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18+ giving clark kent a blowjob
clark kent’s restraint was tested every single day, since he’d crashed on earth in that pod all that time ago.
but even counting his adventures and tribulations of being the man of steel, he would still count this moment right here, as the ever most testing.
“e-easy baby” his shaky voice meets your ear at the same time his hand races to hold the back of your head in search of control.
you press your lips together to hold your laugh, but cant stop the teasing smile that graces your face at his tone.
“clark i haven’t even done anything yet.” you reply, looking up at his face through your eyelashes.
all you’d done so far was get on your knees in front of him and reach for the band of his sweats.
however, you definitely weren’t complaining about how sensitive your giant boyfriend was, seeing him squirm before you even set sight on his cock had your brain conjuring up exactly how he’d react when you ran your tongue along his-
“yeah i know, its just seeing you like that on your uh, on your knees.” his response cuts through your imaginations.
“you like seeing me on my knees for you clark? does that turn you on?”
you bring your hand up again and use your index finger to run a line along the sliver of skin exposed just above his boxers while you continue to gaze up at him, running your tongue over your bottom lip.
he groans and throws his head back at your teasing, his hand releasing the grip it previously had on your hair. which you take as a sign to continue.
“sweet jesus, your gonna be the death of me” he murmurs, watching your every move.
you tap his hip twice and he takes the sign to sit up so you can drag the material thats restricting him, down his thick muscle ridden thighs.
slowly, you pull down the fabric, revealing your boyfriends full length as it springs upward.
leaning forward, you lick from the base all the way to the tip of his shaft.
clark whines in protest at your speed or lack there of. bucking his hips up towards your face.
taking it as a sign, you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock. swirling your tongue around it before lowering the rest deeeep into your throat, breathing through your nose to keep from gagging.
you brace your hands on either side of clark’s thighs, pushing your head down. enjoying the feeling of his throbbing veins against your tongue.
moving your hands from his thighs, you bring them to the base of his cock. stimulating everything you can’t fit down your throat.
clark whines above you, taking a firm grip of your hair. not to pull or push, just to get it out of your way.
“ohh baby just, fuck, just like that.”
“you’re amazing, my god you’re perfection.”
“oh-okay y’gotta get off angel i can’t…”
his words only encourage you. picking up your speed, you watch as the man of steel falls apart under your tongue.
you can’t help but gag at the feeling of his tip hitting the very back walls of your throat. causing it to constrict against his length.
“baby i can’t, you… shit”
his hips buck up, forcing his cock impossibly deep into the back of your throat while he find his release. not even noticing his hand pushing your head down onto him leaving you unable to move.
not that you mind.
*NSFW thoughts about roommate!bucky*
currently thinking about roommate!bucky who makes erotic audios complaining to you about how his fans have been asking for a pussy eating audio but he just can't get into eating the fake pussy he bought. no matter what he does it doesn't sound realistic enough on the mic.
him complaining to you turns into him asking you to be his prop and you agree cause who wouldn't agree to having bucky barnes eating your pussy. so you end up on the desk with your panties stuffed in your mouth as a gag "don't want the mic to pick up on the wrong pretty noises, sweetheart"
he just gets so into eating his best friend's pussy he forgets the script, so focused on worshipping you, drinking in every divine taste even as your moans start to leak past the panties in your mouth "I know darlin' I ain't playin' fair, just can't get enough of you"
after he gets to feel and taste your orgasm on his tongue he of abandons the premise altogether to finally fuck you like you've both been dancing around since you moved in together. he ends up posting the audio anyway and his fans go insane for the 'natural chemistry' so he asks you to be his prop again and of course you agree. "I'm not surprised they can't get enough of you. I know I never will"
⌑ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⌑ ⌇ @ 𝑠𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 | | | 𝑤𝑤𝑤.𝑏𝑒𝑑𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑚.𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 ( mdni )
CLARK KENT’S sexual awakening never happened. His ma did enough to hide him from the more carnal parts of life, so imagine his surprise and borderline nose-wrinkle in sex-ed junior year when he found out what adults did behind closed doors.
Even when he grew up, got a job in the Planet, made his alter-ego known, he still didn’t feel the need to… have coitus. He was too scared he’d snap some poor girl in half if he tried.
The first time he ever tried, he’d barely got the tip in before he came, embarrassingly quick. Maybe it was the nerves of it all, maybe his body was eager to get it over with. Safe to say, that girl — as lovely as she was — broke up with him a week later because she felt like he was just in pursuit of his own pleasure. Not true, by the way, his ma always told him to think of the lady first.
Like every Monday, he was pushing his way through the Metropolis work crowd, against the tides of people. Not really looking where he was going, trying not to drop an iced tea — Lois forced him to try it, just to be clear — on any unsuspecting people by holding it high above possible shoulders.
That failed.
In the pursuit of not splashing anyone with peach iced tea, he forgot to look straight and collided straight into someone, sending a drink flying into a silk dress.
Oh, no.
He watched in horror as the material dampened, clung to your body, and became slightly more sheer by the second. “Golly, I’m so sorry—”
The subsequent scoff nearly tore into his self-esteem battery for the day. “Hey, watch where you’re…”
Your eyes locked. All anger faded away, replaced by the dread that you hurt this sexy behemoth of a man’s feelings and he now hated you forever. “… you know what? No worries, don’t— don’t think about it too much.”
He instantly shrugged off his blazer and held it out to you. “But your dress— great dress, by the way,” it was a… really pretty dress, golly, “it’s ruined. I ruined it. I can pay for the dry cleaning.”
You waved your hand noncommittally, but you took the blazer anyway to cover up, it was massive on you. Lord— wait, he shouldn’t take his name in vain. “Seriously, I’m fine. I was on my way to a bachelorette party, one of my friends there will definitely have a spare, she has one for everyone.”
He blinked. “Everyone?”
“Yeah.” You grinned, gosh, it was a pretty smile. “She’s like that. Weird, I know. And— don’t worry about the dry cleaning, I’ve got it. I’m sorry about your drink.”
“No, you saved me.” He laughed nervously. “My coworker forced me to try it, to tell y’the truth, I did not want to.”
“So I saved you.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his curls, messing them up even more. “And please. Please bill me for the dry cleaning, I’ll feel bad if you don’t.”
“Fine. Fine.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll bill you.” Locking eyes with him once more took the words from his lungs. Good Lord, those eyes were sexy. All of him was sexy, in a cute way, bumbling gait, pushing his glasses up his nose, the rosiness of his cheeks. You checked your watch. Fuck. “Well, I’m in a rush, so—”
“Yeah, you gotta—”
“See you.” You began walking off at a fast pace. Something jolted in his navel. He felt hot from embarrassment. His relaxed-fit trousers felt… not so relaxed anymore.
He looked down. That looked like a sexual awakening.
“Clark!” He yelled loudly, head snapping up to stare at you like a dishevelled deer in headlights. What the hay? Why did he do that? Why did he yell that? He covered his crotch with his messenger bag.
Your smile told him you noticed. With an uptick in your heart rate and an increase in your breathing’s heaviness, a sweet smell tickled his nose. It wasn’t the bakery next to him, that’s for sure. You smiled, and shouted back your name at the same volume.
He hurried to the nearest bathroom to yell at his body.
Cat slid onto his desk, setting core in front of him. Not for him, clearly. “I was at a bachelorette last week.” She started, tapping her nail on his desk to get him to look at her. Deadlines needed to be crunched, so he barely did. She accepted that.
Clark’s fingers kept flying. “Cat, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
She laughed. “I have a friend. She asked me about a dorky guy named Clark Kent who still writes his name on the tags of his clothes.” She dropped a sugar cube into her coffee, stirring it. “A habit I thought we left back in our sophomore year of high school.”
His neck turned red. His foot covered the name tag on his bag’s handle. But she laughed and dropped another sugar cube into. He sent a furtive glance of concern for her health. “Whatever.” She sighed, taking a long sip. “I told her you were single.”
He almost spluttered over no liquid. “What?”
“I told her you were single.” She repeated simply.
“Why?”
“She asked.” This time he almost choked on a gulp of straight, bitter black coffee. “I gave her your number. To bill you for the dry cleaning.” Pause for an effectively captivating sip of over-sweetened coffee. “Among other things.” She muttered under her breath, but he caught it. She smiled widely. “Toodles!” She got up and walked off.
He threw his hands up, tripping over his words. “Cat— you can’t—” But she was in her own world, singing Freak by Doja Cat.
His phone buzzed. With shaking hands, he opened it, unknown number.
Didn’t know they made clothes in your size. Underneath: Wanna come round to get it this weekend? To talk to bit.
He saved your contact first. Before typing out a clumsy agreement, which he didn’t know was possible over text. Judging by how you didn’t immediately get put off, you were into it.
He was on time, on the dot of the agreed time, which was two o’clock. After lunch, before it got too dark, but still enough time to talk.
He’d cleaned up a little more than usual. Tried to use a hair pomade to ensure his curls weren’t as wild as they usually were. Wear a slightly tighter fitting shirt than before. Brush his teeth. Pop a few breath mints. Avoid the morning coffee, put on copious amounts of hand lotion and lip balm. Everything had to be perfect. He even trimmed his happy trail for this.
You laid the plan. Took a shower so your skin was dewy. Prepped your hair. Kept the makeup minimal, because a full beat would give the plan away. You chose your best, flowiest robe.
You wanted him to unwrap you like a present.
When your doorbell rang, you dabbed on a final bit of lipstick before you chucked it onto a side table and opened the door.
You felt your thighs rub together on instinct the moment you saw him. He felt his breath leave his body when he saw you, checking his watch. “Maybe I’m early—”
“You’re on time.” It came out more breathless than expected. Nodding back into your apartment. “I… I have your jacket. I put it in the wash, the inside got stained with a little iced tea.”
“You can bill me for that too.”
“Seriously? No.” You waved your hand. “No. You’re fine.” You ushered him inside. “It was a thank you, for paying for my dry cleaning and lending me your jacket.” You waved him towards the couch. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
You.
“Um, I’m fine.” He sat on the couch, you sat opposite, picking up a glass of wine that was there before he came. You looked… stunning. He felt his collar get hot. He tugged at it. “You invited me to watch a movie.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still want to watch a movie?”
“No.”
“Oh. Oh. I was under the impression that we’d be…” He gestured in between you two. So he had the same assumption you did.
Your lips curled up. “I was under that impression too.”
He nodded. You could see a bulge slowly growing in his trousers. “I mean, I— I have to warn you, I’m not that… experienced.”
You blinked, slightly amused. A little interested. “Oh? How so?”
“I…” He made a weird motion, he didn’t even know what it was supposed to mean. It’s likely get interpreted as something like flying a plane, “finish too quickly. Women find it off putting.”
The way you were looking at him, it seemed like you found it off putting as well. Just frozen in time, sat there, staring at him. “That’s…” You let out a whoosh of air. Then your hand gripped his jaw, “really fucking hot—”
Oh. You were into it.
Huh. You were kissing him.
Golly. He was kissing back.
His hand covered the one holding his jaw, pressing into your lips and your body instinctively like there was a magnet from him to you. You pushed back, swinging a leg over both of his till your knees knocked into his hips. This was new.
You smiled when you saw his other hand hovering awkwardly. Not knowing whether he had the right to touch beyond what was respectful. So you guided it to your thigh, fabric moving and bunching under his fingers. Allowing him to touch bare skin.
Oh, boy.
The soft whine from the bottom of his throat was a boost to your ego, a deep moan following when you pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck, rolling your hips forward. “Ohhhhh, gosh,” He breathed out slowly.
Oh, fuck. He was massive. Though you didn’t know what to expect, he was six-five.
Both his hands flew to your hips, pads of his fingers pressing into your skin, head tipping back against the sofa cushions, breathing in sharply. He could feel you gently sucking on his skin, he knew it wouldn’t leave a mark, but he whimpered quietly anyway, dragging your hips forward, so he could feel your pussy drag over his dick yet again. His head spinning as your tongue traced over his Adam’s apple.
Your hands slipped off his tie like you’d had practice, popping the buttons of his shirt slowly. You felt his warm palms burning up your waist, stopping at where your robe was tied at your front. His eyes were wide, blinking up at you through his lashes. “Can I…?”
Fuck, he was hot.
You undid the tie yourself but let him gently move the fabric off your shoulders, undoing his belt and letting you take off his trousers. His cheeks flushed as he dragged his boxers down, cock painfully hard. It was pretty, flushed at the tip, pre smeared just a little.
Oh, that was a lot bigger than you manifested.
“Oh, shit.” You grinned at the sight of him, watching his whole face turn red.
He adjusted his foggy glasses, stumbling over his syllables. “Will it…” He gulped, wondering how to say it, “fit?”
The look in your eye almost made his heart stop. Like you didn’t care. “Oh, honey.” You laughed a little. “We’ll make it.” You positioning yourself above him, ready to sink down onto his throbbing cock was not something he expected to see. He let out a strangled sound, placing a hand on your arm. “Don’t you want me to… prepare you?”
“I’ve quite literally been prepared since the first time we met.” You grabbed a condom from — wait where did you get that from? — and tore it open delicately, giving it to him to roll on. He did, safety was key, and when you finally did lower yourself onto him— holy shit.
His forehead pressed to your shoulder, before he started pressing sloppy, whining kisses, almost making out with it as he felt your pussy grip him deliciously. So this was what he’d never felt drawn to. Until now.
He was stretching you out. A lot. For a guy so shy about his own abilities his endowment was something women only experienced in their wildest dreams. The more you learned, the more turned on you were.
Huh. That usually didn’t happen with men.
You let out a deep sigh as you sank down further, feeling his size fill you in the best way. His tip nestled against your cervix, pretty vein brushing your g-spot, fuck, maybe moving would feel too good.
But you did it anyway, small, cut-short gasps and moans jumping from your throat as he kissed his way back up to your lips so he could feed his own noises of encouragement into your mouth. Holding your hips just tight enough so he wouldn’t bruise them, still guiding you firmly, still holding your hips just close to him as he clouded your brain over with every push and pull of his hands and each wet smack of his lips and yours (and skin on skin, but we don’t mention that).
His head was fuzzy. Mumbling shit he couldn’t make out himself in between every collision of your lips, tangling one hand in your hair while the other slipped down to press his thumb onto your clit.
You clenched hard; he almost came right there.
His eyes rolled back for half a second and he willed himself not to finish too early but he couldn’t stop it once you clamped down with the second roll of his thumb, your name leaving his mouth, the highest you’d heard his voice be, cracks in between syllables feeding your ego. But he kept circling your clit like he was born to do it, mumbling encouragement, his forehead glistening as his head fell back.
“C’mon, sweetie, gotta make you feel good too,” He panted, gripping your hip so he could encourage you to grind forward into his thumb. “Please, please give it to me—”
It all felt too much. The onslaught of his thumb, his tip still prodding at your cervix, seeing him fucked out from one round (that made you more horny than you’d care to admit) had you coming too, him swallowing that moan by meeting your lips in the middle, stroking your hair back from your face and rolling his hips up a little so the high wouldn’t be harsh on you. His kisses turned slower, more languid, to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, finally lifting your hand so he could kiss your palm and the back of your hand.
“You’re stunning.” He breathed, kissing your knuckles. “So beautiful, honey.”
How the fuck was he respectful after the best sex you’ve ever had? There had to be a catch.
“So… that was hot.” You smiled, brushing his curls back from his forehead. “You were being pretty modest.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t last past two minutes.”
Your tongue traced your canine as you smiled. “Well, I wanna see it again.”
He blinked. Oh, boy. “Golly.”
© 2026 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED : SRENIQUE. DO NOT MODIFY, REPOST, PLAGIARISE, TAKE DIRECT INSPIRATION FROM OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN WITHOUT PERMISSION OR GIVING CREDIT.
NOTES: again it may just be me but I feel this is a litttllleeee sloppy
until I have you. | bucky barnes (18+)
⤷ knight!bucky barnes x maidservant!reader
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, friends with benefits, secret relationships, jealousy, blood and wounds, war, fluff, angst, light banter, mutual pining, slight chef!bob x reader moment, possessive sex, pussy pronouns, breeding kink
⭐︎ wordcount: 12.2k
⭐︎ a/n: based on this request. thank you sm for the suggestion because it helped me out of my slump. ohhh knight!bucky how i yearn for you
synopsis: A maidservant’s only job is to tend to the princess's every whim. But despite the warnings of everyone around you, you can't help but fall for the one person you shouldn't, and that was the kingdom's trustiest knight and the princess’s sole protector—James Barnes.
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concussion protocol | b.b. (18+)
✮ synopsis: post-mission check-up. bucky's supposed to be keeping you awake for concussion watch. his methods are unconventional.
✮ pairing: civilwar!bucky x avenger!reader
✮ disclaimers: (18+) MDNI fem!reader, mild concussion, semi-public sex acts, explicit sexual content, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, orgasm control/denial, dirty talk, praise kink, slight exhibitionism, semi-established relationship, bucky's magic metal fingers, extremely questionable medical ethics, NOT proper concussion care pls don't let super soldiers fingerbang you instead of getting a CT scan duh
✮ word count: 3.7k
✮ a/n: uhhh literally just medical malpractice porn revived from the drafts while I stay stalling on updating my other fics (sry)
The medical bay reeked of bad decisions and disinfectant. Your shoulder screamed where you'd made friends with a concrete wall at forty miles per hour, skull doing this fun thing where it felt like someone was playing drums inside it. Real loud. Real persistent.
The fluorescent lights above buzzed with a frequency that made your teeth ache, or maybe that was just the way your jaw kept clenching, trying to hold back the nausea rolling through your gut in slow, terrible waves. Everything felt too bright, too sharp, like your brain had forgotten how to filter input properly.
"Mild concussion," Dr. Cho had said, like mild meant shit when your brain was doing the backstroke against bone. "Someone needs to monitor her. Six hours minimum. No sleeping."
husband!clark fucking you while ur pregnant??
normally not my vibes but ya know what? i’ve been caught at a moment of weakness (horny)
warnings: smut obvs, breeding kink is coming to say hello also pregnancy kink? i dunno, clark just loves that he got his girl pregnant
send me a request here! | drabble masterlist here!
——————————
“That’s my girl,” Clark whispered, his lips brushing your ear.
You held onto his forearm where it wrapped around you. You had been trying to take a nap with your lovely husband after he’d come back from some battle downtown, just wanting to feel close to him. Evidently, he wanted to be even closer.
Snuggling turned into spooning, which turned into some dry humping, which turned into him pushing into you from behind, your leg draped over his thigh.
18+ mdni
clark kent has this ritual of lavishing you with kisses interspersed by the occasional dirty quip—unexpectedly, he’s got quite a gift for depravity—before he even thinks about moving forward. it is torture of the nth degree when you’re caught in such extreme fits of lust that you just want to fuck nasty, but you don’t have the heart to rush him when he’s being this sweet. oh but it’s so fucking difficult, having to feel the heft of his stiff cock rest against your tummy.. a delicious preview on just how much space he’s going to take up once he’s inside you.
bestfriend!bucky who… (nsfw, 18+, mdni!)
bestfriend!bucky who, even though the two of you live together, can't actually spend much time with you anymore with how crazy you drive him.
bestfriend!bucky who stands in the kitchen with you as you unload the dishwasher, feeling himself grow hard because of the way your shorts ride up dangerously high when you bend down to reach for another set of plates.
bestfriend!bucky who has to quickly excuse himself and already has a full on boner when he reaches the bathroom, his body reacting to you without him able to do anything about it.
bestfriend!bucky who almost dies when he comes out of the shower again and sees the dress you've changed into, the way the fabric hugs your curves already more than enough for heat to simmer is veins again.
bestfriend!bucky who really has a good time when the two of you go out for lunch together, but also can't help but imagníne how different it would be if this was a date.
bestfriend!bucky who is well aware that you would never see him as more than just your best friend, which is a fact he has to remind himself up multiple times a day.
bestfriend!bucky who has tried going on a date once, only to realise that he compared everything the woman he went out with did to how you would act in that situation.
bestfriend!bucky who might even survive the physical attrection if your personality wasn't so perfect, amazing him more than your body ever could.
bestfriend!bucky who knows that he is going to die single because there is no way that there is ever going to be anyone else but you for him.
bestfriend!bucky who drives the two of you back home again after lunch and has to take yet another cold shower whilst you are picking a movie for the two of you two watch.
bestfriend!bucky who is the reason your water bill is going to skyrocket this year.
bestfriend!bucky who really tries to focus on the movie when he joins you on the couch whilst keeping a respectful distance between the two of you, having to avoid looking at you or touching you in any way because the grey sweatpants he is wearing wouldn't leave anything up to the imagination.
bestfriend!bucky who nearly loses his mind when you hug him good night after the movie ends, his whole body tingling so badly with the sensation of it that he actually has to close his eyes for a moment.
bestfriend!bucky who can't help but smile when he notices the concerned frown forming on your face, reassuring you that everything's alright when you ask him if he's okay.
bestfriend!bucky who is technically right where he wants to be, though still can't act on his feelings because he is too scared of what that might mean for your friendship.
bestfriend!bucky who goes to his room when you tell him that you'll be going to bed now, even though he knows that there is no way he is going to catch any sleep tonight.
bestfriend!bucky who, even though he already came two times today, can't help but let his hand drift between his legs again anyway, hips twitching as his hand moves up and down his hardening length, eyes closing as his head falls back against the pillow.
bestfriend!bucky who really tries not to think about you like that, but just can't help but imagine how it would be if you were the one doing this to him right now.
bestfriend!bucky who just knows that your hand would look so good around his cock, those delicate fingers more than enough to drive him crazy.
bestfriend!bucky who can hear your voice in his ear so vividly, telling him how good he is doing for you and all those filthy things he never thought he'd be into but actually arouse him more than anything when it's you who he imagines saying it.
bestfriend!bucky who is leaking so much precum, the slickness of it allowing him to work his hand faster as he bucks his hips up, already hard as a brick.
bestfriend!bucky who can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be inside of you, if you would let him have you like he so desperately wants to.
bestfriend!bucky who aches to make you feel good more than he even wants to fuck you, more than eager to find out how your pussy would feel around his fingers and how the taste of you would be on his tongue.
bestfriend!bucky who is so turned on by the idea of eating you out and making you moan and gasp, he can't help the whine that slips past his lips and cuts through the silence of his room.
bestfriend!bucky who can feel the heat of arousal creeping up his chest and neck, a thin layer of sweat already covering his skin as he approaches the edge far too quickly considering that he is just jacking off and not even close to the intimate acts he is thinking about.
bestfriend!bucky who isn't even sure if he really wants to do those things with you, because he already knows that he wouldn't last longer than a few minutes.
bestfriend!bucky who comes with a loud moan of your name, keeping the movement of his hand going to prolong the orgasm as much as possible.
bestfriend!bucky who cums so much and so long, he can't help the noises that escape him because of how sensitive he is, but still not willing to stop because it feels so good.
bestfriend!bucky who collapses against the mattress when he comes down from his high again, well aware that he will have to wash his sheets tomorrow with how much of his cum is glistening on the fabric.
bestfriend!bucky who already had to change the sheets three times this week because of how little he can control himself.
bestfriend!bucky who prefers masturbating in the shower because of how much less messy it is.
bestfriend!bucky who is so blissed out right now, he has no idea that you stood outside his door the entire time, listening to his heavy breathing and load moans with your thighs tightly clenched together, unable to move even though you knew damn well how inappropriate it was.
bestfriend!bucky who doesn't know that he did just unintentionally ruin the friendship, but is going to get something so much better now.
A/N: This was very heavily inspired by this fanfic by the amazing @metal-armed-muse, so credits definitely go to her!
This is kind of a different style than what I‘ve posted until now, but it was very fun to write! Initially, it was supposed to be neighbor!bucky who watches reader put her laundry up to dry in the backyard and then went down in the evening to steal one of her panties, but I wasn‘t really comfortable with romanticizing that behavior because it would be pretty damn weird in real life. Also, I don’t think that putting your wet laundry on a clothes line so it can dry is actually a thing in the US, so the inaccuracy of it also bothered me.
Anyway, I hope you liked how this turned out, thanks for reading!!
I’m always a whore for bestfriend buck and you knocked it out of the park!!
and I agree with the panty stealing thing, it would’ve taken a different route. ALSO what do US guys use to dry their clothes bc???
DRIVING ME BACKWARDS ୨୧ || clark kent x fem!reader || oneshot
summary: Clark Kent is usually calm under pressure, he writes award-winning articles, apparently interviews Superman on a daily basis? But when it comes to you, he becomes a walking disaster. He fumbles with his coffee. Trips over nothing. Forgets how doors work. Jimmy tries not to tease him about it, Lois rolls her eyes, and Perry White, all-knowing and omnipotent, decides to assign you both a story, specifically an issue on Superman... Inevitably, you grow closer.
word count: 11k
author's note: tbh i made clark more pathetic than usual, but that's just me indulging in my own fondness for sad little men. anyways, i watched superman, and david corenswet somehow made me want clark kent and his stupid little glasses, ugh. henry cavill wouldn't have known how to spark such whimsy onto this character, only david knew how to truly inspire this sense of raw patheticness — which, btw, i'm eating tf up!!!!
warnings: sub!clark, sort of switch!clark, service top!reader, spit as lube, dirty talking, handjob, oral m!receiving, mild dacryphilia, mild language, size kink, clark is HUNG, dom/sub dynamics, and i kinda blue ball you towards the end, sorry...
It all started about a week after your first day at the Daily Planet—an office full of chaos, newsprint, and the faint hum of old typewriters mixed with the chatter of determined reporters. You had just settled in at your new desk, trying to carve out your little space in the madness when Clark Kent, all glasses and nervous energy, came barreling toward you with a coffee cup in hand. You barely had time to look up before hot liquid spilled across your papers and the wooden surface, the rich scent of coffee filling the air like an awkward apology.
& THE AFTER PARTY
Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!coworker!reader
Summary: You get too drunk at the work party and Clark is the first to offer to keep an eye on you. Should be easy given he always is. But all dolled and fucked up, you’re making it really hard for him to keep being a gentleman.
CW: smut, drunk!reader, dom/sub undertones, sub!clark, use of pet names, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), praise kink, piv sex, unprotected sex, size kink, tummy bulge, aftercare, fluffy ending
WC: 2k
⛥ clark kent + cockwarming (which evolves into riding)!!!!
reader is a little mean in this ehe. sorry, cant help it!
this was all clark kent’s fault.
if he just hadn’t been late to your date, the two of you would’ve been giggling in the dining room over how you toasted a side of the whole chicken.
instead, clark’s forced to sit still, with you on his lap—pussy wrapped firm around his fat cock.
it’s torture for clark.
he just wants to move a little bit. feel your pussy—he’s missed you, he’s missed her, but... oh, he doesn’t want to piss you off further. as much as he wants to grab you by the hips and thrust his hips up until you can’t breathe and he can’t think—he waits for your word.
“‘m sorry, baby,” clark whispers into the still air of his apartment, heart breaking when you don’t respond. not with a huff, not with a little bit of movement. “please. i– i was... doing superman stuff, nothing else. i promise, if it were anything else, i would’ve cancelled—”
you let out a groan that cuts him off. clark pouts—that sound meant he was yapping on for too long.
get to the point, kent.
“i love you,” clark tries, nose now breathing into your neck. his cock twitches inside you. “i’d never ditch a date with you, baby. never, not if i could help it.” he pulls back, eyes flickering to look up at your face.
you don’t look fazed at all.
that’s so unfair.
clark’s sittin’ here, hot and definitely bothered while you look so beautiful—so utterly you, as if you don’t have superman under you, inside you.
clark whines.
“please,” your name slips from his lips just as his voice lowers the way he knows you like. “i really am sorry.”
you lift a brow.
“don’t try that now, clark.” you scoff, bringing a hand up to his cheek to pat it, before tugging. the spot reddens when you let go of the fat. “you’re pissing me off. lemme enjoy this.”
“but i missed her.” he sighs, his hold on your waist tightening to bring you in closer—but that only serves to harden his cock further. shoot.
you roll your eyes. “oh, so you just miss my pussy?” you find amusement in the way his eyes widen, clearly out of sheer panic. “not me? you just missed her, right?”
“w- wait— n- no–!”
gosh darnit, he messed up! you only got this talkative when it meant you wanted a move on, so this either meant you were gonna hop off his lap and leave him this hard, or– or—
“fine. you’ll get her,” you smile so sweetly.
clark gulps.
...or you’d ride him without letting him bust.
‘sugar tits.’ bucky barnes.
summary: chef james barnes doesn’t like when the waitress parades around the restaurant for tips, and he really doesn’t like it when she lets the men think they have a chance with her.
pairing: chef!bucky barnes x waitress!reader
insp by: i dont know…. i had a prophetic vision
word count: exactly 10k!!!!!!!! which is crazy
cw: +18 content, porn with a plot i guess, lots of banter, fingering, public-ish sex, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), boobs…, lots of health and safety violations, i dont know guys im scared
a/n: bwa collabbbbbbb!!!!! this is so awesome sauce cant believe i am in this 👁️ bouncy white ass 4 ever!!!!! if ur finding this outside of the masterlist, go check it out!!!!!!!!! also this is my first… proper smut so…. be kind to me world and lowkey close your eyes when they start bangin
+ 18 minors dni!!!!!!!! ᶦ ʷᶦˡˡ ᶠᶦⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ
Can't Hardly Stand You
New Avengers!Bucky x New Avengers!Reader
A/N: This smut has been brought to you by the snowstorm that ravaged the United States back in January. Decided to stop sitting on this fic and share it with you lovely goons :)
Summary: While awaiting extraction from a mission with Bucky, the safehouse generator shits the bed. It’s cold outside, with a long wait until the cavalry comes to the rescue. What’s a girl to do, except curl up next to a scowling, smartass super soldier?
Word Count: 3k
Content: enemies to lovers, smut MDNI (dry humping, handjob, unprotected p in v (don’t do that)), sub!bucky, use of ‘doll’ (sorry not sorry)
knife's edge.
Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader
Summary: Heels on. Nothing else. You only meant to try them on—until Bucky saw your reflection in the mirror. Now he’s on his knees, leaking, begging, and discovering a kink he never knew he needed.
Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, stiletto kink, cock worship (m receiving), edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, praise/degradation mix, soft dom!reader, sub!bucky, kink discovery, begging
Author's Note: Just trying something new based on umm an old quote from the man himself (Sebastian).
You’d only meant to try them on.
The heels—sleek, obsidian black stilettos—had been tossed carelessly by your dresser, still in the box Yelena had left with a wink.
“You’re gonna need these at that gala. Something that says: I might stab you, and I’ll look damn good doing it.”
OBSESSION ━━╋━ mdni .ᐟ stalker!dex, obsessive behaviour, masturbation (m)...
dexs' ocd making him hate unfamiliar touch.
so when he weasles his way into your life, enough to meet you he practically studies your hands because he would rather die then be made uncomfortable by you of all people.
he knows eventually you'll let him in and surely that'll mean more time together and maybe holding your hand or even a kiss if he's lucky. but for now he'll stick to getting coffee and complaining about work. all while his eyes are stuck on your hands, watching the way you trace your knuckles while you talk, imagining what it would feel like if it was his skin. he watched how you tap at the table before you stand and how often you moisturise your hands, even what soap you use.
late at night he revises what he learnt from the day with you and he'll 'practice', stroking his cock at the pace he thought you would use, squeezing just enough, getting used to it in his own way. his eyes are closed tight remembering how you tapped his shoulder, or passed him his drink. those quick fleeting touches and brushes of skin, he knows you so well, he knows how gentle you'd be.
when he gets closer he starts thinking of your lips, how they stretch when you smile and how they pressed against your cup as you took a sip of your hot drink, how they puckered while you blew out gently to cool it down— fuck that last one got him every time.
he would cum thinking about it, hot white spurts shooting out across his stomach in thick ribbons while he squeezed his cock harder. dex would drain his balls not wanting to waste a drop to a thought that wasn't about you. he'd moan loudly, your name obviously, arching slightly while his cock twitched and fell limp against his thigh.
and of course dex is already groping for his phone thinking to the next time you'd be free that he would coincidentally be aswell— another coffee maybe or something a little more date like.
he's a freak.
© rottndeer 2026. please do not repost, copy, translate or use any of my work for ai. i post only on tumblr.
Raincheck
Pairing: Journalist!Clark Kent x Photographer!Reader
Summary: After Clark keeps cancelling on your favorite plans with you, ghosting you for a few months, a reunion is all you need to fully reconnect
Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors dni) porn with plot, fluff and smut, pinv, no protection (use condoms for the love of god), prone bone, cowgirl, creampie, overstimulation, squirting (a little bit), nipple/breast sucking, cunnalingus, heavy praise (Clark just loves talking her through it), both reader and clark are super needy, softdom clark, no mentions of reader besides shes AFAB, no use of y/n, clark kind of goes 'shes busy lil bro'
Word count: 5.4k (i got very carried away)
The first mistake was getting a boyfriend. The mistake before that was letting Clark raincheck you. The mistake before that one was letting it become a weekly occurrence.
Near the start of the summer, Clark clumsily wheeled his chair over to your desk, finding you in a deep state of concentration between two identical filters. He probed nervously by asking about your baking history, further explaining how his parents were having a family reunion and wanted Clark to bring something. You laughed at him, not intentionally cruel,
“What, you want me to pretend to be your fiance, or something?” You asked, a huge grin on your face, contrasting the slight frown on his. He tried to explain he just needs to bake a dessert to bring, and probed again about your baking history. After a laugh-filled agreement to help him, you appeared at his apartment on the Saturday before he left, holding a bag of ingredients. Despite your reasonable anxiety about baking alongside the largest man on Earth, it turned out into an adorable apple pie. The rest of the evening was spent eating the leftovers and ranting about work. Besides the few nights you were dragged to the bar with everyone, it was rare you ever saw Clark outside of work. It wasn’t that he was intimidating, well he was, but something about his hurriedness to leave work everyday made you hesitant to ask him out. But seeing his relaxed state in his mostly empty apartment, loudly gesturing about politics, lowered the anxiety in your stomach.
That summer turned into the months of weekly baking sessions at both your apartments. Instead of rewriting articles, and making the changes Perry requested, Clark would instead look for baking recipes to try with you. Each session led to deeper and deeper discussion into each other's lives and little neurotic tendencies. You rambled to your friends, more than you liked to admit, about how perfect Clark was, how badly you wanted to take him out, how perfect he looked in his nerdy glasses. Once the summer heat died out and the leaves started dying, work picked up at the Daily Planet. You started taking jobs photographing weddings to get extra money, Clark was extra dedicated to improving his writing and spent more time at home after work. The first week it started to decay, Clark sent an innocent text. You were sitting in your apartment, going over some photos for a client and cleaning them up, waiting for Clark to come over. Just a simple heads up he’s too busy to make it this week. The news hurt a little more than it should. Way more than it should. You had cleaned up your whole apartment, cleaned the bathroom, picked up your room, all for one little text. After a minute, you text back a quick, tight, “no worries! See you next time”.
That next time didn’t come. That next Saturday, the same text, this time a little more last minute. You call your friends as you put everything away, venting about how frequent these rainchecked sessions are getting. They don’t understand why you can’t just see him during work, and you scramble to explain how chitchat around the water cooler isn’t what you were missing. It wasn’t just talking and seeing Clark. You could do that all day at work, it was the intimacy of being alone with him, getting to work together. After another week of rainchecked sessions, you stopped expecting to see him at all. The recipes stopped getting shared and your texting slowly died out. Not to mention the probability of talking to Clark on your lunch breaks dropped, seeing as he only ate lunch at his desk now.
Your friends insisted you get back on the horse.
“You didn’t even date him, dude. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but like, it’s kinda bumming everyone out watching you mourn him,” Your best friend said, arms crossed in the doorway, looking at you lying in bed. “It’s a little pathetic, man” She adds, shrugging when you look over your shoulder, an offended look on your face, “Jus’ being honest, babes.”
The next Superman fight, you ran four blocks to grab some photos, bumping into another photographer. Was he Clark? No, but the next best thing. Being able to spend the winter with someone was pleasant. Just pleasant. He was fine. Everything was just fine, nothing compared to the overwhelming joy and giddiness you got from baking with Clark. He soon proved to be nowhere near as kind and thoughtful as Clark was. Eventually, you stopped trying to force something that was never going to last. The breakup was loud and messy, cruel for no real reason. The breakup landed you here, stuck in your apartment during new years, cuddled up on the couch, alone. This might be more pathetic than how you were mourning Clark. The breakup was rough. Rougher than what you wished for. Apparently if you date someone for a few months, and they aren’t holding onto past crushes, they actually get attached. It was the longest hour of your life, sitting in the park, listening to him go over the stages of grief, at least the first four. You tried to keep it civil, but once he brought up Clark as a reason, and your terrible poker face cringed, he exploded. And now you sit by yourself, watching the ball drop on tv, while you scroll on your phone.
Once the ball drops, you stand up to go to sleep, but hear your phone buzzing on the table. Picking it up, you see Clarks contact, sitting on your home page.
“See you Saturday?” You blink, another text popping up. “Your place or mine?” Another text, a link to a recipe. You turn off your phone, turning it back on to see if maybe you're dreaming. Maybe the words will warp into something else. But they stay firm in their form.
Saturday you clean your apartment. Thoroughly. You clean out the fridge and freezer, hand washing dishes, cleaning up all the clothes and pajamas left around the bedroom. As the afternoon rolls around, and you finish getting yourself ready, you keep your phone face up, in case he, at the last minute, tries to cancel. No buzz from your phone, a knock at the door.
It was almost like that whole fall and winter never happened.
“I saw your, uh, wedding posts, you’re getting really good” Clark says, breaking the comfortable silence, nudging his glasses up with his shoulder, “Not that you weren’t good before that,” He adds quickly, slowing his whisking. You snicker and jab his arm,
“Keep whisking, it needs to be firm to mix properly,” You smile, looking at his focused face as he returns his wrist to the same motion, “And thank you, all those weddings kill my feet, but it’s the perfect opportunity to get the practice outside of work.”
“Must be. Um, sorry about cancelling for so long. Things kept coming up,” He says, showing you the fluffy, firm, texture. You shrug and hand him the bowl to mix the filling together. Inside you know that's a lame excuse, but you didn’t exactly want to make a big scene now that he's here. You dunk the ladyfingers into the bowl of coffee and line the bottom of the tray,
“Shit happens, it's all good,” You say blankly, scrunching your nose up at your bleak tone, “It’s been fine anyways. I mean, I dunno,”
Clark glances over, “Did something happen? I know we haven’t exactly-” He pauses, then re-words himself, “I didn’t exactly stay in touch over the months.”
You try to come up with another excuse for your slump that fall, because confessing to Clark that it was his fault you turned into a hermit for a few weeks felt wrong.
“I broke up recently,” You say quickly, deciding to skip that season all together, “It didn’t really go how I wanted it to.”
Assembling the tiramisu was easier than the recipe made it seem, or maybe you both did it wrong. Clark clumsily pours the filling over the ladyfingers, leaning over you slightly.
“Do we add the cocoa powder now or later?” You mumble, smoothing out the last layer of the filling.
“I think it says now,” Clark grabs his phone, scrolling through the sob story and ads to get to the instructions.
“Won’t it kinda like…melt? Into the filling? It has to sit for, like, four hours,”
“It says now,”
“Does it? That feels stupid,”
“If we wait, what if it, like, doesn’t stick to the top? Or like, doesn’t mix right,”
You smile at Clark’s defensive nature, even if it looks like it pains him to disagree with you. Moving to the sink, grabbing all the messy bowls and spatulas, you chuckle,
“Then you can add it now, I have a sifter in the top cabinet,” You nudge your head to the tall and narrow shelf. He steps around you, the cramped kitchen in your apartment always a challenge hosting both of you. His hand mindlessly lands on your lower back as he reaches up to grab the sifter, just as quickly stepping away to get the cocoa powder. Once he wipes the edges of the pan, cleaning the cocoa off, he tugs you away from the dishes, “I can do these, most of this is my doing, anyways,” He smiles wide, handing you the dish towel. You roll your eyes and grin slightly, wiping your hands dry. After tucking the pan deep into the fridge, you look over at Clark. Maybe after a few months of ghosting you, you deserve a bit of ogling at his huge back. Through his shirt you swear you can see his shoulder blades move around.
—
“I don’t even remember properly, it could’ve been a really bad dream. Or maybe I stepped on a horse tranquilizer,” You laugh, laying back on the couch, holding the cup of coffee tightly in your palms.
“He cried?” He asks again, an incredulous smile growing on his lips, his dimples growing deeper.
“Maybe? I didn’t see any tears, but it definitely sounded like he was. The worst part was that it ended up lasting way longer than I wanted. The breakup, that is,” You add, pointing a finger out, making him chuckle, “I tried to condense it to the morning, but he dragged it to lunch. People were passing by to get to the hotdog stand and kept glancing at us!”
“Why were you by the hotdog stand to begin with?” “I wanted a hotdog after” You burst into laughter, throwing your head back at your own joke. Clark snorts into his mug, laughing with you and shaking his head.
“Thats so mean!”
“Not even! I was going to wait for him to shake my hand, and civilly walk away, but he just kept…crying”
You look over, seeing his thick shoulders shake with laughter at your blunt tone.
“That’s mean,”
Rolling your eyes, you take a sip of the coffee, “Oh whatever, what was your last breakup like?”
He gets a little sheepish, averting eye contact to look into the mug, “I don’t even remember,” “What, was it so bad you had to repress it? You can tell me if you got a hotdog after, Clark,” You tease, nudging his calf with your foot to try and lighten his mood. It works, kind of, he smiles at least.
“I would never do that,” He points, shaking his head playfully, “But it was just a long time ago,” He shrugs, making you all the more interested.
“Wait, really? So when was the last time you got laid?” You pry, leaning forward slightly, “Oh, don’t tell me you’re a virgin, dude,” You tease, grinning softly. He snaps his head at you, laughing breathlessly,
“N-no!” He says unconvincingly, making you give him a look, adjusting his glasses, “No! I’m not! It’s been a while, that's all.” He shrinks back in his seat, swirling the mug to stare at the coffee spin.
“Thats fine. It’s been, like, maybe…” You trail off, trying to count the months, “Maybe six months?”
He narrows his eyes, looking back up and then looking at you, “Weren’t you just telling me about your boyfriend?”
“Well excuse me, Mr. Kansas. I don’t exactly put out after two and a half months” You sit up straight and close your eyes as you sip your coffee, “At least I can place a time stamp on mine,” You tease a little harder, nudging him again. He flushes and looks back down into his cup, bouncing his knee. Silence rolls over like a weighted blanket, making you squirm slightly, wondering if it was a sensitive topic or something.
“You know-” “I’m sorry-”
You both blurt at the same time, turning to face each other. Clark smiles and sets his coffee down on the table, setting yours down as well. He nods at you to speak first,
“I’m pretty sure you blurted out first” You shake your head, a grin spreading back onto your lips. He leans back, crossing his legs widely and holding onto his ankle,
“I wanted to, um, say sorry for going no contact for so long. That wasn’t fair to you,”
“Clark, it’s fine. You already explained it earlier, you’re an innocent man now,”
“I lied” He said, quickly.
You blink, trying to think of a comeback to that. Clearly he doesn’t have any further explanation because he just blinks and looks away. Your brain racks for any kind of joke to melt the tension, but just as you start to piece together a half baked thought, Clark moves closer. You look up, Clark tightly smiling, his cheeks a little pink.
“I really liked you,” He mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, “Really like you. Present tense”
It’s impossible not to find it a little cute. You lean up and kiss his jawline, nudging his glasses,
“Bit of a backwards way to show it, but I do appreciate it” You tease, falling back into rhythm as usual. Pushing yourself up, you meet his eyeline on the couch, leaning forward to kiss him gently.
“I kind of freaked myself out over it. I tried to will it away, I guess,”
“Will it away,” You repeat, snickering, “Geez, I’m not that bad, Clark. Like I’m a bad fever,”
“No! Not like that! Gosh, um,” he looks away, giving me another chance to peck his jaw.
“I know what you mean, I think,” You snort, pulling back to rest against the arm of the couch.
“You’ve always been so,” Clark trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hands, “Easy going. Always getting me out of my head. Always so ready to cheer people up,” He finishes, glancing at me helplessly. You cock your head, making the same gestures back at him,
“Keep going” You smile, a laugh bubbling up in your chest.
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head, “Can I kiss you instead?”
You move to push yourself up but he meets you halfway and leans over you on the couch, both of you smiling into the kiss. It’s slow and nervous, exactly matching how both of you felt. His hand slowly comes up to rest on your hip, barely putting any pressure on it, just to see how you’d react. If you would throw him off and banish him from the apartment, or if a film crew would come from behind the tv and tell him he's on a prank show. Instead, you press your hips against his palm, your hand reaching up to hold onto his forearm. Shamelessly, you give the muscle a quick squeeze, feeling him chuckle against your lips.
“Your breath stinks,” You tease, pulling back to catch your breath. He snorts and hangs his head to laugh freely, his mouth away from your nose.
“You served coffee,” He tried to defend himself, leaning up to peck your lips.
“It’s not,” Peck. “even, like,” Peck. “good coffee,” Peck. You press your palms against his chest, making him smile and pull back, “You have no excuses”
Tracing your palms up and onto his neck, letting your fingers sprawl over his ears, he leans down, kissing you deeper. His hands find your hips again, holding you more firmly. Your hands stroke and find purchase in his dark hair, your lips never able to get enough of his taste. The feeling of him so close, so breathless and eager to match your pace, his glasses pressing awkwardly on your cheek. The arm of the couch digging into your neck doesn’t even register with his large palms and rubbing into the soft skin from your shirt riding up. You let out a soft breath, pulling away to rest your forehead on his cheek, “Let me get up, before I get a lump on my neck,” You joke, sitting up and pressing your body against his as he leans back instead. Laughing, you rest your hands on his chest, pressing soft kisses on his cheeks and lips, feeling his hands tracing up and down your sides.
“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for making me wait,” You mumble around the skin on his neck. His hands rest on your back, reaching under your shirt to feel your skin against his fingers.
“I didn’t think you’d react like this,” Clark chuckles, looking down to catch your lips again. He sits up, letting you fumble your legs around his thighs and sit against him. Your hands find his face and cup his cheeks as his arms wrap around your waist. Tiny noises escape your lips as he pulls you flush against him, your hips dropping slightly to grind against him. His hands lower, ghosting over your ass before resting on your hips again, helping you move on him. He pulls away, grunting softly as he leans down and presses his nose against your neck. His warm breath wafts over your sensitive skin, his grip getting slightly firmer as he grinds up into you more urgently. You arch into his hold, whimpering and leaning down to bury your nose in his hair, breathing him in. His arms slide down and grip your thighs, making you stiffen as he stands up.
“Down the hall, right?” He mumbles against your chest, blindly walking through your apartment with surprising clarity.
“Yeah, turn here,” You mumble, holding onto his back as he dumps you onto your bed. Your room, thankfully, was frantically cleaned this morning. Clark leans back against your headboard and lets you kiss and grind against him, soaking in the overwhelming smell of you. He sits beside you and yanks you on top of him, straddling his hips again. His large hands find your hips and roll you harder against him, letting you feel the bulge buried in his starchy jeans. Your fingers drag under his shirt, feeling his stomach tighten over your soft touches. A soft breath escapes his lips, leaning down to kiss your head as he yanks his shirt off. His skin feels hot to the touch, your palm dragging down his toned chest to his happy trail giving him goosebumps on his arms. You press a soft kiss on his collarbone, hands resting on his stomach, as your mouth trails down. He swallows thickly, Adams' apple bopping slightly at the sight of you. Hot kisses press down his chest, your hands tracing along his sides. His breathing quickens as you press a kiss to his happy trail, looking up at him.
Clark’s face is red, eyes widened and desperate, getting worse as you press your palm to his bulge. He grinds against your hand, tilting his head back and letting soft little whines spill from his lips.
“O-oh gosh, please. That feels really good,” He mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and fisting your sheets.
You leave hickies on his stomach, grinding your palm harder against him to keep him sated. When you crawl back up to his face, your hands go to his face, making him face you. You sit back down on his lap, grabbing his glasses and placing them over your eyes. He blinks at how adorable you look and flips you onto the other side of the bed. Landing on your back, you laugh and sit up on your elbows,
“Wait, let me lay on the pillows,” You laugh, moving around him before laying down, and pulling back on top. He presses soft kisses on your face, hands resting under your top and pulling it off. Clark’s hands trail your soft skin, leaning down and pressing needy, wet, kisses to your stomach. Your breathing quickens, feeling his glasses slip down your nose, reaching out to stroke his hair. He pants against your skin, his eyes scanning how your body moves when you breathe, watching certain muscles tense when he strokes you. Leaning back down, he licks a long stripe up from your pants zipper to your belly button, making you moan quietly and arch into his hands. His hand comes down to cup you back, feeling how desperately you try to grind despite your pants blocking most of the friction.
“Please, Clark. P-please, please let me take them off,” You plead, already trying to unbutton it. He watches you squirm out of your pants, his hands taking them off your legs, leaving you in just a bra and panties. He sets your pants on the floor, putting your phone on the bedside table. His mouth finds your grinding cunt and presses open mouth kisses against your wet core, feeling the wetness behind the fabric.
“Can I take these off?” He asks quietly, his voice small, “You smell incredible,” He pants, pressing more kisses on your crotch and along your thighs. You reach down and hurriedly yank your panties off, letting him bunch them up and throw them off the bed. Your skin felt so hot, even in the cool early spring breeze. Sitting up slightly, you fumbled with your bra clasp, freeing your whole body to him. Clark’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you naked and needy under him. You lay back down, looking up at him, squeezing your thighs to ease the growing, mind-numbing, arousal. His mouth finds your nipple as his palm grinds against your clit. As your nipple hardens, he flicks his tongue, closing his eyes and listening intently on all your soft moans and whimpers. A finger slides into your cunt, feeling your soaked insides, clenching and pulsing around him.
“Do you need another?” He asks, pulling off of your breast, bringing his other hand to paw at your other. You nod, mindlessly pushing his glasses up. “C’mon, you’re always so smart. Give me a cute little one liner,” He teases, kissing and sucking your skin.
“I’m gonna throw that tiramisu out the window, Clark. I swear,” You whine, squeezing his finger, your hands coming up to hold onto his arms. He smiles to himself, giving you a gentle peck on the lips and lowers himself back on the bed.
His hand traces up behind your knees and pushes them back. You lean up on your elbows, watching his huge frame move your body around to fit him. Before you can soak in the moment, he ducks his head, burying his face between your legs. You cry out and arch into his mouth, trying to even your breathing as he laps at your cunt, his fingers squeezing your thighs. His tongue traces around your clit, feeling it get puffy from his licking and sucking. Your hips grind up as he slides another finger into your cunt, feeling you squeeze him without even trying.
—
You can’t register what time it is. It could be nighttime, but that also could be from Clark’s cock bullying into you. Clark has had you bouncing on his cock for the past hour, maybe hours. His glasses continue to slide down your nose, giving him an extra pathetic look. He smiles and kisses your breasts, urging you to keep moving.
“You got it, I know you can go a bit longer. You’re so beautiful like this. I can’t believe I let this go for so long,” He babbles, kissing sloppily against your neck and collarbone. You feel your mind go blank, focusing on just his words, how much he rambles His hips slowly grind up into you, feeling you slow down from the pain in your legs. Your thighs start burning, but Clark just lets you lean against his chest, his hips bucking up into you.
“C-clark! Shitshitshitshit- you’re s’ big, Clark,” You whine, babbling into his neck as your hands squeeze his flexing arms.
His arms hold you against him, letting you cry and moan against his skin. He groans, feeling your cunt clenching him, barely letting him in or out. His length feels like he's up in your stomach, making you leak down his shaft, mixing with his own pre. You let out a soft whine, squirming on my knees uncomfortably.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” He murmurs against your ear, rubbing your hips, “‘M being so selfish like this. Do your legs hurt?” His voice is soft, so sweet it almost sounds condescending. You nod weakly, leaning back to look at his face. He reaches up to let you just sit with his length inside you, wiping the tears damp on your cheek. Clark reaches forward, pawing at your breasts and kissing the soft skin one more time, before moving you.
“This might be good for you,” He says softly, pulling out, making you whine and lean against him for more contact. His hands maneuver you to lay on your stomach, bringing your ass up in the air slightly. Before you can whine and buck your hips, he drapes himself over your back, hoisting you up a bit more. His back is hot against yours, kissing your shoulder as his hands help hold you up, his knee spreading your legs. Pushing back in, he groans and licks the sweat off your neck, going back to his punishing pace, his forehead resting against your cheek. His hand snaked around your side, his hand sliding down between your legs to feel how swollen your clit is. You let out quiet sounds, pushing back feverishly on him, feeling his glasses slide off your face. Your hands grip the sheets, trying to keep yourself still as he pounds into you, your head hanging low. The sound of your moans and drawn out whimpers fill the air, mixing with his occasional grunts and rambling,
“You’re so pretty, y'know that? At work, I can barely w-write anything. You’re just- gosh, just so pretty,” He babbles in your ear, rubbing your clit quickly. You cry out again, shaking your head, feeling your body tense up, your stomach churning with building arousal. He kisses your cheek,
“You can have one more, oh please, have one more on me. Feels s’ good when you do, honey,” He pleads, nuzzling your neck and speeding up his hand, making you scream out into the blankets. Your cunt spasms and clenches around him, his cock feeling your rapid heartbeat against his veins. You couldn’t name which orgasm this one is, maybe fourth, or maybe fifth. He pants and stills his hips, rubbing your clit through the orgasm, feeling you convulse and press your face into the mattress.
“T-too much! So much, so so much…” You squeak out, shaking your head at the intense overstimulation of Clark pulling every part of your orgasm from you.
Slowly, he starts grinding into your cunt, before he’s interrupted with the loud buzzing of your phone on the nightstand. He leans over and holds up your phone, seeing your exes name on the contact. His hips start back up on their bruising rhythm, making you moan and squeeze your eyes shut.
“Honey, looks like your phone is ringing, should I answer?” He asks, leaning over your back again to kiss your sweaty skin. You can barely register the question and just nod your head, pushing back into him and whining for him to go faster. A wide smile spreads across his face as he answers the phone, his hips never stuttering.
“Hello? Who is this?” Clark answers, his voice deep and sturdy, despite his rapid movement. You blink and look over your shoulder, seeing Clark holding your phone, listening to someone talk. He notices your looking and shushes you, reaching down with his free hand to rub your clit. You squeal out and bury your face into the mattress, whining and crying, listening to his deep voice.
“Oh, right. She’s a little busy right now, isn’t that right, honey?” He leans forward, draping his chest over your arches back, holding the microphone to your mouth, catching your desperate whines and rambling.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck- Clark, ‘m so close! Fa-fasterfasterfaster!” You cry out, pouting and glancing at the phone by your mouth and crying out. His hand speeds up, pulling the phone back and hanging up, letting it fall onto your pillow.
“So good. Oh my goodness, honey, just so good for me. You can do one more. Just one more, honey. ‘M right behind you,” He pants, his hips chasing his own release, feeling your cunt start to tighten and build up to yours. You shake your head, feeling it take longer to build up than usual, making you cry and bury your face into the bunched up blankets. He rubs your sides, his hand coming up to paw and grab your breasts, squeezing and flicking the nipple softly,
“Oh, I know it’s gonna be big…give it to me, honey. I wanna feel this one so bad, oh, please, give this one to me,” He rambles, completely drunk on the thought of tearing this last one from your actively failing body. Your head lifts, feeling a very unfamiliar sensation building,
“C-clark? I th-think ‘m gonn-” You try to get out, before gasping and cumming around his cock, feeling something squirt out of you and coat his thighs, your legs trembling as they try to stay up. He gasps and closes his eyes, feeling how long your orgasm is drawing out, how tight you’re getting. His cock can barely move inside you, so he bottoms out, spilling his load into you,
“O-oh, oh, honey-” He groans, sloppily thrusting to shovel all of it in as he cums. You blink, feeling him warm up your lower stomach. Once his hips are still, he pulls out and lets you lay on the bed, catching your breath. He spurts a few more weak drops, looking down at the mess you two made on your bed. You rest your head to the side, catching your breath as your hearing goes fuzzy for a few seconds. He lifts you up onto his chest and lays back on the bed, rubbing your back and kissing your head, wiping some sweat off your face,
“I guess we can both restart our count,” He jokes, seeing you smile tiredly against his chest, your eyes drooping shut. After a few moments, he lifts the both of you up, taking you to your bathroom to take a shower. You lean against him, your legs shaking too much, and he happily holds you up. He lets you clean yourself up and walks back to the bedroom to get his shirt and boxers back on. You step out in a towel, sliding into a large shirt and sleepshorts.
—
Your chin rests on his head, your hands resting on his shoulder,
“No, bigger than that,” You mumble, tracing random patterns on the fabric.
“Geez really?” He teases, outlining a bigger slice from the pan.
“Yes, really, I need to rebuild my energy,”
His hand, currently not holding you up on his back, cuts a slice from the tiramisu, transferring it onto the plate. He dishes himself up, letting you lean down to kiss at his cheek, leaning forward to kiss his lips. You both sit on the couch, your feet in his lap, watching reruns of an old sitcom while digging into the dessert. His plate sits finished and scraped clean on the coffee table, his hands now occupied with massaging your legs while you lay back and enjoy your dessert. You look up at him, gesturing with your fork,
“Did someone call me during?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the tv, working a knot in your calf,
“No, I don’t think so…”
squeee my first post on tumblr!! i've never written for clark before, so please gimme some feedback <3