multifandom blog: lads,jjk,aot and wtv else i feel like writing. i’m a slow writer. i mostly write smut/suggestive content n fluff. 18+ i always write with blk reader in mind. masterlist
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𓍼ོ prof!higuruma loves when your face is glossy with his cüm.
you are on your knees between higuruma’s spread thighs, his slacks pushed down just enough for his cock to spring free, thick and heavy against his stomach.
he watches you with those sharp eyes half lidded, fingers threading gently through your hair as you lean in and drag your tongue along the underside of his length.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “just like that. take your time, i want to feel every inch of that pretty mouth.” you wrap your lips around the head, sucking softly at first before sliding down further, hollowing your cheeks as you work him deeper.
higuruma lets out a quiet groan, hips twitching up just a little, careful not to choke you but clearly fighting the urge to thrust harder. you bob your head steadily, tongue swirling around him, spit coating his cock and dripping down to his balls while he keeps talking in that calm measured tone that always makes you wetter.
“look at you,” he says softly, thumb brushing your cheek as you pull back to catch your breath.
“so eager for me.” you hum around him in response, taking him to the back of your throat again and swallowing, which earns you a deeper moan and his fingers tightening in your hair. “fuck, your mouth feels incredible. don’t stop, love.”
you keep sucking him off with wet obscene sounds filling the room, one hand stroking what you cannot fit while the other rests on his thigh, feeling the muscles tense under your palm.
higuruma breathes heavier now, praises spilling out between grunts. “you’re doing so well for me, taking it all like that. gonna make me come soon.”
you pull off with a pop, stroking him fast with your slick hand while looking up at him, and he curses under his breath, eyes dark with want. when he finally reaches his peak he guides your head back gently, pumping his cock until thick ropes of cum splash across your face. it lands on your cheeks, lips, and lashes, warm and sticky, leaving your skin glossy and shining under the light.
he stares down at you afterward, chest still heaving, a rare soft smile tugging at his mouth.
“fuck, you look perfect like this,” he whispers, thumb smearing his cum across your bottom lip. “i love seeing my mess all over your pretty face.” you stay on your knees, letting him admire the way it drips slowly down your chin while he catches his breath, already thinking about how soon he can do it again.
18+ turns out, your roommate sukuna isn't as invisible as you think he is.
you had spent months consumed by one specific tumblr blog. their content was poetic enough, but it was the descriptions that piqued your interest like no other. the shameless details of a cock, the placement of thick veins, and the vivid, flushed colour of swollen flesh whenever it hardened.
it was so graphic that you would spend half your night clutching your phone under the covers with a burning face while reading the exact same paragraph over and over. you just could not stop wondering what sort of person possessed such a filthy language, or who on earth they were using as a reference.
in ridiculous contrast, your actual domestic life was a total dead end. your roommate sukuna was a shadowy guy who spent almost every waking hour walled up inside his bedroom. whenever you tried to carve out some sort of normal rapport, he would just grunt, scowl, and retreat deep into his room like a sullen dog.
it was super infuriating, mostly because he owned the broad shoulders, bulky form, and lethal face that belonged on the cover of the very stories you drooled over. he was the walking, breathing blueprint of every fictional character you got off to. only if he weren't so dense when it came to romance...
---
getting back to the dorm an hour earlier than ordinary, you padded quietly down the hall, quickly noticing the narrow gap in your roommate's door as a soft line of light spilled out. under normal circumstances, you would have marched straight to your room; sukuna was the type to bite your head off for merely existing in his line of sight, and you really didn't need another round of his sharp, contemptuous glares.
but curiosity was a stubborn thing. shifting your heels carefully so the wood beneath your socks would not creak, you pressed close to the wall, tilting your head until your vision lined up with the crack. it took a second for your eyes to focus through the sliver, and the sight waiting inside made your eyes snap wide with pure disbelief.
sukuna was sitting on his bed, trackpants dragged down past his knees, naked from the waist down. his ruby eyes were locked downward in intense concentration, studying his own fully erect cock as it stood thick between his meaty thighs.
he gave it a languid stroke, softly brushing his thumb against the red, puffy tip as he lightly tickled the sensitive flesh to register how the skin moved, fathoming every miniscule sensation. then, without faltering his tempo, his free hand reached for his laptop to type feverishly into an open document.
a tiny manoeuvre from him brought the monitor your view, and there it was. the distinct dark theme, the header image, and the exact layout of your favourite blog sitting right on his screen. the literary god you lusted over late at night was the same brooding dickhead who would not even answer your texts. as the shock settled, you gradually pulled back to act like this never happened, but the floorboards betrayed you by giving a teensy creak under your feet.
at the subtle sound, the rapid clatter of his keyboard came to a halt. yet, sukuna didn't panic or scramble to pull up his trousers. instead, his head cocked toward the crack in the door, watching you with that intense gaze as you struggled to draw even a proper breath.
"you've been watching?"
rather than shutting the laptop, he hooked his pointer finger in a silent gesture, beckoning you into the room while his other hand slowly stroked himself once more.
cult leader!geto doing your routinely hole inspection…
he’s grown to like you over the years, noticing you in the sea of others, his most loyal and devoted follower. He’s grown to like you so much, he feels the need to keep you close…really close. The others notice how he favors you in every way, and they also notice how you sneak away into his room at night. Why? They have zero clue. Some spread rumors that you’re getting a reward or allowance of some kind, some say that he’s secretly hypnotizing you. Truth be told, they weren’t completely wrong.
Every night like clock work you end up over his lap, shorts and panties bunched at your ankles while his hand caresses your ass. He’s gentle, and soft spoken, humming at the sight of you in front of him. Little words are spoken, but you enjoy it so much that you look forward to this moment when the day ends.
You lay across his lap, empty headed smile on your face, his hands spread your ass, kneading at the flesh. A brow raises, noticing you were wearing your plug, the one he specifically told you to wear this morning. He spreads your ass wider, your hips lifting instinctively, allowing him a better view. “Hm, you’re wet,” he plainly states, spreading your pussy with his thumb. “Poor girl, you can’t help yourself, can you?” He asks in a mocking tone, gathering some of your slick and rubbing it against your clit in slow circles.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, eyes fluttering shut as your back arches at his touch. “I’m sorry,” you meekly say. He knows you weren’t really sorry because you get like this every time. No matter what, your pussy always ends up soaked, basically begging for attention from him. He doesn’t get upset with you, he understands it’s natural, he understands a woman like you has needs and wants and that’s why he’s here. Think of it as his way of saying thank you for your loyalty.
Two thick fingers slip right in, your gummy walls wrapping around them. His other hand follows the curve of your spine, sliding up to grip the back of your neck as he curls his fingers inside of you, slowly pumping them. “Are you wet because of the plug or because of me?” He honestly asks, no shame behind his words. His eyes focus on the way his fingers glisten in your juices, thick and creamy.
“A-ah…both,” you whimper. “But mostly you.”
He smirks to himself, the slick sounds of your pussy echoing off the walls of his bedroom, growing louder the more wet you get. “You’re always so honest…such a good girl,” he breathes. “It’s why you’re my favorite.” He pumps his fingers faster, hitting up against your g-spot, but not too rough.
Your eyes roll back, jaw slack as whimpers escape your throat. You claw at his sheets, nails digging to the fabric, your toes curling from the immense pleasure. It’s something that’s been on your mind all day, and after hours and hours of pretending like you weren’t a wet and horny mess, you get to finally let go and feel everything all at once.
It hits you so suddenly, your heart beat quickening, your mind starts to go blank, and all you can feel is his fingers working inside of you, stretching your pussy. “Gonna…cum…nnngh,” you choke out, breathing heavily. His grip on the back of your neck tightens, holding you in place as he finger fucks you, feeling your pussy clench tighter the closer you get. He watches the way your body shakes in his hold, your moans falling upon his ears when you finally cum. Your body relaxes in his lap as he removes his fingers, rubbing your mess all over your folds, brushing against your throbbing clit.
“Despite being a messy little thing today, your inspection is finished.” His hand swats against the fat of your ass. “Now, come clean your mess off of my fingers.”
a little something while I work on part 5 if insatiable <3
mdni - your boyfriend Sugu sharing you with Toru <3
You were grinding on your boyfriend Suguru's cock on the couch, sleepy with little whines, having half fallen asleep in his lap during the movie you all had on.
"Mnh, Sugu..." you were gasping out. Too sleepy to realize your roomie and best friend Satoru was right there, blushing.
Oh, Suguru knows- he just didn't care, not when you feel that good. He already knows Satoru wants you, he'd walked by him as he jerked his cock mumbling your name.
You feel too good grinding on him not to grip your ass, moaning in your ear -
"Princess, Toru is right there," you had bit your lip, pretty, fucked out eyes looking right at Satoru Gojo, who was blushing in the dark, the TV light casting shadows on his face.
"Toru," you mumble, rolling your hips again, lashes fluttering shut. "I'm sorry, feels s'good and..."
"It's okay... " he mumbles, his cock leaking sticky precum against his boxers, as he hears the rustle of clothing, the sound of Suguru’s cock rutting your panty-clad pussy, the slight motion of his hips.
Satoru almost cums just from hearing your sleepy little whine, you can see his cock straining underneath his pajama pants, making his gut clench up.
Fuck he wants to feel you - any of you - the amount of times Satoru has listened to you both fuck is obscene.
"Oh," You blush, leaning to whisper in Suguru’s ear. "He is um...he's so..."
"Why wouldn't he be hard? Pretty little thing right here," Sugruru tugs your top down as his breath ghosts your skin, showing one of your cute nipples right for Satoru to see, who bites down on his plump lower lip. "Look at her, isn't she pretty?"
"Very pretty," Satoru's words are strained, adjusting his cock to see your lips part, your eyes darting to that bulge.
"Why wouldn't he be hard? Pretty tits right for him to see," Sugruru sighs, leaning back and tugging your panties aside, eyeing your slick, messy cunt. "Do you like him here, princess? Watching?"
You do - but you're sleepy, embarrassed, so wet and horny it's painful. "Toru do you... does it..."
"I uh.. " he sighs, running a hand over his cock and wincing at how bad it's straining. "I can go take care of this. Or..."
"Or I could?" You peek at Suguru, who had you lifted, his fat cock nudging your slick hole, that piercing catching your twitchy clit. "Mnh! Sugu..."
"You wanna make Toru feel better?"
You nod, blushing then.
"He did have a bad break up."
"Toru!" You pout. "You didn't tell me..."
"Yeah," as if Satoru wasn't picturing you arched in front of him when he hit it from the back. You look all sweet, all concerned, before Suguru glides right in your cunt, and your eyes roll back in your skull, stretching you out without any play you're so wet.
"S-Sugu! Ah!"
Satoru tugs out his cock, thick and veiny, watching that mess of slick drool down his best friend as h e leans back. Satoru can't help but whine out as he stares at you, riding his best friend's cock, his own hand tentatively brushing your cheek, leaning close as his friend pummels your cervix.
"So pretty," he whispers, feeling your blush heat your skin, you lean close, your eyes all sleepy as Satoru strokes his own cock.
"Can I taste you?" He almost cums from that damn question.
"Yes! I mean... yeah..." He eagerly swipes some of his precum, slipping it between your lips as Suguru bottoms out. You suck Satoru's milky cum off his thumb while you whine out, cheeks hollowed.
"Wanna suck his cock, Princess?" Suguru asks, it's hard to speak looking at you like this, when you turn back and he sees his friend's cum on your lips, he can't help but flick his tongue against them, tasting it and moaning, his cock pulsing inside.
"Yes... please..." You cry out when Suguru pulls out with a mess falling, laughing at just how wet you are.
"Then get on your knees for us."
You eagerly obey, knees sinking into the cushions of the couch, mouth open and eager to take Satoru's pink tip, you feel his hands grip your hair tight, hear his gasp. "Oh f-fuck... your mouth is s'good, sweetheart..."
"Isn't it?" Suguru asks, lining his tip back up and filling you, all while you look up at Toru whose glasses are fogging with his breaths, his hands trembling just a bit when they pull too hard, making you whine around his cock, pretty tip soft like velvet on your little tongue.
"M'sorry... too rough I..."
"She loves it," Suguru murmurs, gripping your waist to drag you down his cock, his balls smacking your neglected clit, shoving Satoru's cock so deep you choke around it. "Don't you, baby?"
"Mmm," you pull back with a messy pop, lips coated in spit. "I do."
Satoru thinks he's in love with his best friend's girl once she makes his goddamn cock dissappear - all eight inches, too, nose nestled against the little light smattering of white hair. You're drooling down his heavy balls, tight and ready to pump you full - as him and his best friend take turns fucking your holes, using your body between them faster and faster.
Satoru doesn't make it long, he pulls back and sucks in a breath, but the way your throat is reflexively pulsing while Suguru pounds your messy cunt is too fucking good.
"S-sweetheart... m'close...." He goes to pull back when you grip his thigh, nails pressing into the bare muscle where his pants are shoved down, looking all lovingly and pretty up at him.
"She loves swallowing," Suguru says, all proud of you clearly, his cock slamming inside so deep it kisses your cute lil cervix. His long hair falls against your skin as he hovers over you, fingertips trailing down your spine, while Satoru's whimpering. "Go ahead and show him how good you take it. You're such a good girl like this, isn't she?"
"She i-is," Satoru tries to pull back, worried about hurting your throat with the flood of cum about to pour from his pink tip, but you suck harder, lips wrapping so goddamn pretty, he moans your name, head falling forward, gripping your hair till he's pulling at the strands.
You do love to swallow, and Satoru is salty but somehow there's a little sweetness, it coats your mouth as you gulp, shattering around Suguru's length that's curving just write, piercing dragging on your sweet spot just so, till you're a gushing little mess between them.
Suguru's following Satoru, pumping your cunt so damn full it's already trying to spill out with it, white coating your spread wide lips. He leans back to watch, groaning as he slowly fucks it back into you, and Satoru eases out, cupping your face and damn near collapsing on the couch.
"Feel better about the breakup?" You whisper, he moans and gives you a little nod, leaning down as Suguru pulls you up to your knees, wrapping an arm around your waist, kissing up your neck.
"Much better," Satoru leans forward and kisses himself off you, blushing. "S'that okay?"
"I just swallowed your cum, you can kiss me," Suguru snorts, but you find it adorable when he kisses you again and again, moaning as Suguru's release pours down your inner thighs, and Satoru's fingers slide down, shoving it back on. He's filthy with it as he licks his own cum off your tongue, and Suguru's lips are just a breath away from Gojo's.
"Could we share her, Sugu? Pretty please?"
"We just did-"
"No like... be my girlfriend too?" He's all pouty and cute, but Suguru scowls, tugging you back, just for Satoru to finger more cum in your sore cunt, his cock already throbbing and hard again. "I said please!"
"No!?"
"You never shared when we were kids, you're selfish!"
They bicker as they fuck you again, until you're so full of both their cum in all three holes that you give up and go to sleep.
*****
we already know when I'm horny I write satosugu filth lol
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Itachi Uchiha helping you find pleasure from penetration.
Proofread: I tried my best! | Word count: ~8k | Warnings: MDNI! Smut, lifelong friends to lovers, pwp, fem!reader has no idea how to feel pleasure from penetration, slow burn pace, "poetic" dirty talk, a bit of praise kink, overstimulation, squirting (1st time), cunnilingus, fingering, mutual masturbation, deep (protected) penetration, and aftercare. Itachi is in his mid-20s, so not fully canon-compliant. Readers are free to scroll past if this specific character interpretation does not align with their comfort levels.
Tag list: @ichxraaa <3
A/n: shout out to Amy Daws and her book "Blindsided" that I read in 2024 and inspired this. You're the man, Amy! I truly hope you guys like it. After I was done and went back to review the writing, I felt like I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. Enjoy! 🖤
"Ah, baby, that was nice," your boyfriend exhaled, his chest heaving as he rolled off you and stared blindly up at the ceiling. His arm now resting behind his head. You stared at the exact same ceiling, feeling entirely numb.
Sex with him was always a scripted and very hollow routine. He would crawl over you with barely a scrap of foreplay, thrust his hips a handful of times, and declare himself satisfied. Just like this.
No passion.
No consuming warmth.
No lingering intimacy.
And you craved more. You wanted more. You wanted to feel like you were wanted in this relationship instead of feeling like just a toy. On your best days, if you completely detached your mind and truly concentrated, you could sometimes coax a tremor out of your own body from the clumsy, rushed way his fingers grazed your sensitive cluster of nerves. But it was never enough. You didn’t feel whole, you didn’t feel satisfied.
You lie there, the cool night air settling into the empty space between your bodies on the mattress. Your relationship had been perfectly normal so far, but entirely devoid of high thrills. He wasn't malicious; he was just the absolute pinnacle of the bare minimum. He remembered to text you back eventually. He brought you takeout, but usually only because he was already hungry and passing the food stall anyway, or had eaten on his way home and brought you the leftovers.
He would sit beside you and nod while you spoke, but his eyes were always glued to whatever scroll or game was in his hands. It was the kind of mundane, low-effort companionship that made you question if you were simply expecting too much from romance. You knew that sex wasn’t everything in a relationship, of course not. But how could you be happy if your needs were not being tended to in all areas when you had always gone above and beyond for him?
You pulled the rumpled sheet up to your chest and sat up, your gaze dropping to your hands resting in your lap. You gathered whatever courage you had left to finally bridge the gap.
"Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something. I actually went to a medical-nin the other day." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, his brow furrowing. "Are you sick?"
"No, no, I'm healthy," you reassured quickly, chewing on the inside of your cheek. "It’s just... I haven't been able to... finish. From penetration. And I thought maybe something was physically wrong with me, but the medic said everything is completely fine. So, I was thinking... maybe we could try something different? Switch things up a bit?"
The air in the room instantly soured. The easygoing, post-coital haze vanished from his face, entirely replaced by a defensive line. "Try something different?" he echoed in a completely flat tone. "Are you saying there's something wrong with how I do it?" "What? No, that's not what I said at all," you backpedaled, you could feel your chest tightening. You wanted to avoid confrontation; this was never your end goal here.
"I'm just saying my body needs something else to get there." He let out a humorless scoff, throwing the sheets off his legs and standing up. He reached for his clothes scattered across the floor. "Right. So I'm the problem. I've never had a girl complain before, so if it's not working for you, I don't know what to tell you."
"Are you seriously getting mad right now?" you asked, stunned, watching him strap his weapons pouch to his thigh. You were fortunate enough to be able to get him to spare some time for you after he came back from his latest mission, which, now, looking at him dressing up, you wondered how he even made it out of the academy with passing grades.
Konoha must be REALLY in need of shinobi!
"I'm not mad. You’re being overly emotional with this shit! I'm just not going to sit here and be told I'm bad in bed just because your body can't figure it out," he muttered, grabbing his green vest. He didn't even look at you as he walked toward the door. "If sex is going to be this complicated, maybe we shouldn't force it. Let's just call it quits. See ya."
See ya?
See. Ya.
What the hell just happened?
Did he…?
Did he just….?
The click of the door closing echoed in the agonizingly suffocating room. It wasn't the breakup that hurt; it was the sheer audacity.
Five months of dating had ended in a five-minute conversation simply because you dared to ask for more. You were left sitting alone in the dark, half-broken and half-stunned, a sickening realization settling in your gut.
He had never added anything to your life. He had only ever been using you for your body so far.
The sounds of Konoha usually offered a comforting white noise, but today they just felt like an annoying reminder that the world was moving on while you were stuck in a humiliating standstill—like your body didn’t even belong to your own desires anymore.
It had been three days since your ex walked out.
Three days.
Three stupid days.
Three days of replaying that pathetic, five-minute conversation until your pride was completely raw, like you needed to kneel on the dirt to scrape it back.
You hadn't realized your feet had carried you toward the quieter shaded outskirts of the Uchiha compound until the scent of brewing tea grounded your wandering mind. Surely enough, Mikoto was brewing one of your favorites, and it brought a feeling of comfort to you. You’ve always felt cozy when stepping into the Uchiha side of the village.
"You are walking with the posture of someone carrying a very heavy burden." You winced, snapping your head up to look at the owner of that voice. Itachi stood near the edge of his family's engawa. He wasn't wearing his standard flak jacket, just a simple blue yukata that made him look incredibly domestic, probably on one of his almost non-existent days off. His dark eyes analyzed the exhausted shadows under your eyes and the unyielding tension completely locking up your shoulders.
“Oh, hi, Itachi. Just... lost in thought, I guess.” You tried to force a polite smile. It completely failed. “Is your mom at home? I really need to talk to her, if she’s available.”
"I’m afraid not. She left just a few minutes ago and should return before nightfall.” “I see… well, alright then.” And you simply stood there, thinking about your next steps.
Who could be the other person to help you navigate this terrible moment of insecurity and uncertainty that surrounded you completely? You needed a new lifeline.
Itachi didn't push. He simply scooted to the side, gesturing toward the polished wooden deck. “But her tea is freshly brewed. Come. Sit with me."
You shouldn't have.
You knew you shouldn’t, because your mind was simply not there at all. But at this point, you might as well just burn your bridges to your childhood friend.
All of them.
You were a chaotic mess. But the quiet safety radiating from him was a gravity you couldn't resist. You slipped off your sandals and sank onto the wood by his side, letting the tranquil rustle of the wind through the willow trees soothe your edgy nerves.
He poured the tea with meticulous care. The ceramic clinked softly against the saucer. He didn't demand answers, allowing the ambient sounds of the koi pond in front of you to do the heavy lifting. He gave your mind the exact space it needed to unravel. And unravel it did.
You hadn't planned on telling him. Why would you? Your friendship with Itachi was a completely normal one, and you had never shared any deep secrets like this. But staring into the swirling green liquid in your cup, the humiliating truth started to spill right out of your lungs.
You told him about your clinic visit, the vulnerability of asking for a change, and the immediate shattering of an ego and the pathetic, indifferent dismissal that followed. Itachi listened attentively. He didn't interrupt or offer empty platitudes. And he didn’t seem surprised at all. Or at least that’s what you thought, because you couldn’t really read his expressions. Ever. At all.
"Sometimes these things happen," he murmured finally. His gaze remained fixed on the water of the koi pond, his profile perfectly sculpted and entirely unreadable. "Everyone's body is different, and everyone's body reacts differently."
You expected him to leave it at that, not say anything else or offer any sort of comfort. Itachi’s personality was far from that, and you knew it. You knew better than to sulk in front of him. The last time you did, you were kids, and he literally poked - gently - your forehead before smiling and leaving.
He shifted his weight, preparing to stand, but his eyes suddenly cut back to yours as you turned to face him. The intensity in his stare practically pinned you to the floorboards, leaving you unable to move, to follow his movements, to stand up and leave.
"Or maybe," the words slipped out with seriousness. "He simply did not know how to take care of you properly. How to satisfy your body's needs."
He simply did not know how to take care of you properly.
You stared at him, completely in awe, with a glow of heat rushing straight to your cheeks. But Itachi merely adjusted the collar of his yukata, his expression smoothing back into its stoic mask, as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb on your lap.
"I promised to train with Sasuke," he excused himself, brushing past you with the fluid elegance of a ghost only he carried with such grace. “You’re welcome to stay and take all the time you need here. Drink the tea before it gets cold." And just like that, he vanished into the trees, leaving you entirely alone with a realization that set your blood absolutely on fire.
What you didn't see was how he stopped the absolute second he was out of your sight. You didn't hear the exhale that escaped his lungs, or see the way he closed his eyes, fighting to maintain his self-control. He had just intentionally crossed a line he had spent a lifetime protecting, practically begging you to look at him as a man with desires instead of just a safe, untouchable friend.
He had planted the seed. Now, all he could do was wait to see if it would grow.
His words had haunted you ever since you left his family’s house. They echoed in the quiet of your room for who knows how many agonizing days, rewriting everything you thought you knew about your own body, until the sheer weight of your intrusive thoughts finally drove you out of the house.
You had known Itachi Uchiha for almost your entire life. Growing up in the same village, with parents who had known each other for what seemed like ages, your friendship had always been a steady constant. Not awkward nor strained. You had shared countless conversations, sitting in the clearings or walking the market streets when your paths crossed. Itachi was the perfect example of a low-maintenance friendship, and you were completely fine with that.
You knew his habits.
You knew his quiet quirks.
And now you even stood outside the bakery around the corner from his clan’s compound for ten solid minutes, totally paralyzed. You debated whether to buy a skewer of tricolor dango or a sweet red bean bun before coming to see him, hoping his favorite sugar rush might somehow soften the inappropriate conversation burning in your throat.
But you walked away empty-handed because no amount of dango could change the fundamental truth about him, about how he was notoriously vague, how he was a closed-off, untouchable golden child who kept his private life locked behind an impenetrable fortress, which was exactly why you were currently making a complete fool of yourself.
What am I even THINKING?
You were on your fifth frantic lap around the perimeter of his estate, entirely unable to force your feet to step onto the actual property. You were beating around the bush, completely terrified of ruining a lifelong friendship, regardless of how close you two were. Your treacherous mind simply wouldn't let go of his voice, of his damn words.
Well, it’s not like I don’t have other friends, right? If he ditches our friendship, I’ll be just fine. Yes, I WILL be fine!
What if Mikoto finds out? She might think I’m one of those women and ban me from ever seeing them again.
Shit, shit, SHIT!
You were so lost in your own panic that you didn't even hear his footsteps approach. The only warning you received was the weight of his long fingers wrapping around your wrist. You froze as his thumb rested perfectly over your racing pulse point, feeling the frenzied rhythm of your heart.
"How many more times do you plan on walking the radious of my home?" Itachi's voice was a soothing buzz that vibrated straight down your spine.
Had his voice always sounded so good before?
When did admiration turn into desire?
Control yourself, seriously!
He didn't sound angry or impatient, or even slightly annoyed. He was just observant, his gaze, always intense, pinning you exactly where you stood. "Are you looking for something? My mom should be home toda—"
"No, I'm not...not looking for your mother," you blurted out, the words tumbling past your lips before your common sense could stop them. "Actually...I-I was wondering if we could talk? Over some tea?" He didn't hesitate, though he seemed surprised, offering a formal nod as he guided you inside the house.
The low table felt like an executioner's block as a bead of sweat threatened to drop from your temple. You sat rigidly on the cushion, watching him serve the tea with the same fluid elegance he applied to everything. Or, at least, you hoped that it was to everything.
"I was thinking about what you said the other day," you started, your voice sounding entirely too small for the stifling silence of the room. "About...body needs." He took a slow sip of his tea, nodding once. “May I ask you a personal question, Itachi?”
He nodded again, his eyebrow curving just a bit. You forced the words out in a single breath, asking him if he had ever made a woman feel good under him. The ceramic rim stalled a millimeter from his lips.
Why is the clock on the wall sounding so loud all of a sudden?
"I'm so sorry, Itachi, I shouldn't have—"
"I suppose I cannot discuss any private matters I have had with past lovers," he interrupted softly, resting his teacup back onto the table. His dark eyes held your panicked stare, but not enough to fully ground you in the moment. "But I have never received a complaint. Let us put it like that."
"I see," you whispered, feeling the heat in your cheeks burning absolutely out of control. The silence stretched thickly between you again. But Itachi was not dumb, and you’d be even dumber to think he could not see deep into your soul, with or without his Sharingan.
"I believe it is time for you to truly say what you have been wanting to say since you were pacing nervously outside.” You were the one who nearly choked on your tea this time. You set the cup down with an ungraceful clatter, staring at the wooden table as if it were the most interesting thing in the room to avoid his gaze.
"Itachi... how long have we known each other?"
"Almost our whole lives, I would say."
You swallowed the thick lump that formed in your throat for the second time, your pride completely abandoning you as you asked him the ultimate question. “Do you think you, maybe you…Perhaps we can…But only if—” You closed your eyes and took it as your turn to drop the bomb right back at him. “Do you think you could help me practice more and discover my body’s needs? Just once. To try different positions so I can finally find a release.”
Itachi went entirely, utterly, completely still. The only betrayal of his composure was the microscopic tremor of his pinky finger resting against his cup.
Had you just managed to break down his composure with your words?
His silence became a physical weight, the anxiety violently clawing at your throat. "I'm sorry," you gasped, scrambling to your feet and almost falling down when standing up. You grabbed whatever was left of your dignity while bowing your head in absolute shame. "This is terribly inappropriate. Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll get going now.”
You didn't give him a single second to respond before you practically ran from the room. You fled back into the safety of your house, knowing well enough that this conversation would randomly keep you awake at 3 AM forever.
But you weren't the only one about to lose your sleep.
Back in the quiet of his house, Itachi remained entirely frozen where you had left him. He stared at the empty cushion you left behind, his Sharingan bleeding into his eyes in the room purely on instinct as his blood roared violently in his ears. You had just handed him the exact weapon he needed to claim you after so many years, and the restraint it took not to follow you home right then and there nearly ate him alive.
You avoided him like the plague for an entire week. And you planned to keep it that way for as long as necessary.
Your daily routine became a masterclass in evasion. At this point, you could easily become a covert shinobi, and you had never even set foot inside the academy.
You walked strictly to and from work, kept your head down, avoiding the usual streets that would make you and Itachi cross paths on the street. You avoided the clearings you knew he favored, and even had to deny Mikoto’s invitation to dinner when she saw you at your workplace. You practically sprinted through the market whenever you needed groceries.
Most importantly, you completely abandoned the bakery on that corner. The mere thought of accidentally bumping into him while he bought his favorite sweets was enough to send your heart into a nauseating spiral.
If I never see him again, I will literally never have to explain myself.
It was a flawless, if cowardly, plan.
Right up until it wasn't.
You didn't know that your absence was driving him absolutely feral. You thought you were being slick by dodging him in the market, but Itachi was not stupid. He had known you his entire life. He knew your routines, the corners you favored, the alleys you used to cut through the village, and the exact minute your shift ended, even if you had overtime.
He let you play your little game of hide-and-seek, giving you exactly one week to panic and process the tension snapping between you two. Because at the end of the day, you could avoid his paths all you wanted, but he knew exactly where to find you when the time came.
You had just returned home from an exhausting shift, kicking off your sandals with a heavy sigh of relief. The only good part of your day was the beautiful sunset hue that seemed to embrace you while you walked back to the comfort of your place. The absolute second the door clicked shut behind you, a melodic knock echoed through the wood. You froze, very aware that you were not expecting any visitors or deliveries.
Another knock.
Patient.
Unyielding.
Your hands felt entirely too cold, slick with a sudden sweat, as if your body intrinsically knew exactly who was behind that door.
Maybe, just maybe, if I stay perfectly still, the person will go away, right?
Wrong.
Another knock.
Gathering what little courage you still had, somehow, you pulled the door open, completely (un)prepared for the sight waiting on your porch. Itachi stood cloaked in the evening shadows as the sunset gave away the space to the dark night sky. In his right hand, he held a small, dark silk pouch, his long fingers wrapped loosely around the drawstrings. "Hello."Your lungs instantly forgot how to function.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not him!
"I-Itachi, h-hi," you stammered, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the doorframe for dear life. "Uhm, can I help you?"
"You ran quite fast last week," he stated, stepping over your threshold without really waiting for an invitation, effectively trapping you in the entryway. "You did not give me the chance to deepen our conversation. I felt like I had no say in it." You swallowed hard as his intoxicating scent completely invaded your personal space, your home.
"I thought about your offer for the entire week," he continued with his voice dropping into a hypnotic cadence. "I am deeply honored that you trust me with such a delicate vulnerability. Though I kept thinking if our bond would deepen after such an offer, or break entirely.”
He stopped mere inches from you, using the back of his heel to slowly push the door shut behind him. "But I need you to know," he added, completely serious. "Regardless of the outcome today, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you." You stared at the small silk pouch dangling from his fingers, your mind entirely blanking out.
Outcome of today? What is… Wait, what?
"Wait... what do you mean, the outcome of today?"
"You came to me asking for help," his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "What kind of friend would I be to deny you your personal struggles? To abandon you in a predicament like this."
Your brain completely short-circuited. You stood frozen in your own entryway, acutely aware of the massive heat radiating from his large frame. "Right," you squeaked, your voice jumping a pathetic octave. "So... where do we... uhm, what do we..."
Itachi watched your agitated stammering with an unreadable expression, though amusement seemed to swim in his eyes. "For starters, we can relocate to your bedroom," his tone as smooth as glass with no signs of nervousness whatsoever. "If you are comfortable. If you still want this."
"Right. No, I want this," you babbled. "My room. Okay! Right."
He tilted his head just a bit, his gaze lazily drifting over your shoulder toward the small living room. "Unless you would prefer I take you right there on your couch." Your breath completely stopped.
"What?"
"What?" Itachi echoed. You opened your mouth to argue, but no sound came out. You spun on your heel instead, marching down the short hallway and past your living room toward your bedroom, purely to escape the weight of his stare. He followed silently behind you, his quiet footsteps a terrifying reminder of exactly what you had just invited into your house.
Danger.
The second you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, the reality of the situation crashed directly into your spine. This was your sanctuary, and Itachi Uchiha was standing right in the middle of it. You stood entirely too rigid at the edge of the mattress. Your hands were trembling so badly that you had to clasp them together on top of your thighs.
He didn't miss the movement. He didn't miss anything. "You are nervous,” he observed, setting the silky pouch onto your nightstand.
"Well," a borderline hysterical little laugh escaped your mouth. "I've never exactly had an appointment to have sex before." A low puff of genuine amusement escaped his chest. He crossed the small distance between you, his hands coming up to gently cup the sides of your flushed face. But as his dark eyes searched yours, the carefully constructed mask of 'the stoic best friend' finally slipped.
For a fraction of a second, you saw a raw devotion burning in his gaze, like a silent admission of exactly how hard it had been for him to stand by and watch you doubt yourself because of somebody else.
"I would call it a walk-in, if you will,” he purred, stepping closer to you. His thumbs brushed soothing circles against your cheekbones, melting the tension straight out of your muscles. “But it is just practice."
You hadn’t realized what Itachi was doing until now, but the moment his touch found your face, you knew his game was on. He was building the pace, slowly setting the tone and the vibe in ways that your body was not used to. Tonight, Itachi would give you what no one else could, and you really weren’t ready for it.
The bedroom felt too small with Itachi standing in it. Your hands were still clasped tightly on your thighs, your knuckles white, your eyes squeezed shut as if darkness could somehow rewind time and take back the foolish offer you had made.
"You are doing it again."
"Doing what?"
“You’re nervous, overthinking. Trying to force your body to feel something through willpower only.” His thumbs brushed your cheekbones again, slower this time. "Let go. You don't need to try so hard."
A shaky exhale left your lungs. It was exactly what you had always demanded from yourself ever since you had started dating your ex 5 months ago —just relax, just try harder, what's wrong with you?
But Itachi was offering some kind of peace of mind to you like a gift.
"I can't just turn it off, Itachi," you whispered. “After the breakup, that conversation made me feel like I was...broken."
"You are not broken," his tone left absolutely no room for argument. "You have simply never been taken care of properly. We’ve already covered this part, didn't we?”
His hands slid from your face, his long fingers finding the hem of your shirt. "May I?" You nodded, and Itachi leaned in. His mouth covered yours. It wasn't rushed or demanding like you had previously experienced; it was more of a ruinous yet soft claiming that completely silenced the racing of your mind.
You let out a tiny gasp, and he swallowed the sound, his tongue sliding effortlessly past your lips to taste you for the very first time that night.
The kiss was a physical tether, melting the rigid tension straight out of your muscles as he guided your back down against the sheets. You went willingly, melting into the bed as the heavy dip of his weight followed you down. He didn't break the kiss as his hands gripped the hem of your shirt, only removing his mouth from yours when pulling the fabric up and over your head before tossing it to the floor.
His bare palms settled warmly against your waist. The contrast of his touch sent a delicious shiver straight down your spine as he positioned himself completely into the V of your thighs. That immediately made your cunt pulse.
He caged you in with his arms, hovering just inches above your chest like a heavy blanket of night-blooming florals and adamant focus. Your upper body was completely exposed, only the delicate fabric of your bra holding your breasts as they practically begged to be set free, to finally feel his touch.
Itachi slowly pulled back from the kiss, his lips slick and his breathing slightly heavier. "Look at me," he rasped, his hot breath grazing your collarbone. The deep sound of his voice now becoming a sweet melody in your ears.
You forced your eyes up to meet his, drowning in the pure intensity of his gaze as it mapped every inch of your exposed skin. He wasn't looking at you like an object, or an obligation, or a chore to be rushed through, but like you were a prayer he had no right to whisper, but every intention of answering.
His gaze dragged over the swell of your breasts barely contained by the thin fabric, the rapid flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat betraying your panic. You felt entirely too seen, stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with the clothes you were shedding.
Was this really a good idea?
His palms traced a worshipping path up your ribcage, his calloused thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the lace. A cracked sound escaped your throat before you could trap it. Your eyes squeezed shut on instinct—that desperate need to force your body to warm up and feel something, like you had to do all the work, to concentrate, to wring out the pleasure you had been told you were incapable of feeling.
“My eyes are right here, sweetheart,” Itachi whispered close to your mouth. “I am the one holding you tonight. And I intend to treat you exactly how you were always meant to be treated.” You opened your eyes, promising yourself you’d not close them anymore unless you were feeling too much pleasure; that was the only exception.
His right hand moved to the clasp of your bra, the fabric gave way, and he slid the straps down your shoulders, tossing the lace aside to join your shirt on the floor. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, but Itachi was right there to warm it, his palms settling heavily over your breasts. He didn't maul or grab; he weighed them in his hands, his thumbs teasing lazily over your tight and hardened peaks, coaxing a ragged moan from your throat.
“Does it feel good?” He asked, and you nodded. “What about now?” His mouth dropped to one of your breasts and closed on it.
The shock of his wet heat against the sensitive peak was a lightning strike that arched your back off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from your lips before you could stifle it. He didn't rush; his tongue swirled in slow circles that seemed to pull the tension right from your marrow and replace it with a liquid heat that pooled heavy and demanding between your thighs.
Your fingers found their way into his hair, the dark silken strands sliding against your skin, anchoring you to that moment as he alternated between gentle, teasing flicks and the firm, suctioning pressure that made your toes curl. It was unlike anything you had ever felt— not the mechanical fumbling you were used to.
It was focused.
"So responsive," he cooed against your skin, the vibration of his words humming straight into your blood. "I have barely touched you, and I have a feeling that you are already soaking wet." His mouth strayed to your other breast, sucking and slowly nibbling your nipple.
Your hips rocking up and down, trying to glue onto his. The embarrassment should have burned you, but his voice was dripping with such genuine reverence that it only fanned the flames.
His mouth began a descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your ribs, over the soft plane of your stomach, dipping teasingly into your navel. Every inch of skin he claimed felt worshipped, marked by a concentration that terrified you as much as it thrilled you.
When his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, you instinctively tensed, whispering that this was the moment the disappointment would set in.
“You have nothing to prove here," he cooed again, sensing the spike in your heartbeat. He slid the fabric down your legs, taking your underwear with it in one fluid motion, leaving you bared to him completely. The heat of his gaze searing into your exposed cunt was absolute fire.
He settled himself between your thighs, his shoulders pushing your legs wider, wider, until you were completely splayed open for him, settling his broad shoulders between your thighs. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up, his hot breath fanning over your dampening folds.
"Itachi—" you gasped, your hands flying back to his dark hair."It's okay," he whispered against your skin. "I got you," his eyes locking onto yours from his vantage point, looking like a dark angel ready to devour you whole. He lowered his head, and the first slow drag of his flat tongue against your folds obliterated every coherent thought in your mind.
You wrapped your legs around his heavy head and let his tongue swim toward salvation.
Your fingers tangling desperately in his hair as he began to work you with a patience that promised to ruin you. He consumed every part of his act. His tongue painted long stripes through your folds, gathering your slick before circling your clit with so much care that it made your vision blur. The movements of his muscle made you roll your eyes every time its warmth pooled over your cunt again.
His mouth blew a breeze of cool air on your clit, and that alone made you squeeze his head between your thighs.
"Oh, fuck. Itachi, do that again, please..." You cried out between a moan, you could feel his smile as he blew again, before sucking on your clit ferociously. But it was the slow intrusion of his finger that shattered you. He pressed it deep, crooking upward in a beckoning motion that hit a spot inside you that felt foreign—too sensitive, too raw.
You gasped, your hips jerking away instinctively, but his free arm spread out heavily across your pelvis, locking you in place against the mattress.
"No, stay with me," Itachi commanded, his voice muffled against your cunt and stripped of the gentleness he had when he first took you in his arms. He added a second finger, the stretch making your breath hitch, and began a relentless scissoring motion that opened you up, thrusting in tandem with the rhythm of his mouth.
You had never experienced anything so delicious like this, even after the countless sex nights you had with your ex. You didn't need to focus now on trying to feel the pleasure because it was consuming every inch of you.
The pressure built rapidly with a tightening coil in your lower belly that felt close to pain but infinitely better. This specific sensation, a deep, throbbing need to release something that felt dangerous, like holding back a tidal wave with a crumbling dam, was new.
"A-ah—'tachi," the nickname slipping out unbidden as your fingers tightened desperately in his hair, trying to pull him away. The sound of his name—his name, falling from your lips—sent a jolt straight to his core. He had spent years listening to you talk about so many things, your life, your work, your relationships, but the absolute high of hearing you sob for him made his jaw clench with a possessive need.
His free hand held your wrist, removing it from his hair. Only his eyes were visible, the rest of him hiding under your wet folds. "Unless you want me to fully stop, I suggest you don't try to take me away from this sweet cunt."
You whispered a "right," almost embarrassed, and he went back to work, sucking your clit into his mouth just as his fingers curled ruthlessly against that spongy patch inside you. His movements picking up a faster pace, like he knew you were only a few seconds away from coming undone for the first time in the night.
A quivering heat swelled in your belly, your muscles contracting tighter with every wet suck of his mouth, with every thrust of his fingers. You felt yourself clenching desperately around him, the wet sounds filling the quiet room.
"Itachi, wait, I feel like I'm going to—something is—"His tongue struck your sensitive clit, and the coil snapped. Your back bowed off the bed, a moan tearing from your throat as a gush of liquid heat surged from you, soaking his hand and chin. It was violent, overwhelming, a crashing wave that wiped out every memory of shame and replaced it with pure ecstasy. You pulsed around his fingers, your cunt fluttering wildly as the pleasure tore through you in spasms that left you boneless.
Itachi didn't pull away; he worked you through it, prolonging the aftershocks with gentle laps of his tongue, swallowing your every drop until you were a trembling gasping mess beneath him. When he finally lifted his head, his face was glistening with your essence, his eyes burning with a possessive pride that made your heart stutter. For the past few days, you thought you’d never meet a soul who could speak your body’s language, until there was Itachi.
Itachi, fluent in you.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your mind. The wetness beneath you was undeniable, the evidence of your pleasure painting his skin. "I... I didn't know I could..." You swallowed with a wrecked and barely audible voice. "Can you... do that again?" you asked breathless, entirely stunned by your own body. A small laugh escaped his chest—the most beautiful and unguarded sound you had ever heard from him. "I can do it as many times as you need."
He immediately obliged, his mouth descending onto you again. He coaxed a second, softer climax from you with just his tongue, his hands holding your hips down so you couldn't squirm away from the overwhelming sensation. When he finally pulled away and stood, you pushed yourself up on trembling arms.
"My turn," you said reaching for him as you sat on the bed, knees so wide open your cunt almost touched the sheets. He let you unbuckle his pants, set his cock free as he removes his black shirt, let you wrap your fingers around his thick, heavy length. But as you moved to take him into your mouth, his hand caught your chin.
"You do not have to perform for me."
"I want to make you feel good too," you argued. He smiled and took your hand, the same one that was touching him, on his. "Come," He moved to sit on the bed with his back touching the headboard. With a simple gesture, he called you over. "Let me touch yourself while you do it. I want to know you are feeling good, too." He guided you onto your side so that when your head would go down to suck him, your ass would go up.
You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, taking him deep into the wet heat of your mouth, and his hand slipped between your thighs. He cupped your soaked mound, his middle finger gliding lazily through your slick folds, alternating between gently circling your oversensitive clit and pushing a finger inside you.
squelch.
squelch.
squelch.
A muffled moan vibrated around his shaft. You stroked what you couldn't take of him with your hand, falling into a synchronized rhythm. The dual sensation of pleasing him while he played with your throbbing flesh left you completely electrified.
"Good," Itachi praised, his voice strained for the first time. His hips snapping forward to chase the slick heat of your mouth, a desperate curse falling from his lips. His hips twitched, pushing himself a bit deeper into your mouth. "Just like that, baby— fuck, you feel so good." You whimpered around him, sucking harder, your own hips grinding against his palm.
The wet sounds of your mouth on him and his fingers on you were not the only sounds echoed through the room. As you sucked Itachi's balls, he moaned your name loudly. It was messy, sensual, and unhinged, and yet, you felt safer in this vulnerable position than you ever had before. You were growing wetter every second next to him.
Itachi pulled away before he could finish, lifting your head so he could see you, your mouth full of his juices. You looked so hot right now that if the goal wasn't to help you out, he could easily claim you as his right there, making your cunt sore. He was breathing heavily, his posture cracked, his chest heaving while he craved more of your touch, but knew he needed to save all of this energy for what was about to happen.
He reached for the dark silk pouch on the nightstand, the one you were curious about when you saw him holding it, but forgot about. He opened it, pulling out a small gray foil packet.
A condom.
Of course, he came prepared.
He tore it open with his fingers and rolled the latex down his thick length with practiced ease. It made you think how many times he had done it before. "Let me make you feel good now," you crawled over to him, as he guided you to straddle his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. The broad pink head of his cock nudged your entrance, and you froze, your eyes wandering down to his chest. What if it didn't work? What if you still couldn't—
"Keep your eyes on mine." His hands settled on your hips, stilling your trembling. "I'm here for you, for your needs.” His hand brushed your jaw, his fingers grabbing your chin to make you focus on him. Your eyes found his gaze waiting for you, your arms around his shoulders, and your face came closer to his. He analyzed every single feature. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. Everything.
Taking a deep breath, you slowly sank down. The stretch was a fulfilling pressure as he glided into you inch by inch. You stopped when he was fully seated inside you, adjusting to the fullness. Slowly, you began to roll your hips, twerking on his cock. Itachi leaned forward, his mouth finding your collarbone as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed the swollen nub in tight circles, matching the grinding cadence of your hips.
"That's it. Such a good girl. See how well you are taking me?" The friction was different. Deeper. The angle pushed his length directly against that pleasant spot inside you, while his thumb sent electric shocks rocketing through your nervous system.
You rolled your hips faster, chasing the sensation. “I-Itachi—" you moaned, feeling every nerve on your body, every sensation, every inch being consumed by him. Itachi leaned his head back against the headboard, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged, looking at you like you were both his salvation and his downfall.
You kept going, your second orgasm collapsing over you as his fingers played with your nerve bundle. But still, he knew this was not the one you were craving, not the feeling you were chasing after.
“C’mere,” he rasped, his hands tightening on your hips. He shifted, turning your bodies so now you were the one under him. His hands shoved your thighs up until they touched your belly, your kneecaps close to your nipples. He sank right back, leaning forward as his hands supported his body. This angle was even deeper.
"Slower this time,” he growled, his voice thick with pulsing need. "Feel where I am inside you. Feel how your body responds."
"You feel s'good inside of me right now."
"Good, I want to feel your cunt clenching around my cock until you can't take it anymore," he breathed, reaching one of his hands to cup one of your breasts. Itachi's dirty talk game was different, full of praise for you and you only. You could literally cum just by being overwhelmed by his words.
Instead, you gasped, pleading for more, and he let out a hissed curse through his teeth.He began to thrust into you.
Deep. Unrelenting.
"Ah—'tachi please, keep going," you mewled, your hips writhing to capture every inch of him. Because of the angle, his cock dragged continuously against your G-spot with every stroke. The pressure was building again, that same wave from before, but this time it was intensified by the feeling of him moving inside you.
"Itachi—" you whimpered, your nails digging into the forearm close to your waist. “too much— Oh, ’ts too deep.” Hearing you beg for him, moan his name, completely wrecked him. You weren't thinking about your ex, or your insecurities, or your brokenness. You were only thinking about him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips thrusting with an incessant force, hopelessly addicted to the sweet sound of his name on your tongue.
"You can take it," he smiled, looking down right at you. "Let me make you whole, baby." He didn't stop, didn't slow down, his hips snapping up into yours with a wet, slapping sound that echoed obscenely in the room.
Sluck.
Sluck.
Sluck.
You were almost quivering around his cock buried deep into your spongy walls when he burst you out of your pleasure bubble. “On your stomach for me,” he said, stopping the thrusts and helping you sit down. You scrambled to comply, positioning yourself on the mattress. He moved behind you, his large hands smoothing over the curve of your spine, down to your hips. He grabbed your ass, pulling it up, while one hand sat on your back, gently forcing it to lower down, your face against the bed.
He pressed into you again, slowly this time, sinking to the hilt until his hips were aligned against your ass. He was so deep, so fucking impossibly deep, that the pressure against your front wall felt perfect. He started slowly but hard. Each thrust was a plunging punch of pleasure that rattled your bones. The intensity was too much, unlike anything you had ever felt during penetration.
The pleasure was building from the inside out, fusing with the throbbing ache in your clit, creating a feedback loop of sensation that threatened to shatter your mind. To make you fall apart in a matter of seconds.
"Faster," you begged, dropping your chest lower to the mattress, your fingers clawing at the sheets. "Please, Itachi, deeper, faster. I need to feel your cock pounding on me—"
A low snarl vibrated through his chest. He was helping you, but still, there was just so much he could do to hold himself back during a moment like this, while he's making you take every inch of his cock inside your sweet cunt.
He obliged instantly, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he picked up the pace. He slammed into you with primal urgency, his hips meeting your ass with a wet slap.
Plap.
Plap.
Plap.
"Look at you," he panted, his voice rough, his hands taking a fistful of your hair and pulling it back. "Taking me so beautifully. Feeling so good. Do not fight it."
"Nnnngh...Itachi, I can feel every inch of your cock."
"Am I making you feel good, baby?"
"So good, 'tachi. I feel like I'm ready to—" you couldn't even form a proper cohesive sentence at this rate. The storm inside you was winding tighter than ever before, a physical pressure that bordered on pain but felt like transcendence. Itachi's cock was buried in your cunt, hitting your g-spot, making you feel like this topped any other form of pleasure known to a man.
Every thrust knocked the breath out of your lungs, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each stroke, sending jolts of pure pleasure up your spine.
"Yeah, sweet girl?" You let out a soft moan, agreeing. "I will leave such an imprint on you, deep on your body, that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me in order to understand you, to savor you."
His words were your undoing.
With a final deep thrust that pressed you flat into the mattress, the coil snapped again. You screamed his name, you cursed loudly, your vision blurring white as the most intense climax of your life ripped through you. It started deep inside your womb and radiated outward to the tips of your fingers and toes, forming a beautiful wave of unadulterated pleasure.
As your body kept trembling, calling out his name, Itachi groaned yours like a prayer, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, filling the condom with his release. He pulsed inside you, his whole body shuddering with his own climax.
Itachi did not collapse on top of you like a lazy man would. Even as the final tremors of his release wracked his frame, completely undone, his control held perfectly. He stayed kneeling on the mattress right behind you, his large hands keeping an anchoring grip on your hips to steady you both. He simply held you there, letting you catch your breath against the sheets as you lay completely unraveled and utterly remade.
Only when your coarse breathing finally started to slow did he move. He withdrew from inside of you, the sudden loss of his heat drawing a low whine from your throat, your hips dropping fully to the mattress as you melted into the bed.
You heard and felt him leave the bed, making his way to your bathroom to ditch the condom full of his white, almost transparent seed. When he returned to you, he stretched his large frame out on the mattress right behind you. His strong arm closed in around your waist, cradling you gently backward until your spine was pressed against his chest.
He pulled the heavy duvet over your bare shoulders, tucking you in as his face buried into the crook of your neck. His right hand stroking your hair.
"Are you alright?" he asked eventually, his deep voice a whisper, music to your ears.
"Better than alright," you turned around to face him, your fingers leaving the comfort of the duvet to trace the chaos lines on his face. He closed his eyes, feeling your touch. "I think I'm fixed. Thank you, Itachi."
"You were never broken," he corrected, his mouth pressing a kiss to your palm. "Let me keep proving it to you!"
(omg my first divider <3)
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is anyone else being TORMENTED by these weird sage/taro whatever tf asks 😭😭 this is like the 7th one THIS WEEK. i keep blocking them and they keep making more accounts
a/n: bunny!reader how i’ve missed you just a lil smth smth
it started with a massage and kiri’s hands wandering too far from your back, pinching at your cottontail, cooing and apologizing when you squeal. instead he kneads into the plush of your ass, spreading your cheeks and staring at your folds with each pass. he tugs on your tail again, immediately moving his hands away and kneading into your ass again.
he keeps up the same pattern, tugging at your tail, kneading your ass and spreading your cheeks until when he looks down and sees your slick center.
“here, baby.” his big hands grab your hips and lifts your ass into the air. “yeah, perfect.”
you turn around to look at him but he’s already dipping down and licking through your sticky sweetness. he groans and curls his tongue around your clit, shaking your hips back onto his face, encouraging you to push back onto him.
“kiri..” you whine, fingers digging into the plush blanket under you.
“taste so good.” he mumbles into you, lapping at you like a treat.
he drags his own hips against the bed, leaking in his boxers at the taste of you and every little sound you make. one of his hands leaves your hip and slides up to tug at your tail, chuckling into you when you press back on his mouth. he lifts his hands away up to give you a light spank and your arms collapse on the bed.
“mmf! kiri!” you wiggle your hips.
he eats you out so slow, licking and sucking, taking all the time in the world as you melt. he’s practically making out with your clit, rolling his tongue over and over. he increases his movements ever so slightly and that’s all it takes for you to cum, whining his name when he tugs on your cottontail again.
“kiri!” you reach back and grab his wrist.
“sorry baby, got a little distracted.” he hum.
he lifts up and goes back to massaging you, kneading at your inner thighs, grinning at the way you still shake when he gets close to your pussy. he slips two fingers into you, still massaging you with his other hand while he slowly fucks into you.
“kiriiiii.” you push yourself back onto his fingers.
“c’mon, one for for me bunny.” he slides his other hand under you and lifts your hips back up.
he’s got you held just right where he’s able to thumb at your clit while he lazily fucks his fingers into you, curling so deliciously that you’re cumming again in seconds, hiccuping and gasping.
“why don’t you flip over for me.” he slides his fingers out and slips them into his mouth.
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a/n: not fully proof read, pls excuse any silly mistakes 😭, also haven't written smut in a long time but you can tell i fucking love this man. i hope you all enjoy!!
kinktober masterlist || main masterlist || ao3
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What was that thing people said? 'Don't poke the bear'?
Wanna know what you did? You poked the bear. Multiple times, if we're being honest.
"Y'know, you're not even that big Jay." You hum, teasing smile making its way onto your face whilst trailing a nail up and down his back. He was hunched over his bike, fixing something or the other - you're not sure what and you really couldn't care less. He tensed, only for a moment, but you saw the muscles on his back stiffen underneath his black compression shirt.
"Yeah?" He doesn't look up. He simply sounds amused, you could even hear his smirk. Well we can't have that now, can we?
"Mhmm, matter of fact it's probably tiny down there too."
"Oh yeah, tiny."
Smug bastard. He wasn't even trying to indulge you. The least he could do was play along. You cross your arms petulantly, brows furrowing in frustration. You glare at his (sexy) back with all the strength you can muster. Meanwhile, he's doing all he can to not burst out into laughter.
You're contemplating stomping out, when he stands up, stretching his arms out in front of him. He tilts his head down to look at you, stupid fucking smirk still so present on his face. He takes a step towards you; you try not to gulp when you notice the dark glint in his green eyes.
"If I'm so tiny, then…" Another step forwards. "…you should have no problem taking it all, right?"
Your eyes widen, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you take a step back. You school your expression into one of dismissal, waving him off with a hand. "Oh, I can take it. Can it even satisfy me though? Surely something so small can't feel that good." You shrug, looking the epitome of innocence as you blink up at him with faux sympathy.
You don't know when he took another step, but now you're pressed against the wall of his garage, his beefy arms on either side of your head, caging you in. You have to fully crane your neck upwards to look at him, and it's then that it hits you just how much this man towers over you. Your eyes rake over him, really taking him in this time. He wasn't just tall. No, he was big. In every sense of the word. Muscles that flexed with every move, strong, solid but with that subtle softness underneath that made you wish he would both hold you close and crush you.
"Yeah? Pretty little thing like you thinks she can handle me?" His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, thumb rubbing gently against your pulse point with a voice so soft it's almost mocking. You swallow back your response when his hand trails up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Up, up, and up.
Until he reaches your collarbone. Calloused fingertips ghost over the skin, causing your breath to hitch, your eyes following his every move. And then, ever so slowly, his hand wraps fully around your throat. Not choking, not squeezing (yet) just… holding. The pad of his thumb presses onto the bottom of your chin, forcing you to look at him with a shuddering breath and wide eyes.
A flash of amusement passes through him at your bewilderment, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek as he lets out a scoff. "What's wrong? Don't tell me this is too much for you already?" He bends down, leaning in close enough so that his breath ghosted over your ear as he whispered, "I haven't even started yet."
You manage to force a weak glare in his direction, hands clenching into fists by your sides to stop yourself from grabbing onto whatever part of him you could. And just because you can, you throw in a smartass retort in there for good measure. "Too much for me? Please, we both know you're just stalling cos you're ashamed to take that small dick of yours out."
Jason lets out a breathy laugh, low and dark in your ear, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. "Cute. Sounds like you think about what my dick looks like a lot, huh sweetheart?" How is he still so unfazed from your taunts? You were hoping for a reaction, an angry one preferrably, but he was refusing to give you anything, much less whatever your dirty mind had conjured up before you began your bratty act.
His other hand drags down your chest, cold palm flat against the plush skin of your stomach - and then slowly caressing back up until his fingers reach the edge of your bra, all while his gaze is locked onto your face, relishing in every little shudder that leaves you. He cups you, swiping a teasing thumb over the hardened nipple poking through the stupidly thin fabric of your bra, smirk widening when you arch ever so slightly into his touch.
The smirk doesn't leave his face as his hand abandons your tit, sliding down, squeezing your waist on the way before his fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings. He cups your pussy through your panties, letting out a sharp exhale when he rubs along the already wet fabric sticking to your folds.
His grip on your throat doesn't falter, keeping you pinned against the wall, thumb still pressed under your chin so you can't look away even if you wanted to. "What happened to that smart little mouth? You're awfully quiet for someone who's soaked through her panties." He drawls, voice laced with just enough amusement to make you want to both kiss him and slap him.
Your reply dies in your throat, replaced by a gasp when you feel his big fingers push your panties to the side, gently rubbing along your slick pussy. By the time he leans in, lips crashing into yours, you're already trembling. He kisses you like a man starved. Deep, rough, swallowing back every little gasp trying to escape you as he continues toying lazily with your folds, gathering the arousal practically gushing out of you to smear it against your clit in slow circles - as if you weren't already struggling to keep up with his tongue furiously swirling against yours.
He nips teasingly at your bottom lip, before taking your tongue in his mouth and sucking. The action so obscene and unexpected it has you bucking up into his hand, entire body flushing with need.
He groans lowly, almost desperately, pulling back just enough to mutter into your mouth, "You're fucking dripping. Haven't even touched you properly yet." He swipes his fingers through your folds even slower this time, as if to prove his point.
The quiet whimper you let out is muffled into his chest as your head falls forward, hands clutching needily at the front of his shirt, thighs already starting to tremble slightly. The hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly as he lets out another groan - feral and impatient, "Fuck, get this shit off." His hands tears away from your throat and your pussy long enough for him to grab fistfuls of your leggings, ripping apart the thin fabric like it's fucking paper. Not even a second later, your panties suffer the same unfortunate fate, dangling in his fist before he tosses them behind him.
"What the fuck?" You yelp out, trying to catch your breath as you look up at him with wide eyes. Honestly, the action made you more aroused than pissed but you weren't about to let him know that. "I liked those! What are you, a fucking animal?"
He just shrugs, not even flinching at the tone of your voice, pupils dilating as he fixes his gaze on your now bare, glistening cunt, tongue wetting his lips. "Don't give a fuck, need to see how well she can take my fingers." He looks up briefly to press a fleeting, almost soothing kiss to the corner of your mouth, "Besides, I'll buy you new ones."
His knee slots in between your legs, pushing them further apart as his hand goes back down to spread your lips. "God, how are you so wet?" He groans at the sight, forehead falling to rest against yours as he watches your cunt glisten. You're still trying to comprehend what the fuck just happened, looking back and forth between the scraps of fabric that were once your clothes and the positively hungry look in his eyes; and then his lips are back on yours. Messy. Needy. Desperate. Teeth clicking together, tongues swirling as you feel saliva accumulate at the corner of your mouth, every part of your body seemingly dripping for him. He swallows all the little moans, free hand gripping your jaw to press himself closer to you . He pulls back, lips barely just hovering yours as his thumb smears your spit across your cheek, "Look at you, so wrecked already. You still think you can take all of me, sweetheart?"
Your eyes flick up to his, chest heaving as you try to catch the air he just stole out of your lungs, and stubborn as ever, give him a nod. "I told you I would didn't I?" You huff out, hands trailing up his abs to rest on his pecs.
He chuckles softly, nudging his nose against yours before he whispers, "Then I better not fucking hear you complaining later." He swats lightly at your clit, making you yelp before the same hand reaches back to squeeze your ass, blunt nails digging into the soft flesh, dragging you forward against his bulge. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when you feel just how fucking huge he is. And that's when you realise, you might have fucked up.
He doesn't even give you time to second guess yourself as he drags you over his bulge once more, "Feel that?" He murmurs, dipping his head, "You're gonna be stuffed full soon enough." The hand gripping your jaw moves down to settle on your stomach, stretching his thumb and pinky finger out across as if mapping you out, letting out a low hum, "Up to here I'd say?"
Your brows furrow in confusion until you look down, nearly choking on air when you realise what he's doing. You see him pressing down into a spot that's nearly up to your fucking ribs and you think you might pass out before he even unzips his jeans. Whether it's from fear or excitement, you're yet to decide.
He continues pressing into your stomach as his other hand gathers the mess dripping down your inner thighs and then, without warning, pushes one long, thick finger in.
You let out a strangled cry, eyes widening, hands scrambling to hold onto his arms. Fucking hell, that's only one finger. Thick and stretching your hole out in a way that has your walls clenching around him. His eyes never leave your pussy, watching as his finger goes in and out. In and out. Rubbing you inside just right, curling just enough to have you panting helplessly, nails digging into his skin.
"Struggling already? Oh baby, how're you gonna take my cock if you can't even handle one fucking finger, hm?" He taunts, dragging his finger out and pushing it back in, slow and torturous. His thumb ghosts over your clit, but not touching it just yet, refusing to give you that extra bit of pleasure just yet.
Jason's mouth is back on your skin, biting and sucking at your neck, working his way up to your jaw before licking a stripe along the outer edge of your ear. "I don't know. Maybe it's too much for you." He murmurs into your ear, nipping at your lobe teasingly, his movements halting inside of you. You immediately shake your head, letting out a whine in frustration.
"W-wait, no! Don't stop…" He's got you begging already. Not even for his cock. Oh no, he's got you begging for one finger.
His smirk widens, letting out a hum as his finger begins pumping into you again and you gasp softly in relief. "Feel good? You want another one?"
You manage a shaky nod, letting out a small "Mhmm" amongst soft pants. He tuts disapprovingly, slipping out of you to land a small slap against your clit. You squeal, eyes flying open as you reach out to hold onto his wrist, a weak attempt to stop him from swatting at your sensitive clit again.
He doesn't even flinch, looking down at you sternly. "Words sweetheart. Use them. You think you can take another one?"
You weakly glare up at him, cheeks flushing at how much his commanding was affecting you.
"Yes please." You murmur after a beat, pussy clenching around nothing in anticipation.
Jason almost wants to laugh, biting back a snort at how you're suddenly so obedient. "Good girl. So polite. Is this all it takes to finally make you use your fucking manners?"
You then feel his index fully back in you, his middle finger prodding at your entrance, before slowly pushing into you. "Jas- oh fuck!" The stretch fucking burns, and the thought that it's not even his dick making you fall apart like this is almost humiliating if not for the fact that it felt so good.
"Relax," He mockingly soothes, smirk never leaving his face as he watches your expressions flicker between pain and pleasure. "Gotta get you ready f'me. Can't have you breaking in half when I finally sink my dick into this sweet cunt now, can we?"
He takes his fingers almost all the way out, leaving only the very tip inside before thrusting all the way in. Deeper. Faster. The loud schlick, schlick of your pussy filling the room, every curl of his fingers making you clamp down, wetness dripping down both his wrist and your inner thighs. You're almost thankful he ripped your bottoms off you, because they would've been ruined one way or another.
Your hips buck forwards greedily, needing more. His hand on your stomach is quick to push you back into the wall, pinning you in place with a low growl. "Fuck no. You don't get to use me like a toy. You said you could take it. So fucking take what I give you."
You whine, eyes rolling, head falling back with a thud as you feel his fingers around every inch of your walls. "M-more, nghh— fuck I need more Jason!"
His lips twitch in amusement, drinking in every bit of your pleasure. "My poor baby," he drawls. "You wanna cum that bad? Can't even keep your fucking eyes open."
You can only nod desperately, clutching at the sleeves of his shirt when you feel that coil inside you ready to snap, walls fluttering around the fingers still bullying your poor cunt. He groans at the sensation, his free hand sliding up your shirt, under your bra to tweak your nipple at the same moment his thumb presses into your clit, eliciting a sharp cry from you. "Go on then, cum on my fingers." He murmurs, now pulling at your nipple whilst continuing to rub the inside of your pussy and your clit raw.
A strangled moan escapes your lips, whiny and guttural all at once. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers as wave after hot wave crashes over your body, leaving your thighs shaking in a way that has you struggling to hold yourself. He's quick to notice, freeing your nipple from his grasp as he wraps a strong arm around your waist, holding your trembling body against him.
But he doesn't stop.
His thumb is still circling your clit, softer now, but still enough to have you twitching and sobbing from oversensitivity. "J-jay, h-hahhh — I can't, s'too much!" Your hands try to push him off you, but his grip on you is tight, insistent on wringing every last drop out of your pussy.
Jason only bites down on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the way his cock was twitching in his pants as his fingers keep working you through your orgasm. "You're still squeezing them so tight. You're not done yet, sweetheart." He rasps out, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Thaaat's it. Keep cumming f'me."
He only lets up when your walls relax around his fingers, fluttering weakly. Your eyes are half lidded, tears pricking at the corners with your mouth parted to let out small hiccuped gasps. Slowly, he eases his fingers out of your drooling cunt, wetness dripping down to his wrist as he presses them lightly against his lips. "Messy girl." He mumbles as he sucks off your slick, eyes never leaving yours as he does so. "Shit, you taste so sweet. Gonna have to taste you properly next time."
Your pussy clenches around air at the sight. You're starting to think you might need to start praying for your survival at this rate.
You feel him shift against you, the tent in his pants brushing against you making you shiver. The sound of a zipper has your gaze falling downwards just in time to see him push down his boxers, the weight of his cock heavy against your thigh. Your eyes instantly widen, breath catching in your throat. Holy shit. He's not only long, he's also thick. The tip is flushed an angry red, already dripping pre-cum as he wraps his hand around it, letting out a relieved hiss as he swipes his thumb over his slit.
"That's not…" You gulp, "…that's not gonna fit." You finish off in a whisper, head snapping up to stare up at him.
He gives himself another slow stroke as he looks down at you, white streak of hair falling over his brows. "Sweetheart," he mutters, voice dripped in amusement, "We're gonna make it fit. Didn't you say you could take all of me? Without complaining?"
Well shit. You did say that.
He swipes his cock teasingly up and down in between your folds, smothering yout slick over his length with every move pulling out a groan from him and a breathless whimper from you. He nudges the head against your entrance, pressing inside ever so slightly, stretching you out around the width - enough for it to start stinging - before he pulls back out. Being the tease that he is, he keeps repeating the motion, for what seemed like hours on your end (it was barely a minute). You're panting, pawing at his chest, needing him to fucking put it in.
The desperation must have been obvious on your face because his hand comes up to brush stray strands of hair off your forehead gently, checking in with a soft "You ready?"
God, you've been ready for him. If the way your arousal had dripped all the way down to your knees was any indication.
"Jay I swear if you don't put your dick inside me right n- OH FUCK!" Your threat is interrupted by a squeal when he finally pushes into you, hands going back to their rightful place on his arms.
He snorts quietly, watching you with barely contained amusement. "Relax, that's just the head- fuck look at you. Twitching like you're about to come just from this."
You shake your head desperately, because what the fuck does he mean, 'just the head'? You felt like you were being split open. "It's- oh fuck — too big Jay-" You sniffle, nails leaving red dents on his pale skin as you clutch to him like a lifeline.
His low, sharp laugh cuts you off as his eyes glint almost cruelly. The hand on your head, reaches back to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging so you looked straight up at him. "What did I tell you earlier?" He purrs, pushing himself further into your entrance, eliciting a choked sob from you. "Don't wanna hear you fucking complaining. You said you could take it. So fucking take it like a good little slut."
Despite his harsh words, he eases every inch into you slowly, almost carefully. The stretch of his cock feels almost endless - your walls being forced open wider and wider with every inch. By the time he's almost all the way in, you're crying into his chest, still clutching at his now red arms from the way your nails have been digging and raking at them.
"H-hahh— s'too much-" You can't help but whimper, sniffling as you feel your pussy stretch in ways you didn't even know were possible.
"Always fuckin' whining hm?" He taunts, shoving the rest of him into you with a particularly rough thrust. Your back arches into his chest, eyes flying open as a sound that can only be described as a shriek rips from your throat, tears blurring your vision. You can feel him everywhere. Cock buried inside your warm pussy. Body wrapped around yours, touching you in any and every way he wanted.
Jason clenches his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he lets out a relieved groan, forehead falling into the crook of your neck. "Fuck meeee. So fucking tight. Took every inch so well." He emphasises his point with a slow, deep grind of his hips into yours, another whimper slipping out of you.
"Didn't I tell you we'd make it fit, sweetheart?"He murmurs into your neck, tilting his head to look down. "You feel that?" He whispers, hand pressing into the rounded bulge of your stomach, "That's me. All the way up here." He sounds almost fascinated and it would be cute if you weren't currently shaking from his cock just entering you. He presses down harder, making sure you really feel him. Your eyes flutter, head falling forward from feeling so full and his grin sharpens.
"Don't you fucking dare pass out on me before I get to ruin this pretty pussy."
You barely hear him, let alone understand what he said. And before you can make sense of his words, he's pulled out halfway, only to thrust back into you mercilessly. You wail, half in pleasure, half in shock, walls spasming and contract in pure need.
Jason grunts, plunging in and out of you, ripping scream after scream from your poor throat, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Aw, my poor baby." He mocks, thumb swiping gently at a tear. "Are you crying? Go on. Cry on this fat cock."
Your legs are shaking. Shaking too much for you to be able to consciously hold yourself up. Jason doesn't even hesitate; he grips your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly, arms locked around your back, your legs dangling over his forearms, all while keeping you stuffed full. You're helpless in his hold, completely at his mercy.
"Oh my god— Jason!" You squeal, hands clawing at his back for purchase.
"I got you sweetheart, just hold on tight." He grits out, muscles flexing as he lifts you up and down on his cock. It's fucking brutal. Each thrust sending a jolt through your body, his grip and pace unrelenting. You couldn't even try to run away.
Your head lolls forward into his bare shoulder, biting down to muffle yet another scream. When did he even take his shirt off?
He lets out an equally feral groan, burying his face into your neck, "Feel so fucking good. Fucking made to take this dick."
"Uh huh, s-sho good—" You babble out, barely able to form any words, just repeating what he was saying back to him. You feel your arousal drip, drip, dripping down your thighs, coating Jason's own skin with every rut.
He's bouncing you on his cock like a fucking ragdoll, hips snapping up into you erratically. He nudges your head back with his own, letting it fall back against the wall, biting down onto your neck with a snarl when he notices your eyes fluttering shut. "Told you not to fucking pass out on me." He pulls you back down so hard this time, you swear you can feel the head of his cock in your fucking lungs. "You better keep those pretty eyes open, y'hear me? Cos I'm not stopping until I cum inside this drooling cunt."
He moves you ever so slightly, so that your legs were now wrapped around his waist, both of his hands grabbing onto your ass to pull you up and down like a ragdoll. You hate how much you love how easily he manhandles you.
"How are you this fucking tight? Squeezing the life out of my dick- fuck me—" He groans, teeth biting down onto whatever area of skin he hasn't marked yet (which wasn't a lot). He's hammering up into you so hard you don't even have the energy to cry out anymore. You're just gasping and sobbing brokenly on his thick fucking cock. For a minute you think this might be how you die.
He doesn't break his rhythm. Not even for one second. He doesn't give you time to breathe, everytime he plows into you, he knocks the air out of your lungs - your entire body is shaking in his hold, coated in a thin layer of sweat and arousal. Your pussy clamps down impossibly tighter around him, and he knows you're close.
So he doesn't relent.
"Shit, you're close aren't you? Can fucking feel it." He says through clenched teeth, sweat dripping down from his hair and onto his chest.
"Nghh— ah fuck. Gonna c-cum!" You don't know how you even managed to string together those words. You feel every muscle in your body tightening, convulsing as you're finally pushed over the edge.
"That's ittt, such a good fucking girl. Cum for me, sweetheart." He punctuates each word with yet another pump of his hips, your body jerking in his hold as you go limp from your orgasm. "Shit, keep going baby. Milk my fucking dry."
You're gasping, crying and panting all at once into his shoulder, feeling as if you've just had the soul sucked out of you. And yet, he doesn't stop. If anything, his grip on you tightens, bouncing you even more ruthlessly on his length. His pace is more frenzied now as he chases his own high. Your cum is dripping out of you, down onto his cock, and down both of your legs.
"So fucking close, I'm about to h-hah— lose my fucking mind" He pants out, rutting up into frantically, almost using you like a toy. "Gonna fill you up. You want it baby? Want my cum filling up that tight little pussy?"
You nod desperately into his shoulder, nails grazing across his back, leaving trails of red as your pussy clenches around him just at the thought of him cumming inside you. "P-please" You all but whimper out.
That one word is all it takes for him to let go. His warm load shoots deep inside you, filling you up to the fucking brim. "Yeah, f-fucking take it." You feel his cock twitch inside you, his forehead pressed into your neck as he huffs, grinding out the last waves of his orgasm, wanting every single drop inside you.
He doesn't let you go, doesn't even pull out - just lifts his head up from your shoulder, gently nudging at your jaw with his nose. "Look at you, fucking brat. All fucked out, sobbing and clinging to me." He mumbles teasingly. You can only let out a huff in response.
"Did so good for me." He whispers, softer this time. "My good girl, hm?"
You've managed to calm your sobs into quiet little hiccups, still overwhelmed by everything. Not only is he still inside you, but he also filled you up with his cum. It's safe to say, you don't think you'll be able to form words at the moment.
He lets out a low chuckle, bringing a hand up to cup the back of your head, holding you to his shoulder, peppering soft soothing kisses along your shoulder.
"Still think I'm small, sweetheart?"
taglist: @heliumshorns, @yinzlovescoffee
ᯓ★ notes from star: comments and reblogs appreciated as always!! and lmk if you wanna be tagged for any other days!!
have we considered you grabbing the headboard while riding it? his hands gripping your waist and you gripping the headboard for leverage going from slow experimental strokes of your hips, to slamming your pussy down around his cock over and over, while he curses and moans loudly and your tits bounce in his face ??
✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦
✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦
✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 10.5k✦
✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦
Clark has been acting strange all week.
He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.
“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.
“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.
He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.
Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.
You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.
“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.
“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“
“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“
Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘
“It’s not a mating dance!”
“It seems like a mating dance-“
“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”
Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.
You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.
“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“
You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.
He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.
His eyes are black, and gleaming.
You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.
Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.
You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.
“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”
Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.
Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.
But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.
He looks dangerous.
And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.
But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.
“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”
Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“
Clark looks at you.
And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.
“You smell good.” He mutters.
He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.
“What the fuck is up with him?”
Nobody seems to be sure.
On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.
“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.
“There are no other words I could use, though-“
“Corrupt?”
“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”
You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.
“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.
“Dogshit.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“
“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“
“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.
“Yeah. Because I had a source.”
“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.
You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.
“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“
“Shut up, I’m excited-“
“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.
He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.
Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.
You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.
And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.
Today you keep it under control.
It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.
“It’s- Uh- Superman.”
You blink. “What?”
“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”
“I- You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“I can find someone else-“
“No, I- I’ve got it.”
He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.
You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.
But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.
You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”
He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.
Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.
He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.
He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.
And you have no idea what to do.
Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.
He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.
You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.
And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.
“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”
His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.
“Clark-“
“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”
You blink. “Back up?”
He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.
He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.
But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.
You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.
He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.
“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“
“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.
“You’re sick-“
“No. I’m not.”
“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”
He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.
“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”
That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.
His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.
And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.
It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.
The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.
But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.
“Clark- Please-“
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.
“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”
You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.
And you look back. You can’t help it.
But all he does is stare at you.
So you walk away.
Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.
“Is he-“
“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”
You frown. “But-“
“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“
Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.
“Don’t go visit him.”
You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“
“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”
“But-“
“Don’t.”
“What if he needs something-“
“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”
“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”
Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Lois-“
“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”
She walks away without another word.
On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.
You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.
Don’t.
His door is right there.
Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.
Don’t.
You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.
But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.
You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.
Don’t.
But you want to.
Don’t.
He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-
Don’t.
Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.
And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.
He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.
You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.
Before Clark can open it, you walk away.
On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.
It’s a distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-
You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.
This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.
It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.
He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.
He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.
Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.
You miss him.
Goddamnit.
Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.
You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.
He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.
You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.
You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.
Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.
But why is he home visiting you.
Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.
You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.
“Hello?”
Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.
He doesn’t look well.
Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-
Like Clark.
Just like Clark.
And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.
Or something else.
Without the glasses, there’s something else.
He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.
He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.
“Clark?”
“I’m here for your interview-“
You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.
He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.
Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.
His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.
“Clark- Wait-“
Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.
At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.
You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.
He’s burning at 150 degrees.
He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.
The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.
You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.
Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.
That time it was definitely your name.
Superman moaned your name.
You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.
Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.
It does nothing for hearing him.
And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.
It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.
Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-
Oh.
That’s… Big.
You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.
The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.
You still haven’t really dealt with that.
Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.
And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.
To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.
When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.
You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.
Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.
Dear lord.
Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.
You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.
Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.
He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.
You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.
Clark is Superman,
And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.
His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.
“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.
This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-
You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.
He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-
No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.
But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.
The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.
If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.
And you’re not that strong at all.
Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.
You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.
When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.
He’s naked.
Fully naked.
And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.
He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.
But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.
And his cock.
You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.
Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.
“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“
“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”
He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of release on his thigh. He’d been humping the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-
“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”
“Clark-“
“Stop saying it like that.”
You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.
His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.
“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”
Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.
“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”
You laugh softly, despite everything.
Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.
“Don’t laugh either.”
“I- I’m sorry-“
“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“
He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.
“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”
“No- That- That’s weird-“
“Kal-El?”
“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.
“I need to be able to call you something.”
“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”
That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.
“No, not- Not like that-“
“Not like what-“
“It’s just, when you talk-“
“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.
It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.
“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.
“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”
“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“
“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”
“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“
“You said I shouldn’t talk.”
“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.
“You better fix the wall, Kent.”
“I will. ‘M sorry-“
“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”
You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.
“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”
That’s not promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.
“You know kryptonite?”
You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”
“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“
“Clark.”
“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.
“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.
His cock twitches. You try not think about it.
“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“
“It what-“
“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”
He trails off, words hanging in the air.
Saw you.
You activated the red kryptonite in him.
There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.
“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.
Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.
“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.
“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“
“Can’t you?”
Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.
And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.
“You- You can’t mean that-“
“Why not?”
You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.
“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.
“You don’t have to pity me-“
“It’s not pity.”
He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“
“Who says it’s not how I feel?”
You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.
“Uhh… Steve?”
You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”
Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.
You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.
“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.
You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”
His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.
“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”
“No, you-“
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.
“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”
He nods, tight and controlled.
You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.
Not with fear.
With excitement.
“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”
And Clark snaps.
He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.
Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.
If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.
But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.
He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.
There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.
You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.
You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.
He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.
“Clark-“
“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“
He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.
“Smell so good.” He almost whines. “So good.”
You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.
Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.
It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.
“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“
“You- You can’t-“
“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“
“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.
You don’t mind at all.
“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“We talked about this-“
“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.
You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.
And you feel it.
The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.
Oh.
Right.
Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.
“I need to get you ready.”
You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“
Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”
“How do you know-“
“Nose.”
“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“
“Not enough.”
He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.
“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.
That’s his agreement hum.
Your jaw drops.
“Are you serious-“
“I can’t help it.”
“You- You could wear nose plugs-“
“No. Like it too much.”
Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.
“You- Can’t move-“
“You should move-“
“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”
You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.
“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”
Clark grunts. You smile at the air.
“You came in bed last night.”
He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”
“About who?”
You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”
And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.
“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”
“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.
“Yeah? Like what?”
Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.
“A brat.”
A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.
And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.
“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.
Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.
“You- You can’t just say that-“
“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”
Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.
“Can you please look at me-“
“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.
“Clark-“
“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.
You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.
“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”
“I- I need to get you-“
“I’m going to touch you, okay?”
His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.
Enough.
You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.
“Sorry-“
“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”
He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.
You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.
The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.
He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.
You add a second, and squeeze at the base.
Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.
“Be- Be careful.”
You pause. “Does it not feel-“
“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“
Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.
You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.
And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.
You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.
Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.
“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“
He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.
You want to taste him.
When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.
“What- What are you-“
You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.
The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.
There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.
You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.
“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“
You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.
It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.
“Are you-“
You moan, and Clark gives in.
He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.
“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“
Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.
“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“
You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.
And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-
Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.
He’s cumming.
And he’s not stopping.
Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.
Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.
“If you-“
“Do that inside me.”
You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.
“I- I mean- Clark-“
He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.
“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”
His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.
“Don’t- Don’t tease-“
“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”
Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.
“Oh- Oh god-“
“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”
You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.
“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”
He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.
“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.
You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.
He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.
“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“
You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.
Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.
Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.
You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.
You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.
There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.
It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.
“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”
His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.
“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.
Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.
“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”
Well. If he needs it.
It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.
“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“
“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”
It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.
You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.
“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.
“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”
And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.
“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“
“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.
Clark hears it.
“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”
You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.
Maybe Clark could let you live with him.
Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.
Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.
That’s a good plan. The best plan.
There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.
“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.
You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.
“Don’t do that.”
Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.
He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.
“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.
You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.
He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.
Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.
He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.
His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.
You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.
Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.
“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.
“I liked it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”
Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.
And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.
He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.
“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”
You nod. It’s all you can manage.
He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.
“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“
He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.
Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.
“Big.”
He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.
“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“
You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.
“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.
“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”
You blink, and his eyes widen.
“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“
Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.
“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.
Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.
“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”
Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.
“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.
Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.
You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.
He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.
Safe and attended to.
You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.
It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.
“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“
He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.
Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.
He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.
Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.
It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.
Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.
Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.
And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.
Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.
Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.
You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.
There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.
Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.
You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.
He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.
It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.
If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.
On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.
There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.
Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.
It’s an oddly romantic thought.
There are lots of those to go around.
Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.
“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.
“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”
“See it-“
“X-ray vision.”
“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.
Clark bows his head, almost in shame.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.
You shake your head. “It fine-“
“I wanted to-“
“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”
He blinks at you, then relaxes.
“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.
“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”
Clark laughs at that, and you beam.
It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.
“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.
“I-“
“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“
“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”
He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”
You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.
“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“
“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“
Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”
You laugh. “Bring it on.”
✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
i’m so fucking pissed infold canceled valko, i was so looking forward to him. i farmed so much to get 6,000+ diamonds like c’mon bruh. i was in the middle of writing a fanfic with knotting and everything😭
tbh the concept of cockwarming and they’re trying really hard to focus and you ‘lose’ and slide up and down on them once and they just. Cum practically against their own will is fnfnnffjf
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Notes: woooooo finally!! i’ve been promising a full length alpha!clark fic for a while and here it is finally :D turned out a bit angsty-er than i originally anticipated but folks this is a two parter!! enjoy !!!!!!!
This might be the most embarrassing moment of your life.
It’s a high bar to clear. There was that period of your life where you openly read old school erotica paperbacks at the lunch table, half-naked alphas on the cover and all. There was your Hamilton phase. The countless times you’ve tripped and fallen in public. But this – being huddled into the nearest supply closet in your workplace, on the cusp of heat – somehow takes the cake.
Your heats have always been consistent, on the dot, every three months, which is why you paid it no mind when the symptoms started to appear early. In hindsight, you should’ve known when Lois left her cardigan at your place after a movie night and you refused to return it, instead adding the piece of clothing to the pile of comforting items on your bed and whining when you had to leave that pile every morning, to get ready for work. But you ignored the glaring signs of pre-heat until it started to hit you, full-force, in the middle of your day in the office. Warmth crept up under your collar until you began to sweat, and then the cramping started, and only then did you cancel your meetings for the day and lock yourself in the supply closet.
And really, barricading yourself in wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had. It felt like a great idea in the moment, compared to walking all the way home on the crowded streets of Metropolis, alone, stinking of pre-heat (horrible). Now you’ll just have to wait till all your colleagues head home for the day, and then take an overpriced taxi home, after dark (slightly less horrible).
Then someone knocks on the door.
“Anybody in there?”
This is the worst-case scenario. You’d know that deep, comforting voice anywhere: your coworker, Clark Kent.
Despite your mutual friendship with one Lois Lane, you don’t cross paths often. Clark prefers to collaborate with Jimmy on his articles, and you’ve never taken that to heart. Honestly, you don’t envy how often Jimmy ends up running around town anyway, getting photos of Superman’s latest heroic exploits to go with Clark’s interviews. Clark never joins the Daily Planet happy hours at the bar across the street. The most you’ve heard him speak is at the monthly staff meetings.
None of that has stopped you from developing a crush on him. It’s no wonder, considering how considerate he is, how tall and broad he is, how smart he is, how he still brings you coffee in the morning despite the fact that you barely know each other. Quite frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if half the office was in love with him.
“... Clark?” You called out, even though you know it’s him, he always smells so good.
“Yeah, it’s me,” He replies, his tone gentle, like he’s trying to soothe the distress he knows you’re feeling. “Are you alright?”
And now you know for sure that he’s aware of why you’re locked in this supply closet. Humiliation creeps up your throat and your eyes start to sting with tears and shit, you hate the state that pre-heat puts you in, constantly on the verge of crying.
“Did you… smell me?” You ask, your voice quieter than you’d like it to be, but he manages to hear you even through the door.
He pauses for what seems like forever.
“Yes, I-I did.” You groan in response. You’d picked the closet that’s farthest away from any cubicles, hoping the distance and the concrete walls of the Daily Planet building would work in your favor, but of course it wouldn’t. “It’s okay, I’m the only one who can. I-I mean, I think”
“I’m sorry,” You tell him, putting all your effort into holding back your tears, because of course you would end up scandalizing the only man you’ve had a crush on in years.
“Don’t be,” He’s comforting you, because any decent alpha would. “Would it be okay if you let me in?”
You know your judgement is clouded. It must be, if you thought this whole supply closet business was a good idea, but Clark is always so kind. You can tell he wants to be respectful, that he’s just concerned about his colleague.
So you shuffle towards the door and open it just wide enough for him to slide through, in some last-ditch effort to prevent any more coworkers from scenting you in this state.
He looks you up and down, taking in the sweat starting to bead at your forehead and the flush that seems to spread down your chest, and immediately, instinctively, crouches down to your level, reaching a hand out to caress your cheek. “It’s not safe for you to come to work like this.”
“I didn’t know,” You insist, though his tone isn’t accusatory. “It’s early. Weeks early. I panicked when I realized-”
“-And hid in a supply closet?”
“I can’t walk home alone like this!” You practically whine, and Clark hums in agreement, his thumb brushing your cheek soothingly. You lean into his touch while he contemplates the dilemma you’ve gotten yourself into, and you’re suddenly grateful that he’s here out of everyone in the world, because now that you’re close to him you can make out the specific notes of his scent. It’s fiery and comforting and strong, like a fireplace, and you could just lean right into him to get more of it-
“What if- I could scent you?” He says suddenly, uncertain, because he knows you’re prone to his persuasion in this state. “If I cover you with my scent enough, you should- I can get you home. If it’s okay with you?”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” He’s already taking off his jacket, and you’re already nodding, dizzy at the thought of being drenched in him.
His jacket is massive on you, but it’s soft, lined with silk on the inside, and it smells like him, and you want more. When you look back at him, his pupils are already blown wide at the sight of you draped in his clothing, his scent already starting to cover yours.
He leans closer, trailing the hand on your cheek down to your neck, his thumb coming up to stroke your skin, right where your scent gland is.
“Are you sure this is okay?” He asks again, his voice gravelly, restrained.
You nod eagerly, shuffling closer, knee-to-knee on the ground with him. Finally, his head ducks down, and you feel his nose gently nudge your scent gland, and your hand flies to grip his shoulder, already overwhelmed by having him so close to you.
He’s incredibly careful with you, frustratingly so, because your base instincts want him to hold you as tight as possible, if he asked nicely you honestly think you’d let him take you right there on the floor, but you beat back those instincts, trying to remember that he is your coworker and is just doing you a favour. Just being nice, like he always is.
So you try not to get too dizzy when Clark rubs his cheek on your scent gland, try to quell your whimpers when you feel his tongue on your neck, his scent beginning to completely dominate yours, marking you as his for just a few hours.
He brings one of your hands up to his neck, guiding you to rub your wrist against his gland, making sure every inch of you is covered in him. Leaving no room for leering alphas to mistake you for being unclaimed.
He takes a few deep breaths once his work is done, double-checking that your scent is undetectable under his, before helping you stand on your shaky legs and adjusting his jacket on you.
He cups your face in his hands again, forcing your dazed gaze back onto him. “Deep breaths, honey. Are you alright?”
You nod, but he shakes his head.
“Gonna need you to say it for me.”
“Yes,” You breathe out. “‘M okay, w-we can go.”
Clark guides you all the way home, never more than a few inches away, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. You keep stealing glances up at him, but his eyes are always elsewhere, observing everyone around you, daring them to look your way. It’s the most intimidating you’ve ever seen him look, and honestly, you know if you look too long, you’ll start leaking slick long before you make it home, so you determine it’s best to keep your eyes low. But you stick close, his warmth shielding you from the blistering windchill in the air.
He walks you into your building, all the way to your door, and really, there’s no reason for him to come inside, but you invite him up to your apartment anyway, offering hot cocoa to warm him up. Really, you just want to bask in his warmth a bit longer, hoping the smell of him rubs off on one of your pillows or something, so you can shove your face into it as soon as he leaves.
He takes his shoes off at the door before you even ask him to, careful not to spread dirt on the floor. He looks hesitant to even sit on your couch, not wanting to disturb your carefully curated apartment. It’s sweet, the way he looks around your living room, taking in all your decorations, the way your scent covers every inch of the space.
You disappear into the kitchen, finding yourself suddenly fretful over the process of making a Swiss Miss hot chocolate, pouring the nervous energy from having the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your living room while on the cusp of your heat into measuring out the packet of cocoa sugar. You pray to whatever deity might be up there that he’s not picky over recipes, because you know he won’t complain – hell, you’ve seen him apologise to other people for ramming into him with the mail cart – but you want to make it perfect for him. You balance two mugs of hot chocolate carefully on a wooden tray, laden with random snacks you keep around for whenever a craving might hit you.
You find Clark still perched on your couch, facing the kitchen doorway like all he’d done while you were gone was wait for you to come back, and he smiles fondly when he sees the little set-up you prepared.
He stands, taking the tray from you and setting it down gently on your coffee table.
“Sit with me for a second, sweetheart,” He says, patting the spot next to him on the couch, where you happily perch for him, sitting on your calves.
“Thank you for making sure I got home safe,” You tell him, smiling shyly.
“‘S no problem, honey, I wasn’t gonna leave you like that.” He keeps that tone with you, deep and soothing, and it only makes you want him more. Just him calling you honey has you dripping into your panties again, and you hear him grunt as the scent hits his nose. “D-do you have somebody you want me to call? To help you?”
You shake your head, a bit embarrassed at the admission of your non-existent love life.
“Do you have-” For once, he’s the one blushing. “Do you have… supplies? To get you through your heat?”
Your head tilts, confused. “I have, um, water, and groceries, and plenty of blankets, if that’s what you mean.”
“You don’t have… toys?”
Your mouth parts with a silent “oh”, realising what he means — there are plenty of them out there, special-made dildos with knots at the bottom to help an omega through their heat. You’ve always thought that if you were going to get one, you’d want one of the fancier models, the ones that have a button to inflate the knot on command, or the ones with a thrusting function, or maybe one where you can customize the size. Every time you searched online, you ended up overwhelmed by the options, not to mention the prices, and ended up closing out the tabs before you could make a decision, half-heartedly thinking that you’ll save up enough to buy it one day.
“No, I- I usually just deal with it, um, on my own.” You curl your fingers around the hem of your skirt, tugging on it nervously, feeling yourself dampen further with just the thought of touching yourself.
He glances down at the motion, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, dizzy as he takes in your flushed cheeks and heady scent.
“You’re close,” He mutters, almost to himself. ”Sweetheart, if you want… I can- I can stay. I can help you, but if you don’t want me to, I’ll leave now, bring you anything you need, promise, it doesn’t have to b-“
You shake your head vehemently, cutting off his rambling, scooting closer to him.
“Want it to be you, I-” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, your mind becoming a bit hazy at how close his face is getting to yours. “I like you.”
Your confession makes him smile.
“Yeah?” He nudges his nose against yours, playfully affectionate. “I like you, too, baby.”
Then his lips are on yours, deep and wanting, a groan escaping him as soon as he gets a taste of you. He lets you climb into his lap while you slip your tongue past his lips, desperate for him, his hands falling to your hips to encourage you to grind into him for a bit of relief from the burning, feverish desire you feel.
You used to dream about this. On quiet nights after a long day, you’d slip your hand under your pajamas and allow yourself to believee that Clark stole glances at you like you did to him, that some day you’d be stuck together for an assignment, or the last two left after a happy hour with the rest of the Planet crew – you switched up the scenario to keep it interesting, but the result is always the same – he’d reveal his overwhelming attraction to you, take you back to his cozy apartment, and fuck you ‘till your legs felt like jelly and his spend was dripping down your legs, all the while whispering in your ear about how you were the sweetest omega he’d ever touched.
The supply closet was not your idea of a fantasy, but this, being lifted by your thighs when Clark stands and carries to your bedroom, felt eerily similar to what you’d pictured on all those nights, down to his lips never leaving yours, the mass of muscle under your hands as you held onto his biceps, the heated edge to his scent as his arousal became evident.
He lays you on your bed, and even through the haze of desire, you feel a tinge of embarrassment at the state of your bedroom, the collection of soft objects carefully arranged in subconscious preparation for your heat, your cloying scent coating every inch of the room. If Clark minds, he doesn’t show it, exceedingly careful not to disturb your nest when he sets you down. He finally pulls away from spit-slicked lips to press open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, while he moves to lift your shirt off.
“If at any point, you need me to stop-” He looks back up at you, pressing a kiss just below your navel. “Just tell me, baby, and I’ll stop.”
“‘M not gonna want you to stop,”
He takes his time removing your blouse and simple bra, his eyes fixated on the flush of your skin that goes all the way down your bare chest, long enough to make you squirm under his gaze before he gets his mouth on your nipples, kissing, sucking, kneading your sensitive flesh till you feel slick soak down your thighs. He relieves the discomfort of wet fabric on your skin before you can even voice it, removing your skirt and panties in one tug, soothing your slick, burning skin with his touch.
Then your legs are over his shoulders, kisses trailed up your thighs as he sets his hungry gaze on your sex, a low, rumbling purr forming in his chest at the sight of you bare for him.
“Can’t believe you’re gonna let me taste this sweet cunt,” He mumbles against your skin, not bothering to hide the deep breaths he’s taking, drinking in the smell of you. “You’re gonna send me into a rut, sweetheart, just the taste of you-”
“No, please, alpha,” You beg, tangling your fingers through his curls and trying to tug him up from between your legs. “I need you-”
“Need me inside, baby, hm? I know,” He coos. “Know it hurts, but I have to get you ready for my knot first, need to make sure I don’t hurt you.”
He answers your distressed whines by opening his mouth over your pussy, lapping at you languidly like he’s doing it for himself, not to hear your desperate mewls, just the taste of you making him groan.
You’re sensitive, and completely at his mercy, letting out pleasured whimpers every time he touches you. He has no trouble bringing you to multiple climaxes, closing his lips around your clit and sucking until you’re rocking your hips against his face, knuckles cramping from the strength of your hold on his curls. His strong hands holding you in place are the only thing that stops you from squirming away when it all gets too much, his tongue unrelenting against your clit, his thick fingers slipping inside you easily after two orgasms, stretching you and curling inside you till you’re incapable of forming sentences, only able to cry out his name over and over again. Still, the burning in the pit of your stomach won’t subside, only getting more intense with each high, you can feel yourself getting delirious with your need for him.
And just when you think Clark is done prepping you, torturing you by bringing you to orgasm after orgasm without him deep inside you, he finally lets you see him. You can’t stop yourself from staring once he finally removes his briefs, his fully hard cock so heavy it can’t even stay upright, thick and flushed red and so pretty. Your eyes swim with tears of joy when he settles over you, his shaft resting so perfectly between your folds, parting them, as he smears his still-wet lips against yours and begins to rut against you. His cock slips between your lips, covering it in your slick, the tip nudging against your clit deliciously but never catching against your entrance, never giving you what you need.
You’re practically sobbing for it. “A-alpha, please, please-“
“Be good f’r me, omega,” Clark slurs, drunk on the feeling of your soft skin against his, the smell of your slick in the air, the taste of it on his lips. He can feel it, the creeping fever on the back of his neck, the need to fill you overtaking every instinct he has. He just wants to draw it out a bit longer, make sure you’re really ready to take his size without hurting, just wants to make you feel good over and over again before he stuffs you with his load.
Your orgasm comes suddenly and leaves you breathless, twitching, digging your nails into his back when you finally feel the head of his cock at your entrance. Your legs wrap around his waist, trying to get him to push in just a little bit, but it’s no use — his strength far outweighs yours. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, forcing your eyes open and on him.
His gaze is intense, and forcing you into clarity for a moment, focusing on meeting his eyes as he presses into you, inch by inch, pausing when your breath catches. He waits, every time your brow pinches with the force of the stretch, pausing until you nod for him to keep going.
When he bottoms out, his pelvis flush against yours, he stays there, pressing sweet kisses to your lips despite you rocking your hips up into him. The hand on your jaw moves down in favour of gripping your thigh, hoisting it further up on his waist, forcing you open for him and halting your movements.
“Gotta give me a second, omega, or ‘m gonna- fuck- gonna pop my knot before I’ve even felt you cum around me.” He warns, his jaw clenched tight.
You watch him as you wait, his eyes screwed shut, his glasses slightly fogged, cheeks bright red. You can’t believe you get to see him like this. Fully rooted in you, not an inch of space between you. All pent up, just from getting his mouth on you, giving you exactly what you need, what you’ve wanted for so long, and then-
He’s rocking his hips into you shallowly, just letting you feel his cock drag against your walls, grinding up into that spot that makes you see white while he whispers praise, trying desperately to contain his strength so he doesn’t bruise your thighs. You cum just from that, from feeling so full and raw and satisfied, finally, that your lungs constrict and you feel the gush of slick between you, soaking both of you, but he doesn’t stop for a minute, just mumbles how good you are for him, “Yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby, cum for me, just like that-“
He starts to fuck you in earnest, the hard thrust of his hips knocking moans from both of you, sloppy and slick and unrestrained.
All you can do is cling to him, clenching and whining sweetly for him, the hot clutch of your cunt drawing him in over and over again till you can feel the swell of his knot nudging at your entrance, and then you start to beg again. Pleading for him to fill you, to make you his, telling him yesyesyes when he laps at the curve of your neck, smothering you in his rich scent again.
You can feel him thickening inside you, beginning to lose himself to the feel of you as his hips lose their controlled swing, reduced to groans tight in his throat like he can’t bear to form words anymore. Then his teeth, the sharp ridge of his incisors, scraping at your scent gland, the hint of a claim tips you over the edge again, making a mess of the sheets under you and reducing your limbs and mind to mush. It’s here, in this state, that he can finally push his pulsing, massive knot into you, locking you with him as he spills his seed.
And he cums so much. Filling every inch of you, till you have nothing to want for, finally sated for the time being. Your head is fuzzy with his scent, the hot swell of his knot inside you, the feeling of his lips on yours again, soothing and grounding.
“Omega,” He mumbles, pulling away, a string of spit between your lips and his still connecting you. “How do you feel?”
A pleased chirp leaves your mouth, and you wiggle your hips under him just to feel the tug of his knot inside you, making him grunt in surprise, a fond smile forming on his face.
“‘M so happy,” You tell him, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “So full, alpha, thank you.”
You stay like that for a while, letting him fawn over you, peppering praising kisses anywhere he can reach, asking if you’re hungry or thirsty repeatedly, despite your insistence that all you want is him.
When his knot deflates just enough to slip out, he grabs you water anyways, coaxing you into downing at least two glasses and half a granola bar with several pecks in between sips and bites. Only then does he settle back into bed with you, purring comfortingly as he wraps an arm around you from behind.
For a few minutes, you lay with him, soothed despite the fact that when your heat clears, you’ll go back to being coworkers, this fulfillment of your desires only lasting so long before this favor is done and you return to coffees in the morning and a few words exchanged during meetings.
Then your mind clouds again and you’re reaching for him, moaning sweetly when he lifts your thigh and fills you from behind, promising to spear you on his knot as many times as you need.
You get worse before you get better. Clark takes you more times then you can even make sense of in your delirium, even makes you cum on his knot a few times, grinding into you and swirling his thumb over your clit just to tire you out and soothe your feverish pleas.
And he kisses you. All over, but especially your lips, can’t seem to go long without the taste of your mouth on his, and when he’s not kissing you, he’s telling you how good you are for him, how good you feel, how much he loves filling you. Spends every lucid moment you get making sure you’re both energised, even sweet-talking you into getting a few hours of sleep when he can.
You give yourself over to him. For those few days, you let yourself forget that it’s a fantasy at all.
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