HII! Welcome to my new and improved blog! I like to post fics here and I really just wanted to get back and do something productive on my tumblr :)) anyways! There’s more information about me and my blog! Check it out below the cut!!
Who are you?
My name is Valentina or ValI don’t mind both! As of writing this, I write for dc. (Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson..etc) and for Call of Duty (Modern Warfare)
What type of fics do you write?
I strictly only write fem/afab!reader that’s really it. I can try to make is as gender neutral as possible but majority of the time they’ll be more feminine leaning. And use she/ her pronouns but if request will use they/them :))
Do you take requests?
Yes! But, please be patient and respectful! I may not get to everyone but hopefully I do!
How do I find certain works?
If you want certain works, you can look at the tags. They’ll most likely have a certain tag. (I.e: sunshine!reader x blah blah)
A/N : This is a shorter blurb. Just a sweet fic. Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. Enjoy 🌷🌷🌷
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"Dad!"
Simon freezes mid-step, eyes locking onto his teen son, Tommy, standing by the mirror in an actual nice shirt. Hair done. Ironed shirt???? Shoes clean. The audacity.
"No" Simon says immediately. "Nope. Not happenin."
Tom groans. "Oh my God–"
"You’re too young for this shite" Simon grumbles, folding his arms. "Dates, ribbons, lookin’ all smug."
"I’m eighteen, Dad" Tom huffs, struggling to tie a ribbon onto the tulip bouquet. "I can handle one date. And before you start–she planned it."
Simon squints. "She planned it."
"Yes."
"She initiated."
Simon clicks his tongue. "Red flag already. You."
You come downstairs tying your hair up in a bun, drawn by the raised voices. "Why do I hear arguing before dinner. Are u interrogating him Si?"
Simon jerks his thumb at Tom. "Because your son’s off gallivantin’."
"I’m going on a date" Tom corrects.
You blink. "A date...a date-date?” Your eyes drop to the tulips. “What are you giving her, Tom?"
"Uh… it’s just flowers, tulips."
You gasp like you’ve been stabbed in the heart. "Oh my God, that’s so cute for a first date, baby!" You rush over and squish his cheeks hard.
"Maa–stawp" Tom whines. "You’re gonna ruin my jawline!"
"It doesn’t work like that" you laugh. He’s massive now–broad, tall, solid. Simon's hair and build but your eyes...jesus he was not your chubby baby anymore. But you still wanted to squish his cheeks everyday. You actually have to tiptoe just to reach his face. Rude. You grab the bouquet– "Give me this."
You retie the ribbon neatly. "So, where are you taking her? Italian? Chinese? Indian? Or that new–"
"Jesus, Mum" Tom cuts in. "It’s not a food date."
Simon perks up. "Not a food date?"
"It’s a cafe" Tom says. "Coffee. Pastries. That’s it."
You stare waiting for him to continue
"…That’s it?"
"A coffee date?" Simon scoffs. "That’s not even a date, that’s a break. What will ye eat."
"A date’s a date, baby" you say, pinching Tom’s cheeks again. He hisses. "It’s a trick for blushing."
Tom grabs his jacket. "You’re both unbearable."
As he heads out, Simon stops him with a hand on his shoulder, voice dropping.
"Oi. Kid."
Tom sighs. "Yeah?"
"Don’t do any of that… stuff."
"Ew, Dad. No. Ew."
"It’s natural–" Simon mumbles as you sideye him trying to listen what he was saying.
"Dad. No.Ew."
Tom fake-gags dramatically. Simon snorts and ruffles his hair.
"Text when you get there. And do not make her cry. I don't care if yer my son" Simon mutters.
"I will be careful dad.." Tom says. "Bye, mum" he winks at you rushing out before Simon could stop him again.
Door shuts.
Later, Simon comes back inside to find you curled up on the couch, munching wafers.
He sinks down beside you with a heavy sigh. "Mad, innit. Kid’s all grown up. Doin’ dates and all that."
"Yeah…" You pause. "But a coffee date, Si? I thought we raised him better."
Simon smirks, arm slipping around your waist. "You remember our first date?"
You smile. "Yeah. How could I forget?"
"I was shittin’ myself" he admits. "Didn’t know what women liked. Thought too hard about it."
"I nearly died eating tacos" he says solemnly. "But you...you ate an entire plate and kept burpin’ like a gremlin."
You smack his arm. "I did not."
"Oh, you did" he laughs. "Had to undo the buttons on that cute little skirt you were wearin’. Thought it’d pop."
"You made me eat it all" you huff.
"And you loved it" he grins. "Then I took you to that lake. Ice cream everywhere."
You soften, smiling. "Yeah…you and me."
You laugh and then realise - "You gave me tulips too!!!!"
"Yeah" he grins sheepishly. "Didn’t know if a flower would like flowers as a gift. Thought I’d messed it right up."
"But then you held onto one of em all throughout the night didn't ya dove" he whispers tracing your nose.
"And look at us now" you say softly.
"Yeah" Simon murmurs. "Look at us."
He leans in, eyes warm, like he’s about to kiss you–
–and instead reaches over, steals a wafer, and bites it.
"I WILL KILL YOU SIMON RILEY" you shriek.
He’s already laughing, backing toward the bedroom. "Come kill me in bed then. We don't have much time. Kid’ll be back in an hour if it’s good."
You follow him, laughing. "Or half an hour, knowing him."
His laughter echoes down the hall.
You rush throwing the wafers on table, catching upto him as he pulls you into bedroom.
They're aren't a lot of Kyle Rayner Fics, as much as I see so many people thrist over him, especially on Tiktok. Out all of the Green Lanterns, (expect for Hal bc he literally so babygirl and old man) he's my fave and he deserves more x reader fics >:(( I've got nothing to goon too!
At this point, I'll just making my own fanfics since there's barely any of him with reader :(((
Husband!Price who asks Kyle to come stay with you for the week as he’s out on a business trip (despite your multiple reassurances that you’d be fine) only to tell Kyle when he arrives to watch out because you can be a bit of a handful- but that whenever you get all bitchy or fussy you probably just need your cunt filled to calm you down.
Naturally, you flip out and go off on both of them- borderline in tears over your humiliation at John’s words.
And of course, that leads to you between John and Kyle, ass and cunt both filled by their cocks and you moan. John coos sweetly at you, letting you whimper into his chest and fuck yourself on their cocks as he shows Kyle exactly how to calm you down.
summary: your boyfriend keeps making odd references out of nowhere, turns out doom-scrolling on tiktok during patrol can really affect a guy's humor, superhero or not (408 wrds).
notes: fluff, established relationship, "babe" nickname mentioned, big brainrot behaviour from wally's part, tiktok mentioned, reader doesn't have tiktok, i don't have tiktok myself so i'm sorry if the brainrot i'm referencing is outdated (i literally asked my little sister for help lol), i tried my best to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, enjoy everyone <3 (navigation here).
“wally, what the hell does “67” mean and WHY do you keep saying it? It’s not even noon yet and i’ve heard you say it at least forty times by now!” you exclaim, putting your book down to complain to your boyfriend who’s sitting on the other side of the couch, scrolling on his phone.
wally puts his phone down and looks at you with shock, mouth agape and brows furrowed with confusion.
“wait, you don’t know what “67” means? i swear i’ve explained this to you already babe!” the ginger squaks out, offence evident in his tone. you giggle at your boyfriend’s reaction and shake your head, feeling a mixture of amusement and disbelief rising in your chest.
since the sudden uptick of criminal activity, wally’s been patrolling keystone city like a madman, taking breaks few and far between to actually rest. because of this, you’ve noticed that he’s been making such odd references, ranging from sayings to just random phrases, such as “barbeque chicken alert,” and “chicken stars.”
“i deleted tiktok, remember? and besides, why have you been saying such random things around the house all of a sudden? is it like an internet trend or something?” you ask, genuinely confused.
your boyfriend sighs and looks around nervously, giving you the same look that he did when he revealed to you that he was the flash earlier in your guy’s relationship.
“...okay, so maybe i’ve been doomscrolling on tiktok while on patrol, but it’s entertaining alright! and sometimes you actually learn stuff, that’s how i found out about that new ramen place that i took you to last week!” wally exclaims, trying to plead his case.
you stifle a chuckle, shaking your head and letting out a sigh like a disappointed parent. “i wish i knew how you even found time to doomscroll during patrol of all times, but the impulsive food dates are encouraged…” you trail off, sentence now being cut short from your own laughter overtaking you.
your boyfriend lets out a gasp, feigning offence at your remarks. “you wound me babe, how dare you call out my horrible screen time, what ever am i going to do?” the ginger expresses dramatically, flopping over on his side like a dead fish to really sell the effect.
although your boyfriend has some pretty unhealthy habits when it comes to media consumption, you can always count on one thing to deliver from that app, the food.
Ghost's cock is just too big. You can barely breathe and he's only halfway in. Your hands gripping onto the sheets below you as you try to crawl away. The sensation too overwhelming.
But you don't get far. His hands are bruising on your hips, tugging you back to him and filling you up in one, mind breaking thrust.
"Stay where I put you, kid. I swear, if I have to tie you up again..."
scott can’t seem to pay you any mind — you just wanna play, what’s a few spared minutes away from work to get a little TLC from your man? i guess you can’t say you didn’t ask for it when your plan to get him in your pants backfires a little bit…
cw: heavy degradation ofc, dumbification, pussy pronouns (briefly), facefucking, fem!oral receiving, face and pussy slapping, spitting, choking, angry/mean!scott, my man on willpower coded
“What’re you doing?” Scott quirked a brow, eyes still fixed on his monitor screen but not failing to mess the teasing graze of your fingernail dancing down the crotch of his sweats.
“What’re you doing?” you asked him coyly, a hand still making its way down his pants before he firmly wrapped his own around your wrist, setting it aside. You pouted.
“Nothing much has changed in the last hour I’ve been sitting here with ya.” Scott was utterly uninterested in your antics today. He was more tense, more impatient than you’d seen him in week’s past. You figured he needed the relief. He sat perfectly straight, laptop rested on his lap in the shitty worn king-sized mattress. “Told you, I needa finish browsing over this data, reading over some things.”
You rolled your eyes. You couldn’t say you were very interested either. “God, Scott. It’s Oklahoma. You’re gonna have three more benders by tomorrow morning. The damn things are always going to be there, and so will your data.” It was no bother. His eyes were ever-fixed on the damn screen as they had been for what seemed to be the entire day. You scooted your body closer to him.
Your face was mere inches from his, your hands trying again, playing with the string of his worn sweatpants that he seldom wore unless in your company of the dingy motel rooms that you occupied together in the dawn of a chaotic day out in the field chasing tornadoes. You loved him when he was clad like this (even better when he wasn’t clothed at all), relaxed in a distressed white tee, the cap he usually wore backwards on his head. He seemed less anal, more himself — at least the self that you were used to seeing, a pleasant change from the snarky counterpart he reserved for Javi and Kate.
“Later,” he snapped, shifting further from you. Well, maybe there was a little snarkiness to him that wasn’t unknown to you. His eyes finally met yours, though momentarily. “Keep teasing though and you’re not getting shit at all,” he warned.
You took a pillow beside your head groaning into it. You looked over at him expectantly, hoping for some sort of shift. Still nothing. You sighed, lowering your head and nudging it towards him, finally resting it on his leg so that you were face-to-face with his screen. A variation of colors danced on the graph of some monotonous Excel sheet. “Can’t it wait?” you mumbled. “What if I just…” you trailed off, fingers tapping on his keyboard playfully.
“Shit, stop that, you’re gonna—” Scott swatted at your hand in annoyance. You laughed mockingly, absentmindedly pressing a key before the screen went a blank white. “Oops.” Your voice was meek now, timid.
“Shit, fuck! What did I tell you? That was two hours of data I spent two hours recording to a tee. Now, shit!” He shouted, trying to no avail hitting undo buttons and browsing through his edit history. The internet connection had already been shitty, weak from early storms severing telegraph lines. He finally slammed the thing shut for the first time in hours. You did want it — but not like this. He groaned into his hands, only stopping to shoot daggers into your eyes. “I hope you know that data means fuck-all if I can’t figure out how to recover that shit by tomorrow morning. And my uncle’s gonna have a fucking field day tearing me apart about it,” he said bitterly, laughing humorlessly.
You were sat straight up now. You felt embarrassed, and sorry, unsure what to make of the mess you caused — all because you were thinking with your cunt. But admittedly it clenched at his anger, the desperation that had unfurled earlier within you coming back in a dull ache that you now had to stifle in the way of your mistake that would cost him big with his uncle if it couldn’t be fixed. “Look, we can take it to Javi,” you inched towards his laptop carefully, opening it back up. “Or I can—”
“No.” He said firmly, shutting it back closed. “You can’t do shit. You don’t know shit,” he spat, making your heart race anxiously. “Sit the fuck back down.”
You felt small now, moving further from him, only for him to scoot closer. “Lay down.” He demanded coldly, moving so that he was looming over you. “This what you fucking wanting, huh?” He fumbled with the buttons of your jeans, only intensifying your newfound confusion. “Scott, what are you—”
“Shut the fuck up.” He said, quieting you before tugging at your shirt, your back slightly arched to aid his movements. “Just shut the fuck up,” he ordered snarkily, finally pulling your top up above your head before thoughtlessly throwing it to the ground. “You’ve done enough for tonight, enough fucking talking,” he tsked.
“Of course no bra.” He shook his head disapprovingly when he was met with the sight of your bare tits, exposed to the cool motel air. “Can’t say I expected anything less from a whore like you,” He pinched harshly at your nipple, before slapping it. You yelped in surprise, your hand reaching up in self-consolation before he swatted it away, his other hand grasped tightly around your waist.
Your eyes narrowed at the growing bulge in his sweats, gasping when he took your neglected tit into his mouth, hardening under the harsh suction of his lips, moving his hand once-firm on your waist to rub at it sorely.
He sucked on it with such a force that he began to draw soft mewls from you, as if he was seeking some twisted vengeance with the harsh, forceful — almost painful deliverance of your pleasure. “Thinking with this dumb cunt, gonna cost me my damn job. But there’s no way to set stupid sluts like you straight other than a good fucking, right?” He jeered, slapping your slobber-coated tits with a force that made you yelp.
He began to plant sloppy kisses down your chest, stopping above the waistline of your jeans to pierce you with his cold blue stare, resuming his kissing above the hem while keeping his taunting gaze on you. “Tell me what you want like a real slut. Like the slut you are. They ask for they want. Only innocent girls stay quiet and sit there all meek and cute. And that you are not,” he mocked with a shit-eating grin, slapping at your clothed core, making you yelp again.
“Want- want your mouth,” you mumbled dumbly, eyes looking shifting away from his.
“Look at me,” he spat coldly, eyes still fixed on you. “And full sentences. Or are you too dumb to do even that, slut?” He taunted, pulling away from you.
“Please, please,” you pleaded, bucking your hips up. “I want your mouth on my pussy, Scott, please.”
“Who?” He tilted his head, fully pulling away, now standing up and leaving you dumbfounded, feeling vulnerable all alone and bare-chested on the bed.
“I want your mouth on my pussy…sir,” you trailed off. It was a few months ago you’d made it a thing in bed to make Scott feel…authoritative. You’d tried it thoughtlessly, let out a string of yes sirs, and thank you sirs, when he’d drilled into you dumb on his cock — then to find out it was a genuine relief to him, when work intensified his deep-seated frustration and he couldn’t seem to have his way with Javi and Kate. He liked to feel like he had control over something, somehow, in this case — you.
“You know what?” He scoffed coldly. “I think I shouldn’t give you shit after what you just pulled with me,” he yanked your feet closer to the bed and you whimpered. You were at the edge of the bed now, right before the foot where he stood. “Should just make you my little fleshlight like you deserve. Seems to be what you wanted.”
“Sir, please—”
“Turn around so that you’re facing the head of the bed. Stay on your back.” He instructed sharply.
In a brisk motion he pulled down his sweats and boxers to free his cock, aching hard and reddened from base to tip, needing relief the way you knew he did. You smirked. You could see it all with your head hanging over the bed. The heft of his balls, the need with which he stroked himself — the pearly pre-cum pervading from his slit.
“What are you smiling at, huh? Open up.” He didn’t give you so much as a warning, tapping the leaky head twice on your lips before he was shoving his cock down your throat, hitting your uvula and making you gag within seconds. “Yeahhh, that’s it,” he muttered to himself, steadying his thrusts and holding the back of your head when he began to pick up a sure rhythm. Your cunt was pulsing with need at this point, one hand reaching up to grope at your tit, the other inching down between your clothed legs while Scott moaned out loudly, lost deep in his own pleasure before—
A sharp sting began to bloom on your right cheek. You moaned around his cock in pain, reaching up to soothe where he landed a hard slap. “When the fuck did I say you could touch yourself?” He demanded, still thrusting deep in your throat. “Don’t make me tie you up. Dumb bitch,” he muttered.
“Ahhh, fuck,” he groaned, deep in your throat, making your insides go raw. “I’m close. That’s a good little fuckhole. Such a good throat you’ve got, should just keep you locked up in this little room so you can’t go causing any more trouble. Just stuck here for me to use whenever I need it, fuck,” Without warning, he was spilling in your throat, excess spend dripping from your lips. “Best you swallow it all before I show you what mean really is. Get up.”
Slowly you fixed your figure to sit up upright, awaiting his next move. “Lay back.” He barked.
He pulled your arms from by your sides, tightening a grip around your wrists and keeping them above your head. “Keep these here.”
He finally tugged your jeans down your legs, heeding your shudder at the cold air. “Knew she’d be soaking for me,” he mocked the wet patch soaking through your panties, embarrassing you. “Probably wet like this for hours. Making this dumb cunt work harder for you, slut. Making it think for you, shit,” He was in awe when he peeled them away to reveal the slick coating your pussy lips, shiny and glistening for him. “Only a fucking whore would be this drenched from a little tugging at her tits and a facefucking,” he teased, slapping your folds with his calloused palm. “Scott!”
“What?” He neglected your pleading eyes to stare wholly at your dripping pussy, parting your wet folds and teasing your needy hole with just his pinkie finger.
“I need your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Anything — please, sir,” you begged. You began to tear up at the desperate need that had been pricking at you for hours now, at the utter want that you were consumed with to your core.
“Since you finally learned how to ask…” he ridiculed, swiping at your weepy slit with the flat of his tongue, making you moan. His cap was still on, still backwards. He looked so sexy like this, still clad in his sweats. There was something equally as humiliating as it was thrilling, about him making a mess of you fully clothed while you laid bare before him. You discarded his cap on the bed to tug at his hair and provide you some consolation, moaning softly and grinding into his face, admittedly surprisingly you that he didn’t shunt your movements.
“Such a sweet little cunt,” he moaned into you, sending vibrations into your core. “Slutty little thing…such a pretty, sweet little hole,” he mumbled, pulling away to send a slap to your clit, making you jolt. You moaned, pulling him closer to him by the hair. “Only a little whore would like that,” he said, meanly landing a glob of spit onto your clit, watching it drip down to your hole before landing three more consecutive slaps. “You like that, huh?” He taunted. You nodded, yelping when he landed a slap once more.
“Tell me you like it. Come on, you should know better by now.” He scorned, spitting on your cunt again, absentmindedly before piercing his eyes into yours again.
“I love it, Scott! I love it when you slap my pussy, sir!” Your head was ablur with thoughts only of your pleasure when he fucked his tongue into your hole again, humming in approval at your vocalization.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, moaning into you. “You like this, too?” He parted your folds especially wide before spitting directly into your hole. You cried out. “Yes, yes! Love it when you spit on my pussy!”
“That’s an obedient bitch,” he dived into your cunt, making out with your hole sloppily. “Oh, ohhhh!” You moaned out loudly, clamping a hand over your mouth when he fucked three fingers into you, sucking hard around your clit. He slapped the hand around your mouth.
“Cumming!” Your back arched and you jolted with a yelp, panting from your high. “Scott!”
Scott sucked around the fingers that were fucking into you mere moments ago. “Yeah, that’s right. Let Javi and the rest of the damn team know who’s doing this to you, that you’re my little fucktoy.”
He crawled closer to you, face inches from yours. “Taste yourself,” he ordered, making out with you sloppily. You moaned into it, messy and hard, the remnants of your release coating his lips in a nasty gloss. “So fucking good,” he muttered, pulling away. “Gorgeous little cunt,” he admired his work, your hole white and worn from the eager ministrations of his mouth and fingers. He pulled his cock from the confines of his boxers before tapping the head on your clit. You let out a sudden moan, still sensitive from the height of your release.
“Just need this fat cock to shut you up, huh? Needy whore like you can’t go a fucking night of work without this little fuckhole filled. Should just make this little room my little whorehouse and let Javi and whoever else have their way with you whenever I’m busy, huh? And I would, oh fuck—” you both moaned out when he finally plunged his cock into the hilt of you in a swift motion. “I would if I didn’t want to keep this cunt mine, and only mine.” He thrusted sharply and forcefully into you, moaning out each time you squeezed around him.
“Yeah, just like that. Mine to fuck,” he slapped your clit, making you moan out louder than before, “mine to breed, to spill all my fucking cum into. My little cum reservoir, shit—” he groaned when you squeezed particularly hard, reaching a hand up to your throat for some illusion of control, to hold back from spilling his spend into you much too early. He squeezed around the sides of your throat coaxingly, before you pleaded, “Tighter!”
“’Course you fucking like that,” he snickered, not failing to land deep thrusts into you each time, his rhythm menacing and unfailing, determined to bring you to a release before him. He tightened his grip around your neck, the grip of your cunt tightening in return. “Ohhhh, she’s squeezing so fucking good.” He loved looking down at the filthy sight, your aching wet sexes meeting, his cock plunging into your tight heat over and over again. “Who knew all you needed was a good fill of some cock to make you behave, fuck! Tell me how much you like it,” he demanded, slapping you across the face. “Gotta speak up, whore,” he squeezed your cheeks together, forcing your face in a disgruntled pout before slapping at your tit and down to your clit, not slowing his thrusts.
“Love it, sir! Love your cock! Love it when you’re rough, ahhh!” you exclaimed when he landed another slap at your clit, pleased at your appraisal. Your mouth was twisted in a fucked out O shape, lost in the pleasure. Taking advantage of this, he squeezed your cheeks together once more, spitting a large glob on your tongue lolling out of your mouth that you accepted with an appreciative swallow and a hum.
“That’s it, slut,” he landed another smack to your cheek with an apathetic laugh. “Nice to know you’re good for something, that you don’t just go parading around trying to ruin my work. Now beg me to let you cum,” he played with your clit, bringing you to the hinge of release with the unspoken threat of punishment if you got there wordlessly. You sobbed out in pleasure, clinging to the brink and trying with all your might not to let go. “Please, sir! Please let me cum!”
“Why should I?” He said flatly, slowing his thrusts but still hitting deeply, leaking tip kissing your cervix while his fingers still rubbed unrelenting on your clit.
“Because I’ve been a good little cumdump for you, sir!” You moaned out, not missing a beat and tightening with a messy release and a loud Thank you so much, sir! when he demanded a stern, “Cum. Cum for me.”
“Oh, fuck. Fuckkk yes,” he grunted, following shortly thereafter you before pulling out of your swollen hole, spilling from your core with a sloppy mix of your spend. He slumps next to you, both of you still in a sex-crazed haze when you nudge the back of your head into his neck.
“‘’M sorry about your work, Scotty.” You said earnestly, breath still slightly heavy.
He laughed, stroking your hair when you backed up into him before you turned to face him, furrowing a brow.
“What?”
“I just ravaged your pussy and you’re talking to me about work? Was that not what you were trying to get me off of all night?” He teased, planting an absentminded kiss on your forehead.
“Well, yes, but you lost everything!”
“I’ve got a copy of everything, baby. Got a keep it all backed up when the connection’s all shitty. And Javi should have a copy in his drive,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Scott Miller!” You said, landing a punch on his shoulder that he rubbed with a little Ow!
“Easy to forget shit like that when you were already getting on my nerves, baby!” He defended. “Had me so pissed for fucking with my shit that all I was thinking about was this,” he inched his fingers back between your legs, making you sigh.
“If you say so, Storm Boy,” you kissed the sweet spot on his neck, making him grunt. “I really am sorry though,” you began to kiss him messily.
“‘S okay, baby. Should’ve paid this cunt more mind,” he said, rubbing your clit, making you moan in his mouth. “God, and I thought I was the insatiable one,” you hissed.
“Maybe not,” he said, climbing on top of you. “I’m not done with you yet, baby,” he kissed down your neck and over the hardened nipples of your tits before diving down between your still-drooling mound again.
18+, mdni, poly!superbat x reader, dom!bruce, whiny Clark, voyeurism on bruce's end ig, first time writing full-blown smut, not beta read, possible grammar mistakes (pls tell me in the comments if I missed anything)
Bruce will probably be seated on the armchair not far from his bed. Lazily sprawled, but sharp eyes trained on both his lovers as his cock rested heavy on his palm. Stroking himself languidly to match the pace he set for Clark and you.
"That's it, farm boy. Nice and slow."
His low timbre bounced off the walls of his bedroom in the manor. In melody with it were your unbridled moans and gasps as Clark grunts on top of you. The Kryptonian's hips meet yours with a slight grind every time to make sure you take him as deep as he can, making you see stars every time he bottoms out.
The expanse of his chest meets your sweaty back, a large hand anchored on your waist as the other is intertwined with yours and pinned beside your head.
"Spread them with your knees, Kent, they love that." Bruce's command rings in the room once more, breathy this time as his release creeps up on him.
Clark did as he was told, digging his knees into the space between your slicked thighs as he bottoms out once more, and was met with an unbidden moan from you coupled with a tight squeeze around his length that had him groaning in both delight and agony.
"B-Bruce please—" Clark choked on his whimper. He was so close, but, "Not yet, Kansas." Ordered the billionaire.
You are not faring well either, you know that a few more deep delicious thrusts from Clark behind you and ecstasy will wash over you. But you can't not yet. Not until Bruce says so.
"I—I can't—" You try to plead, hoping for mercy from the man in the corner as tears of pleasure streaked down your cheeks while Clark grinded his cock deeper once more, making you choke in your breath as your free hand clutched the sheets in a vice grip that was sure going to tear the satin material.
"Bruce p-please—" You gasped, tilting your head over your shoulder to look at Bruce.
Bruce's eyes softens a smidge as he meets your gaze.
"Give it a little speed, Clark."
Moans of relief flooded the room. Skin slapping against skin bounces off the walls.
Bruce matches his hand with Clark's speed, fisting his aching cock with a grip he knew resembled close to your tight heat.
"That’s it." He praises through gritted teeth. He could see your jaw slackening from the speed, breaths coming in short bursts as your climax nears. "Raise your angle, love." As Clark obeyed, the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your spine arched in ecstasy was his point of no return. His release coated his hand and abdomen with a loud groan of the names of his lovers.
And it seems as if it was Clark's as well.
As your inner muscles convulsed from your orgasm, the Kryptonian buried his face in your nape—already marked with love bites and bruises—as his pace became erratic, seeking refuge in your warmth as he whined into your skin, "Oh gosh—I'm close. s' tight honey—" before his hips stilled as he nestles himself deep into your whole and painted your walls white.
Bruce only gives them a minute or two, "Keep going, Kent."
Bruce's tone had Clark shuddering. And so, spurred by his lover's command, his hips start pistoning into you once more. The bed creaks at each thrust. Bruce didn't comment on his speed or his intensity, and so he kept going. Pounding you deeper into the mattress until you're a quivering, panting mess.
Meanwhile, Bruce watched adoringly from the corner. The way Clark's muscles worked each time his hips meets yours, the delightful ripple of your ass, your drooling and sweaty mess glistening you under the moonlight filtering through the large windows of his room. God, he could watch you both all day.
The symphony of your choked moans and Clark's whimpering, adding to the plap, plap, plap, of skin as the Kryptonian's balls slap against you was the music Bruce indulges in with pure delight.
As you reach your fourth orgasm for the night, consequently Clark's second, the farm boy was out of breath. He was about to pull out but Bruce's warning tone rang in the room, "Did I said stop?"
Clark's eyes widen, his hazy gaze meeting Bruce's sharp ones. "Wh—" "I didn't, did I?"
The journalist was speechless. A small gulp made his Adam's apple bob as he looks down to check on you.
"They're fine." Bruce's eyes flick down to you, "Color?"
You could back out now if you wanted. One utter of red and they'll backing down and tending your needs.
"Green.." You mutter, a little hoarse from your screams of ecstasy not long ago.
"Clark?"
Clark's eyes snaps back to Bruce, the intensity of the other man's blue eyes has his panting breath hitching.
"Green.." He mutters under his breath.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
The room reeked of sex by dawn. Your incoherent whimpers mixing with Clark's pussy drunk whines muffled by your skin glistening with sweat and his drool, along with the squelching sound at each drill of his hips into you were the only cacophony of sounds filling the room. Along with Bruce's occasional praise. It's what kept you and Clark going until Bruce hit his last release with his hand and ordered Clark to stop.
As you and Clark ease down from your highs, Bruce wipes himself clean before approaching you both. Praises and murmurs of affection fill the room as the afterglow settles. He tended to both of your needs like clockwork, preparing a warm bath in his en suite bathroom, making sure you're both hydrated before he leads you both to the tub. The bathroom smelled like an oasis as the scent of your and Clark's favorite bath bomb permeated in the room.
Once you two were done, you found the sheets of the bed renewed with a fresh set, Bruce waiting patiently in the middle, and opening his arms for you and Clark to settle. His lips find your foreheads, noses, and lips as he whispers his affection and more praises, lulling you and your Kansas boy to sleep.
warning : mind-break kink. backshots. overstimulation. slight hyperspemia. dumbification. wrote this bc i’m inna stumpppp writing this kinktober sukuna oneshot. . @satoyesha
if there’s one thing clark loves more than sex, it’s how dumb you get during it.
you’re smart—everybody knows it. top of your class, always five steps ahead, never the type to need anyone. clark used to watch you during both your shifts at daily planet and swear up and down you were untouchable. it made him feel like he’d won some impossible lottery when you finally said yes to being his girl.
he still loves your mind. loves the sharp way you talk, the way you correct him under your breath, the way you always know exactly what to do.
but it’s what happens between the sheets that drives him crazy.
the way you go from lectures and quick wit to drooling, babbling, arching mess under him. from einstein to nothing but a bimbo with a heartbeat. he swears he could die watching you fall apart like that.
now you’re flat on your stomach, hips tipped up just enough to give him everything, ass high and soft while clark drives into you from behind. your fists twist the pillow, nails dragging across the fabric, drool and tears staining it in little wet patches. every thrust makes the bed creak. every thrust makes you yelp.
he’s been working you open for what feels like hours—fat cock gliding through you, pulling out slick and plunging back in, stretching you so wide you swear you’re going to break. your slick drips down your thighs, sticky strings on his skin. and still you’re pushing back into it, greedy for more.
“hah—mmm, baby. . you’re killin’ me,” clark breathes, voice gone high, hips jerking. his glasses are somewhere on the nightstand but he can still see every tremor of your ass, every bounce of your body, like a movie. “you good, sweetheart?”
“ohhh—c-clark!” you slur, tongue heavy, spit shining your chin. your words fall apart before you even finish them.
clark’s tip hits your cervix again and again, heavy, mean, perfect. the pace is filthy—long, fast drag all the way out, then a brutal slam back in, until you can feel every vein, every pulse. it makes your toes curl and your eyes cross, makes your brain feel soft and liquid.
“nngh. . so pretty like this. goin’ dumb on me,” he leans in, muttering against your shoulder, like a prayer.
you claw at the sheets, your pussy clenching and fluttering around him, sucking him in like you’ll die if he leaves. your walls clamp down so hard it makes him whine, big body shuddering above you.
your mind’s gone—nothing left but wet whimpers and broken cries. “cl—claark! i c-can’t—fuuck, i can’t—!”
“yeah you can, baby,” he pants, voice rougher now, his hips snapping harder, deeper. “you can take it. nngh—i’ll help you, ‘kay?”
he peels his hands off your hips, leaving faint deep purple marks. his palms skate up your body until his fingers wrap around your wrists. in one smooth motion he pulls your arms back, hauling your upper body off the bed. your tits bounce, your back arches, and his cock drives even deeper, spearing some untouched spot inside you.
your toes curl, your breath catches. the sound you make isn’t a word. it’s a sob.
“ohhh, see?” clark groans, his head titling slightly, pace unrelenting. “got you right where i want you, baby. juust like that. . stay dumb f’me.”
and when you both finally cum—together, like you always do because clark times himself to the tremors of your body—it’s disgusting in the best way.
his cock jerks deep inside you once, twice, before unloading; thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls, spilling straight into your womb until you swear you can feel it pooling. it’s so much it makes your belly feel heavy, makes a soft bulge rise where his tip is still pressed to your cervix.
it leaks out around him, running down your thighs, mixing with your own slick until the two of you are nothing but a wet, creamy mess.
your body trembles and twitches under him, muscles clenching and fluttering even as the aftershocks roll through you. clark drags himself out slowly, painfully slow, watching the way your swollen folds cling to him, still trying to keep him inside. the wet drag makes him hiss through his teeth.
he lets out a broken whine at the sight of you—your sappy, ruined pussy still twitching, dripping both your spend onto the sheets, painting them a pale, sticky colour. you’re lying there with your back arched, eyes glossy, mouth slack, a dumb little smile tugging at your lips even though you’re completely gone.
the sight makes his chest ache and his cock twitch.
you’re smart, always so put-together, but right now you’re nothing but a trembling, cum-filled mess because of him. and it makes clark want to ruin you all over again—push back inside, press his palm over that little bulge in your tummy, and fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name.
synopsis: Clark on red kryptonite is no less a slut, but he's a mean slut
cw: smut with no plot, red kryptonite Clark, mean!Clark, little bit of degradation/condescension, unprotected p in v, rough sex, cervix kissing, little bit of spit play, dacryphilia, reader is slightly overstimulated at the end, sliiight breeding kink, creampie
wc: 1.3k
You don’t understand what came over him, don’t really know what happened to your sweet, golden retriever boyfriend.
But you’re not complaining. Not that you’re able to, anyway.
He’s so deep in you, you can’t think much, and he doesn’t seem like he has any intention of letting up.
“Fuck, look at this pussy. Oh, she’s so tight around me,” he grunts into your ear, his hips slamming against yours hard enough to bruise you, except that his cock in you feels so good that you’re not thinking about the pain. “So fucking wet.”
You mewl, your nails scratching his shoulder blades, leaving red, angry marks on his skin. You can barely breathe; every hard thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, and you’re left making little whines and whimpers.
He laughs lowly. “What’s wrong? You’re always so eager to get fucked, don’t tell me you’re complaining now.”
You shake your head. God, how could you be complaining when it feels so good?
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Good girl.” He moves a hand to wrap around your neck, the pressure enough to make you shiver. “Look at you. Look at how dirty you are. Who’d think such a pretty face likes being treated like a fucking ragdoll?”
He gives a harder, pointed thrust, and you whine, hips pulling away a little when the thick mushroom head presses against your cervix with too much force. Not painful, just unfamiliar. He’s usually so careful with you.
He laughs. “Too big for you?” he mocks, thrusting deep again, making you squirm underneath him. He tsks, shaking his head. “Don’t you move away from me, girl. Don’t you dare move away from me. I’m taking care of you, you should be thanking me.”
His other hands goes to hold you by the hip, keeping you in place despite all your writhing. You realize then how truly strong he is. How large he is. How even your best efforts couldn’t possibly match his strength. You’re completely at his mercy, and the though has you pressing your thighs tight against either side of his hips.
“Take it,” he grunts, dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, forcing a squeal from you. “Yeah, I know you like it like this.”
His hand moves from around you throat to grab your face. His fingers squish your cheeks between them, a little too hard, before moving to tap at your chin.
“Open your mouth,” he demands, voice sharp.
You don’t even consider disobeying. You open your mouth, tongue sticking out, and he smirks. He slides his thumb between your lips, and you’re quick to suck on it, tongue moving around his digit. He groans, the sound going straight to your core, and he presses this thumb down onto your tongue until you gag.
He pulls his thumb out, coated in your saliva, and smears it over your lips. “God, remind me to fuck this pretty mouth next time,” he says lowly, his hand wrapping around your neck again. “Open.”
You open your mouth and he spits into it. Your eyes widen, surprised, and your breath hitches when you see the look in his eyes. Dark, dangerous, his irises glowing a faint shade of red. You swallow his spit, and he gives you a little sideways smirk, his dimple showing.
“Knew you’d be good,” he says. “You’re so willing for me, it’s a little pathetic.”
He releases your throat in favor of grabbing your thigh, pushing it up to your chest and opening you wider for him. His thick cock starts hitting a new angle, and it has you seeing stars. You gasp, back arching, as your nails bite into his skin again, harder this time.
Clark growls, an inhuman, deep sound that makes you shiver. “Take it,” he says again, and it sounds almost like a warning this time.
He’s hitting the perfect spot in you, making you whine with each hard, deep thrust, and he abuses that spot until tears are pooling in your eyes, and then falling down your pretty face.
“Oh, there we go,” he says, chuckling. “Yeah, knew you’d cry. I was waiting for you to. God, you look so pretty with tears all down your face.” He leans down, brushing his nose against yours, before licking the tear tracks on your cheek.
You moan, the sound pulled from you when his fingers, rough and warm, find your clit and he rubs it mercilessly. Your body arches, hips divided between pushing against his touch or pulling away, so now you’re just squirming under him, sobbing as the pleasure gathers low in your belly, warm and thick.
“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs as he watches you, fucking you deep, his cock pushing you to your limit. “Yeah, cry for me, baby. Keep crying. I love watching you like this, it makes me wanna fuck you harder.”
And he does. He fucks you senseless. He pulls orgasm after orgasm from you, mocking you each time.
“Aww, already? Don’t tell me that being treated like a silly hole makes you come so quick? Such a dirty fucking girl, hm?” he laughs after you come for the sixth time. Or was it the seventh?
Your body lies under his, weak, limp, surrendered completely to him. And he knows it.
He has you folded in half now, your knees up to your chest, his body weight almost squishing you against the mattress as he continues to pound into your puffy cunt. But his thrusts are getting a little sloppier, his rhythm faltering. He’s close.
“You listen to me, girl. I’m gonna fill you up, gonna put all my cum into this pretty pussy, and you’re gonna keep it in there, you hear me? I don’t want you wasting a single fucking drop.”
You just nod, whining, tears of pleasure still falling down your face as his fingers find your clit once more.
He licks your face, drinking your salty tears, before he leans into your ear to whisper, “You’re gonna give me a baby. I want you to get full of me, want to watch you swell with the baby I’m gonna put in you. And you're gonna be mine in every sense.”
The way he talks to you, the thought he puts into your head, has you on the verge of another orgasm. “Yes,” you manage in a quiet, helpless whimper.
“Good girl,” he grunts, and then fucks you harder, the sound of his hips slamming against your skin is obscene, your abused cunt squelching, loud and wet, in the room.
You shudder, already tightening around him as the tight knot of ecstasy in your womb tightens and burns, making your thighs shake. You meet his gaze through half-lidded eyes, and he smirks, and even that is condescending somehow.
You don’t last much longer. You come around him again, gummy walls clamping down on his cock as your orgasm overtakes you and makes you squirm under him.
“So fucking tight,” he grunts, closing his eyes. “Fuck!”
And then he spills into you, his cock twitching as it delivers his spend into your pussy, thick and sticky as it coats your inner walls. His thrusts slow gradually, pushing his release right against your cervix every time he sinks into you again. When he finally stops, Clark blinks his eyes open, frowning a little, and you watch the red in his irises recede.
You lift a hand to softly caress the side of his face and he leans into your touch. Your sweet boyfriend is back.
“Baby, you okay?” he asks, slowly pulling out of you and checking you over for signs of harm. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head. “I’m okay,” you respond, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. “You wanna explain to me what happened to you?”
A faint blush spreads over his cheeks. “Uh. Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess I do owe an explanation for this.”
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
summary: a routine fire alarm inspection leads into you proving to clark that he does have a suckable dick (kinda.)
tags: 18+, smut, roommate!clark, established friendship, f!reader, i broke clois up (sorry,) clark is older than reader (non-specific,) reader doesn't know clark is superman, fire alarm inspections, clark kent is a DORK, reader just barely realizes she has a crush on clark, blowjob, messy blowjob, big dick!clark, big boobs!clark, big arms!clark, sub!clark, size difference (sorta?), m!nipple play, reader swallows but there's also kind of a facial, begging for like two seconds, sweet!clark, aaannd he picks reader up one time.
a/n: yayy my first clark fic !!! (facedown drooling twitching)
wc: 4.5k, reread once by my eyes
my masterlist - my askbox - this fic is available on my ao3 !! - pt ii: fuckable
You’ve been roommates with Clark for approximately… seven months.
It’s been great really. No complaints, especially since he’s never home long enough to be annoying. He does the dishes, he takes the trash and recycling down every Thursday, and he usually makes enough food that there’s leftovers for your lunches the next day. The friendship between you two is easy, but not intimate. Clark, to you, is personable, but not personal.
You do know that he moved in with you after moving out with his ex girlfriend, and that the relationship ended as amicably as possible for “professional reasons.” Clark also works at the Daily Planet and being a writer may or may not be why he needs a roommate in his thirties. He grew up somewhere not Metropolis to your knowledge and he goes back home usually one weekend a month.
And that’s it. That’s all you know about your roommate of seven months. It’s kind of nice to live with a dependable man, especially when he’s not just kind but also sort of intimidating. Your last roommate was a young woman around your age, and though she was fun, you were always a little worried about the weird neighbor down the hall. He really liked talking to you when you’d take the recycling down, or god forbid, when you’d have to do your laundry in the basement of your building. As soon as Clark found out about that he made a point to start taking the trash down for you and coming with you to do your laundry. The weirdo neighbor backed off pretty quickly when you began walking around with a 6’4 grown man who gave him the stink eye any chance he got.
Obviously you’d rather be living alone, or with a romantic partner, but neither of those things seem like they’re in your cards at this point. Clark is a good alternative. You get plenty of alone time when you have a day off since Clark is at work until five most days, and on top of that sometimes he goes out with his friends. Alternatively to the time you get to spend alone, you also get to feel just a smidge safer at night. Metropolis is nowhere near as dangerous as Gotham is, at least not at night, but you can never be totally sure. Superman can handle whatever huge creature is toppling buildings over, but you can’t really call Superman if there’s someone trying to break into your apartment. You can call Clark though, or rather, knock on his door. Usually.
Tonight Clark is out. He’s actually out a lot later than usual, which is strange. He said something vague this morning about having to go to a meeting later tonight with his friends after work and he’d “be back aroumd smghmsgh.” His voice muffled at the end of his sentence because he had stuffed a cinnamon swirl eggo in his mouth. Helpful!
Around ten you finally peel yourself off the couch. It feels strange to get ready for bed without Clark being around. You aren’t dependent on him, but like, it’s routine by now. You brush your teeth, he brushes his teeth, and then you both go to bed. Sometimes he showers, but that’s not your business to think about. At all. Clark is your friend and roommate. Your kind, dependable, tall, handsome, buff, protective, roommate. You walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, telling yourself you aren’t prolonging the time before you get ready for bed sans-Clark.
The water pools in the sink as you run the tap for a moment before sticking your glass under. It fills a little too quickly. You chug it, pour more water in the glass, then let your eyes flit to the overhead cupboards. A notice is taped to one of them, one which you taped up.
NOTICE: Fire alarm inspection
Dear valued tenants,
This coming Saturday the MFD (Metropolis Fire Department) will be entering your apartments to test your fire alarms. These tests will happen between 8am-11am. If you are unable to be present this Saturday please let me know by e-mail so we can rearrange a time.
Thanks.
Ugh. Your landlord is a nice person but is it necessary to start fire alarm testing at 8am on a Saturday? You were kind of hoping Clark would get home early tonight so he could be the one to let the fire department in tomorrow morning, but you guess not. He’s going to end up sleeping in late if he’s not home soon, so you better set your alarm.
—
It’s 7:59am. And they’re already here.
You had woken up to a strong knock on the door of your apartment that had you gasping for breath as you stumbled out of bed, throwing a more presentable shirt on. Thank God the fireman that you opened the door to looked worse for wear than you did. If you had opened the door to a sexy fireman while wearing your somewhat holey Snoopy sleepshirt, which you’ve had since middle school, you might have lit yourself on fire to test the alarm.
Now you’re sitting on the couch backwards, staring at the fireman as he stands on a ladder in the kitchen. You’re kind of wondering if the fire department needs to do this. You’re pretty sure Clark could check the fire alarm without using a ladder, which you’re tempted to tell the fireman, but he seems nice enough. It’s just early, you’re grumpy.
“I’ve been doing this for almost a decade now,” the fireman says. You hum in an interested tone, watching as he uses a screwdriver to unscrew the panel of the fire alarm. It falls down into his other palm and he checks the batteries.
“Expired,” he says disapprovingly.
Okay fire alarm guy.
He takes a couple batteries out of his shirt pocket and replaces the old batteries. Then he screws the panel back on. It kind of feels like watching you dad or uncle fix something, which would be sweet if you weren’t sleep deprived and annoyed that somehow this guy made his way to your fourth floor apartment before these tests were even supposed to start.
The fireman puts his screwdriver back into his toolbelt and then looks back at you from where he’s standing on the ladder.
“Might be loud,” is the only warning you get.
A shrill beep screeches through the apartment as he presses the “test” button on the alarm. It wakes you up all over again, making you jolt upwards. You’re close to cussing, but then you hear a different loud noise. Two loud thuds echo from behind Clark’s bedroom door.
Oh shit, he was still sleeping.
A couple more thuds sound out before Clark’s door is ripped open. There’s a wild look to him as his chest puffs anxiously.
“Fire?” He asks at the same time the fireman says “alarm works now!” Proud as ever.
No, there’s no fire. But it’s starting to get warm.
You’ve never seen Clark straight out of bed. Typically he showers at night, after you go to bed, so that you can have the bathroom in the mornings. That means that by the time you see him each morning he’s already dressed for work, curls tamed, and he’s all put together. Right now though, he’s the least put together you’ve ever seen him.
His hair is somewhat screwed up, the curls flat on one side of his head from how he sleeps, and his glasses are a little crooked from how hastily he must have shoved them on. Clark is also shirtless, which is surprising. You kind of took Clark as the kind of man who has old fashioned cotton pajama sets considering he wears a suit to work everyday. You very much wish he was right now.
Clark is obviously a strong guy. He’s got great arms that you’ve been able to admire multiple times over the last seven months, and sometimes you’re able to see how big his chest is when his dress shirts strain just right. But right now, you’re getting a full view of everything, and he’s so, terribly, attractively, big. Clark’s arms are much bigger than you thought they were, but so is everything else. His stomach pushes against the stretchband of his pajama pants just right, making you think of the time that he had shared the fact that “Ma fed me well,” over dinner. Fuck yes she did. Thanks Ma. His stomach looks dense with strength, like he’s been bulking his whole life, and his tits… Lord. Never in your life have you ever thought that a man having tits could be attractive, but Clark Kent doesn’t seem to be able to be unattractive. They look heavy and the skin looks soft and for a split second you think about what it would be like to run your hands up his body and cup them.
You notice that you’re staring at him, but he doesn’t. Instead, Clark seems to realize that the guy in your apartment isn’t an intruder, but is actually checking the fire alarm. He walks over quickly, and in typical Clark fashion, strikes up a conversation with this guy. He’s distracted fully, giving you more time to kind of drool over the new angle you’re getting of his arms.
Normally you wouldn’t do this. You’ve purposefully been avoiding being attracted or generally objectifying Clark no matter what because when he moved in with you he was sorely broken up over his last relationship ending. Clark was much too sweet for you to think about in that way, no matter how delicious he is to stare at. But it’s been months now, and he seems more okay, and damn it he’s shirtless and it’s 7:30 in the morning and you’re pissed! You deserve a little eye candy, no?
You let your eyes drop back to his stomach as he stands while talking to the fireman. The profile of his tummy almost hanging over the waistband is making your whole body heat up, but then your eyes drop lower and it gets worse.
He’s not wearing underwear.
There’s literally no possible way that he’s wearing anything beneath the pajama pants. You can see the outline of what you think is morning wood, but you aren’t entirely sure. If he had a boner that big right now he wouldn’t just be casually talking to a stranger in your apartment, right? But then again, there’s no way he’s packing something that much. It wouldn’t be human to be that big soft. He must just be oblivious. Fuck, you’re perving out right now.
It’s pressing against the plaid pattern of his pants in a way that maybe is camouflaged to the poor fireman who now looks like he’s trapped in a conversation with Clark. You watch as the fireman slowly packs up his ladder and moves unsubtly toward the door in an attempt to drop a hint that Clark isn’t picking up. It, yes it, isn’t camouflaged to you though. You watch from the couch as his pants tent around it, the thickness of it pressing against his leg as he moves toward the door with the fireman. Sweat starts to form at your brow as you swallow dryly.
Maybe his last girlfriend just couldn’t stand the hospital trips after they had sex? That’s the only plausible reason you can see someone dumping Clark. He’s suffering from the success of all those inches.
The fireman finally shuts down the conversation Clark had started with a gentle “I have to go test other alarms now,” and slips out the door. Clark turns to you now, still clearly oblivious to the third leg he seems to be showing off.
“I totally forgot about that inspection, geez.”
You are braindead. His words don’t even seem like words anymore as you get another full frontal view of his less-than-normally-clothed body and the inside of your skull feels fuzzy. It’s too early for all of these emotions of frustration and then sudden insatiable heat. Maybe you’re getting close to ovulating or something, but Clark is triggering you badly.
“Are you hard?” You ask.
Clark instantly reaches his hands down, covering his crotch.
“What? No, I just– I just threw these on. They must be too small.” He sputters.
Just threw those on? Your brows scrunch together in confusion. If he just threw those on before coming out of his room and he’s not wearing anything else (other than his glasses…)
“I sleep naked,” Clark admits flusteredly. Your eyes widen just as your mouth hangs slightly open in surprise. This is not something that you thought Clark would ever say, nor admit if it was the case. His ears are turning pink as his hands cover his crotch area still, though you doubt he’s actually covering all the square footage of his downstairs property.
“I started sleeping naked when I moved away from home. It was like a freedom thing, I think.”
Oookay. Coolio. Packing that tidbit of info into your brain and saving it for later when Clark isn’t home and you have a certain something charged. You nod with your mouth still open, then swallow back the dryness on your tongue before speaking again.
“Why do you…” you start speaking but then he moves toward the couch and your voice trails off. He sits opposite you, looking a little ashamed as he shoves a pillow over his lap. “Why do you still sleep naked?”
He can’t make eye contact with you now, he’s too embarrassed. It almost seems like he never really thought about the fact it might be strange to still sleep naked, and now he has to face the music.
“Clothes just… restrain stuff,” he admits quietly.
Stuff.
“Stuff?” You reply. “What stuff?
He shakes his head, says your name quietly like he wishes you’d forget this. “You know what stuff. My stuff.”
This is insane. There’s no way he’s that big all the time. That’s not something you believe.
“You’re seriously not… that’s not just morning wood or something?”
Clark shakes his head again and seems even more embarrassed now. His fists push into the throw pillow on his lap nervously.
“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “I know it’s strange. Or scary, I’ve been called scary.”
Aw. You feel kind of bad for him amidst all your curiosity about this newfound limb on your roommate. The best comfort you can offer in this awkwardness is a shrug.
“It’s okay, Clark,” you attempt a normal voice, “it’s just a surprise.”
He laughs quietly, thank goodness. His smile is always a ray of sunshine but right now it breaks up the insanity of the situation.
“Golly, it’s a surprise to you? Imagine growing this thing,” he chuckles. Like it’s normal.
The honesty is somehow scarier than the fact that his dick is really that big. That’s just Clark’s life, he has to have that in his pants all the time, and now you have to know that he has that in his pants all the time too. What the fuck? What is this morning?
Clark finally works up the courage to look at you again, though you can still see the remnants of his flustered expression from moments before. His eyes stroll over your face and he seems to realize your befuddlement.
“Are you okay?” He asks. You raise your head to nod, but then feel the tug of a question caught in your throat.
“How big is it?” You ask. The tables turn again and Clark is back to being the one caught off guard. He sputters some breaths and attempts words but you shrug. “I’ve already basically seen it, Clark. I’m just curious.”
The last thing you say seems to ease him some more, as silly as it is. It’s true, you’ve basically seen the outline of the whole thing now, so he has less reason to be shy. Clark, again, nods. Then he picks the pillow up off his lap and places it on the ground beside his feet. This gives you a chance to see the way his stomach pouts out from his body while he sits, and the way his tits sit. They still look so soft, but you can’t make Clark any more uncomfortable than he already is, so you try your best to maintain eye contact.
“Eight and a half inches,” he manages to spit out. God, he sounds ashamed of it. Why is he ashamed?
You gawk at him. “I don’t even think I could fit half of you in my mouth.”
Why did you say that? Oh my god, why did you say that?
It sounds like a challenge. Your eyes drop back to his lap, searching for a moment until you can finally focus on the visible outline against the worn fabric of his pajamas.
“I could try,” you suggest. Clark’s head tilts down a little as he tries to meet your eyes that are currently feasting on the sight of his lap. He starts to say “what” but you stumble out more words. “Like just to see. Not in a sex way, but in an experimental way. Just to see.”
He seems a little speechless, his mouth forming the shapes of words that don’t come out, seldom for a shocked whisper of your name. Clark swallows the saliva in his mouth and then leans back against the couch, nodding.
“Not in a sex way,” he repeats as you slide off the couch and maneuver yourself between his legs. “Aw geez.”
Stupid cute man with a stupidly big cock. You aren’t technically breaking the “roommate rule” of don’t-fuck-your-roommate at least. You’re not fucking him, you are both just trying to see how much of Clark’s dick is humanly possible to suck.
He lifts his hips for you as your hands reach up and slide his pants down his legs, pulling them off with little struggle. It exposes his thighs to you, the hair that feathers out from his pubic area into a softer dusting around the outer area where his dick lays. It’s too heavy to even stand up on its own, it just lays against his thigh. He’s uncut but the foreskin is pulled back slightly, exposing the deep pink of his tip and how it’s starting to drool pre-come.
“Sorry, it’s um, been a bit. I’m a shower so don’t worry about,” he swallows nervously again, “about it getting any bigger than this.”
It is a little comforting to know you won’t have to deal with any more than you signed up for, but mostly you just want to soothe him. Clark seems so ashamed of how big he is, which isn’t totally unfamiliar. He always seems awkward in social situations, like a mega block in a world of lego bricks, but this is something you can help. You’ll prove to him that he is suckable.
But you’ll prove it in a moment. First you focus on what your mind, what’s left of it, wants to do.
You lean down and nudge your nose against the side of his cock, inhaling a little bit. He smells clean, just like the rest of him, but also a little different, a little more Clark than everywhere else. Your eyes meet his as you let your tongue loll out of your mouth and drag up his shaft, then lap at his tip as his head falls backward.
“Y-you said it wasn’t a sex thing,” he protests weakly.
“It isn’t,” you protest. It’s not a total lie. “I’m making sure you’re as hard as possible. You have to be fully hard for me to–”
“Please just put your mouth on me,” he blurts out. “Please? You wanna figure this out too, right?”
Holy needy. You weren’t really expecting Clark to be this submissive. He’s probably just desperate because, as he said, it’s been a little while, but he’s already begging.
“Yeah,” you mumble against his tip, “yeah okay.”
He’s so much more than a mouthful. You were expecting it to be a lot, but you can’t breathe at all once his tip is fully in his mouth. Clark isn’t just long, but he’s thick too. It feels like you bit off more than you could chew, literally, and you’re just desperately swallowing around him. It’s especially hard to focus on not choking because he keeps making these little sounds and grasping at the arm of the couch. Clark clearly doesn’t want to push you at all. The hand that isn’t on the arm of the couch is gripping the couch cushion ferociously and his hips keep trying to buck up but he resists it, though just barely.
It isn’t a sex thing, it’s an experiment, you need to focus.
Your eyes slide shut as you decide to lock in, tuning out the noises and movements he’s making. Most of your focus goes into relaxing your jaw to fit more of him in. You know you’ll ache later, but it’s worth it. He’s so heavy in your mouth and in your hands as you hold him. The wetness of your mouth doesn’t seem to be enough and so you keep drooling out more and more saliva, trying to lube your throat so he’ll slide in easier, with less resistance. It doesn’t feel humanly possible, he’s completely right.
You attempt to say his name, but just gargle around his cock. He struggles back a “yeah?” and that’s when your eyes open again.
You’re far enough down on his dick now that when you open your eyes and look up at him, you’re met with a slight underside view of his stomach and tits. Clark looks back down at you with clouded eyes and a sweaty brow, meeting your own accidental doe eyes. It’s hard not to look pathetic and needy when you have a dick in your mouth, it’s just what happens. You maintain eye contact as you work your throat, attempting to open it up more to take him further and he whines while looking into your eyes.
Clark breathes your name once, then shuts his eyes tight as his chest heaves.
“Are you trying t-to make me come?” He asks. His voice sounds pained, but his cock throbs in your mouth as he asks the question.
Well, are you?
He looks close already, even more wrecked than five minutes ago when this “experiment” began. Obviously you want him to come, you’re sucking his dick for gods sake, but he’s just making sure. He’s just being good and making sure that he’s allowed to come. The two of you are losing any inhibitions about this pretense of an experiment and you’re ready to fully let loose.
You can’t respond to his question without pulling off his cock, and you sure as hell don’t want to lose the progress you’ve made on his length, so instead you give in. Reaching up from the floor with your hand, you trail your fingers up his body and then cup his left tit in your hand. His breath catches as he looks down at what you’re doing, and that’s when you rub your thumb over his nipple. It hardens immediately and he lets out a rough moan as you nod, resuming bobbing your head up and down his cock.
Yes you’re going to make Clark come. You want to make this big, delicious, kind, man come his brains out, either in your mouth or on you, or both.
Whatever efforts you were making previously tenfold as you start to start to jerk off whatever you can’t fit in your mouth with your free hand, the other one still entirely focused on groping the soft fat of his breast and toying with his nipple. Clark starts to let his hips buck up more as he begins to repeat your name, whining each time you stimulate his nipple just right. Drool leaks out of your mouth and onto your balls as you let the back of your throat get pummelled relentlessly. It feels like your brains are melting in your head each time you feel him throb or taste him leaking a little more pre-come.
“I’m gonna come,” Clark warns. He says it again, but makes no move to pull you off him.
Your eyes meet his with some sense of determination, and you hope the bob of your head and the nod of your head don’t look too similar as you try to reply with a nod of “yes, yes, come.” The message, thankfully, is received. Your hands work relentlessly to stimulate him fully through his orgasm as he spills down your throat. You try to keep up with swallowing but it starts to feel like if you don’t pull off of him you’re going to have come drip out of your nose. Finally you jerk back, watching as his cock doesn’t slow down at all, shooting ropes not just on your face and neck, but dripping onto his own thighs too. He’s so noisy as he comes, on top of all the things in motion he’s moaning your name and thanking you.
“Thank you, thank you,” he whimpers, “m sorry it’s such a mess.”
It is such a mess. You didn’t take into account that him having a big dick might mean him having bigger balls, which you certainly won’t neglect if the two of you ever do this again, but now he’s coming so much. Some of it is already half dried on your sleepshirt by the time he’s finished.
Clark’s head rolls back again, his legs falling even further apart, as he catches his breath. He has half a mind to hand you the pants you peeled off him earlier, apologizing for not being able to clean you up properly. It’s a sweet gesture, and you’ll excuse his lack of aftercare since it seems like he just emptied his entire bloodline down your face and shirt.
After somewhat cleaning the come off you, you’re surprised as he lifts you up onto the couch, moving his spent cock out of the way so you can sit on him.
“Thank you,” he says again, pushing his nose against your shoulder, “sorry I ruined your experiment.”
It seems that despite what just happened, Clark will always be the considerate, sweet, guy that he’s always been during his time as your roommate. His breath is soft against your shoulder as his eyes flutter and look down.
“And sorry for ruining your shirt.”
A giggle pushes its way through your chest and past your aching jaw.
“It’s fine. I’ll just take off my shirt next time we try.”
Clark’s posture goes a little rigid at the mention of a next time. He pulls his nose away from your shoulder and looks at you a little curiously.
“Next time?”
You’re quick to respond, shrugging it off casually to avoid the many questions and considerations you’re sure Clark will chatter away at you once his brain rebuilds itself from his orgasm.
“Yeah, next time. I only fit like… half of you in my throat. I think I can do better than that,” you say defiantly. Clark huffs a laugh of disbelief out. “I just need more practice.”
“More practice. Sure,” he agrees softly.
>///<
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