frat!kuna wants to hear your pretty noises (shy!reader)
even though sukuna wasn’t very vocal, that didn’t mean he didn’t want you to be. when you randomly went quiet underneath him, he wasn’t pleased. his thick cock split you open, causing your gummy walls to flutter around his length. you were squirming underneath him with your pupils blown wide as you took him. sukuna was in awe—you looked beautiful under him just as always—but something was missing. aside from the sound of skin on skin, it was quiet. too quiet.
“don’t go silent on me,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “i need to hear you.”
you were flustered. you turned your head away in embarrassment and shook your head. he snapped his hips again, tip nudging your cervix. you bit your lip to suppress the moan threatening to escape from you.
“are you embarrassed?” sukuna asked. “there’s no need to be, i promise.”
you hesitated, moved by his reassurance. he felt good and you wanted to show him that. but, you were shy. plus, it wasn’t like he made any noise other than his praise and a few low grunts here and there. you didn’t want to do it alone.
“taking me so well,” sukuna groaned. “so fucking tight you’d think i didn’t take good care of you.”
you let out a quiet moan, back arching. it was so hard to keep quiet, especially with the way he buried you to the hilt. you were so full of him you couldn’t think straight. heat pooled in your stomach as he fucked you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
sukuna was close too, how could he not be? your warm walls hugged his length tightly, practically sucking him into your tight cunt. the sight of you under him was enough to get him off. but without the sound of your broken cries, he wasn’t sure if he could finish just yet.
sukuna decided instead of telling you you weren’t alone, he’d show you. the groan he let out snapped you out of it. you clenched around him immediately at the sound.
“‘kuna,” you whined without even realizing it. “feels s’good.”
“there she is. my pretty girl, don’t hide from me. let me hear how good it feels, yeah?”
you nodded and spread your legs even wider. sukuna angled his hips slightly to where his cock reached your sweet spot with each thrust. the delicious stretch was blinding. you cried out his name as you took all of him. his balls slapped against your ass, the lewd sound filling the room and egging him on even more. sukuna groaned into your ear and whispered to you.
“you’re close? come for me, need to hear it and feel it.”
you weren’t as quiet when you came. your orgasm shattered over you at his words. you cried out his name and gripped his bicep. as you came down from the high, you panted, lip quivering as you caught your breath. sukuna followed you right after. he buried you to the hilt with his cock, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside your pussy. he groaned softly before collapsing on the bed beside you. his arms found yours, pulling you close to his chest. you put your ear to his chest and listened. his heart was pounding so hard like it was about to burst. you looked up at him with a small smile. he mirrored it and pressed his lips to your forehead.
“to be honest, i don’t think i can go again without hearing you,” he admitted. “don’t be afraid, i got you. always.”
the concept of clark kent’s nose tip bumping against your clit when you’re riding his face and he can’t stop moaning against you because of how good you taste and slipping his tongue in your cunt<3
this is why he gets to fuck raw on the daily. All his friends are telling him he doesn’t have to do all that and he’s telling them, “I know, but I want to do it.” that’s why he’s getting to fill up a pussy nightly and they aren’t
i’ve said it before n i’ll say it again the dick is so good you’re blowing him pre and post sex bcos you just need to keep doing stuff w your body, you wanna make him feel good for making you feel good, etc. you can’t help it. there’s no way any of his guy friends can even fathom dick game like that, they’re lucky if they get rare head from their situationships. they ask him “how do you even think of stuff like this?” in regards to paying your tab after checking your location and it’s actually in his very nature to anticipate your needs. in his mind he thinks of everything in relation to you, everything is on your terms. he thinks of things he can give you, what he can make you with his own two hands, what you’ll want for dinner tn so he can buy the stuff n cook it for you so u can eat as soon as you get home. he thinks of how much you’ll relax when he gives you a foot massage and a shoulder rub to go to bed. he’s so prepared for you. like no wonder you let him cum in you raw every night, do lil love quickies of sex or hand/mouth stuff throughout the day, you could massage him head to toe you love him so much, like ughhh these guys could never understand how obsessed you are w each other, how much he embodies the opposite of what men are taught to do in a relationship. how can you not suck on his nuts and tit fuck him when he plays with your hair or lift it off your neck for you when you’re both standing in the hot outside
Clark Kent is the type of man to be determined to make you cum. Like he will not stop until you're on the verge of passing out from the pure pleasure he’s giving you. He’s the definition of a giver frfr.
Also, never EVER let this man learn about squirting because he will be a man on a mission next time you get down and dirty with him. It doesn't matter how long it takes, he's not stopping until the bed and HE is soaked.
You are the finest of meals. The most delicious of juices.
Good luck, you aren't walking for a solid twenty-four hours after he's done with you.
i don’t want to be a third party of a fic. i just came across a clark kent x lois lane smut. woah there, if there’s anyone being stuffed by clark, it’s me bch!
The way he fills you is surreal. The thickness of him makes your gummy walls stretch to their limit, warm and wet while they grip him tight.
He groans lowly once his hips are flush against yours, your thighs spread wide to make space for his huge body.
You're so full, pussy completely yielding around his heavy cock, and Clark can see that there's not a single thought left in that pretty head of yours.
He presses down on your lower belly and just grinds his hips against yours, rubbing against your g-spot, his fat head brushing your cervix.
You squirm at the feeling of him throbbing deep in you, breathlessly whining out, “Clark.”
“It's so much to take, baby, I know. But you're doing so good,” he assures, leaning down to kiss your jaw. “My good girl.”
Every thrust empties you completely before filling you to the brim again. Over and over, he fucks into you, feeling the way your body struggles to fit his girthy cock even though you’re delighted to have him in you.
“Breathe, baby, breathe,” he reminds you when your little whines and mewls turn into quick, shallow gasps. You try to obey but struggle a little because it feels like you’re so full of him that there’s no space left for air.
And when you two are done, you end up stuffed full of his cum, the thick, creamy liquid warm as it pools against your cervix. It coats your inner walls and drips out of you, dribbling down your ass to gather underneath you on the bed. Clark is quick to help you into a pair of panties so your sore pussy doesn’t waste a single drop of his sticky release <3
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
---
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
Clark who just loves being in you. He simply can't go too long without feeling your warm pussy around his cock.
First thing in the morning, he wakes up with his morning wood tenting his sweats. Sleepily, he reaches for you, spooning you and kissing across the side of your neck, causing you to stir from sleep.
Not ten minutes later, he's still spooning you as he sinks into you, groaning thickly as he feels your wet heat envelop him.
“Fuck, your pussy is so tight, baby, she feels so good around me,” he grunts, his mouth against your ear. The thick mushroom head brushes against your cervix once he's all the way in.
You squirm, gasping softly as he fucks you, the thickness of him pressing right against your g-spot as he fills you perfectly.
After, his cum dribbles down your thighs while you two rush to get ready for work before you're late.
He can barely keep himself away from you in the office. His senses are constantly tracking you, listening to your heartbeat, smelling the sweet scent of your shampoo and your perfume, and it drives him insane.
He's half-hard in his pants most of the day until he can't control himself anymore. Taking advantage when everyone goes out for lunch, he drags you into the bathroom and is quick to bend you over the sink. His hands hastily hike your skirt up around your waist, exposing your ass and your pretty cunt, and he's quick to rub his fingers against your clothed folds.
God, he's missed your cunt.
It's not long before you're soaked and he's pushing his aching cock past your folds, stretching your fluttering hole around him.
He moans out a raspy, “Aw, fuck,” as he sinks every inch into your pussy, stretching out your sensitive walls.
You mewl lowly, grabbing onto the edges of the sink to keep yourself upright. You look up at the mirror in front of you, meeting Clark's gaze in the reflection.
“Look how she takes me, baby,” he groans as he starts thrusting, dragging almost all the way out before pushing back in. “Look how good your pussy is for me, she's squeezing me so tight.”
The rest of the afternoon, you sit at your desk, squirming a little as the combination of your orgasms drips from you and gathers on your panties.
The second you're back home, Clark is all over you. His huge hands touch every inch of you he can reach as he walks you backwards to the bedroom.
And now that he's got time for more than a quickie, he makes the most of it.
He has you on your back for hours, your poor pussy fucked wide open, squelching every time his cock pushes in because you're just so wet.
Clark's mind is completely blank except for the feeling of your pulsing walls around him, sucking him in. He gives you orgasm after orgasm, making up for the quickies you've both had to settle for throughout the day, and simply enjoys how perfect your cunt fits him.
“It's like she was made for me, honey,” he grunts, his hands finding purchase on the fat of your thighs and fondling them. “All wet and warm and tight — I just wanna spend all my time in her.”
He's fucked you stupid now, so you can't do much beyond mewl and scratch at the skin of his arms as you try to hold on.
And fuck, Clark loves it. He knows it's probably a bit too much for you and that you're going to be sore after. But he also knows that, tomorrow, he's gonna do it all over again because he's just obsessed with your pussy <3
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
---
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
cake! gross older man nanami who just can't help but find himself drawn to a pretty little waitress at his fav cafe🪽nsfw.
it started off simple, really. him keeping the receipts you gave him, etched with that vanilla scent you always seemed to carry in the air around you. his lips lingering on the coffee cup long after it was cold, just because he knew you’d placed your fingers on the lid. the way he specifically always paid in cash just to brush your hand when you handed him his change back. a discarded coffee cup, a stray hair from your coat, a forgotten grocery list.
and then, slowly the little things had turned into a need for something more, his desire growing with every little piece of you that was thrown his way. it started innocently enough, with him noticing the way you twirled your hair when you were deep in thought or the way your eyes watered when you laughed too hard. but soon, those small observations weren't enough. he began to follow you, learning your routines and habits. he knew which coffee shop you frequented, the exact time you left for work, and even the route you took to get there.
he would find excuses to bump into you, pretending it was just a coincidence. the thrill of seeing you, of being near you, became an obsession. he would spend hours looking at your social media profiles, scrutinizing every post, every comment, searching for clues about your life, your likes, your dislikes.
his behavior escalated further. he began to send anonymous gifts, leaving them on your doorstep or in your mailbox. at first, they were small and harmless—a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates. but as his obsession grew, so did the intensity of his gestures. he would find ways to be closer to you, renting an apartment in your building, sitting at the table next to you at your favorite restaurant, always just out of sight but never far away. his need for you consumed him.
and he was greedy.
the smell of vanilla, the taste of coffee, the warmth of your hand- it wasn't enough. he wanted more. he wanted everything. you’d been so flustered when the handsome man had asked you on a date, oblivious to the fact that he'd been stalking you for weeks, memorizing your habits, your routine, all in an attempt to get you to notice him. oblivious to the way he’d jerked his stiff cock sore every night to thoughts of you, imagining that the hand around him was your pussy, imagining that the warmth seeping into him was you.
“watch me fuck you, c’mon beautiful, keep your head up.” slender fingers tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze away from the thick length that disappeared inside of you, slick squelching echoing throughout the room. your eyes were wide, pupils blown, cheeks flushed and jaw slack, whimpers falling from your lips, and god, you are fucking gorgeous.
you were absolutely perfect, and he couldn't help the groan that left his lips at the way your hole was stretching, trying to accommodate his cock. the way your eyes were wide with lust and shock and your pretty lips parted, soft moans leaving them, it’s all so perfect.
he wondered how many men had seen you like this. how many men had fucked this pussy and came inside of you, claimed your body and made you theirs. his lips curled into a sneer.
they didn’t deserve you. they didn't know how to treat a perfect girl like you, how to take care of you, how to fuck you right. you were so wet for him, and they didn’t deserve the chance to see you like this, so pretty and submissive, all fucked out and desperate.
you were his. his alone, his possession, and he was going to take such good care of you. he was going to show you how good it felt to be owned, how good it felt to be loved, and he was going to ruin every other man for you.
you were his and he was going to make you his.
and so, with that thought, he started moving, hips slamming into yours as his cock buried itself in your slick cunt. a sharp, high-pitched whine left your throat at the rough treatment, your eyes closing once again.
that wouldn’t do.
his hand gripped your hair, forcing your head up so you could watch him.
the way his cock disappeared into your stretched, wet cunt, the way his fingers dug into your waist and hips and thighs, the way his face was screwed up with concentration, jaw tight and eyes half-lidded.
it was so much, and it was so hot.
your cunt clenched, the pressure of his cock hitting all the right spots, and the way he was holding you down, the way he was fucking you so roughly, so hard and deep, the way he was watching you like you were the only thing in the world-
you couldn’t help it. you could feel yourself dripping onto the bedsheets below, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene before you, and god, it was so much.
your eyes rolled back, the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix and his balls slapping against your clit sending you over the edge.
his cock twitched, the feeling of your pussy tightening and clenching around him sending shocks up his spine. the feeling was incredible, the way your walls were rippling around his dick.
he groaned, his rhythm faltering slightly, and he let himself fuck into you, letting the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock and your hands gripping his arms and the soft pants of your breath drive him crazy.
the pace was brutal, his thrusts quick and sharp, and you were crying out, tears rolling down your cheeks as he pounded into you. the pleasure was too much, the way he was making your toes curl, the way he was driving you to orgasm again and again and again-
“please, i- please, i can't- it's too much- i-"
your voice broke, your pleas fading into incoherent babbling, and he could only watch as the tears ran down your face. his gaze was unreadable, and his voice was quiet.
"c'mon baby, you can take it. don't cry. i'm gonna make you come one more time, okay?"
he wasn't asking for your permission. he didn't want to hear your protests. he just wanted you to cum, and then, he would fill you up with his seed, marking you as his.
his movements slowed slightly, his hips rocking into yours as he fucked you, and the way his hands were gripping your hips, the way his eyes were locked onto yours, the way his lips were curled up into a smirk, the way his tongue was tracing the outline of his teeth, the way his cock was buried inside of you, the way his balls were slapping against your clit with every thrust as he mounded you.
it was too much.
you couldn't take it.
but you could never deny him anything.
you wanted him, and he was going to have you.
so you let him have his way, the tears running down your cheeks as he fucked you through your orgasms, his hips snapping into yours and his cock twitching inside of you. his movements were frantic, his eyes never leaving yours, and the way he was biting his lip and breathing heavily was making your pussy clench.
you were babbling, begging him to slow down, pleading with him to stop, that you couldn't take it, that it was too much, but your words were ignored.
this man had no end.
the first time kento killed for you, it was an accident.
the second time was on purpose.
the third, fourth, and fifth time were not accidents, but were all premeditated and planned out.
each kill was a little more brutal, each one a little more gruesome.
no one would miss them.
you hadn't even known they were dead, and kento would never tell you. he would never let you know the depths he would go to in order to protect you, the lengths he would go to in order to ensure your happiness. but all good things must come to an end, he knows that.
but he can’t help but feel the disappointment creeping in as you hold knife toward him, cowering in the corner like a scared deer.
𓍼ོ handyman!nanami is strong when he fucks you onto air
you clung to nanami’s broad shoulders, legs wrapped securely around his waist as he held you suspended in the air with effortless strength.
the handyman had come over to fix a few things around your place, but the tension between you had built quickly until clothes were discarded and he lifted you like you weighed nothing at all. his muscular arms supported your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh while he kept you balanced against the wall, cock buried deep inside your welcoming heat.
“hold on to me,” he said in that calm, steady voice, though his eyes burned with restrained hunger. nanami was incredibly strong, his body honed from years of physical work, and he used every bit of that power now. he thrust upward into you with powerful, controlled strokes that made your breath catch each time he filled you completely. the position left you utterly at his mercy, your weight supported entirely by his arms as he fucked you in midair, hips snapping up to meet yours with deep, rhythmic force.
each movement drove him impossibly deeper, the angle allowing his thick length to drag against every sensitive spot inside you. you moaned softly, nails pressing into his shirt as sweat beaded on your skin. nanami’s breathing remained even and measured, but the way his grip tightened on your thighs betrayed his growing intensity. he adjusted his hold slightly, one hand sliding to cup your ass while the other stayed firm under your leg, keeping you spread open for him.
“you feel incredible like this,” he murmured against your neck, lips brushing your pulse point before he nipped gently.
his pace quickened, strong thrusts lifting you higher with every push, the wet sounds of your bodies connecting filling the room. the sheer power in his frame made it seem effortless, his muscles flexing beneath your hands as he drove you closer to the edge. you trembled in his grasp, pleasure building fast from the way he filled you so completely, so relentlessly.
nanami groaned low in his throat when your walls started to flutter around him, his thrusts growing deeper and more purposeful. he held you tighter, fucking you through the waves of your release until your moans echoed around him. only then did he let himself follow, burying himself to the hilt with a final, powerful stroke and spilling hot inside you while still supporting your full weight.
he stayed there for a long moment afterward, breathing steady as he kept you safely in his arms, strong and unwavering even after the intensity of it all.
clark kent who can't fuck you in doggy because he keeps leaning down to kiss you. just can't help it, he needs to feel your whimpers as he bullies that thick cock deep in your core. he needs to feel you squeal into his lips as his palm presses onto your lower abdomen, where the tip of his cock nudges into that sickly good, gummy spot of your hot, warm walls.
there's a compromise he settles with — pulling you against him as he lays on his side. parting your thighs that much wider with his sheer width, tangled around his limbs as he finds purchase around the soft fat of your skin. that same, dull arousal paralyses you when he realigns his slick, reddened tip back into your entrance.
though you aren't sure if the change in position was for your or his benefit. especially now as clark's stuttered, desperate, needy grunts warm your tongue at every snap of his hips.
summary: one late night, clark is just surfing on the internet, bored, when he comes across a certain site. imagine his surprise when he finds out that you, his best friend, are a camgirl.
cw: porn and no plot, camgirl stuff (use of vibrator, f!masturbation, porn site), clark is such an awkward n horny nerd, he's low-key a huge slut, m!masturbation.
wc: 1.5k
a/n: requested by anon! i loved writing it <3 i'm thinking of doing a part 2...
When you told Clark that you'd picked up a little gig on the side for some extra cash, he'd assumed you were spending your weekends working at a café or at a bookstore. He did not suspect you'd turned to making dirty videos online.
Which is why he almost has a heart attack when, as he's scrolling in bed, an ad for a porn site pops up and it's a picture of you in a staggering state of undress.
His eyes widen, his ribs feeling tight around his lungs as his breathing suddenly comes a little labored. He blinks a couple of times, as if to clear his eyesight, but he's not deceived. It's you, with a little smirk on your mouth, the red lipstick you've got on matching the color of your see-through lingerie.
It's a babydoll, complete with stockings and a garter belt, and it leaves nothing to the imagination.
Clark knows he should scroll away, just ignore the ad and pretend he never saw anything. He knows he should start practicing how to not struggle to meet your gaze the next time he sees you at the office. But he knows, above all, that he should not access the site.
His thumb is hovering over the x to close the ad when he pauses.
It's like something comes over him, an impulsive, needy drive that’s impossible to ignore, and suddenly he's tapping on the ad.
It leads him to a video of you kneeling on a bed, that red babydoll completely see-through. He can see your breasts, your nipples already hard beneath the lace. He can see the shape of your body, and his eyes follow the contour of your hips, your thighs, the outline of your pussy…
He can feel heat spreading through his lower abdomen, his cock twitching as blood rushes south. Before he knows it, he’s hard in his sweats.
And, God, he shouldn’t be. He should be better than this, better than the base instinct that flares hot under his skin.
His eyes are glued to his screen, where you’re busy making a show of picking up a pretty pink vibrator and turning it on. You lay back on the bed, dragging the buzzing item over your skin. Your breathing grows heavy, and Clark can see the goosebumps that form as the toy goes over your breasts, your chest heaving with each labored breath you take. Your free hand tugs the red lace of your bra down, exposing your tits. Clark’s heart feels like it’s stopped.
He can’t look away from your breasts as you brush the vibrator over your hard nipples that are eager for attention. Your lips part to let out a soft, sweet moan, and Clark grunts, his hard cock twitching again. He reaches down, trying to adjust himself, and instead finds out that there’s a wet spot at the front of his sweats from his precum that’s started leaking.
The feel of it embarrasses him immensely. His face heats up, from the base of his neck to the tip of his ears, and he wishes he could control his body. He wants nothing but to get rid of the hard-on, click away from the video and forget he ever saw anything.
But now, you’re spreading your legs on the screen, pushing your panties to the side, and the moment Clark sees your pussy, whatever little wisps of decency were left are forgotten. He watches, awed, as your fingers spread your folds, showing your entrance, already wet and clenching around nothing.
His blood is hot as it rushes through his ears. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, his breath coming out in hard puffs as he watches you run your fingers up your slit. You hold them right up to the camera, showing your sticky arousal on your digits.
Clark pictures what it would be like to touch you, what it would feel like if it were his fingers gathering your wetness and then tasting it…
His hand makes its way into his pants to find his hard, engorged cock standing to attention. He is struggling to behave, trying his best to force his hand out of his sweats, but the ache of desire is stronger.
He wraps his fingers around himself and squeezes, his eyes fluttering at the immediate jolt of pleasure. Through heavy eyelids, Clark watches you dip your fingers into yourself and then pull them back out, giggling and mewling sweetly.
You lift your hips off the mattress to push the flimsy lace panties off and toss them aside. You spread your legs and finally push the toy in, and Clark has to make a conscious effort to keep himself from jizzing his pants on the spot.
Your moans come loud from his phone as you gently fuck yourself with the buzzing toy. Clark’s eyes are trained on your pussy, your hole dribbling and stretched out around the vibrator. Your gorgeous cunt is squelching loudly, needily, and Clark just wishes it was him in you, fucking you slow and deep.
He matches the strokes of his hand to the rhythm you set for the toy, tempted to close his eyes and imagine himself in you, but he doesn’t want to miss the sight of your squirming, sweaty body on the screen.
“Feels so good,” your breathless voice echoes from his phone, your head lolled back as you turn up the vibrations, the steady buzz of the toy growing more audible. He watches your arousal drip around the base of the vibrator, slithering down your skin, between your asscheeks.
He can almost feel it on his cock, trickling down to his balls, and he twitches again as his thumb soothes at his leaking tip. He watches raptly as you start fucking yourself faster, harder, pulling the toy out quick only to push it in deeper with slick, obscene squelches.
The sound of it, combined with the way you’re gasping and whining, has Clark’s mind spinning.
What noises would you make if he were to fuck you? How would you sound while he tasted you? Would you cry his name or gasp it when you come?
He grunts, pushing his pants hastily down his hips before returning to jerking himself off. He squeezes his cock roughly, the thick head an angry red from how hard he is. The vein along his shaft is bulging, and a little trail of precum glistens on his skin from where it’s dribbled down his length.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” you whine on screen, your thighs trembling. Clark feels hazy as he watches you struggle to thrust the toy now from how tight your gummy walls are clenching it.
Your curses dissolve into incoherent whines and moans as you start canting your hips against the toy. Clark watches you get closer and closer, until you inhale sharply and pause for a second…
“Oh, fuck!”
…and then you come, your beautiful body quivering, arousal glistening all over your needy cunt as you fall over the edge.
Clark just can’t look away, and he can’t stop his hand from jerking faster and squeezing tighter, until he comes too.
“Aw, shit,” he mumbles, throwing his head back against the headboard as his orgasm washes over him. Rope after rope of thick, milky cum spills onto his abdomen and hand, hot and sticky where it lands. His mind has gone completely blank, save for the image of you finding your climax with that toy stuffed in your perfect hole.
As he slowly comes down, he realizes what he’s done and quickly closes the video. He sits on his bed for a long while, feeling like shit.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why would I watch that? Why would I get off to it? Jesus.
He tries to go about his night as he normally would, but the thought of you haunts him. The way you’d looked, the way you’d sounded…
It haunts him all night, and well into the next day. He’s barely had any sleep by the time his alarm rings. And even once he’s in the office, he can’t stop thinking about it.
He’s early for once, the bullpen just about empty, and he sits himself down at his desk, reluctant to even glance at his phone. He knows he’ll go right back to your content if he does, and the temptation is so strong…
Just one more look couldn’t hurt.
He goes back into the site and clicks on your profile, merely checking out the videos you have. He promises himself he won’t subscribe, and promises himself he won’t actually watch any of the others.
He’s so caught up in going through your profile that he basically jumps out of his skin when your voice, high-pitched with alarm, comes from right beside him as you glance over his shoulder.
“Clark, what are you doing?!”
a/n 2: sorry about the delay! life got me down and has been kicking me while i'm down, but i'm pushing through. the summer always cheers me up a little, and now that i'm on vacation, i'm doing better <3 i love you all and i hope you enjoyed this!! :)
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
---
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
clark "slow, deep breaths" kent who has to repeatedly remind you of a function you should otherwise have complete, unconscious control over. though when he's got his cock in you like this, that's not so much of a given.
it's as if your brain short circuits when he's inside you, wires detaching in your mind that made the task of breathing something difficult.
clark's got you caged in at the foot of the bed, arms, legs, all his limbs encompassing you like he didn't want to let you up. you're most malleable under him, body voluntarily limp as you allow him to contort you as he pleases.
your nails rake his back, streaks of pink following the trails of each erratic hand movement you make. he has no reaction to the marks you draw, nor can you see them being pinned under his weight, though you can only assume them to look like thick red chemtrails.
his cock repeats that same carefully precise drilling motion, that very same motion he's yet to curtail from. it's become almost relentless, the rhythm close to breaking you, rather than the other way around. it turns your body to mush and brain into a tizzy as he fucks you through another orgasm.
your thighs shudder around the lowers of his hips, an incessant twitching forming like you, yourself, hand no control over it. your stomach trembles with your climax, chest jittering as if to cope with the wild intakes of air you struggle to fully inhale.
your head tips back and you cry out a pathetically lewd string of gasps.
though with you seemingly teetering into something almost soul-engulfing like you are, it doesn't make him stop. he proceeds, cock dragging out and pushing into you just like it was before you let go around his dick — before your cunt fluttered and convulsed around him with your climax a moment ago.
with your throat exposed like it is, he lowers, lips pressing under your chin as he kisses and nibbles at it. he smiles against your chin, act amused by your bodily response to him.
"I know," he coos, dimpled grin almost juxtaposing his tone. "deep breaths," he instructs, hand reaching to the side of your head. "slow, deep breaths, baby," he repeats, guiding you into something calm all while doing the complete, polar opposite with his cock.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex
Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.
You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.
By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.
And things had only been official for a week.
You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.
He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.
Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move
Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.
You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.
“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.
You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.
“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.
Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”
He slid deeper for emphasis.
You didn’t.
You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.
“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.
Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.
This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.
Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.
“Better?” The man’s question was simple.
Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.
You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.
Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.
“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”
“I—I know, I just can’t—”
At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.
You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.
“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”
The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.
“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”
“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”
“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”
But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.
Maybe you’d never found that place after all.
This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.
You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.
Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”
“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.
Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.
With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.
You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.
“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”
Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.
It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.
“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.
“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”
Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.
Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.
He still held onto your other hand tight.
Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.
Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:
“Higher.”
“Higher?”
“Um, to the…to the left.”
Simon tilted his hips left.
Yes.
That was just it. So close.
Almost…
Or, maybe…
“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”
Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.
Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”
The grin above you stretched even wider.
“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.
“Right there.” You nodded furiously.
A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.
“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.
“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”
Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.
The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.
Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.
You realized as much when he whispered it to you.
“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”
Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.
“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.
“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”
The ones that you’d been with before.
You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.
Simon was back inside you in a blink.
Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.
He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.
Vindicated.
“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”
You nodded in agreement.
You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.
“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”
When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.
And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.
Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.
“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.
His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.
You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”
“Feel good when I hit it?”
“Fucking perfect, Si.”
You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.
“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”
“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”
“Go on then, love.”
And, shortly, you did.
Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.
Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.
It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”
You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.
He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.
i'm so gone for the idea that the first time that you tell john, "i love you," is during sex. maybe missionary, but i'm thinking during pronebone—when john's pressing all his weight onto you, gripping you by the back of your neck, rutting and humping like he's trying to impregnate you then and there (not yet, but soon; that's a promise). you are so drunk in your pleasure, all drooly and whiny, that the words just spill from kiss-swollen lips.
i love you, you hiccup. john stops just for a second before a litany of his own confession drop from his maw, unstopping and unwavering like now that the dam's been unlatched, everything just begins to pour out ceaselessly.
i love you too, baby, i love you so much. the light of my life, huh? look at you, such a pretty thing for me. want daddy to kiss here, this deep? yeah? oh sweetheart, such a lovely puppy for me.
summary: clark has always prided himself in being one of the good guys. and he is, for the most part- until you come along. suddenly, his hands are in places they shouldn't be while his mind plagues him with visions of you being oh-so-sweet beneath him.
clark kent x fem ! reader
themes: 18+ so mdni, yearning and a whole lot of it, jealousy, clark just can't help himself. kinda feral!perv!clark trying to be as respectful as possible but lowkey failing. filthy in the best way. enjoy! x
Clark is a good guy.
Always has been, and Ma would certainly like to think that he always will be. At school, he never got so much as a stern look and pointed gaze- after all, he was a sweet little kid that smiled a bit too much and tried to take up the least amount of room possible. His teachers loved him, the envy of all his peers.
During High School, Clark kept his head down. Did his work in a flurry of soft smiles and polite nods, offering help when needed, kindly rejecting any flirtatious advances under the bleachers that would result in him getting into trouble.
"You're somethin' else, Kent." Lana rolled her eyes at him once, flicking the spectacles on his face just a little of their axis.
College followed suit. While his friends joined fraternities and disrespected sorority sisters, Clark diverted all his attention to perfecting his degree. Sure, he had a couple pecks here and there, a few misunderstandings with a handful of very drunk and slightly deprived college girls- but hey, at least he didn't take it any further.
All in all, Clark Kent grew up with the belief that he wasn't like that. He was kind. Respectful. Ma would tell him so, and Pa would go to the ends of the earth to enforce it; listen 'ere, Clark, a lady should be left alone unless prompted otherwise. You hear?
He'd nod. Pa's shoulders would relax, and Ma would place a dear old hand on her heart at the relief of her son turning out just the way she'd hoped.
But then one day, during an intense intern briefing amidst the bustling bullpen of the Daily Planet, Clark Kent met you.
And he soon realised that he might not be such a 'good guy' after all.
Because it wasn't enough that your skirt was always far too short, or that the lip gloss you wore blinded him no matter the lightning in the room. It wasn’t even the way you laughed, bright and careless, like you had no idea what it did to the people around you- what it did to him and every fibre of his superhuman being.
It was everything else.
Your perfume would linger in the newsroom ten minutes after you’d left, sweet enough that Clark could still catch it when he bent over his desk. Every time he did, his chest tightened with something ugly; vanilla sugar and lemon, wrapped in a pretty gold ribbon of guilt and shame.
He hated it, but he also couldn't get enough of it.
Your voice would carry on over everyone else’s, no matter how crowded the bullpen got. It was like his hearing had singled you out on purpose. Your heartbeat, your exhales, the slight pucker of your lips when an article brought on confusion.
Every other sound in Metropolis dulled itself accordingly, just so he could hear you ask Jimmy if he wanted coffee, or laugh at something Lois said, or mention your boyfriend in that absentminded little way that made Clark’s jaw lock so hard it ached.
And god, your boyfriend.
Your dumb fucking boyfriend.
Clark never usually swore (it didn't come to him as naturally as the likes of golly and gosh). But fuck, Superman on Red Kryptonite himself wouldn't have the mirage of different profanities that Clark did for the man you called yours.
Funnily enough, he had never even met the guy.
Didn’t need to. He hated him anyway.
He hated the way your phone lit up and brightened your face when you glanced at it. Despised the little smile that curled at your mouth when you typed back. Loathed the thought that someone else got to touch what Clark could barely stand to look at for too long.
However hard Clark made you laugh, however red your face flared after every shh little compliment thrown your way- it was never enough.
Someone else got to walk you home, kiss that gloss right off your lips, hear you laugh when no one else was around. Someone else got to climb over you at night, cover your gorgeous frame with theirs, fuck you gently into the bed until the early hours of the morning.
The thought would come to Clark late at night, when the city was finally at rest and he had only his thoughts to keep him awake. He'd envision you writhing beneath him, soft voice dripping like honey in his ears, moaning his name like a prayer and begging, pleading, for his touch.
His release would come quick. But on the nights the guilt settled in too deep, it wouldn’t come at all- and he’d spend the next few hours lying awake in silence, trying to atone for every impure thought he’d ever had about you.
It made something mean curl low in his stomach, something he’d spent his whole life pretending wasn’t there.
Because Clark was supposed to be good. He was supposed to smile and hold doors open and politely excuse himself when you leaned over his desk to point something out, cleavage threatening to spill, exposed neck so inviting he felt like a rabid animal; your mere existence flooding his senses so completely that for one humiliating second, he forgot his own name.
Lately, being around you felt less like admiration, and a hell of a lot more like drowning.
You’d walk into a room and he’d know it before he looked up. His whole body knew. The tiny hitch in his breathing, the way his shoulders went rigid, the awful, immediate awareness of where you were- crossing your legs at your desk, tugging your coat off your shoulders, leaning your cheek into your palm while you read over some notes.
Clark noticed all of it. Against his will. Against every decent thing Ma and Pa had ever taught him.
Eventually, he did the only thing he could think to do.
He booked some time off.
He told Perry he needed a break from the city, his eyes never quite leaving the floor. "Ma and Pa..." he scratched the back of his neck nervously, the lie coming out in one smooth sweep, "They've been asking for me. Some fence panels fell, Pa's heart... just wanna be there in any way I can."
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. The Kent farm always had something that needed looking after, even if it wasn't an immediate fence post. There were always animals to feed, fields to tend. Plenty to keep a man occupied.
"Take the time off, Kent. You deserve it."
After that, the situation became a civil war in his mind; one that had him at a loss no matter the outcome.
He convinced himself day after day that the dirt under his nails, the sweat on his back and the ache in his muscles would drown out the ache you’d left somewhere far deeper. He busied his hands, giving them something to do other than grip the base of his cock at night, eyes squeezed shut, pretending it was your skin beneath his legs and your mouth wrapped around his tip.
He needed Kansas air in his lungs instead of your perfume in his office, your laugh in the elevator, your voice drifting over cubicle walls and undoing him with every syllable.
He thought distance would help. What with Ma’s cooking and Pa’s quiet talks on the porch, there was simply no way the trip home wouldn't knock some sense back into him; remind him who he was, who he was supposed to be.
Even in Smallville however, you followed him.
And by the time Clark came back to Metropolis, he was exhausted in a way no amount of sleep could fix.
But you weren’t there.
Your desk sat empty.
Chair tucked in. Computer dark and oddly enough, collecting a light blanket of dust.
At first, Clark thought you were just running late. You were always stuck in traffic, and coffee lines always seemed to double in size whenever you walked into a café. He tried not to look at your desk every five minutes as he ran out of excuses to make on your behalf.
By noon, he was making mistakes. The backspace was hit more than a coherent sentence was formed; typos littered his edge of the column. Missed calls had Lois smacking him on the shoulder with a rolled-up newspaper. For someone so in tune with the written word, Clark even found himself reading the same paragraph three times over without taking in a single word.
Finally, he looked up from his monitor and asked Jimmy as casually as he could manage. Though the other man barely glanced up from his camera, Clark got the only answer he needed.
“Oh, she took some time off. Started a few days after you left, I think.”
He swallowed, nodding slowly, and that should’ve been the end of it.
But Jimmy kept talking.
“Guess her and her boyfriend broke up. Saw her crying in the break room last week. Lois said she’s staying with family for a bit.”
Clark didn’t hear the rest.
The words lodged themselves somewhere deep and awful, echoing through his skull all day. He hated how quickly his pulse kicked up.
Broke up.
You and your god-awful fucking boyfriend that made Clark swear (albeit in his own mind) had broken up.
And you were single.
A hot, selfish feeling unfurled in his chest before he could stop it.
You had been hurting. You had been crying. Yet the first thought that crossed his mind- before concern, before decency, before anything good that he was taught all his life- was that there was no boyfriend anymore. No one standing between you and him, the line between reality and fantasy dissolving into a thin blur in the week he spent throwing hay bales and flying circles around the equator.
That night, Clark lay in bed staring at the ceiling of his apartment, the city humming beyond his windows. For the first time in weeks, he found his restraint collapsing completely.
He let his mind wander, hands itching to free the stiffness in his boxers. He stroked long and deliberately, steady, the way he'd always imagined your first time with him would be.
He wasn't like that ex-boyfriend of yours. Wasn't selfish or needy or desperate. No, Clark would kiss the ground you walked on. He'd fuck you nice and slow, praise you like you were the God, make you come so hard the other guy would feel like fiction. He's not just Clark Kent after all- he's Superman, and even Superman has a few fun tricks up his supersuit sleeve.
You were a rocket. He'd overheard your conversations with Cat in the break room in the past, each one lewd and inappropriate but addictive all the same. Your ex could only last so long, only cared for a few unimpressive positions- but Clark, Clark could last forever and a day if you wanted. You burned hot and filthy and Clark knew he could match you without breaking a single sweat.
You'll come back to work soon- tired, maybe, eyes a little puffy from crying, soft from the heartache. You'll lean against his desk again, this time with no mention of another man. No absent little smiles at your phone. No reason for Clark to pretend he doesn't need you like oxygen.
He'll be there for you. Whether it's a shoulder to cry on, someone to vent to or an outlet in general, there's no other place he'd rather be.
And if, somewhere between the late nights at the office and grateful smiles meant only for him, you start needing him a little too much… you can't expect him to refrain from giving you what you want, surely?
Clark Kent is a good man. A nice man.
But if leaning into the bad is exactly what it takes to finally have you under him instead of just in his head...
Well, he can make peace with that, too.
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