you it really gets him off.
W = Wild card (Random headcanon)
He secretly loves when you wear his leather jacket and nothing else. He’ll fuck you while you still have it on, smelling himself all over you. Also loves when you blood share during sex he can cum just from that
X = X-ray (What’s going on under the clothes?)
Thick, long, and slightly curved (circa 8.3 cause being a vampire has his perks). Perfect for hitting every spot. He knows exactly how to use it and loves making you feel every inch. It even makes a belly bulge that Damon loves to make fun of it
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Constant yearning 24/7. Even after he just had you, he’s already thinking about the next time. He can get hard again in seconds and will drag you back to bed (or the nearest surface).
Z = Zzz (How quickly he sleeps afterwards)
He doesn’t sleep much (actually vampires don't sleep at all) , but he loves holding you after. He’ll stay awake watching you sleep, tracing the marks he left on your body, feeling ridiculously possessive and satisfied.
toji ruts his hips against yours, thick thighs slapping against yours in a frenzy. his girthy cock stretches your gummy walls to the brink, a pleasure so overwhelming that it makes you moan uncontrollably. his broad frame presses down against you, all muscle and heat as he cages you in beneath his weight. every movement forces you to feel all of him, and god, you’re so uncomfortably wet, slick pooling between your legs and dripping down onto the sheets in messy gushes.
“fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he grunts against your ear, a mix of frustration and awe. his cock slips in and out of your abused hole with ease, the drag of it deliciously raw against your fluttering walls.
you try to answer, but nothing comes out except broken cries. you’re already so dumbed out on his cock that words feel impossible— all you can do is whimper and gasp for him as he destroys you.
your whiny moans echo through the walls of your bedroom, harmonizing with the filthy sound of wet skin slapping and the desperate creaking of your poor bed. the red glow of the digital clock on the nightstand catches your eye, and you fleetingly see the time: 11:53. just seven minutes left until tomorrow. yet here you are, folded up beneath toji, your pussy stretched wide as your boyfriend fucks you senseless to satiate his need for you.
“look at this,” he mutters, pulling back slightly to watch how your folds grip him. his glazed green eyes lock onto the way his angry red tip disappears inside you, his cock coated with your slick, creamy arousal gathering in a thick ring at the base of his length.
“shit, you’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby,” he hums, almost to himself, and the sound of your squelching cunt only seems to make him more feral. he’s panting now, overcome by the sensation of your heat squeezing him so tight. he doesn’t even try to hold down the groan that rumbles deep in his throat, his abs flexing against your stomach with every heavy thrust.
his eyes roam higher, landing on your tits. every brutal snap of his hips sends them bouncing perfectly in his view, and he can’t help but stare. and then his gaze finally locks on you— completely fucked-out, your delicate eyebrows drawn together in pleasure, your eyes squeezed shut as soft tears cling to your lashes, your lower lip tucked between your teeth as if to conceal just how much you’re enjoying this.
but toji fucking hates that.
“don’t do that, baby,” he chuckles darkly, his hand lifting from your waist to tug your lip free from your teeth. his thumb lingers, slowly dragging across the spit-slick skin. “lemme hear you. loud, sweetheart. just how i like it.”
your eyes flutter open to meet his, and the sight of your mouth falling open as you moan wrecks him completely. you’re too perfect, too fucking ethereal like this, and he’s not sure how much longer he can hold back.
“you’re killin’ me here,” he groans, his breath hot against your lips.
toji slows, only briefly, just enough to readjust you. his rough hands grip your thighs, pushing them forward and back until your legs are bent and folded snugly against your chest. the new position makes you squeak in surprise, only for him to cut you off with one fluid thrust, his cock slamming deeper into you than before.
“o-oh my god—toji!” you cry out, gasping as your upper body arches off the mattress, pleasure flooding you like a threat. the angle lets him grind against the sensitive bundle of nerves you can never reach, and your walls flutter wildly around him.
but instead of slowing, he leans in closer, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders. you’re so caged in beneath him, pinned between his weight and the merciless pressure of his cock splitting you apart over and over again.
he grins when your hand claws desperately at his back, gripping onto anything you can. “doin’ so good for me,” he praises, his voice rough now, and his breath grazes your ear with every word. you cry harder, the intimacy of his words so overwhelming that you don’t notice his hand sliding up to trap your wrists above your head.
“stay just like that for me, sweetheart,” he groans, pressing his hips flush against yours until he’s impossibly deep. “hands up— there ya go. fuck, lemme take care of you.”
his hips snap harder now, a punishing rhythm that leaves your legs trembling on his shoulders. you whimper, another tear slipping from the corner of your eye as he pounds you into the mattress relentlessly.
toji’s tongue finds yours when he crushes his lips to your mouth, tilting his head and biting at your lips until you grant him access. his tongue dominates yours completely, swallowing every single moan and sob that escapes. it’s suffocating, filthy, and so him that it makes you head spin.
you lose it completely when his hand snakes between your sweat-slicked bodies, his rough thumb finding your swollen clit with practiced ease.
“c’mon, gorgeous,” he rasps, his lips dragging over yours before nipping gently at your jaw. “wanna feel you cum all over me— be good and let go for me.”
he draws tight, quick circles over your clit, pressing down just enough to undo you completely. your thighs quiver violently as the wave hits like a shock, your walls milking his cock with a force that makes his abs flex against you.
“there we go, such a fuckin’ good girl,” he growls, his thrusts faltering slightly as you clench mercilessly around him.
but he doesn’t stop— not until his rhythm grows sloppy and you feel him twitching deep inside. with one final, deep thrust, he spills into you, hips stuttering as as a guttural moan tears from his throat. his cock pulses with the sheer force of it, thick ropes of cum filling your abused cunt, warm and heavy.
your head falls back against the pillow, utterly wrecked and spent, tears staining your cheeks as you babble his name softly.
and just when you think it’s all over, toji flips you onto your stomach with little effort.
“nah, baby. we’re not done yet,” he mutters against your hair, his cock already hardening again as he presses deep into your heat, the mess of your combined fluids dripping obscenely down your thighs.
the clock on the nightstand now reads 12:05.
getting fucked into a new day has never been better.
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: a dark lord’s tormented obsession with the woman who once loved the monster he became. m.list
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: voldemort x reader. time travel. kidnapping. yandere vibes. possessive behavior. | wc: 893
The manor lay silent except for the crackle of the hearth and the occasional rattle of chains.
Voldemort stood by the tall window, gazing out over the fog-shrouded grounds. His long fingers rested against the cold glass.
Behind him, you shifted.
Firelight danced across the vaulted ceiling, casting flickering patterns over silver chains that slid against one another with a delicate sound like wind chimes in a graveyard.
Beautiful. The sort of sound that might have belonged in a cathedral if not for the way they circled your wrists.
You pulled instinctively against them. They did not give.
Voldemort’s mouth curved slightly.
His polished boots made no sound on the Persian rugs as he finally moved away from the window. You shuddered as his shadow fell across your lap.
He inhaled loudly; the sour tang of your fear made his teeth ache.
A gloved hand hovered near your throat. He didn’t touch you, but the leather brushed the damp strands of hair stuck to your skin.
His eyes lingered on yours. These were not the eyes that had once met his as his wars consumed you both. This was you, pure and unspoiled by him. Innocent in ways that made his gut twist and turn.
In the crumbling timeline from which Lord Voldemort had clawed his way back, you had been everything. You had dared to look the monster in the eye and still reach for the man beneath.
But hunger makes fools of kings, and his appetite for eternity had sharpened its teeth against your throat.
“You don’t remember,” he said softly. “Of course you don’t. How could you? You have not yet lived it.”
The darkness swallowed your panicked breaths. Every desperate inhale made his jaw tighten.
“I told you last night,” he continued. Red eyes met yours, and you recoiled.
“In the future that was, you stood at my side as my equal. You understood the necessity of what I was building. You loved me for it.”
Your lips trembled. He stepped closer, his robes gliding across the creaking boards. He crouched before your chair, bringing his face level with yours. Your scent filled his lungs.
“You used to trace the scars on my hands,” he murmured, his voice lowering. Voldemort lifted one hand between you, turning it so the firelight caught the pale lines crossing his skin.
"From carving my own way out."
Rough fingertips moved slowly over the longest one.
“You kissed them. You told me they were beautiful.” His hand dropped.
“You said I was beautiful, even like this.” He gestured at his serpentine features with a bitter twist of his mouth.
You blinked hard. A tear slipped down your cheek. You tried to turn away, but he caught your chin, his skin icy against your jaw as he guided your gaze back to his.
“You were magnificent,” he said, his thumb wiping away the tear. “You argued with me.”
Your expression faltered. “What?”
"Constantly," he said, a thin smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. “You were insufferable.”
He shifted his hold under your chin, turning your face a fraction closer to his.
“Tell me,” he whispered, almost pleading, “why do you look at me as the others do? As though I am nothing more than death given form?”
You wrenched away as if his touch burned.
“I don’t know you,” you breathed, your voice cracking. “You keep telling me stories, but I am not her.”
“Not yet,” he murmured, pressing into the space where your collarbones met.
He had ripped you from your quiet life in Muggle London. A witch of rare ability, you were locked away in his manor’s gilded cage.
The ancient Time-Turner had blazed against his palm as he stepped through the veil. The world had still been soft, malleable. He had brought you here to mold you gently, to show you the glory you would one day share.
Yet now you sat trembling before him, because the man who had once been your everything had become your jailer.
His hand fell from your chin. He rose slowly and turned away so you would not see his expression crack.
He had returned to fix everything—to take you before his need for power could poison the love he was convinced you were always meant to give him.
Instead, here you were: his prize, his salvation, and already his greatest failure unfolding before his eyes. You looked at him with the same terror he inspired in the rest of the wizarding world. He had become the very thing that destroyed you in the first timeline.
He kept searching for her in you—waiting for some flicker of recognition in your eyes—but the woman he mourned belonged to years you had never lived.
“I killed you once,” he said to the window, his voice hollow. “With my ambition. With my need to become more than a man. And now I have stolen you before you could even choose me.”
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, red eyes sliding shut.
“Why won’t you love me?” The question was barely audible, meant only for himself. “Why can’t you see what we could be again?”
You remained silent. Only your frightened breathing filled the space between you.
His gaze dropped to your trembling lower lip, caught on a memory he could no longer reach.
author’s note: thank you for reading. feel free to reblog and leave feedback! (i can’t stick to a theme, sue me.)
✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦
✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦
✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 10.5k✦
✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦
Clark has been acting strange all week.
He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.
“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.
“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.
He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.
Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.
You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.
“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.
“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“
“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“
Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘
“It’s not a mating dance!”
“It seems like a mating dance-“
“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”
Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.
You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.
“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“
You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.
He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.
His eyes are black, and gleaming.
You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.
Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.
You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.
“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”
Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.
Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.
But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.
He looks dangerous.
And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.
But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.
“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”
Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“
Clark looks at you.
And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.
“You smell good.” He mutters.
He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.
“What the fuck is up with him?”
Nobody seems to be sure.
On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.
“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.
“There are no other words I could use, though-“
“Corrupt?”
“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”
You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.
“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.
“Dogshit.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“
“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“
“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.
“Yeah. Because I had a source.”
“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.
You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.
“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“
“Shut up, I’m excited-“
“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.
He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.
Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.
You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.
And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.
Today you keep it under control.
It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.
“It’s- Uh- Superman.”
You blink. “What?”
“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”
“I- You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“I can find someone else-“
“No, I- I’ve got it.”
He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.
You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.
But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.
You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”
He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.
Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.
He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.
He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.
And you have no idea what to do.
Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.
He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.
You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.
And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.
“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”
His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.
“Clark-“
“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”
You blink. “Back up?”
He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.
He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.
But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.
You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.
He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.
“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“
“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.
“You’re sick-“
“No. I’m not.”
“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”
He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.
“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”
That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.
His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.
And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.
It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.
The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.
But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.
“Clark- Please-“
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.
“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”
You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.
And you look back. You can’t help it.
But all he does is stare at you.
So you walk away.
Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.
“Is he-“
“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”
You frown. “But-“
“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“
Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.
“Don’t go visit him.”
You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“
“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”
“But-“
“Don’t.”
“What if he needs something-“
“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”
“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”
Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Lois-“
“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”
She walks away without another word.
On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.
You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.
Don’t.
His door is right there.
Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.
Don’t.
You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.
But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.
You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.
Don’t.
But you want to.
Don’t.
He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-
Don’t.
Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.
And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.
He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.
You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.
Before Clark can open it, you walk away.
On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.
It’s a distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-
You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.
This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.
It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.
He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.
He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.
Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.
You miss him.
Goddamnit.
Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.
You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.
He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.
You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.
You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.
Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.
But why is he home visiting you.
Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.
You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.
“Hello?”
Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.
He doesn’t look well.
Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-
Like Clark.
Just like Clark.
And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.
Or something else.
Without the glasses, there’s something else.
He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.
He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.
“Clark?”
“I’m here for your interview-“
You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.
He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.
Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.
His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.
“Clark- Wait-“
Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.
At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.
You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.
He’s burning at 150 degrees.
He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.
The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.
You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.
Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.
That time it was definitely your name.
Superman moaned your name.
You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.
Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.
It does nothing for hearing him.
And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.
It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.
Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-
Oh.
That’s… Big.
You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.
The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.
You still haven’t really dealt with that.
Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.
And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.
To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.
When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.
You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.
Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.
Dear lord.
Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.
You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.
Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.
He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.
You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.
Clark is Superman,
And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.
His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.
“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.
This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-
You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.
He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-
No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.
But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.
The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.
If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.
And you’re not that strong at all.
Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.
You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.
When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.
He’s naked.
Fully naked.
And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.
He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.
But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.
And his cock.
You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.
Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.
“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“
“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”
He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of release on his thigh. He’d been humping the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-
“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”
“Clark-“
“Stop saying it like that.”
You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.
His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.
“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”
Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.
“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”
You laugh softly, despite everything.
Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.
“Don’t laugh either.”
“I- I’m sorry-“
“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“
He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.
“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”
“No- That- That’s weird-“
“Kal-El?”
“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.
“I need to be able to call you something.”
“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”
That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.
“No, not- Not like that-“
“Not like what-“
“It’s just, when you talk-“
“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.
It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.
“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.
“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”
“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“
“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”
“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“
“You said I shouldn’t talk.”
“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.
“You better fix the wall, Kent.”
“I will. ‘M sorry-“
“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”
You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.
“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”
That’s not promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.
“You know kryptonite?”
You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”
“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“
“Clark.”
“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.
“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.
His cock twitches. You try not think about it.
“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“
“It what-“
“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”
He trails off, words hanging in the air.
Saw you.
You activated the red kryptonite in him.
There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.
“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.
Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.
“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.
“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“
“Can’t you?”
Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.
And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.
“You- You can’t mean that-“
“Why not?”
You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.
“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.
“You don’t have to pity me-“
“It’s not pity.”
He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“
“Who says it’s not how I feel?”
You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.
“Uhh… Steve?”
You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”
Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.
You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.
“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.
You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”
His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.
“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”
“No, you-“
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.
“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”
He nods, tight and controlled.
You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.
Not with fear.
With excitement.
“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”
And Clark snaps.
He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.
Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.
If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.
But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.
He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.
There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.
You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.
You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.
He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.
“Clark-“
“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“
He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.
“Smell so good.” He almost whines. “So good.”
You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.
Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.
It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.
“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“
“You- You can’t-“
“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“
“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.
You don’t mind at all.
“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“We talked about this-“
“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.
You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.
And you feel it.
The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.
Oh.
Right.
Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.
“I need to get you ready.”
You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“
Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”
“How do you know-“
“Nose.”
“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“
“Not enough.”
He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.
“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.
That’s his agreement hum.
Your jaw drops.
“Are you serious-“
“I can’t help it.”
“You- You could wear nose plugs-“
“No. Like it too much.”
Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.
“You- Can’t move-“
“You should move-“
“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”
You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.
“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”
Clark grunts. You smile at the air.
“You came in bed last night.”
He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”
“About who?”
You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”
And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.
“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”
“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.
“Yeah? Like what?”
Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.
“A brat.”
A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.
And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.
“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.
Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.
“You- You can’t just say that-“
“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”
Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.
“Can you please look at me-“
“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.
“Clark-“
“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.
You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.
“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”
“I- I need to get you-“
“I’m going to touch you, okay?”
His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.
Enough.
You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.
“Sorry-“
“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”
He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.
You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.
The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.
He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.
You add a second, and squeeze at the base.
Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.
“Be- Be careful.”
You pause. “Does it not feel-“
“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“
Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.
You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.
And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.
You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.
Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.
“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“
He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.
You want to taste him.
When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.
“What- What are you-“
You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.
The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.
There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.
You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.
“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“
You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.
It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.
“Are you-“
You moan, and Clark gives in.
He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.
“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“
Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.
“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“
You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.
And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-
Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.
He’s cumming.
And he’s not stopping.
Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.
Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.
“If you-“
“Do that inside me.”
You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.
“I- I mean- Clark-“
He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.
“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”
His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.
“Don’t- Don’t tease-“
“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”
Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.
“Oh- Oh god-“
“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”
You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.
“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”
He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.
“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.
You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.
He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.
“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“
You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.
Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.
Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.
You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.
You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.
There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.
It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.
“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”
His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.
“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.
Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.
“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”
Well. If he needs it.
It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.
“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“
“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”
It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.
You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.
“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.
“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”
And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.
“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“
“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.
Clark hears it.
“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”
You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.
Maybe Clark could let you live with him.
Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.
Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.
That’s a good plan. The best plan.
There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.
“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.
You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.
“Don’t do that.”
Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.
He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.
“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.
You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.
He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.
Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.
He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.
His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.
You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.
Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.
“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.
“I liked it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”
Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.
And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.
He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.
“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”
You nod. It’s all you can manage.
He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.
“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“
He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.
Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.
“Big.”
He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.
“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“
You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.
“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.
“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”
You blink, and his eyes widen.
“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“
Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.
“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.
Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.
“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”
Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.
“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.
Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.
You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.
He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.
Safe and attended to.
You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.
It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.
“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“
He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.
Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.
He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.
Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.
It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.
Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.
Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.
And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.
Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.
Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.
You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.
There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.
Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.
You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.
He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.
It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.
If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.
On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.
There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.
Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.
It’s an oddly romantic thought.
There are lots of those to go around.
Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.
“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.
“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”
“See it-“
“X-ray vision.”
“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.
Clark bows his head, almost in shame.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.
You shake your head. “It fine-“
“I wanted to-“
“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”
He blinks at you, then relaxes.
“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.
“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”
Clark laughs at that, and you beam.
It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.
“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.
“I-“
“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“
“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”
He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”
You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.
“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“
“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“
Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”
You laugh. “Bring it on.”
✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
He’s just big. Too big. Broad shoulders that feel like walls—mountains you cling to when you’re on top, desperate for leverage, desperate for him. His arms flex when he pulls you closer, biceps straining against your body, wrapping you up like you’re something small, something fragile. His hands cover too much at once, palms so wide they could swallow your waist whole, fingers digging into your skin until you feel branded.
When you ride him, it’s those shoulders you hang on to, nails clawing into the solid curve of them, your cries muffled against his neck. He doesn’t mind. He never does. He just groans, low and wrecked, holding you steady as your hips stutter. “I know,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and warmth, “I know, baby. I know that dick is big.”
Effortlessly. He picks you up like you weigh nothing, your legs still trembling around his waist, and sets you on the bed without breaking rhythm. His frame eclipses yours, back broad enough to cover you entirely, blocking out the world until all you can see is him, feel is him.
The mirror on the ceiling doesn’t lie. It shows how small you are beneath him, his body spilling over yours, swallowing you whole. Every thrust shakes through you, every roll of his hips forcing you deeper into the mattress. He doesn’t just fuck you. He drowns you—blankets you with his size until you’re gasping his name, pulling him closer, begging for more.
Thick hot ropes of cum fill up your sore pussy, He pushes himself deeper into you, which makes you claw his back with your nails, moaning in pure ecstasy. “You're gonna cum for me again, right, my slutty girl?”
And he gives it, again and again, until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.
⤷ warnings; f!reader, smut, praise, pinv, reader is in a headlock, size kink, unprotected sex
⤷ word count; 350~
inspired by this blurb
plap plap plap
the sound of wet skin echoes throughout the room, your moans shamelessly muffled by the fat of his bicep as he continues to fuck you.
you hadn’t even made it to the bed, instead, your back is pressed against his wide chest, his left arm wrapped loosely around your neck where your slobber dribbles on the meat of his bicep.
you're barely touching the ground, toes just barely grazing the cool floor as he carries your weight like it’s nothing. his mouth pressed to the crown of your head, switching between praises and kissing your scalp.
“my good girl” “taking me so well” “that feel good angel?” “doing such a good job f’me m’so proud of you” he whispers in your ear, voice cracking and horse as he chases his own pleasure.
his breath tickles your hair before his right hand moves from pressing on your lower belly to your folds, parting them before rubbing tight circles into your clit. “i know you’re close baby just a little longer, can you do that for me?” he whimpers, circles only growing tighter and harder as he realizes he’s closer than be thought.
your jaw tightens on his arm as the heat in your stomach grows closer. your spit coats his arm and your chin and you can’t control it. you love how big he is, every part of him.
you love that his frame swallows yours, you love how strong he is and how his bicep is as big as your head, you love the thickness of his thighs, his fingers, his chest, his… everywhere. he was perfect and what better way to show appreciation for that then literally drool all over him.
“yeah? yeah, baby” he mumbles, thrusting into you for the last time before your both cumming. your thighs shake and his finger continues to move as his thrusts stop.
his kissing your neck and your shoulders when he gently puts you down and despite the shake in your legs you’re still somehow standing. “my perfect girl” he grabs your chin to kiss you before laying you down on the bed and crawling on top of you.
You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni.
──── ୨୧ ────
The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips lowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
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a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
A movement & style that embraces black girlhood & black hyperfemininity, created by me.
BACKSTORY:
This is highly inspired by my inner child. I've always struggled feeling "feminine" as a black woman & although, I do love the other "girly" & "hyperfemininity” styles i've felt even more out of place within those communities since they tend to target towards societies standards. There has been other black individuals I've spoken to that also relate, which inspired me to start "Noir Gyal." My goal is to inspire myself & others to feel "feminine" while also embracing our blackness through all stages & also creating a safe place.
✿ For more, check out the pinterest board & playlist:
If you haven’t heard, there’s a new “slow-cial” media app called Roost Social! The concept of it is sending messages to others via bird! You collect birds, then use those birds to send messages to your friends and pen pals! ^_^
If anyone here would like, feel free to add me on Roost! My @ is @sogumbii !
Tonight I placed my protective talisman, crystal jewelry, and the glamour spell jar I made under the light of the full moon. I wrote down my intentions and prayed over them.
As a Capricorn Sun and Capricorn Rising, this Sagittarius Full Moon illuminates my 12th house. I spent time reflecting on my spiritual path and what has been holding me back.
I prayed for any blockages in my spirituality to be cleared. I asked for guidance, stronger intuition, deeper insight, and a clearer connection to my practice. I prayed to become more aware of the signs, messages, and lessons that may already be around me but that I have not yet learned to recognize.
I also prayed for my psychic abilities to develop in a way that is grounded, safe, and aligned with my highest good. More than anything, I asked for a deeper understanding of my connection to the world around me and to the things that cannot always be seen or explained.
I hope this full moon brings clarity, growth, and a stronger sense of trust in myself and my path.
