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WELCUM — she/her, 24, Black American Princess, avid fic reader and reblogger — stanlist ♡ [Animal Kingdom] Pope Cody [Superman] Clark Kent [The Pitt] Jack Abbott
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the vibe in the villa was still buzzing long after the cake challenge ended. people were still picking bits of cake out of their hair and laughing about the mess, but that quickly changed as yall heard the infamous text tone.
everybody froze. zach pulled out his phone, his eyes widening as he read the screen. “islanders, the hideaway is now open!”
the villa erupted into screams and cheers as you and carl were the obvious vote. carl’s face broke into that signature, blinding smile of his. he didn’t even look at the rest; his eyes locked onto yours immediately, dark and hungry, like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second you walked into the villa.
you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of nerves and pure electric excitement buzzing under your skin. the girls immediately swarmed you, grabbing your hands and practically dragging you toward the dressing room before you could even process it.
“this is it, girl!” trinity squealed, already scanning your suitcase for the perfect look. “you need to look hot as fuck.”
the dressing room became a sanctuary of girl talk and excitement. you felt like you were back your college dorm, getting ready for a night out. you settled on a set of deep emerald silk lingerie that made your skin glow—the straps were delicate, the lace intricate, and it hugged you in all the right places.
as you slipped it on, the girls helped you with the finishing touches. they touched up your makeup, adding a little extra gloss to your lips and dusting a bit of gold highlight over your collarbones. they were hyping you up, reminding you just how lucky carl was to have you.
“he’s not gonna be able to keep his eyes off you,” one of the girls teased, zipping up your robe. “go get your man.”
the walk to the hideaway felt like a blur of nerves and anticipation. the villa was quiet, the moon hanging low over the pool, and every step felt deliberate. your heart was hammering against your ribs.
you knew you and carl were infatuated with such other, but being alone? away from the prying eyes of the other islanders and the cameras that were always hovering? that felt different. and honestly, you were glad. because you needed to be fucked. badly.
when you reached the door, you took a deep breath, smoothing down your robe. you pushed the door open, the room dimly lit with soft, romantic lighting and a bottle of bubbly already chilling on the table.
carl was already there, deciding that’d he’d surprise you instead of you walking together.
he was standing by the bed, his back to the door, but he turned around the second he heard you. the air in the room seemed to shift, getting heavy and thick with the tension that had been building between you for weeks. he didn't say a word at first. he just let his eyes travel slowly from your toes up to your face, his jaw clenching as he took you in.
the heavy wooden door of the hideaway clicked shut behind you, sealing out the rest of the villa and leaving nothing but the hum of the air conditioner and the soft, pink glow of the neon lights.
“wow,” he finally breathed out, his voice a low, raspy whisper that did things to your stomach. he took a step toward you, not breaking eye contact. “you look… damn, you look amazing.”
he reached out, his warm fingers brushing against your arm, and the contact sent a shiver straight down your spine. being in the villa was one thing, but being in this space, just the two of you? it felt like the rest of the world—and the rest of the island—had completely ceased to exist.
“i’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, stepping into your space and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “ever since the challenge. seeing you like that… i couldn't wait to get you in bed and have you all to myself.”
you looked up at him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady, thumping beat of his heart under your palms.
he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “tonight is just about us. no challenges, no games, just you and me.”
he tilted your chin up, his eyes softening as he stared down at you with so much adoration it almost knocked the wind out of you. he pressed a soft, slow kiss to your lips, sealing the deal on the night. you knew, standing there in the quiet of the hideaway, that the next few hours were going to be everything you’d been dreaming of.
carl didn’t waste a single second. the moment you stepped towards him, his hands were on you. they weren't rushed, but they were incredibly firm, the movement against your lower back made your breath hitch. he guided you backward until your spine met the cool surface of the door, his large frame completely trapping you in his shadow.
“let me look at you,” he murmured, his voice a low, commanding gravel that vibrated straight through your chest.
his fingers found the satin tie of your robe. he didn't rip it open; instead, he untied it with a slow, agonizing deliberation, parting the silk to reveal the emerald lace underneath. his jaw clenched, a dark, heavy hunger flaring in his eyes as he took in every single inch of your body. he looked at you like you were something precious he had finally earned the right to possess.
“damn,” he whispered, his large hands coming up to cup your face. his thumbs brushed gently over your cheekbones, his touch so incredibly tender it contrasted sharply with the intense, dominant heat in his gaze. “you are so beautiful. you know you're mine, right? after today, after everything… there's no way you don't know that.”
you could only nod, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
carl smiled, a slow, satisfied smirk, and leaned down to claim your mouth. the kiss started out soft, his lips tasting yours with a gentle, worshipful slow pace that made your knees feel weak. but the moment you let out a soft sigh into his mouth, his dominance took over.
his grip shifted from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss into something deep, heavy, and possessive.
he parted from your lips just enough to trail his mouth down your jawline, pressing hot, lingering bites against the sensitive skin of your neck. you gasped, your hands gripping his broad shoulders for balance as your head fell back against the door.
“carl,” you breathed out.
“i’ve got you, baby. i’ve got you,” he whispered against your skin, his voice soothing but his actions completely in control.
without warning, his hands slid down to your thighs, and with a single, effortless lift, he hoisted you up. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your arms locking around his neck. carl carried you across the room like you weighed nothing at all, his grip on your thighs unyielding, showing off that raw strength you'd watched him use during the challenges.
when he reached the massive bed, he didn't just drop you. he crawled over you, pinning you down beneath his body while supporting his own weight on his forearms so he wouldn't crush you. his large hands reached up, pinning your wrists gently but firmly above your head against the pillows.
“look at me,” he commanded softly.
you met his gaze, finding a breathtaking mix of fierce dominance and pure, unadulterated adoration staring back at you. he held your hands trapped, proving he was completely in charge of the night, yet he leaned down and kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips with the gentlest care.
“tonight is entirely about you,” carl murmured, his thumbs caressing the backs of your pinned hands. “i’m going to take my time with every single part of you. you just need to relax and let me take care of everything.”
“yes, baby,” you moaned in agreement, throwing your head back against the sheets so he could further attack your neck.
the weight of his body over yours felt incredible, a warm, solid pressure that made you feel completely secure yet entirely helpless beneath him. carl didn’t release your wrists right away. he liked having you right where he wanted you, taking a few quiet seconds just to listen to the sound of your ragged breathing filling the quiet room.
“you’re so pretty,” he whispered, his deep voice sending a pleasant ache through your core.
he slowly let go of your hands, but before you could move, his large palms slid down your arms, smoothing over your shoulders and resting heavily on your ribs. his fingers trailed along the edge of the emerald lace, tracing the curves of your body with a steady, worshipful pace. he was worshipping you, making sure you felt every single ounce of the hunger that had been building inside him for weeks.
but just as you began to melt into the gentle touch, carl shifted his weight, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulled you up flush against him. the sudden movement made a soft gasp escape your lips.
“shh, just let me guide you,” he murmured.
he leaned down, his lips finding that sweet spot right once more where your neck met your shoulder. carl sucked gently on the skin, his hands sliding down to grip the back of your thighs, pulling your legs wider around his waist. you arched into him, your fingers tangling into his short hair, pulling him closer as the friction between your bodies grew hotter.
“carl, please,” you whispered, your voice thick with anticipation, your eyes begging him to close the final distance between you. “please fuck me, baby.”
he looked down at you, his eyes dark, heavy, and completely blown out with desire. a soft, incredibly tender smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw how desperate you were for him. he leaned down, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips that tasted like a promise.
“i’ve got you, angel,” he whispered against your mouth, his hands locking your hips securely in place beneath him.
his fingers hooked into the inside your thong. he peeled the fabric down your thighs, down your calves, over your ankles, and tossed the scrap of lace aside without looking where it fell.
“eyes on me,” he says. “want you watching.”
you lift your head. your gaze meets his, and the eye contact so intense you feel your throat tighten. you’re bare except for the bra, and the sudden cool air makes everything contract.
he lowers his mouth, and this time he does kiss you. not your lips, but the skin where thigh meets hip.
his tongue traces a path downward, and then you watch just as he told you to. he doesn’t start where you expect. instead, he kisses the outer folds first, one side and then the other, slow, deliberate.
you’re shaved smooth in preparation for tonight, the skin soft and bare. he parts you with two fingers, spreading you open, and when his tongue finally, finally licks a flat stripe from your entrance to your clit, the sound you make isn’t a moan.
it’s a sob. a wet, broken sound that you’d be embarrassed about if you had room for anything but the heat of his mouth. you hadn’t been touched the right way in months. this was pure bliss.
carl’s tongue circles your clit earning another moan from you. he draws it between his lips and sucks once, a slow pull that makes your vision white out at the edges. your hand flies to his hair, fingers threading through the dark curls.
he hums approval against you, and the vibration ripples through you.
“taste so good,” he murmurs, pulling back just far enough to speak. his lips shine with you. “i could do this all night.”
your chest heaves. the bra straps have slipped down your shoulders. you fumble for the clasp yourself, needing it off, needing him against bare skin, nothing between you but his hand catches yours.
“i said,” he reminds you, “i’m taking care of you.”
he reaches behind you and unhooks the bra with one pinch. the cups loosen, and he draws the straps down your arms slowly. your breasts fall free, and his eyes drop to them immediately.
“fuck.” the word is soft, almost reverent. his thumb traces your nipple, watching it tighten under his touch, and then he takes it into his mouth and your back arches so sharply you nearly slide off the bed.
but he doesn’t let you fall. his forearm locks around your hips, pinning you in place while his tongue works your breast—licking, sucking, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp—and his other hand slides back between your legs.
one finger enters you. just one, middle finger, curling upward inside your slick heat. he moves it slowly, finding that soft, ridged spot on your inner wall.
“carl.” his name comes out cracked. “baby.”
“yes, my love?” he mouth is at your ear now, his body having shifted upward. his finger still moves inside you, steady and unhurried.
“please, fuck me.” you cried once more.
he pulls his finger out bringing it to his mouth and sucking it clean while looking you dead in your eyes. then he stands, untying his shorts, letting them fall.
your jaw slightly drops at the thickness. the head flushed a deep rose. curving slightly upward, and when his hand wraps around the base, you watch a bead of pre-cum gather at the tip.
the sheets are rumpled now, warm beneath your bare back. carl climbs over you, his weight settling on his forearms, and you reach down to guide him, your fingers wrapping around his shaft, putting the tip at your entrance.
he pushes.
not fast. not hard. a slow thrust that opens you inch by inch until you’re full—so full you can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel the stretch of him inside you, the way your pussy clenches around him.
his forehead drops to yours.
“oh baby,” he breathes. “there you are. been waiting all summer to feel you like this.”
he begins to move. a slow, rolling rhythm. and somewhere in the back of your mind you remember the cameras, the red lights, the eyes on the other side.
but you don’t care.
your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, and you pull him deeper.
your orgasm crashes through you, a wave that tears a cry from your throat, your walls clenching around him as he follows, groaning your name against your neck, his body shuddering above you.
he stays there, pressed against you, breathing ragged, his forehead resting on yours. "told you id take care of you," he whispers, a smile in his voice.
his eyes meet yours. hips haven’t moved. neither have you.
“your turn,” you say, before flipping the two of you over.
dunk folding you into a mating press in the humid summer rain for hours on end. (1.2k words)
it's summer, and it's humid, and of course it had started to rain. there's no stormy winds, thank the gods, and the blazing summer sun still managed to make you both squint out at the light as it shines through the clouds. they are simply rain clouds, after all, a shower of rain to water the earth for a moment before they move on for the sun to continue its duties in making life miserable for anyone outside.
dunk has you on your back—cushioned by all of his clothes and blankets along with yours—with your knees hooked over the bend of his elbows on either side of you. his body completely blanks yours, not an inch of sweat-slicked skin left untouched by him, and his hips rolling and grinding into yours. the dark hairs that frame the cock that's hardly even leaving your slick, oversensitive cunt are creating an addictive friction against your swollen, twitching clit. his hips don't even lift up, they just flex back and forth, dragging against your puffy centre and his thick cock keeping you nice and full as he rocks into you.
he's made you cum twice already like this. with his face pressed into your hair, breathing the scent of you in with every gasp and pant, and his hands under your shoulders to press you against him tighter. you have your arms wrapped around his neck. sometimes you thread your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp the way you know drives him crazy, but you mostly lazily hold onto him, trying with all your might to press him closer as well. he's so close, pressed so tightly to you that you don't even have to lift your head to rest the bridge of your nose against his collarbone. his big, hairy thighs shift under the swell of your hips with every rolling thrust, cradling your hips that lie elevated for him by the blankets he placed you on.
the sounds you both make are as soft as the rain around you. tender sighs that whisper across his skin, and sweet hums that roll down each dip and divot of his back. he noses his way further into your hair, presses long kisses to the sensitive skin above your ear and whines your name as if he can't find you.
the slow, steady grind of his hips kindly stokes the fire within you. there's no building tension that demands to be seen to, only the feeling of your sweat-slicked bodies moving against one another in the humid rain under a great tree keeping you safe.
you can hardly keep your eyes open at the feeling of his thick cock—consistently, steadily, with a breathtaking precision—hitting the entrance of your womb, still managing to stretch you out no matter how many times he takes you. there's no burn, only a fullness that has your head spinning from how little he's pulling out before shoving himself back in again. despite the slow and steady pace, he manages to knock the breath out of you in a way that's had your eyes rolled back since he made that first delicious thrust into you.
the fire he's been feeding and been paying close attention to has slowly started to build. the warmth growing as if you had started to simmer, getting close to a boil, and he can feel it in the way your hips start to rock into his from where he has you pressed into the pile of blankets that have become damp from how long he's had you like this, and how many times he's made you cum. you let out a long and satisfied hum when you feel the boil, feel the sweat on your forehead and brow run down into your hairline, and you mouth at the flushed and freckled skin of his neck with your teeth. dunk whines, m'darlin', and keeps his pace the same even though you've started to clench around him like a vice.
he presses you closer, his lips at your ear making you shiver when you feel him pant and gasp. you're both usually so loud when he's making you feel good, debauched sounds filling the forest or the shitty room of an inn while chasing your highs, but right now, you're addicted to the delirious, quiet sounds that escape you both without permission. it's not often he gets to have you like this, soft and relaxed with hours of you, you, you. your soft skin pressed to his as he lies on top of you, the taste of you on his tongue as he swipes at the skin behind your ear, the honey-sweet sounds you make when you start to tremble—he wants all of you, all the time.
you clutch him tighter and angle your head up to him blindly with a low, near-feverish moan in the vague shape of his name, and he turns to meet you. kiss-bitten lips slot against one another with moans, hums, and sighs spilling from the cracks the longer the boil goes on for. the kiss is sloppy and wet, just like everything else about you both right now. his tongue in your mouth, pressing in and making a mess, making your combined spit dribble out of the corner of your mouth, much like his cock was doing the same with your cunt and mixed releases.
you can feel the sweat from him mix with yours on your face, and you bring a hand up to his face. you cup his cheek, then run your fingers through the wet hair on his forehead to pull it out of the way, then you trace his face down to his jaw. you press your fingers into one cheek and cup his jaw with your thumb on the other side, holding him firmly against your mouth as that boil starts to grow hotter.
those quiet, content noises have grown into low moans muffled by your smacking lips and tangled tongues. dunk knows to keep the pace steady, knows how wrecked you'll be afterwards, and doesn't change a thing despite how you're now rocking back and forth with him.
just like the build-up, your release is drawn out. you want it so bad, you were clenching so hard. yet when it hits, your whole body—even your poor cunt—goes completely lax for a whole second before you're tensing and clenching so hard that it punches a half-sob, half-moan out of you. you're shaking so hard that a low, drawn-out groan starts, shaking along with you.
you've got dunk by the throat now, fingers squeezing and releasing the sides of his neck in a way that makes him lightheaded from the rush of blood that keeps coming in waves. you don't even realise you're doing it, and he lets out a broken, high-pitched moan right after you cum. a whine is pressed into the side of your face as your cunt milks him for all that he has, and his thighs shake at the feeling of you twitching as you come down.
you move your hand from his throat eventually, threading your fingers through his hair as you calm down from shaking to a slight tremble. you've got your face turned slightly to press against his that's turned to you on the bundle of clothing he made as a pillow for you, both of you slowly and sweetly nuzzling into one another like cats.
the summer sun still shines through the clouds, it's still humid, it hasn't stopped raining, and you both can't stop smiling.
couldn't stop thinking about this fic by @captainfern 😵💫
tagging some absolute babes whose writing I'm obsessed with: @punk-in-docs 💚 @ghostlybfgf 💚 @somewhereindorne 💚 @orson-pope 💚 @ildico-the-golden 💚 @targlocket 💚 and of course @/captainfern 💚
the first kiss of aniya and carl in say less is visually the most beautiful scene of love island. the colors, their chemistry, the tension, the light, the ambiance, THE KISS - absolute perfection.
Pornstar!Simon who’s been told he can’t fuck you anymore because the way you sound when he’s inside you makes every other costar you’ve had in the past look bad.
The Director pulling him aside with the footage still looping on the monitor, voice low, telling him it was obvious your moans dripping out wet and broken were real in a way you’ve never given the cameras before, obvious now that every gasp and whimper you’d faked with the others was thin and breathy and hollow compared to this and your former costars were bound to complain.
Said it made the lads before him look like they couldn’t even get you properly wet, let alone fuck the sense out of you. Said pairing you with Ghost again was asking for trouble. Too risky. Too fuckin’ real.
Swinging the monitor around to show Ghost the way he had angled his hips so the camera caught his cock stretching your silky cunt half an hour before, thick enough that your walls flutter around him without any acting, slick spilling out around the base every time he bottomed out.
Your fingers scrabbling along the bed every time he ground himself down, too fucked out to really run from the pleasure the way you wanted to, body shaking brain reduced to static goo.
You having a hard time remembering the scripted words you were given, eyes rolling in your sockets, little whimpers and moans punched out “hn-hn-hn-“ every time his hips met yours and the head of his cock kissed your cervix.
Ghost cooing down at you when you miss your cue for the third time, hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other kept your thigh shoved wide, voiced amused when he asks “wha’s amatter? Cat got your tongue, dove?”
Ruined any possibility of you answering when he fucked you deep, making your cunt visibly pulse around him on the monitor, arousal drooling down his balls.
You tried. You really did. You mouth opened, some broken attempt at the first word, but it dissolved into another punched out moan the second he angled just right, letting the camera see the way your eyes rolled in their sockets.
His thumb stroking once over your clit, almost gentle, almost fond. “Tha’s it,” he murmured, “take it. Fuckin’ take it.”
Another missed cue. Another low, rough chuckle. He didn’t really give you room to think. Just kept you pinned and full and dripping while the cameras roled and the script stayed forgotten on the floor somewhere behind the lights.
The director was still talking but Ghost wasn’t listening, instead, just reached over and rewound the tape instead. Watched the part where you tried to speak again. Watched the way your body gave out for him and only him. Watched his own hand on the screen, thumb stroking your clit.
He hit play once more. Let it loop. Thumb hovering over the button, already deciding he didn’t give a fuck what the director had to say about it, he was gonna fuck you again no matter what.
Jack Abbot wants to find love again - he's just not quite ready to start dating yet
cw - portal pussy, dub con, reader is a sex worker
Jack never thought he'd be one of those guys.
One of those creepy old guys that have a favourite porn star, or pays for prostitutes. He's only been to a strip club once in his life when he was in the army. He'd been dragged by one of the older guys and Jack had tried to say that he had a fiance. That only made him try harder, spouting some bullshit about not being able to get married until Jack experienced the "full range of the female species" whatever the fuck that meant. Jack stopped fighting, and slipped back to the barracks as soon as his very awkward lap dance was over and called his future wife in tears.
All this to say, Jack is not a pervert.
But it's hard to be sure of this fact when he's scrolling through the options on the portal pussy website.
He's been in kind of a weird head space lately. He's felt more secure recently, almost like he's ready to start dating again but every time he thinks about going out to a bar with the explicit purpose of talking to women, or one of those godforsaken apps, his hands get clammy and he feels the begging of a panic attack starting to set in.
So maybe he's not quite ready for that step, but he's getting tired of his hand.
He doesn't even look at the thing for the first two weeks he has it, disgusted with himself for actually going through with it. The small round container with a twist off lid sits next to his bed, mocking him, reminding him of how low he's stooped.
But then his wedding anniversary rolls around. And his wife's side of the bed is still so empty.
He caves. He reaches over and twists the lid open. He's half hoping it'll be empty, that he got scammed and his credit card numbers are now on the dark web somewhere.
Instead, plump folds and pretty skin stare back at him. Guilt radiates from him in waves as he brings the container up to his nose and take a deep breathe.
Fuck, it's been too long.
His hand twitches at his side and he gives in. It's a bit strange at first, not knowing what someone's face looks like when you're pulling apart their outer folds with your fingers, looking at what you're working with. He has none of his usual tells to figure out if he's doing good or not - no changes in expression, no whispers in his ear, no full body shudders as they fall apart on his fingers.
But he's never backed down from a challenge before. He eases into it. His fingers slip through with no resistance. From the outside he doesn't have much indication about what you feel, but his mother raised a gentleman so he rubs slow circles on your clit first.
He laughs as your cunt clenches around nothing. He teases you more, two fingers sliding along your lips just ghosting over your entrance, his thumb keeping light pressure on your clit. He wishes he could see her face.
After he thinks she's had enough he slips one finger side, moaning at wet it makes when he flexes his fingers. Fuck, he missed this. He massages her walls, finding that spot that makes her squeeze his fingers.
His cock is straining against his pants. He ignores it for now, too entranced on working on the task at him. He hesitates, bringing it up to his lips. But curiosity gets the better of him. He leans forward, sucking her clit into his mouth, smiling to himself has she cums undone for him
*****
Of course, of course this new guy would chose now to use your pussy for the first time.
You slump against the bathroom door, reaching behind you with shaky hands until the lock clicks into place.
You got the notification that you had a new buyer two weeks ago. And since then nothing, you don't even think that that he's opened the damn thing in that time. And you've been wearing your special panties for your contractually obligated time, but your alarm didn't go off and you rushed to make it to your shift on time, completely forgetting about your side hustle.
You slump against the sink, biting down on your fist to keep from moaning out.
You're a little pissed off, the first time your client is actually good at sex and you're at work. You're still new to this, your past two clients never gave a shit about your body. They'd use your pussy without so much as touching your clit. Which didn't surprise you, you'd only signed up to make some extra cash during residency.
But this new client was playing your body like a damn fiddle.
It was difficult enough to ignore when he was teasing your folds while you were trying to explain the disimpaction procedure to your elderly patient. But then his stupidly thick fingers had stretched you open and you were scrambling to the bathroom before you orgasmed in front of poor 80 year old Mrs. Bennet and her concerned teenage grandchild who brought her in.
The room suddenly gets very hot as his fingers start to curl inside you. You're panting, hunched over the sink as you struggle to breathe. That fucking asshole, keeping you on edge - letting you get so close to what you want but not letting you finish.
You take a peak at your watch, someone's definitely going to start wondering where you are soon.
But it's really hard to care when the prick of stubble scratches at your lips before he sucks on your clit. Your eyes shoot open, chest heaving as you bite down on your fist so hard you taste metal on your tongue.
You squeeze your thighs together, trying to quell the throb between your legs to no avail. As soon as you straighten yourself out and walk out the door, that tongue returns, this time lapping at your clit.
being in a secret relationship with clark is ten times harder when you’re on a weekend trip in the woods with your friends
cw: mdni, unprotected sex, super hearing mention, doggy, throat holding (?), pet names, clark’s a cutie pie rushed ending oops
It had taken weeks of construction, but you all had finally managed to sync up your rare, shared days off for this cabin trip, determined to use the weekend to just drop your guards and actually relax.
After a long day of hiking, swimming in a lake, and a sad attempt at fishing, the wired energy finally fizzled out, and everyone had tucked away into their separate rooms one by one.
The absolute stillness of the house is what wakes you. So you decide that a glass of water and a small snack might help settle you.
As you slip out from under the covers and pad quietly down the hallway, small streaks of light spill out from the kitchen, cutting through the darkness.
Clark stands there, his large, broad frame practically taking up the entire opening of the fridge as he stands with the door held wide open. He’s only dressed in a plain white t-shirt and his boxers, and you can’t help but notice that one of his socks is slightly more scrunched down around his ankle than the other. Cute.
You lean against the doorframe, just watching him as he tilts his head back to slam a bottle of water.
“I know you’re there,” He speaks softly with his back still facing you. You push yourself off the doorframe and walk over, sliding your arms around his waist to hug him from behind. Your hands smooth over the front of his soft tummy, while your cheek presses right against the hard muscle of his back. The contrast makes you smile to yourself, your face burying into the cotton of his shirt as you breathe him in.
He sets the water bottle down on a shelf in the fridge and finally turns around in your embrace. His large hands rest on your hips and he looksdown at you with a soft, sleepy warmth in his eyes.
“Hi, pretty,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling vibration.
You and Clark have been secretly together for a little while now, keeping the quietness of your relationship entirely to yourselves. Going on a group trip meant a lot of careful acting, lingering glances when no one was looking, and a shared tension that made finally being alone together in the dark kitchen feel like the first real breath you’ve taken all day.
You turn around in his arms, smiling up at him as you echo a soft ‘hi’ back before leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips.
“I missed you,” Clark murmurs against your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening.
“I missed you too.”
You lean in to kiss him again, but as your lips meet, he steps even closer, crowding you completely against the kitchen counter. You can feel the hard, heavy press of his boner straining right against your thigh.
Oh.
Giving each other one last, lingering look, he takes your hand in his and you quietly sneak out of the kitchen and down the hallway, and finally slipping safely into your bedroom.
Now, you’re both stripped completely bare, Clark has you on all fours on top of the soft comforter laid across your bed, your hands gripping the sheets for leverage. Clark settles his massive weight right behind you, one large, heavy hand clamping down on your shoulder to steady you, holding you exactly where he wants you.
He uses that firm grip on your shoulder to manually pull your hips back onto his cock, bottoming out inside you every time he thrusts forward.
“Needed you so bad baby, so so bad,” Clark groans as he keeps up the harsh pace. His free hand slides down to grip your hip, pinning you firmly in place.
He shifts his weight slightly, moving the hand that was anchoring your shoulder up to your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just keeps his large thumb pressed right against your racing pulse point.
The sudden change and pressure makes your head spin, causing you to let out a whimper that’s a little too loud for the quiet house.
Clark leans down further, his sticky chest pressing firm against your back as he guides your hips back onto him once more.
“Shhh, honey,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing right against the shell of your ear. “Can’t be too loud.” Even with your eyes squeezed shut,you can practically hear the dimpled grin in his voice.
As he continues to jackhammer into you, his tip suddenly nudges your sweet spot a little too hard, and a loud, involuntary sob slips past your lips.
The sound is cut off almost instantly as Clark clamps his large hand firmly over your mouth. He leans fully over you now, his chest completely covering your back as the side of his cheek rests heavily against the side of your head. His thick arm wraps around your front, anchoring your torso and holding you up against his massive weight.
“Hey, hey,” He slows his thrusts down to an agonizing pace, keeping his hand tight over your lips as he murmurs into your hair. “I know it feels good, but we don’t need the whole house figuring us out, okay?”
You nod your head against his palm, your eyes watering from the intensity as you feel his thick length slowly glide all the way in and out of you.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he presses a sweet, lingering kiss to the side of your head before firmly picking up the relentless pace all over again. “Wish I could hear you, you always sound so pretty,”
The last thing you see before forcing your eyes shut are the pillows you both had frantically stuffed between the wall and the headboard earlier. You thought that would be enough to muffle any movement, especially since there wasn't another bedroom on the other side of that wall.
But when the next morning comes and you and Clark finally wander down to the kitchen for breakfast, the smug, knowing looks the others give you over their coffee mugs let you know that the headboard hitting the wall was only one of your worries.
You have always been a creative and passionate girl. And I don't know if you remember this, but when you were young, you had all these characters you would come up with. And you used to have these little shows for your mom and me, using the living room as a stage. I think my favorite was the blind farmer. She would stumble around, bumping into all these furniture, yelling, "Has anyone seen a brown cow?" But in middle school, you had a brief affair with theater, and you were really into drama. But no more blind farmers. It had to be serious. Preferably life or death. But as a teenager, you became an activist and you developed a strong passion for gun control, which you got so serious i had to pick you up from the police one time for egging Walmart employees for selling weapons. It was obvious it came from your big heart, but I have to admit, I think part of it was about you rebelling against your dad too. You know, the dad who works in the military and happens to own a rifle. The same rifle which mysteriously disappeared right around that time. You remember that? Wasn't that a wild coincidence?
Zendaya as Emma Harwood in The Drama (2026)
dir. Kristoffer Borgli
Girl I can’t tell you how over I am of people on here and tiktok ignoring district 11… like what do you mean seeder and chaff are irrelevant, those are my pookies🫶🏾 anyway and they’d find us in a week is giving me the well deserved district 11 representation in the media that I need!!
Maybe it's bc im from the south and come from a long line of African Americans, and maybe it's bc princess and the frog is my favorite Disney movie, but the impact of district eleven and all of her tributes shouted with Reaper and echoed long after Rue's cannon fired. Truly I wish we got insight into the district, every single tribute n Victor were marked by their empathy and humanity. The revolution didnt start with katniss, it started with the shared grief for a little girl.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your colleagues decide to take an impromptu trip to the beach in the wake of a heatwave hitting Metropolis - It's all fine and dandy until they find themselves locked in it. Based on Victorious.
𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆/𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘: Explicit/F!Reader
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: f!reader, public indecency, exhibitionism, hand jobs
𝐖/𝐂: 1.6k
Cat Grant said she needed to use the bathroom.
That was ninety-fucking-five minutes ago.
Nobody had seen her since then. And the five of you? Left behind in the Daily Planet's rented RV? Trapped in the burning, hot, cramped space?
Nobody had seen all of you either.
"She's not. Coming. Back." Lois' voice croaks, somewhere beneath the fish tanks' cooling mechanisms, draped across the canvas seats.
Another voice pipes up, from the body by the RV's stairs. "…how does a little thing like her…." Jimmy kicks hard, once, against the bolted doors, "take…so long to empty her can?"
His words dragged, every syllable burning his throat just to speak. It all started when you'd realised you couldn't get the RV doors to open. A quick tug on the curtains only revealed the severity of the situation. Another gigantic RV had decided to park right next to the only entry out.
"She's obviously not taking a fuckin' piss for an hour, bozo." Ron groans, lifting his head from the mini-fridge he'd been so clearly hoarding.
You'd been slumped over the ottoman, scattered by the floors, with Clark seated by the connected kitchenette table, completely lucid. He hasn't said anything, nothing about the heat, not even whining about the fact that he'd been assigned possibly the least ventilated spot in the RV. Clark, who'd been in full button-up, collar done up, and tie knotted to a fucking perfect triangle. Granted, he did join all of you after attending to work-related stuff.
He doesn't quite notice the prickly glares coming from you. Offended personally by his lack of visible suffering.
"Kent," you rasp.
"Mm?"
"…How."
Clark tilts his head in confusion, watching as you gesture at him as a whole — completely dry, and annoyingly comfortable looking. "It's a hundred and twenty degrees in this RV," you pause, swallowing a dry breath, "I'm dying. Lois is dying. Jimmy's dead. And you're….not even sweating."
He opens his mouth —
"Do not say you don't sweat, or some bullshit like that."
Clark shuts it, then scratches the back of his head. "…I run cold.."
"…Kent, bud…" Jimmy pipes up again, lifting a finger up, "we're in an oven. No such thing as running cold. Hey. Check him for some secret air conditioning he's hiding back there."
The bigger man shifts in his seat, squeaking when you stomp over, climbing over his lap ungracefully, checking the theory. He doesn't stop you, steadying a palm by your thighs. "Ugh! NADA. It's hot as fuck here."
"I sweat on the inside!" He tries.
"That's not a thing."
It was, in fact, not a thing, but really — it was Clark's much more sane response than saying that heat doesn't even penetrate his skin. And if anything? The solar energy baking the apparent bullet-proofed glass was making him feel better. He was buzzing. Even more so, that you were half-mounted on him, struggling to lug him around.
"And — oh my god!"
"What??"
"Take it off."
"Huh?"
"Take it off!" You repeat.
He doesn't get to react when you fist around the collar of his jacket, yanking it halfway off. Doesn't even stop you when you begin to tug his tie off. "Just…looking at you is driving me fucking nuts!"
"S'probably the only time I'd hear someone say that about Clark."
You ignore Jimmy's commentary, whipping his clothes behind you piece by piece. What was revealed beneath was a very well-fitted shirt. Tight as hell around his biceps and chest.
"Huh." You murmur, slumping back to rest on your thighs.
"Huh," Jimmy adds on with a strain of his neck to lift his head. All looking toward Clark, who'd looked far too embarrassed at the forced undressing that he technically didn't bother to stop.
"I—…I work out?" He tries.
"…Uhuh…" You're still unconvinced, but you're far too close to heatstroke to care.
Twenty more minutes had gone by, and it was then that you'd decided to take appropriate action.
Your outerwear had come off an hour ago. Haphazardly discarded across the carpeted floor. Pragmatism, perhaps, prevented you from entirely ridding yourself of the rough, sheer linen covering over your bikini — given the heat, you decided to follow Lois' lead to completely throw caution to the wind.
Linen comes off, fluttering to the growing pile of the group's discarded clothes.
Lois looks over, an appreciative smile curling at her lips, whistling low at the sight. "Patriotic."
The bikini you had on was red.
A rather particular shade of red — bright and deep, with a thin band of blue lace trims by the edges, embellished with a subtle diamond-shaped emblem that could've been recognised by anyone in Metropolis, stitched below the left cup.
Clark looks over to you at the raise of his brow, his pen tumbling right off the metal counters, down to your feet.
"It's cute," you try, before anyone else can make a snide remark.
"It is cute," she adds, her eyes darting toward Clark, who just looked like a deer in headlights.
"It was on sale," you try, groaning as you tip your head back, head resting on the edge of the wall-attached seats. Right next to Clark's thighs. "Last minute. The ones I had weren't… colleague-appropriate."
"So you grab the Superman one," Lois muses.
"It's not." You insist, lifting one side of your chest, and to Clark's absolute fucking horror, amplifying your cleavage, directly within his vantage point.
"…"
The man beside you grits his teeth, refusing to contribute to the conversation at present. Only then does he bend over to retrieve his pen that had fallen by your feet. Several failed attempts when his eyes had very obviously been on two obvious mounds by his eyeline.
Lois then lifts her hands, making a diamond shape with her fingers.
"It's geometric. Like Superman's symbol. Right, Clark?"
His back stills, and you catch him in time, staring right at your tits. You look up at him expectantly.
"It's —…I-I mean, it's. Yes. It's very…uh…"
"Very…" You continue, slightly amused.
" — nice," he finishes.
"Nice???" The once-dead bodies across roar in laughter, much to Clark's horror.
"That's not even what we asked, buddy."
"What's nice, her fucking rack?"
"Jeeeezus H. Clark."
"I didn't — that's…not —" Clark's ears had turned beet red, slumping down next to you. "Didn't hear you right." He grumbles sheepishly. "M'sorry." He murmurs, low enough only for you to hear. You shift against the seat, grimacing as the vinyl unsticks itself against the vinyl.
You watch him for a moment, at the manner in which he goes completely rigid and quiet. The contact of your skin, bare and damp against his forearm. In any other scenario, it was a forgettable sensation. Except this time, in 106 degrees, sitting next to him in next to nothing. The press of your skin lit up every single one of his nerve endings.
It was purposeful and calculated, by you.
The sweat on your skin made it far more potent for Clark. Your shoulder was coated and glossy against his warmer arms — a radiator-like warmth that you weren't put off by, despite how hot the air was to breathe.
He exhales, slowly, feeling the inevitable twitch in his slacks.
Clark was fully aware by now that you'd noticed, evident in the manner you'd scooched forward, inevitably shielding him. He doesn't miss the way your palms have spread behind you, supporting his weight. Barely inches away from his thighs.
He lets out a sudden, low gasp when the palm closest to him rests on his knee, unassuming.
"That's…not a good idea." He tries, discreetly adjusting himself.
"Mm," you hum, letting your hand natually side down the meat of his thighs.
"You got a better idea to pass the time?"
He gulps, damn-near audibly, jaw clenched at the idle fingers, sliding past his inner thighs. "They're right there."
Your nails scratch past the fabric until you're fully able to cup his bulge, and Clark fucking jolts.
"So keep it down." You emphasise, with a gentle squeeze.
Clark doesn't respond, his head bowed, keeping his breath shallow and quiet as you subject him to decisive rubs, down to where his cock ends. The protrusion beneath quickly hardens, twitching and warming beneath your touch. "So much for being in a heatwave…" You murmur, gaze half lidded, further spurring him on.
His gaze is entirely on you, at the crown of your head, and down to your shoulders, moving in little repeated motions as you stroke him over his clothes. Sweat's trickling past your collarbone, down to the dips of your chest. Clark swallows, hungrily, wanting nothing more than to bury his face between your hot, slick skin.
"I-I can't." He manages barely, casing his much bigger hands over yours, placing more pressure onto his painful erection. "S'not enough." You don't get to offer before you feel him tug your wrist. A quiet zip is covered by a cough, and you feel the coarser hairs below his navel. Warm and slick.
So he wasn't kidding. He does sweat.
You note, but chose not to point it out. Clark guides your digits beneath his boxers, letting you take charge as you take him between your fingers. His cock's stiffened, eagerly leaking pearlescent fluid that you drag down the prominent veins of it. Your tongue catches on your lower lip. Pumping him steadily, taking glances over to the rest, who'd opted to let themselves melt into the carpet.
"Shit," he manages, tilting his head back, fist, white-knuckled, and resting on his forehead, feeling himself get closer and closer to the familiar, tight feeling accumulating at his balls. "S-Shit."
Thick glops of his spend pool between your knuckles in the wake of his release. And you pull out, thumbing at the stringy liquid.
"Oh, shit," Clark murmurs apologetically, quickly reaching across you for his messenger bag to retrieve some clean wipes for you. It's only when he levels with your expression that he stills. You're looking at him, all dazed, lips parted like you were parched, but not quite for water.
"Let me take a gander at the door again." He declares loudly for everyone to hear.
"…Good call." You mouth, slumping backwards, squeezing your thighs to prolong the ache and wetness that were soaking you.
tags: smut, ex-husband!clark, tinge of dry humping, they have a child together, unprotected p-in-v, creampies (700 + wc)
—
P.2
co-parenting with clark was harder than you'd ever imagined.
but it wasn't for the reasons you'd thought, no.
in some aggravating way, he only seemed more attractive to you now when you'd both been in the midst of separation. even as you coo and babble at the only thing you'd considered pure in your life, you were left thinking about what exactly changed.
for one, he uprooted his life, to work in the family business at the kent farm. an idea you didn't agree with, but didn't fight when he'd handed you a set of brand new car keys to travel back and forth from the city.
maybe it'd been the ruggedness that could've only come from work that required labour in the sun, it was different.
he was different.
clark kent moved slowly in smallville without the weight of his persona. he let the dark, auburn stubble his cheeks, allowed his hair to grow out, and rarely picked up the temptation of a device.
it was a concept he wasn't familiar with, being out of tune with the world, with nothing in his mind but the care of his child.
honestly? it didn't feel like your marriage was over.
not when there was a room down the hall across from his in the house that was solely yours, sharing the space like an entire years worth of heated tension in the city hadn't unravelled your lives.
co-parenting with clark was hard because nothing had changed.
not in the way you both loved each other still.
or in the way you'd nudge him awake when he'd fallen asleep on the couch, peeling a silly little parenting book that he of all people didn't need, off him — only to mount his groggy self.
he'd grown never to question moments like this, in fear that he'd spook you away.
clark would blearily knead at your thighs, encouraging you to needily grind onto his quickly hardening cock. your hips would chase the long and hard outline of his arousal, soaking him with your slick.
there'd be no words exchanged, apart from the breathy grunts of your combined lust haze when he could no longer take it. you'd feel his meaty palms squeeze your asscheeks before pulling his cock out of his sweats.
he could never get this hard for anyone but you.
fat, pearlescent blobs of his pre-cum eagerly coating his veiny cock. you don't waste any time as you let your spit drip over his twitching tip, before pumping him in a motion that indicated a level of familiarity only married couples shared.
"condom?"
you shake your head, bringing your cum-soaked digits down to your clit, rubbing yourself to ease the ache of your potent arousal.
"don't wan'it," you admit, raising your hips. "wanna feel your cock without it."
clark offers nothing more than a stuttered groan when the tip of his cock nudges at your puffy folds. you lower yourself with ease, wincing at the big stretch.
"mm! fuck…hurry, s'hurt'n…"
the loud, obscene thwaps begin to fill the space when he starts to snap his hip upward, fucking his cock into your pussy, in and out. like clockwork, your velvety, hot walls have stretched snug around his girth, pulsing around him eagerly.
clark has to hold back from rolling his eyes in pleasure, with your cunt squeezing and crewing around him like it was her first time taking it. because even with the multitude of problems you both had, the sex with your ex-husband was unlike anything.
"shit, keep, urgh, d-doin' that. gonna, mm—ff…gonna cum n'you."
the look of clark's barely contained expression only served to make your pussy ache unbearably, nodding as you clawed at his chest. bouncing on his cock with the help of his mindless thigh twitches.
it isn't long until you've coated him — his happy trail coarse and sticky with your combined cum. he hazily blinks up at you, manoeuvring your sweaty body flush against his chest.
"gonna put it in again, okay?"
he murmurs, softly at the side of your head, all while he's poking his still-hard cock at your reddened entrance.
it's no wonder that your separation status had been put on hold for nearly a year now.
