‘ TOLD YOU I LIKED GENTLE GIANTS SO YOU SOFTENED UP . ‘
— in which frat! sukuna realizes he’s totally whipped for his shy! gf 🥹
“i told you, i have to go to the library today.” you say sternly, looking at yourself in the mirror as you curl your hair. sukuna’s wide hands laying dormant against your hips, crimson eyes following your every move in the mirror. he grumbles, hips grinding against your ass. “why you always leaving me? y’hate me?” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “you’re so annoying.” you whisper lowly, somewhat cowering into yourself. even though you and sukuna have been dating for almost four months, you still shy away at his advances. “you’re always shufflin’ away from me. stay still.” he grins, bringing your hips back against him. your face heats up as you put your head down, putting away all your hair products. “‘m still annoying?” he chuckles, manually rolling your hips against him. “always.” you meek out, pushing your glasses up.
you gently pull away, turning around to face your boyfriend. you press a calm kiss to his cheek, a manicured hand resting on his pecs. “i’ll see you later?” you assure, head tilting to the side. his eyelids flutter, his grip on your hips tightening just a smidge, as if it was a silent plea for you to stay. “yea-fuck- yeah. i’ll see you later.” he almost whines out. he follows closely behind you as you put your shoes and coat on by the door. he gives you five one more “see you later” kiss before sending you on your way. he watches from the frosted window as you get in your car and drive off, pulling off his snapback and pushing his hair back with a groan.
jabber doesn’t even try to pretend he wants a “nice” girlfriend because he figured out real quick that nice isn’t what keeps his attention.
nice would’ve apologized to that cashier, smiled a little, or maybe even laughed it off. you didn’t do any of that and somehow that was exactly what had him standing there fighting a grin.
the line was dragging at the register, the cashier stumbling over his words, dropping coins, and starting sentences he couldn’t finish. jabber was already halfway tuned out, just waiting for the bag so he could leave, but you shifted next to him and that’s what pulled his focus back.
your nails tapped once against the counter, your weight settling into your hip, and your brows lifted just slightly as you watched the whole thing unfold like you were already bored of it before it even finished happening.
“can you just give me the receipt,” you said, tone flat and just done waiting.
the cashier nodded fast while apologizing under his breath and trying to move quicker. you exhaled through your nose as you looked off to the side like the situation wasn’t even worth your energy.
jabber should’ve stepped in and smoothed it over but instead he found himself watching you more than anything else, noticing the way you didn’t fidget or perform patience for anyone’s comfort.
the second the bag hit the counter, you let jabber grab it and turned like the moment was already over in your head.
“why he acting like that,” you muttered as soon as you were walking away, not bothering to lower your voice.
jabber let out a quiet laugh and fell into step beside you while shaking his head, already used to the way you moved through the world without censoring yourself for it.
“you don’t be giving people no patience,” he said, still amused.
“they need to act normal then,” you replied, already pulling your phone out to check yourself in the reflection, fixing your gloss like nothing had just happened.
that was the part that got him because you didn’t soften it afterward or think twice about it. you just said what you meant and kept moving like it was simple fact.
jabber glanced at you with a grin he couldn’t really hide. “you mean as hell.”
you looked at him like that was obvious information. “then leave me alone.”
“can’t do that,” he said easily while catching your wrist before you could walk ahead of him and pulling you back just enough to keep you close without making a scene. “i like it.”
you sucked your teeth but didn’t pull away, letting him guide you forward like it wasn’t even a discussion.
most people only see the attitude, the eye rolls, the quick “move” when he’s in your space, or the “shut up” when he’s talking too much but jabber pays attention to everything that slips in between those moments.
like how your hand finds his in a crowd without you thinking about it or how you’ll stop mid step, look him over, and fix something on him like it’s your responsibility without ever announcing it.
“why you got this on like that,” you muttered one time, already straightening his collar while he stood there letting you do it. “stand still.”
“it was fine,” he said, even though he didn’t move at all.
“it wasn’t,” you replied while smoothing it down properly before stepping back to look at him again. “there.”
no compliment came with it but he understood it anyway because you didn’t miss things when it came to him.
and he learned quickly that you expected the same attention back, even if you never said it gently.
the first time he noticed something off in your appearance and didn’t fix it, you caught him looking before he could decide what to do.
“what,” you said, already suspicious and raising your arched brow.
“nothing,” he answered, thinking he could leave it alone.
“fix it,” you told him immediately, like it was obvious that was the only correct option.
now he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to you, because his hands are already in your hair whenever he notices something out of place, careful while you stand there acting like you’re annoyed about it even when you’re not moving away.
“hold still,” he murmurs.
“i am still,” you snap back automatically even though you lean into his touch just slightly like your body disagrees with your mouth.
and he notices every time.
same way he notices how you’ll be on the phone, voice sharp and irritated, arguing with somebody like you’ve got all the time in the world to be upset, pacing a little as you talk through it.
“because that’s not what i said,” you’re saying, clearly annoyed now.
jabber is sitting nearby watching you and when you pass him mid sentence, you don’t even pause, you just lean down and press a quick kiss to his lips.
“…no, listen to me,” you continue, already walking away like nothing happened.
jabber just laughs quietly under his breath, shaking his head because that’s your version of affection. it’s quick and unannounced like it barely exists, even though it lands every time.
even when you’re in a mood, when your tone is sharp and your patience is gone, you still don’t actually push him away in the way your words suggest.
“get out my face,” you mutter, barely looking at him.
jabber steps closer anyway as his hands settle at your waist like he already knows better than to take that seriously.
you don’t move his hands, not even a little, and instead you shift just enough to stay comfortable while still pretending you don’t want him there.
“why you always under me?” you complain.
“because you like me right here,” he answers like it’s already decided.
you roll your eyes but your fingers hook into his shirt for a second before you let go, like your actions answered faster than your pride did.
jabber notices all of it, the attitude and everything underneath it, the way you’ll talk to him crazy but still fix him, still reach for him, still let him touch you like that space belongs to him no matter what.
like today, the air is still thick with sex and humidity while your bodies pressed together on the couch.
jabber’s weight is a comfortable anchor as his softening cock still nestled inside you as you trace idle patterns on the damp skin of his back, your own heartbeat slowing to a steady thump.
then three sharp knocks bang on the door.
“the hell?” he mutters, voice gravelly with tiredness.
bzzzzzzz.
someone is leaning on the damn doorbell now as a relentless buzz slices through the post sex haze like a razor.
“fuck,” you breathe, the word all annoyance.
jabber is already moving, pulling out of you with a wet sound that makes you clench involuntarily. the sudden emptiness is a shock as a cool draft hits your clenching hole.
he’s off the couch in one fluid motion, grabbing his boxers from the floor and stepping into them. “don’t move,” he says but it’s not a command, it’s a plea from knowing how upset you got last time you were interrupted.
so you don’t. you lie there, naked and exposed, listening as the knocking continues. the buzzer stops, replaced by a voice. “jabber? you in there, man? your car’s outside.”
you know that voice. his cousin. the one who never calls first.
a hot anger blooms in your chest, right beside the aching need that hasn’t fully subsided. you were right there….and now this?
jabber is pulling his jeans up while zipping them. he doesn’t bother with a shirt. he shoots you a look of apology and annoyance in his dark eyes. “two minutes,” he mouths.
you just stare back, your expression flat. he better make this two minutes.
he runs a hand over his locs, takes a deep breath to compose his face, and heads for the door. you slide off the couch, your legs wobbly as you find your leggings and shirt in a heap by the wall. the cotton of your shirt feels abrasive against your tender nipples and the leggings like a constraint.
you’re dressed in seconds but it feels uncomfortable. your skin is still flushed, your core still throbbing with a low pulse, and you can feel the evidence of him trickling down your inner thigh.
you hear the door open and muffled voices. his cousin’s loud laughing and jabber’s lower replies. something about a car part, about leaving a tool here yesterday.
you lean against the wall just inside the living room, arms crossed, and listening. every second is sandpaper on your nerves as your earlier satisfaction has curdled into hunger.
you hear jabber trying to wrap it up. “yeah, i got it, i’ll look. i’ll hit you later.”
“you good, man? you sound out of breath.” his cousin’s voice is tinged with stupid curiosity.
you close your eyes while exhaling slowly through your nose.
JUST LEAVE.
“i’m good. just… busy. i’ll call you.” jabber’s tone has a finality to it.
finally, the sound of the door closing then his footsteps coming back down the hall. he appears in the doorway, shirtless, and his jeans slung low on his hips. his expression is a mix of irritation and relief. “cousin,” he says, as if that explains everything.
you don’t say anything, you just push off the wall and walk toward him. he watches you approach in silence as his eyes follow you. “he’s gone. sorry about that, ma.”
you stop right in front of him, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the sex and sweat on him. you look up at him with a steady gaze.
“i don’t care,” you say, your voice now low and sultry. “that shit woke me up.”
a flicker of confusion crosses his face. “woke you up?”
you don’t explain as your hands come up, and you shove at his chest, not hard enough to move him, but enough to make your point. “you didn’t finish.”
his confusion melts into understanding, then into a slow smile. “i thought i did.”
“you didn’t.” your palms flatten against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your touch. “you got me all… started. then you stopped.” you lean in, your lips almost brushing his. “i’m still started, boo.”
he groans, a rough sound in his throat as his hands come up to cradle your face but you catch his wrists, stopping him.
“no,” you say, the word a soft crack. you release his wrists and take a step back, your eyes raking over him. “that shit at the door pissed me off. now i’m pissed off and i’m wet. and it’s your fault.”
his smile vanishes as it’s replaced by a look of hunger. this is literally what he craves, your dominance being directed towards him.
“so fix it,” you tell him, your tone leaving no room for argument.
“how?” he asks, though he already knows.
you reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open as you drag the zipper down and you don’t break eye contact. “you take all my… annoyance…” you push his jeans and boxers down over his hips in one rough motion, freeing his cock, which is already hard again, “…and you fuck it out of me.”
“right here?” his voice is gravel.
“duh,” you turn while bracing your hands against the wall next to the doorway. you don’t look back, you just push your leggings and panties down to your knees, presenting yourself to him. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, a contrast to the heat pooling between your legs. you’re still slick from before, swollen and aching. “and don’t take your time.”
you hear his sharp intake of breath then his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading you wider. he aligns himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against your hole as he thrusts into you in one long stroke.
a moan is ripped from your throat that is part pain and part relief. he fills you completely and stretches you to an edge. the force of it slams your chest against the wall as it knocks the air from your lungs.
“that what you want?” he growls into your ear, his body against your back, and his hands now digging into your hips. he doesn’t wait for an answer as he pulls back and thrusts in again, just as deep.
“mmm…y-yes,” you hiss, the words mangled.
he sets a punishing rhythm from the first moment, each thrust a jolt that travels from your core to your teeth as the wall is cool against your cheek and forearms.
his grip on your hips is iron, holding you in place so you can’t move, can’t do anything but take it, and that’s the point. you wanted the annoyance fucked out of you and he is just following your orders.
“you feel that?” he grunts, his pace relentless. “that’s for being so damn mean.”
you sob out a laugh that turns into a moan as he angles deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision flash white. “i’m not–ah!–mean,” you gasp. “i’m just….right.”
he slams into you harder, a wordless rebuttal. the sounds are obscene— the wet slap of skin, his ragged breaths, and your choked off cries. you feel your own wetness coating him, dripping down your thighs, and making every thrust smoother.
one of his hands leaves your hip and slides around your front, down over your trembling belly. he goes lower, his fingers plunging into the wet friction where your bodies join, finding your clit in seconds.
you jolt, a full body seizure. “fuckkkk!”
he presses the pad of his thumb right on that swollen bud while applying a circular pressure that’s synchronized with his thrusts.
it’s too much. it’s everything.
your orgasm crashes into you without warning, back arching as much as his hold allows, and your hole clamping down on his cock in a milking pulse. you cry out a continuous sound that echoes off the hallway walls, your square frenchies scraping against the paint.
he grunts as his rhythm stutters as you convulse around him. “that’s it,” he rasps, his own control fraying. “take it. take all of it.”
he fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own release with a guttural groan as he buries himself to the hilt and holds there. he stays buried inside you, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, and his body trembling with the aftershocks.
slowly, he pulls out as the sticky evidence of both of you starts to slide down your inner thigh. you’re boneless, held up only by your arms braced against the wall and the solid presence of him behind you.
his hands come up, smoothing over your back, a gesture that’s almost tender compared to the fucking. he helps you straighten, pulling your leggings back up with a surprising gentleness before attending to himself.
you turn around while leaning back against the wall. your legs feel like water as you reach out to hook a finger in the waistband of his jeans and pull him closer until he’s standing between your legs.
his forehead rests against yours, giving you a gentle kiss. his hands are on your waist, thumbs brushing slow circles against the thin cotton of your shirt.
“mean as hell,” he whispers with a smile in his voice.
you hum as you push him back gently, just a step as his hands fall from your waist. you look at him, your gaze traveling from his eyes down his chest, to where his jeans are still undone, hanging low on his hips.
“move,” you say, your voice soft but clear.
he doesn’t question it as he steps back, giving you space. you walk past him, your legs still feeling a little unsteady, as you go back into the living room. to the couch where this all started, where his cousin’s interruption stole the lazy aftermath.
you turn and look at him, standing in the doorway, watching you. you don’t say anything as you pull down your leggings and sit down on the couch and lean back. you spread your legs slightly as you look at him and you wait.
he understands as he walks toward you in slow movements. he stops in front of you while looking down at your open legs, eyeing the mixture of cum flowing out of your clenching hole.
“you want something?” he asks, though he knows.
“take your pants off,” you tell him.
his smile widens as pushes his jeans and boxers down over his hips, letting them fall to the floor. he’s naked, his cock already half hard again as he sits on the couch.
“you like it when i’m mean?” you ask, your voice low.
“i love it when you’re mean,” he corrects with wanting eyes.
you move to straddle his lap as you settle onto him slowly, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. he watches you as his hands come up to rest on your hips, letting you lead.
“i’m gonna ride you,” you murmur, the words a promise against his mouth.
he exhales as his hands tighten on your hips but he doesn’t pull you down. he waits as you shift your weight, one hand moving down his chest until you find his cock. it’s fully hard as you guide it, positioning him to your entrance. then, with a deliberate roll of your hips you sink onto him.
you take him inside you inch by inch, feeling every vein, and every throb of his cock as he stretches you. you go slow at first, settling onto him completely, letting your body adjust. you feel him shudder beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips now.
you look down at him, your face just above his. his eyes are closed and his jaw tight. he’s savoring the feeling of you taking him, of being enveloped by your slick.
“open your eyes,” you command.
he does. his gaze is hazy as it fixes on yours.
“watch me,” you say.
and then you start to move as you rise up, slowly, dragging your slick along the length of his cock. then you sink back down with a firm pressure. your hands brace on his shoulders, your thighs working to lift and lower you.
“that’s it, pa” you breathe out while watching his face. you see the pleasure take over as his mouth slightly opens, letting out small moans. you pick up the pace as the rhythm becomes faster. your hips roll as you sink down, grinding against him at the bottom of each stroke, ensuring he’s buried as deep as possible.
you lean forward, your chest brushing against his, and your lips finding his ear. “you feel how deep you are?” you whisper, your voice rough with lust.
“mmmhh...” he groans, a wordless affirmation, as his hands slide up your back and under your shirt.
you sit back up to change the angle. you rise all the way to his tip then plunge back down with a force that makes the couch creak and his body jerk. using his body for your own pleasure, to make him feel every bit of your dominance.
his hands move from your back to your ass, gripping you, helping you now, driving you down onto him with more force each time you sink. he’s meeting your pace, thrusting up into you as you come down.
“fuck,” you gasp, the word ripped from you. your fingers start to work on your clit, the pressure perfect, just enough to tip you over the edge.
he’s watching your face, seeing the orgasm approach. “come on,” he grunts, his voice strained. “take it. take it from me.”
your body locks as your inner muscles clamp around his cock in a tight grip. you cry out a sharp sound as your head falls back in pleasure. you keep moving through it, your hips still working, grinding against him as the aftershocks ripple through you. he’s groaning beneath you, his own orgasm coming. you feel him swell inside you as his thrusts become wild.
with a final, deep thrust, he holds you there as his body trembles. you feel the hot rush of his cum, filling you from the inside. for a long minute, you just stay there, collapsed against him, his cock still inside you, both of you breathing in ragged gasps. your forehead rests against his shoulder and his hands are stroking your back, slow and soothing.
eventually, you lift yourself off him, feeling the cool air replace the heat as you separate. you sink back onto the couch beside him, your body spent, and your mind quiet.
you reach over, your hand finding his as you intertwine your fingers. “you got what you wanted?” he asks softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“of course i did.” you reply, your voice hoarse but satisfied.
he leans in, kissing your shoulder, as a he lets out a soft chuckle. “yea, you always do.”
I’m legit so tired of bitches complaining about black!reader. Tfym all black!reader does is party, smoke, and strip? So many fics of black!reader being a scholar, a bimbo, ex-wife, wifey, wifey to girlfriend, girlfriend to ex girlfriend, tutor, needing a tutor, a baker- i mean the list goes on AND THESE ARE ALL FICS THAT HAVE RECENTLY BEEN RELEASED! Mind you these types of fics have also been released on black!reader tumblr for YEARS! I’ve been on this account for a few years now and black!reader is never just some random ignorant, ass shaking bitch. Even when shaking ass, all of these girlies put in so much work to give her personality, a backstory, and emotions. Not only have I seen one black fic writer write a range of black!reader, I’ve seen MULTIPLE black writers on here write a range of black!reader. It’s not just a matter of you not finding the right account, it’s a matter of you just ignoring the damn fics and not looking for them. DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE FUCKING SINNERS FICS BECAUSE HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT BLACK WRITERS HAVE DONE FOR BLACK!READER WITH SMOKE AND STACK?! Yea stop playing these girlies like that aint put hella time, energy, and thought into these fucking works that they do FOR FREE! Even if they want to only write black!reader as “ghetto” and as someone who shakes ass THEY HAVE EVERY FUCKING RIGHT TO DO WHAT THEY FUCK THEY WANT! If you want something different WRITE IT YOUR FUCKING SELF! Everyone does this shit for FREE and for the damn love of the game. Black women can’t even create in peace without random bitches getting on their ass? Can Black women please just be left the fuck alone ESPECIALLY by their OWN FUCKING PEOPLE?! Damn yall pmo.
To every Black fic writer out there that’s creating for us to enjoy, please continue unapologetically. Please let black!reader shake ass, get degrees, get married, have kids, get divorced. I’ve seen too many black writers leave this platform and deal with constant harassment and negativity. I love you and all of us who are enjoying yout content loves you too!
Here is a look at life with your himbo, Clark Kent. From the quiet morning cuddles to the messy, high-intensity nights.
✺18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽✺
Domestic Fluff/SFW
Himbo!Clark Kent is the kind of man who will spend ten minutes looking for his phone while he’s using the flashlight on it to see under the bed. He’s not slow, he’s just entirely preoccupied with you. If you’re in the room, 90% of his brain power is dedicated to noticing the way your eyes catch the light or how cute you look when you’re focused. He's a sincere airhead.
Himbo!Clark Kent has a "touch quota" that is never satisfied. If you’re sitting on the couch, he’s laying between your legs with his head on your chest, his large, tan hands idly rubbing your stomach. He finds your softest parts—the curve of your belly, the thickness of your thighs—and he kneads them like dough while he rambles about his PR at the gym or a funny story about his friend.
Himbo!Clark Kent is the ultimate listener. Even if he doesn’t fully grasp the nuances of your work drama or your favorite show’s lore, he listens like it’s the most important information on earth. He’ll tilt his head, blue eyes wide and focused, nodding along. "No way, did she really say that? That’s so mean, babe. You want me to go over there? You know I’ll go over there."
Himbo!Clark Kent is a fountain of verbal affirmation.
"You’re doing a great job, and I’m so, so proud of you!"
"You’re so perfect, honey. I feel like the luckiest man in the universe."
"You're so smart. How do you remember all that? My brain would smoke if I tried to do your job."
"I was thinking about you today—well, I’m always thinking about you—but I started trying to pick my favorite thing about you, and I couldn't. I love your voice, especially when you’re tired and soft; I love the way your hands feel in mine. I love your face, your laugh, and that beautiful heart of yours most of all. I love every single inch of who you are, inside and out. You’re everything to me."
Himbo!Clark Kent is like a human weighted blanket. He has zero concept of personal space. His favorite position is laying between your legs while you sit on the headboard; he’ll rest his heavy head on your thighs and wrap his massive arms around your waist, just telling you about his day at the gym or a cool dog he saw. He loves the "squish" of your stomach and will spend an hour idly rubbing it with his thumb, completely content.
Himbo!Clark Kent is the ultimate hype-man.
"What do you mean you 'don't know'? You look incredible in this! Don't change."
"Look at those coils. They’re so bouncy! You’re so pretty, it literally makes my head hurt. Oh, I can help you wash your hair next time!"
"You’re so thick in all the right spots, honey. I just wanna carry you around in my pocket all day so I can squeeze you."
"Your face is so pretty... like, for real. I like you nails—Oh! You should try a space theme!"
The Smut/NSFW
Himbo!Clark Kent loves pulling you into his lap while he’s still in his gym clothes or a baggy t-shirt. He’ll start talking about something mundane, like a new protein shake, while his large hand is already wandering up your thigh. He’s obsessed with the "research" his friends tell him. "Marcus told me if I do this... yeah, like that... you'll feel it more. Does that feel good? Does it?" He’ll play with your pussy with a studious, heavy-handed rhythm until you’re literally shaking, his blue eyes wide and fascinated as he watches you squirt across his hand. He’ll cheer for you, genuinely proud of the mess you’re making together.
Himbo!Clark Kent is 6’3” and 220 lbs of dense muscle, and he’s obsessed with the contrast of your bodies. He loves pinning your wrists above your head with just one of his hands, his tan, veiny forearm looking massive against your brown skin. He’ll watch the way his thick dick disappears into you, the wet, squelching sounds of the friction making him moan so loud the neighbors probably know your name. "You're so soft... and I'm so hard inside you. It doesn't even make sense. You're so warm, baby. Hot... and really wet."
Himbo!Clark Kent loves the feel of bottoming out. He’ll drive into you with a slow, athletic power that feels like it’s reaching your ribs. He isn't trying to be rough; he’s just a big man who loves the feeling of being as deep inside you as humanly possible.
Himbo!Clark Kent has no "cool" in bed. He moans deep and guttural, his voice vibrating through your entire body. He talks constantly—narrating how good you feel, how wet you are, and how much he’s struggling to keep it together.
"Look at that... you're soaking me. You're such a nasty little slut, aren't you? Taking all of this."
"Ah! Fuuck, baby. You're so tight... M'gonna cum again, I can't help it."
"Just keep going. Don't stop. I love when you squeeze me like that. Do it again. Give me another one."
"You're such a mess, babe," he whispered, his voice full of awe. "Just a soaked, whiny little mess. And you're all mine. I'm gonna stay inside you all night."
Himbo!Clark Kent looves a carrying-fuck. He doesn't even ask; he just hooks his massive hands under your thighs and hauls you up like you weigh nothing. One minute you’re talking about dinner, the next your back is hitting the hallway wall and your legs are locked around his waist. His gym shorts are already down, and he’s so big and thick it feels like a literal intrusion as he lines himself up. "Hang on, I got you," he grunts, his biceps bulging as he anchors you against the drywall. He drives upward with a raw, athletic snap of his hips, burying all seven-plus inches of himself into your heat. You let out a high, thin whine, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders, and he just beams at you, sweat dripping off his nose. "Yeah, take it. Take all of it. You’re so tight, I can feel your heart beating around me. God, you’re so fuckin' good." He starts to pace, fucking you against the wall, then the doorframe, then the dresser, never once letting your feet touch the ground until he’s hammered you into a daze.
Himbo!Clark Kent loves cuming inside you, but he loves cuming on you just as much. He’ll pull out at the last second and finish across your stomach or chest, his face scrunched up in a mix of agony and ecstasy. He doesn't reach for a towel immediately; he likes the sticky, warm reality of what you just did. He’ll collapse on top of you, crushing the air out of your lungs with his deadweight, and just lay there, dripping inside you. He’ll kiss your shoulder, tasting the salt, and murmur, "That was amazing. Can we do it again in like five minutes?"
This is a bit of a departure from my usual headcanon style... I don't like it.
sypnosis: you are a new, up-and-coming reporter at the Daily Planet; clark kent, the nerdy smallville man quickly becomes your office crush and (un)official work husband who is infatuated with everything you do. w.c. 4.6k
content warning: reporter!clark kent x black!reader (mention of protective hair styles), height difference, best friends jimmy and lois, mix of superman 2025 and maws depiction (aka nerdy, well-intentioned clark) tooth-rotting fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, flirting & eventual kissing
authors note: this is my first attempt at writing for dc ahhh! this fic is very black cat girlfriend x golden retriever boyfriend. a love letter to all my fellow black readers.
Clark Kent's office crush was painstakingly obvious to everyone within a ten mile radius of the Daily Planet.
All of your coworkers pick up on the little signs — the way Clark is so attentive to you, the way his eyes follow you around the office, even the way he hovers around your desk to do miniscule tasks like refill your coffee like a lovesick intern. Or an overzealous puppy.
Everyone knows, except for the most important person. You.
You were recently offered an offical reporting job at the Daily Planet after moving to the big city of Metropolisis to create a name for yourself.
You were sharp, calculated and organized both out in the field and in the office. You would usually be the first to clock in the morning and the last one to clock out, always with the confidence and compsure that seemed to radiate from you.
Clark and you were polar opposites, graviating to each other like a moth to a flame.
And the office loved you. You pride yourself in the high standard that you kept yourself, truly believing that a good manifestation on the outside contributed to your mood — especially on long nights spent hunched over your keyboard.
You would come into the office with a new look almost every week — freshly mancured nails, a new bag or purse and a different hairstyle that framed your face perfectly.
You sauntered into the office this week with long braids dropping down your back, adorned with gold hair jewerly and slick edges. The jewels caught the early morning light filtering through the dusty office windows, framing you in a golden halo as you greeted your coworkers.
You brought sun and light into the room, lifting up spirits of a long work Monday. Cat switched her hips over to you with a pleased smile, patting your waist as she passed. "Beautiful as always, love."
You tap her hip with your own and smile warmly. "Thanks Cat." However, you seem distracted, cutting quick glances around the cubicles.
Lingering on one desk in particular.
A snort breaks you out of your pondering. Jimmy pushes over to you in his swivel chair with a knowing look. "Clark isn't here yet, as always. The guy just has to be late."
"I... wasn't looking for him," you mumble. Lois is standing beside your desk under the televison, watching the newscast of a breaking story.
She shakes your head at your clear lie. You slide in place beside her, eyes flickering up to the screen.
She's chewing absentmidely on the tip of her pencil, watching the streak of blue and red on the screen with a sharp percision in her light-blue eyes.
"Another train derailment?" you question. There were two last week and now one today — your brain already firing on an investigative lead into Metropolis old subway lines.
She hums. On the screen, strong arms push back the train before it crashes onto its side. A red cape billows to the side, revealing the man everyone's been talking about for the past couple months since his debut. Superman.
His face is blurry in the footage, but you catch the kind tilt of his smile and crinkle of his eyes as he helps passagers out the train with a delicate touch that betrays his strength.
He was the obvious news lead — but no one could seem to get an interview with him. Except for one curly-haired member of the office, making first page whenever Superman saved yet another life.
Your brain drifts off as you watch the solid frame fly off in a blur, avoiding the camera pointed at him for questioning. So elusive.
However, you were more focused on the passagers of the train as one lady, a mother of three, said she didn't know how she was going to cover her late shift in time.
Those stories interested you — not so much the talk of the town, the reporters dream study.
Metropolis old subway lines… maybe you could contact your lead in the local government to inquire where the funds are going for new construction…
"Get back to work in there! We have deadlines, people." Perry's voice booms from his office, causing you and all the other journalists to scatter to their desks.
Commotion from the elevator makes you pause from tidying up your desk. A familar large figure sporting messy dark curls easily comes into view— towering many of the other staff members.
You hear him mumble out an apology as he almost crashes into someone, weaving through the office to get to his chair.
Clark stumbles a bit as he meets your eye. A warm smile curls his lips as he takes you in, looking more like a deer in headlights than a six-foot-two man.
"Golly…" you hear Clark say clear as day, still staring at you as if in a trance. His framed eyes flicker across your apperance. That crooked, heart fluttering smile spreading on his lips makes your heart jump traitorously.
You blink. “Golly?” you say incredulously, wondering if you heard him right. “Did you just say… golly?”
Clark immediately stutters out a response, breaking eye contact as his ears flush pink. He pushes up his lopsided glasses on his nose as he sits down at his desk. "I—I meant to say… you look good. Great! You look great. As always."
You feel a laugh bubble in the back of your throat. Clark was always like this —your polar opposite. A bit of a fumbling mess, but well-intentioned. You both balance each other out and despite yourself, you always look forward to his late entrances.
“You said that last week, too. That’s all you got, Smallville?” your mouth quirks in a smirk at his flustered state. The flush spreads down his neck at the nickname you fondly call him.
Jimmy whisles from his desk, putting a call on mute to laugh out "Get to work, lovebirds. Perry's really gonna fire you one day, buddy."
That makes you both flush, turning away from each other to get to work and ignore the unsaid thing simmering between you two.
Today is different. Today is not one of your good days.
You briskly exit out the elevator and scurry to your cubicle, hoping no one realizes your late entrance.
Of course, your coworkers do.
“You’re fifteen minutes late!” Jimmy saids with evident shock on his face, popping his head up from his cubicle to look at you.
“Fifteen more minutes later than Clark, might I add. Which is like, a record.” Lois chims in helpfully from the coffee machine, tapping her watch. “What’s kept you?"
Her blue eyes wisfully watch as you cross across the tile towards your desk. Taking in your haggard appearance — clothes wrinkled, bags under your eyes, no jewerly dangling from your ears or outwardly casting your shine into the room.
You look uncharastically dull, as if a real raincloud was hovering over you since you entered the Daily Planet.
You grumble under your breath as you scan the office for your boss. Hoping and praying to the gods above that Perry doesn’t catch you coming in this late. You never come in late, and you didn't want your perfect track record to be tarnished — or to be chewed out by him with everyone watching.
"Thanks for the observation, guys.” you hiss, out of breath but thankfully seeing no Perry.
As you approach your desk you see a familiar mess of black curls from the cubicle across from you. Clark is so large that you can easily make out his broad shoulders from across the room.
You feel some of the anxiety roll off your back at the sight of him— something about his mere presence made you feel secure. Safe. Protected.
“Morning Clark.” you sigh, sliding into your office chair and starting to quickly unpack your materials.
“Morning.” Clark sweetly says back, that little lopsided smile on his face as he turns in his chair to see you. It quickly falters as he takes in haggard apperance.
“Long morning?” he says softly and you hear the scrape of his office chair as you groan loudly. “You could say that again. My microwave and oven broke this morning and my stupid landlord won’t come to fix it. Says it’s a user error—“
You don’t realize your ranting at this point, putting down your items with more force than needed as you yank open your laptop. “And on top of that my cat decided to scratch up my brand new couch to shreds last night—!”
Failing your arms in the air, you hear a soft grunt behind you. A solid block of muscle, similar to a concrete wall, collides into your elbow.
“Oh god— Clark I'm so sorry!” Your eyes widened as you yank your hands down. Clark just smiles kindly down at you. He was leaning on the wall of your cupicle with a cup of coffee in his hand, silently listening to your worries.
“It’s okay. Here.” he slid the coffee to your desk and you take a sip — of course just how you like it. Your stomach did a funny little flip at the taste.
You curl your hands around the cup and hide a smile against the rim, letting the warmth ground you for a second. "Thanks Clark. You're so sweet to me."
You hear him clear his throat at that, spying a soft blush rising above his collar.
There was a beat of silence as he lingered at your desk, shuffling his feet. You watched him fix the crooked black frames on his face before glancing down at you with those cerulean blue eyes.
"You know.." he hesitantly mumbles, “I… I could come help you with all that after work, if you want.”
You look up at him with wide eyes —a small hush goes through the newsroom as the coworkers around you turn to do the same.
Lois gives you a knowing look as her heels click past to the break room. Jimmy is smirking into his mug off to the side of you, lips jutting out in a funny purse.
“I-I mean! Y'know it just seems like a lot of work and… and you look stressed.” Clark fumbles, neck and cheeks further heating up under everyone’s stare. His Kansas accent comes out when he gets embarrassed — low and warm like honey in your throat.
His voice drops to something softer as he meets your stunned eyes, “I’m stronger than I look. Farm boy remember? Let me help you?”
And how could you say no to your deceptively cute coworker, bascially pleading to assist you?
Your face breaks into a bashful smile.“I would appreciate that a lot. Wait for me after the evening debrief?”
His smile is radiant as he beams down at you. Like it was molded by the sun itself. “Of course. I’ll let you get to it then… and don’t worry about Perry. You’ve covered for me plenty, if he asks I’ll just say you went on a run for me.”
A saint. Clark Kent is a saint — you're personal angel. You thank the heavens a thousand times over and try not to dewell on the fact that your office crush is coming over to your apartment in the next few hours.
You burrow into your thick jacket with a shiver on the steps of the Daily Planet. It's nearing the end of fall, which means the nights are becoming more brisk and chillier.
A familiar ginger man and dark-haired woman exit the building towards you. You wave before stuffing your hand back into your pocket, wishing you brought gloves.
You watch as Jimmy slips Lois a ten dollar bill — trying to be descrete, but failing when his large nylon coat makes noise. You blink between them, raising your eyebrows in disbelief. "Did you two bet on me?!"
Lois shrugs. "Not on you, on Clark." She pats your shoulder affectionately before hopping in a taxi. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun!"
You whip your head to glare at Jimmy. He gives you a toothy grin before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "In our defense the whole office is in on it. I bet he wouldn't have the guts to ask you out by the end of the month."
Jimmy winks at you, "I'm glad I was wrong though. Clark's a great guy. See ya'."
You shake your head and bite back a smile as he retreats away down the street. Although he left, your friends words linger in your head. You might have feelings for Clark, but it was hard to tell if he felt the same way.
His farmboy upbringing taught him manners that he carried wherever he went. He was polite and kind to everyone. What if he was just… being nice by offering to help you fix up your apartment? Playing the role of a concerned coworker?
The metallic taste of blood wets your tounge. Snapping out of your daze, you realize with a start that you've been chewing on your lip. Your watch reads way past the meeting time. Clark should've came out after Jimmy and Lois.
Frowning, you go to rifle through your bag to give him a call. A dull pang shoots through you — did he stand you up? Or did he forget entierly?
However before you can dial him, a sudden gust of wind pushes you almost clear off the steps. Yelping in surprise you fumble with your phone — and try to catch yourself before meeting an untimely demise in the front of your workplace.
A firm arm presses against the small of your back, saving you from your tumble. You blink up in disarray to meet familiar blue eyes.
Clark.
He looks equally as frazzled, panting as if he just ran a lap downtown. You both stand almost chest-to-chest on the steps, his warm hand keeping you from falling backwards onto the cobblestone.
His glasses are completely skewed on his face as if he had just shoved them on, face flushed a light pink at the proximity. And his curls look devastatingly soft this close up…
You realize your staring — and haven't moved — a little too late. Quickly you detach from him with a hoarse laugh. "Clark! There you are. I've been waiting here for the past couple mintues…"
He cleares his throat, looking up at the sky before back at you with an apologetic face. "I didn't mean to be late. Perry, um… Perry had to pull me aside to talk about my next article."
That seemed very unlikely, as your boss hated people in his office past hours. Or during hours, to be exact. But he did look genuinely apologetic — and so you let it go with a nod. You don't point out his wind-ruffled clothes or hard breathing.
You tell him that your apartment isn't close to the building and that you would need to take the train. Clark quickly refuses, bringing up the derailment earlier today before calling a cab on his own expense.
The ride is quiet, save for the festive singing on the radio although it's still a bit early for Christmas carols. Clark is so large that he's practically bent in his seat, trying his best to shrink and give you more space in the tight cab.
You try to ignore the feeling of his body heat radiating from his hunched form. Or the way his eyes look over to you before darting to watch the streets wizz past out the window.
Your knee brushes against his — neither of you pull away.
Soon you both are dropped off at the front of your complex.
"Excuse me if I'm about to sound rude…" Clark slowly says, his neck on a swivel as you enter your apartment complex. "But you live.. here? Crimes really high around this place."
You sigh as you make your way up the stairs. You know you don't live in the glamorous parts of the city. You live farther on Metropolis edge, where rent is cheaper and crime is higher. "I'm well aware. It was the only place I could find in a pinch when I first moved here."
And it's in my price range… you thought silently. It wasn't a secret that a journalist salary wasn't high, but you knew that before leaving your hometown for the busling city. It wasn't ideal to live out here, sure, but it was your chance to make a name for yourself.
You fiddle with the key before pushing open the door to your apartment. "Welcome in," you say a bit shyly, showing him where to hang his coat.
Nerves suddenly bubble in your throat — this was the first time you've had someone over. Usually, you opted to spend time at other — nicer — apartments in the better parts of the city. You felt a bit exposed as Clark turned to walk further into the living room.
Warm string lights hung around the room, casting the space in a warm glow. It was cozy — it was clear you did the most you could to make the small space welcoming. The couch looked worn but soft, with a tv and coffee table full of notebooks and scribbled pads of paper.
"I like what you've done with the place. It's… homey." Clark says earnestly, his voice betraying something almost… intimate, that soft drawl that has you squirming. He looks at the framed photos lining the wall, stopping in front of a gold-rimmed frame.
Your first article at the Daily Planet is framed in the walkway. He smiles at the sight of it — it isn't front page, but clearly meant a lot to you. Your first published article at your dream job.
A meow from under the couch makes you chuckle. You coo at the furry shape underneath the cusions, two large eyes staring up at Clark wairily. "She's not use to guests, but she's harmless."
Clark slowly steps closer and spies the scratch marks along the foot of the couch. "Well, maybe not completely harmless." you grumble, before crossing to clear off the coffee table.
Acutely aware of his large size, Clark stands a respectable distance from the couch and your cat, instead glancing down at your notes curiously.
There was a lot of research — articles on local law and governemnt, contacts, all potential stories. But one thing was missing in your collection: a distinct figure that was head of all major news outlets.
"I've always wondered. Why don't you want to get a interview with him?" Clark asks hesitantly. His shaky voice betrays his nerves, as if worried your answer would be some hateful spew about the superhero in red.
You laugh and pick up one of the notes littering your coffee table. "It's not that I don't want to. Everyone wants a piece of Superman. Landing a interview with him is like, immediate front-page quality."
You look up and arch an eyebrow at Clark. "Which I'm sure you know well."
Your voice is teasing but he still looks away from you, embarrassed as he swallows dryly. His hands push up his dress shirt past his forearms, and you're momentarily distracted by the appreciatve size of them.
When you continue, your voice is softer. "I just… want to focus on the smaller voices too, you know? Local issues in Metropolis. Like the train this morning that sets hundreds of hard-workers late for their jobs, or LexCorp possibly embellishing money from local businesses—“
Clark visibly tenses up then at the mention of the multi-billion dollar company. Your reporter brain immediately wants to latch onto it, and you open your mouth to speak, but he quickly steers the conversation back before you get the chance.
"What I meant by my question is that not a lot of people care about that stuff. I think it's really important, and honest. You… you're someting special."
He doesn't stumble over his words when he says it. When you look into his blue eyes you see a warmth similar to the one he levels with you in the office.
Your heart stutters at his soft voice. Suddenly, your very aware of how close you two are in your small living room. How quiet everything is. That thing again — something unsaid, swelling tenfold at his words.
You laugh to clear the tension, defalting back to your teasing remarks in a dire attempt to hide the flush you feel searing your bones. "I don't know how I should take that, coming from Superman's number one fan."
Clark makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat. "I-I am not!"
"Mhm, sure. And you also didn't get three interviews with him last month. My toolbox is in the closet to the left."
You busy yourself with cleaning up your apartment as Clark fixes your applicances. You hear humming from Clark in the kitchen — some punk rock, upbeat song that makes you smile secretly to yourself.
He returns thirty mintues later with a satified smile. "Fixed," he says proudly.
"That fast?" you say in surprise, but sure enough, the microwave is back on and so is the oven.
You whisle low. "Wow Smallville. You're pretty useful. I might just have to keep you around."
Clark smiles bashfully at that. A silence stretches between you two. He hovers at the edge of your kitchen, leaning slightly on the frame. The way he looks at you… that soft, silent look that has your stomach tying itself in knots.
He then clears his throat, glancing at his watch with a sigh. "I… better go now. Early work day tomorrow." His laugh tries to be light, airy, but it sounds almost regretful.
You feel yourself deflate slightly. Your hands wring at the decorative towel on the oven, eyes flickering from him to the door.
It was late. And it was definitely indecent for him to stay.
But… but…
Before he can reach for his bag you quickly stop him. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" Your voice cracks on the last work and you cringe inwardly. So much for smooth.
But the chance, this chance, a rare moment of having Clark Kent — bumbling, kind, sweet, strong Clark who you've silently been obsessed with all these months — all to yourself. You would be damned to let it slip from your fingers this easily.
His blue eyes met yours and you hope you don't mistake the spark of joy in them. A grin stretches across his face at your words, shoulders slumping as if he let out a breath he was holding all night.
"That would be amazing!" Clark says earnestly and your grin mirrors his own, letting out your own tense breath.
You swing open your fridge door — but upon closer inspection you quickly realize you might have gave the invitaiton too soon. The only thing sitting on the shelves was a loaf of bread, half a carton of eggs and some bacon.
Laughing awkwardly, you glance back at him with an apologetic grin. "I meant to go grocery shopping after work…"
Clark eases into your space to look over your shoulder. You gulp, feeling his sturdy back brush against your shoulder. The sheer size of him was almost comical, casting a shadow over you.
His breath, warm against your ear, hummed out a casual "I can work with this."
He reaches around you with ease, grabbing the ingredients and going to stand in front of the stove. You blink owishly at him.
"Breakfast?" you question.
"For dinner." he completes, throwing a boyish grin over his shoulder. "It's my favorite thing to make after a long day."
The laughter that bubbles out from you is light and infectious. You take his prior place, leaning against the frame of your kitchen. "As long as it's edible." you tease. You watch his shoulders shake in mirth.
You then slide into place beside him, popping toast into the toaster as Clark whisks the eggs. Something about the routine feels oodly domestic — the way your bodies naturally weave around each other in the kitchen, grabbing cups and setting down plates.
And you can't ignore the way your hands brush against each other… but don't quickly pull away. When he reaches above you for seasonings at your request and his shoulder bumps yours. Or when he steps around you and your hips touch.
Every little fleeting touch sends lighting strikes through you, hope blossoming in your chest at every smile he gives you, every chuckle you pull from his lips.
You steal a glance at Clark whisking the eggs. He looks relaxed, with his sleeves pulled up on strong forearms. His eyes are concentrated down towards the metallic bowl, glasses slipping down his nose as turns to toss them in the sizzling pan.
He catches your eye and tilts his head. "What's on your mind? You've been quiet." he mumbles across the space to you, looking sideways at you while adding in the bacon.
You shake your head with a soft laugh, re-focusing back on the hot tea you were brewing. "Just wondering how you're so good at everything. Cooking, fixing up around the house. You're like, the perfect man. Everyone in the office thinks it."
Clark chuckles at that — but his breath catches too. He pulls his lips between his teeth, eyes darting from you and back to the pan. The wooden spacula in his grip whines as his fist clenches.
"Is— do you… think that too?" His voice is hesitant and low, rough in a way you haven't heard it before. The heat in it is unmistakable, trembling in his throat.
You freeze over the mugs below you. Clark shifts towards you, food forgotton as his voice carries closer. The air felt spiked, different, charged in only the blink of an eye.
"I…" you hesitate over the words. Two large hands settle on your waist before spinning you around. You gasp out in suprise, hands coming up to press against his chest.
You feel the erratic beat bump bump bump of his heart underneath your fingertips.
"Forgive me… if I'm being too forward." His hand takes yours in his before pressing a sweet kiss to it. Reverent. Soft. Lingering. You want to burn the feeling of his soft lips and delicate touch on you forever.
Clark looks up into your eyes, pupiles dark and blown. You spied the familiar flush on his face, eyebrows furrowed and lashes pulled low.
"This is probably inappropriate for— for the office. But I've always thought you were amazing. Ever since you first came in. You care so much about others. It's… inspiring. You inspire everyone."
His voice cracked in emotion, "and most of all you inspire me."
He took a shuttering breath before his words tumbled from his mouth, "I want to be there— helping you chase every case. Finding leads. Helping you grow both in the office and in your daily life. Even hopefully getting in good graces with your cat—"
You surge forward and press your lips to his. Clark's nervous rambling dies in his throat — his pulse falters. But he quickly adapts. He presses you to the counter with a light groan.
The kiss is searing — his arms lifting you up and onto the counter as you wrap your arms around his neck. "I like you too Clark." you mumble against his lips, breathless as his lips chase your when you pull away. His dimple pokes out in a grin.
He pecks the corners of your mouth, basking in your laughter. "Gods— you don't know how long I've been waiting for this. For you."
You press your forehead against his with a content sigh. You simply breath each other in — that is, until an unpleasent aroma has you jolting up.
Smoke. "The eggs!"
Clark's eyes widen comically and he detaches from you, snatching the forgotton charred lump from your stove. You can't help but giggle at his pout. "It's alright. We can order something in."
"But… for burning the last of my eggs, you'll need to help me get a new couch tomorrow after work," your voice curves in a mischievous lit, eyes sparkling in unmasked joy.
Clark grins at that with a quick peck to your cheek. "Of course. Whatever you want. I'm yours."
@ starrkuma 2025— all rights reserved. please support by reposting / leave a comment !
venting your frustrations to your neighbor after a wellness check turns near fatal.
black!fem, plus size reader (it comes up later), plug!sukuna, they’re not together but they act like a married couple lmao, humor to angst to fluff, medical conditions, mentions of fatphobia + medical racism, arguing (he ends up apologizing ofc), reader ends up crying, comfort, happy ending, no smut in this, just some kissing and hugging (I’ll be doing a part two tho so god bless)
wc: 2.1K
I was in my feelings when I wrote this and needed a somewhat productive way to channel it. This is a tiny bit self indulgent but this is part of the lore of reader’s story. For once, I’m not horny posting so all you supposed fluff lovers complaining in the tags better run this up.
“For the love of God and everything great, Ryomen Sukuna…will you please go the fuck home?!”
“Yeah, I sure will. When I good and damn well feel like it. Now stop asking that dumb ass question before you piss me off.”
It had been the exact same tone and mood set in that apartment for three days….tense, irritable and downright miserable. A stark difference from the laughs and light, airy atmosphere that usually filled it. Those mauve colored walls and bubblegum pink decorations seemed to fade into a dull gray. Hell, it’s how the entire world seemed at the moment…just empty and void of all happiness. Hence why the two people housed inside couldn’t stop lunging at one another’s throats…
“Speaking of ass, it’s been three days since you’ve moved off of this couch. Why don’t you go wash and quit stinking up my house?”
“Yeah, it’s just ripe enough for you to kiss it. Like I said, you can stop bothering me and throwing your goddamn hissy fit. I’m not going anywhere. Seeing as how you can’t be left to your own devices.”
The words read more like an insult rather than a serious statement. But truth be told, he wasn’t joking…in fact, nothing about this entire situation was a game to him. Because just three days ago, it was a rather bleak scene taking place in this very living room…one that neither of you wanted to relive or even discuss. But it was necessary if you ever wanted to clear the air or stop feeling as though you wanted to strangle one another!
“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember asking you or anyone else to concern themselves with me. I’m fine, and perfectly capable of taking care of myself—“
Just as the words left your mouth, you’d be hit with an unbearable pain in the left side of your chest and the device attached to it would begin flashing. Immediately, Ryomen would jump up from the couch and rush to your side…
“(Y/N)! What’s wrong?—“
…only to be met with rejection and a swatting hand. However, it didn’t phase him. He didn’t take any of your vitriol or anger personally. Because he knew that mentally, you were at your breaking point. As well as physically….the truth of the matter was, you were dealing with a serious heart condition that had been brought on by what could only be described as ‘years of compounding stress and unhealthy habits.’ Not so much in the sense of consuming fatty foods or caffeine. But instead, absorbing people’s bullshit…people pleasing and running yourself ragged for other people’s gain. Only to be left with the possibility of open heart surgery at the tender age of your mid twenties. Even so, if Ryomen had anything to say about it, he wasn’t going to sit here and watch you put yourself into an early grave!
“See?! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You and that stubborn ass attitude…you don’t want anyone to help you and for what?”
“Exactly. For what? For it to be thrown back in my face later on? For you to control me like I’m some impotent fucking child? I think not. I’ve fought too hard to be self-sufficient and I’m not going back..”
Once the words left your mouth, it all made a little more sense to your neighbor. He’d never been much in the way of understanding the complexities that were human emotions. If he was being completely honest, he never gave much of a shit about anyone’s feelings but his own. But somehow, after almost a year of being in your life, that sentiment had almost flipped. You gave him something worth caring about and when you managed to open up to him about your journey from leaving what sounded like nothing short of a religious cult to being in your own space, he understood why you felt the way you did ... .why you didn’t want to have to answer to anyone. Coming from a background that rewarded suffering and hyperindepence. As long as it was in service to the men and supposedly God himself. You were taught to want or ask for nothing and if a time ever came like this one, for example. Where you required medical assistance…rather than being met with kindness, empathy and grace, you were met with shame and impatience. Often being told that you were taking away from the Lord. Which was really code for ‘you’re not serving these false prophets and perverts so you’re useless.’
Truthfully, the more he learned about it, the more Ryomen began to despise God for allowing you to be in such a situation. He understood that deconstructing you from this mentality was going to require a lot of time and patience, and he was willing to give you as much space as you desired…but he couldn’t be vexed right now. Not when your very life was at stake…
“And I guess throwing it all away and dying alone in the middle of your living room would be a more dignified way to go, right? You’re a damn fool if I’ve ever heard one.”
The words stung like bees to exposed flesh and you’d release a sharp gasp, followed by a nasty scowl as you scooted away from him. But he didn’t care if it hurt your feelings. It was the truth and you needed to hear it before it was too late.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was? How helpless I felt seeing you lying on this floor, barely conscious and in pain?….(y/n), I thought you were going to die. I wasn’t thinking about whether or not I was overstepping boundaries or undermining you because the only thing on my mind was what I’d do if you were gone.”
Amidst his confession, you’d see the glare in his eyes soften. There was a lot more to the story than you’d been previously told as well…he remained right beside you from the time you exited the ambulance until the day you left the hospital, a week and a half later. He’d learn that you had been born with a congenital heart disease that had been left undiagnosed or untreated due to lack of care in that hellscape. It'd never reared its ugly head until now. Which in a way, made Ryo thankful. Because he was positive those clowns would’ve let you die. It had been exacerbated by years of worry and turmoil. Now that you were on your own, you were burdened by the everyday responsibilities of paying bills, cleaning, working two jobs and trying to pursue a formal education. Not to mention the daily chores that never end and running off of caffeine to sustain.
As you lay nearly comatose for two days, sedated on medication…he washed you off, styled your hair with the help of a nurse, kept your room clean and tidy and even questioned the nurses on what he could do to help you once you came home. Hell, he even risked getting banned and arrested after a PA implied that this condition was the result of you being overweight and that you may have even been faking it in hopes of getting medication because that’s what “they” all did. All but catching the guy leaving the parking lot after work and threatening to beat him into a permanent slumber if he ever spoke about you in such a manner again.
Even when you awoke, he was there…spoon feeding you meals and doing everything in his power to make you comfortable. You’d notice that his eyes had been puffy and bloodshot. From a combination of insufficient sleep and excess crying…something he’d never let you know in a million years! Nonetheless, he showed up for you without any ulterior motive or agenda. He just wanted you to heal and be healthy.
“I don’t give a damn if you push, kick or slap me away. I’m not going to leave you to suffer alone. You’ve done that far long enough…
That very sentence caused your entire mind to spin. Your now widened gaze met his and he’d reach over to grasp your hands, hoping that you believed him.
“…and there isn’t a single thing I want to take. Not your independence, not your place or this life you’ve built for yourself. If anything, I salute you on how hard you’ve worked. I just want to do everything I can to make it easier. Even if it sounds like bullshit and every man before has hooked you on some false sense of hope. You don’t have to believe a word I say…but I will not let you waste away just for you to feel vindicated.”
In that moment, it was as if something inside of you just broke. You’d been so blinded by your need to prove people wrong and make it of your own accord, that you didn’t realize that you still needed community. You still needed people around and all Ryo wanted was to be a safe space. Someone you could depend on anytime. All of the things he’d done for you thus far never came with a condition. Which in his position and line of work, could be made possible very easily. Just then, your harsh gaze melted into a pout and eventually a well of tears.
“Don’t cry—look, I’m sorry—“
But there wasn’t anything he needed to apologize for. It was you that had been unreasonable this entire time…
“No, I’m the one who should be saying sorry…I’ve just been working so hard not to fail. Not to have to go back home and face the shame of not being able to make it on my own that I didn’t realize I was neglecting myself. And I pushed you away like a fucking idiot because I thought you’d be just like all the others…I hope you can forgive me, Ryo. I’ve been really stupid.”
Little did you know, he couldn’t stay mad at you even if you set his car on fire and robbed him blind. At this point, he was so madly in love, you could do no wrong in his eyes…all he wanted was to care for you in a way that may have felt foreign now but would soon become so familiar, you won’t remember a thing about the past. Reaching over as you both sat on the floor, he’d extend those long, toned, tattooed arms and cradle you in an embrace.
“Shut up…I couldn’t do anything less than love you…even if sometimes you give me the urge to bite through the drywall.” Playfully teasing you. Alas though, he meant every word.
“But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’ll protect you no matter what and anything you need, I’ll make it happen. Just promise me you’ll stop being a brat and let me be that for you..”
“Of course I will…I love you and I’m so thankful for everything you’ve done.”
With the quarrel coming to an end and the two of you making amends, it would seem that everything was going to be just fine. You’d have to learn to navigate life with this new diagnosis but fortunately, you didn’t need to struggle by your lonesome. You had the best support a girl could ask for.
Cupping those plush cheeks into his much larger palms, Ryo placed a kiss atop your forehead before moving to your mouth, where he’d allow your tongues to clash. Turning the tender moment into a steamy makeout session.
“Y’know, I think I have a good way to help alleviate that heart problem of yours…it’ll knock that stress right out.”
“I think you mean it’ll spike my heart rate.”
Immediately breaking into a smirk, he’d merely stand to his feet and scoop you into his grasp right after. His ability to make you feel absolutely weightless in his arms was not only a testament to his strength but his affection for you as well. A perfect analogy to how he’d always uplift you even when everything felt heavy.
“Eh..let’s call it cardio. We can get a good workout.”
Paring: Rafayel x Shy Black Female Reader (No specific skin tone mentioned).
Summary: Who knew reading a smutty book to your boyfriend could lead to you losing your virginity.
Context: Virgin!Rafayel, Virgin!Reader, unprotected sex, fingering, penetration, oral sex, squirting, soft dom Rafayel, kinda submissive reader, soft sex, Reader described as a bit chubby/curvey with stretch marks, Reader has box braids in her hair and an Afro.
A/N: This was in my drafts for awhile!
Word Count: 4.8k (most of it is the smut part lol).
Fresh sea water dripped from your scalp onto the lower section of your back, releasing a calming chill that relaxed the tense muscles of your shoulders.
The day was still fresh, sun dripping through the thin white drooped curtains of Rafayel’s Studio with a pleasant evening glow. The two of you had just returned from the beach, a public one far too long a drive from his house for your liking.
You were tired and spent, all you wanted to do after basking under the warmth of the sun was rest, maybe finish the romance book you got from the Linkon City Mall tonight.
You were already aligned with the clock, book
In hand as you skimmed through the pages of a love story build up while Rafayel carefully detangled and rid you of your braids from behind.
The echo of the beads in your hair ricocheted in the semi quiet studio along with the soothing sound of Rafayel humming a light melody in your ear and the rushing ocean waves clashing against rocks outside.
“I’m almost done, I just have a few more rows left to detangle. How’s the book?” You hum, adjusting your gaze from the scrambled words in front of you to a set of playful iridescent eyes gleaming over your shoulder. “It’s ok, it’s just a bit mediocre.” “Oh really, how so?”
You cough into your hand, clearing your throat as you flick back a few pages to a section you left moments before, you put on your best to put on a serious narrative , “She wasn’t like anything Edward had seen, she was mysterious, tall and beautiful, and the nail on the coffin, is she wasn’t interested in him in the slightest.” Rafayel leans into the wet texture of your scalp, eyes following along with the words from your mouth to the words on the page as you recite countless corny phrases that make the both of you cringe into one another.
“Wait–“ he sits up again, starting to detangle a section he was working on once again “don’t stop reading, I like stupid books like this. Besides, it’ll keep me entertained.”
You shoot him an unserious glare, licking your lip before flipping to the next page. “Is my company not entertaining enough for you?” He raises a hand in mock defense, the other gliding through your hair with a rat tail comb. “C’mon, cutie, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
He smiles at you, and you can’t help but give a small one back in return. You continue reading, filling the set silence with the melodic sound of your voice. Rafayel’s nose would grow ten inches if he said he asked you to read out loud from pure interest in the literature alone. Your voice challenged the greatest melodies that grazed the Earth in his opinion. It was a blessing to hear how words rolled sweetly off your tongue.
It soothed him unlike any medicine the world had to offer.
The two of you leaned into one another as you continued to read, neither of you knew what was next, it was honestly hilarious to you how Rafayel’s face scrunched up in disgust at all the male leads lines. It was just what you needed after a long day.
—
Time was wearing thin, the fresh blues of the evening skies that shined through the window were now a hazy dark orange that basked the two of you in a beautiful tangerine. Rafayel was on the last section of your hair, and you were on the near end of this…”interesting” book. You shift the crinkled page away to reveal the last chapter, the main leads had already got together at this point, kissing all the way up in an elevator to the male lead's high class suite. You had to catch yourself quite a few times, some words making the corner of your ears and cheeks warm in embarrassment from how lewd the details were. The author may have made the overall story cliche, but damn did she know how to write a good sex scene.
You tried to stop, close the book, but Rafayel urged you to continue, rubbing your shoulder with one of his free hands. “Are you gonna finish the book, cutie? Or should I take your place?”
Despite his protest, Rafayel didn’t say a single word as you read. He let you read up until the kiss scene, he let you read up until Edward had Alica sprawled out on his silken sheets, he let you read as you described how the bedroom was practically torn apart as the two clawed at each other.
He let you read all of it, he’d be a dirty liar to say hearing your honeyed voice read such a provocative story didn’t create a large bulge in his swim trunks.
Well, it’s not like he’d have to say much at all if you looked hard enough.
“Okay—I think that’s enough for today.” You shut the book closed in a single motion as you feel the last braid in your hair unravel into its natural texture. You were beyond embarrassed reading such a thing in front of your boyfriend, but you don’t know why you didn’t have the strength to stop.
The smell between your legs lingered with arousal, your puffy clit pulsing lightly against the thick fabric of your swimsuit. A normal glance between your thighs could confuse your puddled slick as ocean water, but Rafayel wasn’t normal, he could smell the need oozing from your very core like it was a perfume sprayed into the air of his studio.
And damn did it turn him on.
“You’re done, right? I’m gonna take a shower.” You shuffle the book behind your back, trying to hide the cause of the shame that came from your mouth moments earlier. You lean up to stand, wanting to distance yourself as much as possible from the silence. It felt too awkward now.
As you stand up to leave a soft tug pulls you back to Earth. You were seated snug on Rafayel’s lap, your heaving chest pressed flush against his own rapid one. His cheeks were pink, ears flushed out and warm to the touch. You shifted, and you could feel the emptiness between the two of you connect with his bulge. He felt huge, and the way he gripped your plush body to his made your clothed cunt drag deliciously across the semi hard surface.
“Don’t—“ he let go of your wrist, grabbing the small of your back to pull you in closer, like he wasn’t satisfied with the distance enough. “You read that kind of stuff all the time?” He was comfortably uncomfortably close, his nose brushing against yours as his breath fanned across your already warm skin. You shake your head timidly as your eyes trail down to the floor to avoid the intensity of his gaze. You lick your dried lip, trying to avert your attention on a small pencil near his art desk.
“It’s not like I got that on purpose. I just picked up a random book.”
He kissed your temple, his lips felt like lava against your already burning skin, the fact the two of you were panting softly onto one another didn’t help either. He brushed his hand over your damp hair, pulling you deeper into him as he possibly could as he leaned his head into the crook of your neck, sniffing your aroma like it was an aphrodisiac. “You’re soaking, I can smell it all over you, baby..did you like the story that much?” His voice was unbearably gentle, so honeyed and light against your skin. He wasn’t judging you, not at all, his tone was exasperated, it didn’t take much from you to make him feel like mush.
Your eyes flutter open in shock, embarrassment? You couldn’t tell. Was there more about his body that you didn’t know about? What did he mean he could “smell you?” Did Lemurians really have senses that high?
“Did you like the type of things he did to her?” He takes your palm again, tracing the inner skin along your veins with the dull tip of his nail. “You want me to do that to you, don’t you.” It was more a statement than a question, he didn’t need an answer when you were already so worked up against him, already dripping down your inner thighs like a sweet soda for him to slurp whole.
“C’mon, pretty girl. Answer me.”
You swallow the sharp lump in your throat, seating yourself back to gaze into the pussy drunk expression on your boyfriend’s face. He rubs your thigh, urging you to tell him the truth you both already know. You nod your head, hands resting on his chest as you feel his estranged heartbeat pulse against your palm.
“I’ve thought about rough kinks like that, yeah. But I never really acted on it since we never had sex before.”
It was true, you both had been together for a good while, each time you thought you were ready to muster up the courage and ask him about it you’d chicken out. You’ve never had sex before, what if you were bad? What if you didn’t feel or taste good? What if he was disgusted with the stretch marks on your body? Endless possibilities flooded your head once again, making you scrunch your nose in self doubt. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend though, you come back to reality as his other hand slides to your cheek, focusing your attention to him alone.
“What’s on your mind, talk to me”
His thumb strokes the fat of your cheek, making all your worries temporarily disappear within a blink. You bite your lip, chewing the soft flesh nervously before you speak. “I’m a virgin, I never really thought I’d be any good in bed” his eyes soften the more you speak, thumb circling into your skin as he urges you to continue “I’m also—“ you hesitate “I’m also a bit nervous about you seeing my stretch marks. Scared you’ll think they’re ugly.”
Rafayel grabs your hand, bringing it to his soft lips as he gives it a gentle peck. “Baby, I don’t care that you’re a virgin. I am too, no one is going to be perfect on their first go.”
“And I especially don’t care if you have stretch marks..think you’re so beautiful.”
His reassurance eases your soul, you lean into his touch, nestling deep into his palm as he continues pressing gentle kisses over your knuckles. “My only priority is to make sure you feel good. Always has been.”
“I wanna make you feel good too, Rafayel..”
“Then let’s make each other feel good. Okay, baby?”
He lets out a sharp gasp at your words, grappling his gentle hands across the plush of your thighs, lightly shifting you so you’d grind into the hard bulge seated in his trunks. You breathe out, mouth catching nothing but air until he locks his lips to your own, drowning your senses onto his tongue.
Small strands of hair clung to both of your faces, you were both still damp from the beach but neither of you seemed to care. The only thing that mattered in this moment was each other. Rafayel moved his hands from your hips to your shoulders, tugging at your swimsuit straps “can I? You tell me to stop, and I’m seated. I won’t go further if you don’t—“
“I want you too, Raf, please?” A quiet plea left your lips, urging him to pull the straps down just above your stomach, stopping when he reached your exposed chest. He cupped the sides of your breasts, causing an involuntary whimper to fall from your plump lips. His thin fingers traced over your pebbled nipples, now completely hard and sensitive due to the chilled air in the studio. “You like that?”
You shiver under him, jerking your hips to him lightly for more “you do..”
Rafayel’s warm lips parted, sinking onto your breast as his tongue circled around your nipple, appreciating your rich flavor with his mouth while his free hand tended to your other neglected bud. He switched his menstruation’s, coming up for air before kissing along your chest up to your warm face.
“I’ll take you somewhere more comfortable. Wanna make sure you feel nice.” You clung to Rafayel’s wide shoulders, nails piercing into his back as he lifted you up into his arms into his dim chilled bedroom. It was still sunset, patches of orange flushed over his heated skin. The clock ticked closer to 7:00 P.M, you both had been making out that couch for a good hour.
“You look so pretty, I can’t wait to be inside you..”
he whispered soft promises into your throat, lowering you onto the satin yellow bedsheets on his giant circular bed. “Smell so sweet..”
he lowered the stringy sleeves of your swimsuit past your upper stomach, but you reached a hand out to stop him.
“What’s wrong, cutie?”
You know he said that he wouldn’t care about the shape or stretches carved into your body, but the nauseous feeling still made its way from your guts into your head, making you feel queasy at the thought of him seeing that part of you.
“Do you want me to stop?”
You rapidly shake your head, trying to collect your thoughts with shallow breaths. “No- no. I just–“ you press a hand to your chest “I’m just scared.”
Rafayel’s lips morph into a grim frown. He’d wanted your first time to be special for you, comfortable and sweet. Just seeing you degrade yourself made his chest hurt in ways he didn’t know it could. “What can I do to ease your nerves?” He lifted your hand, kissing his way down your palm to calm you down.
“I don’t know, I’m just being silly..”
“Don’t talk like that.”
You quickly retract your tongue after his stern reaction, melting into the crowd of pillows on his bed to try and hide away your shame. “I’m sorry for making all of this difficult..”
“You’re not, I’m here for you.” Rafayel’s demeanor instantly softened at your skittish state, eyes filled with a sense of guilt from his strong emotions earlier. He leans forward, whispering into the shell of your ear to ease you “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I want you to know that there’s not a thing wrong with your body.”
“I don’t think I can even worship it enough in one night, hell, even for an eternity.”
“I just want to make you feel cared for, and if you’ll let me show you..you’ll see how much you affect me. It doesn’t take much.” It never does.
You swallow a thick layer of spit down your throat, struggling to find the right words to respond, so you give a simple nod of your head, laying back onto the chilled bedsheets with your gaze fixed on the ceiling to distract yourself.
—
Your swimsuit wasn’t even fully gone yet and your body was covered in sore bites from your relentless lover. The bottom of the swimsuit hung over your sex, dangling over your barely visible pussy. Each patch of exposed skin exposed to the thin air would be replaced by Rafayel’s mouth as he worshiped every curve of your body with light kisses and gentle bites that lightly stung your skin.
The stretch marks and larger areas of your body were met with a gentleness, Rafayel traces all your scars, with light kisses of his tongue, memorizing the pattern of your skin like a puzzle. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
The scent between your thighs was a damn drug. Inch by inch Rafayel roamed, kissing your whole body until he was met with the last tug that would let out the most fragrant smell that ever blessed his soul.
“Look at me”
You peek your eyes down from the ceiling to shyly meet his gaze, your lip trembling beneath your teeth from the bite marks he left on your body. “There you go, don’t look away.”
A strangled moan erupted rom Rafayel’s perked lips as he took off what was left of your swimsuit, his nose burying into your thigh as he nuzzled his cheek deep into the softness of your skin. You felt so soft..smelt so good, it was hard to even focus on anything other than your honeyed arousal spilling from your warm cunt to your thighs.
He licked up the curve of your inner thigh, scooping up your essence on his tongue with a low groan of approval. You close your thighs tightly together “Rafayel— don’t smell me, it’s embarrassing!”
“Embarrassing?” His hand slips between your legs, pulling them open with little to no effort. His voice is an octave low, breath rapid and hushed, he looked too far gone. “Don’t be embarrassed..I’ll make you feel so good.”
It feels like he could just cum from the taste of you alone, his lips kiss over your quivering pussy, parting your folds with his tongue back and forth in laps, trying to convince your pussy to let out more of its nectar down your slit.
You groan, the newfound feeling foreign to your body, it felt like you had butterflies in your lower stomach. “F-Fuck, Rafayel..”
he grabs your hands, forcing your palms onto his scalp to hold on to. His arms then wrap around your thighs, lifting them up and over his shoulders so he can have better access to you.
“R-Ra—fayel!”
“Mhmm—“
“Fuck— so pretty for me..”
He mumbles into you, lips puckered over your small puffy clit as his tongue traces over the bundle of nerves in slow concentrated strokes.
You’re twitching under him, thighs trying their best to stay still from squeezing his head tight, you’re a wreck.
“Rafayel—! I think I’m gonna—!”
He hums into you, sound vibrating through your core and over your aching clit. He doesn’t stop at your warning, only urging you on as he helps build you up to the top so he can catch you when you fall.
You buck against him once
Twice
A third time, until finally you feel a snap deep within your core. You shake under his strong hold as he helps you through your orgasm, slurping and sucking your clit as you whine out into the silent room. “Let it out, let it all out, baby.”
“Ah—“
“There you go..fall for me”
He catches you, hands rubbing comforting circles on your sore thighs. A line of spit connects you to his mouth, but he pulls away, leaving you to whine from the cold loss.
“Shh, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Gonna stretch you out on my fingers, ok?” His thumb circles firmly on your clit, trying to relax your body enough so there’d be little to no pain when he initially slips one in.
You’ve fingered yourself before, the feeling mediocre from your own hand alone, but you’ve never had something this long and thick inside you—ever. Rafayel had pretty hands, on the outside they were polished, soft and slender, but inside you it was a totally different story. One finger at first was fine, but then he added another, causing you to grit your teeth as a tiny pinch of pain mixed with a concept of pleasure filled your body.
“It hurts..”
Rafayel halted his fingers, rubbing his thumb over your clit once again to help open you up more. “M’sorry, baby. Do you need me to stop?”
You shake your head, furrowing your brows in concentration “no, just–just give me a second to adjust.” You sit there for a good minute, panting out as Rafayel soothingly rubs your clit, helping the subtle pain ebb past. His expression was hungry, concentrated and drunk, just the sight of you struggling to take even a mere two fingers made him breathless.
“You can move..”
He holds the side of your hip for stability before the large digits inside you spread, molding their shape in your spongy walls with ease thanks to the built up slick from your orgasm. You hiss, eyes shutting as you let out a deep sigh.
Rafayel’s thumb never lifts off your clit, rubbing thin circles into it as his thin fingers piston in and out your sex. The room was filled with your soft whimpers and lewd squelching between your thighs. His fingers were messy, inexperienced and curious, trying their best to find that spot that made your pussy drool, and when he finally did find it? You’re already arched up gasping out his name like a prayer.
“That’s your spot? I’ll pay attention to it more then..”
You clung your hand to his arm, eyes shutting tight as he abused the spot that made your legs feel like pure mush. The sound around you clouded your ears in a blur, you could barely make out that he was speaking to you.
“Eyes on me, cutie, wanna see your reaction.”
“Wanna know if I’m doing a good job”
He was doing a great job, no, more than great..you felt like you were drowning in a vast ocean of pleasure, like you were a wave ready to crash into the shore; that was all thanks to his fingers. Your lips part, drool spilling out onto your chin as you whimper his name “so good— doing so good!” You open your eyes, peeking up at his red face. He was ecstatic, drunk on your senses.
It was selfish, really selfish but he was so impatient. It was taking chains of restraint to hold him back from just shoving his cock into you. He couldn’t wait to ruin you, no one else would ever have you, you were his and his alone. He curled his fingers up, the pads sliding deliciously inside your cunt, so squishy and slippery for him. Your thighs were soaked, arousal pooling onto his sheets under your trembling body.
Your vision was hazy, mouth wet with spit as you felt that familiar feeling start to fill your senses, you were close, but something felt off, it felt like you were crashing down. Hard.
“Fuck—Rafayel!?”
“Mh?”
You clawed into the bed, nails grinding into the pillows behind you as Rafayel watched from above. You looked so beautiful like this, and it was all for him. “It feels different —like I’m gonna pee?“
Rafayel only hummed in response, it was true, he was a virgin. Never had sex, who else is there to have sex with if it’s not you? He was inexperienced, yes, but he wasn’t stupid. He’s researched every aspect of sex, every single thing he could try to make you explode. He knew what buttons to push to make you crumble.
“Rafayel- wait, I’m gonna—!”
“Fuck!”
You scream, eyes watery and blurry as you let go, muscles twitching everywhere on your body as you finally let it all out. He helped you through it all, fingers jutting softly inside you as you squirted onto his hand and lower stomach.
“Did I just? Shit, I’m sorry—”
You were still catching your breath, but you lean on your elbows, looking down to see the damage between your thighs. You were soaked, and so was the rest of the bed. Rafayel kisses your forehead, leaning down to nuzzle deeper into you. “It’s fine, I’ll clean it up later.”
“But I..”
“It’s fine. Shh. You did amazing, baby”
He holds you, rubbing your arms and stomach as you breathe out in shock and a deep sense of calm. After a while, you speak “I think I’m ok now, I think I’m ready..” he pulls away just enough to meet your eyes, nose pressed against yours as he hums. “I’ll go slow, if I hurt you, punch me.” His light joke made your eyes crinkle with a smile, lightning, your already tense nerves.
You feel like you’re anticipating a jump scare. He felt so huge from earlier, grinding himself into you even though he was hidden away by a pair of swim trunks. You didn’t want to sound perverted, but you did catch a few glances of how big his bulge was at the beach, He grabs the band of his trunks with both hands, it feels like he’s moving in slow motion to tease you. He tugs, and you can’t help but let out a sound as his hard cock springs free. He’s huge, not an unbearable amount of girth but he’s still really long. How the fuck is he going to fit inside you?
You sit up, analyzing his size as if he were a predator ready to plunge onto his prey. “Something wrong, cutie? Oh shit—“
His knees almost give out as your soft hands wrap around his dick. He’s sensitive, so turned on that pre-cum is already leaking onto your hands. “Cutie—fuck..you don’t have to, princess. I just wanna make you feel good.”
You test out the waters, stroking your firm hands up and down with hesitation. “Am I doing ok?”
“M-mhm” he praises, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark “go a little faster—that’s it..ahh/-“ your fingers felt one thousand times better than his hand, he was losing himself, cock fluttering in your hand as he whines out from above you. Your hands stutter, trying to form a beat, your efforts seem to be working. Rafayel’s face couldn’t get any pinker than this. He was shaking, he looked starved.
Sticky ropes of cum shot out of Rafayel’s twitching cock, spurting onto your face and hair. He panted harshly, lifting you up and folding you back onto the bed with your legs over his shoulders. “Fuck—can’t wait anymore, gotta be inside you, please, let me.”
You were startled by his show of strength, breath hitching as you gave a quick nod of your head. He was slow, reaching his hand down to stroke his cock before lining it up to your entrance.
“Let me know if it’s too much”
He slid in the head and you both couldn’t help from groaning out. He was so big, again his girth wasn’t insane but he was already poking a good amount into you. It wasn’t comfortable, the pleasure was small behind a sharp stretch. He slid in deeper, bottoming out slowly bottoming out til his tip kissed your cervix.
He gave you some time to adjust, kissing your eyelids and rubbing your thighs to comfort you. He almost looked heartbroken as you whimpered below him in pain.
“Sh, you’re doing so well.”
You hold him, clinging yourself under him for comfort as his cock stretches you open. It wasn’t like anything you’ve ever felt before, your fingers—his fingers couldn’t even compare to this. “Rafayel—!”
“I know..”
“Ah—!”
“Shhh, I know.”
He kisses you, body connecting to yours because even being an inch apart makes him nervous. He wants to feel all of you, not just your inner body. He was obsessed with everything you had to give.
Once you kinda got used to his size you couldn’t help yourself. Your hips roll out, grinding him just perfectly inside you, causing him to let out a soft whimper.
“I’ll ruin you—“ he chokes out like he’s in agony, starved from your touch even though he’s almost balls deep inside of you. He’s leaking everywhere, his cum and a little blood already spurting out of your puffy folds without you even doing anything. You weren’t sure if he was ruining you or vice versa.
He stutters inside you, hips rolling, dragging his cock out of you to the tip before he slams back in. Your pussy squelched, and you would be embarrassed if it weren’t for how good you felt.
“She’s mine—“
“Fuck, you’re all mine…”
He chants into the cold air, singing out your name as he promises you his devotion with each thrust of his hips. You both have tears in your eyes, too drunk from one another to even think
“I’ll never let you go—!”
—
It’s the third time you’ve cum on his cock, but you can’t help yourself from begging for more. If Rafayel had neighbors they’d hear the two of you 5 blocks down by now. You’re screaming his name, pleading for him to fuck you harder, for him to give you what you need. He’s already at a set pace, one that already has your fourth orgasam building, He holds your leg up to get a better angle inside you, fucking his cum deep down into your depths with each thrust. You both yell out, clinging to one another with crazed hands as you both cum.
“Mhh—Fuck!!”
“Rafayel–!”
He collapses onto you, face buried into your soft Afro as he holds onto you for dear life. He’s kissing your hair, face cuddling into you, but he doesn’t pull out. “You did you good..” he praises “do you feel weird? Do you need some water?”
You shake your head, your eyes growing dreary. “I don’t think I can even lift up my hands to drink the water.” He chuckles
“I’d do it for you.”
“I know.”
…
“..Rafayel?”
“Hm?”
“Can we try some stuff from that book tomorrow morning?”
A/N: Guys, I miss Rafayel so much! I need new content asap ༼ ༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ༽
hiii girll i have a request but you gotta be theree i saw your last fic about hitting the yart with jermajesty and that just had me thinking imagine jermajesty x reader in school hitting the yart in class and he accidentally drops it and picks it up but both of them get scared and blame each other just for the teacher not to notice like a cute fluff au😭😭😭
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ backrow
jermajesty j. ⋆˚࿔
pairing: jermajesty × blackfem!reader
synopsis: after a dropped cart nearly gets you both caught (not), the two of you spiral into a light whispered bickering, laughter, and the kind of chaos that reminds you why being with him never gets old.
warnings: fluff, highschool/classroom au, smoking (cart), use of nword
wc: 500
a/n: hili doll! thank you for requesting, this is literally so funny to picture fo. this might, be the shortest fic I've ever wrote but i loved writing it. let me know if you enjoyed this!
requests are open!
(for my @ pls Imk if you wanna be tagged for only jaafar, only jermajesty, only michael, or if you dont mind all!!)
tags (message to be added or removed): @vict-oryy, @kianaajermajesty, @mimionspot, @ghettofabu05, @lilitheebaddest, @swavydadon, @4ppl3h34d, @mrsj4cks0n, @callmelyriic, @plan3tch1ld, @softchaosdiary505, @keiiate, @superduperawkwardcutie, @notepadgirl14, @sayyoulovemeziya, @cchampangemamii, @aristoleyaferrarii
it was third period chemistry, you and jermajesty were currently planning to risk it all in the very last row. your teacher had her back turned, aggressively writing some formula on the whiteboard, which was the ultimate green light.
you nudged his shoulder, giving him the look. jermajesty smirked, sliding his cart out of his hoodie pocket like a secret agent.
he took a quick hit, blowing the smoke straight down his hoodie sleeve, looking way too proud of himself. “okay, my turn, gimme,” you whispered, reaching out under your desk.
but.
something stupid went off in jermajesty’s mind, prompting him to try and do some fancy hand off. and as expected, his fingers ended up slipping. time literally slowed down as the cart slipped from his grip, bounced off his knee, and hit the floor with a loud ‘clack.’
both of your souls instantly left your bodies. jermajesty dove out of his chair, scrambling on the floor to snatch it before anyone could notice.
he popped back up, shoved it in his pocket, and immediately turned on you, his eyes wide with panic. “why the fuck did you drop it?!” he hissed, his voice cracking slightly.
“me?!” you gasped, pointing at yourself in betrayal. “nigga, you literally threw it at me! why the fuck would you do that?”
“i handed it perfectly, you have fucking butter fingers!” he whispered back hard, leaning in so close your foreheads almost touched. “if we get suspended, i'm telling them it was your fault.”
“i will literally fight you,” you shot back, trying so hard not to laugh because his face was turning red from the adrenaline. “deadass.”
at this point, you both erupted into laughter, the sound spilling through the back of the classroom no matter how hard you tried to muffle it.
“is there a problem back there?”
the teacher’s voice boomed, and both of you froze like deer in headlights. jermajesty instantly grabbed his pencil, staring down at his notebook like he was actively being productive, while you gave the teacher a completely innocent smile.
the entire class turned to look at the both of you. “no, ms. clark! jermajesty just dropped his...highlighter,” you lied through your teeth, a wheezy laugh escaping you after.
the teacher just stared for a second, “please keep it down, i don’t want to have to seperate the both of you.” she sighed at the chaos of you two, and turned back to the board.
the second the coast was clear, jermajesty let out a shaky breath, burying his face in his hands. you couldn't hold it in and snorted, kicking his shin under the desk.
he looked up, a beautiful smile breaking across his face as he shook his head at you. “we are never doing that again,” he muttered, though he reached under the desk and squeezed your hand, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles.
“it’s literally your fault,” you giggled, squeezing his hand back. “next time, don’t be dumb.”
