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tangledinlove · 19 days ago

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lovestruck and looking out the window

PART ONE | part two

pairing: clark kent x fem reader 4.6k

summary: you see your friend clark without his glasses for the first time. he looks… oddly familiar

content: clark kent invents what it's like to be a gentleman time and time again. reader finds herself in trouble quite a bit lol. title from superman by tswift of course. divider from hyuneskkami ♡

Addy19 @Addison_Malii Anyone else in Arkham District hear the evacuation sirens turn on and off? Was that a test or should I be running for my life lol Mark 💸 @markusup ↳ replying to @Addison_Malii That’s what you get for living in “Arkham District” bro 💀💀💀 cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @markusup don’t speak on arkham district with metropolis in ur bio lmfao. i hope ur insurance covers ur house the next time superman drops a building on ur ass Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer superman haters can not be real. like damn do you guys hate joy happiness fun and rainbows too cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @mightycrabjoysluvr are we forgetting the fact that he’s an ALIEN from KRYPTON? i don’t care how hot he is i will take batman over him any day Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer a vigilante defender in my replies shitting on superman… i have really seen it all. bookmarking this tweet for when the police finally catch batmans ass btw

“—you want some?”

“Hm?”

Clark sinks into the couch next to you, his weight tipping you closer in his direction. The edge of the bowl in his hand prods your side.

“You really shouldn’t hold your phone so close to your face. You’re going to wreck your vision.”

You finally look up at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know you believed in old wives’ tales.”

“It’s not a myth!” He insists. “Put your phone down. We’re putting the movie on, and I know you’re going to complain when you don’t understand what’s happening—”

“I don’t complain, you liar.”

“—but you do, and then you’re gonna beg me to rewind. But then you’re gonna fall asleep and ask me to rewind it again, but I won’t want to because I’ve rewatched the same part five times—”

“That’s never happened before,” you lie blatantly. It happened last week and he won’t stop bringing it up. You toss your phone somewhere onto his couch and ignore the look he’s giving you when you take the bowl from his hands. “You made popcorn? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Clark laughs, the sound full and warm. He drapes a throw blanket over your laps — one of yours that he stole from your apartment — and hands you the remote. “I did. You were too busy scrolling.”

“Sorry.” You make yourself comfortable on his couch, pressing yourself into his side and stretching your legs out onto the ottoman. “I was busy doing some very important things.”

“Such as?” he asks, watching you flick through his TV subscriptions. “Oh, come on. We aren’t watching that one again.”

You frown as you click past one of your favorite movies. “I was just looking at it.”

“I’m sure.”

You kick at his ankles and watch the dimples crease on his face. It’s hard not to stare too long at the way he looks in the golden lighting from the TV. The blue of his eyes seems warmer.

“Whatever,” you grumble. “You can pick. As long as it’s not that trashy zombie show you like.”

He takes the remote from you, leveling a look at you from under the frames of his glasses. “It’s not trashy.”

“We can agree to disagree, babe.”

You fight the urge to laugh. You aren’t sure Clark realizes it, but he has the same reaction to that nickname every time — he looks up at the ceiling, and then away from you as the blush creeps up his neck. It’s even easier to see when his face is lit up like this, his sweet face tinged pink.

The two of you scroll through the movie and show selections in relative silence after. You’re sitting close enough that you can nudge him in the side when you want him to skip something, and he does so with only some complaints. You make it all the way down to the romcom section before he breaks the silence.

He coughs. Then asks, “So, what were you doing on your phone? Texting someone?”

You hum absentmindedly, inspecting the movie thumbnails. “I was reading through some Superman hate posts, actually.”

It’s not the most accurate description of what you were doing, but you say it just to get a rise out of him. Clark would never admit it, but you’re almost one hundred percent sure that he’s a secret Superman megafan.

There’s a look that he gets in his eyes whenever he reads something about him. It’s hard to place, but it kind of looks like he’s a little kid again, his entire face lit up with emotion.

But if he really is as big of a fan as you think he is, you have no idea how he’s so blasé about all those interviews he gets with him. Clark Kent really is one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met.

He looks at you sideways, glancing away from the TV. “You were,” he says, less of a question and more of a statement.

“Kidding. Kinda. You know what people are like. Your friend’s famous, you know. People are going to scrutinize him no matter what he does.”

Clark clears his throat and his eyes dance back to the screen, but you know he’s only half paying attention to it now. “And you… do you agree with them? With what people say about him?

Something in his voice is odd. You sit up against the couch to look at him properly, though all you can see is his side profile.

On the screen in front of you, he clicks past the titles the second they load, uncaring of what he’s scrolling past.

“I think Superman’s great,” you say honestly. You speak slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. The only change in expression you get is the slight twitch of his mouth. “Don’t know why people complain so much about someone who saves lives. Like, who cares if he’s from Kirpton?”

“Krypton,” he corrects.

You smile. “Right, sorry.”

The slight tension in his shoulders release. “You really think he’s great?”

“Yeah.” You slip the remote out of his hands and click play on the first movie you recognize. Surprisingly, Clark doesn’t complain. “He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us? I hear his harem has quite the waiting list.”

He laughs, tossing the blanket back over your leg where it’s exposed. “He’s not my friend, and there’s no harem. And hopefully, you won’t be meeting Superman anytime soon.”

“Why not? Don’t want to mix your friend groups?”

He nudges your side, relaxing into his cushions again. His arms cross over his chest, and you try not to focus on the way his biceps pull against the sleeves of his shirt. “No. If you ever run into Superman, it probably means you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

The two of you sit quietly with the weight of his words. Sure, he’s right, but you’re sure a totally normal Superman interaction isn’t out of the realm of possibility.

You wonder if the superhero has a favorite coffee shop. And how he would even order from it if he did. Would he wait in line? Maybe he’d have a priority lane specifically for him on the roof.

“Wait, what?” Clark’s voice cuts into the silence. His features have scrunched up in confusion. “When did we agree on watching this?”

“It’s Saw.”

“I can see that.”

“I chose it when you were too busy talking.”

“You sure you want to watch this one? You remember what happened when we watched The Exorcist, right?”

“The lights went out, Clark. What was I supposed to do, not scream?”

“I was sitting right next to you. Nothing was going to happen. If anything, we’d get possessed together.”

“That’s so not funny. As long as nothing supernatural happens, I’ll be good with this one, I swear.”

He blinks at you.

“I swear.”

You wake up drooling on Clark’s t-shirt.

Thirty minutes into Saw you were holding onto his arm so tightly that he put you out of your misery and put on National Treasure instead. The last thing you can remember is Nicolas Cage asking for lemon juice before the comfort of Clark’s shoulder became too much to resist drifting off.

You untangle your legs from his to sit up properly, a different movie playing in the background. Much like you a few seconds ago, your friend is fast asleep, his head leaning against the armrest in a way that can’t be comfortable.

His glasses are askew now, resting politely on his chest. You worry about the chances of them getting squished and leave them on the side table for him to find.

It’s only then, when you’re staring at the black frames on the wood, that you realize something silly.

You’ve never seen Clark without his glasses on.

He often talks about how his bad eyesight is why he’s so adamant about wearing them. You’ve asked him once before about wearing contacts, and he’d said something about how he has sensitive eyes and didn’t like them much.

You don’t mind at all. He looks very gorgeous with them on, and you find it very cute how they fog up when he gets flustered enough.

You’re grateful for the light of the TV, because it means you can still somewhat see Clark’s face. You rub the sleep from your eyes to look at him, and—

Huh.

You wonder if it’s normal to look this different without your glasses on. Sure, they can sometimes change the size of a person’s eyes, and losing a significant feature on anyone’s face is bound to make them look a little different, but…

Clark looks different. Still familiar, but undoubtedly different.

It’s weird. The changes are so subtle you wonder if you’re hallucinating. The differences are written clear as day on his face, but it feels impossible to put them into words.

Is it the shape of his jaw? You don’t remember it always looking so carved, and you would know, with how often you look at him. Maybe it’s the shape of his mouth.

Something in the back of your mind twitches, like a memory begging to come to the surface. It’s a slight tension against your skull, a pressing feeling trying to nudge you in the direction of something.

You have no idea why you do it, but your hand moves without thinking. Your fingers thread through his hair, the same way you do when you tease him for looking like he’s just rolled out of bed in the morning. As you do it, the features of his face shift just so, and…

Woah.

Clark doesn’t just look familiar.

He looks exactly like fucking Superman.

You pull your hand away so quickly the joints in your arm protests. Clark shifts underneath you, his eyes twitching as he rouses from sleep. He pats the fabric of the couch before he feels you under his hand, and he squeezes your thigh when he does.

“You alright?” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “What’re you doin’?”

“Nothing. I just woke up.”

The sentence is true in more ways than one. It feels like you’re seeing Clark’s face for the first time. How had you not noticed just how much he looks like the same man that saves the city for a living?

He blinks himself awake, and it’s like your heart flips. Staring at his devastatingly long eyelashes, it’s like everything becomes ten times clearer.

You weren’t hallucinating — he looks just like Superman. It’s uncanny.

He pats you as he sits up, still clearly in the last dregs of sleep. His words slur together when he asks you, “What time is it?”

“Uh,” your eyes search the couch for where you’d ditched your phone earlier, and you find it on the floor next to the ottoman. It’s covered in spilled popcorn from the bowl that must’ve fallen off Clark’s lap during the night. “It’s two.”

The reminder is enough to make you yawn, and you rub your eyes to clear your vision. He leans over to the side table to get the lamp, and the room is filled again with warm light.

“Geez,” Clark says. “My neck hurts like crazy. Is your back okay?”

You turn back to face him, and with the lights on you can see him a lot better. His glasses are back on, and he…

Looks absolutely nothing like Superman anymore.

You must look a little surprised, because he stops massaging the back of his neck to scan you with his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Superman without your glasses on?”

The words land awkwardly.

Clark laughs, but it’s not real. He scrubs his hand over his jaw. “What?”

“You…” It feels like you’ve said something you really shouldn’t have. “You just look a lot like him.”

“Oh,” he says. His hand rises to adjust where his glasses sit on his face. “That’s funny.”

If he really thinks so, you aren’t hearing much laughter from him.

You aren’t sure why he’s so unsettled at the thought. Based on the limited information you have about him, Superman kind of seems like the perfect guy. He’s kind, selfless, great with kids, and…

Oh no.

It’d been such a brief stint in your conversation — there’s no way he remembers it. It’d been a joke, albeit one wrapped in underlying truth.

“He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us?”

Clark is one of the most rational people you know. It’s no question that he knows you were kidding about that — hell, he’d laughed — but your technical confession is enough to make embarrassment rush through your entire body.

He seems completely upended by your comparison between the two of them. You stand abruptly, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“It’s late. I should go back to my apartment.”

It’s not far. Few people in the world live closer to Clark actually, with your apartment being directly below his. When that dog he’s fostering is running around too much, you can hear his footsteps scurry above your head.

(Oddly enough, you’ve never actually seen the dog in person, and Clark refuses to tell you what his name is, but you’re pretty sure he’s real.)

The furrow Clark gets between his brows is so deep you wonder if it hurts. “You don’t want to take the bed?”

You slip your phone in your pocket and start looking for where you’d kicked off your shoes. “No, it’s okay. Your neck deserves a break from the couch,” you say, busy checking underneath the kitchen table.

There’s nothing there. You wonder if it’d be weird to leave without them.

Clark places one of his broad hands on your lower back before he passes your shoes to you. He is so irritatingly perfect it borders on unfortunate for you.

“Thanks,” you say, quickly. You’re even faster to slip them on, uncaring of the way the heels fold uncomfortably inward.

“Hey. Hey.” His hand encircles your wrist when you turn away from him. He’s frowning, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “Are you okay? You know I don’t mind taking the couch.”

The smile that softens your expression is real. “So selfless, Clark Kent. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight. Thank you, though.”

He tries one last time. Glances furtively at the door, like he’s hesitant to let you go. “It’s late.”

You feel evil. It can’t be ethical to turn down Clark when he looks like this, sleep mussed and soft and a little worried about you.

“You can watch me walk to the elevator if you’d like.”

“I’ll walk you downstairs,” he offers instead, opening his door for you and stepping out. “It’ll help me sleep better.”

Looking at him waiting for you in his pajama pants and his wrinkled shirt, you wonder how you haven’t proposed.

But when he leans against the doorway of your apartment downstairs, smiling at you with sleep in his eyes and telling you to get some rest, you come very close to it.

Your friendship with Clark Kent kind of started the same way — with him taking you home.

The Daily Planet is a block away from your office building, a much smaller structure with just enough windows that you can watch the next world-ending threat from anywhere inside. Once, you got to watch Superman save an entire floor of people in the building across from you before some creature gutted half the skyrise.

You’ve witnessed enough extraterrestrial villains to not be too surprised when you see them on the news, or catch a glimpse of them in real life.

The one thing you didn’t expect, though, was to run into one from this planet.

It’s late when you’re walking to the metro after work. You’re barely half awake, exhausted after dealing with some data issue that had you and a few other people on cleanup duty late into the night.

You’re digging around in your purse, searching frantically for your phone. To make a bad night even worse, you come up empty.

“Shit,” you say under your breath, stopping to press your fist to your forehead. You remember it vividly, now. You’d left it on the counter when you’d cleaned up the cup of coffee you spilled when you were dead on your feet.

You let out a few more curses under your breath as you continue walking, hoping that you didn’t throw out that old alarm clock you found in your closet.

It happens a few minutes later, and it’s nothing like in the movies. There’s no anticipatory music, or a suspicious sound that makes you turn your head, or the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You’ve walked down this street countless times before, one well-lit by the street lights and store signs, and felt safe every time.

The universe gives you no warning. It only lets you make it three blocks before someone seizes your arm and tugs you into a damp, dark, Metropolis alley.

You don’t have time to scream. A hand, grimy with sweat and something else clamps hard over your mouth, muffling any sound you could’ve let out.

Your back presses into the rough brick of the alley. You recognize where you are immediately — a small deli that you and your coworker frequent. You don’t know how you’re going to tell her that you’re never coming back here ever again.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. And you’re not going to scream, or lie to me, because I will stab you.” The man’s voice is thick and gravelly, almost as sharp as the blade he presses into the give of your stomach. “Nod if you understand me.”

You jolt when he presses hard enough to nick your skin. The nod comes immediately after.

“You’re going to give me all the money in that purse of yours, and your phone. I need your phone.”

You glance over to your purse where it sits on the pavement. It must’ve fallen when he’d pulled you into this alley.

“Take it,” you say quickly, voice wavering with stress. You aren’t going to fight with this man over chump change and your lip balm. “You can have all of it.”

He ducks down immediately to reach for the purse, and sniffs out the money quickly. He shoves the few pathetic crumpled bills into the pockets of his worn out jeans, before turning his attention back to the inside of the bag.

You swallow, glancing towards the entrance of the alley. He wouldn’t chase you if you made a run for it, would he?

There’s a sickening crack as your stuff hits the floor, and your daydream is crushed. The man is shaking his head, pressing his hand to his forehead, mumbling to himself in hushed tones.

You press yourself further against the wall, like the extra inch of space between you will save you.

“Your phone. I need your phone.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. You know he won’t believe you. You’ve never been more scared to speak.

“Did you hear me?” His voice shakes uncontrollably, his eyes narrowed to near slits. “Your phone. I need… You have to give me your phone.”

“I don’t have it with me,” you choke out. Your hands curl protectively in front of you. “I forgot it at work.”

He turns the knife back at you, though his hand wavers. Spit flies from his mouth and onto the ground in front of you. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not lying, I swear. I swear. Please, you can take whatever I have—”

Another voice pierces the silent street, one firm and so authoritative that both of you turn to look.

The man doesn’t waste another second. He turns and flees down the dark alley, taking the few things of worth in your purse with him. You don’t feel strong enough to move until he’s completely gone from your sight.

The adrenaline crash doesn’t take long to set in. Your head feels light, like it’s filled with helium. You think that’s why you don’t notice yourself walking directly into the other person there with you.

The universe had been the reason why you’d gotten mugged, but the universe also brought Clark Kent into your life.

You had caught glimpses of him at your shared apartment all the time, your similar schedules meaning you often left for work and came back around the same time. He’d held the door open for you a few times, and you’d seen him help some of your neighbors with their groceries before. You’d always known he was nice, but you had no idea stopping crime was on his list of talents as well.

After he’d saved you from that man in the alley that night, he’d walked you back to your apartment.

He did the same the next night. And almost all of the nights after that, too.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to become close friends, and for your lives to start merging together. You’d invited him over for dinner as a thank you, and it slowly turned into a regular thing. You soon found yourself splitting your time between your apartment and his.

You really like Clark, and can barely remember life in Metropolis without him.

That’s probably why it feels so terrible to ignore him.

[4:29] farmboy kent: I’ll be running a little late today

[4:29] farmboy kent: White sent us out to Park Ridge and the train back is delayed. I’ll be by your building around 5:20

[4:33] you: No problem!! also no need to swing by today. my cousin invited me over to hers so i’ll be in civic city until late

The message is marked as read a few seconds after you send it, making the next few minutes agonizingly long.

Around 4:35, Clark finally starts typing, only to delete his message. A minute later, he continues again.

[4:38] farmboy kent: Ok. Be safe

[4:39] farmboy kent: I’ll pick you up at the station later

[4:39] you: Are you okay with that? i’m not sure when i’ll get back

[4:40] farmboy kent: Of course. Text me when you know what time your train will get in

You feel like a dick pressing the thumbs up reaction on his last message. What kind of person lies to Clark Kent?

You aren’t even sure why you do it. It’s probably the lingering embarrassment from last night — it was the closest you’ve ever come to telling him how you feel about him.

So… maybe a Clark-free day is what you need.

You can’t remember the last day you’ve spent without seeing him at least once. On your days off from work he’d come by after his shifts, and even on days that one of you were busy, you would still show up at his place to say hello.

No wonder he makes you crazy. You haven’t had a Clark Kent detox since the day you met him.

Surely all good friendships need time apart, right? You’ll just spend a day by yourself and when you see him again tomorrow, you’ll be back to normal. There won’t be any more slips where you compare him to one of the most gorgeous people you’ve ever seen, or where you tell him he’d be a great husband, or something friendship-ending like that.

It’ll be good for you. Tomorrow will be a great, much needed, neighbor-free day.

You’re buying a paperweight for Clark when a building falls on top of the Metropolis Museum of Art.

The remorse from your little white lie followed you through every second of your Clark Kent boycott, effectively ruining it. Your plan was to head down to the park and enjoy the weather, but you found yourself making a quick detour to the souvenir store inside the museum.

You’d come here with him a few months ago, and he’d seen the paperweight and loved it. It was a little glass sphere depicting Superman flying over Metropolis, and he’d almost bought it before reading the price tag. The guilt following you around now was enough to choke a horse, and you decided that it’d make for a great apology gift.

(Not that he was aware you were apologizing for anything.)

The crash of the building sends plumes of dust into the room, coating everything in a haze of white. The emergency sirens start their crying almost immediately, joining in what sounds like the actual crying of children on an after-school field trip.

You cough to clear your throat and find that even the air is saturated in thick dust, the cloud becoming even worse as more debris drops from the ceiling.

The roof of the museum is clearly trying its best, but it seems like the entire structure groans in protest. One of the overhead lights hangs precariously above your head, and you take a few healthy steps back from it.

Distantly, you can see the blinking red light that marks the exit. The cashier you were talking to a second ago makes a mad dash for it, ducking under a fallen beam while she does. Hordes of people crowd by the door as everyone rushes out, eager to flee.

The sun shines through the gaping hole in the museum made by the other building, and through the light it offers, you see it on the floor— the gift you’d gotten Clark.

The little paperweight sits sadly on the tile about five feet away from you.

If you weren’t afraid of inhaling too much dust, you would’ve groaned. There’s no way you’re abandoning the thing after all this trouble you’ve gone through to get it.

Against your better judgement, you move further from the exit to go and pick it up.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter.

There’s a strong gust of wind and a bright flash of light, and you’re outside again.

When your feet hit the pavement, you resist the urge to vomit. It feels like your stomach has been flipped inside out and then put back again. The dizziness makes you double over, but you’re braced by a pair of firm hands around your forearms.

You’re halfway through a mumbled thank you when you look up.

You blink a few times to clear your vision. When nothing changes, you’re forced to wonder if you hit your head somewhere in the museum.

Standing in front of you, with his perfect hair disheveled and windswept, is Superman.

notes: theyre both losers LOL. thank u for tuning into my fic lmk if u enjoyed! :) i do have a part 2 planned bc i think clark kent deserves to be kissed

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holeforzenin · 2 months ago

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Bringing home a stray kitten!!

Toji’s just getting home from work, his sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his back, the smell of musk and faint cigarettes clinging to him, the sound of his keys jingling he walks in and he’s muttering something to himself about traffic and some asshole on the road—right up until he hears you whispering softly in the living room.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay, don’t be scared…”

He quietly steps in, his brows already drawn in alteration—ready to ask who the hell you’re talking to and then he sees the tiny, scrappy little kitten curled into a towel in your lap. Its fur is patchy, one ear nicked with its tail twitching weakly as it tries to crawl closer to the warmth of your hands.

You look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Toji, I couldn’t just leave it. She was on the road and look—look at her. She’s so tiny!”.

His face is blank at first. Just that heavy-lidded, slightly unimpressed stare he gives when he’s too tired for bullshit.

“Baby…” he starts slowly, running a hand through his hair with a low sigh, “you brought a street cat into our house?”

You nod fast. “Just for tonight! Or—or a few days! she was shivering Toji, and she kept following me, and I think she likes me—look, she purred when I picked her up!”

The kitten mewls softly, as if on cue. Toji sighs, tilting his head back with a dramatic groan like he’s in agony. “Fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I already got one brat to take care of. Now you want me feeding a damn furball too?”

But you catch the twitch in his mouth. The one that threatens a smile.

You blink at him, lower lip jutting out in a pout, voice softening to a whimper. “Please, Toji? Just let me take care of her. She won’t bother you, I’ll clean everything. I’ll buy the food. I’ll even name it after you if you want—Little Toji!”

He gives you a flat stare. “Absolutely not”.

You giggle. And finally—finally—he gives in. Shoulders slumping, a large palm dragging down his face like he’s never been more exhausted in his life.

“Fine,” he grunts. “But if that thing pisses on my boots, I’m tossing it out the window”.

You squeal in excitement and scramble up, the kitten cradled against your chest as you wrap your arms around his waist.

“I love you, I love you, I love you—thank you, thank you—!”

He rolls his eyes, but his hand slides over your back anyway, warm and rough as always.

“Yeah, yeah. You owe me for this, kid. Big time”.

Later that night after you're done showering and go to the living room, he’s sitting on the couch with the kitten tucked up against his chest, his huge hand absently stroking its head while he watches TV. You walk in and catch him mid-coo.

He glares at you instantly when he sees you.

“Say a word and I’m throwing you out the window”.

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amorwrld · 15 days ago

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not the usual - clark kent.

-> summary: when the usual and always shy clark, finds himself jealous at the new intern who recently joined the daily planet…

-> word count: 1.6k! needed to write for the latest superman, because i mean look at him? hope you enjoy, mwah!

-> (tags and warnings): mentions of y/n, shy!clark, jealous!clark, possessive!clark, size kink, minor violence, some mature language, messy makeout, if i missed any let me know! pls reblog, and give us author’s feedback! ❤︎

-> (credits): all pictures from pinterest!

——————————— 🦸🏻‍♂️ᯓ★ ———————————

“meeting in 5 clark,” you remind him, brushing your hand across his broad and prominent shoulder. such a simple touch that had clark’s cheeks immediately red and blushing. “i’ll be there,” he said quietly, only where him and you could hear. “don’t forget to bring the rough draft you have so far, from your latest superman interview,” he watched you turn on your heel, your eyes connecting with his icy blue ones.

“y-y-yeah i-i won’t forget, it’s r-right here,” clark stumbled with his words, his hands shaking as he tried to find the newly printed paper on his desk. superman would’ve never acted this way, but he was such a nervous mess around you, to where he couldn’t form a coherent sentence or thought. you smile and walk off, meeting max, the new intern by a corner.

his smile drops immediately, his hands stop shaking and turn into a fist, the familiar rage and anger flaring in his chest. the bile in his throat growing and growing just staring at the him, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear or having the audacity to making you laugh with whatever he said. he hates it, he hates that he can’t do a single thing because of his emotions stopping him.

he hated that he had to hide under a shadow and you potentially meet the man of your life. he hated any man that got even 4 feet near. hated the scent of their perfume on you. hated that he had to hear the mention of another guy that wasn’t him. but most of all he hated that he wasn’t yours and you weren’t his.

“clark, are you coming?” he cleared his throat swallowing the jealousy away, hearing you approach him. “yes, lead the way miss y/l/n,” clark stood up his eyes never leaving yours as he looked down at you. you were so tiny, yet you were the missing puzzle in his arms. “so you and max?” he asked quiet and nervously, afraid maybe it wasn’t professional or appropriate, “just training him, good guy but not my type,” you shrugged making clark feel better.

“and what is your type exactly?” he pushed his glasses up with his index finger, irritated that he was using his old glasses because his new ones had broken during a metahuman fight. his body goes rigid when he sees your tiny hand move up, placing the smallest curl he had right on his forehead.

“a man like superman.”

——————————— 🦸🏻‍♂️ᯓ★ ———————————

your words made him feel something more then just butterflies. an ego booster, more cockier and confident. no more of a shy demeanor. he stood his head up higher than that morning, his eyes drawing to you anytime you walked into the room or left it. he was paying more closer attention. not caring the consequences it could bring.

max was like a sick puppy clinging onto you, asking random and unnecessary questions, smiling and smirking like a douchebag and more so making you do his work. the audacity he had to ask when he was fairly recent. clark hated that you were taken advantage of, everyone coming to you because they couldn’t do it properly. “you’re a lifesaver y/n! i owe you one! how about-” max couldn’t utter another word after clark cut him off.

clark scooted and leaned back from his chair, the small chair that was far to big for him and his muscled self. “you know you’re really a dick, a sick man for taking advantage of her knowing damn well you could do it yourself,” he fake smiled, crossing his arms against his chest. “this whole week you’ve been stuck to her hip asking for favors, the job you’re required and refusing to do, and for what?” clark didn’t stop there, if he could destroy him, he would’ve.

“i think it’s none of your business, kent. what’s so wrong to ask for help?” max poured his lips downward, shrugging his shoulders as he walked straight to him. “i am new after all and she’s the best of the best.”

“never said ms. y/l/n wasn’t, in fact she’s better then you’ll ever be, but she’ll never get there with distractions like you in the way,” clark wasn’t scared anymore, him too was tired of always swallowing back what he had to say. the room was silent, the shocked looks on everyone’s face including yours. but clark could tell it wasn’t just shock, he also felt the tension you had. “your job is easy but you’re making it harder for yourself, you’re playing with fire…” clark threatens, he stands up, almost a foot taller then max.

“whatever man, stick to your stupid superman interviews, maybe one of these days you’ll tell him just how miserable your life is,” max tried to insult but instead was sent with a deep laughter escaping clark’s throat. “that’s enough guys, we don’t need chaos after all this war,” you tried to ease the tension, “everyone get back to work, this happens everywhere and anywhere…”

“can i talk to you?” you asked with a brow raised, looking straight at the blue eyed man, who just nodded. his hand came to your lower back, his eyes never leaving max as he guided you to the private room by the lunch lounge. “what’s you’re problem clark? is everything okay?” you said with full concern, but quickly getting distracted by his manspread. he looked so huge, like a huge teddy bear you didn’t want to let go off.

“he just infuriates me so much,” clark sat up straight pushing his glasses up and running a hand through his curls. “no man has ever bothered me this much, but he just knows how to tick of that nerve in me,” his knuckle taps and knocks on the hand rest, feeling the familiar jealousy build in him. “i don’t understand why would it-”

you’ve known clark for a while. he was the nerdy type to keep to himself and avoid conflict, instead the one who would try to ease them. he never spoke or showed that much of emotion, so this was a huge surprise to you. you were intrigued and so drawn to this side, that you wanted to see how far he would go. was he just shy, or did he also have a fearless side…

“it makes me a sick to see or even think of a man next to you. i hate that they will get the chance to make you smile or laugh, or hold your hand. gift you pretty stuff, send you notes and flowers, do it all for you, it messes with my head, with my heart… it feels like my guts are being ripped apart,” clark confesses. the feelings he’s hidden for far to long. feelings that he will only ever feel for you. “i can do that too y/n, i can give you the world, if you ask me, if you let me…”

“clark…”

“ask me what you want…” clark stands up, your back hitting the wall as you look him up in down. “ask me what you need, what you desire… i’m more then just a shy and simple man…” clark tests the waters, leaning down to kiss your cheek and the inner corner of your mouth. “just say it, let me hear you…”

“i want you to kiss me clark… or should i say superman…” his blue eyes go wide, lashes touching his upper eyelid. “what did you say?” clark asked carefully, suddenly not being able to breathe clearly. “i said show me what you got, superman…” his thumb brushed your jaw, before pulling your chin down slowly to release your bottom lip that you were bitting.

“with pleasure…”

his two strong hands grip your hips, pulling you toward him as his mouth collides with yours. he swallows the small whimper you let out, only being able to taste the cherry on you and feel the tremor of your body. how the kiss makes your knees weak, the goosebumps spreading like wildfire across your skin, the chilling sensation running down his spine feeling tasting you. “is this what you pictured?” he asked, kissing your smile. “even better…”

without effort he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his torso as he led you to one of the countertops, kissing your jaw and your pulse point, licking the spot before bitting softly. “clark… we need to be quiet…” you warn, your hand runs up his back to grip his curls. clark sets you down, kissing you harshly and passionate, his body on fire and wanting to show you how deeply and madly he felt about you.

“i can’t help it… you’re so beautiful,” he lets out, his prominent bulge pressed against you. he kisses your bottom lip, watching it pull back, he takes advantage of the small gasp you let out to brush his tongue against yours, “wanna make you mine” his hand brushed and squeezed your ass. “wanna show you just how good i can treat you…” clark placed small but wet kisses on your lips, seeing how you easily melt away in his hold.

“no one’s stopping you,” you remark, taking off his glasses to see the real him. “you just needed to get this jealous in order to tell me,” you tease. “don’t bring him up, or i am capable of doing something you and i will regret,” he warns, getting ticked off thinking about max or any man’s face. “easy superman, we wouldn’t want the world to hate their favorite hero…” you scoot close to him, seeing the infamous smirk creep onto his lips.

“i don’t play around about my girl, she’s mine and mine only… and if someone intervenes, im capable of making them regret they ever lived…” his voiced dropped, making your clench your thighs around him. “what’s it gonna be miss y/l/n?” he whispered along your lips, feeling your lips curve into a smile.

“anything i want?”

“anything and everything you want y/n. i’m giving you my heart and world…”

——————————— 🦸🏻‍♂️ᯓ★ ———————————

#superman 2025 #superman #clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #clark kent imagine #clark kent blurb #clark kent smut #clark kent fluff #clark kent fanfiction

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madamechrissy · 17 days ago

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Nanami Kento's Breed Kink

Pairings - Nanami Kento x F! reader

Warnings - MDNI- Nanami is NOT NICE, he's a whole mf freak actually, dom Nanami, smacking, fingering, mentions of oral, p in v sex, creampie, breed kink (it's in the title lol) lil bit of aftercare hehe

Someone requested breed kink Nanami so heerre

Nanami Kento may seem well put together, quiet and borderline stiff, maybe even boring to some, but that was not the case at all, not with you.

He's loud in bed, guttural moans echoing in your ear, muttering filthy words while he'll fuck you from the back, filling you so full. He'll just talk and talk when he's fingering you, chuckling and mocking when you squirt all over him, muttering - 'messy little slut of mine'. You'll just cum more, he'll tease your hole over and over until you are just a little mewling mess, just how he likes you.

You've learned the moment he steps through the door and comes home, that he needs you. Whether it's you on your knees, sucking him while he tells you about his day, or it's him burying his face between your thighs after you bring him his favorite glass of whiskey, Nanami is just himself when he's here.

At first he held back a bit, but once he showed more and more and saw just how well you take it, he started to let go. Nanami Kento was a whole ass freak, in fact. At dinner with his friends and yours, fuck even with your family, he'll be fingering you under the table, whispering - 'aww, keep quiet, you're only my little whore' and immediately after be laughing at a joke, fingers stuffed inside you.

He was truly a menace!

The one thing new for you - and Nanami has really done a lot to your pussy these past few months - is when he says 'you'd look so pretty pregnant, darling' casually. You looked up at his hazel eyes in shock. You all are leaving dinner, he's driving that fancy silver sports car of his. You get flushed, when his hand comes to your thigh. 'Kento, do you really think so?' he chuckles softly. 'I know you would, I'd love to put a baby inside you'

You two barely make it home, he speeds too, no one would ever guess but the man does twenty over everwhere. No one would guess he's ripping your dress off, shoving his carefully ironed jacket and dress shirt on the floor. His huge muscles bulge and tense under his golden skin while he moves over you, pressing you down into the mattress. 'Kento... mnh...'

'Do you want a baby?' he asks desperately, rubbing his reddened tip against your slit, already drooling wetness, you gasp and nod quickly, he moans out, as he presses in. 'Want all my cum inside you?' you whine out, unable to answer, when you get a firm smack on the cheek, only making you soak his thick, veiny length. 'Answer me, pretty, be a good girl' you rub your stinging cheek while he pauses his thrust. 'Please, put a baby in me Kento'

Nanami loses it more than usual, your pussy will never really be able to take how big he is, how much it has to stretch to accommodate his girth. But she tries her damn best, and he makes sure to rub your clit, shoving your thighs up high... too high then, his strokes are hitting your cervix, making you scream out as the pain mixes with how fucking good it feels, bottoming out inside you. 'K-ken, what position is this?'

He smirks at you, his eyes have dilated so much they're black, folding you in half now. Your thighs brush against your breasts when he puts just a bit of weight on you, murmuring all calmly - 'A mating press, love, for you to take all my cum, make sure it gets you pregnant, round with me. Do you want it, my sweet little slut?' You nod, already pulsing around him, and he moans out - 'good girl' - trying to end you then and there.

Once Nanami has ruined your cunt, fucking you hard and fast, while muttering his filthy mix of degradation and love declarations, he thickens inside you, while you're closer and closer to falling apart. 'Ready for me to put it all inside you?' you nod eagerly, whining out as the slapping of his heavy balls mixes with the squishing of your cunt, until he busts inside of you, and you cum right with him, cunt milking him for every sticky drop to coat your walls.

Nanami doesn't just cum in you, no he's full psycho soon, shoving the cum that's pouring from your sore little hole right back in, brushing your hair back as he smiles at you. 'You did so good for me, but your slutty cunt is wasting it' you're wriggling, so sore, his white ropes dripping down his hand. 'Do you need more, darling?' your answer is really just a nod and an - 'ngh' - before he does just that, determined to get you pregnant tonight.

Nanami Kento is not a gentleman nor is he quiet, he's actually fucking insane and now his breed kink is next level. Luckily he'll give you a sweet bubble bath and make you breakfast the next morning - grinning at you and saying - 'you need to eat healthy if you wanna make it tonight, darling'.

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷- Nanami Masterlist

#nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #nanami x you #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x fem!reader #kento smut #kento x reader #kento x you #jjk nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #divider by omi resources #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you

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athenalvss · 2 months ago

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SHE JUST WANTS TO F**K ME ALL THE TIME ▬▬ ( Dick grayson )

tw:sex, nothing too explicit cause I'm afraid of success

summary:Dick loved sex, and thought no one could surpass how high his sex drive is, until he started a relationship with you and you are all the time trying to get him to fuck you.

pairing:dick grayson x fem reader

open request ‐ dick grayson masterlist

"I tried to leave the house but she won't let me out."

"Again? "

The morning had been a bit rough for Dick, he'd woken up to your ass moving painfully on his cock, leaving him ready for their usual morning fuck.

Dick is shirtless, sweaty, his hair a mess, and the sheets still stuck to his back. He shakes his head, chuckling as you try to drag him back toward you by the waistband of his boxers.

Your fingers play with the elastic, and your eyes are begging for one more round. “It’s your fault,” you murmur, leaving wet kisses on his abdomen. “You shouldn’t look like this right after we finish. You tempt me all the time.”

He lets out a hoarse laugh and drops back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows. "You're literally draining me."

"You're more than fit, Nightwing. You can handle another one."

"You think so?" In a second, his expression changes. Dick grabs you by the wrists, twists your body with ridiculous ease, and leaves you beneath him, one knee between your legs and your arms pinned above your head.

"You know normal people only get one round?" he mutters playfully.

He slides his mouth down your neck, to your collarbone. He sucks right where you know he'll leave a mark. His hands release your wrists, but only to run his rough hands all over your naked body, stroking that impatient, dripping pussy of yours.

"That's it," he whispers against your ear. "You're going to make me late again, you know?"

You don't answer. You just moan under his touch, and that brings out a cocky smile from him. He knew the answer. He always does.

His fingers sink into you without warning, moving with a delicious rhythm that forces your back to arch. But he gives you no respite.

"Did you want another round, gorgeous?" he asks, his lips brushing against yours, barely touching you. "Then you're going to earn it."

Before you can say anything, he's already sliding down. He spreads your legs with ease and begins to eat you out with a mixture of hunger and devotion that leaves you breathless. His tongue works as if it has a damn mission. And in part, it does: to leave you so trembling that you can't drag him back down for hours.

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging unintentionally as your body writhes beneath his mouth.

"Dick... please..."

"Please, what?" he asks in a husky voice, his lips wet, his eyes shining with perversion. "Did you want another one? I'll give it to you. But I'll ruin you first."

▬★

"She wants me at the party, she wants me at the mall"

Dick Grayson always looks impeccable, but there was no better version than Dick Grayson in a tailored black suit, his blue tie, charming smile, and his usual confident posture. He's an expert at moving through high society without losing that mischievous air that distinguishes him. And, as always, he has the attention of every woman in the room.

You just watch him from a distance, drink in hand, dressed in that dress he'd picked out for you once. The one that left him spellbound, so he couldn't take his eyes off your chest. And every movement you made made Dick want to forget about the gala, about Bruce, about all of Gotham.

Since he looked so good in that white shirt that perfectly covered his hard-working body, the one you slept in every night, you should definitely make him wear more suits.

You approached him through the crowd, Dick interrupts his conversation kindly once he sees you closer.

“Can we talk for a second?” you asked, in the sweetest tone you could muster, not letting on any malice you had in mind.

Dick nods immediately, and reflexively follows you without asking any questions.

You lead him down one of the hall's side corridors, to a quiet area, away from the hustle and bustle and prying eyes. The light is soft, golden. The sound of the music barely reaches you. Dick crosses his arms, curious.

“What's up?” he asks with a smile. “Are you bored without me?”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, taking a step closer. Your eyes were brighter than ever, with that mischievous reflex you usually had when you wanted to tell him something in secret. You fiddled with the fabric of your own dress, lowering your gaze slightly, as if you were embarrassed by what you were about to say.

“It’s just… I don’t know if I should say this now,” you whisper, biting your lip.

Dick leans in slightly, intrigued. “Tell me what, swet heart?” He runs his hand gently through your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear.

You looked up, looked at him with those good-girl eyes he knew so well. And you let go, softly, sweetly, as if you were saying "I love you" for the first time.

“I want to suck your cock.”

The silence is immediate.

Dick blinks. Once. Twice. The air suddenly feels thick. He stands there, staring at her, processing the sentence. Because it wasn't just what you said. It was how she said it. So cute, so damn sweet.

“You…” he begins, a nervous laugh escaping him. “You can’t say that like that, not here. Not with that voice.”

You tilted your head, pretending not to understand. “What did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wrong?” he repeats, his eyes darting around, as if he were already deciding which wall to use. “Do you know what you do to me when you talk like that?”

You shake your head with completely feigned innocence. “What if I just… walk you to your car? Just a second. Just to… distract you, you look a little overwhelmed,” you say, running a finger along his tie.

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, as if it takes all his willpower not to drag her down that hallway right now. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

Dick didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took your hand firmly, and without looking back, led you through one of the side doors that led to the building's private parking lot. No one saw them. No one dared to stop him.

The car was just steps away. One of Bruce's. Tinted windows, total luxury… and, above all, privacy.

He opened the back door without a word, and before you could even mock his urgency, he'd helped you in carefully, without wrinkling your dress too much. He closed it behind him and stared at you, still kneeling in the seat, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he murmured, unable to stop staring at your mouth.

You, with the same innocent sweetness as before, leaned towards him, brought your hands to the knot of his blue tie and slowly loosened it.

“I have a couple of ideas, but we need more space.”

Your fingers moved down his white shirt, unbuttoning the first button, then the second… but Dick was barely breathing. His gaze burned, fixed on you, somewhere between exhaustion and on the verge of collapse.

Slowly, you knelt between the seats, your smile as soft as it was dangerous.

“Is this okay?” you asked in a low voice, unbuckling his belt with a skill only someone who knew him so well could possess.

Dick let out a stifled laugh, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. "Now you're worried about that?"

You looked at him once more, as if seeking confirmation that he really wanted this. He looked back at you, completely lost in you.

And then you did it .

Slowly, as if you were tasting a sweet treat for the first time. Caressing him with your lips, with your tongue, with that tenderness and adoration that only you knew how to turn into torture.

Dick placed one hand against the fogged-up glass of the car, the other on the back of your neck, not pressing you, just holding you, as if he needed to hold on to something real to keep from losing control.

Your every move was measured, precise, delicate, and devastating at the same time. You knew him so well that you knew exactly when to speed up, when to play, when to stop for a second and look down on him, with that angelic face that had already earned its place in heaven...

▬▬★

"She just wants to fuck me all the time"

The sound of gloves hitting, the creaking of mats, and the rhythmic panting of labored breaths filled the space. you were in the middle of a sparring session. you and Dick, face to face on the mat, exchanging measured but intense blows.

He was focused, sweaty, his black T-shirt clinging to his body, his arm muscles flexing with every movement. Every kick, every spin, made him look even more irresistible. There was no way to hide it: you were distracted. Very distracted.

The roll of his hips as he kicked. The way he panted. The deep sound of his voice as he gave orders. Your mind wasn't on the practice. It was on his body above yours.

At one point, he takes a few steps back to give you space. He cranes his neck, wipes the sweat with the back of his forearm, and looks at you.

"Your turn. come on"

His voice snaps you out of your trance, but it's too late. You're horny. Too horny to be honest.

You stand, hiding it as best you can, but as soon as you get close, he notices. Dick always notices. Your dilated pupils. Your breathing. The way you lower your gaze directly to his neck.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you okay?”

"Perfect" you lie.

"Then fight," he smiles, giving you the first soft blow with his glove, as a provocation.

But as soon as you're in front of him, you give in to temptation. Your hand doesn't go to the glove. It goes to the collar of his shirt. You get closer than necessary. Your lips brush his ear. "You're all sweaty... it smells so good..."

Dick lets out a grunt and in a second he has you cornered against the mat wall, his forearm blocking your way. "Are you horny? Here, while we're training? such a needy whore" he whispers, his voice tense and dark.

"It's not my fault you're so fucking sexy when you give orders."

He looks you for a few seconds, assessing. Then he shakes his head, a crooked smile crossing his face."You're impossible."

He quickly spins you around, pressing your body against the wall, his hard crotch already resting against your ass. His hand moves straight down to your crotch inside your leggings, and when he feels how wet you are, he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ… You’re soaked."

Dick already had his hand inside your leggings when you reacted with a sly smile.

"I'm not going to let you win that easily," you whisper to him, just before turning around abruptly.

He didn't expect it.

You hook him with a swift kick to the thigh and take advantage of his slightest distraction to pull on his arm, knocking him off balance. You both fall to the mat with a thud, but you remain on top, with your knees on either side of his hips.

Dick snorts, clearly surprised, and looks at you with a mixture of pride and annoyance. "Are you playing, or do you want to fight for real?"

"this is my foreplay " you say, with a mischievous smile. You lean over him, placing one hand firmly on his chest while the other goes straight to his waist. He doesn't even move. He just watches you, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't even think about it… "

But you don't let him finish. With a swift movement, you push your hips down, positioning yourself right over his erection through his clothes. The moan he lets out isn't from pain. It's pure instinct.

"What are you doing?" he growls, grabbing your hips. "This is a workout, not an invitation to fuck me with my clothes on."

“Then take me down,” you challenge, starting to move slowly, pressing your core against his member with a friction that draws a low sigh from you.

He grits his teeth. His hands tighten around your waist, as if he's struggling between pushing you off him and pushing you closer. "You're a fucking temptation," he says, his voice deep and husky. "A fucking distraction with legs."

"You're too weak," you tease. "Look at you, you can't even concentrate."

He flips you over with a ferocious snarl, trapping you underneath him in the blink of an eye, his body pressing yours into the mats.

But just as he's about to rip your leggings off...

"Richard." Bruce's dry voice comes back through the cave's speaker.

The silence falls. Dick rests his forehead against your collarbone. He says nothing.

"Five minutes until you are dressed and out."

#dc masterlist #dick grayson masterlist #dick grayson smut #imagine dick grayson #nightwing x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x female!reader #smut #dc x reader #nightwing smut

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szatears · 4 months ago

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just a lil' something, smoke.

summary: no matter how hard he tries to reject your advances, smoke always gives in. after all, you know his body like no other.

pairing: smoke x reader, platonic stack x reader.

warnings: use of the n word, allusions to sex, making out.

notes: first time writing in a couple months !!! literally had no plot with this one i just went straight off the bag lmao. also this isn't proofread at all!

It wasn't uncommon for you to find your way to his arms. Usually it would all be under his control; he'd call on you, he'd tell you what to do and you'd happily oblige. It went on like that for some time.

Only, you never got used to Smoke's hard exterior.

You thought that with time, you'd be able to read him better, but it seems it only become more difficult as time went on.

You and Smoke had been messing around for some time now, ever since he first laid eyes on you at a neighbourhood event he and his brother were "just passing by". But when he and Stack left for Chicago, all that went away.

You didn't expect the invite to the twins' new juke joint to find you, but there you were at the train station with Pearline when Stack found you.

"I ain't seen you in hot minute," he grabbed at your hand and twirled you towards him, ever the flirt. Your light pink sundress spun with you, frilly and light with air.

"Alright, Stack, let me go," you laughed, pushing at his chest. You turned around to check on Pearline, seeing her smiling at the twins' cousin, Preacher Boy. "What brings you back? Chicago too hard for you?"

"Girl, ain't nothing too hard for us," Stack waved you off, kissing his teeth. "We jus' wanted something a lil' more... familiar."

You rolled your eyes at him, whatever that meant.

"Say, we're having us an opening party tonight. Smoke and I got ourselves a new joint," a smirk graced Stack's face as you held a more quizzical look.

"Oh really? And whose pockets did you pick to get that new joint?"

"You want an invite or not, 'cause the way you goin', you gon' get blacklisted before it even open," he tilted his head to look down at you, his hat shadowing his face a bit.

"Alright, alright," you laughed. "I'll be there."

"Damn right," he smiled. "Imma tell Smoke too, that nigga sure could loosen up a bit."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes at the mention of his brothers' name, whom you haven't seen since the night he told you he was leaving for Chicago, more like the night you found out rather than got told.

It was around 10pm when you got to the joint, the sound of music and laughter drawing you in. You couldn't lie to yourselves, the boys had outdone themselves on this one. Cornbread was at the door when you arrived, a smile on his face as you walked closer.

"Well, if it ain't lil' missy herself!" He laughed aloud.

"Hey Cornbread," you smiled, wiping away a curl from your face.

"Go on in, Stack an 'em expecting you."

By 'them' you assumed he meant Preacher Boy, who was with Stack when he extended the invite to you.

Walking in, the smell of food hit you straight away. The lights shone on everyone, illuminating faces and figures, some that you knew, some you didn't. Your eyes were looking for a certain someone's, never seeming to find them.

"I knew you'd come," you heard Stack before you even saw him. He swung his arm over your shoulder, a drink in the same hand. "You look good."

"You don't clean up too bad yourself," you patted his chest, a bright smile on your face.

He smiled back at you, gold caps glinting when they caught the light. "Aight, let's get you a drink, hm?"

He didn't give you tike to respond, walking you towards the bae section of the joint. You saw Annie behind the counter and a few others behind her.

"Hey Annie," you greeted her with a civil smile, to which she returned. Things between you and Annie weren't the best, but they weren't bad either. You knew better than to blame Smoke's personality towards you on the other woman in his life, especially because she'd been with him longer than you had.

You pulled out a few crumpled notes from your bra, but before they could even hit the counter, Stack had snatched them.

"Man, get that pocket change outta here," he said, pointing the cash back at you.

"Huh— I'm buying myself a drink, Stack, give it back." You huffed when he held it away from you again.

"It's on the house," he nodded at Annie, who grabbed a cup and filled it, handing it back to you.

"I thought y'all ain't do charity?" you laughed, accepting the drink nevertheless.

"It's a special night, and plus, you one of the few I like," he kissed your cheek, leaving as quickly as he found you, not before he stuck your cash under the strap of your dress on your shoulder.

You shook your head, moving through the crowd with your drink, smiling back at those who greeted you.

You found yourself a little corner to watch the stage and everyone else, leaning against the thick wood as you let the drink flow through your body. As you tipped your head back to drink more, your eyes caught his.

Of course, he was upstairs, watching over everyone else. His eyes stared right back at you as he took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke he exhaled wafting through the joint. You didn't break the eye contact, staring back at him as you drank from your cup.

It felt like you were staring at each other for ages, but seconds later he tipped his head to the side, gesturing for you to come up. Then he disappeared into a room.

Your breath hitched, your hand taking to your collarbone to ease the burn of the alcohol. You didn't know what to expect, things with Smoke were almost always unpredictable.

Regardless, you put the cup down and made your way slowly up the stairs to where you last saw him, adjusting the silky navy blue dress that you wore as you went.

The music was quieter upstairs, slightly muffled by the foundations and thickness of the room's doors.

You stood outside the room before knocking twice on the door, opening it shortly after.

His back greeted you, toned arms begging to be relieved from the slightest tightness of his shirt and waistcoat. He still had the cigarette, though when he turned to you, you knew it was only a matter of time before he ashed it.

You didn't say anything, leaning on the back of the door as you watch him.

He studied you for a bit, and that's when you really saw him for the first time in what felt like forever. His chiseled face, sculpted with time and effort. Those eyes that never seemed to soften, only at times when you got him loose enough to let go, just for a bit.

"Whatchu doin' here?" He said, startling you from your thoughts. You didn't expect that to be the first thing he said to you, but then again this was Smoke, he didn't care what he said to who.

"You told me to come up here, didn't you?" you smiled back sweetly, enjoying the feeling you got when you got under his skin.

"Stop sassing," he mumbled, ashing the cigarette at the end of the wooden desk.

He took a seat on the same desk, folding his arms across his chest.

"How you been, then? Didn't hear much from you these past days," you couldn't care less about how he was, and he knew that. You just wanted the truth and the honest truth.

He didn't answer you right away, simply allowed himself to eye you up and down. The way the dress hugger you perfectly, the navy blue on your melanin skin, the way it was cut low on your chest to expose just a little cleavage... he was enjoying it. Almost like it was just for him.

"You ain't got no where better to be?" He changed the topic again, much to your annoyance.

You let out a bitter scoff, already regretting following Smoke into the room. "You told me to meet you in here. Don't act like you didn't, Smoke," you kissed your teeth.

One thing about Smoke, he didn't do attitudes, regardless of whether or not he deserved it.

"Come here," he spoke to you softly, which should've alerted you if anything. Instead, you allowed your legs to take you to him standing right in front of his taller figure.

His hands rested on your waist, pulling you into him. Now, you stood between his legs as his eyes stared into yours.

"Why'd you leave, Smoke?"

He sighed but didn't act surprised, like he knew this was where the conversation would go. Your hands made their way to his broad shoulders, massaging gently.

"You already know why I had to go, business don't wait for no one."

You huffed at his answer, pulling back as much as you could whilst still in his hold.

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."

"What else you want me to say?"

You look at him then, really looked at him. "I want the truth. Why'd you leave me? When you was just saying all that stuff about wanting to be better for me an' all... It makes no sense."

Smoke looked away from you when you said that, but you still felt his fingers dragging up and down your waist, almost like he was making sure you were real, that you were still in his hold.

When a few moments of more silence passed, you pushed away from him, ready to go back down and pretend none of this even happened.

But Smoke didn't let you. He turned you back around in his hold, your chest against his back. His head dipped down to your bare neck, kissing along. His beard tickled, but you found yourself too busy almost melting into him to register it.

"You scare me sometimes," he mumbled, so quiet you almost missed it.

"What?" you whispered, eyes fluttering closed. "When was you scared of anything?"

"You're too... good. I'on know how to handle that." He was speaking honestly now, and it made sense why he turned you away from him to say this. Smoke never shower any vulnerability. You thought he was immune to it but it turns out he just never wanted anyone to see that side of him.

"Smoke..." you trailed off when he began to suck and bite at your neck, eliciting the faintest of moans from your lips. You pressed back into him, needing to feel more.

"I had to leave. Not because of you but you know I ain't good for you... I'on know why you can't understand that." He brought his left hand to your throat, tipping your head back into his shoulder as he spoke. Your eyes closed, suppressing the lewd sounds threatening to escape. He was barely touching you yet already had you like this? Insane.

"I don't care about that, Smoke." You managed to get out.

"Yeah, well you should." The way he said it sounded almost like a laugh. "You don't make no sense, baby."

He was right. Smoke wasn't the type of guy that a lady should keep chasing if she knew he didn't have what she wanted. Yet you, you kept trying. And that's what confused him.

He did everything to throw you off of him — use you when it pleased him, shut you out, literally everything he could think of. But it seemed to only make things between you stronger.

You forced yourself out of his grip and turned around, now looking him right in the eyes. He could see how hot and flustered he got you.

"I do make sense. I always tell you what I want, it's you who acts like he don't know what he wants." Your hands caressed his face bringing his forehead to rest on yours.

Smoke closed his eyes, his hands cupping your ass as he held you against him. He shook his head, seemingly about to say something before he pulled away.

"Stop," you frowned. "Stop forcing yourself away from me."

"I have to," he grunted, looking anywhere but at you.

Still, you pulled his face back to your, making him look back at you.

"You know you want to," you whispered, dropping a hand from his face and down to his pants, stroking over his clothes bulge. Smoke groaned lowly, throwing his head back. "Give me a lil' something, huh, baby?" you asked sweetly. How could he deny that?

He brought his hand back to your neck, pulling you in til your lips touched his. You moaned almost immediately, it had been way too long.

Smoke kissed you like he would never get the chance to do it again, pulling you impossibly closer to him whilst one of your hands held the nape of his neck, the other still palming him.

He lowly moaned into your mouth when you pulled away slowly, biting his lip. You left him do what he did best, take control.

He turned you around, lifting you up to sit on the desk, his hands roaming all over your body. "You're something else," he whispered against your lips as you fumbled at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt.

"Yeah, you love it, don't you?"

You felt him smile against your lips, just ever so slightly. If anything, that told you he wasn't ready to let you go. Not just yet. And that was enough for now.

He broke away from your lips to kiss along your neck, your head thrown back in pleasure as your legs wrapped around his body. "Smoke..." you whispered.

"Yeah, baby?" he kissed along your jaw, your hand wrapped around his throat as you pulled him closer to your face.

"I always get what I want."

#smoke x reader #michael b jordan x reader #sinners #sinners x reader #smoke x black reader #sinners fanfic #sinners fanfiction #michael b jordan fanfiction

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psuejo · 4 months ago

Text

❥ boynextdoor!gojo and his adorable loser!neighbor :c

you never leave your house. like, ever.

the last time he saw you even step outside was two weeks ago on saturday at 1:02pm, and that was because you had to bring in the garbage can and mail since your parents were off on vacation.

how could you live like that? you just stay cramped up in your room, surrounded by anime posters and weird figures, hunched over some silly pc playing an even sillier game. it’s an absolute mess in there, too — empty cups and bottles everywhere, dishes that really need to go into the dishwasher, an ever-growing pile of unfolded clothes.

satoru can’t let you go on like this. the last time he snuck into your room for a little gift from your hamper, he’d nearly broken his neck. your room needs to be deemed a serious health hazard!

so, like any good neighbor would, the next time your parents leave to travel somewhere, satoru offers to stay at the house with you. y’know, for double protection. he wouldn’t want anything to happen to your parents’ precious baby girl!

you, of course, were not amused. c’mon, seriously? satoru gojo, the city’s it-boy, wanting to stay in your house that’s practically a shed in comparison to his massive mansion? it’s gotta be some cruel, twisted joke — an extra rusty knife shoved into the shitshow of your life.

but, no, unluckily for you. satoru is dead serious, and he pulls out all the stops to get your worrywart parents to agree: that bright, charming smile, a hefty compensation if anything goes awry, a voucher to some snobby golf club, and even an invitation to have dinner with his family.

what aspiring business person wouldn’t want to talk to the most influential clan in japan? they wouldn’t say no even if they wanted to.

it’s a win-win — they get to schmooze and network like the power-hungry vermin they are, and satoru gets to have you, his little cutie pie, to himself for a weekend, without any interruptions.

what could possibly go wrong?

you quickly realize that it is everything.

satoru is a pest. sure, you knew that already, but somehow his need to and the success rate of agitating you had skyrocketed in the past six months that you hadn’t seen him.

he’s always touching you — sitting too close on the couch, lanky arm slung along the back of it, his big hand ruffling your already messy hair whenever he walks past, or his feet brushing yours underneath the kitchen table.

and if that wasn’t bad enough, he never. stops. talking. it’s like when he was born, his genes forgot to put a switch to turn him off, because you swear he just goes on and on and on and on about nothing.

all you want is peace and quiet for a weekend. that’s it! your parents aren’t home to pester you about transferring to in-person classes at university or about finally applying for a job. alas, he’s here to spoil your damn plans.

your frustrations eventually reach a boiling point, and you relax the best way you know how: with that tiny pink vibrator.

you just didn’t expect satoru to walk in and offer to help.

which is precisely how you’re now in his lap, trembling legs spread as satoru pumps two long, slender fingers in and out of your needy cunt. they go way deeper than yours could ever hope to, curling and scissoring right against that sweet spot that has your back arching against his chest.

his other hand is clasped around your smaller one, making sure you keep your precious vibrator right on that puffy clit. if you wanted to get off so bad, all you had to do is ask!

but you didn’t, so he had to wait ‘til he heard those poorly stifled whimpers before casually strutting in for his forgotten phone.

oopsie.

“feels good, right?” he whispers, warm breath ghosting across the shell of your ear, and you don’t even need to see his face to know he’s smiling. bastard.

you nod your head, though, too far gone in the lusty haze to bother with being snarky. that delicate coil in your gut is so close to snapping, much closer than it usually is when you do this yourself. “mmf, yeah...”

and satoru knows it.

he moves your thumb to press the up setting twice on your toy, and his cock gives a happy twitch from its confines in his boxers when you squeal, hips bucking up into the vibrator and pushing his fingers deeper.

another oopsie.

one he doesn’t regret the second your moans get louder, gooey walls fluttering around his fingers as you grind up. “ohh, fuck, ‘m g’na cum, oh my god—!”

you’re so beautiful when you cum, eyes sliding back and squirt spraying the towel beneath you and satoru’s hand as you clamp down on his fingers, entire body shuddering and twitching.

he has to think about some long-winded chemistry formula to not cream his pants right then and there.

when you finally start to get your breath back, chest heaving and face flushed with what he’s sure is both arousal and embarrassment, that’s when satoru pulls his fingers free with a loud squelch.

“aww, she misses me already,” he coos, and you don’t even get a moment to be confused before he pops his fingers into his mouth, lapping up your essence like it’s his last supper.

it’s gross, hearing those wet slurping noises behind you, but your gut tightens anyway, and you ignore the small feeling of disappointment when he takes his fingers out of his mouth.

“don’t worry, baby.” with two big hands on your waist, he shifts you off his lap and lays you down on your back. “i’ll stuff ‘er full with something bigger, how about that?”

#jjk #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk gojo smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x fem!reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader

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