MDNI ⋆˚࿔ your boyfriend toji fushiguro is just too big! 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ m.list
there was nothing nice about the way your boyfriend toji fushiguro was fucking you right now.
he's got you caged underneath him, his much larger body atop yours, his sculpted chest and abs shimmering with a thin sheen of sweat. the veins in his biceps are prominent against the taut skin, every hard ridge of his body encompassing your small frame.
you're laid out on your back, legs spread open and hiked up over his broad shoulders, soft breasts bouncing and blossoming with dark bruises and bite marks.
and he was big, not just in his muscular, wide frame— his cock was huge. thick and long and slightly curving to the left, finished off with a bulbous tip that turned into the angriest shade of red when he got hard just from thinking about you.
even after he’d get your tight little cunt stretched out and dripping from scissoring his long, thick fingers in and out of your hole, you were never really prepared for his absolute monster of a cock.
“can't ‘ji— please, s’too big toji!”
“tooojiii it's tooo biiig!” he mocks you, voice rough and gravelly, low grunts emanating from his chest between each deep roll of his hips.
the calloused pads of his fingers press in hard against the fat of your thighs, dimpling and bruising the soft skin. he leans down to lick a wet, filthy stripe up from your collarbone, his tongue moving languidly against your heated skin, all the way up your neck until he meets your ear lobe.
“nah, you can take it, can't ya’ doll?” he rasps past scarred lips that are tugged into a smirk as he leans up and stares down at your fucked out expression.
“be a good girl and answer me when i'm talkin’ to ya’, or did’ya forget how to use that pretty little mouth of yours?” he smacks your face— not hard but just enough to sting— before squeezing your cheeks together, feeling the warmth of your tears meet his fingertips.
“mmph—” you look up at him with glassy eyes, tears of overwhelming pleasure blurring your vision as you feel his cock bulge just below your belly button.
“s-so— hmph— deep tojiii-” your whimpered words come out as a pitiful whimper, eyes fluttering closed as he releases your cheeks to press down on the outline of his cock in your tummy— your hands scrambling against the sheets as you try to ground yourself from the mind-breaking, overwhelming pleasure.
“s’fuckin’ deep you can feel me all the way in your stomach, can’t ya’?” he whispers as his eyes are locked onto where the two of you connect, watching as his cock pushes against your lower tummy.
“‘ji- i- hmmmph—” you babble incoherently— the only thing you're able to focus on is toji’s thick cock filling you up, your plump lips swollen from rough kisses and glistening with spit as drool slowly starts to trickle down the sides of your face.
“hah— already fucked dumb on toji’s big cock?” his voice comes out a bit shakier, feeling his cock swell and leak more precum into your sopping hole. he smacks your thigh with his free hand, making your skin ripple like a wave before rubbing soothing circles against the sting.
at this point his fat cock is absolutely bullying your cervix— thick veins dragging along your silkened walls, a filthy ring of your arousal starting to gather at the base of his cock and drip down onto his heavy balls with each relentless thrust.
“mmph— takin’ my cock so— mmm— fuckin’ well, my sweet pretty princess is turnin’ into such a good slut f’me, yeah?”
“y-yeah- yes toji! please, s’too much— feels like m’gonna explode!” you sob out as the pleasure becomes borderline unbearable, the way his cock curves right up to kiss your cervix, his hand still pressing down on your lower tummy— you actually think you might just piss yourself from the intense pressure on your bladder.
“mhm— that's it baby, let it out— milk my fuckin’ cock and cum for me.” he rasps as he buries his head into the crook of your neck and bites down hard.
“t-toji!” you gasp as your cunt clenches, gummy walls clamping down around his dick as your powerful release causes you to see stars. warm syrupy slick gushes out around the base of his cock, all the way down to his heavy balls and down your ass to make a big wet spot on the bed.
“f-fuuuck— look at that— such a good slut, squirtin’ on my cock— o-oh fuuuck-”
toji comes hard, thick ropes of cum filling you up completely, making you gasp out and your pussy clamp around him harder.
“greedy girl— milkin’ me fuckin’ dry.” he pants, his cock continuing to spurt hot ropes of cum until his balls are completely spent and empty.
you're both left a panting mess, your thighs sticky with your syrupy slick, his cock still buried deep inside of your fluttering hole as his cum begins to leak out in thick rivulets.
“toji— c’mon, gotta get cleaned up.” you weakly pat his beefy, sweaty bicep, your throat dry and voice hoarse.
“oh, baby.” he almost lets out a laugh as he raises his head to look at you— hair messy and sprawled onto the pillow, cheeks stained with tears and drool still dripping down your chin. he pets your head, blunt fingernails dragging along your scalp.
“i'm nowhere near done with you yet. you've still got holes for me to loosen up.” he places a kiss to your nose while playfully smacking your used and sensitive pussy. “and you're gonna be a good little slut f’me and take whatever i give you, yeah?”
you yelp and jump as he smacks your pussy again, a loud wet squelch echoing through the room. but you cant deny the fact that you're already feeling flutters in your tummy from his crude words, ready to take anything and everything he's planning on giving you…
“y-yeah… i'll take it all for you, ‘ji.”
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repost from my old account sytorusdoll
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CLARK KENT folding you up. he’s putting your knees to your ears, squishing you down like a little human pretzel while he mounts you, using his weight and strength against you. the kind of position that makes you short of breath, giving you that dizzy little feeling, the one that has you passively accepting anything he does to you. you can hear how wet you are, you can hear it fill the room—how it squelches whenever he bottoms out. when he adjusts you one last time, yanking you by your hips to be that much closer to him, and fixing his hands in the crooks of your knees to keep your hole raised and your legs up… you hear him chuckle. the sweetest clark kent snicker you’ve ever bore witness to. sheepishly, you peel your sleepy eyes open one by one to look at him in the dim light, questioning him with your glance, remarkably vulnerable. he answers you, dragging his bottom lip through his perfect white teeth. “it’s nothing, it’s just… you’re just so little.”
so,,,, despite being a monsterfucker for a while, i never really got the love for yautjas. until i was forced to watch killer of killers due to the rampage going on my feed and uhhhhh im pretty sure there are at least a handful of monsterfuckers out there who wants to top/dom a yautja like myself. also this isnt much of a fic. its just a sudden little thought i had after going thru the rule 34s tag of yautjas. no yautja in particular, take it as you will, imagine whoever you like. i dont know anything about yautjas or how this all works. im just horny and freeballing it. feel free to correct me
so… yautjas huh? what an alien species and mind you, this is my first impression of these guys. despite the majority of the killer or killers tags thirsting over the warlord — as we all should — i found myself liking the viking predator a lot. the goons are cute too. the three predators of the movie parts even have names too. jotun, oni and baron in the order they appear. of course, the guy in the pic above, the last one everyone is thirsting over, is warlord predator, also called ‘Grendel King’ by one of the characters
anyways, enough geeking over the yautjas of the movie, time to move on to my actual brainworms
yautjas are alien species and just as they are humanoid, some parts of them are indeed humanoid. and some parts, not so much. i have seen a decent amount of yautja smuts on the yautja tag — haven’t read them yet bc i prefer to be the one to fuck rather than get fucked — but one headcanon answer had me thinking multiple things
yautjas — male, female doesn’t matter — have two dicks and a vagina as well as an asshole. bigenital, if you will. every yautja can therefore sire their young, but the female yautjas tend to sire them and grow them in their bellies due to their stomach having more padded muscles, serving as a protective meat shield for the babies. the male yautjas carry them as well, but it’s more common to see the females carry them
i can’t find the author but one author here on tumblr had given their thought that yautjas never knew about blowjobs and lemme add to that — fingering as well. look at their mouths and hands, full of claws, fangs, mandibles and shit. truly a creature meant for hunting and killing rather than feeling fleshly pleasure. yautjas don’t really care about it either, they’re more of an animal mating ritual type of pleasure seekers. find a yautja who shakes your fancy, court them, knot them full and have a few strong, next generation of young’ins. simple and straight to the point like an animal mating ritual. no need for foreplay, fighting and wrestling to see who will knot who is a foreplay enough for their species
blowjobs? never, unless one is trying to bite off the dick of the other one. their mandibles stretch and open, sure. but they will never stretch big enough to take the other’s dick into their mouths. even if they do manage to painfully keep their mandibles open at all times, their fangs and canine sharp teeth will lead to bleeding and injuries soon enough. so even if their two dicks are weeping at the tip, untouched, and their pussy is glistening wet, the easiest way to just get it done with is to fuck their cocks into the other’s folds. it’ll be full of yowls, cracks, chirps and even growls because i personally like to think that the yautjas have a ribbed dick with a spliced tip. not that their tips could open up like their mandibles, but it definitely gives odd sensations. add the constant bumping and ribbing feeling of the scales and folds of their cock and the mating session between yautjas are usually always loud
so what happens when a ‘ooman is thrown into the mix? a great fighter, a blooded one who has been marked by one of their kin (like lex in avp), a recurring champion from the gladiatorial combat? yautjas are impressed, respectful and some are even vying after your attention on the few occasions you’re allowed awake from the cryo sleep and wandering around the strange, deserted, hot world of theirs. their kin usually has a bias against ’oomans due to their race being resourceful and cunning. they’re just as smart as the yautjas, if not, even more. able to use whatever is around them for survival and able to keep going even after multiple injuries (bc adrenaline). they’re an annoying species and yautjas tend to stay away. a little bit less with you, though. they want to be in the presence of the undefeated champion of the gladiatorial combat, size you up and see if you are truly worth the heavy title you bear upon your meager ‘ooman shoulders
maybe one thing would lead to another or one had gotten interested in your strengths in the bedroom as well and that leads to a yautja receiving their first head and fingering. the moment you drop them to the ground and settle between their legs, the yautja is tempted to wrestle. it is a foreplay between their kin after all. but no, he was dealing with a ‘ooman right now and as excited he was about getting to the fucking, he was also curious. how do ‘oomans show affection? how do they mate? how do they carry their young? so many questions, so little time
they would stay down and obedient, an occasional curious thrills and crackles leaving their throat as their mandibles click and clack softly. mutually curious as well, you finally manage to take off their intricate and annoying loincloth like thing, dropping it to the ground. and the hum that escapes you is equally returned by the yautja as they watch, the soft clicking of their ever moving mandibles filling the silent room. a slit like opening. two of them, even, with what you assume is an asshole underneath them. rubbing the back of your finger’s knuckle over the one on top, you hear the slight rumble from their chest like a purr, taking it as a good sign
the slit on top is bigger than the one underneath. they’re much more harder and covered with protective shells and scales as well, rather then the second one underneath that seems more softer and gummy like a vagina. messing with the scaled one, you watch with an ever growing interest as the slit opens more and more before a cockhead is pushed out, followed by a second cockhead which was a little bit smaller. so, the yautjas have both anatomies huh? like certain animals and how their two cocks are kept inside a protective slit like some reptiles and lizards’
it’s bumpy, it’s ribbed, it even has little round shaped ribs on its sides too. such curious beings, how alike they could be to your kin but also so different. of course, there was much needed poking, prodding and an eager snooping around. two large uniquely shaped cocks and a vaginal opening as well as an asshole. interesting
hearing the impatient hisses of the yautja, you merely grumble under your breath, hissing back at him with annoyance upon being cut short of your little experiment. what do yautjas even do for pleasure anyways? do they fuck like humans do? must be it, right? at least they had the anatomy for it
the moment you get down on them, head between their strong, tight thighs and restless shifting body, a sound like a warning growl was heard before it was swiftly replaced by some soft noises like the purring of a cat. yautjas don’t know what blowjobs and fingering meant after all, their bodies prevented from such types of pleasure. so when your soft, small ‘ooman mouth took in the head of the bigger cock, the warmth around it felt like the yautja was melting in the fiery chasms of the many volcanoes of the yautja prime. it was soft, it was hot and it felt good. way too good to the point the creature was growling, groaning and even letting out odd hitched noises that you guessed was the closest to a moan
and when you put their entire dick into your mouth — with much anticipated gagging, choking and the constant wild bucks into your open mouth — deep throating the bigger cock while gently stroking their smaller cock using the slimy substance the tip oozed, the yautja has basically experienced heaven. the urge to just let go of ‘honor’ and ‘instincts’ and knot inside your warm, tight throat was strong. a deep, gurgly sound escaping them as their mandibles shook all over, unknowing of what to do when your free hand slipped further down and pushing your finger into their softer slit
if you thought the yautja was loud before, they were even louder now. constant, short little noises leaving them, rattling their huge body and even causing you to shake alongside as well. strong legs kicking and clawed hands tearing off the poor floor into shreds. it was a good feeling, the very best, even more than having a clan leader recognize them or hunting down the most honorable prey. ‘oomans’ hands and mouth felt good, they were amazing at fleshly pleasures and had the yautja acted on their interest in you a little bit earlier, they would have. they honestly should have because whatever you were doing to his poor life time long neglected dicks and gushing pussy were making the yautja feel odd. so so very odd. a tight coiling in their stomach, and they for a moment, thought you infected them with something
and then, the tight coils of his stomach is gone within a moment. a loud roar leaving the beast as their body went rigid like a spring, dreadlocks slipping into the floor in a heap as their legs even gave a little tremble. the tip lodged inside your throat twitched and shook, a thick substance filling up your mouth before you could pull it off, causing you to hack and cough out the strange liquid. it didn’t take long until their smaller dick was following along, spilling a smaller load into your jaws and chest, second slit tightening around your fingers as a soft, more thinner liquid like the one from his bigger cock coat your palm. all because your little ‘ooman fingers delved inside their cunt a bit further and seemed to have found a soft spot, loud roars and short breathy growls being switched to little cat like yowls. so, they were just as sensitive as humans, huh?
safe to say, the rumor of ‘oomans being extremely amazing at fleshly pleasures spread across yautja prime swiftly and before you know it, more and more yautjas are interested in a little endurance test with their longest reigning champion
Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, so much yearning, hints of neurodivergent!reader, rollercoasters, explosions, canon-typical violence, bestie!Lois, the healing powers of love and friendship, smut, clothed sex, spit kink, oral (f receiving), apology head, size kink, big dick clark, hair pulling (m receiving), overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, make-up sex, pet names (sweetheart, baby)
A/N: this is the result of me being PMS horny and listening to XO by Beyoncé on repeat. it is also the longest fic I’ve ever posted, so pls go easy on me if it sucks! and pls feel free to slide into my ask box to talk clark kent 🤓 gif by tumblr user simoneashley!
“Can we talk?”
A deep voice rings from behind you, and you already know who it belongs to.
Your eyes don’t stray from your computer screen, not bothering to turn around and greet your colleague. You had been hoping, foolishly, that he might just let things go unspoken, that your interactions would be limited to staff meetings and you could get away with never exchanging more than a few words with him ever again.
You were sorely mistaken, because unfortunately for you, Clark Kent is too friendly for his own good.
“What do we have to talk about?” You reply, wincing internally, because as much as you’d like to appear nonchalant, your biting tone gives you away. You keep your eyes ahead, willing them not to stray towards him, because you’d hate for him to see the hurt in your eyes.
But then he places a plastic cup on your desk. Your favourite, elaborate, concerningly sugary frozen coffee drink from the cafe on the ground floor. You only buy it on Fridays and when your articles make it to the front page, a little reward for a job well done. You’ve never mentioned this ritual to anyone, but of course Clark noticed.
“Please,” He says simply, and the desperation in his voice finally makes you break. You steal a glance up at him, hovering in the entryway of your cubicle.
Clark Kent never looks anything less than beautiful, but this is the worst you’ve ever seen him. Dark circles under his eyes reveal how low on sleep he is, and his curls, while rarely ever gelled down, are particularly unruly today, like he couldn’t even be bothered with a comb this morning. You have to admit, it makes you feel just a little bit better to see him this way; you put your all into looking prim and polished this morning, determined to give zero hint of the hours you spent crying yourself to sleep the night before.
Without a word, you stand from your chair and grab the frozen treat, brushing past him and briskly making your way towards the break room. You don’t have to turn back to know Clark is following you.
You take your sweet time looking for the break room’s supply of plastic straws, checking three different cabinets even though you know they’re always on the left, bottom shelf. It forces Clark to sit in his discomfort for a minute more, and more importantly, it gives you a few more seconds to steel yourself for when you finally turn around. He’s staring at you with wide, pleading eyes when you do, and you try not to think about how often you used to wish he would spare you a glance.
“Talk.”
“I’msosorry,” He rushes out. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to stand you up, I- I bought you flowers, it’s just-“
“Just what? What happened that you couldn’t even-“ You can’t stop your hurt from revealing itself then. “You didn’t even text me.”
And Clark knows he’s caught. He can’t tell you he left his phone in his apartment in a rush to get the suit on, or that you already know where he was all night, because you’d no doubt seen him on the front page of the Planet this morning, fighting off another extraterrestrial villain. He can’t tell you the truth just yet, and he can’t bear to lie to you. His Pa taught him to never base a relationship on lies.
“Something came up,” is all he’s got.
You scoff, looking down at the floor while you blink rapidly, forcing the tears that burn your eyes not to fall.
“Is that all?”
“I’m sorry,” He repeats. You nod, furrowing your brows, still unable to meet his eyes. You stare down at your drink instead, fiddling with the straw, waiting until the lump in your throat clears so you can speak without your voice trembling.
“Yeah. You said that already.”
This hurts more than you’ll ever admit, to him, to Lois, to yourself or your diary. You’ve been here before. You’ve been lied to by men before, convinced to take a chance on someone you’re not sure of, only for them to make it clear they only wanted you for one thing.
This feels worse.
Because you were sure of Clark. He was always so kind, not just to you, but to everyone he came across. He held doors open, never forgot a name, never refused to proofread a colleague’s article no matter how much work he had piling up. He remembers every little thing you’ve ever told him, even if it was only mentioned in passing. He notices if you styled your hair differently, or got a haircut, or wore something new. And when he looked at you, you could’ve sworn-
You’d been so ready to dismiss your crush, convincing yourself that you were just being delusional, that he might just want to be friends, but when even Lois, who you know would never bullshit you, pointed out how he looked at you “like you hung the stars in the sky” you thought maybe, just this once, you’d gotten it right.
“You could’ve just told me you don’t like me that way,” You finally breathe out. “I would’ve been okay with it. But I won’t- I won’t tell anyone what happened, don’t worry. I don’t want things to be weird with our friends.”
“Sweetheart-” He starts, but you brush past him before he can say anything else.
You wish you had thrown the drink out, too, just to be petty, but the sugar was exactly the kind of comfort you needed on a morning like this.
Later, when Lois comes up to you and asks how it went, playfully kicking and shoving you the way she does when she’s way too excited, you steel yourself again. You keep your face blank, even when hers drops.
“What do you mean?!” She cries, a little too loud, but it’s a busy day in the bullpen, busy enough that nobody notices.
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Lois. We’re better off friends.” You repeat.
“Do I have to beat Clark up? Is he really that much of a dumbass?”
“No!” You manage to laugh a little, because you know she really would on your behalf. “It’s not his fault, nobody’s fault really.” He was just too polite to tell me no.
Lois looks at you then. Really looks at you, with a calculating gaze you’re all too familiar with, the same look she gives politicians and businessmen that lie through their teeth in interviews.
“You sure nothing happened?” She asks, patiently. And you hate to lie to her face, but you’d hate to cause a rift between her and Clark, too.
“I’m sure.” You think she must hear the pleading in your voice, because her gaze softens, and she drops it after that.
The leaves change. Metropolis becomes an array of oranges, reds, and yellows, the sun sets earlier and earlier every day, and you learn to lean on Lois.
She backed off that day, but for months after that morning, Lois watches you closely. Hovers, really. Insists on hanging out outside of work at least once a week, even if it just means grabbing takeout at the end of the day and eating it at her place, while you both bitch for hours about everything and nothing. She asks what you had for lunch every day, offers to split her daily sweet treats with you. She tells you to visit the park more often, like she’s worried you’ll wilt without sunlight.
You tell her everything. Except, of course, what happened with Clark. She tells you everything, except, she carefully omits anything to do with Clark, even though you’re well aware they’re still good friends. And though she undoubtedly notices that you don’t even look at Clark anymore unless it’s absolutely necessary, she never pries.
You used to stare at his back for hours.
“Don’t say you’re not coming,” Lois instructs, holding out the ticket she grabbed for you.
The whole newsroom had been in good spirits this week, having been treated to free tickets to the Metropolis County Fair for the entire Daily Planet crew, a reward for several of your teammates recently winning awards for their articles. If you had to guess, you’d assume at least half of your colleagues and their families would be at the Fair on Saturday, which is why Lois was insisting on dragging you there.
“It’s going to be crowded. The wait times for the rides-“
“We don’t have to go on the rides!” She appeals. “We can just play the games! And eat funnel cake! Cat will be there, it’ll be fun-“
“Lois, I’m going, I’m just telling you it’s gonna be crowded. I don’t wanna hear you complain about how long the lines are, because I am definitely going to make you stand in them.” She breaks out into a grin, shoving your shoulder and setting your ticket down on your desk.
“You had me goin’ there for a second,” She admits. “Jimmy and Cat will be excited to see you outside of this office. You haven’t been to a happy hour in forever.”
You’ll be happy to see them, too, even if it means avoiding eye contact with Clark the whole night, because you know he will undoubtedly be joining.
You’d kept your promise. You didn’t make things weird with your circle of friends at the Planet. But you’d kept your distance from them these past months, unable to stomach the thought of moping around in the corner. You didn’t want to join in on the fun if it meant having to be around Clark, pretending everything is still the same, that you’re still good friends.
Moping around at home is much more dignified.
So after months of careful avoidance, you might be ready for a group outing. You’d only need several hours to spend planning out conversation topics, mulling over appropriate responses to any questions that might come up during the night, arranging the perfect outfit for the outing after triple-checking the weather forecast, and repeatedly assuring yourself that if you felt any sort of discomfort you could make up an excuse about an urgent deadline and duck out. Then you’ll be ready.
It’s fun. You feel a bit silly for thinking it wouldn’t be, making up scenarios where everything would go horribly wrong and you would somehow turn all your work friends against you in one night. But once you and Lois stroll up to the spot where you all agreed to meet – a high-pitched squeal is the only warning you get before Cat launches herself at you, interrogating you on where you got every piece of your outfit from – you know you freaked yourself out about nothing. It’s easy to be around your work friends; in your haze of insecurity and anxiety, you let yourself forget that these people actually want you around, and the presence of them makes it easy to ignore Clark, who lingers in your periphery, wearing a button-up flannel instead of the suit you usually see him in. Not that you care what he wears.
You completely forget about him once Charlie challenges you to a shooting game in the prize alley. Your competitive side takes over your brain until you’ve shot down all the cardboard targets with the toy BB gun and you’re being handed a giant teddy bear for your marksmanship, much to Charlie’s surprise.
“Didn’t know I’d been working next to Deadshot all these years,” He says, good-naturedly.
“I’m great at keeping secrets.” You reply, wincing internally at how monotone it comes out, when you meant to match his joking tone.
“C’mon, Deadshot!” Cat says, saving you from your own awkwardness. She grabs you by the arm and drags you in the direction of the Tilt-a-whirl, which you know her and Lois have been the most excited for all week, and which you are most certainly regretting agreeing to.
You let the fair worker strap you down into your seat on the ride despite your pounding heart and your fear of getting motion sickness all over the rollercoaster and your friends; you’re suddenly very glad you turned down one of the corn dogs Clark bought all of you.
You get through the ride by the grace of whatever god there is out there, shutting your eyes tightly so you don’t feel so dizzy, and when it’s mercifully over you stumble off with Cat and Lois, barely nodding along to their enthusiasm over what you would consider torture.
You’re in the midst of a disoriented, giggling fit with them when the explosion goes off, and you don’t get a second to collect yourself before Lois is grabbing your hand, gathering you and Cat up and dragging you far away from the fire. The force of her tugging you away makes you yelp and drop your prize teddy bear in the dirt, and you have no time to retrieve it. You hold Lois’s hand as tight as you can and run without thought, heart pounding in your ears, frantically whipping your head around to look for the rest of your group.
You find them eventually, gathered on the outskirts of the fairgrounds, looking equally frantic; some of them searching the crowd for the three of you, some of them fervidly trying to get more information out of the cops and firefighters on the scene, because the Reporter part of their brain is impossible to turn off and a potential terrorist attack at the Metropolis County Fair is undoubtedly front page material.
Jimmy spots you first, immediately shouting and waving to catch your attention, and when you’re within arms reach he pulls you into a rib-crushing hug.
“Where were you guys?” He presses, moving to pull Lois into an equally tight embrace.
“We were trying out the Tilt-a-whirl, and thank god we weren’t still on it when the explosion happened, we were- we were pretty fuckin’ close to it.” She rambles, looking back towards the fairgrounds like she’s already trying to calculate where the explosion came from.
“Do they think it’s an electrical fire?” Cat chips in.
“Did one of the rides blow up?” Veronica-
“Do we know how many injuries there are?” Lois-
“Where’s Clark?” You interrupt.
Everyone pauses. Heads turn from left to right, confirming what you’ve already realised: Clark hasn’t made it out yet. Your stomach sinks.
You don’t give it much thought before you’re squeezing back through the fair barricades, quicker than Lois can move to stop you, and running in the opposite direction of the crowd, back into the fray, in search of Clark.
You have no idea where he might be, why he would’ve split from the group, how he could’ve slipped away without Jimmy noticing. You run back through the now-deserted prize game alley, past abandoned food carts and empty rollercoasters, getting closer and closer to the site of the explosion, calling Clark’s name until your voice starts to feel hoarse from inhaling smoke and your legs start to ache.
You’re about to give up, run back to your friends and ask every EMT in the area if they’ve seen a 6’4” man with puppy dog eyes, when you wander behind an empty circus tent and finally spot him.
You open your mouth to call out his name in relief. Then he turns towards you, halfway through unbuttoning his flannel shirt with one hand, fully revealing the giant yellow-and-red “S” emblem on his chest underneath. In his other hand are his glasses, and when you trail your eyes up from his chest and see Superman’s face, everything starts to click.
And then the ground shakes underneath you with the force of another explosion – another bomb, you realise – going off closeby, too close. You’re surprised you don’t fall over from the force of it, but your eyes are still fixed on your coworker- your crush- Superman.
“Clark?” You breathe out, making his head snap toward you, eyes wide with surprise.
“What are you doing here?” He’s striding towards you, and you can’t help but walk towards him, too, like magnets drawn together. “I thought- why didn’t you run?”
“I was looking for you!” You tell him just as reaches you, grabbing you by the shoulders, pushing you back towards the exit, towards safety.
“You need to get out of here.” His tone makes it clear there is no room for negotiation, but you argue anyway.
“I am not just going to-”
“Go. Go back to your apartment, and I swear to you, sweetheart, I will come find you, but you have to leave. Now.”
And then you see it, in his eyes. They aren’t wide with shock at your presence, they’re wide with fear, and that makes you relent.
You nod slowly at his instructions, backing out of his hold. “Come find me afterwards, please.”
And then you turn and run, back in the direction you came from, into the arms of your very pissed off best friend.
You’re finally back in the safety of your apartment. You’re not sure how long you’ve been here.
You’ve been sitting on your couch, unmoving, still in your adorable, meticulously crafted outfit from the fair. You don’t have the will to get up, to shower and scrub the soot off your face, to change into your pajamas. You have no idea if it’s been 15 minutes, or 5 hours. You’re frozen in wait.
Your poor kitten has meowed at you curiously a few times, no doubt wondering why you haven’t given him the customary greeting of kisses and pets, but all you can do is shush him gently from your seat.
Relief floods through you when you hear your window – the one you purposefully left unlocked – being carefully shimmied open, like he’s scared to accidentally break the frame. You didn’t even hear him land on your fire escape. It occurs to you then that Clark is so gentle with everyone, everything, constantly mindful of his strength. How exhausting that must be.
He slips into your living room just as quietly, and then Superman is standing in front of you, in your space, lit only by dim fairy lights you’ve had since undergrad, and covered in dirt, ash, and blood that you can only hope isn’t his.
You’ll have to forgive him for getting it on your floor.
Clutched tightly in his hand is the giant teddy bear you won, dusted with dirt but otherwise unharmed, and your eyes well up at the sight of it. He takes slow steps towards you, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you, and sets it down next to your frozen figure.
You stand up to meet him, suddenly, and then he’s cupping your face in both of his hands, smearing his lips against yours. You brace your hands against his chest, clutching at the rough material of his suit, and you don’t hesitate to kiss him back.
“‘M sorry,” He mutters against your lips. “‘M so sorry-” kiss- “I wanted-” kiss- “I wanted to tell you-”
“Clark-“ You try to pull away, but he ducks his head to capture your lips again, chasing the taste of you. “I’m not mad, I jus- just need-“
“I know what you need,” He hums, trailing his hands down your curves, till he curls them around your thighs and hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You tangle a hand in his curls just to tug him closer, you need him closer, holding you after so many months of keeping your distance.
He sets you carefully on the kitchen counter, breaking away from your lips only to trail kisses behind your ear, on your jawline, down your neck, overwhelming your senses. The sheer size of him – you can feel the stretch in your thighs from how wide they’re parted, bracketing his hips. Your grip doesn’t leave his hair, the soft touch of his curls grounding you, reminding you he’s really here, safe.
“I missed you,” You whisper it like a confession, and he groans in response, burying his face in your neck.
“I should’ve told you,” His hands skirt underneath the hem of your top, “I made you think that I-”
“It’s okay,” You reassure him.
“No, it’s not,” He shakes his head
Then he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, lifting your legs onto his shoulders and placing sweet, open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs.
“Oh!” You gasp, feeling his mouth reach closer and closer to your center. You tighten your hand in his hair, pulling him back from between your thighs, and the hunger in his eyes when he looks up at you makes your head spin.
“Let me make it up to you like this, baby,” He says, verging on desperation.
“But I-” You feel your face flush, blood rushing to your cheeks, and your next words come out as a quiet plea. “I want you inside.”
Your words draw another pained groan from him. You watch as one of his hands snakes down to adjust his bulge in the suit, the armored material giving you a full view of the outline of his cock, and it’s- painfully thick.
“I have to get you ready first,” He chokes out. “Can’t hurt you.”
He slips your panties off with ease, lifting you and guiding them down your legs. Your hips cant towards him instinctually, and he wastes no time opening his mouth over you, lapping at your sex just to relish in the taste of you for a moment. The intimacy is overwhelming, letting him taste you where you’re softest.
Then he switches, fixing his lips around the crest of you, working his mouth around your clit to give you delicious pressure with hard pulses. Your thighs tense, your knuckles hurt from the tight hold you’ve got on his curls, and it doesn’t take him long to tip you over the edge, your hips grinding into his mouth as his soft lips guide you to your end. He doesn’t pull away, not until you loosen your hand from his curls and gently push his head away, weak and whimpering.
He lifts off his knees, crowding you against the counter again. You realise too late that he’s speaking to you, whispering praise and devotion as he kisses you, bringing you back down to Earth. Your hands fumble for the belt on his suit, and then pause.
“How do I- how do you get this off?” You stumble over your words, desperate to have him on you again. He chuckles at your impatience, covering your hands with his, and guiding you through the process of taking him out of the suit, baring his broad chest, the expanse of smooth muscle on his torso. He hisses quietly when his cock is released from the confines of his suit, your hand coming up to wrap around it, your fingers barely meeting each other.
If you had more time, you’d get on your knees for him, stretch your jaw and taste him on your tongue till he spills down your throat. But you know you’ll have time to get your mouth on him later — right now, you need to feel him in you.
His lips coming to meet yours are the only thing that draws your gaze away from his cock. Your breath catches when you feel the blunt tip of him bump against your entrance, clenching instinctually at the anticipated stretch of him. Clark breaks away from your lips briefly, resting his forehead against yours while he looks down at where you meet, then carefully leans down and lets a wad of his spit dribble down onto your entrance, slicking you up for him.
Then he’s pressing into you, slowly, keeping his eyes on your expression to search for any sign of discomfort, and you can’t hold back a whimper at the stretch of him. Just the tip has you digging your nails into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself.
“Breathe,” He reminds you, trailing kisses along your jawline and moving to rub your clit with a calloused thumb, the friction of it making you impossibly wetter, and you instinctually buck your hips towards him. “That’s it, baby, open up f’r me,”
He gives it to you inch by inch, sliding in carefully till he bottoms out, his tip brushing against your cervix, and he swears under his breath in amazement.
“Can’t believe you’re taking me like this,” He mutters, rocking into you slowly, barely pulling out. You think you could cum with just this, clinging to his body, his warmth, your forehead against his while you grind into each other, desperate to stay close.
Your second climax takes you by surprise, and he grants you no reprieve, rubbing your clit till you’re reaching down to push his hand away.
“N-no baby, you asked for this,” He grabs your hand, guiding it to his shoulder and adjusting the angle of his hips, pulling out further with every thrust and into you harder. “Know you can take it, c’mon, baby-”
All you can do is hang onto him as he ruts into you, overwhelming your senses, pulling your hips into his, whispering praise and devotion until he brings you to a second high, clenching impossibly tighter around him and mewling his name over and over again.
You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter, his lips finding yours in an attempt to muffle the way his groans turn to whimpers, his hands on you tightening enough to bruise.
“C-can I- please, baby-“ You nod before he can even finish asking, and then he’s spilling deep inside you, groans coming from deep in his throat, flushed from his hairline to his chest. You don’t pull away from each other, even after he’s come down from his high, trading desperate kisses and clinging like it would physically pain him to leave your warmth.
He takes you two more times that night. Once on the couch with you straddling his lap, his hands gripping your hips and guiding your rocking motions, and then again in the shower, crowding you against the tile wall before putting one of your legs over his shoulder and forcing you to take him even deeper. You wash blood and ash out of his hair and he holds you tight, whispering apologies and making up for lost time.
And in the morning, he finally takes you on a date.
buffalo'66 au ! old!serial killer! rafe x young!sugardoll!reader
warnings : daddy issues/kink. slight of rafe having a god complex. smut. sick love/obssession/behavior. age gap. size kink. gunplay. spit. mean!dark!rafe. mentions of kidnapping/murdering. dark content. be careful with the warnings.
author's note : i think a lot about rafe having a god complex. and the way it could fix him to have a girl who cherish him and love him like he's just the only one. as the same i think a lot of rafe being a cult!leader with a sweet lamb. anyways, enjoy !
you knew you weren't allowed to touch his gun, but you couldn't pretend that the forbidden rules didn't excite you either. the proof being that you were still with rafe even though he had kidnapped you. you had found the glock in the drawer, and now you were having fun with it to the point where you hadn't heard your jailer come home. you were too captivated by the handgun to pay attention to that.
“ will you teach me how to shoot ? ” you asked in a soft tone.
“ obviously not. but i can swear to you that if you don't put the gun right in my hand in a second, i will show you how i use it. especially on a little tiny thing like you. now stop playing and give it to me, sugardoll. i already told you to not get on my nerves. ”
“ are you a serial killer or something ? ” you said to him, not aware about his job.
“ no obviously, i'm a babysitter. see ? how well i care about little silly girls ? ” he answered with the most sarcastic tone. “ i think you already know what i am, but you like playing dumb. because you're desperate for my attention. you need me to explain things, to satisfy your need of validation. that's right ? ”
he moved from his place, and placed himself behind you, your small body caged against his bigger size. you could feel all the pressure of his strength on you, and you started to shiver when his breath came near to your ears.
“ since you want to play with daddy's gun so bad, i'm willing to give you what you want. ”
“ no, i don't want to play anymore ! ”
“ oh i'm afraid to tell it's too easy like that, sugar. the game doesn't stop when you decide. the game stops when i’m done playing. got it ? nod your head if you got it.”
you really started to be his doll, accepting to nod whenever he wants, to use you whenever he feels the need, to move whenever he decides. when you nodded your head, giving him a little look, he grabbed the gun.
“ you will kill me ? don't, i can be good ! ”
“ you can ? no, you will. choose your words better, sugardoll. why are you crying right now ? the worse it yet to come actually. now, open that pretty mouth of yours. ”
you refused, shaking your head. you were terrified that he would kill you.
“ i said open it. if i have to repeat it, i swear that i will snap dry this gun further in your cunt, and everytime a sound will come out your mouth, pushing it deeper inside. do you understand me ? now, don't you want to be a baby sugardoll, full of kindness and sweetness ? show me how sweet and pretty you are for me. and listen to me. ”
with tears on your cheeks, you slowly opened your mouth. you could feel rafe’s smile against your neck. you were so submissive, the perfect victim. he had chosen you well the day he saw you. like a true serial killer, he never missed his prey.
“ this is why you call me sugardoll ? ”
“ see ? i'm good enough to give you a nickname. ”
it was sick but you smiled, you felt like you were special in his eyes. maybe rafe had a collection of little dolls but you felt unique.
“ don't kill me. i'm begging you. ”
“ fuck, you don't know how hard you make me when you're desperate like that. but trust me, i will make you see soon how good you make me feel. it will be your reward for being this sweet for me, sugardoll.”
he spread your legs, holding them wide with his strong hand covering your trembling thigh while his other hand brought the front of the gun down onto your skin. passing the coldness of steel across your tummy, while you shivered at the thought of dying. when he got to your underwear. you had heard his smirk.
"oh sure, you don't want to die. you want to be fucked. it's so wet here, i could stick the gun in without even preparing you, it would slide off so easily.” his mocked tone made you yelp.
“ i'm not controlling myself ! ”
“ and you don't need too. let me take care of you. keep your mouth open. i will put my gun in. ”
“ i can't do this ! it seems very dangerous…”
“ then suck it well, sugar. especially, if you don't want me to empty the gun on your gorgeous throat. ” he warned you, while pressing his lips on your neck. it was not a kiss, but you were so soft for this little touch. you wanted to please him, to see him proud of you.
he rushed the pistol between your wet plump lips, and you almost choked on it. “ be careful, doll, daddy's gun it's loaded. ” he said with a smile that made your tears even saltier.
while you had started to do your job, his fingers were lightly pressed on the surface, fiddled with the trigger. he loved seeing your petrified eyes, he loved feeling your blood freeze inside your veins, the way you resembled a frightened and helpless animal. you were defenseless and he had no limits.
you lapped at the cold metal at first, your tongue rolling over the barrel, swirling like a needy pet, and licking every bit of the object. you didn't waste anything, moistening the weapon with your own spit, some trails dripped down your tits. rafe had pushed the gun farther, almost into your throat. you choked, a trail of saliva raining over your jaw.
there was nothing amusing about it, but he found it fun. you sucked like your life depended on it even though let's be honest, it did. you moved back and forth quickly, rushed every movement with a softly sloppy gasp. he loved, no he adored the view of your ruined face and your mouth stuffed by the cold weapon. your great job made his dick painfully hard. you could feel the gun under your tongue, and the way it abused you. you drooled, a batch of saliva engulfing one side of the charger.
“ slow down, sugardoll, you're about to melt. ”
you felt dirty for being turned on by something so humiliating, the way you were pathetic for every single thing he introduced you to. it was as if he knew what you wanted, and how to exploit it. he could destroy you as well as shape you. you were nothing but the doll he wanted to play with. he knew more than anyone how to make you feel good. he knew well how to play with his toys.
you were killing him slowly with the way you were going about it, your pink tongue tickling the barrel, your mouth swallowing the entirety of his gun. every inch moved in and out of your parted lips. you lost count of the number of times you almost choked to the point you could throw up, you did your best.
the cold air of the room hit the soaked fabric of your underwear. it had gotten so wet down there.
you tried to focus on this dangerous game but you saw his bulge growing, his crotch distorting his pants.
“ keep sucking, i'm not done. ”
“ but ..."
he ignored you and took off his pants and boxers, freeing his hard cock. the next minute he was inside you, completely buried to the point where you could feel him all the way to your stomach. you salivated on the handgun, making a rain all over it.
as he filled you up, his thick cock abusing your tight pussy, the position was totally different, you were lying there, still the gun in your mouth, but now he was fucking you. his eyes were on you, and you could feel that motivating him even more to pounded you. your juices pooled on the surface the deeper he went. the slobber gathered around the metal. he rushed away your tears with his thumb.
“ stop whining, sugardoll. you can't cry when daddy takes you so well. ”
you really wanted to listen to him but it was too much for you. you were full of tears and they constantly wanted to come out, even when you felt good. but it was like the more you cried, the more he bullied your pussy, and by that, giving you more reasons to whine.
“ jesus, i'm pretty sure that you really like that gun in your mouth. ” he said with a firm thrust that made you squirm, your eyes wettering as the sentence. “ you like being this pathetic ? don't worry, i got you, i'm not judging you, but don't mind if i take advantage of it ? of course, you don't mind. you love being this sick, you're just a needy freak. ”
he pulled out before putting it back in you, inched himself deeper and deeper, letting you breathless. he was more rough this time, his fat length stretching you wider. his hips slammed your skin, his sweaty balls slapping you in motion. you nodded your head, your loud moans echoed in the empty room. his heavy hand on your tiny throat, pressuring it every time your walls tighten him.
his big other hand squeezing your small waist, as your core wrapped him harder. “ see ? daddy's making you a new home, right now. ”
his breath was heavy and short, the sweat of his body pressed against yours, while you were about to explode, so close to the orgasm. you were crying even more. and he covered your mouth with his large palm. he hitted the right spot again and again, without a break. you reached the second orgasm quickly, and you waited for him to explode at his turn. but he was taking his time on purpose. he obviously liked to abuse this little cunt of yours, wrecking like it was nothing your cervix. he glared at your glistening eyes with a proud face, while hurting your sloppy cunt. “ be patient, sugar. it's a matter of time but daddy will make you melt, and you will make a big mess on his dick to show how grateful you are ? ”
you didn’t answered, even when he released your mouth from his hands, because of the overheating.
“ you better answer because i can go to the next round. ”
“ yes .. yes !! ”
“ you're so naive, sugar. trusting me this easy, it's your own fault if old men like me use you. like did you really think we will not go on another round ? i'm about to make you dumb. not only your brain, your pussy, all of you. after this, you will not be able to think, to talk and even to walk. ”
your tears made him cum, and you let out a noisy and desperate whimper. “ it's sad for you that i'm the only god you can pray for, because i'm going to ignore all your prayers, making you on your knees every time for nothing more than my own good. sweet lamb, i'm such an uncaring god. but you can't hate on me, even a little, such a pretty precious thing you are. ”
“ why ? ” was the only word that came out of your mouth.
in fact, you were a little sad about this, because you wished that he cared a bit, even an hint about you.
“ nobody deserve you like i do. nobody deserve to touch you, or put an eyes on you, no one. you're just mine, and i need you to understand that clearly. do you got it ? do you even understand what i mean ? i will never let someone have you. never. ”
“ i really love you. ”
“ not only you love me, sugardoll. you adore me, you cherish me, you can't breath without me. do you understand ? how trapped i made you.”
“ bu…”
“ quit crying. you wanted this, you begged for. ”
“ i thought you only wanted to kill me ! ”
“if i wanted to kill you, it would already be done. i don't mind having blood in my hands, i'm a killer after all. but yours, i promise, i would never dream of, sugardoll. ”
it was very sick. but his words made you smile.
“ i want to hug you ! ”
“ don't make me regret my words. i still can choke you to death. ”
“ can i ask a question ? ”
“ jesus, if you don't yap more than a thousandth time each day, you're dead or what ? i swear, tell me your question, but choose it carefully because it will be the last. so, use your dumby brain very well. ”
“ i just wanted to know…if it's the first time you do this with one of your victims ? ”
“ why do you want to know ? ”
“ you need to answer ! ”
“ and you need to mind your own business. ”
“ i asked you a question ! it's not fair if you don't answer it ? ”
“ you better not try to raise your voice at me because i can shout, and trust me, the tears i will bring in your face will not be that pretty. ”
“ you're still mean to me…nothing has changed. ”
“ and you're still annoying. yes, nothing has changed.”
and you smiled at him, your sweet eyes melted on his unhichanged look.
“ someday i know you will love me too ! ”
“ bold to have faith, better to work on it, sugardoll. ”
you gave him a sweet look, even if he was grumpy, you wanted him.
♡ HIS LOVE IS MY FAVOURITE
♡ Stretching my writing muscles and shaking off the rust. Please enjoy some spicy explorations with some of my favourite RE men. Can you guess who my favourite is?
18+ MDNI // WARNINGS BELOW:
Carlos: Edging/teasing // Chris: Size difference, mildy angsty // Leon: Somno, if you squint. Wesker: Dom/Sub, God-complex
♡ Approximately 300 words each.
Carlos is such a damn tease. Giving you everything you could ever want, all the kisses, all the praise or the degradation, or the bittersweet mix of both, all you could ever dream of, a brazen smile on his lips all the while. “That feel good, darlin’? Yeah? You like spreadin’ your legs and letting me split you open?”
Deep brown eyes implore you to answer him, the unrelenting and damn near intoxicating pace of his cock deep inside of you, hitting you right on that sweet spot, disarming you just enough to answer him. “Fuuuck- Yeah, yeah, Carlos, that feels soooo good.”
You’re so cock drunk at this point you couldn’t hesitate a guess as to how long he’s been perched above you, the bristles of his stubble grazing your lips every time he leans in for a kiss. Coarse finger beds squeezing your cheeks whenever it gets too much, his breath voice; low and enticing when he begs you to keep your eyes on him. “C’mon don’t look away, keep your eyes on me, yeah? Don’t leave me all by myself.”
But when push comes to shove, when sparks start to fly under your skin, the coil in your guts growing as tight as your muscles, climax just in reach, it’s Carlos who leaves you high and dry. Tousled hair sticking to his sweat-slicked face as he halts all movement, dick pressed just deep enough into you that you can still feel every vein, every throb against your tender walls with none of the payoff.
“CARLOS! WHAT TH- FUCK-!!!”
It’s then that his smile contorts, pressing into a thin, tight-lipped smirk before he can’t hold back a chuckle any longer. Something about the furrow of your brow, the pout on your lips, the determination in the way you reach out for him, grabbing him by whatever piece of flesh you can get your claws into, just does it for him.
“You want more?” He plays dumb, pretending to ignore that way you’re bruising his wrists, and rutting your hips to muster up any smidge of friction you can, and he’ll keep acting the fool until you ask nicely, or he thinks you’ve had enough, whichever comes sooner.
“Please fuck me, Carlos.”
“All you had to do was ask.”
Chris has a raging size kink, and he doesn’t even know it. Bonus points if you’ve got some meat on your bones as well.
Everything in his life is so rigid. Always adhering to strict protocol, even when the world is collapsing around him, his life is tainted and dark. So many eyes look to him for leadership, for strength. It weighs even the best of men down. All he really wants is a little light in his life, a glimmer of hope.
So, it settles his stress levels when he comes home to you, all soft, and small, and round, waiting at the door with open arms and a smile on your face that doesn’t care about anything but him in that moment. Warms his heart when you ask him to reach things off the top shelf, to carry your heavy shopping bags instead of the weight of the world. It’s partly the mundanity of it all. You don’t need him to be a weapon; you just want him to be your husband.
He loves the feel of your body under his fingertips, your soft belly brushed up against his abs. The squishiness of your thighs under his palms. Your own hands, in all their delicateness, tracing his collar, his pecs. Touching him with a tenderness he’s only ever experienced when he’s alone with you.
From tip to wrist, they’re just barely bigger than his palm. It takes both of them to cover his length when you’re stroking his cock, and that ignites something in him. It’s not like a fire; there’s no rage, no incomprehensible need to ravage or smother you. It’s something gentler. It’s a hazy, reverential, and terribly addictive.
Leon likes to take it slow, lazy even, and with an abundance of praise pouring from his mouth.
He wakes you up, normally the morning after a gruelling night. His hair tickling the nape of your neck as he kisses your exposed skin, his calloused fingers exploring your body, paper-soft in pressure, but greedy in their expedition. His hips, slow and rhythmic as he grinds his half-clothed cock against your ass. It’s like he’s trying not to wake you, but he isn’t trying that hard.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He whispers into the crook of your neck when your breath starts to quicken, and your lids just barely flutter open. It makes his chest shake against your back, the hot breeze of his open mouth sending a tingle down your spine. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Though his movements are leisurely and oh so gentle, he breathes you in hard and deliberate, half-silent hums and moans rolling off his tongue as he basks in your scent. His fingers hooking onto the waist of your underwear and easing them down your thighs before you can even reply to his greeting. “You smell so good, feel so warm and soft, pretty baby.”
“Good morning to you, too, stranger.” You reply, barely holding back your own whimpers and sighs at each measured, sloppy kiss Leon presses to your shoulders. You try to roll back, wanting to cup his face and return his kisses, but he gives you no quarter. There’s no force, no push back, but he keeps you in place, removing the tender touch of his palm just long enough to reach down, freeing his cock from his boxers and poking the head between your thighs, hot pre-cum already dripping between your legs.
“No, don’t move. Please, baby. Let me give it to you like this.” Maybe it’s the morning daze, the reverence of his voice, the intoxicating feeling of his length dragging against your own arousal, or a combination of all three, but you don’t even pretend to fight him on it, instead relaxing further into the bed, as you let him have his way. “That’s it, just like that. You’re so good for me.”
With any luck, Leon won’t get called away too soon, and there will be time for kisses and catching up later.
Wesker loves to see you beg. To plead for his attention, his time, his approval. Doesn’t matter what. Just to see you so needy, so desperate, so eager to appease. It’s so very gratifying to him.
But it’s not about you, per se. Not about your pretty eyes, glossy with tears of desperation. It’s not about the way your voice cracks, how you stutter over your words, anxious to be clear and concise, to please him despite the way his presence, his words, turns every vowel to mush before it can reach the tip of your tongue.
“I’m sorry, Wesker. Please, Captain. May I, Sir…”
Not about how you lick your quaking lips in anticipation, or the way you ignore the bitter taste of metal and leather as you glide your tongue against his crotch, greedy for a taste of what lies beneath. Not the makeup you worked so hard on, now smeared across your face as he smudges it beneath his gloved digits.
“So placid, so willing to let me do whatever I want to you. Isn’t that right, Dear Heart?”
Not even the spark of enthusiasm in your face, the tweak in your posture as he lets you take his fingers down your gullet, or when he orders you bent over, hands spreading your hole wide.
But the way you whine and murmur, praying over and over again for your god to give you an offering, to pump you full of his thick, hot seed. The way you’ll concede anything, your independence, your dignity, your restraint. You’ll do, you’ll say anything he wills you to, anything to placate the man pulling all your strings. As you should.
You’re doing just fine. Give yourself some grace. x
just thinking ab (ur fav) bending you over a surface. a desk, a counter, a dresser, anything. just the way his bigger frame covers yours so beautifully that its enthralling. your just so small compared to him. it just turns him on. the weeks of effort put into building up his strength, bulking, and eating great portions just to achieve this look, big and burly.
he has your arms pinned and secured behind your back. his bigger thighs caging yours in, so you dont fall down his dick while hes fucking you stupid. the edge of the surface digging into your skin sweetly as every thrust has your body trembling and lunging forward.
your slick just drips down your thighs, the occasional drip falling onto the floor where your toes dont even meet the floor. his grunts and moans all but filling the air, your pitiful moans long gone as you've been at it for hours? you begged so prettily for him to fuck you that you just didnt expect him to have the stamina of a mammoth.
your eyes stayed permanently in the back of your head as you just sobbed on his dick, your moth open and drooling all over the place. the way his blunt, fat tip smashes itself into your g-spot, has your choking on your breath and practically running from his unforgiving hips. even the way he doesnt go fully in because it'd all be too much for you, 3/4ths of the way, and there is a belly bulge hes pressing down into.
you said you could take anything he throws your way, but now youre begging for him to ease up, to give you a break, he just tuts and tightens his grip on your wrists before knocking the air out your delicate body instead. aww..
you cant even do anything since you arent even on stable ground, held up by his thighs and arms. you cant run from the dick, you cant try and tap out, you cant look sweetly into his eyes to slow down, especially in this position.
all you can do is hang and cry off his dick while he jackhammers into your sweet, little cunt.
TRUEEEEE i have smth inappropriate to say abt this 😵💫
with one of his big hands on your hips, toji watches you try to move up and down on his cock. he just smiles at your attempt, a pathetic one, but he thinks it’s cute. “struggling?” he slides his thumb over one of your nipples, watching your body respond to him.
“help me, please,” you’re begging as your hips slide back and forth, just anywhere for a sense of satisfaction.
“you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?” he doesn’t look away from you, doesn’t give you the opportunity to hide from him.
toji feels much, much, much better as he’s pounding ur cute hole while you grapple for his arm— or anything to hold on to.
he loves watching you twitch and moan when he changes pace, waiting for you to buck your hips forward for him.
“cmon, princess. be patient,” he taunts. his cock is all consuming. he’s shamelessly watching it disappear into your cunt. you’re reaching for his arm but can’t find it in you to move; the way he’s fucking into you, treating you like this, it’s too much.
“yeah, that’s good. atta’ girl,” your body goes limp when he’s fucking you like this, all control and sense of consciousness disappears so easily with him, “just lay there like that. let me use you.”
and you’re not sure if it’s your far-gone mind, but toji looks like he’s smiling at you.
