Ally 𝜗𝜚

Ally | 22 | She/her | Fan Girl | Multi-fandom | Bookworm | Music lover | No Hate Zone 🤍

[allycat004]

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Ally | 22 | she/her | multi-fandom writer | total bookworm | lover of music | yapper | Current obsession: Off-Campus

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©allycat004 please do not steal, copy, reuse, translate, or repost my work.

[allycat004]

More Than Friends || Eddie Munson

ꨄ Summary: You’re Eddie Munson’s best friend who he is overprotective of. When you start dating someone it starts to become too much for you, so you head over to his trailer to confront him. The confrontation ends up taking a turn and things go elsewhere...

ꨄ Warnings: smut with some plot, cursing, unprotected sex, choking, some teasing, praise kink, cute/fluffy ending, and breif cockwarming.

ꨄ Pairing: best friend!eddie munson x female reader

ꨄ wc: 2.9k

ꨄ Author's note: Hi everyone, it's been a hot minute. So, I hope you enjoy!

©allycat004 please do not steal, copy, reuse, translate, or repost my work.

Growing up in a small town has a lot of charm to it, but also it can have a lot of lackluster to it as well. Everyone knows everyone and word tends to spread a whole lot faster than it should. Your choice of friends can also make things harder for whatever reason that may be. That being said, I’ve grown up with Eddie Munson by my side for as long as I can remember. Outside of being best friends with the proclaimed “freak”, I have a pretty good social status. However, since I started seeing someone, things have started to get weird between Eddie and I. He’s always been overprotective, but it has never been this bad before. 

On occasion I catch him giving Devin dirty looks from the corner of my eye and sometimes he’ll just be straight up glaring at him. Today, I caught him staring down Dev until he backed away from me and let go of my hand. There have been times when he’ll sit between the both of us when we spend time together. This behavior has been going on for almost over a month and I’ve decided that enough is enough and that I have to talk to him about it once and for all. 

After parking outside of his trailer, I kill the engine to the car and get out; slamming the car door behind me. I walk up to the door and knock then wait for a moment, when he doesn’t answer. I start pounding on the door in case he can’t hear me due to whatever he’s doing. It only took a few seconds of my slamming my fist against the door for him to finally answer and open the door. “Is there any particular reason why you’re beating the crap out of my front door?” he asks while propping one of his arms up against the doorframe to lean on it. 

“Simple, you were taking your sweet ass time to answer” I replied as I slightly pushed him aside then stepped into the trailer. “Yeah, okay.. you can come in.” he said then followed behind me after closing the door. Ignoring his sarcasm, I headed to his room then sat on his bed with my arms crossed. He walked in and leaned against the doorframe, mirroring me by crossing his arms. “What’s with the sour mood and all the attitude you have going on?” he asked with a raised brow. I scoffed while shaking my head and looking down at my shoes before looking back up at him. 

“What is your problem with Devin?” I asked while looking him in the eyes and he looked off to the side, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He was quiet for a second then met my gaze again, “I don’t have a problem with him.” Eddie said. I stared at him blankly before I laughed at him, humorlessly. “That is such bullshit and you know it, I saw the way you tensed up when I said his name,” I replied as I stood up and took a step closer to him. He just looked down at me while shaking his head at me. I groan in frustration while getting up and put my hands on top of my head along with starting to rock back and forth on my heels. “Fucking spit it out, you’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass for over a month when it comes to him and I’m sick of this shit,” I said while my voice slightly raised due to how frustrated I was, but despite how I felt I was met with nothing but silence once again. 

“Great, more silence.. just what I wanted from you.” I say with a scoff then deciding that I’ve had enough of this because it was going nowhere, I try to push past him to leave. Before I can even get one foot out of the bedroom he grabs onto my upper arm then pulls me back into the room and starts walking me backwards to the bed. “Eddie, what the hell-“ I don’t even get to finish my sentence because once the backs of my legs hit the edge of the bed, he gently pushes me to sit back down. I go quiet as I watch him squat down in front of me and make eye contact. “You want to know why I can’t stand him so much?” he quietly asked while slightly tilting his head to the left. I furrowed my brows while I tried to get a read on him based on his facial expression, but I couldn’t. “Yes” I replied while sighing a little and relaxed my shoulders a bit. 

“I have a problem with him because he’s in my way.” Eddie said then he inched his face closer to mine. I just stared at him out of confusion, not knowing what to say while he reached forward and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “What are you talking about Eddie, what do you mean by in your way?” I asked while laughing nervously. He smiled at me then pulled back slightly only to lean up to my ear and whisper, “I like you, I always have.” Eddie pulled away from me again but this time it was because he stood up. While trying to make sense of it all I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and was trying to slow down my breathing. All of this being so strange yet refreshing because the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The only thing that wasn’t making sense was why I wanted him to be that close to me again. 

After sitting there for a moment, I stood up and looked up at him “You can’t though, this can’t be happening… I have Devin-” I stopped talking because he placed a hand on each side of my face. “If I haven’t made it clear already… I don’t give a fuck about him, I’m not messing up my chance to have you again.” He said and before I could even get another word out, he kissed me. Instead of pushing away like I should’ve, I kiss him back because deep down I’ve always liked him. I was just scared of ruining the friendship we have. He ended up wrapping an arm around my waist and pulled me closer then picked me up and walked over to the bed. Before I knew it, I was laying down with him on top of me. Eddie gently bit my lower lip causing me to whimper in response and I felt him smirk against my lips while one of his hands slowly slid up my thigh and skirt. 

He pulled back before continuing any further, “Do you want this or do you want me to stop?” he asked and I shook my head while trying to pull him back in. Eddie slightly chuckled, “I need you to use your words, baby.” he said and it made me feel like all the air in my lungs had vanished. I pulled myself together as much as I could before responding, “Yes, I want this and no… I don’t want you to stop.” I replied and that was all he needed to hear because after that his hand slid further up my skirt while he started kissing me again. I sat up a bit and took my shirt off then laid back down and pulled him closer to me while his hand dipped into my underwear, causing me to gasp. Eddie took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth and I hummed while he slightly groaned. 

His fingers slowly started to rub gently circles against my clit, making me shudder and whimper. Eddie went and started kissing my neck while using his freehand to reach underneath my back to unclasp my bra. I slid the straps down and pulled it off then tossed it elsewhere in the room which made him chuckle quietly. He kissed his way down to my tits then slowly flicked his tongue over one of my nipples causing me to moan slightly and squirm. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.” he said before taking my nipple into his mouth and gently biting down on it and I moaned in response while arching into him. While he kept using his mouth to tease my breasts he took the finger that he was using to play with my clit and used it to rub against my entrance. “I- Eddie, please..” I whimpered while spreading my legs a little. “Please, what sweetheart?” He asked while continuing to tease me. “I- I need more… please just… please touch me.” I begged which made him hum in approval. He then slowly pushed two fingers inside of me, making me moan. While he started to move them in and out of me, I started to roll my hips. “That’s it, ride my hand darling.” He said as he used his thumb to continue rubbing slow, tight circles against my clit. 

When I started to move my hips faster, he picked up the pace with his fingers and started kissing his way down my abdomen to between my thighs. My pussy ended up clenching around his fingers, causing me to whimper and I felt him smirk against my inner thigh. He started to take my underwear off with his freehand and I helped him by lifting my hips off the bed slightly while using one of my hands to help push them down. When I went to try and remove my skirt, he gently grabbed my wrist and stopped me. “Leave it on for now, baby.” he said before dipping his head down and before even giving me the chance to respond, I felt his tongue gently flick against my clit. “O- oh fuck-.. mm..” I whimpered more while my legs trembled a little and I reached down, putting one of my hands in his hair feeling some of his curls wrap around my fingers as I pulled him closer. 

Eddie groaned in response then wrapped his lips around my clit and started to gently suck on it. I loudly moaned while arching my back and draping my legs over his shoulders. He then slightly curls his fingers, hitting my g-spot causing my pussy to clench around his fingers once again making me moan more. “E- Eddie, I- I’m close-..” I started to say before he sucked on my clit a bit harder while slipping a third finger inside me, making me whimper and pant. “Come on pretty girl, you got it… go ahead and come for me.” he said while pumping his fingers in and out of me at a pace that was even faster than before. That was all it took for me to tip over the edge and let go all over his fingers. He slowed down the movements of fingers to help me through it before he pulled them away from me, making me whimper.  I watched him bring his fingers to his lips and put them in his mouth, sucking them clean while groaning. Eddie released them with a pop then got off the bed to undress while I laid there, catching my breath. 

I shamelessly let my eyes roam over him while he undressed and bit my lip. He got onto the bed and hovered over me, settling himself between my legs once more. His hands went for my skirt and started to take it off me, once it was off it joined the rest of my clothes that had been thrown to the bedroom floor. Eddie let his eyes wander and roam all over me, “Fuck… you’re so beautiful, it’s unreal.” he said, making me blush a bit. “Thank you.” I replied with a sigh then reached up and carefully ran one of my hands through his curls, making him smile. He leaned down then kissed me while I wrapped my arms around his neck and he grabbed one of my legs and had it wrap around his waist. I felt his cock slide through my folds and I gasped a little, making him chuckle. “What is it baby?” he asked as he pulled back then grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip against my entrance. He then had it slip in a little, making me whimper before pulling away. “Is it this, is this what you want, hm?” Eddie asked while slipping the head of his cock inside me again while I moaned and squirmed, my pussy clenched around it trying to get him to sink into more. 

He tsked while shaking his head as he pulled out of me and I whined. “Use your words, if you ask me nicely… maybe I’ll give you what you want.” He said, slightly smirking at me as he squirmed a bit. “Come on Eddie, pleaseee…” I desperately whined which caused him to chuckle as he rubbed himself against me again. “Please… what?” Eddie asked as he tilted his head and I shakily sighed, blushing a bit. “P- please… fuck me..” I said while making eye contact with him and he smirked. “Good girl.” he replied and then slowly slid his cock inside me, inch by inch. I moaned loudly as I felt him slowly stretching me out and he groaned, “Holy shit, y- you feel so good… you’re so tight, baby- fuck.” Once he was fully inside me, he gave me a moment to adjust to his size. I whimpered a bit while I moved my hips just a little, “Y- you can move now, please… please move.” I said then he slowly pulled all the way out of me, but before I could protest, he thrusted all the way back into me and we both moaned. 

Eddie did it once more before he settled into a slow pace while also being rough at the same time. “That’s it, sweetheart… you’re doing so good.. taking me so well.” he said then leaned down and started kissing my neck while I moaned and held onto his shoulders. He started to pick up his pace while continuing to roughly thrust into me. I whimpered and moaned while trying to move my hips to meet his thrusts, but then he grabbed my other legs and wrapped it around his waist. He sunk deeper into me, bottoming out and I gasped, “O- oh my fucking god- Eddie!” I cried out and he smirked against my neck before gently biting it. I felt him slowly lick over the spot on my neck he had just bit then he pulled back a bit to look at me. “Yes, baby?” He replied as he gently wrapped one of his hands around my throat then lightly squeezed, causing me to clench around him and he groaned. 

“You’re so pretty like this darling, all nice and full of my cock.” Eddie said as he used his thumb to drag my lower lip down then let go of it and watched it snap back into place. He then rolled his hips in a way that made me see stars and I just moaned in response while throwing my head back. “D- don’t stop.. please..” I said through whimpering and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, baby.. I don’t plan on it.” he replied before his thrusts got rougher than they were before and all I could do was loudly moan. It didn’t take long before he started to hit my g-spot over and over, turning me into a moaning, whimpering mess while my legs started to shake. Eddie squeezed my throat again,a little harder this time while his freehand slid down between us and between my legs. He used his thumb to rub against my clit in fast, small circles which caused my pussy to clench around his cock and he groaned. 

“E- Eddie, I’m gonna- oh fuck.. I’m going to-” I cut myself off with a moan, not being able to completely think straight. “Go ahead, baby… come all over me and soak my cock.” he said while groaning and pressing his thumb down on my clit. Before my mind could process and catch up with my body, I came while crying out his name. My pussy tightly clenched around him as my back arched off the bed while my thighs trembled. Eddie let out a deep, guttural groan as he continued to roughly thrust into me, drawing out my orgasam. “Such a good girl, making a mess all over me.” he then moaned and groaned as he thrust into me a couple more times. I felt him throb inside of me before he came, filling me up. Eddie caught his breath then placed one hand on one of my hips then slid one of his arms underneath my back and carefully clipped us around, laying down with me laying on top of him. He held me close, keeping himself buried inside me. 

I rested my head against his chest and he began to play with my hair. “So… does this mean you’re going to break up with him?” He asked and I slightly chuckled. “Wow, really subtle Munson.” I replied, making him laugh. “It’s a genuine question.” Eddie said then kissed the top of my head, making me smile. “Yes Eddie, yes I’m going to break up with him.” I replied while looking up at him. “Good… good because you’re mine now and I’m not letting you go.” He said then kissed my forehead and I chuckled then buried my face in the crook of his neck.

ꨄ end note: This was inspired by an imagine I posted months ago. I had such a fun time writing it and I hope you enjoyed it!

ꨄ If you liked this fic, I would really appreciate it if you liked and reblogged it to help my account grow! 💕

ꨄ Don't forget to comment if you want more fic like this or would just like another Eddie fic from me in general!

©allycat004 please do not steal, copy, reuse, translate, or repost my work.

[anon-188]

under pressure — c.k.

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 3.1k | KENT <- collab m.list (be sure to check out the other lovely fics & stay tuned for more!!!)

summary: clark can’t leave you alone—even when he really, really should. the pressure builds… and something has to give.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), clark cusses 2.5 times, unprotected sex (p in v), pussy drunk!clark, rough sex, loss of control, furniture breaking, overstimulation, nsfw themes + language, reader called “baby”

a/n: clark breaks the bathtub while fucking you. that’s it. that’s the fic. A BIG THANK YOU to @tw1sters for including me in this collab!!! i had so much fun writing this and can’t wait to read everyone else’s!! hope you guys enjoy! <3 //graphics: @sparklingsin — thank you ash for the beautiful header below. still can’t get over how talented you are!! 🤍🤍

Clark was supposed to be leaving for work.

Well, that had been the plan, at least. He was mostly dressed for it too, shirt crisp, tie half-adjusted, sleeves buttoned, everything in place except the last few steps that would actually get him out the door. 

His shoes waited by the couch. His jacket was draped neatly over the dining room chair. Just a few final adjustments and he’d be gone.

It should have been simple. Really, it should have. But when it came to you, simple had never been something he could count on.

You were minding your own business. Relaxing. Existing. Apparently, that alone was enough to ruin whatever focus he had left.

Clark stood at the sink, adjusting his tie in the mirror, fingers working at the knot with practiced precision. He fixed it once, then again, and again, like something about it still wasn’t sitting right, even though it had been perfect the first time.

Behind him, the tub sat visible in the reflection, and you were there, sunk low in the water, completely at ease. Steam filled the room in slow curls, softening the edges of everything, including you.

Clark’s eyes kept flicking toward you in the mirror, quick at first, then slower. Then longer. And longer. Long enough that he’d forget what he was doing entirely before dragging his gaze back up to his own reflection like that might somehow fix it.

He swallowed hard and forced his attention back to his tie.

Focus.

Clark straightened, running a hand through his hair before adjusting his glasses, eyes fixed on his reflection to anchor him there, to keep him moving, to keep him from—

His gaze slipped again.

Slower this time. Heavier in a way where he couldn’t even pretend it was accidental.

The water moved when you shifted your legs, the surface breaking just enough to catch and follow, offering brief, shifting glimpses before settling again. Droplets clung to your shoulders and throat, slipping slowly over your skin each time you moved, tracing small paths he couldn’t stop noticing. The whole room felt warm with it, thick with quiet and water and the faint scent of whatever you’d poured into the tub.

You weren’t even doing anything, not really, which only made it worse. Clark couldn’t seem to look anywhere else, or think of anything else for that matter.

That didn’t stop him from trying, though.

And God, did he try. 

Clark let out a slow, steady breath, deeper than it needed to be, like it might push whatever this was back down where it belonged.

“Alright, baby,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “I have to go.”

He turned and stepped closer as he said it, already leaning down before the sentence had fully settled between you. It was supposed to be quick. Normal. Just one last soft kiss before work.

Clark’s hand braced on the edge of the tub as his lips met yours, gentle and familiar, something that should’ve ended there but didn’t. You were warm, your mouth slightly parted, soft where you gave under him without resistance.

He lingered a second too long, catching the faint drag of your lower lip before pulling back just barely, his breath brushing yours.

His gaze dropped to your mouth again—and stayed there.

Something tightened in his chest, heavier now, pushing up from where he’d tried to bury it. 

He kissed you again. 

Longer this time. 

And then again, deeper, his mouth pressing into yours with intent, the kiss opening, getting away from him, losing whatever restraint had been left in it. His hand on the tub clenched tighter, grounding himself in the strain while the other came up to your face, thumb pressing along your jaw as he pulled you into him.

He should have stopped. He knew that. Knew that this was the last thing he should be doing right now.

The thought flickered, thin and useless, drowned out by the way you felt, by the way your lips moved with his, by the immediate reaction in his body. Heat hit him low and sharp, his cock caught tight beneath his slacks, the pressure there before he could even pretend otherwise.

Still, he didn’t pull away.

His mouth stayed on yours, each kiss deepening with every second he didn’t stop. His breathing shifted, uneven, heavier now, pulling through his nose in quiet bursts that brushed hot against your skin. Every inhale came tighter than the last, tension winding through his chest instead of easing down.

You laughed softly against his mouth, a quiet, breathy sound that brushed his lips when you spoke. “You’re gonna get all wet,” you murmured, the words light, amused, as if this was still something easy. Still playful.

His response came in the way his mouth pressed harder to yours, more insistent, the kiss turning urgent without pause. His hand flexed against the edge of the tub again, grip tightening, fingers pressing into the porcelain for resistance, for something solid to hold while everything else slipped further out of his control.

A faint sound gave under his palm.

Small. Thin. Barely there.

A hairline crack split through the porcelain, too quiet for anyone but him to hear, but he caught it all the same. That faint give beneath his hand, the smallest surrender under pressure, something yielding when it shouldn’t have.

It echoed too closely. Too much like the way his restraint had been going, not all at once, but splitting, fracturing, giving in pieces he wasn’t getting back.

He didn’t notice himself leaning closer at first. It just happened gradually, his weight shifting forward, his body following where his mouth already was, where his focus had narrowed completely. 

The edge of the tub pressed into his body, then more and more. He kept going. Closer. Further. Until there wasn’t really a line left to cross.

His weight tipped past the edge before either of you could slow it, one knee dropping into the water, then the other, his mouth still fixed to yours. The bath surged around him, spilling hard over the sides as his clothes soaked through all at once. His shirt and pants stuck to him in seconds, ruined and heavy, water streaming from the fabric and pooling across the floor.

It didn’t matter. None of it did. The mess, the sound, the fact that he had been halfway out the door minutes ago. All of it dropped away under one singular focus.

You.

His hands were already on you, firm, urgent, pulling you up and into him with a kind of need that made it clear he was past the point of caring how it looked. Water sloshed violently with the movement, spilling over again, your body shifting against his as he maneuvered you onto his lap.

It wasn’t neat or careful. It was messy, rushed, a little clumsy in the way urgency always was with him when he got like this. Clark moved fast, driven by how badly he needed you there, by how little patience he had left to get you there any other way.

You startled, breath catching sharply, the surprise obvious in the way your hands braced against him, the way your body reacted to the suddenness of it. He didn’t ease up, didn’t even think about slowing down. His mouth found yours again, rougher, open, all urgency now. He sank lower into the tub beneath you, water shifting hard around his body, soaking him through completely, but it didn’t register. Not with you on him.

His hands moved like he couldn’t pick a place, like he needed all of you at once. One slid up your back, broad and hot, pressing you down into him, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades before sweeping lower. The other traced down your side, slow for half a second before taking hold of your hip, then shifting again.

Higher.

His hand closed over your breast, fingers curling around the weight of it as he squeezed. His thumb moved slowly over your nipple, pressing, rolling, pulling a breathy reaction from you. The sound you made hit his mouth, and he swallowed it instantly, tongue pushing in to taste it, to take more of you anywhere he could.

His hips worked beneath you with no real attempt to hide it anymore, rolling up against you with purpose. His cock pressed against you through the soaked fabric of his slacks, the friction pulling a low, strained sound from him as it jumped against you, needy and insistent. His hands settled harder at your hips, keeping you right where he needed you.

Steam hung thick around you both, heat wrapping tight, softening everything around the edges until even his glasses began to fog.

It registered for half a second—

That was all it got.

Clark’s hand shot up, ripping the glasses from his face before they could fog over completely. He tossed them aside without looking, the frames skidding across the bathroom tile with a sharp crack that failed to pull his attention.

His mouth crashed into yours again, deeper, sloppier, breath hot and wrecked as his hands went right back to you, gripping, sliding, squeezing like any space between his hands and your body was too much.

Clark wasted no time. One hand dropped from you just long enough to fumble at his belt, fingers clumsy with urgency as he yanked it loose. The buckle knocked dully against itself before he shoved his pants down, fabric resisting under the water, soaked and clinging as he forced it out of the way beneath you. The movement jostled you both, water splashing up and over the edge again, but he didn’t pause, didn’t dare break the rhythm of his mouth against yours.

He didn’t give you the usual slow slide, didn’t ease you into it like he normally would. The second he freed himself, he was already pulling you closer, lining himself up more by need than patience, his breath catching the moment he found you before pushing in all at once. 

The stretch hit immediately, sudden and full, pulling a cry from you as your body clenched around him. Clark groaned at the feel of it, low and broken, his head dipping forward like the sensation had knocked the rest of him loose.

“Shi—”

The word broke apart in his throat, cut off into something rougher.

There was no time to adjust, no chance for your body to catch up before his hands found your hips and started moving you again. His hands locked onto you, fingers sinking in as he guided you into motion, pulling you down onto him, lifting you back up, setting a pace that hit hard and fast right from the start.

Water sloshed violently with every movement, spilling over the edge in steady waves, the sound of it mixing with breath and skin and the wet slide of your bodies coming together again and again.

It didn’t take long before you caught it, matched it—

Then took it.

Your hands twisted into his soaked button-up, fingers curling tight in the fabric as you shifted your weight and rode him properly, not just following anymore. You bounced on him, harder now, faster, the angle changing as you ground down between each lift, dragging him deeper every time you came back down. The friction got to him immediately.

A ragged sound slipped out of him, as you took over, his hands braced at your hips while your pace started pulling him apart. Each movement worked more out of him, left him less steady, less able to hide how badly you had him.

You felt too good.

Too tight, too warm, too perfect around him, every bounce pulling another rough sound from him, every grind making his grip tighten.

He was already gone. 

Fucked out in a way that stripped him down to instinct, to reaction, to nothing but the feel of you working him over. He could feel it bleeding into everything else too, that lack of control, the way heat built behind his eyes each time you sank down, the way his strength kept threatening to slip into his hands where they held you. Even the air leaving him came out wrong now, too hot, too wrecked.

He tried to keep it all in check, tried to rein it in before it got away from him.

Clark’s jaw tightened, breath snagging as his hands clung to you with a care the rest of him had no room for. Everything in him wanted to push harder, take more, fuck up into you with all the strength he kept buried under skin and restraint. He held it back by inches, barely, muscles locked beneath you while his touch stayed careful through sheer force alone. 

It worked.

Mostly.

Until you leaned forward.

Your arms slid around him, pulling him close, pressing your body flush against his as his breath broke hard in his chest. The sound of his name left you in a low, wrecked moan, dragged straight out of you with the roll of your hips, each one locking tighter around him.

“Baby—” he tried, the word breaking halfway through, strained, like the start of a warning he already knew wouldn’t survive the next second.

You didn’t slow down, didn’t give him the space to finish it, and he didn’t fight for it either. The warning lost shape in the way you kept moving, in the fact that he didn’t want you to stop at all. 

Your hips drove down again and again, relentless, the pressure building with every movement, taking him deeper each time, too much and not enough all at once. It stacked on him fast, sensation piling as his hands dug into your waist.

And then your hips sank lower. 

One deep, filthy grind.

It pressed him all the way in and held him there, your weight settling fully, the drag of it hitting something sharp and exact that tore straight through whatever control he had left.

Clark’s entire body seized before a loud, guttural groan ripped out of him as he came hard, hips jerking up into you on instinct. 

His hand slammed down with it, the force splintering through the side of the tub hard enough to break a chunk loose. Porcelain gave way beneath his palm, the side splitting open as water flooded through the gap and rushed across the floor.

At the same time, his eyes flashed.

Just for a split second.

A flare of heat vision shot wide, too sudden for him to catch, striking the metal faucet behind you with enough force to shatter it clean. The pipe split with a harsh snap, water bursting out hot and pressurized, hissing into the room and adding to the chaos.

“Shit—”

His eyes squeezed shut instantly, jaw clenching hard as he tried to rein it back in, like he could force himself under control if he just held tight enough. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, locking you against him as another rough groan tore out of his chest, muffled against your skin.

Water poured around you now, from the split-open side of the tub, from the broken pipe, soaking everything, flooding the tile, but he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Your reaction caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, a choked inhale, a sound that never fully formed as the pace hit too fast, too hard. Your body tried to respond, hands tightening on him, fingers gripping into soaked fabric, but every attempt got swallowed by the next thrust, the next snap of his hips that stole whatever you were about to say.

The break in the tub shifted everything, the side giving way enough to let his legs spread wider beneath you, changing the angle completely. He felt it and used it without hesitation, hips bucking up into you even as he was still coming.

He kept you pressed to him, hands locked at your hips as he fucked up into you through the broken rush of water, through the soaked mess around you, through the wreckage of everything he’d already let go too far.

“I’m sorry—” he gritted out, the words catching as his hips snapped again. “I’ll fix it—I promise—just—” His hands pressed harder into your hips, breath shuddering hot between you. 

That was the only thing left in his head.

Need.

His pace changed, not easing, only deepening, his body rising to meet yours as he dragged you down against him in heavy rolls that kept him buried inside you while he chased the feeling again and again. His hands moved with it, guiding the motion, making you feel every inch of him as he ground up hard, breath breaking with each grind.

Clark forced his eyes open, pulling himself back into it, into the moment, into you. His brows pulled tight immediately, mouth parting on a ragged breath as his gaze dropped between you, locking onto where your bodies met. He watched the way you took him, the way he disappeared inside you with every movement, and the sight tore another wrecked sound from his chest.

The reaction chased up his spine just as fast, too much, too immediate, and his head tipped back on instinct, eyes squeezing shut again before it could go any further. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he tried to contain it, tried to fight that heat building fast and dangerous behind his eyes again. It came back stronger, hotter, threatening to spill if he lost even a fraction more control.

But that didn’t stop him. 

“Keep—” his voice faltered, breath catching, “keep going—don’t—”

You could see how badly he was fighting it. It was there in the hard set of his jaw, in the faint tremor running through his hands, in the way his breathing refused to settle even after everything. The pressure hadn’t eased. If anything, it had gotten worse.

Your mouth parted, instinct kicking in, ready to ask if he was sure—but he caught it.

Maybe it was the way your hips stilled for half a second. Maybe it was the breath you pulled in, that slight pause before you spoke. Whatever it was, he felt it instantly, his hands locking at your hips hard enough to keep you there.

“Don’t—fuck—don’t stop,” he groaned.

His hips ground up as he pulled you down harder, the motion breaking his words into something rougher, something he barely seemed to realize had left him.

The edge of it cracked just as fast as it came.

His voice dropped in sync with your hips, the tone softer but no less strained—

“Please.”

© anon-188 - est. 2025 | please do not repost, copy, translate, or recreate my work in any form.

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[faepoetry]

clark kent spending lazy mornings with you | 18+ tw: mainly just implied sex so mdni

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains in Clark's bedroom as you slowly opened your eyes. The city hummed with a vibrant energy, the streets of Metropolis bustling with the morning traffic. Clark's arm was slung lazily over your waist, the heavy weight of it pinning you against his side. Not that you minded, you always felt safe and cared for in his arms.

Clark was already awake and propped up against his pillows, quietly reading a worn book that he had purchased from a used bookstore a couple of days ago. You took a moment to just drink in the sight of him. Shirtless, sleep mussed hair, dark rimmed glasses framing his eyes. You gently nuzzled his chest as your fingers lightly traced his abs.

A small smile tugged at his lips though he kept his eyes on the page. "Good morning." He rumbled, his voice thick and gravelly from sleep.

"Moring." You whispered back, a small smile spreading across your face as well. You eventually shifted, propping yourself up on one elbow. Clark finally lowered his book, looking down at you with that gentle and familiar warmth in his eyes. Your fingers are slow as you reach up and brush past his temple and hook around the frame of his glasses. You slide his glasses off and set them down on his nightstand with a soft clink.

"There's the man I married," you murmured, your fingers tenderly tracing the bridge of his nose where the frames usually rest. Clark let out a low chuckle. He cups your face with both hands, his large palms warm against your skin as his thumbs stroke over your cheekbones.

"I'm not going anywhere." He whispers.

With agonizing gentleness, he guides you down onto your back, shifting until he’s hovering over you. He feels massive, a safe and solid weight that completely shuts out the rest of the world. Leaning down, he presses a slow, deeply loving kiss to your lips. When he pulls back just an inch, his blue eyes are shining. "But you're the only one who ever gets to see him." He leaned in, gently kissing down your neck and collarbone, making his way south.

Mornings like this are a quiet reminder that out of the whole universe, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

❀ end note: ugh i love clark so much, you have no idea 😭

❀ if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! ❀

©faepoetry please do not steal, copy, repost, reuse, or translate my work.

[allycat004]

So cutie 😭

[strawberry-nugget]

⤿ Jason Todd x fem! reader

What’s a girl supposed to do when her jacked boyfriend is covered in grease because he’s fixing his bike with his bare. fucking. hands?

Tags/CW: 18+ MDNI, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, doggystyle, slight mating press, fingering, oral (f!receiving), cvckdrunk reader, hair pulling, switch dynamics, pvssydrunk Jason Todd, semi!public sex

“If you don’t stop working on that bike im gonna bite you”

That makes Jason look. 

Fucking finally.

He lifts his head slowly, helmet thrown somewhere you can’t even begin to care for, grease smeared along his knuckles and the edge of his jaw. There’s a pause—long enough that you think maybe he didn’t hear you, long enough for the hum of the massive Batcycle he drives to fill the garage again.

Then his mouth twitches, right at the corner where his scar begins.

“Y’know,” he says, straightening just enough to roll his shoulders, “most people threaten me with guns.”

His eyes flick to you—sharp, assessing, amused in that dangerous way that makes your stomach dip. He wipes his hands on a rag, not breaking eye contact and walks towards you in slow strides.

“But sure,” he adds, stepping closer, boots heavy against the concrete. “Biting. That’s totally new.”

You’re suddenly very aware of how close he is. Of the heat coming off him. The way his triceps flex when he throws the towel to the direction of the bike, the veins on his forearms pumping with each movement. The fact that he’s still half in work mode—leather jacket open, sleeves pushed up, forearms tense, smelling like motor oil and something so unmistakably him — you’d be crazy not to try to demand his attention. Especially when you’ve done nothing but stare at him for a good amount of, what, forty five minutes now?

“I’m threatening you with a good time, actually.” 

Oh that line? Yeah, that usually earns you consequences.

He tilts his head at you like a puppy. “You gonna follow through,” he murmurs, “or is that just trash talk?”

There’s a challenge in it. Not loud. Not cocky. Jason is too soft—despite his massive, enormous muscles—to let himself be cocky with you, but he always indulges you with some sass.

Jason stops a half-step away from you. Close enough that the space between your bodies feels intentional, like he measured it. Close enough that the air shifts—hot, metallic, thick with oil and ozone and the faint bite of gunpowder that never really leaves him. Your fingers trap his chin between them, forcing his jaw to your eye level and you hate it— but you bite your lower lip so hard you feel your skin tingle.

The garage hums around you. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, one of them flickering just slightly. The Batcycle ticks as it cools, metal settling, protesting. Gotham presses in from outside—sirens somewhere far off, rain threatening but not yet falling.

Jason’s gaze drops. Not all the way. Just enough to register your mouth. The pause is fraction-of-a-second small, but you feel it anyway. He stills after, jaw tightening like he caught himself mid-mistake.

“What is it?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow up instinctively.

And you can’t help it— your hand comes to slap against his ass so you can make him jump a tad closer to you. Because, really, how can you even be expected to behave yourself while watching him screw nails with his fingers instead of screwdrivers? Thinking how he could be using his fingers instead to toy with your clit; one big, plushy thumb coiling tight circles on you while he fucks you with his middle finger instead of working on that stupid bike.

How can you be prompted to ignore how absolute snug his leather jacket fits, ready to burst at the seams when his bulky shoulders threaten to make it explode? When he could be using the same muscle to hold you against his chest while he fucks you from behind just so he can kiss you?

“Jesus—” His hand comes up on instinct, gripping your wrist, not to stop you, just grounding himself. His thumb presses into your pulse as your mouth already has found his “Someone’s horny.”

For a long moment, you let your lips brush his, your teeth softly grazing between your mouths When he finally manages to take a deeper breath though, you pounce, biting his lip into your mouth. And instead of hissing, Jason draws you even closer, his hips slamming against yours through your clothes.

“Your fault.” you whisper against his mouth.

He lets out a sharp laugh that dies halfway in his chest, but he’s smiling. Wide and unguarded. The kind you only get when he’s forgotten to keep the walls up. Not that he usually has his guards up when you’re around.

His hands come alive then—one sliding up your side, fingers splaying like he needs the contact, the other tangling briefly in your hair before he remembers himself and settles, sweetly for your shoulder instead. The kiss turns sloppy fast, uncoordinated, mouths chasing each other, teeth knocking, breath shared and uneven.

Your intent is to kiss him silly, until both of your chins are absolutely coated in drool, and you absolutely manage to deliver.

The bike behind him gives an irritated whine as one of the screwdrivers he rested on the seat falls to the ground, like it’s been personally offended.

Jason breaks the kiss just long enough to glance back at it, then at you—eyes dark, pupils blown, lips red and swollen.

“…Guess the bike can wait,” he says.

Jason’s gaze flicks to your mouth again—this time he doesn’t stop himself at all. Doesn’t hide it. His breath shifts, deeper now, slower, like he’s trying to steady something that’s already tipped. He wants you so bad when you’re set on freaking him out, it would be insane to try and fight it.

“Fuck—” he starts, then exhales through his nose, frustrated. “If you’re gonna—”

He doesn’t finish that either.

You close the distance for him.

It’s barely anything—just enough that your breath brushes his cheek, your chest almost touching his. You feel him go still again, like a loaded weapon set on a table. Waiting.

“Stop talking Jay,” you whisper. “I need you naked right now or I'm gonna explode!”

For a heartbeat, he just looks at you. Really looks. Like he’s weighing the risk. Like he knows exactly how badly this could end— someone walking in on you, you are in belfry after all— and he’s choosing it anyway.

Then his hand slides from your wrist to your jaw.

He cups your face with a care that doesn’t match his size at all, thumb resting just under your cheekbone. He hesitates there—one last pause, one last chance to pull away.

He doesn’t take it. Of course.

The kiss he gives you is slow. Hungry, but not rushed to its core. Jason leans in like he’s testing the ground beneath his feet, lips brushing yours first, barely there, a question more than an answer. When you don’t pull back, when you lean in too, shoulders dropping like you're melting in his touch, he exhales against your mouth and deepens it.

Warm. Firm. Careful in a way that feels almost dangerous.

His thumb shifts, tilting your chin up, keeping the angle just right.

The kiss breaks for a fraction of a second, just long enough for him to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. "Naked, huh?" he rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that you feel in your own chest. You take it upon yourself to kiss the rough pad of his thumb, the coarse skin on the inside of his palm and then, even more carefully, the inside of his wrist "You have any idea how much gear I'm wearing? It’s a process."

He doesn't wait for an answer. His hands move from your jaw to your waist, his large palms spanning nearly the whole width of you. In one fluid, effortless motion, he hoists you up, seating you on the edge of the metal workbench.

The cold bite of the steel against your thighs is a sharp contrast to his body heat. Tools rattle behind you—wrenches and screwdrivers clattering as you’re shoved back into his workspace. Jason crowds into the space between your knees, his heavy boots locking you in.

"You're gonna get grease on your clothes," he warns, teasingly, though he’s already reaching for the hem of your shirt, his eyes dark with a hunger that says he couldn't care less if the whole place burned down around you.

"That’s even hotter," you breathe, tugging at his leather jacket, pulling it off his shoulders.

He lets out a rough, truncated sound—halfway between a laugh and a growl—and dives back in, his mouth finding the sensitive dip of your neck while his grease stained fingers fumble with the buttons of your pants. When his palms finally make contact with your bare skin, the heat is staggering.

He breaks the kiss just enough to strip off his leather jacket completely, throwing it blindly over the Batcycle. He looks like a storm—hair mussed, eyes dark and blown out until the blue is just a thin, electrified ring around his pupils.

You're just a puddle for him really.

"You being in civilians tonight was supposed to be for easy access?" he laughs, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, you hum in response, casting kisses everywhere around his mouth. "Unfair."

“Unfair?” You tilt your head back as his mouth migrates to your jawline, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. “I think it’s a tactical advantage, Jay. You’re the one who’s over-prepared.”

Jason huffs a breath against your skin, a dry, jagged sound as he kisses your earlobe. “Tactical advantage,” he repeats, the words vibrating against your throat. “Yeah. I’ll show you a tactical advantage.”

He reaches back without looking, his large hand sweeping a row of heavy sockets and a torque wrench off the bench. They hit the concrete floor with a series of loud, metallic clangs that echo through the rafters, but Jason doesn't even blink. He uses the cleared space to lean over you, his weight pressing you back into the cold steel until you’re lying flat, your legs naturally hooking around his waist to keep from sliding.

The contrast is dizzying—the freezing metal against your spine and the scorching, solid bulk of him pinning you down.

“You’re gonna be covered in grease,” he mutters again, but this time it’s not a warning—it’s a promise. His hands, rough and calloused, slide under the hem of your sports bra. The moment his palms hit your ribs, you gasp. His skin is searing, and the faint scent of motor oil on him feels strangely right in the middle of this chaos.

He doesn't waste time. With a strength that feels effortless, he tugs the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere toward the darkness of the rafters. His eyes rake over you, dark and possessive, before he drops his head to the valley of your chest, his stubble grazing your skin.

“Jason—” you breathe, your fingers tangling in the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.

“I got you,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into that gravelly register that always makes your toes curl. “Stay right here.”

He pulls back just enough to deal with his own gear. The heavy tactical belt hits the floor with a dull thud, followed by the metallic clack of his holsters. He moves with a frantic sort of efficiency, his movements sharp and hungry. When he finally shoves his shirt off, the flickering fluorescent light overhead catches the map of his body—the jagged lines of scars, the heavy swell of his chest, and the sheer, intimidating breadth of him.

He looks like a wrecking ball in human form, and he’s looking at you with so much tenderness, like he’s more than eager for you to let him do anything to you.

He crowds back into your space, his bare chest slick with a light sheen of sweat as it meets yours. The friction is obliterating—your nipples drag along his chest and for all that’s worth it, you suppress the moan that threatens to spill over. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging you to the very edge of the workbench until your hips meet his.

“Now,” he pants, his forehead dropping against yours, his nose brushing yours in the dark. “About that biting threat.”

Jason captures your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just hard enough to make you whine, before his mouth devours yours again. This time, there’s no hesitation. It’s all teeth and tongues fighting and the heavy weight of him trapping you on your spot.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s see.”

One of his hands stays anchored on your hip, his thumb digging into the dip of your waist to hold you still, while the other slides down, shimmying underneath the band of your cotton panties. His fingers, calloused, scarred, tap their way over your mound, teasing just slightly when he feels the hood of your clit on his pads. His whole hand cups you under your underwear, middle finger circling a tight circle at the sopping entrance of your pussy. 

When his thumb finds your clit, the contact is electric—a blunt, heavy pressure that makes your back arch off the cold metal. 

“Wet already?”

“Forty-five minutes of staring at you screw nails with your hand baby,” you rumbles, his voice dropping into a low, satisfied vibration against your throat. “I almost bust a nut at the sight.”

And fuck, Jason loves what he hears. He loves when you talk so dirty to him.

His thumb hooks under the edge of your panties, dragging the fabric down just enough to get it out of his way, his palm never losing contact with your skin. He’s being so very delicate; Jason always does delicate even when he’s this far gone. He’s being thorough, his fingers slicking with your heat as he maps out exactly how much you want him, teasing the tip of his finger at your entrance ever so occasionally, until your pussy pulses around nothing but thin air.

Your breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound that echoes off the metal cabinets. 

Jason is pinning you down, though while his fingers do their work, his heavy thighs forcing yours wider until you’re completely open to him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs. It’s not a question. He can feel the fine tremors running through your thighs, the way your muscles jump under his touch.

He leans down, his mouth finding the sensitive curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he bites—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark. He mirrors the threat you gave him earlier, his teeth grazing over your pulse point, trailing down a biting path on his way to one of your nipples, until you’re whimpering his name.

“If you hadn’t responded to my biting threat I would have dropped to my knees and I'd be begging you to put your cock in my mouth.”

“You wanted my attention this badly?” He pulls back just an inch, his eyes dark, hooding with a dangerous kind of intent. “You’ve got it. All of it.”

He slides two fingers inside you with such blunt pressure that makes your hips jerk upward, seeking more. He’s steady, his rhythm slow and torturous, his thumb never leaving your clit from the moment he finds it, grinding in tight, heavy circles that make your vision go blurry at the edges.

All the while he keeps kissing between your hardened nipples like a man starved.

The garage feels like it’s shrinking; the image of you, on your knees, begging for his cock is enough of a mind game to make him so painfully hard, that he feels his cock throbbing inside his pants. Instead of acting on it though, he’s watching you, his jaw tight, his own breathing coming in jagged, heavy pulls as he watches your face come apart under his hand.

“Jason, please,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his forearms, trying to pull him closer, trying to bridge the last bit of distance.

He lets out a sharp, ragged breath, his forehead dropping against yours again. “Not yet,” he grunts, his fingers curling deeper, hitting a spot that makes your entire body go taut. “I want to see you come on this table before I even think about getting these pants off.”

He increases the pace, his hand moving with almost mechanical precision. And it’s pointless to try to hold it in, he knows every spot that makes you gasp and moan, anyway. Knows when to slow down the pace, or pick it up again. And fuck, he knows that had it been any other day, you would already be pushing his head between your thighs, urging him to suck your clit between his lips.

But the sound your pussy makes for just his fingers tonight?—the wet, rhythmic friction as he fucks them into you—is drowned out only by the blood rushing in his ears and the needy sounds coming from the back of your throat.

Your breath is hitching in short, desperate stabs, your hips stuttering against his hand as the tension coils into a tight, screaming knot in your lower belly, your pussy pulses around his fingers like a vice and then—

Then, abruptly, he stops.

The sudden absence of his touch is like a physical blow beneath the belt. You let out a broken, frustrated sound, your eyes snapping open to find him hovering over you. He’s shaking like you did moments before—not just his hands, but his whole frame. The cool composure he usually wears like armor has completely shattered. His teeth are bared, his jaw worked so tight you can see the muscle jumping in his cheek.

"Jason—" you gasp, reaching for him, your fingers clawing at the hard muscle of his shoulders. "Don't stop. Please."

"I can't," he rasps, his voice a raw, jagged mess, as his eyes betray his exact words, lowering to where his fingers are toying with your slit. "Fuuuck—I can't just watch you. I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind baby.”

He pushes back from the bench just far enough to deal with the rest of his gear, his movements frantic, almost violent in their urgency. His heavy tactical pants and boxers are shoved down and discarded, hitting the concrete with a heavy thud of fabric and metal buckles.

His cock, free of any restraints and oozing in pre-cum, slaps heavy on his stomach.

When he moves back into your space, he doesn’t wait. He can't. He grabs your thighs, his grip bruisingly firm as he hitches your legs even higher over his shoulders, opening you up completely to the dim light of the garage.

He’s huge, intimidating in size, even, and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the steel beneath you. He settles between your knees, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, slicking itself in and along the mess he already made with his fingers.

"Babe, look at me," he pleads, his voice dropping into a guttural growl. “How do you want it?”

You force your eyes to meet his. “Jason, if you don’t break my back with the meanest backshots right now, I swear to fucking god—”

He stops. The calculation in his eyes dies right then and there, replaced by something dark, jagged, and entirely unhinged.

"Screw this," he rasps, the words catching in his throat.

He doesn't just pull his hand away; he drags you off the edge of the workbench. Your feet hit the concrete for only a split second before he’s spinning you around. He shoves you back down, chest-first this time, your palms skidding across the cold steel of the table. The metal bites into your skin, but you’re barely aware of it because Jason is right there like a wall of scorching heat pressing right into your spine.

He kisses your shoulder, the nape of your neck and trails a series of sloppy pecks down your back, his tongue darting out on every single spot, until he reaches your ass. His broad hands spread you open and you arch onto him, moaning in the brattiest tone you can muster, just to urge him.

It only earns you a hard slap on the ass.

"Stay. Right. There," he whispers, his voice a warning and a plea all at once as he darts out his tongue to lick a clean stripe across your pussy, eager to catch the bead of slick that had been threatening to drip down your thighs.

You gulp in utter heat when he moans at the taste, but before you can arch your back further against his face, you feel him get up from behind you.

Jason’s hands return to you with vengeance. He hooks his fingers deep into the soft flesh of your hips, his grip so bruisingly firm it anchors you to the spot and you eel the throbbing tip of his cock pressing against your pulsing pussy. He’s trembling, you’re trembling and you just can’t take it anymore. You just want to cum on his cock for fuck’s sake.

"You want 'mean'?" he rasps, his voice a low rumble right against your ear as his thumbs tug your soaking folds open. "Fine by me.."

He lunges forward, burying himself inside you in one deep, staggering surge.

All air leaves your lungs in a broken, high-pitched cry. He bottoms out instantly, the sheer force of the impact sending a shockwave through your body that makes your elbows buckle against the steel. You barely have time to register the fullness before he’s pulling back—only to drive back in even harder.

He starts with brutal, almost mechanical rhythm. Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of his heavy boots scuffing the concrete and the rhythmic thud of his hips hitting yours echoes off the rafters. The workbench, heavy-duty as it is, begins to protest. It groans, sliding an inch, then two, across the floor as Jason pours every ounce of him into every hit.

"Jason—!" you sob, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the surface underneath you, knocking over a tray of copper washers that scatter like metallic rain.

"Fuck— you’re so fucking tight, so wet,” he moans, his voice thick with unhinged hunger. “Perfect fucking pussy baby.”

He reaches forward, one hand leaving your hip to coil into the hair at the base of your skull, tugging your head back. He wants to see the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. "I was just... trying to work… And you’ve only been thinking about my dick."

“Yeah, yeah i have. And i still want it in my mouth Jay.”

The workbench screeches against the concrete, harsh and metallic as Jason’s weight and momentum force it back another few inches. He doesn't care about the floor, the tools, or the damage to the shop. He’s focused entirely on the way you’re taking him, on how your pussy squelches and floods around him, on the way your body is being jolted forward with every rhythmic, punishing hit of his hips, every yelp you let out that comes from the back of your throat.

"You want it in your mouth?" he rasps, his voice jagged, unadulterated. He leans down, his chest crushing against your back, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to yours. "Greedy. You’re so fucking greedy."

He doesn't stop. If anything, the pace turns more brutal. He’s delivering on every bit of your 'break my back' request, his hips slamming into yours with a sound like a physical collision. Plop, plop, plop. Every backshot is calculated to bottom out, one gradually harder, faster than the other..

He’s hitting you so bone-deep that your vision is going hazy at the edges, your forehead bumping against the cold steel of the bench with every fuck of his cock into you from behind.

“Please, Jay—please—”

“Please what sweetheart?” he whines, his voice dropping into a guttural, dark register.

He adjusts his grip, both hands now bracketing your waist, his thumbs digging into the soft skin of your belly to anchor you as he pulls back nearly all the way—before slamming home again. “You want me to stop? Or you want me to finish what you started?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. He’s a storm of muscle and heat behind you, his breathing coming in jagged, desperate hitches. Every time he bottoms out, you feel the vibration of it even in your teeth. Your pussy slick, a swollen mess working around him, begging for the release that’s coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah baby, come on my cock,” Jason kisses the back of your neck “just like you wanted.”

Jason lets out a sound that’s close to a groan, his fingers bruising your hips as he delivers three final, punishing thrusts—each one deeper, meaner, until he’s buried to the hilt. He stalls there, his entire frame going rigid, a choked-off shout tearing from his throat as he finally spills into you, his weight collapsing onto your back.

The garage is silent for a heartbeat, save for the hum of the lights and your shared, ragged gasps. Then, Jason pulls out with a wet, lingering sound of ‘plop’ that makes you whimper, the sudden loss of him feeling just a little overbearing right now.

Before you can even try to catch your breath, his hands are under your armpits, hauling you up and spinning you around. He doesn’t let your feet touch the ground; he just hitches your thighs over his shoulders and settles himself between your knees, his length still hard, still weeping, and looking absolutely lethal under the flickering fluorescent light.

He looks wrecked. His hair is a mess, his eyes are blown out to black, and he’s looking at your mouth with a terrifying sort of focus.

“You said you wanted it,” he rasps, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip to pull it down. “Show me.”

He doesn't wait. He crowds into you, his leaking tip pressing against your lips while you’re literally folded in half. He watches you, his jaw tight, waiting for you to wrap your tongue around his pulsing cock.

He reaches out, his thumb catching a stray tear on your cheek before sliding down to trace your lower lip—the one he’d bitten earlier. It’s swollen, pulsing, and parted as you pant for air.

"You said you wanted it," he rumbles, his gaze dropping to your mouth. He isn't asking, like he usually does; he’s giving you exactly what you literally begged for.

Jason looks down at you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair once more—not to pull, but to guide.

"Well?" he murmurs, a new challenge sparking in those blue eyes. "I'm not gonna be the only one who's distracted. I want you thinking about the taste of us all fucking day."

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2026. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

A/N: if you liked this just know this is GK!Jason, give than man some love UGH I love him.

Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but comments are the fuel my heart needs to keep pumping fics like this

Taglist: @starfiremylove @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @fanggq @cassiecasluciluce @tigerf-cker @cowboysaveme @osclerc @whosmev @mochiclouds @vanillacici @outpostsworld @deadbeatphobos

Dividers by: @/cursed-carmine

[strawberry-nugget]

I NEVER expected this to get so many notes like— (honestly im glad y’all are giving gk!jason some love, because he deserves it sm)

[erinchristmaselvis]

Dean is gonna pick up Allie at every chance he gets

[clarkskink]

YES, OF COURSE I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES!!

𐙚⋆.˚ dilf!dick grayson x milf!reader

⌞ lexy's notes: after that comic panel came out, i just HAD to write for him. i wanna eat him so bad ⌝

cw: lovey dovey dick, a little bit of jealousy, he’s obsessed with you and how good you look as a mom lol, he’s a little nasty in the bedroom but what’s new, dick with salt and pepper hair YUMMMM

dilf!dick grayson that has made it his life's goal to have you and his kids with a constant smile on your faces. he knows that as the years have gone on, he's not as flexible or suave as he used to be. he has to be extra careful when on patrols. he's not just living for himself anymore, he has a wife to come home to and two kids that need their dad back safely at the end of the day. and the excited squeals leaving the toddlers paired with the relieved smile on your lips is enough motivation to keep him going through the particularly hard missions.

dilf!dick grayson that knew you were the one from the beginning. seeing how well you were with his family and how in tune you were with each other was the cherry on top. he's been late to dates due to vigilante problems, has come to your house in the middle of the night in need of patching up, has even called you at the early hours of the day just to rant about a bad argument he got into with bruce. you've truly seen him at his ups and downs and still manage to look at him as if he’s the only man to ever exist.

throughout your relationship he’s had to deal with girls hitting on him and men trying their chances with you. you’ve been nothing but loyal to him and he knew he didn’t have anything to worry about. but after having your two troublesome kids, it’s as if everyone has their eyes on you. college boys at the local bar drunkenly talking about how hot that milf in the corner is. dilf!dick grayson has to physically hold himself back after one in particular starts being extra vulgar. comments of “i bet she knows how to use her mouth perfectly” and “would love to play daddy for her kids if that meant i got to see those tits everyday”. he hasn’t felt his skin crawl this much in years and you can definitely see the wheels turning in his head after you tried to calm his nerves with a “c’mon, honey. just ignore them”. and he really was going to leave it alone until he could tell the guy's friends were encouraging him to come over. so dick does what he always does best. show off. he's gripping your hips with his large hands, one of them wandering down to the fat of your ass where he squeezes and swallows your small gasp with his mouth. he kisses with his whole body, and if this frat guy wasn't able to tell that he's the only "daddy" your kids need, than the hungry look in his eyes as he ravishes your mouth is enough to show him.

dilf!dick grayson that sometimes finds himself wondering what your lives would look like with another pair of feet running around. he knows it's only been a few years since your last pregnancy, but seeing the way you fit into the motherly role for your kids is enough to leave him throbbing in his pants. from the soothing voice you talk to them with in the early hours of the morning, and the stern scoldings you give when they refuse to listen. he can't lie, he's come clean to you more than once but seeing you in your element makes him wish he was the one you were yelling at instead.

and it's not like this is a one sided ordeal. seeing his lean body fill out throughout the years, his young face slowly turning softer, especially around the eyes. it's hard to not fall more and more for your husband as the time passes. time where he used to be embarrassed of the gray hair, now changed after he saw how utterly obsessed you've become with it. after a new shape up, whether he did it himself or he went to the barbershop, your hands are constantly on him. nails running up and down the undercut, the low lidded look you give him the minute the kids are put down for bed. it's hard for him to feel weary about his age when its so obvious the girl of his dreams is obsessed with it. there's some nights dilf!dick grayson has to physically tap out after the multiple orgasms you've brought him to. he's normally able to keep up, but these past few weeks you've been untamable with the way you jump his bones every two seconds. moans of "wanna carry y'r kids again" and "need you to cum inside, baby" are constantly filling the lustful atmosphere.

but there's one night in particular that dilf!dick grayson is actively matching your neediness. he's got you in such a nasty arch, he's hitting spots you didn't even know existed. you're so sensitive that the only thing stopping the noises from leaving your mouth are some of his thick fingers. pressing down onto your tongue, the gags that leave your mouth is enough to make him thrust even deeper. and when you manage to escape his fingers, your pleas go unheard and the only thing running through his mind is the look on your face when your close friend announced her pregnancy at a recent gathering. you were of course happy for her, but you couldn't help the small burst of jealousy after you've been asking dick for another baby. and you thought you were able to hide your emotions, but your sweet husband was always able to see through the fake smile you put on.

dilf!dick grayson that makes it his mission that night to give you what you really want. and he's making sure each load takes. he's got the pillow supporting your arch everytime your knees grow weak or you run from his thrust in overstimulation. his thumb rubbing your clit in the perfect rhythm. you're both sticky from the sweat and heat of each others bodies. the only thing your clouded mind can really comprehend is the kiss he leaves on your open mouth every few pushes. when you tap out for a quick break, he's pampering you with water, rubbing his rough hands up and down your back, even feeding you the praise you oh so crave. "you're doing so good, sweetheart", "bet you can't wait to be a mommy again, huh?" and if you don't end up with a positive test sometime within the next three weeks, he'll just have to try again and again until you both are satisfied.

copyright © 2025 clarkskink. all rights reserved.

[allycat004]

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[faepoetry]

bruce wayne and clark kent at the same time | 18+ tw: cursing, smut, degrading kink, praise kink, nsfw mdni

Bruce's fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave marks, his thrusts merciless as he pounded into you from behind. Your moans were muffled by Clark's cock as he thrusted into your mouth, not nearly as rough as Bruce's thrusts. "That's it, take our cocks like a fucking slut." Bruce growled, his palm landing a sharp slap to your ass. You yelped, jolting forward, which only made you take Clark's cock deeper down your throat.

Clark's fingers threaded through your hair gently, the feeling drastically different from the way Bruce was gripping your hips. "Fuck, you're doing so well baby. You're so pretty like this." He groaned as he looked down at you. You looked up at him through your lashes, face tearstained and messy with mascara, lip gloss smudged on your cheek, saliva dripping down your lips and chin.

Bruce let out a dark chuckle, his hips snapping forward roughly, causing your cunt to squeeze his length. "Look at her Clark, can't even decide which cock you like more. Fuck, you just love cock so much, don't you, dirty little slut." He growled as he gripped your ass, kneading the flesh in his large hands.

Clark's thumb brushed along your cheekbone, gently wiping away a stray tear. His hand tightened in your hair softly, helping guide you along his length. "You're so perfect," he murmured, voice thick with affection. "Love seeing those pouty lips stretched around my cock, sucking my cock so well." He groaned when your tongue flicked the underside of his shaft. "God, you're fucking mouth is so perfect. So fucking perfect." He whimpered, his pace becoming choppy, signaling that he was close.

Bruce's grip on your hips tightened even more, his rhythm turning erratic as he grunted through clenched teeth. "Gonna fill this greedy cunt up," he snarled, fingers biting into your skin. "Gonna breed this cunt until you're dripping for days. Make sure you remember who owns this perfect fucking pussy." His hips jerked against you a couple more timed before he stilled, his cock twitching deep inside of you, warmth flooding you as he filled you up with his seed. He pulled out, the sound obscenely loud. You whimpered when his fingers threaded through your hair roughly, thrusting you onto Clark's cock. "C'mon, choke on his cock. Make him cream down that pretty throat." He growled.

Tears sprang in your eyes once again as you looked up at Clark. Bruce's grip caused you to take Clark all the way, your nose pressing against his stomach as you gagged. Clark's fingers loosened Bruce's grip in your hair, easing you up just enough so you could breathe comfortably around his cock. "Easy, sweetheart." He murmured, his hips rocking shallowly, the head of his cock dragging against your tongue. "You don't have to take it all, it's okay baby. Just take as much as you can handle, sweet girl."

"You're fucking pathetic. Can't even take him down your throat properly?" Bruce laughed mockingly, his fingers tracing a line down your spine before landing another sharp slap to your ass. The feeling was dizzying, having Bruce degrade and humiliate you while Clark whispered soft praises, his touch gentle compared to Bruce's manhandling.

Clark's breath hitched as you hollowed your cheeks around him, his fingers twitching in your hair. "Christ, you feel amazing." He choked out, his thrusts growing sloppy. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum baby." He groaned, voice wrecked. You moaned around him, urging him on. Clark groaned loudly, thighs tensing as he came down your throat. You continued to suck his cock, helping him through his orgasm.

"Look at her, still trying to suck you dry. Little fucking cockslut, isn't she?" Bruce chuckled darkly.

Clark pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock glistening with your spit, a string of it connecting your lips to his cock. You gasped when Bruce flipped you around so you were now facing him. He stroked his length a few times, his cock covered in your mixed arousal. "Now you're gonna take my cock down your throat like a good fucking girl while you let Clark fill that greedy little pussy up with more cum. Understood?" He asked as the head of his cock brushed against your lips. You nodded, looking up at him, your eyes watery and your lips puffy, but you still wanted more. Needed more. Bruce smirked. "Good girl, because we're not done with you yet."

❀ end note: i looove soft dom clark and mean dom bruce so much. this dynamic drives me feral. i have more planned for these two so stay tuned! 🤭🙈

❀ if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! ❀

©faepoetry please do not steal, copy, repost, reuse, or translate my work.

[faepoetry]

Sweet Obedience

❀ summary: after not getting enough alone time over the past few weeks with your husband, you finally convince him to try something new.

❀ warnings: cursing, smut, unprotected sex, mean bruce, degrading, name calling, hair pulling, spanking, restraints, praise kink, choking, dom/sub, smut without a plot except it has a fluffy ending, 18+ nsfw mdni

❀ pairings: husband!bruce wayne x female reader

❀ wc: 2.4k words

❀ author's note: i really enjoyed writing this so i hope you enjoy it too!

©faepoetry please do not steal, copy, repost, reuse, or translate my work.

It had been quite some time since you and your husband had any time to yourselves, let alone anytime for intimacy. It had been weeks since Bruce touched you. Since then you had started hinting to him that you wanted to explore, try something new sexually. That's what led to this moment, you on your knees in your shared bedroom in nothing but lacy black lingerie and matching stockings, looking up through your lashes at your husband.

"You look like you were made to be on your knees for me. Wouldn't you agree?" Bruce's voice was low as he circled you slowly, eyes dark and hungry, like a predator circling it's prey. He tsked when you didn't answer him, stopping in front you his hand threading through your hair. "You know what happens to pretty little things who don't answer when spoken to." He said, fingers tugging on your hair just enough to make your scalp prickle.

You swallowed hard as you nodded your head slowly, "I was." You murmured, barely above a whisper, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth softly.

He exhaled slowly, fingers tugging your hair back, tilting your head back to expose the column of your throat. "That was a lousy answer. You can do better than that." His hand left your hair to grab your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Or do I need to remind you how to use that pretty mouth of yours?"

"I was made to be on my knees for you." You whimpered softly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Bruce's responding chuckle was dark, pleased, as he released your chin. "Better." He let his hand trail from your chin, down your neck. "But let's see if you can follow instructions better." His hand withdrew from your skin, leaving you whimpering. "Pathetic," he murmured. "I've barely touched you and you're already whining? You really are a needy little whore." He took a step away, the sharp click of his dress shoes loud in the quiet room as he let his hungry gaze drink you in. You could see the outline of his cock straining against his slacks, the sight only making more arousal pool between your legs.

"Hands behind your back." He ordered. Your fingers trembled as you pinned your wrists at the small of your back, arching your spine slightly to give him a better view of your tits. "Good girl." He praised softly as he walked behind you, crouching down and you herd him pull a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. The cuffs clicked in place around your wrists, the metal cool against your heated skin.

Bruce’s breath ghosted over your ear as he leaned down, his voice low and rough. “Now, let’s see how well you take what you’ve been begging for.” His fingers traced the lace clinging to your thighs, slow and deliberate, before hooking into the fabric and tearing it aside with a single rough pull. The sound of ripping lace mingled with your gasp, the sudden exposure making your skin prickle. He groaned softly, dragging two fingers through your slick folds. "Look at you. Soaked through just from being told what to do.” He brought his fingers to your lips, smearing your own slick across them. “Taste it. Prove to me you know what you are.”

The moment his fingers pressed against your lips, you opened obediently, tongue darting out to lick and suck the wetness from his skin. Bruce watched, his expression unreadable except for the dark satisfaction in his eyes. "Good girl," he murmured. "But you're still thinking too much." His hand suddenly fisted in your hair again, yanking your head back sharply enough to make your breath catch. "You don’t get to think. I want that pretty head of yours empty while you take what I give you. Understood?"

You nodded frantically, lips parted around a shaky breath. "Understood." You whispered breathlessly.

Bruce’s smile was dark as he released your hair just to drag his knuckles down your cheekbone in a mockery of tenderness. "That’s my girl." He murmured, before his hand abruptly disappeared, only to land a harsh slap to your ass. You gasped, your spine arching involuntarily. His breath was warm against the back of your neck. “You like that, don’t you?” His palm smoothed over the throbbing skin, fingers digging in just enough to make you whimper and you nodded. His hand moved from your ass, sliding between your legs again. Your hips instinctively rocked against his hand, desperate for more. "Fucking slut, already pressing your cunt into my hand like a bitch in heat.”

Bruce’s fingers slid through your slick with deliberate slowness, teasing your clit, never giving you exactly what you needed. His voice was a low, dark purr as he spoke, "Already dripping all over my hand and I haven't even fucked you yet." You whined, hips rolling forward, but he clicked his tongue in disapproval, his free hand clamping down on your hip to still you. “No. You don’t get to move unless I say so.” His fingers retreated entirely, leaving you empty and aching, and you bit back a sob. "God you're so fucking pathetic." He chuckled mockingly as he stood.

You could hear the rustle of fabric as he undid his belt. Then silence fell over the room. Your skin prickled in anticipation, wrists straining against the cuffs. The pause stretched until you whimpered quietly, causing him to chuckle low in his throat. "Aww, is my poor girl needy for cock?" He asked as he circled around you and stood in front of you, giving you a mock pout when you nodded.

His belt came off as he tossed it aside. Then he unzipped his slacks, pulling his hard cock out, the tip glistening with pre-cum. "Open your mouth." He commanded, slapping your cheek with his cock before dragging the head of his cock over your lips, painting them with pre-cum. You parted your lips obediently as he let out a low groan as he slid past your lips, his grip tightening in your hair to hold you steady. "That's it," he murmured, voice rough. "Take it like a good little slut." His hips rolled forward, forcing his cock deeper until your throat fluttered around him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He didn’t stop until your nose brushed against his slacks, your gag reflex kicking in as you choked around him.

Bruce held you there for a heartbeat too long, your throat spasming around him, tears spilling down from your lashes. When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to let you gasp for air before shoving back in, his rhythm relentless. "Fucking gagging on my cock like it's the only thing you know how to do." His thrusts were punishing, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. You tried to focus on breathing through your nose, saliva dripping down your chin and onto your tits, but he didn’t let up, not until your jaw ached and your vision blurred with tears.

Your breath hitched as he fucked your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one dragging the length of his cock over your tongue before bottoming out in your throat. The tears streaking your cheeks only seemed to spur him on, his grip tightening. His hips stuttered, and you braced yourself, wanting him to cum down your throat, but then he pulled out entirely, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting from your lips to the head of his cock.

Bruce dragged his thumb through the mess on your lips, smearing spit and pre-cum across your chin before shoving two fingers into your mouth without warning. You choked around them, the sudden intrusion making your eyes water, but he only chuckled, pressing his fingers against your tongue. "Look at you, still trying to suck even when I’m not giving you my cock. Pathetic." He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, then wiped them on your cheek, leaving a sticky trail. He tugged you up to your feet before shoving you onto the bed on your stomach, your cheek pressed into the mattress as he tugged your hips up, pulling your ass in the air.

Bruce’s palm cracked against your ass again, harder this time. You cried out, arching instinctively, but his grip on your hips was ironclad, holding you in place. “Stay still,” he growled, his voice rough with barely restrained control. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, spreading them wider as groaned. “Fuck, look at you. Already clenching around nothing like a desperate little whore.” He landed a harsh slap to your pussy next.

The slap stung and you jolted forward with a yelp, thighs trembling. His laugh was rough and mocking as he slid the head of his cock through your folds. "You're pretty when you're all desperate and needy for my cock. Promise to fuck you real good, angel. Gonna have my cum dripping out of this pretty little pussy for days." He growled before thrusting into you with one brutal thrust, bottoming out.

"Fuck, you're even tighter than I remember." He groaned, dragging all the way out before slamming into your cunt again. "I've been neglecting this poor little pussy, haven't I?" He asked as he tugged on your hair, not waiting for a response as he set a merciless pace. "Don't gotta worry about that anymore. Gonna fuck my little slut the way she deserves."

Bruce’s hips snapped forward again, the sharp slap of skin against skin punctuating the air as he buried himself inside you to the hilt. Your gasp was muffled into the mattress, your fingers twisting uselessly against the cuffs still locked around your wrists. His grip on your hips was bruising, fingers pressing into your flesh hard enough to leave marks that you knew would appear tomorrow. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough with exertion. "You take me so well. Like you were made for this.” He spit on your ass, watching it slide down to your puckered hole, his thumb pressed against your tight ass, the tip pushing inside.

His thumb pressed in deeper, just enough to make your hips jerk, but he didn’t slow his brutal pace. “Already trying to get away?” He chuckled darkly, his other hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, arching your spine painfully. “You don’t get to run from me. You take what I give you.” His hips snapped forward again, driving his cock impossibly deeper. You whimpered, the sound muffled against the sheets, but he only tightened his grip, forcing your body to accommodate him fully. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “Let me ruin you.”

Your thighs shook as your cunt clenched around his cock, a broken whimper escaping your lips as he laughed low in your ear. “That’s it,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin. “Clench around me like the greedy little slut you are.”

You could feel your orgasm quickly building in your stomach, the pleasure growing so intense you almost couldn't take it anymore. "P- please! Please let me cum. I- I need to cum." You cried out, your tears staining your cheeks and soaking the sheets under your face, your mascara running.

Bruce’s fingers dug harder into your hips, his thrusts never faltering, if anything, they grew rougher, deeper, as if your begging only spurred him on. "Oh, you need to cum?" He mocked. "My poor little angel needs to cum, does she?" He gave you a mock pout, despite the fact that you couldn't see it. His hand slid around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. "How badly do you need to cum, baby? Tell me how much you need it."

Your breath came in ragged gasps, his grip on your throat turning the plea into a choked sob. "I- I need it," you whined, the words barely audible, your hips rocking back against him instinctively. "Please let me cum! Pleasepleasepleaseplease-" Your begs turned into unintelligible whimpers and moans.

His hand tightened around your throat, causing stars to appear in your vision. His hips snapped forward mercilessly, dragging more choked moans out of you. "You wanna cum? Then thank me. Thank me for fucking you like the needy little fucktoy you are." He growled.

Your voice cracked around the words, throat raw from his grip. “T-thank you! Thank you for fucking me-” His fingers loosened just enough to let you gasp before tightening again, cutting off your air mid-sentence.

Bruce laughed, low and rough, his hips never slowing. “Louder. Let me hear how grateful you are.”

You sobbed, the pressure in your abdomen coiling tighter with every thrust, your words dissolving into a broken chant. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Your words tumbled out between moans and sobs.

"Cum. Fucking cum for me, you dumb little slut. Soak my cock." He sneered, hips pounding against your thighs.

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. Your cunt clenched around him, your thighs trembling as your orgasm tore through you. Bruce’s groan was guttural, his fingers tightening in your hair as he fucked you through it, each snap of his hips prolonging your orgasm. “That’s it,” he growled, voice thick with satisfaction. “Fucking ruin yourself on my cock.”

Bruce’s grip on your hips turned bruising as your orgasm wracked through you. He let out a ragged groan, his rhythm stuttering as his thrusts grew erratic. “Fuck,” he gritted out, his voice raw, “you’re squeezing me like a fucking vice.” His cock throbbed inside you as he gave one more rough thrust before stilling. You could feel his release filling you up. He slowly pulled away and groaned as he watched his cum leak out of your now puffy and swollen cunt. He took two fingers, scooping his cum up before shoving it inside of you again, finger fucking his release back inside of you, making you moan softly.

He pulled away, trailing tender kisses up your spine as he released your wrists from the cuffs. He gently rubbed his thumbs over your wrists as his voice softened. "You did so good for me, angel. Such a good girl." He gently turned you over onto your back, kissing your tears away. "You're so pretty, baby. My pretty little angel."

You smiled as he pulled you into his warm embrace, peppering feather-light kisses all over your face. "You did so well for me. So perfect." He praised, snuggling you in close. "I love you so much, sweet girl." He said softly as he kissed your nose, causing you to giggle. You rested your head on his chest, letting him gently caress your back, the repeated motion pulling you into a peaceful sleep.

As you fell asleep, you made a mental note to do this again.

❀ end note: i seriously cannot get enough of mean!dom bruce. i 100% have more coming for him soon!

❀ if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! ❀

[honeypiehotchner]

the birds & the bees -- Superman x Fem!Reader (Kinktober 2025)

I don't care that it's November now it's still Kinktober to me!!! (this is what I get for trying to do a million things during one month but we carry on)

Summary: Clark Kent leaves work abruptly to cover a breaking Superman story, but he practically goes missing right after. You, being the caring friend and coworker that you are, decide to go to his apartment to see if he's okay. And he is, he's just...a little under the weather, and he really needs your help.

Warnings: 18+ only mdni!!!, baby's first sex pollen fic (i think?), needy + sort of subby!clark, blink n you miss it handjob, he gets a lil rough, pussy pronouns, unprotected sex, oral/facefucking (f + m rec), voyeurism if u squint, lots of manhandling, size kink ofc, clark cums...a lot, dirty dirty talk, pollen lowkey affects reader too, lots of petnames ('honey' 'sweetheart' 'baby'), he begs a lot whoops, improper use of his x-ray vision (naughty clark!!), he's still just a giant sweetie even w the pollen <33

WC: 7.7k (this ran the fuck away from me ok)

It’s Saturday, and you’re standing in front of the door to your coworker’s apartment. Uninvited, you might add.

This has to be a new low for you.

The truth is something a little more like this: It’s Saturday, and you’re standing outside your best-friend-slash-coworker-who-has-a-(mutual)-crush-on-you-slash-the-most-handsome-man-in-Metropolis’s door because you haven’t heard from him since Thursday night.

You’ve called, you’ve texted, you’ve sent emails, you’ve left who knows how many voicemails. Nothing. Radio silence.

Jimmy has tried, Lois has tried, Cat has tried -- hell, even Perry tried, because when Clark didn’t show up for work by lunch time yesterday, Perry was even getting worried. It’s normal for Clark to be a little late from time to time. You think his problem is that he’s just too nice and he’ll talk to anyone, and he gets caught up with anything. You’ve witnessed it in real time. 

But not showing at all? That’s unheard of. He hardly ever has sick days, now that you think about it, so if he is sick, it must be lethal, and you have to at least make sure he’s okay.

At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself to justify the fact that you’re showing up, uninvited, and debating letting yourself inside with the spare key under the plant in the corner (Clark is so predictable).

You try knocking again. “Clark?” you call out. “Are you in there?”

It’s just so unlike him, to not show at all, especially after such a big day for Superman on Thursday afternoon. Clark rushed out of the office to go see the action and to get his front-page interview like he always does, and you all were certain it would be plastered on Friday’s paper. But it wasn’t.

Instead, it was some piece Jimmy was working on -- congrats, Jimmy, really, but still -- and Superman saving the city from a creature no one has ever seen before was tucked away inside, and barely a full column. It was a quick write up, the quickest you’ve ever seen Lois do, and it works, but it’s not what everyone was expecting. Steve ended up fielding phone calls about why Clark Kent didn’t interview Superman and why he didn’t get an exclusive like always. 

Needless to say, yesterday was hectic at the Daily Planet, and you worried yourself sick over Clark’s whereabouts, so much so that you’re now staring down his front door before noon on a Saturday.

God. You shake your head at yourself. He’s probably-- Maybe there was a family emergency? Your heart clenches at the idea of anything happening to Ma or Pa Kent, but…it’s a real possibility. Maybe he just hasn’t been able to look at his phone because of it.

It’s one of the worst case scenarios, but it feels like that’s all you’re working with considering you haven’t seen or heard from him in almost forty-eight hours.

Your foot taps impatiently on the floor. The tote bag full of cold remedies and just general things to cheer up a sad Clark Kent weighs heavily on your shoulder. You had thought you’d find him here, maybe sick with an awful flu, or--

You hear movement. Your foot immediately stops its tapping, your breathing halts, you think your heart might even stop beating. You lean a little closer to the door. 

Definitely movement. Someone is inside.

“Clark?” you call out again. “It’s me,” you try instead. “I haven’t heard from you, I-I got worried.” You pause, listening for the same shuffling. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

The only response you get is a low groan. Groaning that you aren’t even sure is Clark, but it’s something, and it doesn’t sound good.

“Can I come in?” you ask. You’ll think later on how to apologize for coming over unannounced and for presumptively looking for the spare key and for letting yourself in. Right now you just need to see if he’s okay.

You hear more groaning, followed by the sound of something crashing -- you have no idea what -- and you decide that’s it.

You tip the plant and swipe the key, inserting it and twisting the knob all in one swoop. “I’m really sorry,” you say as you push the door open. “I’m so sorry, but it sounded like-- I just had to check--”

All words promptly die on your lips when you see the state of Clark’s apartment.

You’ve been here once. Only once. You were caught in a bad storm after drinks with Clark, Jimmy, and Lois, and Clark’s apartment was closer, so he offered you dry clothes and a warm shower while the storm waned. That night, every lamp was on, he had hot cocoa ready for you as soon as you got out of the shower, and the two of you talked and laughed while the rain beat the windows.

Today, the sun is out, but it looks stormy in Clark’s apartment. Not a single light is on, the couch is askew, the coffee table overturned. 

And Clark.

His back is pressed to the far window, hands splayed like he’s pinning himself to the glass with all his strength. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers that are tented, and that would normally be enough for you to avert your eyes, except he looks ill. He’s practically ashen, and he’s sweating so much that his shirt is sticking to his skin, to every muscle. His hair is curled to hell, bordering on messy in a way that is worrisome, like he’s been gripping and tugging at it and trying to rip it out.

“Clark?” you ask, shutting the door behind you. You place the spare key down on the little table by the door. “Are you… What’s going on?”

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he won’t look at you. He mumbles something, but you can’t hear him.

“Clark, please…” you pause, swallowing. You set your bag down by the door, walking closer to him, approaching him like he’s a skittish animal that might run away from you at any second. “Talk to me.”

“Stop,” he bites out. “Please.”

You stop moving, holding your hands up in surrender. What the hell is going on? His legs are shaking, he looks like he hasn’t eaten since Thursday’s lunch, and he still won’t lift his head.

“You should--” he pauses, sucks in a harsh, sharp breath. “You should leave.”

You scoff, not unkindly, just, confused and stressed and what has gotten into him? “Clark, I’m not leaving. We need to get you to a doct--”

“No!” he shouts, immediately shaking his head. “No, no, I’m…fine, I don’t need a doctor.”

“You are not fine,” you argue gently. “You look like you can barely hold yourself up. Are you sick with something?”

“No,” he whines, then adds, “yes, kind of.” One hand leaves the glass to press to his temple with a grimace.

“Is it a migraine?” you ask, wondering if maybe that’s why it’s so dark in here. But that doesn’t explain the fact that it looks like a tornado took off in here, too. “Don’t you get those if you don’t wear your glasses?” He’s not wearing them right now, which you’ve only just now noticed. “Where are they?”

You look around and spot them on the kitchen counter, as if they were ripped off and thrown down. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Clark,” you turn back to him. “Please tell me what’s going on. I want to help. You’ve had everyone worried sick, and we damn near called a wellness check for you, but I figured, let me just come knock on his door first-- But I can’t help if you won’t even let me near you.”

He whimpers this time, high in his throat, almost like he’s going to cry. “Please.”

“Please, what?” you cry. “What can I do? Let me help.” You take tentative steps toward him, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“I-I can’t,” he shudders. “I don’t want to hurt you--”

“Hurt me?” You keep walking slowly. “Why would you hurt me?” Your mind is running wild with all kinds of possibilities right now, one namely being, is Clark on drugs or something?

“It-it’s not something I can control,” he says.

“What is?” you ask, taking more steps. You’re just past the coffee table now. You’ll be able to reach out to him any second.

“It’s--” he cuts himself off with another wince. “Please, you need to stay back, I--”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to just stand over there and watch you like this,” you say sternly, taking more intentional steps now. You reach him quickly, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up!”

He sighs when you touch him, knees buckling. “I-I know. H-Hurts.”

“Clark,” you whisper, placing your hands on his shoulders. “What happened to you? Did you get hurt when you went to interview Superman? Did you get caught in the fight or something?”

He chuckles, but it’s not his usual sound. “Or something,” he murmurs sheepishly, finally tipping his head back to look up at you and--

Your eyes go wide. The world sways. Suddenly you feel like you’re the one who is sick. 

“C-Clark?” you stutter in disbelief. “Superman?”

He groans again, head lolling forward. “This is not how I wanted to tell you.”

You come back to yourself and remember he’s violently ill and you shake your head. Now is not the time to be starstruck. “Hey, no, no, it’s okay, it’s fine! So you’re Superman? It’s okay!” You know you sound ridiculous. “Do you-- Don’t you have healing-- Doesn’t the sun help you or something? Why are you still like this?”

“The sun can’t help this, it’s-- This is different. The Superman robots tried to help, but--”

You nod along, noting things to ask him about later, like Superman robots because what does that even mean? Who are they?

“Okay,” you say, like you’ve got it all figured out after what he’s told you. Like you have a plan. “Okay.” You don’t know what to do. “So we-- Did they-- Do the…robots know what it is that’s making you feel like this?”

He nods slowly, tipping his head back again to look at you, his blue eyes not at all tired like you expect them to be. They’re practically molten. “They have an idea.”

“Okay,” you lick your lips. You should not be thinking about how attractive he is up close like this when he’s practically on his death bed. “What is it?”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to spill it all out right then, but he snaps his jaw closed. “No, I-- I can’t tell you.”

You nearly scream out of sheer frustration. “What do you mean?” you try to have a gentle tone, but you’re not sure you succeed.

“It’s--” he hisses in pain again (you think?), hanging his head. “It’s complicated.”

“I don’t think anything can be more complicated than the fact that I just found out you’re Superman when you’re like this.”

He chuckles again, the sound growing warmer this time. “It’s-- Can you promise me something first?”

“Yeah, Clark,” your face softens. “Anything.”

He groans at that. “No…no, I mean it, I mean, if I tell you what this is, and you’re scared, or you-- You just don’t want to be around me, you have to tell me.”

Your eyes widen. “Clark--”

“I mean it, please,” he begs. “Because if you say you don’t want this, I promise, I will-- I’ll go and bury myself in the ice and I’ll wait it out and I won’t hurt you.”

“Clark, you’re not gonna hurt me.”

“I might,” he chokes out. “I could. I’ve-- It’s been two days of this, I don’t know my own strength, I might--”

“Clark, stop, stop,” you cut him off, both your hands cupping his face, forcing him to look at you. “Please, just tell me what’s going on so I can help.”

“I’m-- I think the creature on Thursday was released by Lex Luthor as a distraction.”

He stops, so you press gently, holding his face as you whisper, “Distraction for what?”

“When I was flying home after it -- back to the Fortress -- as I was leaving Metropolis I flew through a cloud but it wasn’t a cloud, it was-- I think Lex manufactured it because he knew I’d fly through it and he knew it would do this to me.”

You still don’t know what this is, other than the fact that he looks three steps from the grave.

“It’s…my body is--” He pauses again. “This is embarrassing.”

“Clark…” you sigh, pulling him into your arms despite everything. He’s much taller than you, yet right now he feels so small. His face finds your neck and he inhales deeply, holding his breath. “You can tell me.”

“It was a pollen cloud,” he murmurs into your skin, nosing your carotid artery. “And the pollen sets my hormones on fire.”

You rub circles onto his back. “So you’re…?”

“So turned on that I might die,” he whines, still mortified from having to admit this out loud. His hips move on their own accord, and you feel him grinding against your leg before he promptly stops himself. “S-Sorry.”

Your brain is spinning circles in your skull as you try to figure out exactly what he means. What this means.

“Will you actually die?” you ask instead of the other thousands of thoughts running through your head. You scratch his scalp gently, hoping this is somewhat helping, having your arms around him and his around your waist.

His breaths are shallower now, like he’s either afraid to inhale too much of you, or like he can’t get enough. “I don’t know. Probably not. I think I just have to wait it out.”

“But,” you lift your head and he does the same, “is there anything that will help?”

“I can’t ask that of you,” he says immediately, his throat working around a swallow. “I-It’s why I haven’t answered your calls-- I’m sorry that I haven’t, I just-- I flew all the way to the Fortress of Solitude and when the robots told me I needed to-- told me what would help, I flew to Ma and Pa’s, and then didn’t even go in and see them, I just came straight back here because you were--” He pauses, shutting his eyes, twisting them shut, his head thudding as it hits the window. “You were too far, I couldn’t hear you from there and I… I needed to hear you.”

“Hear me?” you gasp. “Clark, I don’t even live close to you, I--”

“I know!” he cries. “I know, but I swear I could hear you, or-- or maybe I really couldn’t, but I couldn’t stand being so far away from you, I had to be in the same city. And then I heard you when you got inside the building, and your heart was so loud outside my door, and gosh, you-- You smell like Heaven, sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, banging around against your ribcage. Sweetheart.

“Clark,” you begin, waiting for him to open his eyes, but he doesn’t. For the second time today, you decide, fuck it. You cup his jaw with one hand, not forceful, but not entirely gentle either. You know he’s embarrassed, but enough is enough. “Look at me.”

Clark’s eyes open instantly, glassy and red and full of fire. “Yes ma’am?”

“If what I’m gathering from this is correct, then…I want to help.”

“You do?”

You nod, thumb stroking his cheek. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course I want you to,” he whines, head threatening to tip back again. His smile is lazy, crooked, and so Clark. “I just-- I wanted to ask you out on a date first.”

You chuckle quietly. So your suspicions about your crush being requited weren’t all in your head, it seems. “We can go on a date once you feel better, okay?”

He nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, swallowing again, like his mouth is making far too much saliva. “Okay. Can we-- Can we go to that place on--”

You don’t know what else to do, so you kiss him. He’s embarrassed, he’s rambling, and he’s gotten so worked up in his head that he’s fighting it -- keeping you from helping him.

It’s a syrupy-sweet first kiss. You try to put every ounce of your nearly year-long crush into it, hoping he can feel all of it. You’d do anything for him, you’ve always felt that way, and you’ve shown it before too. Just in more normal, friendly ways than this. Than agreeing to have sex with Clark so he will feel better.

It sounds absurd, even just in your head, and if you think too much about it, you won’t be able to do anything because of how hard your mind will be reeling. Just this morning, just two hours ago, you thought Clark was sick with maybe the flu or had a family emergency or something else normal, and now. Now you know he’s Superman, now you’ve agreed to help him through whatever pollen-induced horny sickness this is, now you’re finally kissing Clark Kent.

He whimpers into your mouth, fingers wrapping around your wrist to tug your hand down to where he needs you.

“S-Sorry,” he cries, grinding into your palm.

You shush him, applying the pressure he needs. “That better?”

He nods furiously, lips mashing against yours as he chases the feeling of your hand on him, and you haven’t even really touched him. When you finally snake your hand under his waistband, his head falls into your neck, shoulders slumping.

His skin feels hot all over, but somehow even hotter here when you wrap your fingers around him, gently stroking. He kisses your neck, then licks, your eyes rolling from the feeling of him clinging to you, completely at your mercy.

Soon he’s rocking his hips into your hand, then wrapping his arms around you, pulling your body to his like he wants to meld you together. You thumb over his slit once, twice, and without warning, he’s shaking in your hold, spilling into his boxers.

He goes still against you, chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Your free hand strokes his curls where he has his head buried in your neck, wondering if that was enough, or if it was too much.

“Clark?” you whisper. His skin doesn’t feel any cooler, but maybe it takes time.

The only warning you get -- though you don’t realize it’s a warning at all -- is a low groan, deep in his chest before he’s spun you around, pressing your back into the glass. 

When he kisses you this time, the sweetness from earlier is gone, replaced with a desperate, ravenous hunger. He’s still as hard as he was before when he fits his body against yours, hips grinding into you.

“Clark--” you try to get out in between kisses, but he’s ravenous now. Gone is the hesitant, shaking Clark from before. “Mmph-- Clark. Clark.”

He finally pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips that he licks away. “Sorry,” he whispers, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all, and doesn’t look it either, the way he’s not looking at your eyes at all but instead at your lips. “What did you--” He pauses again, out of breath. “What were you saying?”

It makes you giggle, seeing him like this, but there’s heat pooling in your lower belly, too. “No, I just-- That was a change.”

“Oh,” he grins, and it’s a bit wolfish, making your thighs clench. “I told you, I’m a little--”

“I know.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply, breathless, pushing your hips out to grind into him. “Yeah, it’s great.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, hands squeezing your hips as he dives for another kiss, tongue immediately coaxing your mouth open. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me have you.”

“You have me,” you whisper. “Do whatever you need to-- Ah!”

His hands immediately split the seam of your shirt, exposing your breasts. He finds the clip to your bra and suddenly he’s thumbing over your nipples, massaging them, pinching them lightly, watching you squirm.

You grip his shirt, knowing you won’t be able to rip it, but after a few tugs, he gets the idea and does it for you, letting you shove it off his arms and to the floor with yours. His boxers go next, his previous release still sticky inside them, and then he’s dragging your pants down your legs, kneeling as he goes.

You’ve never been so grateful for him to have an apartment on one of the top floors as you are now, when he has you bare and pressed to the window.

“Look at how pretty…” he muses, kissing your inner thigh as he spreads your legs to accommodate his wide frame. He shoulders between them, then lifts one of your legs to rest over his body. “Already so wet for me,” he whispers, like he’s talking to your pussy, not you. “Gotta get her ready for me, though.” He looks up at you, so sweet despite the filth he’s speaking and how close he is to your clit. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You pet his head, smiling as you stroke his curls. “You won’t hurt me, Clark.” Even though he’s not in his right mind, you don’t think he’d ever be able to hurt you.

He leans his cheek against your thigh, just gazing so lovingly at your core. “I won’t,” he promises with a little sigh. “S’too pretty.”

You think you might have to physically guide him to where you need him, but then he’s finally leaning forward, pressing a tender kiss to your clit that makes you jump.

He grins again, wide and hungry. “Sensitive?”

“A little,” you admit. Because you won’t stop teasing me.

“I’ll be gentle,” he swears, and then proceeds to be anything but.

He wraps his lips around your clit, tonguing the hood back ever so slightly to focus directly on your most sensitive spot. Your hips buck involuntarily into his mouth and he moves closer, setting in.

His tongue darts lower, separating your folds, teasing your hole. You don’t think you’ve ever cum from someone eating you out without using their fingers too, but Clark just might get you there. And he seems determined too.

With his nose providing friction to your clit, his tongue presses into you, and he hums. A deep, guttural noise before he somehow moves closer, like he doesn’t even want to breathe while he’s going down on you. 

You’re gripping his curls like your life depends on it, because it sort of does, and you try to warn him before you cum, but he doesn’t slow down or make any indication that he hears you. He just dives deeper, licks faster, and starts mumbling nonsense into your pussy.

“I know you’re close,” he almost whines, like he’s desperate to feel it, to taste it. “Please, baby, please let me have it.”

Your head hits the window with a dull, quiet thud, your chest heaving. “Clark,” you gasp, and somehow he knows what you mean, what you’re trying to say in that one word because then he goes back to sucking on your clit, tongue flicking rapidly.

“Come on,” he says, somehow speaking while still fucking you.

“Clark,” your head lolls against the window, the pleasure making it impossible to hold any part of your body upright.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip to stabilize you. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You finally tip over the edge and climax with a cry, body sinking down the window until it’s only Clark’s strength holding you up. He lets you ride his face through it, one hand in his curls, pushing and pulling exactly where you need him most until you’re trembling with the aftershocks.

He crawls up your body, littering kisses as he goes, pausing to focus on your nipples again, swirling his tongue around them. Your brain is in a haze as you drag his face back to you so you can kiss him, not caring -- and frankly, finding it a little hot -- that you can taste yourself on his tongue.

Clark gives no warning before picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you like you’re nothing back to his bedroom. He practically tosses you onto the bed, covering his body with yours, caging you underneath him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, almost like he can’t believe it as he covers your face in kisses. “Taste so good, every piece of you.”

While he speaks, his hips start to have a mind of their own, steadily rocking into yours, grinding his erection into your stomach. You felt him before, wrapping your hand around him, but feeling him like this, right there, is different.

It makes you gasp into his mouth when the head of his cock catches on your clit. He smirks, nipping at your bottom lip, doing it again just to see your reaction.

“That feel good?” he asks, just as out of breath as you are. You just nod pathetically as he does it over and over. “I’ve gotta stretch you, honey,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Feel how big I am?”

You nod again, feeling, from the outside, how deep he’ll be and God, you have no idea how he’ll fit, but you want it to. You want it so bad you might start crying.

One hand snakes its way downward while you continue kissing Clark. It’s hot and messy and there’s spit all over both of your chins, but you can’t bring yourself to care, especially not when he’s pushing a finger inside you and one already feels so big.

The whine you let out just tells him exactly how you feel, and he soothes you by putting pressure on your clit with the heel of his hand. 

“It’ll feel better in a second, honey,” he promises, already teasing another finger before pushing in, shushing you as you squirm and writhe against him. “Too much?”

You shake your head. “Feels good,” you groan. 

“That’s my sweet girl.”

“Feels good but I want you.”

“You’ll get me, honey, don’t worry,” he whispers, kissing you gingerly. “Need you to cum again for me first. Can you do that?”

You don’t know, but then he spreads his fingers, pressing right into your G-spot, and that lights your body on fire.

“Knew I’d find it,” he says, mostly to himself. “Gonna add another, okay, baby?”

You nod frantically and you hear him chuckle, but he’s not laughing at you. He’s just mystified by how gorgeous you are like this. By how much you need him, like you might need him as much as he needs you.

The Superman robots didn’t mention anything about the pollen being contagious, but then again, they weren’t even entirely certain of what it is, so it could be possible. You’ve swapped enough spit with Clark by now that he wouldn’t be surprised if some of it has transferred.

The thought of it just makes him feel even more needy for you. But he won’t hurt you.

He inserts a third finger, gently prodding your G-spot until you’re clenching then relaxing around him. He thrusts slow at first, warming you up to all three before he gradually spreads them, working you open. 

Your hips grind against his palm with vigor, chasing your high while simultaneously rubbing against his cock. He ruts against your hipbone, giving you what you need and letting himself have just a little friction too.

He feels it when you start clenching around him erratically, hears it when the little whines you let out start stringing together. “Gonna cum, baby?” he coos. “Gonna let go for me again?”

You’re helpless against him as you nod, pulling his face toward yours to devour his mouth.

When you cum this time, his fingers slip in even deeper, and that’s how he knows you’re ready. You’re sucking them in and not letting go, and the noises you’re making are music to his ears. He spills against your stomach, but only a little, because he wants nothing more than to finish inside you.

“I’ve gotta be in you, honey, I-I can’t wait anymore,” he groans, dragging his fingers out of you and lining himself up, his head easily slipping in from how wet you are.

“Please,” you cling to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Oh Clark, please, need to feel you--”

“I’m right here, my sweet girl,” he soothes, pressing in slowly. “Just let me in.”

Your legs widen in response and he sinks impossibly deep on the first thrust, his head nestled right against your cervix, just barely kissing it. The pain of it quickly blurs into pleasure with every movement until you’re rocking against him, your body somehow trying to take him deeper, even though that isn’t biologically possible.

“Oh, honey,” he groans, head falling forward and he mouths at your neck, nips at your sensitive spots there. “You’re so warm.”

You try to say something back, but it just comes out complete nonsense, except Clark catches some of the words.

“I’m so big, I know, honey, I know,” he coos, kissing your forehead. “But you’re taking me so well, sweet girl. Feel how deep I am?”

You nod against him, wailing when he lightly presses his palm down over the slight bulge in your lower stomach, right where he knows he’s nestled without even needing to use his X-ray vision. But after having that thought, he does use it, just for a moment, just to see.

The only problem is that seeing himself so deep inside you causes his orgasm to come barrelling toward him at a terrifying speed. He’s barely thrusting, more grinding deeper into you, once, twice, and then he’s falling over the edge, shuddering as he spills inside of you.

You gasp at the feeling, eyes going wide with how much there is. You guess it makes sense, given that he’s not exactly human, so things will be different. Like this.

And, you guess, like the fact that despite now cumming two times, he’s still just as hard as he was when you first got here. It doesn’t seem like his orgasms have given him any relief.

If anything, this last one has only spurred him on even more.

“Golly,” he hisses, leaning back onto his knees, hoisting your hips up onto his thighs without slipping out of you. “Are you okay? Still feeling good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, circling your hips against his. “Keep going.”

He grins, wide and wild. “That’s my girl,” he says, and then he pulls out, working himself inside again, seemingly in awe at how easily he slides inside. “You’re so wet, baby,” he sounds like he’s praying. “Some of that’s me, though, yeah?”

You nod, not even caring what he’s talking about because he’s so deep and hard inside of you that you don’t know what you’re going to do without him inside you.

“Wanna feel you again,” he mumbles, thumbing over your clit. “Can you give me another?”

You don’t even need to nod; he feels you immediately clench around him. 

“Love that I get to have you like this,” he whispers. “All for me, yeah? All mine.”

“All yours,” you gasp, writhing again. “Fuck, Clark.”

“Yeah?” he says, moving again, thrusting inside you and pulling all the way out before slipping back in, because he loves the way you clench and the little whine you let out when he does it. “Feels good, doesn’t it? You don’t need to say anything, sweet girl, I know it does. Show me how good it feels.”

You were already on the edge, but hearing him speak to you like this, when all you’ve known before is quiet, sweet, bumbling Clark in the office sends you right over. The stark contrast is doing something wild to your brain, short circuiting everything until you’re spasming around him uncontrollably.

“There we go, that’s my sweet girl,” he soothes you, letting you ride it out against him. “Can I move you, baby? Wan-Wanna try something else. Promise it’ll feel so good f’you.”

You nod and he slowly pulls out, shushing your whines at the feeling of emptiness. He gently turns you over, places a pillow underneath your hips. He palms at your ass, unable to help himself really, before moving you where he needs you with his hands on your waist.

And he just keeps talking to himself. “There we go, so pretty,” he says, one hand leaving your waist to caress your spine. “Laid out for me so pretty, so I can just-- O-Oh, honey.” 

Just the head slips inside and you squirm immediately, feeling a tiny spurt of cum enter you, and then he’s slamming forward in one devastating thrust, holding himself there. You can feel him shaking, feel him holding himself back.

“You feel too good, baby, I-I can’t,” he breaks off into another moan, hips pressing forward again, and a strangled cry leaves his lips before he’s cumming again, filling you up and spilling out around where he’s entered you. “N-No,” he whispers, sniffles. “Wanted to-- Wanted to last longer.”

But he’s still not going soft, so his early orgasm only seems to deter him for a brief moment. He catches his breath, leaning over you to kiss the back of your neck, blanketing your body with his.

And then he’s moving again, barely pulling out at all before pushing back inside, carving a space deep inside you just for him, as if he needs to, as if that space wasn’t already there. 

The little noises you make are his only indication that you haven’t passed out beneath him, and he takes them as his cue to continue moving, to keep slamming right into your G-spot. 

“Wanna cum together this time,” he says, and it sounds like a plea. “Can you do that for me, honey? Please, for me?”

You’ve never had this many orgasms with a partner, let alone in one night in such quick succession, but somehow it isn’t a question when Clark asks if you can give him another. It’s as if your body is perfectly attuned to him now, and if he wants you to give him another orgasm, then well, you will. Easily.

He keeps working your body perfectly, hitting all of the right spots, until he’s close and holding himself back just until he feels you right on the edge.

“Let go, honey,” he cries. “Let go with me, please, please, please.”

And you do, as if on command, your body lets go right as you feel his hips begin to stutter until he’s spilling another load in you, this one you can feel practically all of it leaking out of you and sticking to your inner thighs, and him.

Clark uses his X-ray vision almost by accident this time, just wanting to see if he can tell how full you are, and oh, he can. He tips his head back, holding onto your waist as he groans.

And then he hears you, and you’re asking for him.

“What is it, honey?” he asks, leaning over you to kiss your cheek. “Doing okay?”

You nod, a dopey smile on your face. “Can I--” you swallow, eyes hazy as you look at him. “Can I taste you?”

His hips involuntarily buck into you before he kisses your lips as best he can when you’re in this position. “You wanna taste me?”

You nod frantically. “Please?”

“Okay, honey,” he murmurs. “Okay. Yeah, anything-- Anything you want.”

He pulls out slow, careful not to hurt or shock you as he does. 

You bounce back remarkably fast, already sitting up and sliding off the bed to sink down to your knees, hands reaching out for him. He moves willingly, stumbling around to you, cock bobbing as he goes, still impossibly hard. He wonders how long the pollen will affect him, because although he feels his mind clearing slightly, he’s definitely not feeling any less turned on. And you don’t seem to be, either.

You lick him eagerly, cleaning him off first. He hisses as you do, the sensitivity starting to reach him, but it isn’t so bad that he wants you to stop. He needs you to keep going.

You grab one of his hands and move it to your head, and he asks, “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Wanna feel you in my throat, Clark.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, smiling so fondly down at you. “You tap me if it’s too much, yeah?”

You nod, but you’re not looking up at him, you’re too focused on getting your lips wrapped around his cock. And he decides to stop teasing and let you.

You surge forward, taking the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper. 

He lets you have your way with him first, and if anything, his grip on the back of your head is so he doesn’t lose control and thrust into your mouth too harshly, though it seems that’s what you want him to do. Still, he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s not entirely sure how much of this is you and how much of this is the possible added effects of the pollen.

His train of thought is promptly interrupted by you taking him into your throat with zero warning, pressing your nose to the neat little hairs that gather at his base. 

“O-Oh my gosh, honey, give a guy some warning,” he chokes out, hands cradling your head. 

You pull off of him with a cheeky grin. “Sorry.”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, shaking his head fondly at you. “Enjoying yourself?”

You nod frantically. “Are you?”

“I am, honey, I am.” 

“Are you feeling better?”

He nods. “I am, thank you. Still,” he pauses, rolls his shoulders. “Still turned on, less like I’m about to die.”

You hum. “That’s good.” Your hands explore idly while the two of you speak, ghosting over his inner thighs, close to his still-hard cock, but not actually touching him. “But you’re not done?”

You ask it so softly, like you don’t want to be done, either, and it almost breaks his heart. “No,” he says, petting your head a little. “We can keep going.”

“Good,” you mumble, starting to kiss him again, all along his length. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

His knees nearly buckle because you, once again, give him no warning before you’re taking him in your throat. And then you put both his hands on your head, and place your palms over his thighs, giving him full control.

He’s so glad his brain feels a little clearer now because if this had been earlier, he really might’ve hurt you. Now he can give you what you want without the guilt and worry.

You hum around him, causing his hips to buck on their own accord. He pulls himself back to then try an experimental thrust, his head slipping right into the back of your throat with ease. And instead of moving away, you press your head forward, taking him just a little more.

“Honey,” he gasps. “You’re being so good for me.”

Whatever you try to respond with comes out garbled nonsense around his cock, but he doesn’t mind. He holds your head gently, moving you back and forth just the way he needs, and you let him.

“You feel so good,” he groans, holding you down for just a moment before letting go, letting you breathe. “Don’t wanna-- Where do you-- Oh golly-- Where do you want me to--”

You answer by wrapping your arms around his legs, moving closer on your knees, practically trapping him against you. 

He whines, high in his throat. “O-Okay, okay, just for you, just this one, next one goes inside your pussy, though, yeah? Please?” You nod against him and he nearly cums right then, feeling the head of his cock moving in your throat. “Baby, I-I’m not going to last much longer like this--”

That only makes you move with more fervour, like you need to feel him cumming down your throat.

He can barely gasp out a warning before he’s spilling so deep into your throat that you barely taste it, and you don’t even move, you just swallow him down, humming happily to yourself.

Clark pulls you off of him after a moment, hauling you up to your feet so he can kiss you. He can feel himself softening now, just a little, but you--

The look in your eyes is wild.

“Shoot,” he hisses, hands cradling your face. “Sweetheart, look at me.” Your heart is racing, and maybe it has been this whole time, he’s only just now noticing because he’s finally starting to feel like himself again. “How are you feeling?”

“Hot,” you whine, arms looping around his neck. “Empty.”

“Okay,” he says, turning and laying you down. “Honey, I think…I think some of the pollen might be in your system now.”

You just blink up at him through bleary eyes, none of his words registering in your brain. But you’re still alert, for the most part, and able to move your body just fine because the next thing he knows, you’ve got your ankles locked around him.

“Okay, honey, okay,” he tries to soothe your disgruntled whines. “Hurts bad, doesn’t it?”

He can’t imagine how you’re feeling considering he felt bad and it was designed to affect him. You’re human.

What if it kills you?

Clark stops that train of thought before it even starts, letting your hand move down to stroke him until he’s fully hard again. He can make it better. He just needs to keep fucking you, and it’ll keep working through your system until (hopefully) it’s out of it, and everything will be okay. It’ll be okay.

“Clark,” you whine, lining him up with your entrance. “Feels empty.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he shushes you, kissing all over your face. “I’ll make it better, okay? Just let me make it better. Let me do all the work, okay?”

You nod, your hand leaving his cock to instead thread your fingers through his curls. “So handsome.”

He beams, slipping inside you just an inch, and it's so easy after the many rounds you've endured. “Thank you, darlin’.”

Your body is pliant beneath him, just barely holding onto consciousness as he slowly rocks into you. He keeps a steady pace, and listens intently to your heart rate and breathing, just in case. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, so he continues on -- as if you’d let him stop.

“Inside me this time?” you ask, but your voice is quiet, like you’re afraid he’s going to tell you no, but Clark could never. Not right now, not ever.

“Yeah, honey,” he promises, kissing your nose, then your forehead. “Is that what you need?”

Your head nods erratically against the pillow. “Need more. Not full enough.”

“Jesus,” Clark swears, hips stuttering at how desperate and certain you sound. He holds onto your waist, thumbs pressing over your stomach. “I’ll make it better, sweetheart, you just lay here for me, yeah? I’ll fill you up as much as you need. That sound good?”

You reach for his face and pull him down into a kiss, immediately licking into his mouth. You are ravenous, and he’s not sure how he’s going to satisfy you. He just hopes he can, because he doesn’t know what this pollen is doing to your body.

Worst case scenario, he guesses, he can fly you to the Fortress and see if the Superman robots can check you over. He might do that anyway, just to be safe.

Clark keeps the same steady pace, hitting your spot over and over and over, fussing over your every whimper and whine. Tears slip from your cheeks but you aren’t in any pain, just clinging to him and telling him to keep going.

You finally quiet when he spills inside you, sniffling into his neck as he holds you.

“Honey?” he asks, but he doesn’t move, just stays inside you, pressing just a little of his weight into you. “You okay?”

You nod against him but you don’t speak.

Clark can feel himself going soft inside you but he doesn’t dare move, not sure what you need right now and if moving might set you off.

But he doesn’t want to crush you beneath him, either.

“I’m gonna move over, okay?” 

You immediately cling to him even tighter, even clenching around him, worried he’s going to pull out.

“Just so we can lay down,” he rushes to explain, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

He rolls the two of you easily, putting him on his back with you on his chest, holding onto him like a little koala. It’s endearing, really, though it worries him. You’re just so quiet.

Clark fumbles for a blanket and spreads it over your back, his arms caging you against him. He feels your entire body relax, a content sigh leaving your lips as you snuggle even closer.

Your heart is finally slowing down, too, so he takes that as a good sign. You must just be worn out -- who wouldn’t be, after all of that?

He hears your breathing even out and he smiles, trying to crane his neck to get a look at your face, but it’s hard when you have it buried in his neck.

“Are you asleep?” he whispers, though he knows the answer. He rubs slow circles on your back and you shiver just a little, inching closer to him, as if you can get any closer. “Just sleep, honey. I’m right here.”

When you wake up, he’ll have to make sure you rehydrate and eat something. He’ll probably run you a bath, too, just so you can relax your muscles even more.

And then, the two of you can talk. Because he has things he needs to confess, things he really should’ve said to you a long time ago. Then he can plan your first date -- actually plan it out because you deserve the best, especially after today.

He hugs you close, nuzzling his cheek against your head, three words already on the tip of his tongue, but he holds them in. He wants you to be awake when he finally tells you.

[firingstars]

anatomy study

clark kent (2025) x female reader

summary: you’ve known clark kent your entire life. you know him better than you know yourself, if you’re being honest. and you are way too comfortable with him.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut (piv, unprotected sex, handjob(?) idk you’ll see, fingering, oral, praise, clark talks you through it, cum.. eating..?, finger licking/in mouth, cute n soft, BIG DICK!clark, size kink/difference, dacryphilia undertones, aftercare, clark gets exposed to a breeding kink, porn with little bit of plot), fluff, shy (at first) and soft!clark, teasing mainly from reader to annoy clark, lowk secondhand embarrassment, reader finally in her last year of university after taking a long fucking time to decide on what she wanted to do with her life, pet names (honey, sweetheart, baby), no use of y/n, NOT proofread // wc: 7k

yari yaps: i’m supposed to be writing my bwatober fic. but NOOOOO mr. kent has me in a chokehold and im a useless writer that can’t focus on deadlines (bwatober will be posted soon i promise i js cant work on it when this was on my mind) // divider credits

“So, I've been wondering— and you don’t have to answer— but is your dick different from humans?” 

You say the words without even looking up from your textbook and notebook. A pen continues to twirl between your fingers as you absentmindedly fidget. The choking noise that fills the air concerns you for half a second, forcing you to look over your shoulder and at the man who was quietly going through his articles on his laptop before you rudely interrupted him.

“You haven’t talked in hours,” he mutters, referring to how you crashed his apartment just to study. He removes his glasses off of his face– frames that he doesn’t even need to wear– to drag a hand down his face like it would wipe away the absurdity of your question. “And this is what you say?”

“My anatomy class finally moved on to sex,” you say, as if that was supposed to explain anything. 

“… Right.” Clark looks exhausted. He probably wishes he never opened his front door to you, but here you were. Well, even if he didn’t, you could always use the spare key that he gave you ages ago. “You know, I think I like you better when you’re not talking.”

You roll your eyes at his sass, “C’mon. You know why I'm asking this.”

Of course he does. You were the first person to know of his abilities— right after his Ma and Pa. You'd been there to watch him soar into the sky for the first time, finally unafraid. You watched him discover ice breath, and remembered how distraught he was as he looked at you. 

Clark sighs, chest rising and falling dramatically with the breath. “My… reproductive organs are similar, from what I can tell.”

“From what you can tell,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t exactly grow up with Kryptonian anatomy lessons,” he shoots back immediately. “I haven’t seen a spliced Kryptonian in a museum— a body donated for science and research.”

You pause, then shrug slightly. “I guess.”

He huffs. Actually huffs, like he’s throwing a mini tantrum over your lack of thought to your question. Despite it, he still settles back onto the couch. His muscles no longer feel locked in place, he can breathe normally—

“So you don’t have an alien dick?” 

“Sweet lord— what are you going on about?” he whines, looking at you with pleading eyes. You ignore it in favor of expanding your knowledge on his biology. 

“You know,” you say, waving a hand in the air, “Some of the rifts— there’s documents on the corpses that come through. talking about how some male presenting aliens have both uterus and testicles, like they can impregnate and be pregnant, too—“

“I don’t have a womb,” he says, followed by your name falling from his lips in exasperation. 

“But are you sure?” 

“You know those released documents also included strong evidence that those aliens also had a menstrual cycle,” he quickly says. Clark moves his laptop off of his thighs, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. He’s one second away from burying his face into his hands. “I haven’t— I think I would know if I was bleeding from my pen… from my thing.”

Clark's ears are red. Bright red. He can’t even hide it. 

Suddenly, your questions are no longer out of simple curiosity. Now, you want to poke the bear. Except the bear is too sweet and kind to tell you to knock it off, to get out of his apartment, and to leave him the hell alone.

“Your thing?” you tease, a smile spreading across your face. “Your cock, Clark.”

“Do you have to be so vulgar?”

“It’s basic anatomy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “One that you claim to have.”

“I don’t—!” He runs his hands through his hair, clearly stressed. You can’t help but giggle at the sight. “I don’t claim to have regular anatomy, whatever that means.”

“So you admit that your body is biologically built differently.”

“I mean, yes, but not like that!” 

“Like what?” 

“Please,” he groans, nearly desperate now. 

“Ooh, begging,” you say as your grin spreads even wider. “Are you trying to keep Kryptonian biology a secret?”

It doesn’t take much for him to break. You knew that. Always have, and always will. Clark was scarily easy to bait. 

“My dick is normal!” he finally shouts, face still flushed. You swear he’s sweating, too. 

“But how do you know that?” you ask. You’re not even trying to hide the lilt in your voice. “You compare lengths in the locker room in school?”

“Oh my— stop. please.”

“So guys don't do that? That’s just a myth said online?” 

“You’re not totally off,” he quickly says, only to pause a moment later. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

You pout at him, giving him your best pleading eyes you could muster. For someone made of steel and ice, this man melted at the sight of you. He always did. 

A deep sigh escapes his chest as he leans back into the couch. “My college ex said my… penis… was above average. I haven't seen other men’s… things, but i’m assuming since she didn’t have an issue with it then it has to be normal.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Do you not watch porn?”

Your name falls from his lips in utter shock, matching the look on face. “You do?”

“You don’t?” 

Clark stares at you, as if he’d been slapped with a bucket of freezing water. You can only stare back, waiting for his response. 

“… No,” he finally mutters. 

“Huh,” you say, taking in the sight of him. Even seated, he’s large. If you stood in front of him right now, you’d barely be taller than him. “Well, it makes sense that you’d be above average. with your height and all. Do you think that is also Kryptonian?”

“I don't know.” Clark shrugs, and it seems like the embarrassment of the topic is slowly melting off of him. “Probably?”

You hum, contemplative. “So, your dick doesn’t have ridges on it? Like spiky nubs along the shaft? Do you think your sperm count is higher than the average human male? Must be stronger, too. I wonder if a normal human woman would be able to carry your children to term without complications.”

A frown takes over his face at your rapid fire questions and commentary. Though he doesn’t look as bothered as he was earlier. It's as if he’s really thinking about it this time. 

“I would really hope that whoever carries my children won’t have any complications, but that’s another thing that I wouldn't know until the time came.” Clark's pointer finger taps thoughtfully on his knee as he continues to think, “All of your questions have to do with research that hasn’t been conducted on me.”

“You didn’t answer my question about the appearance of your cock, Clark.”

This time, a pretty red takes over his face. “Why are you so intrigued?” 

“Just answer, or I'm gonna demand you to just show me so I can find out,” you groan. 

“If I do show you, would you stop asking?” 

It’s your turn to freeze in place, blinking at him. He's still the shade of a tomato, but he’s not cringing at his words. If anything, he seems determined. like this would really shut you up. 

“Take your pants off then,” you dare. 

Clark, ever so obedient and kind, moves. his hands reach for the button of his jeans, so certain and sure. 

Suddenly, you realize how close the two of you really are. 

You grew up together with neighboring farms in Smallville. The two of you used to sleep in the same bed as children when your parents dropped you off at Kent's for a sleepover. 

As a child, the two of you used to change right in front of each other. Even as a budding teenager, you didn’t feel the need to hide away from him, though he was always a respectful kid and began to turn his head away on his own. 

Clark went off to college first to pursue journalism. It didn't stop your contact with each other, even when he went off to Metropolis first. You simply told him you’d follow him soon. And you did. 

You had your own place in the city, no longer dorming as it was your last year in university. Still, you spent more time in Clark's apartment than on your own. You had a key to his place, welcoming yourself and making yourself at home even when he was at work on the Daily Planet— especially when he was at work as superman. 

You’d fussed over wounds you knew would heal at the sight of first light, and he would let you take care of him. Clark knew it calmed you down. 

Clark always let you do what you wanted, and would always do as you asked. 

And now, he was unzipping his pants. 

“Wait,” you say quickly, as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his briefs. “Are you okay with this?”

Clark's eyebrows pull together, eyes flickering up to you. “You’re the one who asked, and now you’re the one backing out?”

“I just… I don't want to make you uncomfortable if you don’t actually wanna…” you murmur slowly. 

“It’s you.” His words are said like it’s normal— like being you was a good enough reason to do anything. In this case— take his pants off. “I don't mind.”

You swallow, a weird rush of sentimental feelings going through you. Then, you nod, steeling yourself. “Show me your weird alien cock.”

“It's not weird,” he grumbles, “You’re lucky I love you.” A moment later, he’s lifting his hips off the couch slightly as he pushes both underwear and pants down his thighs. 

Your jaw drops, and you suddenly can’t breathe. 

The sight before you— he was right. His cock isn’t weird. If anything, it’s the prettiest dick you’d ever seen. 

Maybe it was the mix of him being carefully groomed as well and the fact the man before you was already pretty everywhere else, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a dick as nice as his. 

Clark's soft, but he’s still big. His skin is smooth, resting against his pelvis, dormant and asleep. You wondered if he was a grower— if he got bigger than the estimated seven inches you were staring at. 

Even his balls were fucking nice to look at. The seam of it— oh my God. You were going insane. 

“So?” he questions, breaking the silence and your thoughts. He sounds nervous, “What’s the verdict?”

You lick your lips, taking a deep breath. “You're actually really beautiful, Clark."

He stares at you, and you’re certain it was the last thing he expected you to say. So, you clear your throat. 

“I mean,” you start, “I've seen a good amount of cock. Yours is, by far, the best.”

Clark blinks at you, still digesting your words. “… Thanks. I guess.”

“Is it as soft as it looks?” you ask, finally getting a grasp of yourself again. “It looks soft. Like— your skin.”

He pauses for a moment, looking down at himself. Then, he reaches. 

You lied. You don’t have a grasp of yourself. Your sanity is gone, thrown out the window at the sight you were witnessing. 

Clark, sitting there on the couch, pants pulled down, with his hand wrapped around his cock. He's still flaccid, but he’s running his hand along his dick, trying to get the best answer for your question. 

“Just feels like… the rest of me,” he murmurs, frowning as he concentrates. “Nothing really different. You wanna feel?”

You’re a dead woman. 

You brought up this topic. At first, it was genuine curiosity. Upon seeing his reactions, you moved onto some lighthearted teasing. It wasn’t supposed to progress to whatever was happening now. In the back of your mind, you’re wondering if he’s doing all of this now just to mess with you like you did with him. 

The curious look on his face tells you he’s not even thinking about it. 

You should tell him it’s a bad idea. That there’s boundaries in friendships, and even though you’re so comfortable with him, maybe there’s things you shouldn’t be doing.

But your feet are moving, and you’re standing in front of him within a few steps. 

“You sure?” you ask, hoping your voice comes out steady. 

Clark releases himself, then nods. 

You’re leaning forward before you have the chance to allow more rational thoughts to invade your mind. It’s as if your hand wasn’t connected to the rest of your brain, moving before you could even stop yourself– and holy shit your hand is small compared to him. He's warm to the touch, skin smoother than you originally thought. 

His cock jumps in your hand, and Clark flinches. The gravity of the situation just dawned upon him, and blood was rushing throughout him, coloring his cheeks and hardening his dick. 

“Wait,” he whispers, breath catching in his throat. “I’m sorry— I didn’t— I'm not meaning to—“

“You really are pretty, Clark,” you cut him off, a little mesmerized. 

You can feel his eyes on your face, but you’re not looking back at him. You still can’t tear your eyes off the annoyingly pretty sight of his cock. Then again, you should’ve expected it. The rest of him was just as gorgeous.

There's a vein popping on the underside of the shaft, thick and pulsing against your palm. His skin is still smooth despite losing the soft feel of it. And you were shocked— he was a grower. Both length and girth filled out with the rush of blood, and your mind wandered. 

His ex was fucking wrong. This man wasn’t above average. He was far from it— this was off the scale. He was Godly. 

“I don’t think you’d be able to fit.”

The words slipped out of your mouth softly, mainly spoken to yourself more than him. 

Clark's breath hitches. “What are you…”

“Just, theoretically, if we had sex, I don't think you’d fit in with me. You'd probably rip me apart— my hand barely can hold all of you when you’re soft, let alone hard. I don't know if it would even feel good to have you inside of me.”

“Oh my… You really can’t be saying these kinds of things while you’re still holding me,” he groans, head dropping back against the cushions as he shut his eyes. 

“I’m not wrong,” you argue. “Logistically speaking, there’s no way this would feel pleasurable for me– you’d tear me in half before I even get to cum.”

He lifts his head, and you look up at him. He's still flushed, but now he looks offended. “If we had sex, I wouldn't just stick it in you. I know it’s bigger than average so I'd make sure you’re prepared first. I'd need to fit at least three fingers in you— comfortably— before either of us could imagine me inside you. Besides that, who says I wouldn’t make you cum at least twice before I even want my dick in you?”

You can’t help the warmth you feel in your nether regions— like a sudden zap that went between your legs to make you feel weak at the knees. 

Clark notices. He always does.

He swallows, visibly nervous as a whisper comes from his lips. “Did I make it weird?” 

You’re surprised you can even suck in a breath. You shouldn’t be able to breathe. Your autonomic nervous system should be failing, but here you are. 

“Only weird if you think it’s weird, Kent,” you murmur. 

“You smell different.”

Fuck him, and fuck those super senses of his. You should’ve known better— he could easily spot every single twitch in your body, the change of scent as pheromones exit your body, and the feel of the light tremble of your hand against him. 

But despite all of that, a smile comes to your lips.

“Now you’re making it weird,” you tease. 

A devastating grin spreads Clark Kent's face. “My apologies. Thought we passed weird when you didn’t take your hand off me,” he hums. 

“You want me to?” 

The smile falters, and his eyes meet yours. He's reading you. Your face. reactions. Anything he can use to figure out what’s going through your head. You're doing the exact same thing to him. 

Finally, he speaks. 

“No. Want you closer, actually.” 

You don’t fight him when his hands reach for you, landing on your hips. You don’t fight him as he guides you towards him, your knees resting naturally on either side of his thighs. 

You’ve released him now, but only in favor of your hands sliding up his chest before finding home on the broad expanse of his shoulders. He's looking up at you, blue eyes swimming with an emotion you see every day— love.

Only now you’re realizing that the simple love you!’s that you’ve been throwing at him meant something else entirely for him. 

“There you are,” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing circles into your hipbones. “You only notice me when my dick is out and between us?”

“Thought you didn’t like that word,” you say, a little breathless. 

Clark smiles a bit wider, eyes sparkling. “I don’t mind it every once in a while.”

A laugh falls from your lips as you stare down at him, taking in every ounce of affection he was oozing out at you. You want to say something to acknowledge his feelings, but not yet. Not when you’re currently hovering over him, his cock still out and slowly, but surely getting more firm as the seconds pass. 

“You gonna show me how you’ll fit?” is what you say instead. 

You’re in his bedroom within a blink of your eyes— comfortably beneath him as he hovers over you. 

“Sorry. ‘m a little excited,” Clark confesses, breathless as if moving at the speed of light was difficult for him— of course not. It's you. You're the entire reason his heart rate picked up, that his hands were slowly turning clammy, and why he feels like he can’t breathe. 

“I can see that. feel it, too,” you grin at him, and a groan pulls from his lips as he shuts his eyes. Still, he doesn’t move away. If anything, he presses closer, slotting himself perfectly between your legs, dick pressed right against your aching core. 

“You're lucky I love you,” he sighs. 

Clark descends on you, lips meeting yours in what you can only explain as home. He’s warm, always is, but never in a suffocating way. He’s like the first warmth of spring after a long winter. 

“Take this off,” he murmurs against your lips, but is already moving to remove your shirt for you.

His hands slide under the fabric leaving goosebumps in his wake, and breaks the kiss for just a moment to pull it completely up and over your head. It’s discarded without another thought, tossed somewhere to the side. 

He cups both breasts through your bra, lips trailing from the corner of your lips, down to your jaw, and finding their place on your neck. 

“Gosh,” Clark sighs against you, peppering tickling kisses down to your collarbone, “I’ve dreamt about this moment before.”

“Do I live up to your expectations?” you ask, breathless. You arch, pushing your chest further into his palms. 

He groans, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this entire situation causes him pain. Except you do know better, and he’s in heaven. 

“Better,” is all he says before his kisses move even lower. 

You’re certain he used his x-ray vision to locate your nipples over the thin padding on your chest. There’s no other way, you think, that he managed to be so precise. In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s ever used this ability to feed some of his darkest desires. 

No, you decide. Your sweet, kind Clark wasn’t like that. Though you really wouldn’t have minded it. 

A soft moan slips out of you, cautious and shy. His response? To smile against your chest, and reach beneath you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a single manipulation of his fingers. 

“You practice that a lot in college?” you whisper as he tugs the fabric off your chest. 

“Mm… Not lots of practice, but enough,” he hums, eyes taking in the sight of you. He looks in awe, unable to believe this was truly happening to him. Soft hands run down your sides, just needing to feel you.  “So pretty, sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you can feel your skin warming. Just one compliment, one silly little nickname, and you’re melting for him. Maybe he’s got you wrapped around his finger more than you realized it. 

“Want this gone,” you tell him, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt in attempts to gain some form of control over the situation. 

Clark chuckles, and gives you a small nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t give you any time to appreciate the beauty of him— the sculpted muscles that lay beneath the slightly baggy clothes he wears in hopes it hides his superhuman physique. Usually, he keeps his shoulders pulled in, a slight slouch to his posture, but in this moment he’d never looked larger. Confident. Yours. 

Your sweatpants and panties were being removed from you, joining whatever corner your shirt was thrown into. 

Without hesitation, Clark fit himself right between your legs. His hands wrapped around your knees, moving you to hook over his shoulders comfortably. Of course, not without him pressing a sweet kiss to the inside of your thigh. 

“You smell so good,” he whispers against your skin, lips trailing higher and higher up your leg until he was hovering right above where you needed him most. “Goodness… Already dripping for me and I haven’t even done anything.”

“You gonna hurry up and do something, Clark?” you ask, impatience pulling from you without realizing it. 

“Easy there.” His eyes lock onto yours from below, a sparkle on them. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me, baby.”

Before more whines of complaints can form in your head, his flattened tongue licks a slow strip between your folds, parting them and giving him perfect access to your aching clit. 

A moan vibrates through your core, unabashed and utterly delighted. 

“Tastes so good, too. Could stay here all day,” he mutters against you, breathing hot and heavy. 

“Clark—“

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he huffs. “One day.” 

Clark didn’t verbalize the rest of his disappointment. Honestly, with the way he thoroughly laps at your core, you might have to reconsider your decision. 

It’s as if he had been dying of thirst for his entire life. He dips his tongue in and out of your core, groaning in absolute joy, before moving to suck on the sensitive little nub that’s begging for his attention. You can’t help it when your legs start trembling around his head, threatening to close and trap him there. In the back of your mind, you realized that he wouldn’t care if you did. He’s able to hold his breath for over an hour, after all.

The sensations are all too much for you to handle, sparks flying behind your eyes as Clark seems to struggle to pull himself away from you. Eventually, he gives in. Tonight mercy is granted to you as you stop tugging on his hair to begin pushing him away instead. From the way his eyes are blown out, nearly every part of his eyes covered with black instead of blue, you know that you’ll find yourself back in this position another day.

But not right now.

Right now, you need him– all of him–

“Slow down,” he mutters to you as you yank him up your body. Clark rests beside you now, free hand helping him prop his head up to give himself a good view of your entire body. “Haven’t even started to stretch you out.”

You whine, heart still pounding from being brought to heaven and pulled back down to Earth. “Clark, you need to hurry up.”

“We have all the time in the world,” he coos at you in an attempt to try and soothe you. It doesn’t work. What does work is his fingers gliding up your thighs, reaching the warmth between your legs, and pushing in.

You always knew Clark’s hands were big. It matched the rest of him– long, slender fingers that seemed like they could whole the entire world with ease. If you verbalized any of this to him, he would tell you that he was doing exactly that– holding his world safely in his hands.

The introduction of a second finger has you squirming beneath him.

“You’re so soft,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead– a stark contrast from the filthy way his fingers were spreading you open with a scissoring motion. “So wet for me, aren’t you? Gosh… Can you hear yourself?”

Of course you can. The squelching noise coming from your lower half was hard to ignore, after all. 

You coated his fingers in your essence, and Clark was certain you were seeping into his skin, marking him as yours. You wouldn’t be able to smell yourself on him, but he would still be able to smell you on his skin for days to come. 

His digits curled slowly within you, rubbing against that extra soft, spongy part inside of you. His eyebrows shot up in amusement as you gasped out his name, hips lifting slightly off the bed. 

“Right here, honey?” The low baritone, gravely whisper of his voice in your ear sent shivers down your spine. He was invading your every being, just as you’d done to him for years on end. 

The stretch of his ring finger made the air in your throat catch. 

“Easy,” he orders, clicking his tongue softly in disapproval. 

“It’s— fuck, that’s… A lot,” you manage to stutter out, eyes screwing shut. 

“If you think this is a lot, how can you ever imagine taking me?” he asks, almost teasingly. 

A shaky breath exits your lips. “You’re— you’re enjoying this.” 

“And you’re not?” Clark shoots right back at you before plunging all of three digits into your fluttering hole— right down to his knuckles. 

Your best friend doesn’t wait for your answer. Instead, he begins to work into you, the length of his fingers slowly massaging in and out of you. You twitch beneath him, mouth falling open in a wordless moan. 

Try as he might, his actions were only making you clamp down tighter around him. You were trying to suck him in, keep him deeper within you. 

With one more slight curl, you were coming undone. Your fingernails digs crescent marks into his wrist, trembling as you attempt to keep your sanity intact. 

Slowly, his fingers exit you. 

“Mm… I don’t think you can take me tonight,” he mutters, more to himself than you. You nearly missed his words, all of your body paying attention to the way his fingers moved upwards to lazily circle at your clit. He presses a kiss to your temple, “Next time, hm?”

Your heart nearly stops in your chest as you look up at him, wide eyed and pleading. 

“What?” you ask, voice hoarse and dry from the moans you gave him. “Clark— No, need you—“

“I’ll just hurt you if we do it today.” He shakes his head. “Need to spend more time. One night of prep isn’t enough—“

“What if I want it to hurt?” you cut him off, head spinning. Clark looks at you, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Just need you in me— need you to stuff me full. Need it so bad, Clarkie.”

He’s not convinced yet. You know it for a fact. He’s still thinking too rationally for your liking. But he’s pulled his hand away from your legs, resting it on top of your stomach instead— if he was truly unaffected by your words, he would’ve continued his ministrations. No, he was trying to keep his control by limiting his touch. 

You couldn’t have that.

Your hand finds his cock again, eyes still locked with his. His lips part to suck in a tight breath of air as you slowly palm at him. You run your hand up and down his length slowly, then reach the tip. To your delight, he’s leaking. 

“Look, baby. He’s crying for me,” you whisper to him, swiping your finger across the head of his dick, picking up a bead of precum in the process. 

For the first time that night, Clark’s gaze breaks away from your eyes. His eyes drop down to your lips, watching as your fingers enter your mouth to lick off his arousal. His breathing picks up, ever so slightly. 

You release your fingers with a pop, then move to rest them on his lips. He opens his mouth without any instruction or order, tongue wrapping around your fingers and licking, sending a new wave of excitement crashing through your body. 

“So big, so hard for me,” you sigh, almost pouting at him, “And you’re not gonna fill me up?” 

Clark moans around your fingers like it pains him, like he’s trying his best to hold onto the restraint that you’re chipping away from him. 

“You know I’m on birth control,” you tell him, pulling your fingers from his lips. He moves forward slightly, as if trying to chase them. Once again, his eyes meet yours. “You wanna indulge me in some more research? This one would be an experiment, really.”

He swallows. “What kind of experiment?” His voice is broken.

You smile sweetly at him, resting your hand against his chest. You can feel his heart beating rapidly under your touch. He’s waiting, on the edge of whatever sanity he has left. 

Finally, you whisper, “I want to see if Kal-El’s sperm can beat the efficacy of my daily pill.”

Within a breath, Clark pulls you to the cusp of his bed. Your legs only dangle off the edge of the bed for a few seconds before he pulls you to rest them against his hips. He shadows you, cock resting on your tummy as he leans over and presses a hard kiss to your lips. His teeth catch and tug, demanding entrance that you happily give him. 

His hands rest on the inside of your thighs, spreading you open for him as he pulls back his hips slightly. The length of his cock drags against your skin, leaving a trail of burning desire and want. He coats himself in your slick, depositing a moan into your throat as he does. 

The tip of his cock is right at your entrance, parting your puffy folds, and stops. You’re about to whine against his mouth, grab at his shoulders or wrap your legs around him, but he doesn’t leave you waiting for long.

Clark Kent is a fucking liar.

Three fingers and two orgasms was not enough to prepare you, prepare anyone, if you were being honest. Even with the fact you were quite literally dripping for him, it still wasn’t enough to ensure a smooth entry. Then again, he did warn you. This was partly your fault for egging him on until he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

Your lips still against his, eyebrows stitched together as you try to adjust to the foreign body entering you. Clark notices– of course he does– the way your muscles lock beneath him. Your lungs stop pulling in air, and you’re gripping his forearms so hard he actually registers a small nip of pain.

His voice cuts through the cloud in your mind. “Breathe, honey.” Clark showers you with kisses– your nose, cheeks, eyes, neck– anywhere he could reach. “I know it’s big, baby, I’m so sorry.”

With his words snapping you out of it, you suck in a greedy gulp of air as you open your eyes to look at him. “F… Fuck, Clark,” you gasp out.

“I know, I know,” he reiterates to you, patient and so understanding despite the fact you were the one that begged him for this. “Try to relax for me, okay?” Another kiss gets pressed to your eyes, his lips catching a stray, salty tear that slipped out. Your heart skips as you watch him swipe his tongue across his bottom lip, tasting your tears. 

“You’re so big– God,” you say, voice cracking. 

“Not God,” he corrects with a chuckle, “But yes.”

“Fuck you,” you whine, unsure how he can find this situation funny. Still, the way he lets out another small laugh above you does ease your body just a little bit– probably from the familiarity. 

You focus on Clark, deciding that he will be the best way to distract yourself from his cock, as ironic as it may sound.

The way there’s a slight crinkle around his eyes as he smiles at you. If you focus, you can see yourself in the reflection of his eyes. There you lay beneath him, skin flushed with a light layer of sweat all over you, hair touselled and mussed up, yet he still holds a love for you that you don’t think you’re worthy of carrying.

His skin is warm under your touch, always is, but goosebumps are left behind wherever you touch. His body is reacting to you, showing you that the littlest things you do leaves a mark on him both physically, emotionally, and mentally. 

How he touches you with extreme care, though you know it’s easy for him to break even the toughest of metals in his hand without even breaking a sweat. He’s always treated you delicately. Always a gentleman, opening every single door without complaint or annoyance, pulling out your chair whenever you have a meal together, and holding your hair back whenever you end up drinking a little too much. So kind, thoughtful, and nice. You wonder how much you’d have to push him to fully break you.

It’s only when your mind trails back into its sinful desires do you register his hips fully flushed against yours, his length sheathed within you. 

Clark’s pulling in shaky breaths, hands resting on your hips with his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. His forehead rests against yours as he closes his eyes, trying to get a grasp on his bearings once more. 

“I… Sweetheart,” he grunts. “You’re still so tight around me.”

As if his words were to be a reminder of your situation, your walls flutter around him, sending pleasure through both of your bodies. 

“Move,” you tell him, breathy. “Please–”

“Hang on,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I’m not paused right now for you. I might–” Clark cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek. For a moment, you thought he might curse aloud for the first time in years. Instead, he swallows thickly. “I might lose it right away if I don’t give myself a break right now.”

Pride swells in your chest. “Superman is a minuteman?” you tease softly. 

“Hey–”

A shared moan stops whatever rant he was about to go on, thanks to your hips rolling against his. And you can feel it, how his dick twitches deep inside of you, already so close to the edge even though he just got there. You can also feel him pressing up right against your cervix. 

His fingers dig into your hipbone– not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to warn. Clark pulls back, looming over you as he takes in a deep breath.

“You’re playing dirty,” he accuses, voice as tight as how he holds his jaw.

“So what if you cum fast?” you grin at him, hands moving to rest on his abdomen. “Don’t tell me Superman can’t go a couple rounds.”

His eye twitches, and you know you’ve hit him somewhere personal. Then again, baiting Clark Kent was always your favorite pastime. 

“Of course I can,” Clark says with a tone you know all too well– one that lets you know he’s about to prove you wrong.

His hips pull back, cock dragging out of you so painfully slow until just the tip of him is left within you. You mistakenly believe that he’s going to slam back into you without any warning. He doesn’t.

Clark pushes back inside of you slowly, giving you the chance to properly feel the ridge of his tip as it meets the shaft of his dick. You can feel a pulsing vein on the underside, matching the rapid beat of his heart. You can feel him separating your gummy walls with each new inch of him, forcing you to accommodate his size. And you can feel the bulge in your lower abdomen– him– deep inside of you.

“Shit,” you gasp out, but you don’t have time for anymore words. He’s pulling out once again before thrusting back into you, setting an easy, comfortable pace. Despite it, you can’t even begin to form any thoughts. He’s splitting you apart, filling you in ways that you’ve never felt before. 

“That’s it,” Clark chuckles from above you. You catch a lazy, nearly fucked out smile paint his face as he watches you. “You know, I think I like you better when you’re not talking.”

You whimper in response, unable to properly respond to him.

He hums, leaning back down to kiss you, his movements never stopping. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry– You’re so pretty like this.”

Clark swallows all your moans and whines like he’s desperate to have them. All you can feel is him– his hands running up and down your body to map you, the feel of his cock piercing in and out of you, his tongue brushing against yours, his muscles rippling and flexing whenever your hands find somewhere new to hold onto. 

“You look so good like this. So perfect, so beautiful— gosh, you look so pretty with me inside you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice strained ever so slightly. He moans out your name when your walls flutter around him again, giving him one brief warning. His hips snap harder into yours, efforts renewed as he urges you to your doom. “C’mon, baby. Give it to me– need you to make a mess all over me.”

As one final push, Clark presses a hand onto your stomach, snapping the last bit of pressure within you. “God– Clark!” you cry out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you begin to tremble beneath him. 

All the while, he never lets up. If anything, the pace is faster, chasing your high with everything he has– prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible. 

One more time, your name falls from his lips, this time strangled and needy before you feel a warmth deep inside of you. He’s coated you from the inside, both of your sticky juices mixing together into one substance as he lodges his cock deep inside of you, poking at your cervix.

Clark collapses over you, careful to keep most of his weight on his forearms. Still, his chest is pressed against yours, allowing you to feel the thumping beneath his skin. 

He collects himself faster than you, lips trailing all over your neck and collarbones as his cock jumps within you, hard once more. When you look at him with disbelief, he gives you a stupid grin that you nearly melt for. 

“What’s with that look?” he asks, nipping at your lips. “You only have yourself to blame for this.”

“I didn’t do anything just now.” You frown at him, though not entirely upset. 

“No,” he agreed, “But you did challenge me to put a baby in you. I’m feeling competitive tonight.”

You almost wish you never said those words out loud, never teased or poked him until he broke. Almost. 

Warm water sloshes around you as Clark lowers himself into the bath behind you. He instantly engulfs you with his size, his body granting you more heat than the tub you both sit in together. You lean back against his chest, closing your eyes. 

Exhaustion ran deep in your bones. You don’t fight against Clark as he begins to scrub your skin with soap, cleaning off the sweat and stickiness that accumulated during your time together. Still, you know he can’t get rid of the markings he left behind. 

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror when Clark carried you into his bathroom earlier. Purple, manmade flowers had grown across your skin, effectively ensuring you’d be wearing high neck clothing on days you didn’t feel like doing your makeup. 

You should be mad. You should scold him for losing control, but frankly… you don’t really care, especially not when he lowers his head slightly to press a delicate kiss to your shoulder. 

“How do you feel?” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Good,” you sigh, content. “Might be sore tomorrow, thanks to someone.”

“You asked for it,” he reminds you, and you can feel him smile against your skin.

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismiss, but you’re smiling too. 

Tomorrow, you both will have a discussion. A long talk on where you both stand in each other's lives, and how to ensure your relationship with each other won’t end up in flames. But all of that is for your future self to deal with. 

Right now, you’ll revel in his touch, allow him to wrap his arms around you, and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. 

clark kent taglist: @superbassbuck @flockoff-featherface @unificsation @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @umbreoni @iamthatonefangirl @winterdecember18 @houseofhyde @blowingbarnes @heldbybarnes @bckyslover ⤷ to be eligible for my taglist, you must have your age stated somewhere on your blog!

[eunoianss]

jason todd has a soft spot for you | fluff

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who loves to watch you stand over the stove, humming a sweet song while you stir over a decadent composition of ingredients. It’s your turn to make dinner tonight, and, ever so eager to help ease the burden off your shoulders, he hovers wth questions:

“Baby, what can I do? ”; “Can’t have you doing all this work for me, can I?”; “Need me to stir?” But you see the tiredness in his eyes—the slack in his shoulders weighing him down with exhaustion. You shush him with a feathery kiss and tell him to sit, that you can handle it.

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who is still unsatisfied that he couldn’t be helpful. So he washes the dishes after carrying you to bed. Not because you were tired; in fact, you were laughing infectiously, telling him he was being ridiculous and to put you down. Because he knew you would try to stop him once you saw him inching toward the kitchen sink. Especially after you told him you had it under control.

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who thought he’d grown numb to love-starved hunger pains after years of emotional malnutrition. But after meeting you, he feeds on every sweet morsel of affection you provide him with a “God, what did I do to deserve you?”

You trace the sharp outlines of his face and remind him of how good he is to you. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the emerald of his eyes peeking through.  He falls asleep like this—holding onto you as if you could readily disappear—and slips in repose. You realize how quickly the years melt off him when his fluttering eyelashes finally close.

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who annotates and dog-ears the pages of novels containing excerpts that remind him of you.  He’s a bit embarrassed about it at first, but sheds his shame to read each highlighted quote aloud. Ever so often, his eyes trail back to yours, wondering if you can recognize your beauty in the ink the way he does.

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who becomes glossy-eyed when you meet his bruised and cut knuckles with a soft kiss and tender hands, soothing each tensed muscle without the inflection of a question or accusation. He coils an arm around you and drowns in your scent, satiating himself until he’s full on every drop of you. Rubs the corners of his eyes raw, each tear imprinting itself on his cheeks as splotchy but tangible evidence of his vulnerability.

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who gets greedy for skin-to-skin contact. He mumbles into your neck in the morning, eyes still shut and hair mussed from the night before. “Why do you have so many layers?”—he trails his icy hands underneath the thin fabric of your shirt—“s’warm. Wish I could crawl into your skin.” You chuckle, mouthing small “weirdo”. He responds by pecking sticky wet kisses on the expanse of your neck up to the softness of your cheeks.

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who doesn’t get jealous in a possessive or controlling way. And when jealousy does arise—whenever someone flirts with you or gets a hand too touchy—it festers internally and heavily. The clunk of his boots rings louder in your apartment; his black fringe weighing at the front of his eyes.

But he doesn’t voice it, not explicitly. You think his methods of reaffirming his role as your boyfriend are so subtle it’s almost silly. Especially when he asks you to wear his leather jacket more often, claiming it looks better on you than it does on him. Or when he publicly asks you to check the time on your phone, which, so conveniently, has a photo of the two of you smushed together in a photobooth as its wallpaper.

Soft Boyfriend! Jason Todd, who swallows the thick lump in his throat when you tell him that you love him. Because you see him. You understand that he is not always tender; you’ve heard stories of his violent bite. But you also see that his empathy and care are not anomalous but a testament to the person he’s always been. Even if the world suggests otherwise.

a/n: apologies if it’s messy, this came to me while i was half asleep. also someone needs to pry the keyboard from my hands once i start writing over 500 words.

[moviecritc]

your boyfriend, jason todd, is the one who insists on movie night.

He’s already in full cozy mode: hoodie up, socks mismatched, dragging every blanket within reach to the couch like he’s fortifying a position. You spend a solid twenty minutes debating movies. Him vetoing anything “too artsy,” you vetoing his fifth consecutive suggestion of Die Hard, both of you pretending the real argument isn’t just an excuse to keep bumping shoulders and stealing popcorn kernels from each other’s fingers.

Eventually you compromise on something with explosions and questionable plot logic, his pick, naturally.

He hits play, hits the lights, then promptly hits you.

Full body drop. One hundred ninety pounds of ex-Robin muscle and residual Pit stubbornness lands square on top of you, pinning you cheerfully into the cushions. His arms snake around your ribs, legs tangle with yours, face immediately burrows into the soft space just below your collarbone. You feel the huff of his exhale against your chest, warm and already slowing.

Three minutes. Maybe four.

The opening credits are still rolling when his breathing evens out into the deep, unmistakable rhythm of sleep. He's already out cold, lips parted slightly against your shirt, one hand still loosely curled in your hoodie like he’s afraid you’ll evaporate if he lets go.

And you?

You’re trapped.

Every time you so much as twitch, he instinctively tightens. Arms flex, thighs bracket yours more securely, a low sleepy grumble vibrating against your sternum.

So you give up.

You settle.

You card your fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, feel the way he melts further into you even in sleep. The movie keeps playing while the real show is the slow rise and fall of his back under your palm, the faint scar on his cheek, the way he’s somehow managed to wrap all six-foot-something of himself around you like you’re the only anchor he trusts.

An hour and a half of this, at least.

a/n: wrote this in like 15 minutes and i just KNOW that bc it's jason it's gonna get at least 1k notes. and i love that

[gothamlocal]

hugs with jason todd

─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─

─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─

Jason hugs you as if it’s the last time he’d ever hold you- Every. single. time.

They’re crushing, but in an enveloping, warm, and comfortable way. Within your arms is truly where Jason feels the most safe. No weapons, armor, or safe houses could make him feel as secure as he does when he’s holding you.

His inexplicably huge arms wrap around your waist from behind as you put away the last few mugs into the cupboard. He places his face in the crevice of your neck and shoulder, inhaling slowly before exhaling with the same speed. You feel him relax as you turn around in his arms to hug him properly.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was never a need to continue a conversation if either of you didn’t feel like talking. It was a mutual understanding that both of you were grateful for. Sometimes there’s no need to start a conversation when you were perfectly fine just simply basking in each others embrace.

Jason does this thing where he curls himself into you; he hunches in while pushing you into him as if he’s trying to fuse your two bodies together. You think if that were a possibility, Jason would do it without hesitation. He only does this, however, when he’s feeling particularly down. So, you slowly bring your hands up to his disheveled, wavy hair and carefully scratch. You feel him sigh happily once more as you scratch the area between his sideburn and ear.

“I really needed you today.” Jason blurts out- his wavering voice being muffled by your neck.

“Well, you have me now. I’m not going anywhere”

You feel a wet droplet touch your neck, but instead of pointing it out you gently kiss Jason’s head instead. You press soft kisses around Jason’s crown as you begin to sway - just slightly. He only hugs you tighter, if that was even possible.

It’s a slow night in your cramped but warmly lit apartment kitchen. But, you have Jason, your Jason, with you - hugging you as if it’s the last time he’ll ever hold you.

_

[allycat004]

Hey everyone,

I’ve been gone for…. wow… a long time. I don’t even know where to start to be honest. First let me tell you where I’ve been, so basically school completely took over my life. I had assignment on top of assignment, but with the semester coming to an end I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get out some fics. Speaking of the fics, I know I promised that I would finish that Damon one I released a snippet for months ago, but I think I might scrap it and come up with a new one to replace it (let me know how you feel in the comments) just because it’s been so long. That aside, I have some ideas up my sleeve for some characters and I’m hoping they’ll be as good as I’m anticipating them to be because I really want to try to grow my page. Anyways, that’s all for now, I’ll keep you guys updated!

Love,

Ally 💗

[allycat004]

Imagine….

You’re Eddie Munson’s best friend who he is so overprotective of. You think nothing of it and just think that he’s just looking out for you. That is…. until he ends up scaring away anyone who has ever liked you behind your back, telling them you’re off limits. Despite his efforts to keep you all to himself… you end up going on a dating someone. As much as he tries to be supportive… he’s not happy about this because in his mind you’re his.

His to kiss.

His to hold.

His to fuck.

And one day… he decides to finally show you, claim you, and make you his officially.

So, this is just an idea I’ve had for quite sometime and I think I might just write a full on fic based off it. Let me know what you guys think!!

Xoxo,

Ally 🩷