[girl-celestial]

hello, girl-celestial here!

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ :¨ ·.· ¨:

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . anna .ᐟ early 20s

　 ➤ she , her ֵ⑅ my ao3 ♡

this is a writing side-blog, and may contain nsfw writings about fictional characters and such. not everything is everyone’s taste and that is ok. be considerate of all readers and especially to me as i develop my blog, i appreciate all support here and on other sites. ♡

this is an 18+ blog, mdni !

[aphotisms]

you can run but you cant escape

[cornbelt]

[huitoy]

jerking off in the woods .

cw: +18, outdoors male masturbation, slight dirty legs fetish, only smut.

Imagine Arthur having to stop in the middle of the woods to jerk off because you have left him with an aching cock before he leaves for a mission. With every gallop his cock twitches and it hurts so much he has to stop at the most grove area. After tying the horse to a tree, he goes deeper into the woods, away from any prying eyes, whether from animals or humans. He finally places a hand against a tree, holding himself, and with the other hand reaches for his belt,  undoing it and his pants with his long skilled fingers, sliding the jeans under his rear. He groans when palming the bulge over his long johns.

“Oh, boy” he groans, grasping the bulge and pulling it up and down, which takes a gasp from him. With every pull the precum prints on the cotton material. His head lifts up and his lips open to moan breathily. His sounds were always soft and quiet, muffled by the groans of his throat. A certain pull brings a spasm to his body and his hands rush to unbutton the underwear of his long johns to free his stiff and sweaty cock. He holds it and another shiver runs up his spine, making him hold onto the tree. It was so sensitive. He took some deep breaths before starting to jerk it —first, moving his hand, then thrusting his hips. His fingertips press onto the rough tree, turning them white. Hunching over the tree, pressing his forehead against it, he growls under his breath. “That’s it… That’s it.”

He starts to think of you, as if he even needs it —He was so close already. But it was part of his routine to stimulate himself with you —using your precious legs, for example. His weakest point. Either raspy or soft, dry or sweaty, pristine or bruised, it doesn’t matter. But, oh, surely after a long day of work, those legs were the most delicious bite ever. The sole  thought of it almost awakes an involuntary movement of Arthur's tongue: stick it out to taste you.

His hand squeezes his cock and he shudders, letting his head fall down, shutting his eyes. He swallows a groan and the thrusts become erratic. His forehead is pressed against the tree since his arms and legs were losing strength. He squeezes his eyes and boosts the image of your legs. He wants to come to them, he knows it’s gonna be so good if so.

And it does. At the memory of your legs up on his shoulders and his nose buried under your dress, remembering the smell of your sweaty cunt and skin, his head gets dizzy and the ejaculation comes hard, spilling the tree bark and making him groan several times. “Oh fuck, oh fuck… ohh.”

Arthur is left a breathless heavy mess for some seconds. He clears his throat and swallows the saliva accumulated on his mouth. When feeling back on his feet, he pulls his jeans up and does his belt messily, looking around to assure no witnesses. No humans, no animals. He returns to his horse, back to serious work.

[innorality]

clark is in kryptonian heat

part 1 here :p cuz I promise if u don't read it you won't understand a THING

clark kent feels weird, today.

like, really weird.

this morning when he woke up, he felt like he was having a heat stroke. his skin was buzzing and uncharacteristically warm, but he just brushed it off thinking it was his kryptonian body acting up again.

well, he wasn't wrong.

at work, everything felt worse. he felt intensely disoriented, his head buzzing and spinning endlessly. he had trouble controlling his strength, accidentally shattering his coffee mug or even unwilling snapping his keyboard in half.

but everything got worse when he sensed you.

not saw, sensed.

it was unusual, truly. he spotted your body heat among others, could only focus on your voice, and damn, since when does your skirt hug your butt like that? he quickly shook his head to escape those nasty thoughts but, in vain. it was like his entire body—the codex itself—was forcing him to focus on you. every thought in his head were of you, you, you.

but that was before you interacted with him, before you even laid your eyes on him.

when you did, everything spiked.

as soon as he saw those pretty eyes bore into his, he felt the heat in his chest spread out throughout his entire body. he shifted uncomfortably because of the raging boner he had and licked his lips in what seemed to be dehydration.

and his mind recognized it, recognized you—the groove of your walk, the sound your thighs rubbing together with each step, the familiar beating of your heart, and if he listened close enough, he could even hear the sound of your pussy lips–

"hey, clark," you waved at him and he stopped breathing, clenching his jaw tightly to conceal the ungodly sound that was currently clawing at his lips, ready to escape.

you noticed something was wrong with your beloved, and set a hand on his chest. his usually rock solid skin felt softer and incredibly warmer. when you moved to the right, you could feel his larger heart beating atleast ten times faster than it usually would.

"what's wron..." you trailed off when he grabbed your hand—tightly—and gave you a crooked smile as his eyebrows bent and pinched together. "p-please, dear, go away b-before i–" another spark of heat, "j-just go." and with that, he let you go, disappearing into the men's bathroom and leaving you there, confused and concerned.

it was only hours later, in the evening, that you saw clark again.

you were simply getting up to reheat your food before something—someone—crashed through your living room wall, knocking you down with it.

a strong hand wrapped around your head before you could knock it on the ground and before you knew it, a very familiar pair of lips came locking onto yours, kissing you deeply into his palm.

he pulled away to give you a moment to breath as he dipped down into you neck, licking and sucking. "c-clark what has... what has gotten into you?" you barely manage to breath, the dust and smoke of the broken wall was making it hard to inhale (and see clark at all), aswell as the weight of his body on yours.

"i don't- I dunno, I..." he kept licking your skin like a dog, your taste giving him some kind of sexual gratification. "all day I've been... my body felt so... so freakin' warm and just– I felt like all I needed was you... I couldn't even focus on anything i kept..." he was curiously out of breath, like the effort of simply speaking to you while holding back the urge to fuck your brains out was too much for him.

"...I kept smelling you and- and hearing you... and– jesus, I just.. want you so bad, darlin'.." he licked his way back up to your lips, nibbling on your bottom one softly. "clark," you finally managed to say, the dust settling. "tell me what you need." your hair ran up his back and into his hair, scratching his scalp which nearly made his eyes roll back.

"you. I need you, c-can I have you? please?" and the way he's just asking makes you want to give him everything he could ever ask for.

so you do.

as soon as you let out a soft "yes," he became a totally different kryptonian.

and that's how you ended up with your back arching away from the dining table, shoulders pressed against the cold surface by clark himself to keep you from slipping away at each mean thrust of his hips.

it's been, what, 4 orgasms? neither of you knew and honestly, neither of you cared—matter of fact, you both stopped caring when he finished inside for the first time and it happened.

the hooks.

"i- I wanna..." he swallows sharply, "I wanna feel it again, d-dont you, sweet thing? i-it felt so good, right? right." the both of you nodded dumbly at eachother and he smiled, terrifyingly so.

clark kent looked feral. his eyes were as hectic as his hands, moving everywhere. he wanted to see you, to feel you, to give in to you. he was inside you and yet he wanted more. he wanted you to be his—more than you already were.

"stuffin' you full so that- oh, god, yes— so that you can carry my kids... so that everyone will know you're– m-mine... mine, mine." he squeezed your breast, his gaze zeroing onto the oddly shaped (thanks to his buds) bulge on your stomach before his hand followed, caressing his cock through your skin and twitching every time the buds were stimulated.

it felt perfect, truly. he felt like you were made for him. the gummy texture of your walls fit perfectly with his buds as each of them grazed the crevices of your rugae every time his hips bumped into yours.

"c-clark, I don't... I'm gonna— i- i cant-" he presses down onto the bulge which makes you scream, "y-yes you can, baby, please- one more, just one more- i– please, sweetie, gosh, I love you so much!" his speech quickly became incoherent—a sign of his impending orgasm.

another tell-tale sign is, of course, the hardening of his buds. they were so strong that they halted his movement, burying him deep inside you while hooking onto your ridges. "o-oh my god–" you gasped, feeling the vein on his cock rubbing against your g-spot. "t-too much– I'm- I'm too full, clark!" and he shakes his head, chuckling lowly.

"n-no you're not baby! i-i can see it! you still... you can still handle more..." he starts to look more and more pained with each word, his body aching for release. "p-please.. pleasepleaseplease–- take it, baby, take it... please, it hurts... y-you're gonna be good f'me right? gonna be good and take it?" fuck, it was intoxicating. everything was. his speech, his smell, the feeling of his alien dick literally hooking inside you to cum deep in your womb...

"please..." was all you could mutter, but he understood. his body understood.

his release was cataclysmic. the buds settled slightly deeper into your crevices, allowing him to shoot into you with bullseye precision. "h-holy– oh my‐" he couldn't even speak. his breath came out in short pants and he looked up, as if begging some higher being to release him from this seemingly everlasting ache.

upon feeling his warm cum painting your insides, and hearing him mumble "g'nna make you a mommy... you're gonna look s-so pretty with my– hhnnng... my kid inside y-youu...", you orgasmed aswell. you walls clenched and rubbed against the now soft buds on his dick, pressing down onto his shaft which has his stomach clenching and caving, almost folding the kryptonian in half.

in the midst of it all, you swear you saw his eyes glow red for a moment, but he quickly blinked that away. his eyes flickered back to your face, and then back to you pelvis, before he threw his head back again with a groan.

"y-you're... shoot.." he's barely catching his breath, "you're not... full enough.." and he resumes his thrusting which makes you give up on looking at him, eyes lazily rolling back.

your entire body relaxed and went limp, allowing him to use you as he pleased.

"wanna make you a mommy... and you're not full enough."

you were right, after all.

those buds are, in fact, useful for breeding.

[zadeemae]

Lace 🤍

[lornemalvo]

[zordanna]

may I offer you this anatomy "study" of Arthur? Mh?

[heartlikehome]

[lonesomedovescry]

nsfw*

thinking about arthur whose breathless chuckle sends you teetering over the edge of the orgasm he had led you to over and over.

arthur who laps up the sweat at the seam of your neck and your shoulder, tonguing your sweet spot with wet heat and teeth, and groans deep and low in his chest as you begin tugging at the fabric of his leather jacket.

arthur who prefers for you to be fully bare before him, and only takes off the layers of his clothes each time you listen well enough to his muttered commands.

arthur who swears he could tear apart the world for you when you take his two, calloused fingers in your sweet mouth to mute your keening whine as he finally, thankfully sinks into you.

arthur whose hips stutter when they meet the apex of your thighs and bottoms out in a single thrust.

arthur who, as he begins to bully the shape of his dick into your cervix, tells you in long, languid detail about how much he loves you.

[history-of-fashion]

1898-1900 Summer dress in striped cotton, with silk satin ribbon

(MoMu - Fashion Museum Antwerp)

[girl-celestial]

Hello!!! First time sending a request 😊

I was thinking something along the lines of Arthur and reader finished some sort of mission together, and they’re camping out in the wilderness by a river. Covered in dirt they both want to bathe in the river, seeing each other bare for the first time. It can be just pure fluff, or smutty, whichever you fancy 🤧🫶🫶

Still Water

Reader Requested ♡ — i love that you sent this request!! thank you for taking the time to do so and thank you for allowing me to write this for you! it was soo fun, i hope you enjoy it!

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER, 1.7k words, public but not really, implied smut, eventual smut maybe? :) mdni.

THE ride back had been brutal—hot air, dust thick in your throat, your thighs aching from hours in the saddle. The job wasn’t complicated, just messy. You hadn’t said much on the way back. Neither had Arthur. You could both taste the blood in the silence.

As soon as the horses were tied and the others started setting up camp, you slipped off without a word. There was a bend in the river a little ways past the treeline. You’d seen it earlier, tucked behind brush and stone—just wide enough to sink into, just deep enough to forget the rest of the world.

You left your blouse and skirt folded over a flat rock, boots placed neatly beside them, and stepped into the water in nothing but your shift. It was old. Soft. Nearly see-through once wet, but you weren’t thinking about that.

You were thinking about how your skin itched with sweat. How the backs of your knees were sticky with grime. How your hair clung to your neck. You just wanted to feel clean again.

The river was cold. Sharp at first. It bit at your ankles, then your calves, then higher—past your knees, soaking the fabric where it floated against you. You walked in until it met your waist. Stood still, letting it wrap around you. Your hands moved on their own—smoothing down your arms, wiping the dirt from your collarbone. You ducked down briefly to wet your hair, came up blinking through water and sunlight.

It was quiet.

So quiet you heard the birds flicker between branches. The scrape of dragonflies across the surface.

Then came the crunch.

You stilled.

Boots on stone. A shift in the rhythm of the trees. You turned your head, slow.

Arthur stood at the edge of the river, shirt in his hand, looking right at you.

He froze the moment your eyes met.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He did. Eventually. Voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure it was allowed.

“…Didn’t know you were down here.”

You reached back, smoothing wet hair away from your neck. “Didn’t think anyone would come this far.”

Arthur nodded a little, still half-stuck in place. His eyes weren’t quite on your face. Not the whole time. They kept dropping, dragging down the soaked cotton stuck to your ribs, the way your shift floated slightly away from your thighs in the current, then clung again when the water swirled.

You noticed.

He looked away then—fast—like he caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.

“Wasn’t followin’ you or nothin’,” he added. “Just figured I’d clean off before camp got loud.”

“I don’t mind,” you said. Voice level. Honest. “You can still get in.”

He hesitated. Then stepped out of his boots, dropped his shirt, and moved into the river without another word.

You turned back toward the current. Let the cold bite up your arms again as you rubbed at your shoulder. But you felt him behind you—closer now. The water shifting with his steps. Not touching, but near enough to sense it.

“You alright?” he asked. The question caught you off guard—not because he asked it, but because of how he asked it. Not casual. Not offhand. It was real.

You nodded, glancing back. “Just tired.”

“Me too.”

The silence returned. Except this time it was heavier. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

You could feel his eyes on you again—brief flicks, like he didn’t want to get caught but couldn’t help it.

“You, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Guessin’ you needed this too.”

You nodded again. “Didn’t wanna carry the day back to camp with me.”

Arthur gave a small breath of agreement. “Yeah. Feels like it’s still sittin’ on my skin.”

There was a beat of quiet. Then: “It ain’t too cold for you?”

You glanced down at the waterline. “I don’t mind it.”

Arthur’s eyes followed. Then stopped. He didn’t blink for a second too long.

You looked back at him.

He met your gaze this time, no real shame in it—just heat, just the weight of a man doing his best to stay decent when every inch of you was right there, floating in sunlight and soaked cotton, not hiding.

“You’re brave,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

He swallowed. “Cause you’re standin’ there like that, and I’m still tryin’ to pretend I ain’t lookin’.”

You didn’t respond.

So he took a step forward.

The water stirred between you.

Arthur reached out—slow, unsure—and let his fingers brush the edge of your hip beneath the water. A light touch. Testing.

You didn’t stop him.

His hand settled there, warmer than the river, callused and steady. His thumb moved slightly, like he was thinking about drawing you closer but hadn’t decided yet.

Then he lifted his other hand, drifting up your side. Slower now. More deliberate. His knuckles grazed the underside of your breast, just barely. A question in the motion.

He paused. Waiting.

You looked at him.

He held your gaze.

And you didn’t move away.

So he touched you.

Full, open palm, cupping your breast through the soaked shift. His breath caught. His thumb grazed over your nipple, slow and reverent, and you felt him tense like he couldn’t believe he was doing it—like he wasn’t sure if he should stop or fall to his knees.

Your fingers rested lightly on his forearm. Not pulling. Just being there. Letting him know you felt it too.

Arthur leaned in, lips brushing your cheek first, then your jaw. His hand slid around to your back, the other still holding your chest, thumb sweeping a slow, trembling circle.

He pressed his forehead to yours.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured. “But I can’t—”

You kissed him.

He kissed you back.

Not soft. Not rough. Just… deep. Careful. Like he’d been thinking about this for too long to rush it now. His hands pulled you in slowly, settling at your waist, holding you in the current. Your chest pressed against his. The wet shift didn’t hide a thing.

His breath grew heavier. Your fingers curled at his jaw, anchoring yourself there. The river moved around you both like it knew to quiet down.

One of his hands slid low, gripping your thigh and lifting it gently around his hip. He held it there, body pressed against yours, and you could feel every inch of him, every hard line of restraint starting to crack.

His mouth trailed lower—your jaw, your throat, the hollow beneath your ear.

You tilted your head for him. Let him find whatever he needed.

The sounds of camp were far behind now. Just water and skin and breath.

Your hand slid up his back. His moved between your thighs.

And you let the moment take you.

[lotvsflwrr]

give to me your leather,

take from me my lace.

[spoiledstarlets]

[stillgoldenponyboy]

Lance and Cowboy Billy (1950) written by Carolyn Coggins and Jack Holt, illustrated by Wesley Dennis

[deansbeer-deactivated20251114]

‎ ݁ ໒꒰ྀི っ ⸝⸝ ˂ ꒱ྀིა when clark comes home exhausted, you know exactly what he needs ‹𝟹

♡ ⋮ minors or blank blogs dni.

[this does contain a teensy tiny spoiler! ]

smut | oral sex (m!receiving) | soft blowjob (?) | praise kink | pet names (mama, baby, sweet girl) | light hair pulling | living room sex | size kink | fatigue | comfort sex | clark being a whimpering mess (bc lets be so fr he would).

the door clicks shut softly, but you hear it anyway. you’ve gotten good at listening for him. the particular weight of his footsteps when he’s tired, the way he sighs when he thinks no one’s paying attention. tonight, both sounds are heavier than usual.

you peek around the corner to find him collapsed in the living room chair, still in the suit but looking nothing like the symbol of hope metropolis sees. his sleek jet black hair’s sticking up at odd angles, probably from flying too fast, and there’s a weariness in his shoulders that makes your heart ache. his head is tipped back, eyes closed, legs spread wide like he doesn’t have the energy to sit properly.

“oh, baby,” you murmur, and his eyes flutter open at your voice. those impossibly blue eyes that can see through walls look grateful just to see you standing there in your new nightgown — the powder blue one you’d bought to replace the casualties of last week’s... yeah.

you pad over on bare feet, silk swishing around your thighs, and his gaze tracks every movement. “rough day?” you ask softly, settling yourself across his lap with practiced ease. his hands immediately find your hips, thumbs rubbing circles through the thin silk fabric.

“mm, you could say that,” clark mumbles, voice rough. “bank robbery turned into a hostage situation. then there was a fire downtown. and somehow lex managed to unleash another one of his experiments in the harbor.” his hands slide lower, palming your ass with a gentle squeeze that betrays how much he’s holding back. “just wanted to come home to you, mama.”

the pet name makes warmth pool in your belly. it’s something he only calls you when he’s like this — exhausted and needing comfort, needing to let someone else take care of him for once. you run your fingers through his messy hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and he practically melts under your touch.

“let me help,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw before sliding off his lap. his protest dies on his lips when you sink to your knees between his spread legs, hands running up his thighs.

“you don’t have to—“ he starts, but you’re already working at the hidden clasps of his suit, fingers finding the familiar catches. you’ve gotten good at this too, undressing a god who could bend steel with his bare hands but turns to putty under your touch.

“shh,” you soothe, finally freeing him from the confines of the suit. he’s already hard, thick and leaking, and the sight makes your mouth water. “let me take care of you, my love.”

you start slow, just lips and tongue at first, teasing the head while your hand works the base. clark’s breathing goes ragged immediately, one large hand resting at the back of your head; not pushing, just holding. like he needs to touch you to ground himself.

“fuck, that’s... oh god,” he gasps when you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. his hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust, always so careful with his strength. but you know what he needs, so you tap his thigh — your “it’s okay” signal — and feel his fingers tighten in your hair.

“please,” he whimpers, and that’s all the encouragement you need to relax your throat and let him guide you deeper. the sounds he makes — desperate, needy little noises that would shock anyone who’s seen superman — have you clenching your thighs together.

“can’t... mama, i need..." he’s babbling now, that careful control finally cracking. you pull off with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him through your lashes.

“need what, baby?” you ask innocently, but you’re already climbing back into his lap, nightgown riding up around your hips. his hands are there immediately, sliding under the silk to find bare skin.

“need t’be inside you,” he groans, fingers hooking into your panties to pull them aside. “need to feel you, please, i’ve been thinking about this all day, just wanted to come home and—“

you cut him off by sinking down onto him in one smooth motion, and the sound that tears from his throat is almost wounded. your mouth falls open at the stretch — no matter how many times you do this, he always feels impossibly big, filling you completely.

“there you go,” you breathe, giving yourself a moment to adjust before starting to move. “just relax, baby. let me ride you. you saved the city today, now let me save you.”.

clark’s head falls back against the chair as you find your rhythm, bouncing on his lap like your life depends on it. his hands grip your hips hard enough that there’re be bruises tomorrow — little marks that you’ll wear proudly under your clothes, secret reminders that superman loses control for you.

“jesus christ,” he breathes, voice cracking as his eyes lock onto where your bodies meet. “look at you... bouncing on me like that, so goddamn beautiful. my sweet girl, always know exactly what i need.”

the chair creaks dangerously beneath you both but neither of you care. you’re close, chasing your release as you grind down on him, and he must feel it because suddenly he’s sitting up, wrapping his arms around you and taking over the pace.

“yeah, uh-huh,” he rasps, words tumbling out desperate and raw. “go ahead and let go for me, mama. need to feel you squeeze me, wanna feel you fall apart. come on, i’ve got you.”

when you shatter apart, he follows immediately, burying his face in your neck as he spills inside you with a broken moan of your name. you hold each other through the aftershocks, his cape pooled on the floor beside the chair, just two lovers finding comfort in each other after a long day of being strong for everyone else.

[silasdeanmisty]

Shed your knuckle velvet torn on my teeth.