#his lips... his eyes... his goddamn nose...

[nadi-nox]

I bring another round of pictures of the amazing Hudson Williams to thirst over ♥️

Credits

[frnkiebby]

his f u c k i n g eyes~🎃

[beansprean]

Rhys has the most baffling nose I have ever attempted to draw it’s thin then it’s wide it’s long in profile but also kinda flat the bridge is concave but the tip points down but the nostrils are higher and every time I’m struggling with it and need a new ref it somehow looks completely different from my prev sketches!! The man has a new nose for every angle and I for one am SICK OF IT SIR.

[we-pray-for-our-sorrows-to-end]

this pic lives in my head rent free

[goldenlaquer]

Gintoki, kagura or kamui at a waiter: "a milkshake with two straws, please"

S/o: "aaawe, so sweet"

Them: *put both straws in their mouth* "watch how fast i can finish this bitch!"

edit: my eyes be tripping me sometimes bc wtf i totally read this wrong. i thought you said gintoki with either kagura or kamui sharing a milkshake together, and my mind just ran off with this information like it caught wind of a 80% off in-store only sale at the dollar tree down the corner of jared 19 avenue and utter fucking baboon boulevard. definition of clown shit right here. an embarassing moment. it won’t happen again sir. 

very bold of you to assume these gluttonous knaves know how to share

[seoyue]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊ ─── it’s bulking season and ur boyfriend ryomen sukuna comes home from the gym looking thicc

mdni | warnings: smut, fem reader, massive size kink, post-gym sukuna, muscle/bulk worship, couch sex, mating press, praise-degradation mix, creampie, exhausted but feral sukuna

The door SLAMS and the whole apartment feels it.

Sukuna doesn’t even kick his shoes off. He’s wrecked after three brutal hours of squats, deadlifts, and whatever else he’s been forcing down his throat to feed this insane bulk. He just drops onto the couch like a goddamn mountain giving up. The frame creaks loud under all that new mass. Tank top soaked black with sweat and clinging to every thick slab of his chest. Sweat dripping down the column of his neck. Those gray sweats stretched in an obscene way over thighs that have doubled in size, heavy and veined and still pumped from the session. Shoulders so wide they swallow half the damn couch. Traps eating his neck. Quads bulging so thick the cushions sink deep beneath him.

He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.

“Fuck… long day, brat. Don’t start with the attitude.”

But you’re already staring, eyes glued to him like you physically can’t look away. Your mouth goes dry. Heat coils tight and insistent low in your belly.

God, when did he get this big?

The thought hits you like a slap. You’ve seen him every day, felt him every night, but somehow you never really clocked it—the way the bulk has crept up on him over the last few months, slow and relentless. Every extra pound of muscle he’s shoved down his throat has turned him into this solid, immovable wall of a man. And now, sprawled out like this, exhausted and heavy, chest still rising and falling in deep pulls, radiating that sharp, clean post-gym heat… it’s like seeing him for the first time. The sheer size of him hits different. Shoulders swallowing half the couch. Thighs spread so wide they force space around him. Everything about him feels bigger, denser, more.

It short circuits your brain completely.

You move before the thought even finishes forming.

You slide between his spread thighs, knees sinking into the carpet, hands gliding up the thick, sweat-hot muscle under the gray fabric. The density under your palms makes your breath hitch. Solid, unyielding, like touching warm stone carved into the shape of a man.

Sukuna’s eyes crack open slowly, heavy-lidded. One dark brow lifts.

“Brat?”

“I want it,” you breathe against his thigh, fingers already hooking into the waistband of his sweats and tugging downward. “Please… let me suck you off. You look so fucking big right now”

Sukuna lets out a low, rough sound, half laugh, half groan, the exhaustion in it doing nothing to dull the filthy edge. “Look at you,” he mutters, voice gravelly and wrecked. “So fucking greedy you can’t even let me breathe first.”

His fingers slide into your hair, not pulling yet, just holding, grounding, while you yank the fabric down far enough. His cock springs free—thick, heavy, flushed dark, already half-hard and twitching from the lingering pump. You make a soft, desperate noise in your throat and lean in, lips parting wide to take the head, tongue swirling slow and wet.

Even if the gym didn’t change this part of him, the sheer size of everything else, the wide shoulders, the dense slabs of muscle, the way those tree-trunk thighs tense under your palms, makes it feel like too much. You push forward anyway, choking yourself on him, spit slicking your chin as you bob, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper until your nose brushes the soft skin above the base.

Those massive quads flex hard under your hands, still hot and twitching from the workout, pure bulk and power radiating through the fabric you haven’t even fully pulled down.

“Fuck,” Sukuna rasps, head tipping back against the couch, hips giving the tiniest involuntary roll. “That’s it. Suck your man while he’s still pumped and filthy from the gym. Good little thing.”

You lose yourself in it. Messy, eager, throat working around him, drool dripping, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. Until his grip tightens in your hair and his patience finally cracks.

Two big hands grip your ass and haul you up in one smooth motion.

Right there on the same couch he just sank into, he flips you onto your back, folds you in half so fast your knees press tight to your shoulders in a deep, ruthless mating press. The cushions dip hard under the combined weight, your hips right on the edge, legs splayed wide, pussy completely bare and dripping for him.

He lines up and pushes in slow. One long, unrelenting slide that doesn’t stop until he’s buried balls-deep.

The stretch feels different now, heavier, fuller. All that new bulk presses down on you like a living wall: thick, sweat-slick pecs crushing against your tits, carved abs grinding slow and hard into your stomach, those massive thighs locking your legs back so tight you can’t twitch. His quads are so huge they swallow the backs of your thighs completely, pinning you open and helpless right there on the worn cushions.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked as he bottoms out. “Still so goddamn tight even under all this extra mass. Look at you taking every pound I’ve put on.”

He doesn’t ease up. He just fucks. Deep, heavy strokes that drive home with the full weight of his frame behind every thrust. The couch groans and creaks beneath you both. Wet slaps fill the room, skin on skin, relentless. Sweat rolls from his neck and drips onto your cheek, your collarbone. One hand clamps around the back of your knee, keeping you folded. The other slides up to wrap loosely around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, grounding, letting him lever even deeper.

“You feel that?” he pants, hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles so every new inch of bulk presses you deeper into the cushions. “ Gonna keep you folded exactly like this every damn day after the gym. Right here on this couch until your pussy remembers exactly how big I’ve gotten.”

You’re shaking, nails scraping uselessly down the hard planes of his back, legs trembling in his unyielding grip. The constant grind of his pelvis against your clit is merciless. His sheer size pins you flat, chest crushing yours, breath stolen with every roll of his hips until there’s nothing left but the wet heat and the overwhelming pressure of him.

“Come on,” he growls, voice rough and frayed at the edges even as exhaustion bleeds through. His pace turns brutal, hips snapping forward so hard the couch frame protests with every thrust. “Come for me, brat. Show me how much you love your man getting big.”

You break with a shattered cry, walls fluttering and clamping down around him so tight his rhythm falters for a second. A low, guttural groan rips out of him as he follows—hot, thick spurts flooding you deep, so much it spills out around his cock even while he stays buried inside, still twitching under the weight of his own bulk.

He doesn’t pull out.

He just stays there, folded over you, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, heavy chest rising and falling against your own. A living wall of muscle keeping you pinned to the ruined cushions.

After a long, hazy moment he leans down and presses a slow, filthy kiss to your mouth, tongue lazy and claiming. Then he rolls his hips once—just once—enough to drag a broken whimper out of you.

“Shower,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked and low. “Then round two.”

a/n: idk if u can tell but i'm gonna be posting about him A LOT

[fushiguava]

۶ৎ satoru never lets you top :(

he says he will. says it like it’s cute, like aw baby, you wanna be in charge? with that glitter in his eye and his voice pitched all soft so you forget he’s the worst. says it while already lying down like he’s doing you a favor. stretches his arms behind his head like a goddamn lounge chair. he lets you crawl into his lap all pretty like you’re the one in control and not already playing into his hands.

because you start on top—that part’s true. thighs bracketing his hips, hands braced on his chest, cock thick and hot under you while he hums like he’s bored of waiting. you rock down slow, tight squeeze inch by inch, trying to savor it, trying to do it right this time—and then, as always, he cheats.

he palms your ass and grinds up into you with one filthy roll of his hips, grinning like he’s so generous, like he’s helping, like your little attempt at dominance was adorable and not doomed from the jump.

“you were taking too long,” he’ll murmur, breath hot against your neck while your pussy clenches and your ego implodes, “had to speed things up.”

every time. until tonight.

because tonight, for some reason—maybe the stars aligned, maybe he just likes watching you try so hard—he lets you. no hands. no thrusts. no smug commentary. he just lies back and watches.

you try not to let that get to you, try not to let the weight of his stillness scare you out of it, because you know him. know what he’s like when he’s bored, know the sound of the snort he makes when he pretends not to be impressed, know that smug little tilt of his mouth when he thinks he’s gonna win again.

but he’s not bored. he’s not smirking.

he’s fucking breathing through it, blinking slow and wet-eyed up at you like he’s never seen something so goddamn beautiful in his life, and you’re not even doing anything special—just rolling your hips with slow, steady circles, keeping him deep, kissing at his jaw while you whisper, “that good, baby?”

and he nods. dumb. flushed. glassy.

you kiss down to his ear. “is it too much already?”

he swallows.

“you feel good,” he slurs, hands twitching like he wants to touch, like he needs to, but he won’t—you said you’d ride him, and he promised, and his stupid pride is still bigger than his dick. barely.

you kiss the corner of his mouth. then his temple. “look at you,” you murmur, soft and teasing, “so quiet all of a sudden.”

“i'm trying” he breathes, “fuck—i‘m trying to be good.”

your pussy clenches around him, soaked and so fucking warm he shudders under you, whole body arching like he’s about to fold, and then you drag your lips down his throat and start to move a little harder, a little faster, still controlled but deeper now, grinding forward just right so he can feel your cunt squeeze and slide and flutter around every inch.

his mouth falls open. his lashes flutter.

“you’re so pretty like this,” you breathe against his cheek, “you gonna cum already, satoru?”

he whines. whines. you’ve never heard it before. it knocks something loose in your ribs. he grips the sheets.

you put your forehead to his. press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “baby,” you whisper, slow roll of your hips making his eyes roll back, “you’re still inside me. you know that, right?”

his hands fist the sheets tighter, arms trembling.

“you’re gonna cum from just this?” you tease, sweet and slow, “just me sitting on it, being so nice to you?”

“n-not nice,” he gasps. “you're not nice. you’re so—f-fuck—tight—”

and then his hips jerk up once—just once, without permission—and you feel it hit, deep and hard and hot, like a gut-punch. he gasps. loud.

“oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide.

he grabs your waist like he’s dying, like he needs to stay inside, like he needs to feel every spurt while you’re still warm and clenched around him and holyshit, he’s still twitching.

“i didn’t mean to,” he pants. “baby, fuck, i didn’t—I couldn’t—i tried—”

you grin. lean down to kiss his lips, soft and slow. he moans into your mouth. still throbbing. still whining. you don’t even bother getting off. just stay there, full and warm and smug as hell, his cum already leaking, your cunt pulsing, his face so red you’re surprised he hasn’t short-circuited.

he’s still blinking up at you like you’ve personally rewritten his understanding of the universe.

and maybe you have.

[maiamore]

clark meets another super, who he can fuck the way he really wants to.

cw: 18+, smut, villain!reader, enemies to lovers, hate fucking, unprotected p-in-v, mentions of blood & violence, clark has a massive cock (ofc), sexual tension, tummy bulge, multiple orgasms, dub con, clark fucks HARD in this (2.4k wc)

𖤓 david corenswet masterlist | main masterlist | inbox 𖤓

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE clark kent had only ever dreamt of days where he'd meet his match.

he'd accepted that he was physiologically different that the humans that he kept company with. and that meant compromising. which was a multitude of things. he could only every use one percent of his actual strength in his daily tasks for starters — taking a boatload of mental fortitude to contain himself.

that applied to his sex life. an act he indulged in often.

maybe it was written in his DNA, or maybe having a significantly larger body to muscle mass meant your sex drive left you unbelievably insatiable. he couldn't tell. there wasn't much of a reference point he could compare to.

even then, it was…unfulfilling.

the women he fucked weren't to blame for it. truly. he'd learned after a couple of partners that his cock was disconcertingly massive in 'human' standards. to quote the most recent, he had a 'monster cock.' something he took literal offence to initially, but later learned that was a generic term for far exceeding 9 inches. and that meant only ever being able to fuck barely halfway in before most of them tapped out.

it was okay. he was okay with it. being superman had perks, doing good, keeping people safe. being sexually fulfilled wasn't on the forefront of his mind at all. but that didn't mean he couldn't dream of meeting someone who could keep up with him.

and that was why, clark kent was obsessed with you from the second you threw the first punch to his jaw.

"are you — … are you freakin' smiling?"

you had your knee pinned to his pulse point, knuckles flexed with clark's dried blood. other hand squishing his jaw when his smile tenses against your thumb. bloodied pearly whites peeking through. that wasn't the expression you expected from a man who was panting, bruised, and bleeding from cuts on his lips and nose.

"it hurts," he manages through a laughter of amusement, "like, actually hurts." your brows raise quizzically. it was a no shit sort of moment, because well, you'd swung at his face. repeatedly. but the crooked smile he was giving you, made your cunt clench. "okay. i do not have time to figure out what bullshit you're on. stay out of my goddamn way, superman."

he doesn't chase you when you'd gotten up, free-falling off the museum's building, thumb drive in hand.

after that, getting rid of him was near impossible. he was everywhere you were, disrupting your plans. and for some absurd reason — taking hit after hit, as if testing how much you could deal, and how much he could endure.

the next time you see him, he's skulking in your apartment, rotating a relic that didn't seem like it was from this earth.

"do you have a death wish?"

clark doesn't turn when he hears you approach him, tossing the armored headpiece up and down in his palms. "you're hera," he muses, eyes glinting when your footsteps cease where you stop short of him. the mention of your past alter-ego, sends a dreadful chill down your spine. his gaze drags over your civilian state, formal, a lanyard around your neck, pencil skirt, and a thin black rectangular framed glasses.

you snatch the item from him. dusting it off before putting it back in its' place. "i don't go by that anymore." clark stumbles backward when you shoulder past him. you don't wait before you swipe him clean off his legs, the cement floors crackling beneath his fall. "i'm giving you about twenty seconds to get out before i fuck you up, supershit."

clark reacts to that nickname instantaneously, pointing at you accusatory. "do not —" he grumbles. shaking his head before pulling himself up to his feet. you weren't paying attention to him, wrist twisted to look at the second hand tick on your watch.

"look. miss hera, i'm here to talk —"

"times up."

the force that sends him crashing into your bookshelf cracks the walls of your converted loft. you sigh, unwinding your wrist from hitting that brick wall-like chest. he doesn't want to attack you, and you see it in the way he's standing up, not getting into a defensive stance.

clark raises his palms to surrender. "please, i'm really not here to turn you in." you listen to him for a second, but you wind up to throw another. this time, he catches your fists, a crackle heard before he twists you around, pressing your fist to your back. "would you listen?" you swallow thickly, his voice blooming a warmth in you.

he grunts at you headbutting him, and you take the moment to loop your arm around his, throwing him in the direction of your television console. you briefly hear him mutter a quick 'oh geez that one hurt' in a tired boyish tone. clark looks up to the figure already charging at him. he catches you by your hips when you pounce on him, legs locked around his chest. "ow, ow, ow — i'm serious! just let me talk!"

you huff, holding him in a tight headlock where you were straddled. in the split second you hesitate, he blindly grabs around your back, holding you by the scruff of your neck before slamming you down like he was getting a feral cat off of him.

"that does it." gritting through your teeth, your heels meet the base of his jaw, and it cracks beneath the weight behind the kick. clark whines out loudly, stumbling back. his senses are attuned now, your head whips to the side when he strikes you for real, the glasses you had on flying right off.

"i really don't want to hurt you. " he pants, wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand. you attempt to knee him, but he catches you, the whiplash of him grabbing you by your throat has your hand grasping around his wrists. his cape flutters when clark catapults onto the other side. you let out a yelp when your back slams into the paintings behind you. he's close now, your chest heaving hard enough to graze his.

you spit out the blood that collects in your mouth, sizing him with a deadly look, "as if you can." clark looks at you intently, gaze flicking to the smear of scarlet on your lips. his jaw tightens, trying to figure out how he could get you to listen to him.

and then — he licks a stripe over your sliced bottom lip.

your whimper ghosts his jaw, and clark holds you still in place by the neck. large hands spanning your entire throat. your eyes dart to his, flitting left and right. his thumbs shift, just slightly, your pulse slowing beneath.

"you done?" he's close enough that you can feel the hum in his voice. your eye twitches at the smug tone.

"the nerve you've got…" you mutter, your own tongue catching your lower lips. he tenses at the sight of you licking over the glossiness he left.

the thrum in your chest is palpable. he feels it, and doesn't let go. the adrenaline of both the pain and closeness turning into something much more twisted.

"you're strong." clark leans close and you tip your head to the side to avoid him. he takes the opportunity to drag his nose down your neck. "as strong as i am." your breath stutters, thighs thrashing helplessly next to his hips.

"so?" you feel him sigh into your collar bone, his forehead rested on the shifted painting behind you.

"so…you can take it. take…me."

your brows furrow at that, but the answer comes in the form of the monstrosity pressed up against your abdomen, that was twitching. "is…is that what this is about? you needed a super-powered criminal fuck buddy?" the deliriousness in your tone is evident, and it seems to embarrasses him.

"this isn't ideal," he snaps in a hushed whisper. pulling back enough to turn your jaw to face him. "i know you want it too. i can…i can feel your heart rate picking up." he points out.

his face is laughably apologetic considering the span of events so far. "well, it's a given with you humping me."

clark's jaw flexes, "gosh you — the mouth on you." he sputters, the grip around your neck tightening a fraction. "you're so damn crass. this is ridiculous. what am i doing?"

you laugh in his face, and he perks up, staring blankly at just how pretty you looked when you smiled. "are you joking? you have your dick pressed onto me and you're questioning my language?"

clark winces, hips bucking into you when you point out the irony in the situation. "don't…talk like that," he's trying not to acknowledge the fact that he was quickly hardening, but your entire presence was a catalyst. "talk like what?"

he's almost certain you're being obtuse on purpose, but in the off-chance you weren't, "saying stuff like dick, and…humping so brazenly." a smile curls at the corner of your lips, and your hand drops, two of your fingers spreading apart to trace over the outline of his bulge.

"o-oh geez," he gasps, followed by a breathless "give-me-a-goddamn-warning."

the hold on your throat loosens. so you grab around his cock firmly, thumbing where his tip would be. "you're here to fuck me, right? so act like it."

clark looks to you, brows pressed into a knit. his arm snakes around your hip, "…very well, then."

you gasp at the shift in positions, where he now had you pinned on your unmade bed.

his hand curls around your wrist, slipping them underneath his suit bottom. clark jumps when your softer hands grip his bare length, it surprises you "oh."

"i-it's…not exactly small," he grits, panting into the side of your head when you stroke him with his guidance.

"no kidding. you're hung, big blue."

clark grunts at that, breaths turning heavier the more you're dry rubbing his cock. "like that. yeah... that's good."

you hum, lifting your hips to accommodate his bigger frame while he tugs his suit off. the impressive size of him comes to your view, and you let out a stuttered breath. your pussy clench almost as a pre-warning.

he drags your skirt up, bunching it at your hips. "g..osh.." he mutters, looking up to see that you've unbuttoned yourself enough to reveal the curvature of your tits beneath a lacy blue bra.

"like that we're matching?"

clark huffs out a strained laughter, head dropping lower. "that's not funny."

the smirk on you turns to a gasp when he drags his thumb over your panties, wetness slowly blooming where your slit would be. your hips tilt to his touch, and he hooks his thumb around the edge of the fabric, letting his finger dip into you just enough. you moan brokenly, looking down at the erotic sight before you.

his body was definitely as formidable as his cock, biceps visibly flexing at your ministrations. "the point…of this is so you can do what you want. right? just stick it in then."

the tremble in your voice gives away your nervousness.

clark rolls his shoulder, pushing a finger into your cunt, sounding unintentionally smug, "to fuck you…without tearing you. i need you to take at least four fingers." you clench, on instinct, when he says that. it seems to draw a cocky smile from him.

you aren't sure how long had passed.

somewhere between your second and third orgasm, you lost track of time. clark had his mouth latched around your breast, plunging his fingers deep into you, relentlessly pulling whimpers out of you.

"enough — fuck." you claw at his back, slick with sweat sticking to your cheeks. "just do it already." clark's still diligently stretching you out, marvelling at how your pussy accommodates his digits.

"okay, okay…"

you feel the loss of him all at once and with a flutter, his thighs pushes yours further apart where they were hoisted beneath your thighs. clark angles his thick tip at your entrance. "take a deep breath for me" he whispers, easing himself into you while thumbing at your clit. the reaction was immediate, you squeeze around him, hips already attempting to squirm away.

clark holds you down, feeding you his cock inch by inch and all you can do is brace yourself. "you feel — so.." he groans out, lips pressed at the corner of your parted ones. you're letting out choked, heavy breaths into his mouth, rendered mute, "so soft, a-and wet." you're teary, blinking through the blur that prickle the corner of your eyes. he feels your it wet his cheek, and he pulls back, like he'd been burnt.

"sorry, i'm sorry." his hip still. and somehow, the sting grows even more painful when he isn't moving. "are you okay? should i stop?"

your nails dig into clark's arms, dragging them down his bicep, leaving angry red marks behind. he doesn't expect it, when you grab around his neck, flipping him beneath you. you steady yourself on his chest and fully sheath yourself. the two of you groaning out in unison.

"fuck. oh fuck." clark gasps when your hips lift, and snap back down. he grabs around your thighs, stabilising you as you bounce on his cock.

"god, oh my god, it's like, you're in my…throat.." you're whimpering into his mouth, body falling limp after your brave showing of just having him fully in you. clark holds you up your jaw, drowning your moans in his mouth. his other hand slides down your ass, parting them with a finger, hold firmly around the fat. he takes takes charge to thrust up into you, deep.

"mm—ff..i-i know. it's a lot." he's blabbering in your lips, securing his hold, feeling your tight hole clenching when fingers spanning enough to graze past it, the tip of his finger rubbing where his cock meets your pussy.

it's too much, and clark knows. "y..ou're doing so g-good."

your breath stutters in his mouth, drooling into him helplessly. fuelled by the praise he gives. "so goddamn good." your cheeks presses onto his, panting when the white hot flashes take you to what's now your fourth orgasm.

it comes with no warning. he jolts once, heaving, thick spurts of his cum shooting deep into you. never-ending, seemingly. clark turns you over in a fluid motion, cock still pulsing into you with deep spurts. he presses his hand flat onto your abdomen, where the outline of him pokes at your belly.

he's in awe, fully in the depths of a newfound pleasure. a heavy palm swiping the sweaty strands of your cheeks.

clark readjusts his hold on you, a finger tearing your blouse fully apart. you jolt when the buttons clatter to the ground. you gasp out when he presses deeper into you. his palm cradling your jaw.

"wait...what are you…—" he tuts, pressing a kiss on your parted lips.

"i haven't even begun fuckin' you yet."