[lis-likes-fics]

Your Obedient Servant

Pairing: alpha!Clark Kent x omega!Reader Word Count: 6.9k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, wtf is a blot?, typical omegaverse themes (heats, knotting, scent glands/scenting, biting, licking (very specifically as its own thing), scratching, growling (etc.), breeding, alpha voice, and surprise omega voice!), referring to babies as pups/puppies, dubious consent bc of being in heat jic), overstimulation, size kink, fingering, oral (f!receiving, double knotting because surprise!, Clark has two knots and a huge dick, multiple orgasms, "aftercare" (they talk), Clark is pathetic as usual, excessive amount of pet names, reader cosplays as a twinkie... A/N: This took too long to write only because I had a lot more to say than I thought I did um. Yeah I was up one day thinking about Clark being an alpha and then got hit with the brilliant image of Clark with two knots as one does (i need a lobotomy)

“I know, sweet girl, but trust me, you'll be glad for it soon.”

Clark's voice is a purr in your ear. His hulking body eclipses yours, this tiny thing beneath him. He's got your knees nearly bent to your ears as he holds you in half, one strong hand keeping you pinned easily. His muscles don't even flex in trying to do it. He remains completely unaffected by your squirming, and that alone is furthering the haze of your mind. His fingers plunge in and out of you in a mess of sopping wet sounds and sobbing whines that have his skin kissed a pretty red and his breaths a little too thick to be truly unaffected.

This heat had really hit you out of nowhere. Well, that's not true. You were expecting it, and you had prepared for it. The unexpected part was waking up to a heat in your veins that was so strong, you thought they may be searing under your skin. Your hips were already desperately grinding against your arm when your eyes opened and you realized what was happening. The bed was soaked with your sweat and heat. Now it's soaked with sweat, heat, slick, and so, so much more in the mess of your pleasure.

Your poor neighbor Clark had come home after work and was immediately knocked over with the intensity of your smell just walking near to your room. He's reassured you that he's the only one who can smell it—not that your brain is put together enough to care about anything other than the overwhelming scent of him; like the warm summer wind blowing through a cornfield, a fire in the distance, earthy and real.

He feels so bad—you're without a mate to help you, this heat is too intense to handle with toys, and you just sounded so, so sad when he finally made the decision to check on you. The way you looked at him, your face wet with tears and sweat, your skin rich with warmth, your eyes a glassy haze that hurts him with the amount of empathy he’s flooded with at the sight of. You're in so much pain, had said so when you made this weak little plea.

“Alpha, please. Help me, I n-need you so bad.” A sob has your ribs shaking. You look like you'll melt into the bed, surrendering to the heat. “H-hurts so m-much. S’like…’m on fire. F-feel like–” Clark only comes closer, so choked up that he has to take your face in his hands and wipe your cheeks of their tear streaks. “Feels s’like ‘m gonna die, alpha. Pl-ease help me.”

Clark's heart hurts. You have no one else to take care of you, and you're hurting so bad. He wants to help you, he really does, but he's so worried he'll hurt you, too. He's not exactly made for humans…

But you've chosen him. He's lucky you didn't attack him the moment he'd come to the door. Omegas in heat, especially one this strong, are to be treated very cautiously. You wouldn't be able to hurt him, no, but he doesn't want you to feel threatened in any way.

Instead, you'd begged him to take you himself. “Help me,” you'd said. And how was he—Clark Kent, Superman, the Hero of Metropolis, a man who wanted nothing more than to serve—supposed to deny a cry for help so personal and delicate?

So he's spent the last hour doing nothing but making you cum over and over and over again. He rubs your clit, laps at your pussy like it will quench his thirst, drives his thick fingers so deep inside of you that you're already stretching around him and seeing stars.

You're trembling beneath him like a leaf in a fierce wind. Clark whispers and purrs and coos at you as he brings you to unspeakable heights again and again. He says, “You're so pretty, honey”, and “Just like that, good girl”, and “I'm here, let it all go f’me, pretty”, and “Gonna make it better. Promise.” That Midwestern drawl is just thickened enough in his frenzied state that all of his ‘honey’s and ‘sweetheart’s and any other sweet nothings (or everythings) make your gushing that much worse.

The sheets are completely ruined. If a noise complaint hasn't been filed by this point, it's still devastatingly early to earn the title of worst new neighbor. You've been here barely a month, and you already have a reputation. There are a plethora of other issues building as you go, but the worst part of it all is that you really don't fucking care. You're too busy whining under Clark with a lack of dignity that must be canceled out, or you would never be able to earn it back for even a day. “Alpha, need you in me. Please—uhng–god, n-need…pups. Need your puppies so bad, alpha.”

He's dizzy and losing it. “Can't say things like that,” he chokes. “Can't—Can't think when you… Gosh, honey.” You suck his fingers in your pussy like you never intend for them to leave. Clark struggles to compose himself so he can try to get his thoughts in order (which is a difficult thing to do when he’s still licking the taste of you off his lips).

You don't relent. You're needy and delirious, and the only thing you can think clearly about right now is the fact that you need him like you've never needed anything in your life.

“Breed me, alpha,” you plead, your hips squirming to get closer to him.

He bends down to kiss your forehead, cooing breathily in your ear. “I'm not sure I should… You don't… I'm gonna be too much for you.”

You shake your head. “No,” you sob, impatient now. “Need you. Only want y-you, no one else, alpha. Please, I-I can be good. Be your good omega.”

Clark thinks he's going to pass out if you keep talking to him this way. He's flared and solid, leaky where he's trapped in his boxers. He grinds his hips down into the bed, and he can smell his scent catching in the clothes and pillows and fabrics stuffed in your meticulously built nest. You've already ripped his shirt off his body, which left him entirely stunned, and added it to the mix.

Your scents are binding together. He's trying hard not to actually mark you, but it's becoming increasingly difficult with every moaned “alpha”.

“You're my perfect omega, sweetheart,” he promises. “But–”

When you sniffle, his gaze snaps down to you with a razor-sharp quickness. He watches tears begin to flow down your face like fountains, no longer overstimulated but pained. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your lungs become so tight and heavy. Clark hates himself for ever doing that to you.

“You don't want me,” you croak, breaths watery. You hiccup, your walls still clamping down where his fingers have stilled inside of you. “I'm no good for you—you don't like me.”

He shakes his head like it's the only way to save your life. He pulls his fingers from you, trying to soothe you with a kneading palm to your side. “No, sweetheart. I do like you. I like you so much. I just–”

“No, no, no,” you shake, pain searing your veins. Your head is pounding with the rejection, sharpening your bones to pierce flesh. “Y-you don't—don't want me. M’sorry, alpha, wanted…to be good for you. I–”

He cuts you off with a kiss that makes your lungs quiver uncontrollably in your chest. The rising pain cools enough to calm your agonized sniffling. He holds you warm and close, unconsciously grinding his hips into your leg.

“Shh,” he purrs in your ear, this deep, tumbling sound that soothes the riling in your gut and beneath your skin. It gives you some room to breathe, your mind fuzzy with him and his security. “I'm gonna make it better, omega.” The happy sound that slips from the back of your throat is something akin to a chirp, eased but still needy. “But you gotta promise to do as I say. Okay?”

You nod, watching him through watery eyes. “Promise, alpha. Promise.”

He nods, swallowing down his fear in order to help you the way you need. He's not going to let you suffer like this. He needs you to be okay (and he's secretly thrilled you chose him), but he won't be able to help you if he's worrying himself sick about hurting you with just the way he is.

“Gonna make it better,” he repeats, more to himself than to you. Like he's reminding himself, like he's setting his goal so he won't get distracted and stray.

You stare blurry-eyed at his face, still a little dazed by the depth and the smooth tone of his alpha’s voice. You don't see him free himself from his confines or stroke a giant palm over his long and thick cock. You don't look until the choked grunt he gives us echoing against your chest.

Oh, what the fuck.

So that's what he meant when he spoke about being “too much for you”. He's big, and he's thick, and your mouth waters at the dribble of precum leaking steadily from the tip of him. His insistence on making you cum so many times to stretch you out suddenly made a whole lot of sense.

Because he's not just huge. He's double-knotted.

At the base of his cock is one thick knot that will offer the most delicious stretch. And underneath that? An even thicker knot, almost scary with the way it pulses desperately, needing so badly to feel the glorious hug of your tight little cunt.

You don't realize you've begun to whine until he's kissing all over your face in an overwhelmed reassurance.  “S’okay, omega. We'll take it slow, and you don't have to take… um, both of them. I'll only give you as much as you want, okay?”

Your reply is a shaky thing. “Want you, alpha. I need you.”

Clark has to look away before his restraint continues to leak out of his skin. He muffles a groan into the skin of your neck. You gasp when his tongue is flicking over your scent glands, a deep sigh releasing itself from your chest.

“Open up for me, sweetie,” he says, his voice just a little deeper than intended. It once again nudges that need within you to comply, to surrender to him so that he can do what he needs to do. Your legs spread farther apart immediately. He hooks one hand beneath your knee, presses it down until he's got you half-folded beneath him.

You whine his name, and he soothes you with another lick. He can't help but to hum at the taste, sweet and heady and intoxicatingly you.

The head of his cock slides between your drenched folds, coating himself in your slick as he bites back moans and growls. When he begins to sink into you, your mouth goes slack with every inch dragging along your walls, every ridge stretching you out wider and wider. You're too delirious to think to acknowledge that he was definitely right about spending so much time prepping you before.

Your legs are uselessly trembling before he's even half way. He dips down and captures your mouth with his, keeps the both of you steady with the comforting swipe of his tongue along your bottom lip.

When the swell of his knot stops him from going any farther, two long, deep moans shudder out of the both of you and into the heated air. You go sort of limp beneath him, like all of the pain and tension is being released from your body in a steady unwinding.

Clark lingers there, pulled back just enough to be able to cradle your face in his hands. He watches you with focus, holds you with reverence. His hands are shaking with the force of his restraint as he channels his energy into taking care of you.

“That’s it,” he coos. “Doin’ so good for me, omega. Let me take care of you, just like this.”

You mewl at him, rubbing the tip of your nose against his. He bends down and kisses you again, lets you find comfort in it until you're whining for him to move.

He takes it real slow. He draws his hips back, watches your face for any sign of pain, listens to every little heartbeat. When he's guiding himself back into you, your hands fly up to claw at his sides. He lets out a relieved sigh when he's confirmed it was only out of a need to hold him and not from any pain.

He does this for a while. Drags his thick cock along the flutter of your pussy, clenching his jaw hard as his thighs tense up and his breath holds itself in his lungs.

“Alpha,” you whimper in his ear. “More. Need more.”

He goes to shake his head, stroking his thumbs over your cheeks. “Shh, honey… Trying not to hurt you.”

You're not hearing it. You don't need his restraint, you need him to make the pain and the heat go away. You need him to soothe the ache and to let yourself succumb to the pleasure. “Please? I'll be a good girl, I promise.”

“I know you will.” He kisses your forehead twice, and then presses one to your lips. “I know you will, but–”

“Please, alpha. Please, please, please, please, please…” You don't stop, repeating yourself over and over again, interrupted only by sharp breaths and needy moans.

Clark knows he won't win, so he decides he'll give you what you want and just be even more careful about it. He won't hurt you. He can do that.

He huffs. “Promise you'll tell me if it's too much?” You're not entirely listening. Your plea is still a murmured phrase under your breath, your eyes closed tight and your pussy clamping down on him. His voice drops to that rumbling sound again, stopping you entirely from your muttering and making you look up at him again. He hates to do it, but if it's the only way to get you to focus, he will.

“Promise me, omega.” You make this tiny sound in the back of your throat, not nearly loud enough to be a chirp but too short to be a whine. “Promise me you'll tell me if it's too much.”

You nod quickly, your body obeying even when your mind is still too frantic to keep up. “Promise. I promise, I promise.”

He nods, still stroking your temples with the gentlest touch. He takes a breath and tightens his hold on the back of your knee where he's got it bent near your shoulder. “Okay,” he says to himself, a little sound under his breath as he prepares himself. You're already so, so warm and so, so wet and so, so tight. He's got to focus or this will all be over a little bit too soon, and he really doesn't want to ruin it. He wants to help you, to make you feel better.

And maybe…convince you to keep him when the fog has cleared and you aren’t being so driven by instinct.

The moment he starts moving, you're desperately grabbing at his sides and throwing your head back, bearing your neck to him like you're begging him to take a bite out of you.

“Oh, gosh,” he pants. You feel too good. You're hugging his cock so tight, sputtering his name over and over again as he noses along flushed skin.

One of your hands comes up to hold the side of his neck. He looks down at you, your eyes bleary, tilting his chin up when you move his head. He groans under your lips as you begin to kiss along his throat. You can taste the vibrations of his lovely sounds as it echoes through your tongue and into the warmth of your chest. His head goes fuzzy when your tongue darts out to lick at his own scent glands.

He feels irreparably dizzy. You lap at his neck like it's dripping honey, wrap your lips around him and kiss and suck until he's nearly forgotten to take it easy. He doesn't realize he's begun keenly fucking into you until he registers the way your moans have climbed, wet and whiny. Your heart is pounding so much in your chest, a relentless, arhythmic beat that would worry him more if you weren't still messily licking at his neck. Your mouth has gone slack and your hands are useless in trying to hold on to something, but you're sucking him in like a cure.

“Do you like that?” he huffs, grinding his hips so deep that you lose breath to answer. “Does that feel better, omega? You just needed to be stuffed nice and full, huh?” He doesn't know what he's saying. He just knows that saying it is making you whine and clench around him, so he isn't going to stop.

“Yes, yes, feels so good!” You relish in the feeling of his heavy body leaning over you, enough weight holding you down to keep you sated. Your hands grab hastily at his sides, pulling his body close to yours with an urgency that has him huffing into the air. “Please don’t stop. You feel so good.”

“Won’t stop, honey.” He gasps when you suck on his glands, tonguing at them until he’s utterly breathless. “Doin’ so good for me, my good omega.”

Your moans only grow louder. His praise, his attention, the hulking mass of his body, the scent of him swirling around in your brain until you’re intoxicated with it—it’s making it so difficult to keep up as you whimper mindlessly beneath him. You feel so good. You’re happy to submit yourself to him as he spoils you.

Clark shifts your leg, opening you up even more for him as he presses himself even closer inside of you. The feeling of his thickness stretching you out, reaching so deep that you can feel the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix with every single thrust up into you, is a dizzying pleasure that you struggle to breathe around. And still you beg for more.

His hand trails your chest, the wide expanse of it grabbing and kneading and stroking with the touch that can only be described as reverent. He moans when you squeeze around his cock, kisses your forehead every time you give an aching “alpha”. Every thrust becomes more and more impassioned as he rubs your nipples and watches every shift in your face as the pleasure continues to pull you under.

The heat of his palm travels farther down your body until he’s holding on to the meat of you at the cusp of your thigh and hip. He squeezes fondly, hisses when you answer with the accidental scrape of your incisors at his throat, the ache in your jaw longing to bite down on him, to take him for yourself like he’s taking you. It takes a tremendous amount of restraint in the mess of heat and drunkenness that clouds your mind like a thick fog not to just claim him right here and now.

When his thumb is stroking your clit again, you’re a goner. You bury your head in the fluff of a pillow beneath your head, mewling a high-pitched sound as he connects his mouth to your throat once more. You taste like sugar on his tongue, the sweetest thing he’s ever had the privilege to have all to himself. You open up even more for him, and he takes the opportunity to slot even closer into the space of your body.

You’re pressed so closely together that it’s hard to believe there was ever a time that you were never touching. You flutter around him, already so devastatingly close to the edge that your hips are messily grinding up to meet his in a blind pursuit of it. “Oh, fuck. I—n’gonna cum again. A-alpha!”

It hits you sooner than you expect. You gush around him, white flashing behind your eyes as your cunt clamps down on the broad stretch of him. You cry out his name, wrapping your arms tight around him. Clark clenches his jaw so tight at the delicious sting of your nails clawing into his back like you’re trying to imprint yourself into his skin.

“Good girl, good girl,” he groans into your throat, licking and kissing at the exposed flesh bared to him. His hips snap even harder into you, not entirely aware but too engrossed in the sounds of your moans to keep from doing it again and again and again.

You’re still trembling in the high of your orgasm, limbs locked, back arched, head fuzzy with pleasure, but the continued stroking of the rough pad of his thumb on your clit and the grinding of his cock inside of you is too much. Your toes barely scrape the solid surface of the ground before you’re sent into another awesome orgasm that only has your drenched pussy sucking him in tighter.

“Alphaalphaalpha, yes! F-fuck, I—Oh!”

Clark chokes when his first knot slips into you in the middle of his grinding. He drops his head in the heat and sweat of your neck as his orgasm catches him by surprise.  Your cry is silent, mouth hung open and eyes closed shut. Your body shakes like a leaf beneath him, pinned and filled and the best it has ever felt. He grinds helplessly into the warm, wet embrace of your cunt as it grips him tight. He spills into you with a gutted sound and quickly turns his head, sinking his teeth into the meaty palm of his free hand to keep from burying them in the tempting column of your bared throat.

Tears spring to your eyes and cloud your vision at the deliciously overwhelming feeling building in you, and still you take every thrust, every spurt, every high in stride, drowned in so much pleasure that the orgasm has no hope in easing your mind into a slow but steadying clarity. Your moans get stuck in your throat, your breath stutters, and a fundamental part of you shakes. You don’t know if it’s a switch flicking on or off, but it’s intense and it's deep.

You don’t come all the way back down. Clark huffs, cock still sensitive and twitchy and plugged inside of you. His slowing pace has nerves in your thighs kicking. You pull him in a bit, a pitchy chirp rising from your throat as you shake your head. “M-more.” The sweetness of your voice infects him until he's accidentally bucking into you.

He tries to catch his breath, arms flexing at either side of your head, his body blocking your view of the rest of the world. If you weren’t still so delirious from your heat, the big, broad frame of his chest and shoulders would be more intimidating. But right now, it just makes you want him that much more.

“Gotta,” he hums, “gotta slow down… You can’t take all of this at once.” He presses kisses into your hair, smells you in deep pulls of air.

You nod anyway, just grabbing at him more. “I can,” you whisper, almost a squeak of a sound. “Needa make you feel good, alpha. I can take it.”

One of his hands comes down to pet your head, his thumb stroking your temple tender as he scratches dull nails against your scalp. “I do feel good. You’re being such a good omega.” Despite himself, his hips jerk when a rush of pleasure makes you flutter around him, only hugging him tighter. He nearly growls, blind-sided. “You don’t…have to take all of me.”

You huff, the whiny edge to your need turning with frustration. You huff at him, cast him this indignant look as your hands grab at his neck to pull him down to you. Your scent only warms against his face and makes the scorching red of his skin all over his body all the worse.

“Let me. Let me take it.” Your hips start rolling up into him, an instinctual movement more than a calculating one. You kiss him deep, drowning him in the taste of you before you’re pulling his neck back to your mouth to suck again. You drown in the scent of him until a triumphant yelp falls out of you when he’s sucking and tonguing on your throat and collarbones like your skin is infused with ambrosia.

You whimper and sigh as he loses himself in you. “More, alpha. Need you.”

Clark would like to say he has more control than this, but it’s difficult to do that when you speak to him like this. It’s this tender sound, a cross between a coo and a purr. It strokes a need in him to give to you anything you desire, to serve you and protect you and keep you happy. It’s cheating, but he supposes he had to do the same before to get you calm enough to let him help you.

He’s accidentally bucking his hips up into you before he even realizes it. He’d gone to shush you again, to distract you so he could get you to maybe rest for a bit, but already half buried in you, and your greedy pussy is still trying to take more.

Clark grips your other leg and hoists it over his shoulder, folding you in half with a grunt. He watches you, his breath thick, his muscles shaking. You’re so small and so soft and you’re looking at him like you need him to breathe. He dwarfs you, with broad shoulders and hands and everything, and yet the only thing in your eyes is a raw, pure need for him to stay.

There’s a soft glow around you that he’s pretty sure is some sort of enchantment that has utterly charmed him, molded his brain to know nothing but the way you taste on his tongue, the way you smell when you’re flushed, the way you whole body shudders in time with his every time you come undone beneath him.

“Say my name,” he whispers before he realizes he’s whispered.

Your eyes are still hazy, still a little too raw where the heat refuses to ease. You keen, “Alpha, please. Please.”

He shakes his head, almost grumbles. “No,” he says, not without fondness. “Say my name, honey.”

“Clark,” you sigh, breathy and high. A softness in you melts in your eyes, and then over your skin like the honey he claims you to be. “Want you, Clark. I–”

His hips buck into you with more force than you’re expecting, and you cry out beneath him at the pleasure that blossoms and blooms across your body like a bouquet of the softest flowers. He muffles a broken moan into your mouth, your lips sloppy as you aim less for a kiss and more for any kind of contact you can get.

He holds you still, pinned down beneath him. He tugs you on his knot, the thick of it rubbing tightly against your walls and making you gasp for a breath of air. His muscles flex with every effort to be careful with you. You're rare goods, he'll be damned if he mishandles you in any way.

Clark presses his thumb back to you clit and is startled by how much you feel like you’ve opened up, a guttural sound coming from deep in your chest as he slots that much deeper into you.

“So wet for me, pretty girl,” he coos. His hips roll against you. It presses the knot of him into you with pressure more than glide. When he pulls back, he doesn't pull back. And when he pushes in, he drives forward. His hips are nearly flush with you and aching to be closer. “My sweet omega.” He says it like a desperate truth being plied from his soul.

 He takes care in applying constant pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves perched between soft lips. You squirm beneath him, unable to get far with the weight of him on top of you but in no way even thinking to. He catches your lips, a wanton need licking into your mouth. When he drops his head back down to the warm crevice of your neck and shoulder, his tongue grazing your leaky scent glands has you rolling your head back onto the plush beneath you with a depraved, guttural sound chokes in your throat.

All of these sensations are so much. The licking, the stroking, the grinding; his raspy breathing in your ear, the debauched stretch of his first knot still buried nicely inside you, the sheer amount of slick and sweat and arousal and cum coating your skin, sticking to the insides of your thighs and the seat of his pelvis; it's filthy and it's sinful and if you were more grounded, you'd think about how you never would have even begun to imagine such depravity happening in the presence (in the actions) of your sweet neighbor Clark who sometimes bring you baked goods from the nice place around the corner or lends a hand with anything around your apartment to help you settle in or simply checks in on you to make sure you're doing well. “I'd just hate for you to have a hard time,” he'd said. “Anything at all, and I'm there.”

You can hardly form his name when you're shuddering beneath him again. The sound you make is whiney. You struggle to catch your breath as your body desperately seeks him out. You feel like you're drowning in the warmth and solidity of his Clark-ness, and you never want to breathe again.

Without missing a beat, Clark groans in time with you as he continues to circle your clit without ever faltering. He cradles your head in his free hand and holds you, watches your face twist up in more pleasure with every spark in your muscles. “Just like that,” he praises, kissing along your jawline to ensure you never go without tender affection. “Doin’ so good for me—opening up so much for me.”

Your face is damp with sweat and tears, and he wipes them away with gentle, adoring fingers. He's devastated because he's so close, and you're opening up for him so well, but he's not sure if he's gonna last until then. Especially when you keep gripping his knot like a lifeline. He can feel the quick pulse of your heartbeat through the tightness of your sloppy cunt just as well as he can hear it in your chest. The thick vein in your neck—worse yet, your mating glands—is beating beneath his lips and he wants so badly to scrape his teeth against it. You would suffocate his cock with how much you'd squeeze.

Your eyes are wet and almost droopy, and he can tell by the way your body is becoming unbelievably pliant beneath him that you're so close to your limit. You're spent and tired and desperately in need of a break.

He's conflicted between stopping and continuing on. He only wants to take care of you. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he coos softly, kissing your jaw but never letting up on his thrusts or stroking. “You wanna stop?” His breath is hot and heavy fanning over your face. His hips never stutter. “Say so, and we'll stop.”

When you shake your head with an emphatic kind of need, he's more than delighted. You grab at him, weak but eager. “No, don't s-stop.” You gasp for breath, blinking up at him blearily. “Please, Clark. E-even if I pass out, just please don't stop.”

Fuck. The way you say it, the way your legs hold him even closer still, it overwhelms him and he loses control. His hips buck forward sharply, he groans. He pulls you down onto him and then a sharp pleasure lights up at the base of his spine and rushes up until he can no longer see.

A cry falls out of you, loud, wailing, but ultimately impassioned. A feeling like you've never felt before lights you up until you feel like a star in the vast expanse of a night sky, free and bright and shining.

Clark bursts. The sensation is so magnificent. His jaw aches, he growls into the warmth of your throat before he's sinking his teeth into the meat of his forearm, clamping down so hard he tastes his own blood.

He desperately keeps grinding into you as the pleasure consumes him entirely. Your pussy, tight and gushing, sucks in the second, throbbing knot Clark had managed to cram into you. You feel yourself shaking, floating, rippling with fire and with ecstasy. He fills you for the second time, stuffs you full to bursting with his cum. If he wasn't so big, it'd be leaking out of you in heavy globs.

Clark's muscles are trembling with how tense he is, trying not to let his pleasure blind him enough to accidentally hurt you. You just feel so, so good. The way you hug him tight, the way you milk his cock, the way you take everything he gives you with a plea on your tongue to give you more, it makes his self-restraint thin and brittle.

His voice is rough, his breath is ragged, and every sound is stifled by his overwhelming need to moan and tell you how good you feel.

“Damn it, feels so good,” he rasps, nearly growling each time you give an instinctive squeeze. “Good omega, sweet girl. My pretty, lovely girl.” By this point, he's just rambling. He can't stop the words from spilling, can't stop himself from covering your face with more and more kisses, swiping his tongue over your glands when he kisses your neck sweetly. His hips still thrust, buried and stuck deep, never getting far but somehow not nearly close enough to where you both want to be. “Took all of me so well, beautiful. My best girl, takin’ it f’me. Precious omega.”

You fall limp beneath his praise, his heavy body weighing you down in the most comforting way. The pleasure lingers, every nerve still sparking with it, reluctant to let go. You close your eyes, soak in his praise and his embrace. The heat has sizzled to something manageable, something soothed by the warmth of his breath on your skin. The exhaustion seeping into your skin becomes something peaceful and full.

It takes Clark a moment longer to come around. He's so careful not to move as he settles on you in a way that won't completely crush you under his weight. He cradles your face in his large hands like you're a whole world of your own, kisses your cheeks back and forth to pay his respects. Your tears have been swiped away and dried, leaving your face flushed warm in the prettiest way, your lips are kiss-swollen and your cheeks are following suit.

He settles his face close to your own, breathes in deep and syncs his just so he can feel your chest brush his. Then, in the softest voice he can possibly manage, says, “Are you still with me, honey?”

Your response is so delayed that he almost gets startled by the silence. It's nothing magnificent, only the laziest, prettiest hum he's ever heard followed by a sluggish moan and a very slurred, “Hi, Clark.”

He smiles, your tone something more familiar, something way less needy and way more you. He kisses your lips so softly that you're not entirely sure you hadn't just dreamed up the press of them. “Hm, is that you-you?”

You smile (the laziest, prettiest smile he's ever seen) and slowly peel your eyes open to look at him. You give a poor imitation of a nod, and he laughs to himself, careful not to move too much. “S’me,” you breathe. This look settles over your face, like a cross between embarrassment and amusement and something simply shy. “Sorry.” Your hands find their way to your face and you garbel into them. “I've never…been that bad before.”

His smile only grows. Though still clearly exhausted, and in need of a lot of care and rest, you're sounding a little bit better, and your eyes seem a little bit clearer. He can see you peeking through that heated curtain you've been hidden behind.

His thumb strokes your right like it's the most fragile thing that will ever exist in the world. It's so soft that your skin erupts in shivers that make your nose twitch in a way that reminds him of a rabbit. He knows if he ever said that out loud, you would likely die of the ridiculousness of it and his audacity to even say such a (sweet?) thing.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers so gently. Like his breath alone is enough to shatter you. You look into his overwhelmingly blue eyes and find him hanging on every single flick of your eyes staring back at him. You understand everything he's asking.

You tentatively reach for his chin with just your fingertips, trying to hold him with as much gentleness as he's holding you. It's not that you can't be gentle with him, it's simply that his level of tenderness is something entirely superhuman. You don't think you could ever do him the justice he deserves.

The kiss you bestow upon him is so timid that his body nearly collapses at the sincerity in it, all of that extra strength in the broadness of him nothing against the strength of that tiny little kiss. He holds himself up by a thread.

You give him a smile that makes him forget how to breathe and say with the most honesty he's ever heard, “I never felt better, or safer, than I have since the moment you came into my room.” And you mean it more than anything. You feel sated, warmed from the inside out. You feel content and exhausted in the best way. To top it all off, you've got Clark here with you at least until he's deflated enough to pop out of you. Which…won't be for a very long time if you're processing the sheer size of him right. You just hope it's enough time to sleep while he holds you in his arms, stinking of campfires and sweat and ink and cum.

He gives you another feather-light kiss. “That’s good,” he coos. “I'm glad.” He rests his forehead against yours, feels the way your hands grasp at his sides, likes you want him to crush you. He stifles a chuckle in your hair but does nothing more. “You did perfectly for me, sweetheart. I've never had a better omega, never.” He kisses you thrice more.

You feel his arms scoop beneath you, bringing you to his chest and slowly flipping the two of you until he's positioned in your nest well enough to keep you on top of him without depriving you of the safety of being in it (while also being able to fit comfortably with you still tied with him).

Fuck, he's bigger than you thought.

Catching a glimpse of your bodies pressed together, your breath stutters when you find the outline of his thicker knot sitting nicely in your belly, and then a smaller bump below that as well. How on Earth did you manage that?

Clark makes this choked sound, and when you look up you see him keeping his gaze fixed exclusively on the ceiling, his jaw clenched and rolling lightly. You start to ask if he's alright before you feel the slightest twitch of him inside of you, a pulsing that has you needy and exhausted all over again.

“Clark,” you say, not a whine but not too far.

He nods quickly, taking in a couple deep breaths before speaking. “I know, I know, I'm sorry.” He swallows thickly. “Just saw…me…inside of you, and it just–” He cuts him off before he can ruin his progress in trying to calm himself. You need rest, not a…he doesn't even know what round this would count as.

He holds you to him, head on his chest, hands stroking your body, you tucked in the space of his own like you belong there. (He's going to fight like Hell to be able to continue holding a spot for you there.)

He shushes you gently, hums until his voice has taken that low tone that makes you soften like butter. “Get some rest, sweet omega,” he rumbles.

Your eyes are already closing, your hand inching toward his chin to stroke just one finger is getting slower by the heartbeat. You struggle to fight the pull to fall just yet. Your voice is a liquid prayer. “Stay?”

Clark smiles wide. That's all he ever wanted. “Not goin’ anywhere. Promise.” He kisses your forehead, and you're already dozing in the warmth and safety of his large arms holding you close as you purr into his neck (drenched in the combined scent of the both of you, a scent making him so dizzy). He's still processing everything, but mostly he's happy to be here with you and he's happier he gets to stay. He'd never leave if only you would ask. All you'd have to do is ask.

Superman taglist: @the-nerdy-goddess Clark Kent taglist: @disillusioniary @pinkpantheris @joaofandoms @harumscarumcos @dethspllz @yogichi @jackierose902109 @serendippindots @linda-park-arrow View taglist here... Request to be added view askbox or DM...

[verytyphoonfun]

The idea of being used by Clark Kent… he’s so apologetic as he uses you, babbling “sorry” and “he wasn’t raised like this” between hard thrusts. He’d throw you around. First he’s fucking you on the wall, lifting and dropping you because he can. Then maybe he has you bent over the kitchen counter and he keeps yanking you back onto him. Then on the bed he has you on the meanest mating press of all time, and your knees are at your ears and the sheets are soaked and your vision is whiting out but he won’t stop. He’s on the edge of too rough, and you know you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

[navybrat817]

Deep in the Woods Masterlist

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Fic Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, bits of insecurity, tension, kissing, sexual tension, reader is too trusting and ignores red flags like she's colorblind, eventual smut, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

Fic Status: Ongoing

A/N: An AU inspired by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor! Hope you lovelies enjoy! ❤️ Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Asks and Nonsense Ramblings

How did this fic come about?

Possible nicknames for our reader - I, II

Assistant Alpine

What's for dinner?

Praising you

Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

[nanamisfae]

AFAB READER | MDNI 18+

When he's a golden retriever in public but anything but that in bed

He's always had a personality in the public of oh he's too sweet and charming, the golden retriever, cutie who helps old ladies cross the street, the one who crams his girlfriend's family members names and birthdays, the one who carries all your shopping bags and never let's you lift a finger, who takes you out on dates to celebrate any achievement, who drives you everywhere. He's the perfect text book golden retriever boyfriend in public but in private it's a whole different story

When he has you face down in the bed sheets crying from over stimulation as he plows back and forth into you whilst you're shaking and barely staying up on your knees if not for his hands keeping you on your knees and arching your back perfectly so he can fuck your cunt just how he wants.

"S'too much" you slur out whilst squeeze the sheets beneath you to get a sense of stability "sorry love it's just that you look so good today─ and everyone kept looking at you and nngh fuck" he rasps when you squeeze around his swollen cock, the compliments going from your head all the way to your cunt.

Nobody would think that it's your boyfriend who couldn't hurt a fly that has his hand squeezing the fat of your hips and fucking up into your ass and rearranging your guts.

"S─shit right t─there" you whine while he pistons into your with his balls slapping against your clit driving you crazy, every thrust sending closer and closer over the edge.

The sheer size of him overwhelming you backed with how many times he's made you cum has tears running down your face and ruining your makeup

"S──so tight, all mine fu─ck... No one else mine mine MINE nghh" he's so fare gone after going about this for hours his cock twitching inside you.

"I'm gonna, I'm c─cum─" you cry into the pillow body shuddering all over, eyes rolling back hips snapping back into his cock, spasming and gushing all over his cock. Finally you felt his cum flowing deep into you fill you up to the brim the frothy mix of both of your releases forming a ring at the bottom of his dick.

Still recovering from the high you notice he hasn't stopped moving in you, his cock is still going at that punishing pace, like he doesn't even realize he's still fucking you and talking to himself in a daze "ah fuck so good baby , too good your pussy feels too aghh"

[babysavethecake]

oneshot

corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

summary: you're one of the new, fresh, and young interns of many that were so lucky enough to be chosen for the Daily Planet. a very cute nerdy reporter catches your hungry eye. but he's unsure if bending a few moral rules is a good idea.

tags: 18+ , MDNI , NSFW , smut , age gap (reader is 22 kent is 35) , power imbalance , yearning clark , creampie , eating out , p in v

a/n: wow what an innocent fic

theme: teachers pet (formally inspired by)

"And this," Perry said, stopping just short of Clark's very own cubicle, arm extended, "Is where you will find your mentors."

Yourself and four other interns crowded together, shy, excited, eager.

Your heart did a ridiculous flip when Clark Kent looked up from his typewriter, yes, he still used one sometimes, the endearing dinosaur, and blinked in genuine surprise. He pointed a finger at himself. "Me?"

Perry didn't even glance back. "And Cat and Lois, and whoever else I forgot."

"Rude!" Jimmy called out from behind his own cubicle.

Perry waved a hand without looking. "Olsen, you're taking the one who keeps staring at your blank computer screen. Try not to traumatize her too badly."

Jimmy bounded over immediately, all freckles and enthusiasm, already extending a hand. "Hey! Jimmy Olsen, photographer extraordinaire, your official mentor starting… now. You like darkrooms? I basically live in one. We're gonna have so much fun."

You shook his hand, smiled, said all the right things. But your eyes kept sliding sideways.

The very endearing dark haired man that just radiated some kind of gentlemanly masculinity. Clark Kent. He was already shaking hands and introducing himself to his own mentee.

She was striking. Tall, dark hair swept into a low ponytail, sharp cheekbones, the kind of effortless beauty that made other women unconsciously smooth their skirts.

She laughed at something he said, and Clark ducked his head with that shy half-smile that should have come with a warning label.

Your stomach twisted. Not jealousy, exactly. More like… territorial panic. Like watching someone else hold the thing you'd been quietly starving for. Even though you had no real claim on it.

He glanced up, pure reflex, and caught you looking. You looked away first. Heat crawled up your neck.

Jimmy was still talking. "-so anyway, if you ever need to develop film the old-school way, I'm your guy. None of this digital nonsense. Real photography has soul, you know?"

"Yeah," you breathed out. "Soul. Totally."

The next few days were exquisite torture. You caught glimpses of Clark everywhere.

Leaning over his mentee's shoulder to point at her laptop screen, sleeves rolled to his forearms, voice pitched low so only she could hear.

Carrying two coffees back from the break room. One for her, one for himself, because of course he noticed she took hers black.

And every single time he sensed your eyes on him, he looked. Held the contact a heartbeat too long. Then broke it like it physically hurt him to do so.

You even tried going to him for help more than your own mentor. Which Jimmy quickly caught onto. "You know i'm your mentor, right? Not nerdy old Kent."

You'd forced a smile, mumbled something about "just double-checking facts," but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. Jimmy had rolled his eyes good-naturedly and gone back to developing prints, but the point landed.

Still, you couldn't stop. Clark noticed.

Those stolen glances had turned into something heavier.

"Mind if I…?"

You slid the page toward him without a word.

He leaned over your shoulder and braced one hand on the back of your chair, the other flat on the table beside your elbow. His forearm brushed yours. You felt the warmth of him immediately, the faint clean scent of soap and newsprint and something indefinably him. He adjusted his glasses with a knuckle, scanned the text, then pointed to a sentence halfway down.

"Here. The attribution's buried. Move the quote up, lead with the source. Readers trust names they recognize early."

You tilted your head just enough that your temple nearly grazed his jaw. "Like that?"

"Mmm." He swallowed. "Better."

You didn't make any effort to move away, or move much at all. You just stared up at him through your lashes, catching the sharp line of his jaw, his adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. You could hear his breathing.

"Kent! You flirting with my intern now?" Jimmy shouted, clapping him hard on the back.

The hand on the back of your chair tightened for a fraction of a second, enough that you felt the wood creak, before he straightened like he'd been caught holding something dangerous. His ears went faintly pink and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in that nervous gesture.

Jimmy stood there grinning, arms crossed. "I mean, I get it, she's cute when she's pretending to listen to me. But hands off the merchandise, Smallville."

Clark cleared his throat. "I was just, helping with structure. The lead was weak." He rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously.

"Uh-huh." Jimmy's grin widened. "Real charitable of you."

By nine-thirty the floor was nearly empty again. You'd volunteered to finish labeling a batch of archived contact sheets. Another one of Jimmy's "learning opportunities" that felt more like charity and ended up back in the fifth-floor storage closet.

You were balanced on a short step-stool, reaching for a box on the top shelf, when the door opened behind you.

No knock. Just Clark. He didn’t step all the way inside at first. Just enough to let the door ease shut and cut off the hallway light.

You didn't turn around right away. You kept your arms raised, fingers brushing cardboard, pretending the sudden heat in the room was from the poor ventilation.

"You shouldn't be up there without someone to spot you," he said quietly.

You lowered your arms. Turned slowly.

Shoulders tense. Looking at you like you were the craving he'd been trying to avoid.

"Jimmy's gone home," you said. "Said I could lock up when I'm done."

"I know."

You stepped down off the stool. Lightly brushed off the dust from your palms. "So?" You notched your head to the side.

Clark stayed by the door, one hand still on the knob like he might bolt at any second. "I shouldn't be here," he said. "You're... you're an intern. I'm—"

"Old enough to know better?" you finished for him, stepping closer.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking to the floor then back to your face. "It's not just the age. It's the position. Perry would fire me on the spot, and he'd be right to."

You slowly crossed your arms, purposely pushing your chest up with the motion. "Then why'd you follow me in here?"

His gaze dropped to your crossed arms, then quickly, snapped back to your face.

"To check on you," he said. "That you might need help moving the heavier boxes. Professional courtesy."

"And was it?"

"No," he admitted. "It wasn't."

Silence.

"Every time you look at me like that…" He dragged a hand through his hair, mussing the neat part he always tried to keep. "It's like you're asking a question I've spent weeks trying not to answer."

"Then answer it now." You fully stepped up now, right in his space.

He subconsciously stepped back.

"I want to," he said quietly. "God help me, I want to. But you're-what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? I'm thirty-five. I've spent my whole life trying to do the right thing, and this…" He gestured vaguely between you. "This isn't right."

You looked him up and down, slowly raking your eyes back to his face.

"Twenty-two." You corrected.

Clark's eyes widened fractionally behind his glasses. He took another small step back until his shoulders met the closed door. He exhaled dramatically, "Gosh... That's… barely out of college. You're just starting your life here, and I-"

"And you what?" you asked gently, refusing to let him retreat any further into guilt. "You're going to tell me that makes this impossible?"

He swallowed hard. "It makes it… complicated. Immensely complicated." His voice dropped to something almost pained. "You look at me like I'm something worth wanting. That alone is enough to keep me awake at night wondering if I'm losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind," you whispered. "You're just feeling something real. And so am I." You flicked your eyes up to look at his. He was 6'4, you were 5'4.

All that followed was his labored breathing like he just ran five miles. You stepped closer again, caging him against the door, letting one of your hands reach out to touch him, only to be caught by his massive one.

"I can't," he said, so quiet it almost disappeared. "I can't let this happen."

"Clark." You said, almost fed up. "I'm not a child."

"I know you're not a child," he said, barely above a whisper.

You didn't pull your hand away. Instead you turned it slowly in his grasp.

"Then stop treating me like I don't know what I want," you said quietly.

His eyes closed for a long moment. When they opened again they were glassy, conflicted, aching. "I've thought about this more than I should," he confessed, so softly it felt like a secret he’d never meant to speak aloud. "Very not so nice things. Thing's a respectable man should never think of, let alone with a coworker, a younger one."

"Clark," you said softly. "Look at me."

It took him a long second, but he did. Those blue eyes were stormy now, pupils wide, guilt and hunger warring openly.

"I've thought them too," you told him. "About you. About us. About what it would feel like if you finally stopped being so careful and just… took what you wanted."

"You shouldn't say things like that," he murmured, almost pleading. "It makes it so much harder to do the right thing."

"Then don't."

You rose onto your toes, closing the last impossible inch between your mouths.

For a second you thought he might pull away, might open the door and vanish down the hall. Instead he made a small, broken sound in the back of his throat.

And kissed you back.

It was careful at first. Lips moving against yours like he was afraid too much pressure would bruise you. But when you parted for him, when your tongue brushed his in silent invitation, the last thread of his restraint snapped.

He immediately picked you up like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. One large hand came up to cradle the back of your head, the other held the underside of one of your thighs.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your mouth.

"Dont apologize. Don't stop. Please." You gasped for air, threading your fingers through his dark hair, then down his white button up.

He exhaled shakily and carried you the few steps to the nearest low shelf. Your skirt had ridden up to which he immediately smoothed it back down over your thighs with both hands, like propriety still mattered even now.

Then he sank to his knees between your legs. He looked up at you through slightly crooked glasses. "May I?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers gripping the edge of the shelf. "Please."

The first brush of his lips against your inner thigh was feather-light, almost chaste. His fingers hooked under the lace of your panties carefully. He slid them down your legs slowly, then folded the delicate material neatly and set it aside on the shelf like it deserved care even in a moment like this.

He parted your thighs gently with both hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive crease where thigh met hip. "You're beautiful," he breathed, almost to himself.

Then his mouth found you. The first long, careful lick made your hips jerk. He immediately steadied you with one broad palm flat against your lower stomach. He hummed softly in quiet pleasure at your taste, the vibration traveling straight through you. Every swirl of his tongue was attentive. H drank in every small sound you made, and adjusted accordingly.

When your fingers tightened in his hair he groaned quietly against you and pressed just a little closer, tongue circling your clit. He never rushed. Never chased anything for himself. Just worshipped you with his mouth until your thighs began to tremble around his ears and heat coiled impossibly tight in your belly.

"Clark-" His name came out desperately.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, lips glistening, expression soft and earnest. "Yeah?"

"Fuck- I didn't tell you to stop."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "You're killing me with how perfect you are."

He ducked his head but didn't argue. His tongue returned to your clit with the same careful reverence, but now he added the slightest suction, lips closing around the sensitive bud in gentle pulses that made your hips lift off the shelf.

"May I use my fingers too? I'd like to feel you come around them… if you'll let me."

"Yes," you gasped. "Please, Clark-yes."

He pressed one slow, open-mouthed kiss to your clit before sliding two fingers along your entrance, coating them in your slickness. He eased them in, slow, careful, watching your face the entire time. Only when you relaxed did he curl them gently, stroking that perfect spot inside.

Then his mouth returned. The combination undid you. The dual sensation built fast, overwhelming. Your thighs clamped around his head. Your back arched hard against the shelf. Your fingers yanked at his hair as the coil in your belly snapped.

You came over his fingers, his mouth, crying out, louder than you meant to. He kept stroking you through it, tongue softening to gentle laps, drawing out every last tremor until you were whimpering.

Only then did he carefully withdraw his fingers, pressing one last tender kiss to your swollen clit before rising.

"Your turn," you breathed, fingers already fumbling toward his belt.

He caught your wrist. "You don't have to-"

"I want to." You held his gaze.

He only nodded.

The buckle came undone under careful fingers. Zipper lowered with a sound that felt deafening in the quiet room. He let the flaps of his pants fall open, so that you could see the visible print of him through his boxers.

You reached out slowly, fingertips brushing the waistband. His stomach jumped under the lightest touch.

"May I?" you asked, turning the question back on him with a teasing smile.

His laugh was soft, breathless. "You're asking me?"

"I learned from the best."

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. "Yes," he said quietly. "Please."

You tugged the waistband down, freeing him. He sprang up against his stomach, the tip of him flushed and dripping with his own pre.

He involuntarily flinched at his own friction.

"God, you're... huge." You nervously swallowed your fear down the best you could. Although, it was probably more excitement if anything. Your small hand looked delicate wrapped around the base, fingers just meeting.

"I know I'm… a lot," he said quietly, like he was ashamed. "We can stop right here if it's too much. I swear to you. I'd never ask you to-"

You cut him off by squeezing along his base and stroking upwards slowly, flicking your wrist at the very tip.

His hips jerked forward an inch on pure instinct before he caught himself. His hands flew to the shelf on either side of your hips, knuckles white.

"Sweetheart-" His voice cracked, hoarse and desperate. "Please… slow. I-I haven't… it's been so long."

You unknowingly parted your lips, like you might genuinely start drooling. "How did girls survive this? You?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I really don't know."

You bit your lip, slowly pumping him in your hand again. "Well I think I'm about to find out." You pulled him closer by his cock, notching him right at your pink entrance.

"Sweetheart," he rasped, voice, "I need you to tell me again. Please. I need to hear it."

"I want you inside me, Clark. I want all of you. I'm ready. I’m asking."

A long, shaky exhale left him. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

His hips flexed forward, the broad head of him nudging just barely inside you, stretching that first delicate ring of muscle.

"Too much?" he whispered, voice cracking like he might cry if the answer was yes. "Am I hurting you already?"

"No," you gasped, legs tightening around his waist to keep him there. "Don't you dare stop. I want to feel every inch of you. Slowly… but don't stop."

"Okay… okay… I'll go slow. I promise. I promise." The stretch burned sweet and bright. He sank another careful inch. Then another. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he let out a stifled moan and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Gosh… sweetheart…" His voice was almost babyish in its overwhelm. "You feel… you feel like heaven. I-I don't know how to be calm right now. I'm sorry. I'm trying so hard."

You threaded your fingers through his dark hair. "Don't be calm," you whispered. "Just move. Please, Clark. I need you to move."

He made another small sound and started the tiniest rocks of his hips. Barely withdrawals. Like he was terrified of hurting you and desperate to feel more of you at the same time.

You arched under him, trying to meet each barely-there thrust. "Deeper," you breathed. "A little harder, please."

A whine caught in his throat. "Harder? Are-are you sure? I don't want to-"

"I’m sure," you cut in, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please."

He groaned and obeyed. The rhythm stayed controlled but grew deeper, longer strokes that made your head spin. The shelf rattled faintly behind you. A few contact sheets slipped to the floor. He didn't notice. His hands roamed everywhere. Stroking down your sides, cupping your breasts through your blouse with the softest of touches.

"Feels good?" he panted against your ear. "Tell me it feels good, please. I need to know."

"So good," you gasped, clenching around him on the next deep thrust. "You're so perfect, Clark. So big… filling me so perfectly…"

A high groan escaped from him. His hips stuttered, then snapped forward harder before he caught himself with a frantic "sorry, sorry, sorry-"

"Don't apologize," you pleaded. "Do it again. Just like that."

He whimpered, actually whimpered, and gave you what you asked for. Deeper, a little faster, still careful.

One hand slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher so he could angle deeper. The new angle made stars burst behind your eyes.

"Right-right there?" he gasped, voice cracking again. "Is that the spot, sweetheart? Please tell me-"

"Yes-yes-Clark-don't stop-"

He stayed exactly there, not speeding up, and neither slowing down. Keeping the pace just as you requested.

Pleasure coiled tighter, unbearable. Your thighs started to shake. "I'm-Clark, I'm gonna-"

"Thank goodness," he murmured. "Because I-sweetheart, I can't hold on much longer."

You cupped the back of his neck. "Come with me," you moaned, looking right into his eyes.

A full-body shudder ran through him.

You shattered like tempered glass finally meeting its match, pieces cracking open in one large burst. Your walls fluttered and clamped around him, squeezing and tugging him deeper, if that was even possible.

Clark's rhythm broke completely. His breath came out harsh. His hands flew to the shelf on either side of your head, wood creaking dangerously under his grip.

"Sweetheart… oh gosh… I'm-may I-inside? Please, I'm so close, I can't-I need-"

"Yes," you gasped, legs locking around him. "Inside me. Come inside me, Clark. Please."

His whole body shook as he came, spilling hot and endless inside you, hips jerking in tiny helpless pulses. He kept rocking through it, whimpering your name over and over. Drawing out every tremor until he was trembling and empty and completely spent.

Then, so softly you almost missed it.

"…thank you."

You laughed breathlessly, carding fingers through his hair. "You're welcome."

"Are you… okay?" he whispered. "Did I… was I too much?"

You shook your head with a smile. "You were perfect."

You tugged him back down for one more slow, lingering kiss.

When you finally pulled away, you whispered, "Next time… my place. A real bed. And maybe you can stop apologizing every five seconds."

"Next time," he replied shyly.

taglist:

[babysavethecake]

oneshot

corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

summary: you're one of the new, fresh, and young interns of many that were so lucky enough to be chosen for the Daily Planet. a very cute nerdy reporter catches your hungry eye. but he's unsure if bending a few moral rules is a good idea.

tags: 18+ , MDNI , NSFW , smut , age gap (reader is 22 kent is 35) , power imbalance , yearning clark , creampie , eating out , p in v

a/n: wow what an innocent fic

theme: teachers pet (formally inspired by)

"And this," Perry said, stopping just short of Clark's very own cubicle, arm extended, "Is where you will find your mentors."

Yourself and four other interns crowded together, shy, excited, eager.

Your heart did a ridiculous flip when Clark Kent looked up from his typewriter, yes, he still used one sometimes, the endearing dinosaur, and blinked in genuine surprise. He pointed a finger at himself. "Me?"

Perry didn't even glance back. "And Cat and Lois, and whoever else I forgot."

"Rude!" Jimmy called out from behind his own cubicle.

Perry waved a hand without looking. "Olsen, you're taking the one who keeps staring at your blank computer screen. Try not to traumatize her too badly."

Jimmy bounded over immediately, all freckles and enthusiasm, already extending a hand. "Hey! Jimmy Olsen, photographer extraordinaire, your official mentor starting… now. You like darkrooms? I basically live in one. We're gonna have so much fun."

You shook his hand, smiled, said all the right things. But your eyes kept sliding sideways.

The very endearing dark haired man that just radiated some kind of gentlemanly masculinity. Clark Kent. He was already shaking hands and introducing himself to his own mentee.

She was striking. Tall, dark hair swept into a low ponytail, sharp cheekbones, the kind of effortless beauty that made other women unconsciously smooth their skirts.

She laughed at something he said, and Clark ducked his head with that shy half-smile that should have come with a warning label.

Your stomach twisted. Not jealousy, exactly. More like… territorial panic. Like watching someone else hold the thing you'd been quietly starving for. Even though you had no real claim on it.

He glanced up, pure reflex, and caught you looking. You looked away first. Heat crawled up your neck.

Jimmy was still talking. "-so anyway, if you ever need to develop film the old-school way, I'm your guy. None of this digital nonsense. Real photography has soul, you know?"

"Yeah," you breathed out. "Soul. Totally."

The next few days were exquisite torture. You caught glimpses of Clark everywhere.

Leaning over his mentee's shoulder to point at her laptop screen, sleeves rolled to his forearms, voice pitched low so only she could hear.

Carrying two coffees back from the break room. One for her, one for himself, because of course he noticed she took hers black.

And every single time he sensed your eyes on him, he looked. Held the contact a heartbeat too long. Then broke it like it physically hurt him to do so.

You even tried going to him for help more than your own mentor. Which Jimmy quickly caught onto. "You know i'm your mentor, right? Not nerdy old Kent."

You'd forced a smile, mumbled something about "just double-checking facts," but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. Jimmy had rolled his eyes good-naturedly and gone back to developing prints, but the point landed.

Still, you couldn't stop. Clark noticed.

Those stolen glances had turned into something heavier.

"Mind if I…?"

You slid the page toward him without a word.

He leaned over your shoulder and braced one hand on the back of your chair, the other flat on the table beside your elbow. His forearm brushed yours. You felt the warmth of him immediately, the faint clean scent of soap and newsprint and something indefinably him. He adjusted his glasses with a knuckle, scanned the text, then pointed to a sentence halfway down.

"Here. The attribution's buried. Move the quote up, lead with the source. Readers trust names they recognize early."

You tilted your head just enough that your temple nearly grazed his jaw. "Like that?"

"Mmm." He swallowed. "Better."

You didn't make any effort to move away, or move much at all. You just stared up at him through your lashes, catching the sharp line of his jaw, his adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. You could hear his breathing.

"Kent! You flirting with my intern now?" Jimmy shouted, clapping him hard on the back.

The hand on the back of your chair tightened for a fraction of a second, enough that you felt the wood creak, before he straightened like he'd been caught holding something dangerous. His ears went faintly pink and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in that nervous gesture.

Jimmy stood there grinning, arms crossed. "I mean, I get it, she's cute when she's pretending to listen to me. But hands off the merchandise, Smallville."

Clark cleared his throat. "I was just, helping with structure. The lead was weak." He rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously.

"Uh-huh." Jimmy's grin widened. "Real charitable of you."

By nine-thirty the floor was nearly empty again. You'd volunteered to finish labeling a batch of archived contact sheets. Another one of Jimmy's "learning opportunities" that felt more like charity and ended up back in the fifth-floor storage closet.

You were balanced on a short step-stool, reaching for a box on the top shelf, when the door opened behind you.

No knock. Just Clark. He didn’t step all the way inside at first. Just enough to let the door ease shut and cut off the hallway light.

You didn't turn around right away. You kept your arms raised, fingers brushing cardboard, pretending the sudden heat in the room was from the poor ventilation.

"You shouldn't be up there without someone to spot you," he said quietly.

You lowered your arms. Turned slowly.

Shoulders tense. Looking at you like you were the craving he'd been trying to avoid.

"Jimmy's gone home," you said. "Said I could lock up when I'm done."

"I know."

You stepped down off the stool. Lightly brushed off the dust from your palms. "So?" You notched your head to the side.

Clark stayed by the door, one hand still on the knob like he might bolt at any second. "I shouldn't be here," he said. "You're... you're an intern. I'm—"

"Old enough to know better?" you finished for him, stepping closer.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking to the floor then back to your face. "It's not just the age. It's the position. Perry would fire me on the spot, and he'd be right to."

You slowly crossed your arms, purposely pushing your chest up with the motion. "Then why'd you follow me in here?"

His gaze dropped to your crossed arms, then quickly, snapped back to your face.

"To check on you," he said. "That you might need help moving the heavier boxes. Professional courtesy."

"And was it?"

"No," he admitted. "It wasn't."

Silence.

"Every time you look at me like that…" He dragged a hand through his hair, mussing the neat part he always tried to keep. "It's like you're asking a question I've spent weeks trying not to answer."

"Then answer it now." You fully stepped up now, right in his space.

He subconsciously stepped back.

"I want to," he said quietly. "God help me, I want to. But you're-what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? I'm thirty-five. I've spent my whole life trying to do the right thing, and this…" He gestured vaguely between you. "This isn't right."

You looked him up and down, slowly raking your eyes back to his face.

"Twenty-two." You corrected.

Clark's eyes widened fractionally behind his glasses. He took another small step back until his shoulders met the closed door. He exhaled dramatically, "Gosh... That's… barely out of college. You're just starting your life here, and I-"

"And you what?" you asked gently, refusing to let him retreat any further into guilt. "You're going to tell me that makes this impossible?"

He swallowed hard. "It makes it… complicated. Immensely complicated." His voice dropped to something almost pained. "You look at me like I'm something worth wanting. That alone is enough to keep me awake at night wondering if I'm losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind," you whispered. "You're just feeling something real. And so am I." You flicked your eyes up to look at his. He was 6'4, you were 5'4.

All that followed was his labored breathing like he just ran five miles. You stepped closer again, caging him against the door, letting one of your hands reach out to touch him, only to be caught by his massive one.

"I can't," he said, so quiet it almost disappeared. "I can't let this happen."

"Clark." You said, almost fed up. "I'm not a child."

"I know you're not a child," he said, barely above a whisper.

You didn't pull your hand away. Instead you turned it slowly in his grasp.

"Then stop treating me like I don't know what I want," you said quietly.

His eyes closed for a long moment. When they opened again they were glassy, conflicted, aching. "I've thought about this more than I should," he confessed, so softly it felt like a secret he’d never meant to speak aloud. "Very not so nice things. Thing's a respectable man should never think of, let alone with a coworker, a younger one."

"Clark," you said softly. "Look at me."

It took him a long second, but he did. Those blue eyes were stormy now, pupils wide, guilt and hunger warring openly.

"I've thought them too," you told him. "About you. About us. About what it would feel like if you finally stopped being so careful and just… took what you wanted."

"You shouldn't say things like that," he murmured, almost pleading. "It makes it so much harder to do the right thing."

"Then don't."

You rose onto your toes, closing the last impossible inch between your mouths.

For a second you thought he might pull away, might open the door and vanish down the hall. Instead he made a small, broken sound in the back of his throat.

And kissed you back.

It was careful at first. Lips moving against yours like he was afraid too much pressure would bruise you. But when you parted for him, when your tongue brushed his in silent invitation, the last thread of his restraint snapped.

He immediately picked you up like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. One large hand came up to cradle the back of your head, the other held the underside of one of your thighs.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your mouth.

"Dont apologize. Don't stop. Please." You gasped for air, threading your fingers through his dark hair, then down his white button up.

He exhaled shakily and carried you the few steps to the nearest low shelf. Your skirt had ridden up to which he immediately smoothed it back down over your thighs with both hands, like propriety still mattered even now.

Then he sank to his knees between your legs. He looked up at you through slightly crooked glasses. "May I?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers gripping the edge of the shelf. "Please."

The first brush of his lips against your inner thigh was feather-light, almost chaste. His fingers hooked under the lace of your panties carefully. He slid them down your legs slowly, then folded the delicate material neatly and set it aside on the shelf like it deserved care even in a moment like this.

He parted your thighs gently with both hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive crease where thigh met hip. "You're beautiful," he breathed, almost to himself.

Then his mouth found you. The first long, careful lick made your hips jerk. He immediately steadied you with one broad palm flat against your lower stomach. He hummed softly in quiet pleasure at your taste, the vibration traveling straight through you. Every swirl of his tongue was attentive. H drank in every small sound you made, and adjusted accordingly.

When your fingers tightened in his hair he groaned quietly against you and pressed just a little closer, tongue circling your clit. He never rushed. Never chased anything for himself. Just worshipped you with his mouth until your thighs began to tremble around his ears and heat coiled impossibly tight in your belly.

"Clark-" His name came out desperately.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, lips glistening, expression soft and earnest. "Yeah?"

"Fuck- I didn't tell you to stop."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "You're killing me with how perfect you are."

He ducked his head but didn't argue. His tongue returned to your clit with the same careful reverence, but now he added the slightest suction, lips closing around the sensitive bud in gentle pulses that made your hips lift off the shelf.

"May I use my fingers too? I'd like to feel you come around them… if you'll let me."

"Yes," you gasped. "Please, Clark-yes."

He pressed one slow, open-mouthed kiss to your clit before sliding two fingers along your entrance, coating them in your slickness. He eased them in, slow, careful, watching your face the entire time. Only when you relaxed did he curl them gently, stroking that perfect spot inside.

Then his mouth returned. The combination undid you. The dual sensation built fast, overwhelming. Your thighs clamped around his head. Your back arched hard against the shelf. Your fingers yanked at his hair as the coil in your belly snapped.

You came over his fingers, his mouth, crying out, louder than you meant to. He kept stroking you through it, tongue softening to gentle laps, drawing out every last tremor until you were whimpering.

Only then did he carefully withdraw his fingers, pressing one last tender kiss to your swollen clit before rising.

"Your turn," you breathed, fingers already fumbling toward his belt.

He caught your wrist. "You don't have to-"

"I want to." You held his gaze.

He only nodded.

The buckle came undone under careful fingers. Zipper lowered with a sound that felt deafening in the quiet room. He let the flaps of his pants fall open, so that you could see the visible print of him through his boxers.

You reached out slowly, fingertips brushing the waistband. His stomach jumped under the lightest touch.

"May I?" you asked, turning the question back on him with a teasing smile.

His laugh was soft, breathless. "You're asking me?"

"I learned from the best."

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. "Yes," he said quietly. "Please."

You tugged the waistband down, freeing him. He sprang up against his stomach, the tip of him flushed and dripping with his own pre.

He involuntarily flinched at his own friction.

"God, you're... huge." You nervously swallowed your fear down the best you could. Although, it was probably more excitement if anything. Your small hand looked delicate wrapped around the base, fingers just meeting.

"I know I'm… a lot," he said quietly, like he was ashamed. "We can stop right here if it's too much. I swear to you. I'd never ask you to-"

You cut him off by squeezing along his base and stroking upwards slowly, flicking your wrist at the very tip.

His hips jerked forward an inch on pure instinct before he caught himself. His hands flew to the shelf on either side of your hips, knuckles white.

"Sweetheart-" His voice cracked, hoarse and desperate. "Please… slow. I-I haven't… it's been so long."

You unknowingly parted your lips, like you might genuinely start drooling. "How did girls survive this? You?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I really don't know."

You bit your lip, slowly pumping him in your hand again. "Well I think I'm about to find out." You pulled him closer by his cock, notching him right at your pink entrance.

"Sweetheart," he rasped, voice, "I need you to tell me again. Please. I need to hear it."

"I want you inside me, Clark. I want all of you. I'm ready. I’m asking."

A long, shaky exhale left him. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

His hips flexed forward, the broad head of him nudging just barely inside you, stretching that first delicate ring of muscle.

"Too much?" he whispered, voice cracking like he might cry if the answer was yes. "Am I hurting you already?"

"No," you gasped, legs tightening around his waist to keep him there. "Don't you dare stop. I want to feel every inch of you. Slowly… but don't stop."

"Okay… okay… I'll go slow. I promise. I promise." The stretch burned sweet and bright. He sank another careful inch. Then another. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he let out a stifled moan and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Gosh… sweetheart…" His voice was almost babyish in its overwhelm. "You feel… you feel like heaven. I-I don't know how to be calm right now. I'm sorry. I'm trying so hard."

You threaded your fingers through his dark hair. "Don't be calm," you whispered. "Just move. Please, Clark. I need you to move."

He made another small sound and started the tiniest rocks of his hips. Barely withdrawals. Like he was terrified of hurting you and desperate to feel more of you at the same time.

You arched under him, trying to meet each barely-there thrust. "Deeper," you breathed. "A little harder, please."

A whine caught in his throat. "Harder? Are-are you sure? I don't want to-"

"I’m sure," you cut in, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please."

He groaned and obeyed. The rhythm stayed controlled but grew deeper, longer strokes that made your head spin. The shelf rattled faintly behind you. A few contact sheets slipped to the floor. He didn't notice. His hands roamed everywhere. Stroking down your sides, cupping your breasts through your blouse with the softest of touches.

"Feels good?" he panted against your ear. "Tell me it feels good, please. I need to know."

"So good," you gasped, clenching around him on the next deep thrust. "You're so perfect, Clark. So big… filling me so perfectly…"

A high groan escaped from him. His hips stuttered, then snapped forward harder before he caught himself with a frantic "sorry, sorry, sorry-"

"Don't apologize," you pleaded. "Do it again. Just like that."

He whimpered, actually whimpered, and gave you what you asked for. Deeper, a little faster, still careful.

One hand slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher so he could angle deeper. The new angle made stars burst behind your eyes.

"Right-right there?" he gasped, voice cracking again. "Is that the spot, sweetheart? Please tell me-"

"Yes-yes-Clark-don't stop-"

He stayed exactly there, not speeding up, and neither slowing down. Keeping the pace just as you requested.

Pleasure coiled tighter, unbearable. Your thighs started to shake. "I'm-Clark, I'm gonna-"

"Thank goodness," he murmured. "Because I-sweetheart, I can't hold on much longer."

You cupped the back of his neck. "Come with me," you moaned, looking right into his eyes.

A full-body shudder ran through him.

You shattered like tempered glass finally meeting its match, pieces cracking open in one large burst. Your walls fluttered and clamped around him, squeezing and tugging him deeper, if that was even possible.

Clark's rhythm broke completely. His breath came out harsh. His hands flew to the shelf on either side of your head, wood creaking dangerously under his grip.

"Sweetheart… oh gosh… I'm-may I-inside? Please, I'm so close, I can't-I need-"

"Yes," you gasped, legs locking around him. "Inside me. Come inside me, Clark. Please."

His whole body shook as he came, spilling hot and endless inside you, hips jerking in tiny helpless pulses. He kept rocking through it, whimpering your name over and over. Drawing out every tremor until he was trembling and empty and completely spent.

Then, so softly you almost missed it.

"…thank you."

You laughed breathlessly, carding fingers through his hair. "You're welcome."

"Are you… okay?" he whispered. "Did I… was I too much?"

You shook your head with a smile. "You were perfect."

You tugged him back down for one more slow, lingering kiss.

When you finally pulled away, you whispered, "Next time… my place. A real bed. And maybe you can stop apologizing every five seconds."

"Next time," he replied shyly.

taglist:

[matt-mercer-deactivated20231105]

I have crossed oceans of time to find you.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992), dir. Francis Ford Coppola

[bittersweetlyblue]

Clark Kent who grips your waist from behind when you’re cooking or walking, leaning down to whisper in your ear exactly what he wants you to do next

Clark Kent who pulls you onto his lap without warning, hands roaming possessively, and doesn’t stop until he’s made sure you’re completely focused on him

Clark Kent who corners you against the couch or a wall just to kiss you, slow and deliberate, his hands framing your face and holding you close until you’re gasping

Clark Kent who won’t let you pull away when he’s intense—his fingers clutch your hips or arms like he’s claiming you, soft but firm enough that you melt into him

Clark Kent who whispers your name low and slow, commanding, and it makes your chest tighten every single time

Clark Kent who guides your hands or body with his own, making sure you’re exactly where he wants you, and every little movement is intentional

Clark Kent who keeps his forehead pressed to yours, holding your gaze, letting you feel the heat in his chest and the strength in his hands, reminding you exactly who’s in charge

Clark Kent who sometimes pins you down during a kiss or cuddle, just to hold you in place, his voice low and teasing: “Not going anywhere.”

Clark Kent who dominates in the bedroom and outside of it—whether it’s holding your hand in public with a firm grip, or dragging you somewhere private because he wants you close as much as you want him too

[lovelornparagraphs]

plush

clark kent x younger!reader ୨ৎ ‧₊˚⊹ warnings: groping, kitchen sex (but not actually), pwp, age gap, some finger action, dry humping, ignore typos.

Clark ran his hands up and down your waist, pressing his palms against your hips, squeezing ever so gently to draw out a cry from your lips.

"Clark," you breathe against his neck, pushing your head upon his as your hands go beneath his shirt.

He groans deeply, "angel, you're so needy tonight. I thought you just wanted a snack."

"I do," you kiss his neck and earlobe, "I want you."

Clark was a sweaty mess from work earlier. All he did was walk all over Gotham, finding a story for the newspaper next week. He couldn't find anything amongst the rain and the dire need of you.

You didn't care at all about how he looked, about how he smelled. The sweet musk was enough for a river to flow between your legs.

Clark pushed his hips between your thighs and dragged his hand up between your legs. The hem of your night dress rode up and up, past your knees, your thighs, right over your hips.

He felt your damp panties and moaned deeply, "fuck, sweetheart. You're begging for it."

You knit your brows with desperation and let out a strung out whimper, pushing yourself near the edge of the counter and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Clark doesn't move his hand, just to keep some simulation against you. He wasn't cruel, he wasn't going to make you wait.

But oh, he was already erect and leaking in his pants, his cock straining against the tightness of his jeans. You continued to stroke his stomach and v-line with your fingers until his breath started to shake in his chest.

"Angel, I have no energy to give you what you need. But let me try, mh?" He sounded exhausted and it made you feel bad for even trying to come onto him. But the effort he put in for you made you feel more secure.

Clark pushed your panties to the side and pressed his thumb against your clit, feeling the warmth and the sticky residue nearly cover his whole finger.

With his other hand, he reached up and groped your breast, feeling the softness in his hand and hearing your soft sighs of pleasure.

He removed his hand and grabbed your hips with gentle force, telling you that he needed this. With a swift motion, he cradled your lower back and pressed his clothed erection against your soaking core.

You gasp, "oh, baby!"

He chucked, "move on me, love. Show me what you need."

With some hesitation you locked your eyes on his with your chin up, feeling your tongue brush against your teeth before you bit down. You started to rock your hips, feeling the counter against your ass and the hardness between your legs.

A rush of pleasure ran through you making you cry out, gripping his buff shoulders for dear life. Clark smiled, "doin' so well." He praised.

You hum and continue to press your core against his hardness, feeling the release hollow your lower belly.

"I want you inside." You plea softly.

Clark shook his head softly as he let out a strained moan, "not tonight sweetheart. I'm already so close, I wouldn't be in you too long."

His words didn't anger you, in fact, they only made you crave it more. The fact he was so willing to tell you he was close when you've never really received communication like that before...

"Mm gonna cum too," you whimper.

Clark held your hips still and rocked his hips to give you a small break as he felt you breaking your rhythm. He sighs and pulls his head back, "fuck, baby. You're gonna cum just like this?"

You nod desperately and your breathing started to elevate. You felt his hot breath against your neck when he got closer, pushing his lips against your ear and biting down just enough. Then he whispered, "if you cum, I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow night."

That's all you needed. Instead of trying to control your orgasm, he encouraged you to have it. It almost felt as if he was making you cum with his words as all you could feel wetting the counter beneath you.

Clark shuttered as he came in his pants, "such a good girl."

no reposting my work pls

[lovelornparagraphs]

too plush

clark kent x younger!reader ୨ৎ ‧₊˚⊹ warnings: teasing, bigdick!clark, pwp, age gap, size kink, she's a virgin, unprotected sex, ignore typos.

After your late night activity, he was exhausted especially from work all day. But he still had a boner, and you, of course we're still starving for him.

When Clark put you to bed you couldn't keep your hands off of him when he had laid you down. Your hands go beneath his shirt, damp with sweat and the scent of his musk made you react distinctively.

You pull him down on top of you and he grunts. "Darling, I said it's time for bed."

You shook your head in protest against his words. You ran your hands up and down his back, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his body to you once more.

He sighs and grips your cheeks with his hand, squeezing them with some gentle force. He was a little mad at you, but he couldn't deny the way he felt. His arousal went beyond how tired he was.

"You're a brat." He said sternly.

You knit your brows trying to mumble an apology but he wouldn't let your face go. He chuckles deeply and let's go to take off his belt and pull it through the loops.

Clark held the leather in his hand and watched your reaction to it. You were nervous, he could tell. But also so turned on. The way your thighs tighten around his torso and the way your tongue darts out to wet your starving lips.

"I won't use this on you, angel." He tossed it off the bed and leaned down to kiss you gently. Mumbling something, "I have my hands for a reason."

A soft whine had escaped you by accident. A strong reaction to his words due to how fast your heartbeat was going. How tight your chest felt.

Clark kisses you down, praising your body and smelling his cum against your skin as he gets lower. His hands gently rocks you when he grabs at your thighs and pushes them forward, guiding them to fit in his one hand while the other presses against your wet panties.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're wet again."

You nod softly and nibble on your inner lip anxiously. You trusted Clark but sometimes he was unpredictable. His strength was how he took advantage of you.

He could part your thighs forcefully and you couldn't even fight it. He could squeeze you in places to the point where it hurts good. Even then, you wouldn't want to fight it.

He pushes your panties to the side and takes a deep breath. You were sticky sweet, a scent only he could smell from a mile away.

He gets lower and drags his tongue against your glistening folds making your body jerk. His grip tightened beneath your legs, keeping them up together and still.

He hums, "that's it." He muttered between licks. "Feel that, baby?"

You moan and grab at what you could. A pillow, sheets, you were too pleased to reach around to grab his hair. But the need to control something, you wiggle your hips against the bed and try to ease the pressure of his tongue.

He pulls back and licks his lips, "too much?"

You shake your head, lying of course. Clark knew and shook his head, moving both you and him in a position a little more comfortable.

He got off the bed and took off his jeans, letting them pool at his feet. He spoke in a deep sensual tone, "you be honest with me, angel. I don't want any accidents."

You sit up to watch him and to hear him better. To show some respect to the conversation. You understand the stern look in his eyes...he's serious.

"Sorry."

A small murmur.

Clark shook his head and approached the bed. He slowly took off your gown and kept his eyes on yours. "For what? You're doing fine."

He soothes you—running his hands up your thighs to your hips, taking off your panties and tossing them aside without even looking away.

He grabbed your thighs again and pushed them up so he could get on top again. He leaned down and kissed your chin, your neck, then your collarbone at a slow pace.

"You tell me what you need." He whispers. "Want me to use my mouth again...my hands?"

Your body shivers at the thought of both. But you only needed one thing...

"Your hands... please." You're getting shy now. Clark found this adorable. He definitely took advantage of it.

He slides his hands between your legs and pushes his middle finger inside of your heat. You let out a small gasp before closing your eyes.

He groans at the feeling, "so tight, how are you supposed to take me like this?"

You mumble beneath your soft hums of pleasure, "I- I can, Clark. I can."

"No. You can't." He chuckles. "You were begging for it an hour ago, I knew better than to give it to you, didn't I?"

He adds another finger.

"C-Clark!" Your thighs shake against his hand. "I don't wanna cum yet."

He shook his head, "you won't, darling."

Clark curled his fingers into your good spot and pushed his hard cock against your thigh. You bit your lip but couldn't help but moan aloud at the feeling.

"I don't think it'll fit." The teasing tone was also coated in some concern. He didn't even try to be patient, he was patient.

You shake your head, "please...try. I need it badly."

He laughs softly, "badly? Bit of an exaggeration."

You whine, "I'm serious. I've been trying not to do anything while you're at work. I'm trying to save it all for you."

Clark's eyes soften when he hears all the effort you've put in for this moment. He tilts his head and looks down at you. He saw your desperate expression and felt your needy movements below him. The way your pussy squeezed his fingers made him bite back a groan.

"Promise you'll be gentle with yourself, don't take more than you can take. It won't bother me." He reassured you.

You nod desperately, "I will..."

He held back a chuckle. He found your desperation adorable—how needy you were for him.

He leaned down between your legs and brushed his cock against your cunt, wetting it with your juices.

"Baby." Clark moans quietly. "You're so beautiful like this."

You move your hands and gently grip onto his big arms. The feeling of his member against your throbbing cunt made you huff, breathing rough due to eagerness.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek, "shh, take some deep breaths and focus on me."

He pushes himself inside you slowly. His cock twitches against your insides when he feels how tight you are...

"Right there!" You flutter your eyes and try to slow your breathing.

Clark nods, "is that what you want, baby?" While thrusting softly, only the amount he had put in was just enough to hit your good spot repeatedly.

He wasn't upset about you not taking all of him, he felt good none the less. The feeling of you trying not to cum right now made his arms shake on either side of you while he tried to keep himself up.

"Mmh, more please."

He was shocked to hear you beg for it. He could see how little he had put in and it worried him.

Clark kisses your earlobe. "Are you positive?" He asks. You nod and squeeze your eyes shut to brace yourself.

While this was a little rough, you both needed it.

He pushed in, more and more. He felt your nails digging into his arms, he paused each time he heard you wincing.

"Too much?" He pants.

"No, mm I want all of you." You mumble.

When he heard your exhausted voice he felt defeated in stopping and giving you what you wanted. If anyone could care for you, it was him. So he kept going, studying your face and watching for any signs of pain or pleasure.

Once he bottomed out he gently rocked his hips. So slow, it was almost infuriating for you. But you knew you needed time to adjust.

Clark moans, "fuck, baby. You barely fit me."

"Mmh!! Please, there." You warned him, moaning beneath your heavy breaths.

"I know, darling. I know."

His pace went up gradually until he couldn't feel his hands anymore, until he could only feel being inside you. He was gentle, but he went gut deep making you moan loudly.

The feeling of your cunt squeezing around him, he could feel everything. He could feel how close you were, and so he'd slow down just to hear you whine at him.

He smiles, "what, still impatient?"

"I'm gonna cum!" You warn.

He shook his head and practically mocked you while his hips slow down and speed up at an unrecognizable pace.

Clark watched your eyes shift from frustrated to pleased within seconds. He knew how to keep you waiting, and you let him play these games with you.

"Ohh fuck!" You yelp.

He groaned repeatedly when he felt his high coming closer. The feeling of your hot breath against his chest and your hands gripping his shoulders as you try to ground yourself was all he could understand in the moment.

You let out a little gasp before freezing for a moment. Your orgasm approached with his, you both climaxed on each other. You felt him fill you up, making your belly bulge a bit when he pushed it deeper.

He groaned, "look at you. You take me so fucking good."

it's 3am.. I am so sorry I have to end it here. I'm exhausted!! // part one

[weird-is-life]

Cosy apartment

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

Summary: When you get stood up and Clark bumps into you, good food and messy kisses follow (2.4k)

Warnings: swear words, kissing, nothing spicy but suggestive, pet names, mentions of food, ruined make up

----------------------------------------------------

Getting stood up sucks. You got yourself ready for hours, trying to make the best impression and now it's all going to waste.

You got tired of the pitiful looks the restaurant staff was giving you that you opted for waiting outside.

You stand in front of the restaurant in the pouring rain while waiting for your uber. Your makeup is running down your cheeks, making you look like a zombie. And there are chills all over your skin, being soaked is no joke. You are sad, cold and hungry.

You can't wait to get home and curl up with a tub of ice cream under your heavy blankets.

You are never letting Jimmy Olsen set you up for a blind date ever again. You kind of hoped that he would set you up with Clark when he first time mentioned it. But no, he set you up with a guy that can't even bother to text that he's not coming.

You check you phone, looking how far away the uber is when you see that the ride was cancelled. You try getting a new one before your battery dies, but too late, the screen goes dark.

Your lip wobbles, you aren't above ugly crying.

"Fuck." Yeah. Can this evening get even worse?

Apparently, it can.

You would recognise the broad set of shoulders anywhere. Even half hidden under the shade of an umbrella.

"Y/N?" Clark spots you immediately. You have nowhere to hide anyway.

"Hey, Clark." You say, your voice a little shaky. You can't breakdown in front of the Clark Kent.

He instantly puts his umbrella over you, shielding you from the heavy rain. "What are you doing here?"

"Umm, I wasn't supposed to have dinner here." You gesture at the cosy restaurant behind you. "Didn't really work out..."

His eyes widen as the realisation of your words sets in. You need him to stop looking at you like that or you are really going to cry.

"What are you doing here?" You spit out before he can try to say something lovely or ask questions.

"Me?" He asks in surprise and starts shrugging his sweater off. "I live here. In that flat just across the street. I was just getting some groceries. "

Of course, he does. It is just your luck meeting Clark on one of the worst evenings of your life.

"Here, put this on." Clark hands you his sweater, putting it over your head without giving you a chance to protest.

"You shouldn't have, but thank you. I will wash it for you after." You put it on properly, sticking your hands into the long sleeves. His smell engulfs you, you resist the urge to bury your face in it. It's so so warm.

"Are you waiting for someone to come pick you up?" Clark asks, scanning your face. You seem upset.

"Umm, no." You say quickly. You are going to have to walk home, there are no buses coming this late.

"No?"

"My phone is dead. I can't call anyone, but it's okay I'm just going to walk home."

"Alone?" Clark almost has a heart attack when he hears that. "No, no way. I'll come with you."

"Clark, you don't have to. My apartment is far, it would take you two hours to walk me there and back." You can't say you are thrilled about walking an hour home in heels and in the dark and in the pouring rain.

"Okay, how about you come up into my apartment and you can call anybody you need from my phone?" Clark would never ever let you walk home alone. Especially not when he can see you are close to crying.

"Would you mind?" You ask quietly, his offer is better than walking home. Even if you are going to be very embarrassed about it later, given the state you are in.

"Would I mind?" He groans in an amused frustration. "Come on, let's get you warmed up."

He hurries you along, his broad hand never leaves your back. He is dripping wet too, since he holds his umbrella over you the entire time.

Clark's apartment is just like him, soft and inviting, immediately creating the feeling of home. And its so warm, you don't ever want to leave.

"Wait here." Clark tells you before he dissappears farther into his home.

You take your heels off, relishing the relief of having them off. His kitchen is right by the door, giving you an open look into the living room.

Clark comes back with towels and clothes in his hands. "Here, sweetheart. I accidentally shrunk these while washing them, they will probably be still big on you, but better than your soaked ones."

"The bathroom is the second door on the right, you can change there." You nod, feeling as sheepish as ever. Clark is being way too nice. And the nicknames he uses might be just the death of you.

You've met Clark multiple times through Jimmy so you aren't afraid to call him a friend, but you have never visited his apartment before.

After you dry yourself up and change into his oh so comfy joggers and t-shirt, you tackle the ruined make up next before heading back to the kitchen.

Clark must have changed way more quickly than you, because when you come back there's already a tea waiting for you. And Clark is next to the stove with pans and pots sizzling. The delicious smell of the food makes your tummy rumble.

"You hungry?" Clark turns to you, his super hearing picked up on the sounds your stomach was making it. "I'm making spaghetti."

"You've done more than enough, Clark. I don't want to bother you." You say, taking the warm tea into your hands.

Clark looks like you have physically hurt him by that answer. "Sweetheart, you are speaking nonsense right now. Go sit down on the couch, there's a blanket there. I'll be there in 5. With the food."

You stand there, looking uncertainly at him. You really, really didn't want to disturb his evening. But his face is serious, not taking a no for an answer when it comes to making sure you are okay.

"Okay." You reply shyly and do as he says. His couch is very comfy, like sitting on a cloud. It must have cost a fortune, you think.

Yes, you are trying to think about anything else but the insanely attractive man that's making you dinner. It's very hard, considering where you are.

But you gotta give it to him. He's already taken your mind off of the disastrous date.

The TV is already on, playing some random movie that you aren't even remotely interested in right now. Clark Kent is the only thing there.

You fumble with your hands and pretend to watch the TV as Clark finishes with the food. Your heart is beating so hard that you are afraid he might hear it.

Jokes on you, he actually does and his knowing smile is hidden from your eyes.

Clark comes with the food exactly five minutes later, setting a generous amount in front of you.

"I'm not a chef, but my ma taught me how to cook so it shouldn't be too bad." He smiles bashful at you, sitting down right next to you. Shoulder to shoulder and his big thigh touches yours, too.

"I'm sure, it will be delicious. I-... Thank you, Clark. It means a lot." It really does. Your foolish heart is getting ahead of itself.

"No biggie." He tells you, mouth already half-full with the food. You stifle your giggle. It dies down when he asks, "wanna tell me what happened?"

"Not really. Just that I'm never letting Jimmy set me up for a date again."

Clark's eyes darken. He is going to kill Jimmy tomorrow. Who does he think he is, setting you up with some morons.

"I'm sorry. That guy is an idiot for standing you up." Clark says without thinking. He thinks you looked beautiful, he thinks you look beautiful always.

Your cheeks go scarlet. You stuff your mouth with the amazing food instead of answering.

You eat in silence, mainly because you are afraid to open your mouth, knowing you would regret what you might say.

And also because Clark's focus is entirely in you, his eyes never leave you. You can feel his gaze roaming your face and your body. And your cheeks go even more red.

"This is really yummy, Clark. Thank you." You say when the silence becomes too much. You would love to be the centre of his attention any day, but only if you could call him yours. Which...isn't happening.

"You should stop thanking me. As I said, I don't mind one bit." He punctuates every word, showing you he really means it.

"You know, I never understood how you and Jimmy became such a good friends." The words are out of your mouth as you think about how fucking nice he is.

He chuckles deeply, wrinkles surrounding his eyes. "I agree. But why do you think so?"

Shit. You didn't really think about the fact he would want a further explanation.

"Because Jimmy is well Jimmy. And you...you are just so nice." You speak the words before you can overthink them. It is his turn to blush shyly now.

If Jimmy saw you two right now he would definitely call you blind idiots.

You turn your gaze back to the plate, hiding the small smile. It is so easy to be in Clark's presence. Too easy. No wonder, you've gotten swept off your feet the second you saw him.

You set the plate back on the small table, Clark gave you too much food for your stomach to take. He was being too generous. Again.

With the food eaten, it is time for you to leave. Even if your heart longs to stay, even just a little while longer. Especially when you can feel the warmth of his body as you sit close together.

You open your mouth to ask him for his phone when he beats you to it. "You have a little something here." He points out at your cheek.

Your cheeks go pink yet again as you quickly try to wipe it away. "Is it gone now?"

Clark shakes his head, chuckling, clearly amused by it. "Here, let me." His hand is just as gentle as his voice when he reaches out.

You don't think, you don't even breath so he doesn't change his mind and takes his hand away frok you. But he doesn't. His big, calloused fingers carres your cheek softly, making your heart beat even faster.

You are in so much fucking trouble. You can never go on a date again. Not when you know that there could be Clark and his soft eyes. No man will ever compare to that.

"All gone." He whispers, eyes dipping down to your lips. His hand is still holding your cheek, cradling your face delicately.

"Y/N..." he starts and you interrupt him.

You kiss him.

Fuck.

You actually kiss him.

He doesn't respond instantly and you pull away in a haste. " Oh my god. I don't know why I did that. I'm so sorry-"

It's his turn to shut you up. He kisses you hard, both of his hands go up to cradle your face. He kisses you like his life depends on it and you can't do anything else but to kiss him back.

A groan leaves him as you open your lips to allow him to deepen the kiss even more.

And before you know it, you are straddling his lap. Fully making out. His tongues moves in your mouth expertedly, drawing out sounds out of you that you didn't even know you were capable of.

You break apart when the oxygen deprivation becomes too much. You lean your forehead against his, breathing hard.

You pray, you aren't dreaming. That Clark's lips are in fact swollen from the way you were kissing. And that his hair is in fact a mess from your hands. Even his glasses are all fogged up.

"I've been wanting to do that for quite some time." Clark confesses in between pants. And your heart does somersaults.

"You have?"

"Yes, sweetheart, fuck. I've just been too much of an idiot to do anything about it." He is presenting his raw feelings on a golden platter for you and you smile brightly at him.

"Me too. I really like you." You admit. Your heart is still beating hard from the make out, but you are wondering if it's too soon to kiss him again.

He smiles big at you, hands squeezing gently where they are settled at your hips. "Let me take you out for a date."

"Doesn't this count as a date?" You tease. This whole situation is ridiculous. Like you are imagining it all.

"No way. A proper date with proper food." His eyes eagerly search for an answer before you even get a chance to speak.

"Yes. I'd love to. I was kind of hoping that you were my blind date tonight." You wince as you admit it, hiding your embarrassed face in your hands.

Clark pulls your hands away, he wants to see your pretty face when he says this. "I wish so too. Believe me, I'm going to strangle Jimmy when I see him."

You laugh, leaning your forehead against his chest this time. You can't believe you are actually in Clark Kent's lap, breathing hard after this messy kissing.

"I should go." Before you do something that is way too fast for you.

"Or...you could stay." Clark suggests, nudging your face with his nose. "We won't do anything. I'll sleep here and you can take my bed. I don't want you to go home alone when it's so late."

"But of course, you don't have to stay. But I will see you home if that is what you want to do." He knows very well what kind of sick people are out there. He could never on his conscience let you go home alone.

You think about it for a second and the thought of staying in this lovely apartment with Clark is much more appealing than taking an uber home.

"Okay, I'll stay. But I'm not taking your bed. I will sleep here." You say stubbornly, leaning back to see his face. He looks so so happy.

"We can come up with something." There's is no way, he's letting you sleep on the couch. It's not that comfy for sleeping.

"Fine." You roll your eyes, there are identical smiles covering both of your faces as you look at each other. And you bite your lip before you say, "now kiss me again."

Clark doesn't need to be told that twice before his mouth is on yours. He kisses you hungrily, like there's no tomorrow.

[navybrat817]

Partnership

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You need Bucky's help and, well, he needs you.

Word Count: 300

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, possessive behavior, power imbalance of sorts, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Day 3 of the Sexy September Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Going to Bucky Barnes for help was difficult and frustrating for you to accept, but you swallowed your pride since you desperately needed public funding for your project. The former Winter Soldier was the key vote, the man who could make your dream a reality or tear it down. It was inevitable that you’d end up in his office.

What you didn’t expect was for Bucky to bend you over his desk and eat you out from behind.

“You always this wet, or is this just for me?” he asked, licking at soft folds and flicking your clit. You were embarassingly wet, practically dripping down your thighs. “Better just be for me.”

His possessiveness surprised you. He hardly knew you, though you always felt his piercing eyes on you the few times you had seen him at events. And what did that say about you, that you let a man you hardly knew spread you out like a feast for him to devour?

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted,” he praised, your cheeks hot.

Your hands gripped the desk, your mouth falling open when he pushed his tongue inside. It wasn’t long before he added two fingers, making you moan like a bitch in heat. He was taking you to dizzying heights, and all you could do was go along for the overwhelming ride. 

He took his tongue out long enough to say, “This is my pussy now.”

“It’s yours, Bucky,” you moaned. 

“Congressman,” he corrected you, curling his fingers. 

Your eyes rolled back. “Congressman.”

“You’re going to work for me,” he said, chuckling when you tried to push yourself up. Work for him? “Oh, no. I haven’t finished my meal.”

With his tongue back inside you and his name on yours, this was just the beginning of a new partnership.

Would love to explore more of these two. What do we think? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[navybrat817]

Indulge with me, lovelies, if you will.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Bucky Barnes (yup!), established relationship, explicit sexual content, smut, unprotected sex (be safe, lovelies!), oral sex, mention: breeding kink, anal, cockwarming and other kinks, neediness, fluff if you squint really hard (hard like Bucky’s cock)

Banner by the talented @cafekitsune

Horny!Bucky who has needs but isn’t interested in random flings. He’s content to use his hand to get off. 

Horny!Bucky who wanted you the second he saw you. The beast inside him clawed to get out and take you. 

Horny!Bucky who did everything the “right” way. He courted you, treated you well, and waited a reasonable amount of time before he slept with you the first time.

Horny!Bucky who got hard just from kissing you. It was like all the blood in his body went south because of your lips.

Horny!Bucky who spent a generous amount of time worshipping your breasts, alternating between pinching and sucking on your nipples. How could he not when you’re so responsive.

Horny!Bucky who wondered if you’d like him fuck your tits one day. He’s always wanted to try that with the right person.

Horny!Bucky who went down on you because real men appreciate the delicacy of eating pussy. Real men also put their partner’s pleasure above their own.

Horny!Bucky who humped the bed in time with his tongue because you tasted so good. Your sounds made you taste even sweeter.

Horny!Bucky who came in his pants when you came on his tongue, both of you moaning. And he didn’t stop tongue-fucking you until you begged for him to fuck you.

Horny!Bucky who felt a surge of pride when he fisted himself and your eyes went wide. He’d fit, even if he had to make it fit.

Horny!Bucky who was thankful you didn’t want him to use a condom because he didn’t want anything between you two. If by any chance he did knock you up, he’d be happy to have a family with you. 

Horny!Bucky didn’t realize he had a breeding kink until that moment. Or maybe it was just you. 

Horny!Bucky who had to grit his teeth when he pushed inside you, willing himself not to come from how wet and tight you were. He did anyway.

Horny!Bucky who swore he died when he painted your walls since his soul left his body. He’d happily spend the rest of his life deep inside you if he could manage it.

Horny!Bucky who then felt embarrassed for finishing so quickly until you shushed him with a kiss. Your perfect pussy gripped his throbbing cock like a vice until he thrust again. 

Horny!Bucky who held your chin gently so he could see your pretty eyes. He wanted to see how much you loved being fucked by him

Horny!Bucky who thinks you’re perfect, but even more so when you’re taking his cock. Parted mouth and tears in your eyes, you’re ruined and beautiful

Horny!Bucky who suddenly felt possessive and vowed that no one else would ever have you like this again. You were his and only his.

Horny!Bucky who almost blurted out that he loved you when you came with his name tumbling from your lips. He does love you, but the middle of sex may not be the best time to say so.

Horny!Bucky who kissed you when he came again and knew he was addicted. You had a hold on him that would never be released.

Horny!Bucky who wanted to make love to and fuck you. He wanted to watch you shatter so he could put you back together.

Horny!Bucky who fucked you into the early hours of the morning and only stopped because you needed rest. He cleaned you off and praised you. 

Horny!Bucky who held you while he slept and couldn’t sleep himself because he wanted you again. But it would be wrong to wake you after he wore you out.

Horny!Bucky who cancelled his plans for the weekend so he could fuck you on every surface of the apartment. He made sure you stayed fed and hydrated. 

Horny!Bucky who tries to calculate how long he can be away from you on a mission because he craves you that much. Does absence make the heart grow fonder or will it make him snap?

Horny!Bucky who leaves marks all over you. You joke that he’s marking his territory, and you leave little marks on him in return. 

Horny!Bucky who can’t have you in the kitchen without putting you on the counter. You’re basically a pre-meal before the food.

Horny!Bucky who humps you in his sleep and holds your breast like a security blanket. Cockwarming happens often, too, right before you fall asleep.

Horny!Bucky who thinks your mouth is just as perfect as your pussy. He knows your ass will be the same. 

Horny!Bucky who has a list of things he wants to try with you. He has the order listed alphabetically. 

Horny!Bucky who eventually has photos, videos, and audio so he can jerk off when he’s alone. He doesn’t need to fantasize about anyone else since he has you.

Horny!Bucky who constantly touches or kisses you because he needs the connection. It makes him feel needy, but you don’t seem to mind.

Horny!Bucky who loves when you tease him and grind on his lap or shove your chest in his face. You look so innocent when you do it, but you both know better. 

Horny!Bucky who loves when you initiate sex. He’s yours just as much as you’re his. 

Horny!Bucky who follows you around like a puppy because he adores you and doesn’t care if the gang teases him. They’d do the same if they had you, which they never will. 

Horny!Bucky who isn’t afraid to beg for it. He’ll get on his knees for you any day of the week.

Horny!Bucky who will have you anytime, any place. He doesn’t need a reason. 

Horny!Bucky who doesn’t stop even if someone walks in. He’ll shield you for your dignity, but he isn’t stopping unless you say so.

Horny!Bucky who is all about consent. You each have safewords and make sure to communicate.

Horny!Bucky who worries he’s too much and doesn’t want to push you away. But you’re just as crazy for him as he is for you.

Horny!Bucky who loves you and can’t get enough of you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nothing to see here, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️

Though I wonder when he said he loved you. 😏

Love and thanks for stopping by! ❤️

[anxietyproblem]

[castielscaplan]

He's Just Watching Out

Summary: He's watching you. For several nights. He finally tells you why. [WC 647] [AO3]

Pairing: Ex-Hydra Agent Reader x TWS!Bucky

Warnings: being stalked, angst

Prompt: 20. “Always feeling like someone is watching through the window…” Bucky Barnes ✌️ definitely has horror movie potential 👻 @goblin-king-of-anarchy67

3K Writing Challenge (send in a prompt!)

You notice it the third night in a row. That feeling. The slow crawl up your spine. You’re brushing your teeth when you feel it — that prickle at the back of your neck, like static electricity. Like someone’s eyes pressing into your skin. You freeze.

The bathroom window is small. Frosted. But there’s a sliver at the edge where the curtain doesn’t quite cover.

And you swear -with all of your being- something moved.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You live in the city. Fire escapes creak. Shadows shift. Your mind fills in gaps.

Still.

You start double-checking the locks.

By the fifth night, you stop standing near windows entirely. You keep the curtains drawn. You avoid the living room after sunset.

But the feeling doesn’t stop.

It’s worse when you’re alone in bed. The blinds barely parted, letting in thin silver streetlight from outside of your house. You roll onto your side, facing the wall, because if you don’t look at the window, maybe it can’t look at you.

You almost convince yourself you’re imagining it. Until there’s the faintest sound. Metal against brick. A shift of weight on the fire escape. Your breath catches. Silence. Then gone.

He isn’t there to scare you. Not really. He’s there because HYDRA gave him your face. A target file. Surveillance photos. Routine patterns.

He learned the times you leave for work. The exact minute you turn off your bedside lamp. The way you hum absentmindedly when you’re cooking.

The Winter Soldier does not feel.

But something in him hesitates when he watches you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. When you laugh at a show alone on your couch. When you pause at the window, looking out — almost like you feel him there.

He stays in the shadows of the fire escape, metal fingers silent against rusted railing. He tells himself it’s reconnaissance. He tells himself it’s timing. He tells himself it’s preparation. But he’s been “preparing” for five nights.

On the seventh night, you don’t close the curtain. You’re tired. Tired of feeling hunted in your own home. You stand in front of the window deliberately. Your hands are shaking, but you push the curtain fully aside.

“Whoever you are,” you whisper, voice barely steady, “just stop.”

Silence.

The city hums below. And for a second — just a second — you see him. A shape across the alley. On the opposite rooftop. Half-hidden in darkness.

Broad shoulders. Long hair. A glint of something silver where a hand should be.

Your stomach drops. Your eyes lock. And something strange happens. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t aim. Doesn’t advance. He just… stares. Not like a predator about to strike. More like someone trying to remember something.

The next night you wake up absolutely freezing, the window is open when you sit up. Just slightly. Cold air drifting in. You know you locked it.

You know you did. Your heart pounds as you sit up.

He’s inside. Not close. Standing in the far corner of your bedroom like a shadow pulled into human shape. You can barely make him out except for the arm — matte metal catching moonlight. Your breath shatters in your lungs. He doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t speak. He just watches you.

And when he finally moves, it isn’t toward you. He steps closer to the window. Guards it. Like something out there is more dangerous than he is.

His voice, when it comes, is low. Rough. Rusted from disuse. “…They’re coming.”

Not threatening. Warning. You realize with a cold, dizzying clarity — You were never afraid of the wrong thing. He wasn’t watching to stalk. He was watching to make sure no one else got to you first. He knew exactly who you were -- an ex-hydra agent, trying to live a normal life. He wasn’t there to kill you. He was there to make sure you stayed safe.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

EVERYTHING @nekoannie-chan @sabriel4evah @averyrogers83 @castielshugs

MCU @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @death-in-a-tar0t-card  @saiilorstars @princessgriffin1998 @angrykitsune01 @multiversefanfics @hennessy0274 @wildcat116 @saiyanprincessswanie @fandomloverangel @late-to-the-party-81 @nikkitabarnes

Bucky Barnes @mathcat345 @r0segardendr3ams @divadinag @fandom-princess-forevermore @phoenix-rising-starbird-1-reads @nekkiotine @galactusdevourerofworlds @amelia-song-pond @buckets-and-trees @samanddeansannoyingsis @enochsangel @midnight-moonlight-and-mars @nicoline1998enilocin @hallecarey1 @libbymouse @deans-1angel @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @xxqueenofdemonsxx @saiyanprincessswanie @your-wonderful-stargazer @of-apollo @miraclesoflove @goblin-king-of-anarchy67 @multiversefanfics @bellaglover18 @ruckystarnes @thezombieprostitute @massivescissorsthingperson

[programaticallydelicious]

This is a neutral post

Feel free to stop here and rest before journeying to the posts below.

[spadedfox-deactivated20230116]

spreading these occasionally would be nice…

[justawriterinprogress-deactivat]

As someone with major anxiety who can’t fucking stop themself from scrolling, i appreciate posts like this

[navybrat817]

Take Aim

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to be close to you.

Word Count: 300

Warnings: Tension, longing, pining, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Day 29 of the January Jumble Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you… slowly.” ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky stood behind you, your back against his chest. He had to wait all day to get you alone, and he finally had you. His hands rested on your shoulders, and he heard your swift intake of breath when his touch slowly trailed along your arms. Goosebumps raised on your skin and he took satisfaction in having that effect on you. The sound of your racing heart deepened that satisfaction and he wondered if you could feel how fast his was beating.

“Take a breath,” he said against the shell of your ear.

You did so slowly, and he felt the shiver that moved through your body. He closed his eyes, taking the moment to breathe in your sweet scent when you took another breath. He stopped himself from dipping his head and running his nose along your neck. Having you close, his hands on you. It was everything he wanted.

“That’s it,” he whispered, pressing closer just because he could. He closed his eyes, taking the moment to breathe in your sweet scent when you sighed. He stopped himself from dipping his head and running his nose along your neck. “Now. You’re going to do exactly what I tell you… slowly.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” you said, your voice breathy.

Bucky twitched in his pants. He’d file that away for later. “Bucky,” he said gruffly, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Widen your stance just a little, and slightly bend your knees,” he instructed, smiling when you obeyed. “Atta girl. And remember. A firm, two-handed grip, and keep your finger outside of the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”

You could’ve asked anyone to help you, but you asked him.

And maybe he could help you with sparring, too.

Anything to stay close to you and make you his.

Yes, I took a small twist with it. 😂 Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

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