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@luna-honeywell
𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚
(I'm luna)
21 | she/they | ♏︎
𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒔
all of my original fics will be tagged with lunas library
all of my text posts will be tagged with Luna's Letters
♥asks are open♥
minors DNI~18+
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giving inexperienced clark a bj for the first time… 18+
the first time you mentioned it, you brought it up like it wasn’t something entirely filthy.
“Clark, what if i sucked you off?” you asked as you took a sip of your morning coffee and clark almost choked on his cereal, stuttering like a teenage girl. “w- um— what?”
now, clark’s a good boy. he would never ever think of his girlfriend like that. he tries not to. especially when you’re two months into dating each other, i mean— his ma taught him better than to be a sick pervert. (not that he was in any way shape or form, surely.)
so when you asked him so carelessly, his first response consisted of a coughing fit.
you looked at him. “do you not know what it—”
“no-no. i know what it is, i just— i don’t know. i don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or feel like you have to.” he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leg starting to bounce. he’s so sweet about everything, you don’t know whether to punch him or kiss him.
“clark, I’m the one you brought it up. don’t be ridiculous.” you dismissed his worry with a sweet smile and he’s already melting.
“yeah-yeah. okay. sure. i’d like you to do.. that.”, voice upping an octave in complete embarrassment.
and that was it. that was the conversation you had with him before the both of you finished up and went to work.
clark met you again after twelve hours. twelve whole hours of thinking about what would happen when he’d come home to you. and in order for him not to pop a boner in the middle of his shift, he doesn’t dwell on it too much. so much for that.
now he’s on the couch, looking at you as he toys with his cuticles while you’re on your knees in the middle of his spread legs. nothing’s happened yet. you haven’t even come close to touching him and he’s already turning pink, black slacks threatening to tent.
you place your hands on his knees, caressing him up and down, up and down. and clark acts like he’s been electrified.
“baby, it’s okay to be nervous.” you try not to laugh at the state he’s in. his hair’s sticking to his forehead and his chest is nearly heaving. he looks like a kicked puppy.
“m’not nervous. i just.. i’ve never done this before.” he pouts.
a hum buzzes from you. “are you sure you want this?” you check in again— just to make sure he wasn’t regretting this for any reason. to your surprise, he shakes his head with such enthusiasm, you’d think he’d get whiplash.
“no! nono. im good. i want it. please?”
you look at him for a hot second and smile, placing a kiss on his clothed knee before sitting up on your own ones, hands slithering upwards toward his belt and he just watches. his hand keeps fidgeting with the skin next to his nail bed as you unbuckle his belt and pull his boxers down along with his work pants, freeing his already throbbing cock from its confines.
this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him, nor the second. but it’s still shocking, considering how huge he is. you start to wonder why you dug this hole for yourself— but that’s flushed down the drain once the realization really settles in. so you just say it out loud.
“you’re so pretty, clark.” you mumble, taking his length in your palm, thumb tracing his veins.
and he whines. really whines— hips bucking up in instinct, pre already pearling up from his tip. “m’sorry. sorry.” he squeezes his eyes shut like some kind of virgin.
“hey, hey. it’s okay, baby. look at me.” your voice calls out to him, slowly moving your wrist in perfect circles like you’ve done this before. wait. have you done this before? he blinks his eyes open and catches your gaze.
“you’re doing so good, clark. there’s no need to be nervous. you’re perfect.” he could’ve came right then if it weren’t for his wavering resolve.
“gonna put my mouth on you, is that okay?”
he doesn’t care anymore. he just nods with a “mhm.”, small and pathetic, on the edge of drooling like a dog.
you pepper little kisses from his base to his tip and the sides of his cock, following the veins in tandem. this alone would be enough for clark. he revels in this just the way it was given to him, and he’s just fine with that.
but then its your tongue. it slips out of your plush lips and gives a little kitten lick on the underside of his tip— ripping a whine out of him. “thats— that’s good. feels good when you do that.”
“yeah?” you do it again, eyes spotting the way his fists clench.
“yyeah.. oh gosh, yes.”
its pathetic. he’s pathetic. you haven’t even put not a single inch of him in your mouth and he’s already gone. he’s so easy, its ridiculous. he should be ashamed of it.
its when you decide to take it a step further and slide almost his entire dick inside his throat, he starts to lose his control. “oh— oh. jeez. thats a lot, h-honey.. careful.”
his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head with even the slightest feeling of your teeth dragging soft against him and the way your tongue moves along the underside of his cock. you don’t listen to him. he’ll thank you later.
your mouth is so wet and warm, he feels like he’s just opened a door to a brand new world he hasn’t had the chance of experiencing, and he almost considers it life changing. because gosh, thats exactly what it was. and he’s glad it had to be you.
sooner or later, his hands start to feel like they don’t belong to him. he rakes his them through your scalp, tangling his fingers in your hair while you work on his dick greedily, taking in all that you can while your hands twist on the parts that can’t quite fit in your mouth yet. you’ll work up to it.
your throat suddenly swallows, taking him deeper— tears start to brim on the corner of your eyes, but you don’t mind. you love the burn that comes with his size. you live for it. and you live for the way clark tries his hardest not to buck his hips into you, but he does anyway. by accident. his tip forces itself down your slick throat— and another tear streams down your pretty face.
“angel.. m’sorry. i cant— oh, man..” it doesn’t help that you’re sucking him in even more when he tries to pull you away. he locks eyes with you, lidded and fucked, but you give him a nod, cheeks starting to hollow; a sign for him to keep going. you’re telling him that it’s fine if he loses it.
and he does. he does lose it— completely.
both of clarks hands tangle their fingers in your hair, almost gripping it as he looks at you and another whine escapes him just by seeing those tears drip down your cheeks. its such a perfect sight and he feels so guilty— but you’re using his dick so good, he’s finding it hard to stop himself.
when he begins to lose control, his hips start to move, sliding his dick in and out of your throat, and it feels like silk— wet, warm silk. he feels light engulf him, and suddenly he can’t stop.
he coaxes your head down to his pelvis while his hips work into your throat in unison, forcing you to choke on the entirety of him. tears now fall freely from your eyes, and you savor it because only god knows how much he’ll be able to actually control himself next time.
meanwhile, clarks head falls back, denting in the cushion of the couch, and he’s making sounds only you’d find in a filthy porno. “m’sorry, m’sorry.. babybabybaby… I’m so sorry—” he’s babbling mindless apologies while he fucks your face in a ruthless pace, hands almost uncharacteristically harsh, stuffing your face with his cock again and again while he rambles the same apologies.
but, god help him, he can’t stop when he looks down at you. you haven’t stopped looking at him since you started, and it only brings him closer. he’ll cum just like this. from you looking at him and stuffing your gorgeous face full of him— he groans. “hon, m’gonna.. gonna cum. pl—please. oh gosh, you’re so pretty. ‘can’t stop.”
your muffled moans vibrate through his dick, and it feels like ecstasy. you don’t wan’t him to stop, its clear. and he gets it. he gets it so quick. thats why on the next gag and tightening of your throat, he’s cumming down your mouth with his mouth hung open and his eyes completely shut, whining like he’s been starved of it like some kind of hungry dog.
his hands never let go of the firm grip they have on your hair, forcing your slick throat down on him as he bottoms out and all you do is let him, because you’ll let clark have this. and you? you drink him down like you were born to do it.
after a brief moment of breathing through your nose, his shoulders sag and he lets out the deepest exhale known mankind, the firm hold on you lessening, slipping his dick out of your mouth in short increments.
the moment clark looks down, his eyes blow wide when he realizes how much he’s been so rough with you— and just like that, guilt washes through his bones.
“oh, gosh. geez. i didnt— i-im so sorry. i was so rough with you, honey. im such a jerk.” his arms extend to yours, pulling you up from your tired knees and he’s quick to use his x-ray vision to assess any injuries he might’ve caused. nothing worse than some minor bruising, thank god. but he still could’ve really hurt you. “are you okay? does it hurt?” he panics, gentle fingers finding purchase all over your throat.
you try not to find this laughable, considering he literally just dicked you down without even thinking about it. “clark-clark. im fine. it’s fine. i liked it.” your voice is hoarse, jagged around the edges and clark could just tear up until he sees you smile.
“we have to do that again soon.”
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I have three WIP's and I can't finish any of them 😭
You have altered the chemistry of my brain with talks of blowing Pope… can’t stop thinking about it
After the first time, he’s obsessed, addicted, etc.
Do you think he’s too shy to ask for his girl to blow him again? Like he’s trying to be polite and stuff?
Or would he flat out just ask? In the most blunt, Pope way possible?
So much to ponder…
AN: Anon I don't know what kind of drugs you put in this ask cause I don't know how this got this long! I could write about this all day every day for the rest of my life. I just love giving head! Also I will refer to Pope as Andy in every fic.
Warnings: Detailed description of oral (m! receiving), mild hair pulling
Word count: 1k
read
I made my blog pretty and added navigation only to not post anything new 😭
I'm working on a hopper fic I SWEAR
dr robby’s unsavory tattoo (gn!reader)
inspo from @avengersimaginepreferences ‘s comment on this post
*****
Michael Robinavitch has a serious issue. One that’s driving you and him absolutely nuts.
That fucking tattoo. A single line of text a few inches above his cock.
It won’t suck itself.
He knew when you two became involved that he would have to come clean. It’s been an issue in every relationship he’s had since he got it.
Robby regrets it every day. When he was young, partners would chuckle, roll their eyes. Then Robby hit his thirties. Connection became more about building a future than a quick fuck, and no matter how thick his happy trail is, partners notice.
He could do the laser removal thing, but that would mean having to look the poor technician in the eye as they do it. Somehow, that feels more mortifying than leaving it.
It’s just… he likes you. He can see a future with you, as unusual as that is for him to admit. And he can see that every time you two fuck, when Robby insists on leaving his shirt on or keeping the lights strictly off, you worry and try to gently tell him that there’s nothing to be afraid of.
It’s been going on like this for five months. Five whole months of you being the best partner Robby could ask for, and yet he’s not ready to open up just yet. He feels stupid, so fucking stupid, for it. If not for making a fool of himself then for the way it hurts you.
“Do you think I’m gonna laugh?” You tug your shirt on hastily. You started dressing the moment Robby refused to take his shirt off. For the third night in a row. With you completely nude.
Robby puts himself between you and the door. “No, it’s not that!”
“Then I don’t get it!” You throw your hands in the air. “If you’re not insecure about your body, if it’s not an intimacy thing, not a trigger, then why won’t you just take it off?”
“I—“ The words die on Robby’s tongue. You had never argued with him about it before. The topic of shirts had always been handled delicately, with you not wanting to push Robby to do something he doesn’t and Robby not wanting to reveal too much. “It’s complicated.”
You sigh, sitting back down on his bed. “Let’s do it then.”
“What?”
“You said it’s complicated.” You motion towards him, “Let’s get into it.”
Robby squirms. There’s no getting out of this one. “I have a tattoo.”
“You have many.”
Robby rolls his eyes, “Another tattoo.”
Your expression hardens, “It’s not like… problematic or anything?”
“No!” Robby rushes out, “No! Nothing like that, just…”
“Just what?”
“Well, you know…” Robby shakes his head. There’s no explaining his way out of this. “I think you should see for yourself.”
You gulp, “Okay.”
He first lowers the band of his boxers, one hand holding it in place while the other grips the hem of his shirt. “Are you ready?”
“If you are.”
Robby counts down in his head. Three… two… one… and…
It won’t suck itself.
You lean forward on the bed, face inches away from the awful thing. Your jaw is nearly on the ground.
Robby scratches the back of his neck, “I was drunk in med school and…” He trails off as you sink down on your knees. “What are you doing?”
You shrug, unbuckling his jeans as you jut your chin at the faded letters, “It’s won’t suck itself, right?”
read
The concept of fucking ex-husband!dr robby. (f!reader)
It wasn’t amicable by any means (your last words to him were ‘I never want to fucking see your fucking face ever again’). But he lets you keep the house, which is nice, you suppose.
Don’t get it twisted, Robby is just as bitter as you. Though, his anger is more directed towards the fact that you decided to leave him. It was, is, a huge blow to his ego. I mean, who in their right mind decides to leave their loaded, doctor husband?
His contact name is saved as DON’T CALL EVER after you drunk called him a month after the divorce was finalized. He handled the incident with grace, and even drove you home from the bar that night. Still, your sense of pride would like to avoid a repeat scenario.
You’re a year from the divorce, and things are going well. Great, in fact. You barely think about him as you go about your day. And you’ve even started to consider dating again. You’re a changed woman.
And then your washing machine breaks. An overpriced piece of shit that you knew was going to go the second the two-year warranty expired, but your ex-husband insisted it would be fine. After a three hour argument that ended with you rolling your eyes and telling him not to come crying when it broke, Robby bought the damn thing.
Maybe the washing machine was the beginning of the end.
And maybe it was pettiness that made you, two years and three days after he came home with the stupid thing, send Robby a text.
Your washing machine broke.
You don’t expect him to actually do something about it, though…
He shows up that night, scrubs abandoned for his old med school t-shirt and jeans. Scalpel traded for a toolbox.
It takes longer than you expected. You hover in the laundry room as he works, explaining mechanical mumbo jumbo that goes right over your head. Around the hour and a half mark, Robby announced he needs to buy a part to fix it tomorrow.
“Oh,” you frown, peering into the washer like you’d magically find the part in there. “Well, text it to me, and I’ll order it.”
“No, I’ll run to Home Depot tomorrow morning and come back here.”
You scoff, “Michael, I’ll order the damn part. It’s my washing machine.”
Robby laughs, wiping his hands on a spare towel. “Really? That’s not what your text said.”
“I was being melodramatic.”
“You were being something.”
You roll your eyes. “Listen, if you’re going to be a dick about this, then you can leave.” You motion to the open door to the laundry room, “In fact, I don’t see why you’re not already gone, considering— A, I didn’t invite you to fix it, and B, I can call a perfectly capable repair man.”
That seems to make Robby tick. His nostrils flair as he clenches his jaw, “You’re not calling some sleazy repairman who’s gonna charge you ten times the amount—“
“Watch me.”
You fish your phone out of your back pocket, but before you can even find a search engine, Robby wraps his hand around your wrist, “I said no.”
You lick your lips, “And I said w—“
Robby presses his lip to yours. Messy, wet, familiar. It doesn’t take much for you to reciprocate, deepening the kiss and sliding your tongue against his lips. His hips pin you against the washing machine, grinding his rapidly hardening length against you.
“God,” he utters, hand sneaking beneath your waistband, “Do you ever shut up?”
“The washer…”
“Fuck the washer.”
“But—“
“I bet you broke it on purpose.” Robby’s thumb finds your clit, and you jolt. He slips a finger, then two, inside of you. Are you really that wet? “You just needed your husband, didn’t you?”
You bite back a moan, “Not— not my husband.”
Robby raises an eyebrow. His fingers curl inside you, you keen. He teases, “Really, then why am I performing husbandly duties?”
You realize, humiliated, that you’re already close “Michael—“
“I know,” he says.
Robby pulls his hand out of your jeans, shoving them down before turning you around and forcing you down on the washer. You hear a belt buckle clink, then a zipper. In an instant, he’s sinking his length into you.
His pace is relentless. You have to grip the sides of the washing machine just to not hit your head on the wall with each thrust. His hand is back on your clit, circling it furiously.
“You missed this,” he taunts. “Say it. Say you missed this, and I’ll let you come.”
“You’re such a dick,” you groan.
His fingers still, “Try again.”
He’s close. You can tell merely from his pace, from the way he’s panting in your ear. God, you hate how well you know him. And you hate how you want to cum so badly that you actually cave.
"I— fuck! —I missed this!" Robby's hand returns to your clit at an unrelenting pace. It won't be much longer. Even though you got what you want, you babble on, "I missed this. I missed you! Just—"
Your orgasm slams into you, overwhelming and all-encompassing. Robby follows soon after, pulling out to finish over your lower back. You just lay there on the fucking washing machine, trying to ground yourself and catch your breath all at the same time.
Robby moves behind you. He cleans you up, and out of the corner of your eyes you spot him put down a pair of sweats. They're an old set of his that you sleep in every now and then. You don't even bother to be embarrassed that you still have them. Not when you just let your ex-husband fuck you. Your ex-husband who is now helping you into said sweats of his.
He helps you stand, leaning you against the washer as he slides your jeans down your legs. It's tender. It reminds you of the early days. When Robby looks up at you, on his knees in the laundry room of the house you built together, you swear your heart stops.
“So,” Robby slips your panties off, tucking them in his back pocket. “When can I move back in?”
“Asshole.”
read
Michael Robinavitch who has a bottle of sildenafil in his medicine cabinet. He doesn’t think too much about it until he has to pop one in front of you, the intern who, against better judgement, he brought home. He tries hiding it, but you catch on.
“Is that viagra?”
Robby swallows. He doesn’t have to look at his reflection to know that he’s as red as a tomato at your question. As if to add insult to injury, he can feel the stupid pill moving agonizingly slow down his throat. He takes another swig of water to wash it down. “Yeah, baby, I’m… older. I need—“ Robby pauses as he finds you in the mirror, eyes wide and mouth parted like a fish. “Are you okay?”
“Robby,” you lick your lips. “That’s so hot.” You step forward, caging him against the counter with your arms at his sides. “How long does it take to work?”
Robby blinks, unable to string together an answer. Is this happening? Your hand find his cock through his pants, rubbing the soft bulge there. He gasps, stuttering, “Th— thirty minutes.”
“Good,” you kiss the skin just bellow his ear, “Can I sit on your face until—?”
Robby is already dragging you to bed.
Robby likes to be ignored. (afab!reader)
After spending hours being the center of everything, Robby needs to be invisible, to have the space to do whatever he wants without consequences or ramifications. And you are more than happy to oblige.
You’re reading, knees up in the air, spread slightly. You’re comfortable, warm from the blanket over your lap and Robby’s mouth against your cunt.
He begged for it the second you stepped out of the shower. Can I? You can read your book. It’ll be like I’m not even there.
You had to turn your back to him to hide your smile when you said, “Fine.”
From that moment he has had his face settled between your legs, alternating between sucking your clit and shoving his tongue as deep in you as it can go. His hands alternate between roaming your body and pumping his cock.
You haven’t read a page of your book. You’ve tried, but haven’t gotten very deep into the first paragraph. It’s just too much, the feeling of his mouth on you, the occasional moan or whimper Robby lets out. It’s hard to keep quiet on your end, but you find the effort to be worth it when you catch every single noise he lets out.
You're getting close. Keeping your hips still and resisting the urge to grind against Robby's face is getting more difficult by the second. Your breathing has grown into full-blown panting.
Robby usually waits for your orgasm before coming. At least, he tries. Some nights, when he’s particularly pent up, he just can’t hold out. If the way he slammed the door when he came home (and the way he’s moaning into your cunt right now), you’d say tonight is one of those nights.
Robby pulls away, his breath warms your cunt as he asks, “Can I come on you?” The bed rocks as he grinds his hips into the mattress, practically humping it.
You sigh, more in pleasure than annoyance, but Robby whimpers under the blanket at the sound, stuttering, “Oh— fuck —please, please, please!”
You don’t even have a chance to speak, let alone tease him, before he groans. You’re tempted to peek under the blanket, but instead you try to turn your focus back to your book. You do no reading, though, because Robby chants your name in the haze of his orgasm, and something that sounds a lot like thank you.
Robby settles against you, cheek pressed to your stomach and still under the blanket. His thumb rubs up and down your hip.
“Michael?” You say. His breath hitches, you immediately miss its warmth on your skin. “I still haven’t come.”
He doesn’t wait to catch his breath before diving back into your cunt.
joel miller, my love
Bad company, Noelia Towers
18+ mdni riding clark kent (reupload)
You’re seated directly on him, thighs snug around his hips, arms looped loosely around his neck. His eyes are glassy behind his glasses, fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the room. You’ve been like this for what feels like hours — anchored to his lap, his entire length buried deep inside you, neither of you willing to move first.
“Sweetheart…” he whines softly. “You can move, if you want.”
You only nod. Your hands slide down to his shoulders as you begin to rock, slow. Clark’s entire body goes rigid beneath you, a sharp inhale catching in his chest as his hands immediately find your hips, gripping like he needs the grounding.
The pace is already too much for him. He’s panting now, quiet moans spilling free until they echo through the apartment.
“Feels s-so good,” you murmur, continuing to roll your hips against him.
He does his best to stay still for you, hands locked at your waist, head tipped back so you have him completely — flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way his throat moves when he swallows.
You pick up speed, heat curling low in your stomach. Your clit drags perfectly against his lower stomach with every motion, the friction sending sparks up your spine as you chase release.
“Oh—Clark,” you cry, bouncing now, grinding down just enough to make him gasp.
“Oh, baby,” he groans, face fully pink, breath shaking. “I’m so close—”
You press down harder, the sensation coiling tight, almost unbearable.
“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he asks, voice wrecked.
You nod frantically. “Yes—yes, yes.”
“Finish for me, baby. C’mon, let me hear you.” His grip tightens, guiding you just slightly, helping you find that perfect rhythm.
“I’m gonna—” The words break apart as pleasure crashes over you, your body trembling as you come undone on him.
Clark follows right after, a broken sound leaving his chest as he clings to you, breath stuttering. When it’s over, you slump forward, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.
calling clark kal-el during sex 👀
MDNI 18+
he keeps himself occupied with peppering hot kisses along your neck, trying to worship and rut into you at the same time. deep thrusts that push the mattress an inch or two toward the headboard, coaxing another dull thud against the wall like a metronome of sex. a groan breaks against your throat when nails score down the powerful breadth of his back. your efforts won’t do anything to mar kryptonian skin, but the way he shivers tells you he enjoys them all the same. clark enjoys doing most of the work—and you’re more than happy to let him.
pleasure has been stacking in dizzying layers, a slow climb toward a familiar plateau. you are dimly aware of the fact that you’ve come twice already, more than you ever thought you could before him. maybe that’s why you decide to be a little experimental with things.
you let it slip (more accurately, pretend to let it slip) just another breathless sound tangled in whatever nonsense you’re already babbling. but your voice is purposeful when you call him by his other name: kal-el. the effect is instantaneous if not dramatic: tension snaps through him, a delicious full-body shiver that tightens the thick muscle of his back. with your ankles locked around his waist, you feel the way his buttocks clench, feeling his hard, very generous length twitch inside you in a helpless spasm he couldn’t fake even if he wanted to.
you’ve called him everything under the sun: babe, sweetheart, kansas kid, hon, clarkie (and, on a random but also not-so-random whim, “daddy”) and he took them all with that bashful warmth he’s so known for. but this… this is different. hearing his real name leave your lips—well, cliché as it sounds—it awakens something in him he has no words for. like you reached past the man and wrapped your hand around the origin point of him.
for a moment his blue eyes flash with something bright and utterly timeless, there and gone in a heartbeat. and when he starts moving again, it’s still him. every inch of the man you love.
𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔
X-Ray - Clark Kent x GN!reader
𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔
minors DNI~18+
I do not write for characters under 18 so please don't ask
first take a look at my hard no's
you will not find anything on this blog that includes things on this list
Now the general rules
•GN or female reader only
•I only write for the characters on this list
•I do write for a few non reader pairings also on this list
•please feel free to request/ask me anything as long as you're respecting my rules
•just don't make me uncomfortable and you're good
and here are some things I love to write about below the cut
