kentkrush

clark’s super hot gf 20

[kentkrush]

real asf

[snoopysupe]

clark constantly talking to his wife on the phone is adorable as hellll i love a man obsessed with his woman 😫

and he’d freak if you don’t answer, right? right.

pairing: husband!clark x wife!fem!reader. word count: 1.0k content: clark panics and finally drops an f bomb. intrusive thoughts bc of anxiety — he’s superman after all.

Clark knew it wouldn’t be his kind of day, the moment he stepped foot out onto the sidewalk. He had left you, sleepy and drooling but awake enough to accept four soft kisses from your husband before your head sunk back into his pillow, on his side of the bed for a much needed day off of work.

He hated leaving you. That was a given. It was the fact that when he went to catch the subway, he had missed it by a hair and the next arrival wasn’t for another fifteen minutes; which pushed him back to clocking in on time by twenty-minutes.

And he was on some real thin ice with Perry White and his tardiness.

Good thing he was an integral journalist for Daily Planet.

When he eventually hopped onto the next train, his favourite pink tie with your initial stitched in a cornflower blue at the base, managed to get stuck between the sliding doors and it took all of Clark Kent’s ability to appear at average human strength to not pry the thing open. Thankfully, the rush hour Metropolians didn’t raise their eyesight further than their phones or newspapers, so he managed to go under the radar after pulling the doors open and saving his tie.

He sat down on the seat closest to the doors, his phone already fished out of his pocket. Thumb hovered over your contact, Clark was just about to do his routine call with you when a male citizen clad in every item of clothing he owned and two hats for good measure sat down next to him.

Like, really sat next to him.

Clark side-eyed the man who was staring directly at him. The two hats man looked as if he was attempting to figure out a hard crossword puzzle — tongue caught between his teeth with his eyes narrowed.

Clark swallowed, “Good morning, sir.”

“You look familiar.” The man croaked.

“Uh—Do you know many six foot four men?” Clark feigned a laugh to ease the palpable awkwardness.

“Only Superman.” Clark did his best not to gain whiplash from turning his head to gawk at the man. Sweat formed on his brow and the man sniffed, “Nah. You’re too pretty. That alien is one ugly fucker.”

The man stood and walked away. An argument left on the tip of Clark’s tongue. Superman is pretty!

His wife could tell him that!

Thinking back to you, Clark unlocked his phone again and hit the green call button. He felt his insides get giddy, he loved hearing you talk through your sleepiness, a few mumbles of incoherent sentences before you gathered enough consciousness to engage in a conversation that made sense.

One ring. Two ring. Three ring.

Huh. You usually picked up by the fourth ring. Five, if the kettle was whistling on the stove.

He’d attempt again once he got to work.

Seven rings. Three more attempts.

“Fuck.”

All eyes shot to Clark Kent.

“Did he just—?”

Jimmy nodded, “Yes. He absolutely did.” He stood with Clark who was gathering his half-emptied briefcase, “Everything OK, dude?”

“What? Oh—It’s my wife.” Clark squeezed his eyes shut to gather his thoughts, “She—She isn’t answering her phone. It’s not like her. I need to go check if she’s OK.”

Lois Lane caught Clark’s eye and nodded with understanding. Being one of the only few on the planet to have the knowledge that Clark Kent was Superman, she was aware that his anxiety was not misplaced when his best kept secret didn’t pick up the phone.

You see, Clark called you because he loved you. He adored speaking to you, but there was an underlying protection in his efforts to call you every single morning, fifteen minutes in the afternoon and a quick one before he got on the subway home. His routine calls were a safety blanket to ensure nobody had put you in harms way to weasel Superman out into a blazing fight in the heart of Metropolis.

And, he would burn the city to the ground if anyone touched a hair on your pretty head.

“Hey. Maybe she’s sick and tired of hearing that nerd voice like the rest of us!” Steve chimed in with a satisfactory grin.

Clark stopped in his tracks and pointed a warning finger at his co-worker, “Shut up and keep my wife out of your mouth, you knucklehead jockey, Steve.”

Steve’s smug grin dropped.

“Bye guys.” Clark didn’t spare him a second glance as he stormed out of the bullpen, his mind far away to you and the endless possibilities of what could have potentially happened for you to not pick up your phone.

He made it to the top floor of Daily Planet with little patience in the elevator. A few flights of stairs, and Clark was on the rooftop of the skyscraper with no intentions of concealing his identity as he took flight into the sky. Screw the subway and screw his co-worker Steve.

Clark made it to your apartment in minutes. Mouth feeling as if it was packed with cotton balls, his heartbeat through his ribcage to the point that he thought he could grab the outline of it through his skin.

Wasting little and precious time, he shouldered the front door open — he’d fix it later — and stilled when he heard your heart beating, slow and steady from the direction of the bedroom.

Feet taking him before his brain caught up, Clark swung the bedroom door open to see you enveloped in duvet covers, mouth wide open with a few dry snores exiting your mouth. Your phone was face down at the foot of the bed. How it got there, Clark had no idea. But you were the culprit of your own crime.

Clark let out a deep sigh of pained relief which caused you to stir amongst the sheets.

“Honey—” Clark dropped to his knees at the side of the bed. His heart rate decreasing at the sight of you safe and sound in bed. He loosened his tie, “Why didn’t you answer? I—I thought something had happened to you.”

You rubbed at your eyes, “‘M sorry. I was just having a really good sleep.” You blinked at your dishevelled husband, “Did you fly here?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone see you?”

Clark climbed into bed, lips pressed to every part of your face, “I don’t care. Pick up the phone next time.”

[snoopysupe]

clark’s mug | clark kent

summary: the new intern naively asks where clark got his mug.

pairing: you guessed it, husband!clark kent x wife!fem!reader (you’re not in this but referenced of course!)

word count: 1.1k

content: clark giving everyone a headache talking about his wife. that’s about it, maybe some cussing lmao. inspired by two tiktoks i saw!

a/n: i’m plagued with the need to write for him. last of the drafts! maternity leave does wonders.

Daily Planet was just as intimidating in its interior, as well as its exterior. For a fresh new intern, the high ceilings, smoke lined rooms and frantic clacking of keyboards matched with papers being crumpled and tossed aside; it was severely nerve-wracking to step foot into such a business.

Luca, the intern, dressed in his best hand-me-down suit from his eldest brother, a tie he may have stolen from Chaney’s and a briefcase with one piece of paper enclosed within, stood at the doorway into the bullpen of Daily Planet. His throat bobbed when he swallowed, feeling rather like a small fish in a big pond with some of the best journalists in Metropolis within reach.

He almost turned on his heel.

It was either Daily Planet or Luthorcorp.

As he contemplated a quiet escape, — he’d tell his mom he got the date wrong — a taller body possibly made by steel, bumped into the back of him.

Luca let out an ‘Oof!’ but was caught by the steel-made man.

“Gosh, I am so sorry.” The male apologised with sincerity, wide-eyes behind glasses that had slipped down the bridge of his nose, pale pink tie slightly askew with glittery lip gloss caught on the side of his mouth. He had his phone lodged between his ear and his shoulder, “Are you OK? No—Honey, I wasn’t talking to you. I’m going to go now. No, again, I didn’t forget my glasses.”

Luca furrowed his brow and brushed down his brother’s brown tweed suit whilst the male bid his goodbyes on the phone.

“I’m sorry. You must be Luca, the intern? I’m Clark. Clark Kent.” He held out a hand for Luca to shake.

As Luca slipped his hand into Clark’s, another voice called from behind them, “Or you could call him Whipped!”

Clark blew hot air out of his nose, “That’s Steve. He hates his wife. Hates that I love mine.”

“OK…” Luca wasn’t sure what to respond for that.

Clark felt the radiating awkwardness and diverted their attention to the bullpen with a one-handed gesture and a tight-lipped smile. He walked with Luca, not to make him feel scarce on entering the Lion’s Den. After all, Perry White had assigned Clark Kent to show Luca the ropes for the few weeks he would be shadowing the Daily Planet crew.

Lois whizzed past them, waistcoat fitted with a notepad in one hand and a coffee in the other. She dropped into her seat and stared at Clark and Luca with an unreadable expression before standing up and extending a hand out to Luca whilst Clark set up his desk.

“Lois Lane.” She offered a smile.

“Luca.”

“Welcome. Hope Kent doesn’t bore your eyes too much with his writing skills.” Lois teased and sat back down without another word.

Another voice, “Or bore your ears off talking about his wife.” Luca turned to see another male. A relatively attractive male at that, leaning back in his desk chair. He gave a two fingered salute, “Jimmy Olsen.”

Clark stood next to Luca.

“Ha. Ha.”

Jimmy grinned.

“Luca, you’ll be with me for most of your time here. Feel free to put your two-cents in on my articles. I’m always up for critique." Clark seemed genuine with his honesty, gesturing for Luca to sit next to him on a chair he pulled up.

The two men spent an eternity editing and re-editing, totally scrapping and staring harshly at Clark Kent’s screen for four hours. It seemed as if Clark took the position of being one of the only people to ever snag an interview with the elusive and controversial, Superman. Every word to weave into a sentence was thought out for five minutes. It was a delicate piece of writing, Luca thought.

Or, Clark was just a perfectionist with luck.

Luca’s eyes began to drift away from the screen and onto the items on Clark’s desk. A cup filled with pens missing their caps, a nearly depleted sticky-note stack and a framed photo of a woman, he could only assume was Clark’s wife.

Sweet. Don’t ask about her.

He watched Clark mumble against his coffee mug. A unique looking thing. Looked a little battered — intentionally? — with hand painted flowers and a large handle so Clark could fit his fingers through it comfortably.

“Where did you get your mug?"

The bullpen groaned.

Clark guffawed, fingertips smoothed down his pink tie until the pads of his fingers reached the initial etched into the tip of the tie by Ma Kent. It was the initial of your first name.

Albeit confused by the visceral reaction from those surrounded, Luca blinked at the pink tinge spread across Clark Kent’s cheeks as nose and supposed it was a taboo subject.

Shit, he was so wrong.

“Thank you for asking.” Clark sipped the dregs of the coffee and kissed his teeth, “My wife and I — married one year and three months — went on a pottery date night…We had the idea to make mugs as my wife likes her coffee in homemade mugs. So, I found this little pottery studio just four blocks from here and took her on a surprise date after work.”

Luca bit the inside of his cheek.

Clark continued, “Anyway, she asked what idea I had for my mug. I’m quite particular in design but, a little backstory for you, Luca—”

Luca side-eyed Jimmy Olsen who slowly nodded and mouthed: ‘Good job.’

He felt his ears get hot.

“—I proposed to my wife over coffee one morning. She had said before, I’d marry you over a cup of coffee. No grandeur, just us. So, I did exactly that.” Clark beamed at the memory, “Back on track, sometimes I don’t have time to have coffee with her in the morning, so, I decided to have her press her hands just ever so gently around the mug I had made, before it went in the Kiln, so her handprint was moulded into my mug. And, I could have coffee with her whenever and wherever I am.”

Luca almost missed his queue to drop back into reality with Clark blinking at him, awaiting a response. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat; vigorously nodding his head as if he hadn’t started thinking about his lunch halfway through Clark’s story.

He gave a thumbs up.

Clark grinned.

Without another word shared between them, Clark turned back to his computer screen, his nose almost touching the screen to read over his carefully curated interview with Superman after he lost a fight in public. A little convenient, Luca thought, but he was too new to ask those types of questions.

Luca’s eyes dropped to Clark’s tie. A nice shade of pink. He had been looking for one similar for his internship.

“Hey—” He started, “Where did you happen to get that tie?”

The bullpen erupted in exasperated sighs.

“I’m so glad you asked, Luca.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

18+ clark kent being verbal

fem! reader, mdni. 1k words. cw: soft dom clark, reader's in a submissive mood, he's a big talker, lots of praise, pinned hands, general filth

Clark's deceptive. the filth of his mouth unlike the sweetness you see in his eyes. it can be misleading to hear such dirty words come from a face so pretty — you almost wouldn't expect it. and if you weren't on the receiving end, you'd never actually believe it to be true.

he's above you; on his knees between your spread thighs, the hefty weight of his dick in the expanse of his hand. his eyes remain locked on you below as he fluffs up his chubbed-up cock, gaze observing the visually pornographic, bound sight of you beneath him.

while one hand is occupied around his considerably endowed cock, the other is encompassing either of your wrists — each one held above your head. the weight of his hold pushes the backs of your hands into the mattress so firmly that you can't wriggle and writhe from his grip. not that you'd want to. you're exactly where you want to be.

there are shades within clark, some darker than others — parts of him far more wicked. like there's a switch within him, a button inside him he can turn on and off whenever it's of need. as if it's a way he can attune to you, coordinate himself to the ways you may need him. so the idea of roles, are futile, meaningless to him; he finds there's no need. 

a real go with the flow kind of guy.

there are times you may want to lead, take over and use him like your personal fuck toy — though there are others, like tonight where you just want to be laid under his will, mind off, body accessible for him to take advantage of. dotingly, of course.

and he knows exactly how to do that, what to say in order to get you there. like he knows your mind, rather than just your body. 

"tell me what you need," he hums above you, voice like a dulcet husk. 

his blue eyes are heavy as they roam over you below, gaze almost sauntering over your wanting expression. and it's then your lips part and chests rises — each a direct response when you feel the tip of his cock nudge against your cunt. like it was a sort of provocation, a way to coax a reply from you. 

and so he does it again, tapping his swollen, reddened head against the slick sheen of mess he had already made of your cunt. clark swirls it at your sensitive clit, motion slow and controlled.

"tell me, sweet girl," he repeats his last ask, tone a decibel lower than before.

you swallow hard, doing so like it hurt. the centre of your brows involuntarily curl inwards as you murmur rather pathetically. pitifully even.

"you."

"yeah?" he hums, word short but enthused. 

it was rhetorical. he wasn't expecting a fleshed out, sensical response — not when he can so clearly see you struggling with the limited capacity in your brain. that 'you' was enough for him right now, he won't push it.

and so with the head of his dick that he winds around your clit, he lowers it, directing it to the ache he knew you had. he's deliberate and intentional as he taps at your entrance, prodding and provoking it like he couldn't quite help it. you grow antsy, cunt clamping on absence that you greet his thick tip with kisses, pussy seemingly with a mind of it's own.

your expression grows pained beneath him, face sort of scrunching. you were becoming increasingly more impatient, uncomfortable with the need that pulsed in your cunt. the sort of pleading look in your face is met with a mock-like nod, the motion of his head slow and controlled — like he was entertaining you.

"I know," he utters, amused frown splayed on his face.

he circles his head again, and again, and it's then after all that prior teasing that he finally feeds himself into you, cock easing in nice and slow. 

"you can take it," he encourages, lip bitten. he swallows thickly and he shakes his head, the dual act like a desperate claw for his own control. "that's it. there we go," he adds airily, sinking more of himself into you; pushing in his entirely until his balls squish up against your pussy's lips.

you gasp and you instinctively turn aside, face almost buried in the uppers of your arms that are held above your head.

with his cock lodged in you comfortably, he lowers over you slightly and places the hand from his dick to the underside of your chin. he doesn't redirect it, he waits for you to do it on your own accord — for you to follow willingly.

"don't hide, I wanna see your face," he hums, voice a foots distance from you.

you do as asked of you and when you peer up at him above you, you're met with a soft boyish grin. one that was equal parts pleased and proud.

"there we go," he lowers, lips ghosting yours a moment — teasing you with a kiss he won't yet place. "I love how you listen."

it's in that exact moment, that he winds into you like it was a reward; cock reaching in and pulling a gasp from out your throat. it was like he wanted to taste it on his tongue, swallow the lewd noise you couldn't quite contain. 

the hand he has cupped under your chin, slips off to the side of your face. he holds the weight of it, grip carefully controlled as if to keep it in place; keep you looking up at him.

"you're so beautiful when you take it."

his sporadic, occasional thrusts build, and it's soon that a system of grinds fall into place. each one furthering the spread of gratification in your cunt, every single wind making you struggle that much more for a full, satisfying breath. 

the entirety of you is in his hands, at his utter mercy. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

clark’s girl being really horny for him plssss🙏🙏

delish😋 mdni. 535 words

Your mind was scattered, an incomprehensible messy state of filth as you watch Clark undress at the foot of the bed. It wasn't like he was putting on some big show or anything, rather dressing into some pyjama pants. Maybe it was the unintentional domestic simplicity of it all; watching him get ready for bed, completely 'unaware' of your stares, or maybe it was the sight he graced you with from behind — broad bare muscles on his back flexing with all his little movements. 

Though it was very likely for it to be the latter, the view you got of him from your placement in bed seemingly acting as the catalyst to the dirty thoughts spiralling in your brain. And so you roll onto your side and prop up your head, resting on your fist as you watch Clark in the mirror in front. Focusing on him in the reflection, your eyes divert and drift, mindless gaze raking over him from the front; his eyes, then his chest, back up his face, then down to his chest again and ultimately landing on his abs — ardently watching the man chiselled out of excellence. 

Clark feels the weight of your eyes on him, and honestly, how couldn't he? And so he meets your gaze in the reflection and the corners of his lips turn up into a knowing grin, quite like he could see your thoughts; as if they projected outwards and into the wanting expression you often wear around him.

He wanted to play into it, maybe tease you a bit; work you up with faux heedlessness, pretend he can't see the need in your eyes. But if he were to do that, he would also be doing that to himself, and with the way you're looking at him, he didn't think he would last that long.

So he places down the comb and picks up his deodorant from the dresser, spritzing a couple times under each arm and you groan. Maybe it was more of a scoff. Though he anticipated it, hoped on it, he knew your favourite scent of his would warrant such a reaction.

"Oh, come on," you throw your head back against the board of the bed. "You're actually going to kill me."

He places the cap on the can and turns to face you, lazy grin on his face as he watches your hands move to cover your face. Footsteps carry him towards your side of the bed and he stills, height towering over you from your laid position. Clark peels your hands shielding the frustration on your face and his head tilts. 

"Three times in one day, you're going to kill me," he teases and meets your eyes. 

Clark looks down to one of your hands still in his and he entwines his fingers in yours for a moment, toying with them sweetly before he guides your hand somewhere less sweet, or far more sweeter, depends how you think of it. 

He places your palm to his cock through the plaid pyjamas, and you feel the swell of him through the fabric — hardened dick almost monstrous beneath your touch.

"And that's just because I was watching you in the mirror."

⎯ ☆ ⎯

​promise ive not been favouring him it’s just only been him in my inbox lately (no complaints)🫶

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

clark kent who likes to fuck up into you during cowgirl.. 18+ fem!reader, mdni !!

clark needs a little extra than most men, not because he’s greedy or domineering, rather that he’s deep and complex. his need for connection must be pure and earnest, all things emotional and physical must stem from something truthful.

so when he fucks up into from beneath, it’s not beacuse he’s impatient, more that he simply wants to feel more of you. wants to feel you more intently.

he lays against the bed and you’re atop, cock fit snuggly inside. your body pressed close to his, tits dragging and grazing along his firm chest as your mouths ghost one another. small, shuddery breaths being exchanged between every unsystematic half-wind of your hips, intuitive blissed sounds in tune with the movement of your bodies. 

clark bends at the knee and you shift with his repositioning, the new angle pushing more of himself deeper inside and you gasp, whining faintly into his mouth. his lips latch onto your lower parted one and he swallows the noise, the act like he’s pressing soft, sweet reassuring kisses into you. associating that aching tinge deep in your guts with something loving and heartfelt.

you pull away slightly and his gaze lowers as he follows your movement, watching the ever so subtle quiver on your lips when a shaky breath passes through them. his grip on the sides of your neck remain in place, large palms engulfing the span of your throat while his thumbs caress and stroke the hollow of your cheeks. small, little touches like he’s physically incapable from keeping his hands off you. 

he liked the response he got from the adjustment he made, he liked it very much. and so he does it again, hips lifting from the bed to push up into your cunt, the motion leisured and relaxed. and he does it again, and again, leaving long pauses between each one to ensure things don't become rushed. but when he does it this time, he keeps himself lodged inside, the tops of his thighs pressing firm to the cheeks of your ass.

the strength in your neck is lost and your forehead rests against his — uneven, rocky breaths being swapped until he retracts the additional length of his endowed cock. in turn, letting the air fill your lungs properly again. he itches up to kiss you and lets his lips linger a moment longer, a swiping tongue briefly accompanying until he pulls back, eager to get a look at you. those few seconds without his eyes on you seeming to be too tricky for him. 

“gosh, you’re so beautiful.”

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[trashcatsnark]

Anyone saying the spank is OOC for Sylus- Im sorry to be the one to inform you, you don't know Sylus. He has literally spanked MC in a secret times already and has canonically fucked mc so rough she couldn't walk and needed 3 days off work. Just because he's a loving partner doesn't mean he can't fuck, Jesus christ. Seriously, if you believe someone can't be a good partner and be into rough sex, I need you to leave Sylus alone. Man can dote on, kill for, and die for his wife while still spanking her ass red, he has the range.

[specialgradefckr]

Cutest Girl Alive~

tw: explicit content. brat!reader, gojo is not a brat tamer he is a brat enjoyer, hate sex vibes, very very tsundere!reader, gojo is hilariously oblivious about how annoying he is, reader is kinda mean (not without reason...)

satoru gojo who just doesn't know what your problem is.

he really doesn't! suguru doesn't believe him, of course, but it's true - he didn't do anything. at least not anything that would warrant you asking if his "inbred, illiterate ass is too important to file a report".

ichiji said it was just because his paper backlog made things difficult for everybody. but the inbreeding comment was uncalled for!

his mom is super hot, though. he told you as much, and offered to set up a date, just in case you swung the other way.

unfortunately, the only thing that swung was your hand against his face, which didn't make contact, but it still hurt his feelings!

(you'd looked him dead in the eye. "good." walked away.)

and that wasn't just an isolated incident!

he'd caught you at the vending machine, bent over. satoru had politely refrained from slapping your ass and loudly announced how hot it was.

perfect gentleman!

whereupon you had turned around, smiling tightly, and offered him the soda.

"see," he teased, cracking it open, "i knew you could be nice if-"

the soda sprayed all over his face. your smile looked a little looser, a little realer, and your laugh - while awful and wicked - had been terribly adorable.

when he started to laugh with you, though, you just glared. rolled your eyes, and walked off in the middle of the conversation.

and just. random moments! your face falls into an admittedly cute pout (suguru says it's a grimace) whenever he walks into the room.

"how's your day been?"

"good, until you got here."

like, he's not crazy here. you're just being mean.

honestly, it's kind of funny. or it would be funny, if it didn't kind of hurt a little.

suguru doesn't get the same kind of response. when he begs, pleads, and bribes suguru into asking you what you don't like about him -

"if i had to say... everything."

whereupon suguru had burst out laughing.

mean!

but that's the thing, though. you were nice to suguru, to everyone else.

you're not a bitch. you're a bitch to him.

he's special.

you don't treat anybody else like this.

why is that, satoru ponders. why do you especially dislike him?

suguru says it's his shitty personality. joke's on suguru because his best friend has been some guy with a shitty personality for about a decade now! loser.

anyways, he comes up with a plan. he texts you from another phone and number, something perfectly random and polite. a picture of a cat he found on the street.

(you love cats so you'll definitely respond. he knows because he's been popping in on you for several weeks now. it's not stalking because he doesn't follow you! and that was so rude of suguru to say!)

the conversation that follows is perfectly pleasant. sweet, even. he enjoys it, right up until -

mean girl <3: hey could you do me a huge favor actually? satoru gojo: anything 4 u kitten!! mean girl <3: kill yourself gojo

his number is blocked.

whoops. wow. do you have a built in satoru gojo detector or something? what is he missing? what gave him away???

suguru looks over the texts and just stares at him blankly at the question.

"well? what could have clued her in?"

"oh, god... satoru, if you can't tell, just forget about it. and stop trying to fool her."

he probably should. stop, that is.

he's not following you but he's definitely teleporting into places he knows you'll be. trying to run into you. constantly. daily. hourly, even.

he likes to stay updated on all your missions. your favorite restaurants. maybe he watches you a little.

there's just something that draws him in. your quick wits, your derision. the way you look at him with all that fire.

you want to laugh at him. he wants to laugh with you.

and yeah, he gets rock hard when you yell at him. he'd let you slap him but you don't bother trying anymore after hitting his infinity that one time. bummer.

it's a late summer evening - sun still up, orange on the horizon. he's stuck filling out reports, you're stuck grading papers.

in silence, as always. you'd never speak to him unless it was to insult him.

"hey," satoru says all the sudden, "you wanna fuck?"

the silence that fills the room is colder, harder -

"are you fucking serious?" insulted, outraged - that's about what he expected.

but... if he looks with the six eyes... if he glances at your sympathetic nervous system, if he squints really hard and swears three times over, maybe he can convince himself -

"you're not totally against the idea, are you?" he draws himself up from the table, smirking.

hooking a finger in his blindfold like he's trying to remind you just how long they are.

you stare at him.

"dead serious," he confirms, "right here right now. i can be fast."

"i don't doubt it." oooh, there's that bite again, "i doubt i'd enjoy it."

his smile bares teeth.

"wanna bet?"

and fuck, just look at you now. look at you!

with all six eyes he is. and satoru likes what he sees.

hunched over, teary eyed. face bright red. you used to scowl at him with that face, that pretty face, all hard lines and snarled lips -

and look at you now! so cute and precious and soft! so sweet he wants to take a bite out of you.

you even yelp, adorably, when he nips at the inside of your thigh. sensitive, twitchy.

he's dizzy with it. with the taste of you, of your cum. your high pitched little whimpers in his ears are still ringing in his ears, along with your mean retorts.

"where's your smart mouth now, baby?" he teases, lips glossy with your slick.

and god, it's even fucking hotter watching you try to glare while blushing and trembling and blinking away tears of overstimulation.

"sh-shut up and put your dick in me, gojo," you bite out, "if you even know how."

you jolt when he kisses your cunt, looking you in the eyes while he does it.

"awh, you poor thing," he cooes, crawling up your chest to go face-to-face, even as another hand goes to dig his cock out of his pants, "so impatient."

he can tell it riles you up. that you don't know what to do, trapped in his gaze.

"fuck off, gojo."

"i'll fuck you," he says with a snicker, kissing your throat. like he knows you won't let him kiss your lovely little pouty face.

how could he not have seen it before?

(well, he had his blindfold on for one. but the principle of you being unsettled by your attraction towards him still stands!)

he lines himself up, nice and easy. feels your unsteady hands reach, cling to his shoulders, and that's almost as hot.

you look down to avoid his gaze, but then your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. huge and pink and throbbing.

"yummy, right?" he croons, "you can have a taste after if you want. you're so sweet, you deserve a lick or two."

you make this sharp gasp, the most adorable, helpless noise, your whole body jerking as he plunges into you, and satoru nearly cums just from that.

cute. cute cute cute cute so fucking cute he's gonna go crazy.

he bites at the place your shoulder meets your neck just to sate himself. soft skin, tender flesh. salty and slick from sweat.

you melt in his mouth. around his dick. whimpering and sniffling and mewling little demands.

"get on with it, gojo, fuck, is this your first time - "

"first time fucking a cunt this wet?" he purrs between sucking marks on your neck, "yeah, baby. it's crazy, how much you want me."

"you went down on me for like," another high-pitched squeak as he nips your ear, "t-ten minutes, dumbass. of course i'm wet!"

your hands claw at him, trembling just like your voice.

he shoves himself in, all the way to the hilt, disintegrating any coherence you had left. all you can do is cry out, wailing when his long fingers brush over your poor, swollen, tender clit.

"awh, baby, you can take it," he croons. his heart does a little delighted flutter when he sees your (utterly kissable) lips purse in annoyance, only to fall apart again when he pumps back into you.

"run out of nasty things to say, huh, baby?" satoru swears he can feel your pretty little clit twitching and pulsing at his touch, just like his cock throbs inside you.

his eyes glitter as he thrusts in and out. god, your hot fucking body tensing and shuddering against him, the exhaustion warring with pleasure and aggravation on your face.

there's not a single part of you that isn't utterly fixated on him. in this moment he's the most important thing in your world.

and it's glorious. your cunt is clenching him like a vice, unraveling him almost as far as he's already unwound you. little moans spill from your mouth, music to his ears.

that face, god, that fucking gorgeous face that's always frowning at him. so pretty now.

"look at you," he pants, close so close, "god, you're - such a bitch all the time - you just needed a good fucking, huh?"

satoru snatches your face by the jaw, looking you straight in the eyes.

they're all wet and messy and a little bit red. he's so close he has to press hard, fast circles into your clit to get you closer, closer -

"f-fuck," you sob, "fuck, hngh, you-"

he licks your tears off your cheeks, "just needed some good cock, huh? that's all it takes to shut your mean little mouth?"

clawing at his back. he feels you squeezing him for all he's worth, milking him -

"fuck, i'm cumming," he groans, bursting hot and liquid in your tight cunt.

you gulp down heavy, airy breaths. delicate noises as you tremble in his arms.

fuck, you're so gorgeous. satoru lays you back, your lashes fluttering, face flushed, spread out on the desk all limp and exhausted.

his ravished beauty. his little spitfire.

"see," he cooes, cupping your cheek, "all sweet for me now that you're filled with my cum. see how nice it feels when you're good for me?"

your hands shoot up, slapping his hand away, covering your face.

"your mouth is literally only good for eating pussy."

he laughs, leaning in to hold you against him. "and yours is only good for talking shit."

"maybe if you weren't such an asshole you'd know better." you snap, pulling back, sliding him out of you with a little gasp that gets his cock twitching again.

he whines at the loss of you, "awh, come on, don't be like that."

you roll your eyes. it's pretty incredible how well you're composing yourself, fixing your clothes and hair. taking a deep breath as you pointedly ignore his pestering and prepare to leave.

his bitchy, pretty baby. so much less intimidating when he's seen you moaning and cumming in his mouth - but he thinks you're even more adorable now.

"i gave you more than your fair share of orgasms, didn't i? show me what else it's good for~" he sings, staring at you the whole time.

you ignore him until you're dressed again. glancing at him from the corner of your eye. turning away.

"...next week after class." you say, stopping just before you leave, "i don't like owing people."

"heh." satoru watches you dart out the door, shutting it briskly behind you, smiling to himself.

maybe you thought he couldn't see it - as if he isn't always watching your face - but just before you left, he could tell.

the faintest dusting of pink on your cheeks...

you really are the cutest girl alive, huh?

(megumi tells him to stop whistling that day - he doesn't stop for an entire week.)

[mintmatcha]

love arranged marriage unfortunately. the idea of being married to a knight who's not even in the city, but away on the front lines. it's a benefit for your family, so they dont even question sending you to his home to await his return...

[mintmatcha]

you meet him three months into the arrangement. He arrives after the sun has already set, his features set strong in the candlelight. His body is heavy with exhaustion and tension, his eyes dull and tired.

you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.

When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.

"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.

"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.

"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.

"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"

"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"

Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."

That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.

"Until next time."

He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.

"Until next time," he repeats back.

[mintmatcha]

In his absence, he sends gifts. They are tiny things, sweets and oiled combs and scented oils and a porcelain figure of a cat, aimless in their direction towards you. Just simple niceties he could give to any woman in the world. You imagine he sends one to the lovers he has in every city as well.

(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)

none of the gifts come with a note.

one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.

the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.

-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.

The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.

"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."

You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.

-Dearest husband,

Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.

Your patient and thoughtful wife

A second letter arrives within the week.

-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?

The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.

-Dearest, sweetest husband,

A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your family name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.

Your less than patient and less than adoring wife

The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.

tortured wife,

I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.

your loving husband

[luvzayne]

p-p-p-poker face, f-f-fuck her face. 

synopsis: determined to break your boyfriend’s facade. you suck him off while he’s doing something important <3 

character/s: zayne, rafayel, xavier, sylus

note/s: i just wanna share i got this idea when i was on a commute on my way home and poker face by lady gaga came on my playlist 

warning/s: there are people on the other side, have some decorum! (except for xav) somnophilia and hints of subspace for xav, rafayel is a switch, sylus is an asshole, cockdrunk!y/n  

zayne: 

you hated your boyfriend’s workaholic tendencies as you can hear him typing on his keyboard despite having a broken wrist. you cleared your throat, catching his attention and you can see him audibly gulp before he opens his microphone, telling the intern that he’d rather continue the consultation via voice call. 

perfect. 

with quick yet quiet movements, you find yourself situated under his work desk, pawing at his pajamas. you immediately feel zayne’s hand on your head, trying to push you off but you only swat his hand away, tugging at the waistband of his boxers as you mouth at his semi. 

you keep your eyes on your lover as he looks down on you, still keeping a conversation with his intern. you waited for the exact moment that he was in the middle of speaking before you took the tip into your mouth, tongue immediately drawing patterns on the sensitive skin. 

“please ensure that the patient is– *cough* well elevated as well as ensuring that he–” you take him in deeper, causing him to choke on his words. 

“dr. zayne? are you okay?” the intern asks worriedly, zayne glares at you as you give him a cheeky wink before pulling out and pumping his base, pressing noisy kisses as you do so. 

you can see zayne’s chest heaving as he tries to maintain his composure but let out an embarrassingly suspicious groan as you take him as deep as you could, your throat constricting against his thick length. 

“dr. zayne?” 

“it’s… nothing. i just flexed my wrists the wrong way, my tenosynovitis must be acting up.” zayne explains as best as he can as he grips your head, manipulating the way you swallow down on his cock. you can hear deep, even breaths from your raven haired lover as he bites his lower lip, head tossing back at the sound of you choking down. 

“dr. zayne, i–” zayne couldn’t even hear what the intern was saying as he was lost in his own pleasure. you tugged at his hand, making him look back down at you as you gripped his base and tapped the tip into your tongue repeatedly, imitating a faux expression of innocence. 

“i think you can handle it by yourself, greyson is on duty so if you need to ask for anything, he can aid you. if not, send your concerns to me the day after tomorrow.” zayne speaks into the mic, rushed as he bids the intern goodbye and exits the call. 

“you’re such a–” “watch it.” you tease as you tongued the veins of his throbbing cock. 

“quite a vixen i have, truly.” zayne says as he runs his hand down your face, thumb stopping at your lips. he lets out a soft groan as you automatically suck his thumb in.

“you could get more if you followed the doctor's orders and rested.” you sighed before you lick the tip seductively. 

“sit tight doc, it’s time for your punishment.”

zayne gulps before his head throws back again once more at the feeling of your sinfully perfect mouth on his length. 

safe to say that work was the least of his worries from then on. 

xavier: 

xavier feels like he’s in a blissful dream, he could feel all the weight get off his shoulders as he rearranges his position in bed. it felt like a low hum that lulled him further into sleep as his mouth opened but no sounds came out. 

or that’s what he thought as he couldn’t hear himself in his dreams, but you can hear him outside as his unconscious body moans at your ministrations. you saliva-slicked hand pumped him in quick succession as you let the tip of your tongue trace his slit. xavier’s brows twitched in discomfort as more moans unintentionally escaped your sleepy boyfriend. 

you giggled before you trailed your tongue going up, pausing to blow cool air into the slick path you made. you see xavier twitch in his sleep but made no move to open his eyes so you pressed a kiss on his puffy cheek. 

“wakey-wakey, xavi.” you whispered, pressing a kiss on his ear then his neck and then trudged back down to his swollen length, not forgetting to kiss every inch of skin your mouth could reach. 

with a dejected sigh, you place him back into your mouth. at least you can challenge yourself to make him feel good unconsciously. you think to yourself before you whine slightly at the cock lodged down your throat. but it would be so much better if he was awake. 

your eyes fell into a close, simply enjoying the feeling of xavier’s taste on your tongue. 

you gasped as you felt his hands gently card your hair, you opened your eyes and see xavier’s bleary yet bright eyes staring back at you. 

“what’s the occasion?” xavier asked sleepily as you went back to work, now that he was awake, you were putting more effort in bobbing your head down his length. 

“just wanted to treat you.” you say as you pumped his length in a tight grip. 

“mmm. ‘m so lucky to have you, my starlight.” xavier says, moaning once you take his cock back in your mouth. 

“just a little more and i’ll return the favor.” he gently coaxes, promising you as he finds himself getting closer. 

and who would xavier be if he can’t keep his promise? 

rafayel: 

“thomas, i said i didn’t want to sell t-that!” rafayel argues through the phone as his cheeks blazed a bright red, a hand covering his mouth immediately after. you were bent over the bed, back in an arch as you played with your boyfriend’s tip. 

things were already getting freaky before thomas called and before rafayel could press decline, you accepted the call before thrusting it to his hands and taking his hard cock in your mouth. you smirked at rafayel’s restlessness as he presses his forearm down his mouth, biting his own skin as you just a bit harder. 

“but rafayel… he’s offering millions for it. you’d be a fool not to take it!” thomas argues and you can imagine the exasperated look on his manager’s face at your lemurian’s stubbornness but even with his mind melted down on his dick, he still seemed to be a brat. 

“you shouldn’t give thomas a hard time, baby.” you say softly, biting down the inner part of his thigh, causing him to jolt at the sting, a whimper escaping his lips. 

it was silent on the other line and you almost felt ashamed that you were caught but it seemed like thomas didn’t hear as he suddenly spoke. 

“i’ve quoted what your share would be if you would just ease up and sell the damn painting.”

“thomas, i said n-no!” rafayel coughs as you take all what you can in your throat, you chuckled at his struggle of maintaining a facade, the vibrations causing your boyfriend’s head to loll back and a breathy whimper to escape from his diaphragm. 

“rafaye–” “do whatever you want. sell it. sell everything, now don’t bother me for the next few days!” rafayel says in a hard tone before he ends the call and throws his phone to god knows where, placing both his hands on your head as he pushes you down, making your nose touch the slightly unkempt hair.

you choked, pulling away and coughing slightly at the intrusion, you raised your head to glare at rafayel who only looks back at you with a lustful expression, his normally soft pastel eyes turning a harsh blue as he taps his cock on your lips. voice deepened as he commanded.

“finished what you started, my bride.” 

sylus: 

you knew that playing dirty would sylus would never end well for you, the moment you challenge him is the moment you fight a losing battle– or was it? 

you were under sylus’ desk as he talked business with one of the underground leaders within onychinus, his head rested on one of his hands, perched on top of the ebony desk as the other was guiding your head to bob down on his length. 

in an outsider’s view, sylus looks almost positively bored as he strokes your head from the under the table, not liking how he was forcing you to submit to him, you swat his hand away and it seemed like he was positively amused by your reaction that he lets out a chuckle, causing his conversation partner to look confused. 

“did i say something wrong, mr. sylus?” sylus shakes his head. “it’s nothing. it’s just a little kitten that’s trying to get my attention.” your breath stops for a moment and in retaliation, you dug your fingers hard on his thigh, hoping to elicit a reaction from him. 

“you have a cat, mr. sylus?” sylus chuckles once more, as he nods. “yes, but she scratches.” you bite down on his thigh. “and she bites. what a feisty kitten i have.” he laughs before he grips your hair tightly in his hand and forces you down on his length once more. 

you moan at the treatment, liking the way sylus doesn’t treat you like glass. you had a point to prove after all. 

you lick at the base, pumping his thick length in your hand before you tug at his hand making him look down on you. from another’s eyes, it would look like sylus is only looking unamused at the floor but you knew he was fighting all urges to take you on his desk as soon as you take a few inches in your mouth, he manipulates your head once more and pushes you even further down. 

to add the cherry on top, he scoots his chair closer to the table, constricting your space once more before he raises his left ankle, crossing his legs and pinning your head right down his cock, the weight of his foot keeping you there. 

all you could see, feel, taste, and breathe was sylus and your senses were slowly getting overwhelmed by him as you choke on his length. you prayed that his business partner couldn’t hear you, but if he did, he was a smart man to not comment on it in front of sylus. 

their deal comes to a conclusion and the man leaves, you didn’t even feel the weight off his ankle on your neck as sylus pulls you off, chuckling at the bleary look on your face. 

“what’s wrong, kitten? didn’t you say you wanted to prove me wrong?” you whine as you craved his cock in your throat once more.

what were you trying to do again?

note/s: i refuse to be perceived btw !

[innorality]

"y-you're gonna kill me, sweetie... freakin' kill me..." clark groaned above you, his hips ramming into you like never before as your legs bounced on his shoulders.

clark kent was a possessive man and he knew it. it was in his kryptonian genes, he swears! he can't control the moan that slips out when he successfully marks you with his scent, or the hand that sneaks into the crook of your back in public settings. he tries to, but he can't.

and you know it. you know it so well that you wanted to mess around with it.

and it was only natural for clark to fuck your brains out when he saw the "C" anklet you had on when you came home today.

it got to him, truly. it got to him because he marked you, because you're his and you're showing it off. because now the entire world knows that you, his beloved, belong to him.

he kisses your anklet, his eyes narrowed and uncharacteristically dark. "you're too cute... way too cute f'me, hmm..." and he pecs and pecs, his soft lips contrasting with the force of his thrusts, fucking into you like it's the only way for him to breath. and it might aswell be.

"c-clark, i– ah—! ohh... shit, fuck.." you couldn't even form proper sentences, your lips wobbling at the sensation of him knocking at your cervix. he so desperately wanted to claim you, fully and inside out, and the cute jewelry you had on your ankle was definitely helping.

his heavy balls tightened everytime it reflected the light, shining like the most precious of diamonds. "mine.. all mine..." he mumbled before he nibbled at the "C", his eyebrows bending in pleasure as he neared his end. his pace quickened while one of his hands migrated to your clit, rubbing tight circles to get you off.

you mewled, back arching when you felt the heat of his digits on your bud. the sight of him, blushing and drooling, utterly drunk on his possession—drunk on you—had you quickly approaching your climax, but it's when the first rope of his cum slipped its way into your womb that you finally let go.

you both cried out in your orgasms, his cock twitching with every pulse of your cunt, hips sporadically fucking his seed into you.

"mine, mine... mineminemine—" he chanted, as if repeating it would make it any more true than it already was.

[kittennextdoor]

18+ Giving your nerdy bf head under his desk .ᐟ

He’s been stuck at his desk for hours, glasses perched on his nose, muttering to himself about deadlines. You’ve been watching him from the bed, growing more impatient by the minute. Until finally, you can’t take it anymore. You crawl under his desk without warning, settling between his spread thighs. He jolts when you tug his sweatpants down, eyes widening behind his lenses.

“Baby- I have to finish this—” His voice cuts off in a choked gasp as you wrap your lips around his tip and take him deep.

He’s only half-hard at first, but the second your warm, wet mouth envelops him, you feel him twitch and swell rapidly against your tongue. His dick thickens fast, growing heavier and harder with every slow suck, the veins pulsing as blood rushes in. You can feel him getting fully erect in your mouth, stretching your lips wider, the head nudging deeper toward your throat as he hardens completely. The way he throbs and fills out so quickly makes you moan softly around him.

You suck him slowly at first, tongue swirling around the head, savoring the way he twitches and grows even stiffer in your mouth. “Fuck…” he whispers, one hand dropping to grip your hair. His other hand stays on the keyboard, fingers trembling as he tries to keep typing. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

You hum around him, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. His hips twitch up involuntarily, pushing more of his now rock-hard length into your warm mouth. His breathing grows ragged, glasses slipping down his nose as he fights to stay focused.

Every time you swirl your tongue or suck harder, he lets out these soft, broken little sounds, half-moans, half-whimpers — that make you even wetter. He looks so cute like this: flushed cheeks, messy hair, trying so hard to be a responsible boyfriend while you sucks him off under his desk.

When he finally comes, it’s with a quiet, shaky groan, hips stuttering as he spills down your throat. You swallow every drop, gently licking him clean while he pants above you. He pulls you up into his lap afterward, kissing you, tasting himself on your tongue. His arms wrap around you tightly, face buried in your neck.

“You’re evil,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. “I’m never gonna finish this project now.” You just smile and kiss his cheek.

[barbienextdoor]

Aphrodisiac

clark kent x nympho!reader tags/cw: nympho reader, hypersexual themes, size kink if you squint, office sex, light exhibitionism, gagging, love & lust, mentions of oral & standing doggy, est. relationship, improper use of superpowers, quickies, desperate behavior, superman is better than human men 823 w.c.

Clark Kent, whose nympho girlfriend is completely insatiable for him. He never expected to end up with a girlfriend who wanted him the way you did constantly, hungrily, as if something in you sparked to life the second he walked into a room.

Maybe it was the trace of Kryptonian biology in his kiss, some alien chemical that slipped past your lips and burned straight into your bloodstream every time his mouth met yours. Maybe it was simply him: the way he said “ma’am” to waitresses, the way he apologized to doors when he accidentally slammed them too hard, the way those broad shoulders carried the weight of the world and still curved protectively around you when you slept. Whatever the cause, the effect was absolute. One look at Clark Kent: glasses, tie slightly crooked, that shy smile, and something feral woke up inside you and refused to go back to sleep.

Mornings began the same way: you rolling over before the alarm, sliding a thigh across his hips, feeling him already half-hard under the sheets. He’d murmur a sleepy “Morning, baby,” voice rough with dreams, and you’d answer by sinking onto him slowly, savoring the stretch, the way his huge hands immediately settled on your waist like he was afraid you’d float away. Soft, lazy, sun-through-the-curtains sex—until it wasn’t soft anymore and you were riding him hard enough that the headboard knocked pictures off the wall.

By midday, you were already texting him, asking if he could fly home for "lunch", a break never long enough to satisfy you, but long enough to chase away that restless longing until evening. He’d appear on the balcony thirty seconds later, tie fluttering, cheeks flushed from supersonic flight. You’d barely let him set his notebook down before you were on your knees, mouthing at him through his slacks, inhaling the faint scent of ink and city air that always clung to him. Lunch break meant you bent over the kitchen counter, skirt rucked up, one of his hands clamped gently over your mouth so the neighbors wouldn’t hear you scream when he finally pushed in.

Some days, you showed up at the Daily Planet yourself, innocent as anything, brown paper bag in hand. “Brought you lunch, baby,” you’d sing, loud enough for Jimmy to hear. Clark’s eyes would flick to you behind his glasses, half warning, half plea, and two minutes later, you’d be locked in the single-stall bathroom on the 8th floor, his tie stuffed in your mouth to muffle the noises while he fucked you against the door hard enough to rattle the hinges. Your vibrator sat forgotten in the bedside drawer at home; nothing on Earth could find the places he reached when he tilted his hips just right. Those stolen minutes behind a locked door or in a quiet corner always left you glowing and him smiling like he knew exactly what you were doing.

At home, you were even worse. You’d find him in his study, glasses slipping down his nose, hair curling over his forehead, legs spread in that careless way that always did things to you, and you’d climb right into his lap like you had every right. He’d look at you over the rims of his glasses with that mix of fondness and exasperation that told you he was two seconds from giving in or losing his place in the article entirely. If he really needed to finish his work, he’d whisper that you’d either have to wait… or take care of yourself. And of course, you chose the latter, just to see his jaw tighten at the sight.

One night, he finally sat you down gently on his lap, hands warm on your thighs, eyes soft in a way that made your chest ache. He asked, with such careful sincerity it almost broke your heart, whether you felt pressured to chase him like this. Whether it felt like a compulsion. You just stared at him before laughing, because he genuinely didn’t realize. You told him you loved sex, especially with him. That you craved him because he made you feel wanted, adored, alive. He nodded slowly, as he understood for the first time, and told you he’d give you whatever you needed, whenever you needed it.

And sometimes, “what you needed” involved Clark using gifts he probably shouldn’t have. The speed he normally used to save lives. The tongue that could do things no human anatomy textbook accounted for. The strength that lets him lift you as if gravity stopped applying. The kind of experiences only he could give you.

Your human exes had never come close. Clark could keep up. Clark could meet you where you burned hottest. Clark could give you exactly what you wanted without ever making you feel greedy or wrong for wanting it. He met it. Matched it. Fed it. And he loved every second of being wanted by you.

[lolnothankyouplease]

should’ve been a cowboy | farmhand!clark x fem!reader

summary: you and clark move back to kansas so he can help on the farm and your man is hot when he works outside all day.

CW: MDNI, 18+, smut, explicit content, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex (f!rec), fingering (f!rec), handjob, orgasm denial, riding, nipple play (f!rec), clark being obsessed with reader’s tits, begging, boob sucking, pussy sliding, embedded p!links, not proofread at all

turns out the perfect evening consisted of a rocking chair on your porch, tooth-rottingly sweet tea, and clark in one of his flannel shirts he only wears when it starts to get cold at the start of fall. used to be - wine, the symphony, and clark in his blue pinstripe suit, but since moving out to kansas to help his parents with the farm, you’ve adjusted. clark teases that you’re still a city girl, but the amount he says that lessens every time you get on the tractor or muck out a horse stall.

the screen door creaked open and your husband stepped out onto the porch, in that fucking flannel.

is he getting broader? have his arms gotten bigger?

you blamed his change in vocation - reporter to farm hand - for the heat pooling between your legs, “hi, honey,” you cooed, deciding to ignore your urges for the time being. clark was probably tired from the day. he’d gotten home and immediately hopped in the shower so his hair was still a little damp, curls flopping down lower than normal, “you need a haircut soon,” you brushed the curls back from his face as he lifted you out of the rocking chair, cradling you to his chest as he sat in it and held you in his lap. “you or ma can do it, whoever gets to the scissors first,” clark responded with smile. “she told me she was going to buzz your hair like when you were little the next time you let it get this long and i know you would let her so i’ll trim it tomorrow night,” you rolled your eyes at him, he took the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your neck and press a kiss there.

“mm,” you hummed, leaning further into clark’s embrace. the kisses pressed to your neck turned messier, heavier. a mark bloomed under clark’s mouth on your collarbone, pulling a soft whine from your throat.

“love these little shorts on you,” your husband tugged on the hem of the daisy dukes gracing your hips, “love when you get this little tank top on and forget your bra.” your nipple was brushed by soft fingers through the fabric of the white ribbed tank then pinched between clark’s thumb and middle finger. that action made a moan tear out of you.

“love that you’re getting softer here,” a warm hand crawled up your tank to your tummy, brushing carefully, “love that these are fuller,” the hand crept up further to cup a breast, thumb swiping over the sensitive bud there, “love these little stretch marks you’re getting,” hand under the waistband of your shorts to grip your hip.

“you gonna just feel me up on the porch, cowboy, or are you gonna make a move?”

clark surged forward to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss, lifting you under your thighs to get your legs around his hips while he carried you inside. the screen door slammed behind you as you pulled back from the kiss to pull your tank top off. your tits pressed against clark’s flannel, lighting up the nerve endings there. the bed creaked under yours and clark’s combined weight. he kept your legs spread around him, shedding his flannel and t-shirt.

“jesus christ, i don’t think a farmer’s tan has ever gotten me wet until right now,” you gasped under him. you dug the blunt tips of your nails into clark’s biceps where pale skin met sun-kissed skin, “you’re such a hard worker, baby, i fucking love you.”

clark responded to your praise by popping the button on your shorts and tugging them down your legs. he groaned when his eyes met your black sheer thong, “gosh you look so good.”

“nothing else doesn’t show lines under those,” you bit your lip as clark started to lick and suck your left nipple, making soft pleased sounds when you tugged his hair.

he made his way down your body, ending up with his face between your legs, “you’re so wet,” he commented, gently touching over the little fabric covering your cunt with two fingers, “gonna get my mouth on you.”

clark tugged your thong off and settled between your legs, reaching his big hands up to play with your tits while his tongue started to work over your clit.

“cl-clark, fuck, i need you closer,” you whined after a minute or two of his mouth on you. normally, you would love to come on his tongue but this time, you needed him. clark heeded your request immediately, dragging his face out from between your legs and settling for letting his fingers circle your clit while his mouth worked on your nipple again.

the combined sensations pushed you over the edge with little warning, leaving you gasping and writhing beneath clark’s broad frame.

after catching your breath, you pushed clark onto his back. he raised a brow at you, “what are you up to?”

“you work so hard, baby. my big strong man helping out on the farm,” you popped the button on his jeans and got them off of him - with assistance. you straddled his hips and started to grind back against his hard cock. his hands flew to your hips, gripping them while a deep moan sounded from his mouth. you rolled your hips again, leaning down so your tits were in clark’s face. he took a one into his mouth, sucking on your nipple and letting out another moan.

you kept up your motions, letting clark’s thick cock slide between your wet folds, the sensitive head meeting your clit every time. clark grew tired of the not enough feeling and reached down to grip his own length, lifting it so your next grind would let him slip into your wet heat.

“fuuuck,” you cried out, sitting up slightly to take him deeper inside you. clark’s hips came up to meet yours, finally letting him hit just the right spot inside you.

clark had a tell when he was getting close. he would always knit his brows together and his mouth would fall open, but you could tell he was right there when he stopped caring how hard he was thrusting into you. so, when he started slamming into you, losing control, you leaned forward and whispered, “where do you wanna come, baby? in me, on me, or you want me to get down there so you can come all over my face like you like?” shocking you, clark shook his head and ceased his movements, pulling a whine from you.

“tell me no,” he begged, “tell me i can’t until you come again. make me wait. make me make you come again.”

you raised your brows at him and he looked utterly wrecked, begging you to deny him. you granted his wish and pulled his cock out of you entirely, “sit up and play with my pussy that you stretched out until i come and then maybe i’ll let you finish on my tits.”

by the almost-whimper that sounded from your husband, you knew you’d done what he wanted and more. he sat up slightly, back against the pillows. you sat with your back against his chest and guided his hand down to your folds. clark started to swipe through them with his fingers and rub against your clit with his fingertips.

by the time clark had fingered you over the edge again, he was looking desperate. his cock was dripping precum from the tip so much that his whole length was shiny. you laid on your side next to him and gently started to play with the tip of his cock.

clark couldn’t help himself when he reached over to squeeze and palm one of your tits. you finally wrapped a hand around him and lazily stroked a few times before whispering for him to come for you. he did with a gasp then a groan you could tell he was holding back.

after a few minutes of holding each other and coming down from the high you were both on you looked at clark and smirked, “so you’re into orgasm denial now, hmm?”

clark blushed a deep shade of red and buried his face in your neck, “just like when you tell me what to do, you’re so hot. i like being good for you.”

“you’re so good for me, clark.”

A/N: send me more requests for farmboy!clark

[lolnothankyouplease]

18+ mdni

clark “actual beam of sunlight” kent crying in front of you must be soul crushing. he would be all happy go lucky all day long then he goes out to save something or someone and shows up at your door sullen, shoulders slumped. he might tell you he didn’t know where else to go because he didn’t want to be alone - his normal glow dimmed. maybe you let him in and get him settled on your sofa before scurrying away to find anything and everything to make him feel better. you wind up making him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because he told you that ma used to make them for him when he’d had a hard day at school. you’d probably sit beside him on the sofa and brush his curls from his face with the tips of your fingers while he ate.

he probably tells you all about how he felt like he couldn’t do anything right all day. how he messed up his article then didn’t get the corrected one in on time because he had superman stuff in the middle of the day, how he must have caused a million dollars in damage to an apartment building even though he was trying to save the people inside -and did-, how he had wanted to take you out to dinner but instead it was midnight already and he’d probably woken you up, robbing you of a restful night. you catch the first tear sliding down his cheek before he wipes it away, sniffling softly. he probably looks so small even with broad shoulders shaking with gentle sobs.

maybe you get up on your knees to get your arms around him better and he just pulls you in to straddle his lap, then presses his wet face into your neck. you probably rub his back softly and press kisses into his temple. maybe he pulls away from you just to slot his mouth against yours. you let him kiss you for a moment before breaking it to ask him “what are you doing?”. he bites his lip before answering with a simple “need to do something right”. his grip on your waist grows tighter as he kisses you again. maybe he moves you - as gracefully as he can - into a laying position and pushes your panties aside so he can make you come on his tongue. he feels better after you do, especially with the string of “feels so good” “doing so good for me” “your mouth is so good” that fell from your lips as you did.

[lolnothankyouplease]

frat boy clark helping reader “study” 😉😉

and i’m loving all of ur work tysm for posting 🫶

maybe he starts with just bugging you while you’re working on something. his brain is fried, attention span shot, so he’s decided to weasel his way into laying between your legs while you’re typing on your laptop. ‘clark,’ you warn. he presses a kiss to your panty line, then moves lower, ‘need some stress relief, baby,’ he has a pout on his lips. ‘you can do whatever you want, but i’m going to keep working on this paper.’ he takes that and runs with it, pushing your panties aside to start playing with you clit, gently rubbing his thumb over it. he presses a little harder to make you gasp softly. you refocus as he rubs a little gentler. ‘can i take your panties off?’ he asks, interrupting a train of thought. you lift your hips wordlessly and let him peel your underwear off your body. he spreads your legs a little as he settles between them again, starting back up his play. it’s oddly relaxing, giving you some kind of mental clarity. he presses two fingers inside you, curling them as he leans forward to suck your clit. that pulls a whine from your lips. your laptop gets discarded minutes later so you can get clark’s cock inside you.

[dark-academiaaa-deactivated2026]

a man that is needy and moans in your ear is the equivalent to seeing the sun shining while the birds are chirping and the flowers blooming