Dex told himself it was just precaution. FBI training made a man cautious, especially when the only thing that ever felt like it truly belonged to him was you.
That’s why he spent the afternoon wiring tiny cameras into every corner of your shared apartment, living room, kitchen, bedroom, even the bathroom mirror. A sleek black tracker slipped neatly behind the rear wheel well of your car. It was clean, efficient, and untraceable.
Now, hours later, he sat at his desk in the Bullpen, earpiece in, pretending to review case files. His phone rested beside the keyboard, screen angled toward him. The live feeds flickered softly. There you were—curled up on the couch in one of his old t-shirts, fast asleep with your cheek pressed against the cushion. The camera caught the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted just slightly. You were safe, and more importantly, his.
A small, rare flicker of relief settled in his chest. As long as he could see you, the gnawing voice in his head stayed quiet. The one that whispered you might leave, that you might grow tired of his intensity, that one day he’d come home and you’d simply be gone.
But he could see you now. Every breath. Every shift of your body. The way you stretched lazily when you finally woke, rubbing your eyes and glancing toward the door like you were waiting for him.
Dex’s lips twitched into a faint smile, thumb brushing over the screen almost tenderly. “Good girl,” he murmured under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear. “Stay right there where I can see you.” He’d never miss. Not with you.
━ your older neighbor realizes you have a little crush on him ۶ৎ
You’d lived next door for four months, and he’d noticed you almost immediately. You were younger, bright-eyed, always smiling shyly in the hallway. At first he thought it was just neighborly politeness. Then he started catching the way your eyes lingered on him a little too long when he came back from runs, shirt sticking to his chest. The way you’d fumble with your keys whenever he held the elevator for you. He thought it was cute.
He remembered being your age, crushing hard on the older woman who lived upstairs in his first apartment building. The thrill of it. The ache. So he didn’t mind it; he found himself looking forward to those hallway moments more than he should. But he was conflicted. He was getting up there in age, and you were… definitely not. He told himself it was harmless. Just a silly little crush that would pass.
The walls between your apartments were paper-thin. Some nights he could hear you moving around, the soft hum of music, the occasional laugh. Then one evening he heard you on the phone, voice excited and hushed.
“Oh my god, he’s so hot. Like… stupid sexy. The way his arms look when he’s carrying groceries? I can’t even function when I see him.”
He froze in his kitchen, glass of water halfway to his mouth. You kept going, giggling about how tall he was, how his voice sounded when he said good morning. He wasn’t sure if you were talking about him. There were a few other guys in the building. But the thought that it might be… it did something to him. He went to bed that night trying not to think about it. Failed.
A few days later, there was a knock on his door. You stood there in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, looking nervous but determined. “Hey… I’m really sorry to bother you, but my shower is completely screwed up. The pressure is insane, and it keeps spraying everywhere. I think the head is broken? I don’t know who else to ask.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Let me grab my tools.”
Twenty minutes later he was in your bathroom, shirt sleeves rolled up, working on the shower head. You hovered in the doorway watching him. Of course the damn thing sprayed the second he loosened it. Cold water soaked through his shirt instantly, plastering the fabric to his chest and stomach.
You bit your lip, eyes wide. “Oh no, I’m so sorry-”
He chuckled, water dripping from his hair. “Occupational hazard of playing handyman.”
When he finally fixed it, he wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to you. The air felt thicker than it should’ve in the small, steamy bathroom. “You got a boyfriend who can help with this stuff next time?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
You shook your head quickly. “No boyfriend.”
He nodded slowly, something warm and dangerous flickering in his chest. “Well… knock on my door anytime you need anything. I mean it.”
After that, the tension between you grew. You started talking more in the hallway. He started leaving his door open when he knew you’d be coming home. Little conversations turned into longer ones, leaning against doorframes, laughing about nothing, eyes catching for seconds too long.
One evening you caught him in the hall after work. He looked tired but handsome in his button-down, sleeves once again rolled up. You talked about your terrible day, and he listened like it actually mattered. The space between you kept shrinking. You couldn’t take it anymore.
Standing on your tiptoes, heart hammering, you leaned in to kiss him — close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. He gently caught your shoulders, stopping you. “Sweetheart…” His voice was low, rough with restraint. He pulled back just enough, eyes dark and conflicted. “I can’t.”
You froze.
“I’m too old for you,” he said softly, almost regretfully. He leaned down and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead instead. The tenderness of it made your chest ache. “You deserve someone closer to your age.” Then he stepped back, gave you one last long look, and disappeared into his apartment, door clicking shut behind him.
He leaned back against the closed door, heart pounding harder than it had in years. The feeling of your breath so close, the way you’d looked up at him with those hopeful, glossy eyes… He couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop imagining what would’ve happened if he’d let you kiss him.
He dragged a hand down his face and cursed under his breath. "Fuck."
main masterlist
a/n: if u guys like this ill do a part 2 <3
━ your older neighbor realizes you have a little crush on him ۶ৎ
You’d lived next door for four months, and he’d noticed you almost immediately. You were younger, bright-eyed, always smiling shyly in the hallway. At first he thought it was just neighborly politeness. Then he started catching the way your eyes lingered on him a little too long when he came back from runs, shirt sticking to his chest. The way you’d fumble with your keys whenever he held the elevator for you. He thought it was cute.
He remembered being your age, crushing hard on the older woman who lived upstairs in his first apartment building. The thrill of it. The ache. So he didn’t mind it; he found himself looking forward to those hallway moments more than he should. But he was conflicted. He was getting up there in age, and you were… definitely not. He told himself it was harmless. Just a silly little crush that would pass.
The walls between your apartments were paper-thin. Some nights he could hear you moving around, the soft hum of music, the occasional laugh. Then one evening he heard you on the phone, voice excited and hushed.
“Oh my god, he’s so hot. Like… stupid sexy. The way his arms look when he’s carrying groceries? I can’t even function when I see him.”
He froze in his kitchen, glass of water halfway to his mouth. You kept going, giggling about how tall he was, how his voice sounded when he said good morning. He wasn’t sure if you were talking about him. There were a few other guys in the building. But the thought that it might be… it did something to him. He went to bed that night trying not to think about it. Failed.
A few days later, there was a knock on his door. You stood there in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, looking nervous but determined. “Hey… I’m really sorry to bother you, but my shower is completely screwed up. The pressure is insane, and it keeps spraying everywhere. I think the head is broken? I don’t know who else to ask.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Let me grab my tools.”
Twenty minutes later he was in your bathroom, shirt sleeves rolled up, working on the shower head. You hovered in the doorway watching him. Of course the damn thing sprayed the second he loosened it. Cold water soaked through his shirt instantly, plastering the fabric to his chest and stomach.
You bit your lip, eyes wide. “Oh no, I’m so sorry-”
He chuckled, water dripping from his hair. “Occupational hazard of playing handyman.”
When he finally fixed it, he wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to you. The air felt thicker than it should’ve in the small, steamy bathroom. “You got a boyfriend who can help with this stuff next time?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
You shook your head quickly. “No boyfriend.”
He nodded slowly, something warm and dangerous flickering in his chest. “Well… knock on my door anytime you need anything. I mean it.”
After that, the tension between you grew. You started talking more in the hallway. He started leaving his door open when he knew you’d be coming home. Little conversations turned into longer ones, leaning against doorframes, laughing about nothing, eyes catching for seconds too long.
One evening you caught him in the hall after work. He looked tired but handsome in his button-down, sleeves once again rolled up. You talked about your terrible day, and he listened like it actually mattered. The space between you kept shrinking. You couldn’t take it anymore.
Standing on your tiptoes, heart hammering, you leaned in to kiss him — close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. He gently caught your shoulders, stopping you. “Sweetheart…” His voice was low, rough with restraint. He pulled back just enough, eyes dark and conflicted. “I can’t.”
You froze.
“I’m too old for you,” he said softly, almost regretfully. He leaned down and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead instead. The tenderness of it made your chest ache. “You deserve someone closer to your age.” Then he stepped back, gave you one last long look, and disappeared into his apartment, door clicking shut behind him.
He leaned back against the closed door, heart pounding harder than it had in years. The feeling of your breath so close, the way you’d looked up at him with those hopeful, glossy eyes… He couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop imagining what would’ve happened if he’d let you kiss him.
He dragged a hand down his face and cursed under his breath. "Fuck."
main masterlist
a/n: if u guys like this ill do a part 2 <3
Summary: Dex has you pinned beneath him, fucking you with that terrifying, unerring precision he’s famous for.
Warning: afab!reader, pwop, explicit sexual content (18+), rough/painful sex, intense overstimulation, dacryphilia, mix of pain and pleasure, mocking/degrading dirty talk, fake sympathy, psychopathic behavior (dex ofc), light humiliation. 513 wc
The dim light of the safehouse barely reached the bed, casting long shadows over Dex’s bare back as he loomed above you. His hips snapped forward in a brutal, precise rhythm, every single thrust nailing that same devastating spot deep inside you without fail. He never missed. Not once.
“Fuck—Dex-” you gasped, back arching hard off the mattress. Tears were already spilling down your temples, blurring your vision. The pleasure was too sharp, too constant, each perfect drag of his dick against that swollen, sensitive ridge turning your body into a raw and electric puddle. It hurt in the best way, overwhelming every nerve until you couldn’t tell where the pain ended, and the ecstasy began.
He noticed immediately, of course. Those cold, intense eyes flicked down to your tear-streaked face, and his lips curled into a slow, mocking pout.
“Aww, baby,” he cooed, voice low and syrupy with fake sympathy. He didn’t slow down; he angled his hips a fraction more, driving even deeper on the next thrust. “Look at you crying for me. Does it hurt that good?”
You sobbed, thighs trembling around his waist as another devastating stroke punched right into that spot again. Your walls clenched hard around him, slick and fluttering, but he just laughed softly under his breath, psychotic delight gleaming in his gaze.
“Poor little thing,” Dex murmured, leaning down closer so his breath ghosted over your wet cheek. His hand came up to brush a tear away with his thumb, almost tender, but the smirk twisting his mouth ruined any illusion of care. “I’m hitting it so perfectly, aren’t I? Right there… and there… and there.” Each word was punctuated by a sharp, targeted snap of his hips that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
You cried out, fresh tears pouring as the overwhelming pressure coiled tighter in your belly. It was too much, his thick length stretching you open, the relentless accuracy of every thrust grinding against that perfect angle until your whole body shook. Pain and pleasure twisted together so viciously you couldn’t breathe.
Dex’s pout deepened theatrically, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. “Shh, shh, don’t cry so hard. I thought you liked it when I don’t miss.” He rolled his hips in a slow, filthy circle, pressing right up against that spot and holding there, grinding. “Or is it too good? Are you gonna break for me already, hmm?”
You nodded frantically, half-delirious, choking on a moan as another wave crashed through you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents, but he only grinned wider, clearly thriving on the sight of you falling apart beneath him.
“Good,” he whispered, voice dropping into something darker, hungrier. “I like you like this. All teary and ruined… just for me.”
He picked up the pace again, precise, merciless, never once missing that spot—and you shattered with a broken sob, clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you violently. Dex watched every second of it, that fake-sympathetic pout still playing on his lips while his eyes burned with pure, psychotic satisfaction.
Summary: Dex has you pinned beneath him, fucking you with that terrifying, unerring precision he’s famous for.
Warning: afab!reader, pwop, explicit sexual content (18+), rough/painful sex, intense overstimulation, dacryphilia, mix of pain and pleasure, mocking/degrading dirty talk, fake sympathy, psychopathic behavior (dex ofc), light humiliation. 513 wc
The dim light of the safehouse barely reached the bed, casting long shadows over Dex’s bare back as he loomed above you. His hips snapped forward in a brutal, precise rhythm, every single thrust nailing that same devastating spot deep inside you without fail. He never missed. Not once.
“Fuck—Dex-” you gasped, back arching hard off the mattress. Tears were already spilling down your temples, blurring your vision. The pleasure was too sharp, too constant, each perfect drag of his dick against that swollen, sensitive ridge turning your body into a raw and electric puddle. It hurt in the best way, overwhelming every nerve until you couldn’t tell where the pain ended, and the ecstasy began.
He noticed immediately, of course. Those cold, intense eyes flicked down to your tear-streaked face, and his lips curled into a slow, mocking pout.
“Aww, baby,” he cooed, voice low and syrupy with fake sympathy. He didn’t slow down; he angled his hips a fraction more, driving even deeper on the next thrust. “Look at you crying for me. Does it hurt that good?”
You sobbed, thighs trembling around his waist as another devastating stroke punched right into that spot again. Your walls clenched hard around him, slick and fluttering, but he just laughed softly under his breath, psychotic delight gleaming in his gaze.
“Poor little thing,” Dex murmured, leaning down closer so his breath ghosted over your wet cheek. His hand came up to brush a tear away with his thumb, almost tender, but the smirk twisting his mouth ruined any illusion of care. “I’m hitting it so perfectly, aren’t I? Right there… and there… and there.” Each word was punctuated by a sharp, targeted snap of his hips that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
You cried out, fresh tears pouring as the overwhelming pressure coiled tighter in your belly. It was too much, his thick length stretching you open, the relentless accuracy of every thrust grinding against that perfect angle until your whole body shook. Pain and pleasure twisted together so viciously you couldn’t breathe.
Dex’s pout deepened theatrically, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. “Shh, shh, don’t cry so hard. I thought you liked it when I don’t miss.” He rolled his hips in a slow, filthy circle, pressing right up against that spot and holding there, grinding. “Or is it too good? Are you gonna break for me already, hmm?”
You nodded frantically, half-delirious, choking on a moan as another wave crashed through you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents, but he only grinned wider, clearly thriving on the sight of you falling apart beneath him.
“Good,” he whispered, voice dropping into something darker, hungrier. “I like you like this. All teary and ruined… just for me.”
He picked up the pace again, precise, merciless, never once missing that spot—and you shattered with a broken sob, clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you violently. Dex watched every second of it, that fake-sympathetic pout still playing on his lips while his eyes burned with pure, psychotic satisfaction.
Free Use!Clark who never says no to his girlfriend, no matter when or where she needs him. He’s always ready, always gentle, and always completely obsessed with how much she wants him.
Nympho!Reader who is utterly addicted to Clark Kent — his voice, his hands, his dick, the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world. You can’t go more than a few hours without touching him, and he loves it.
700+ words of: free use kink, implied consent (cnc?), nympho reader, hcs, implied anal, cockwarming, face riding, exhibitionism, somnophilia, pwop, theyre freaky
ck x nympho!reader fic here
────────────
Free Use!Clark who wakes up every morning to you already grinding on his thigh or sucking him under the sheets. He just groans softly, puts his hands on your hips, and lets you use his body however you need while he’s still half-asleep, voice raspy as he murmurs, “Good morning, sweetheart… take what you want.”
Nympho!Reader who gets wet the second Clark walks through the door after patrol. You’ll meet him in the hallway, drop to your knees, and pull his suit down just enough to get him in your mouth, moaning around him like you’ve been starving for hours.
Free Use!Clark who is more than happy to let you ride his face while he’s trying to read the newspaper. He’ll just set the paper aside, lie back on the couch, and hold your hips down so you can grind against his tongue until you’re shaking and soaking his chin.
Nympho!Reader who sends him filthy texts while he’s at work. Pictures of your fingers buried inside yourself with the caption “hurry home, I need you.” Clark has to excuse himself to the bathroom more than once because of how hard you make him.
Free Use!Clark who will fuck you bent over the kitchen counter while you’re trying to make dinner. You’ll be stirring sauce and suddenly his big hands are on your hips, sliding your panties to the side and pushing into you slow and deep while he kisses your neck and whispers, “Don’t stop cooking, baby. I’ve got you.”
Nympho!Reader who loves waking him up in the middle of the night by sinking down on his dick. Clark just moans sleepily, hands finding your waist as you ride him in the dark, his voice low and wrecked: “Couldn’t wait till morning, huh?”
Free Use!Clark who lets you crawl into his lap during movie night and cockwarm him the entire film. He’ll wrap his arms around you, chin on your shoulder, occasionally thrusting up when he knows you’re getting impatient, murmuring praise in your ear the whole time.
Nympho!Reader who gets off on the fact that Clark is Superman. You beg him to keep the cape on sometimes while he fucks you, clinging to the red fabric as he fucks you against the wall, super strength keeping you pinned exactly where he wants you.
Free Use!Clark who has bent you over his desk in the barn, in the back of his truck, in the shower, on the stairs, and once — very carefully — in the sky. He indulges every single craving you have without hesitation.
Nympho!Reader who gets dripping wet when Clark does mundane things — chopping wood shirtless, fixing the fence, wearing those gray sweatpants. You’ll walk up behind him, press yourself against his back, and beg him to take you right there in the yard.
Free Use!Clark who never makes you feel embarrassed for how much you need him. If you crawl into his lap during dinner and start grinding on him, he just pushes his plate aside, lifts you onto the table, and eats you out until you’re crying his name.
Nympho!Reader who loves being passed out from exhaustion only to wake up to Clark gently fucking you again because you whispered his name in your sleep and started rubbing against him.
Free Use!Clark who will pick you up, wrap your legs around his waist, and fuck you slow and deep while walking through the house like it’s nothing. He’ll carry you from the living room to the bedroom without ever pulling out, kissing you the whole way.
Nympho!Reader who keeps a butt plug in sometimes just so Clark can pull it out and replace it with his dick whenever he wants — though he usually ends up indulging you instead because you’re so desperate for him.
Free Use!Clark who finds you in the laundry room folding clothes and immediately bends you over the vibrating washing machine. He slides into you from behind while the spin cycle rattles hard against your chest, the intense shaking pressing right against your sensitive nipples as he fucks you deep and steady.
Nympho!Reader who can’t even pretend to focus on the laundry once Clark starts thrusting — moaning loudly as the machine’s vibrations buzz against your tits while his thick length stretches you open, coming harder because of the relentless shaking on your nipples.
Free Use!Clark who looks at his obsessed, insatiable girlfriend with nothing but pure love and lust in his eyes, because nothing makes him happier than knowing you need him this badly.
Nympho!Reader who is completely ruined for anyone else — and Clark wouldn’t have it any other way.
He’s been stuck at his desk for hours, glasses perched on his nose, muttering to himself about deadlines. You’ve been watching him from the bed, growing more impatient by the minute. Until finally, you can’t take it anymore. You crawl under his desk without warning, settling between his spread thighs. He jolts when you tug his sweatpants down, eyes widening behind his lenses.
“Baby- I have to finish this—” His voice cuts off in a choked gasp as you wrap your lips around his tip and take him deep.
He’s only half-hard at first, but the second your warm, wet mouth envelops him, you feel him twitch and swell rapidly against your tongue. His dick thickens fast, growing heavier and harder with every slow suck, the veins pulsing as blood rushes in. You can feel him getting fully erect in your mouth, stretching your lips wider, the head nudging deeper toward your throat as he hardens completely. The way he throbs and fills out so quickly makes you moan softly around him.
You suck him slowly at first, tongue swirling around the head, savoring the way he twitches and grows even stiffer in your mouth. “Fuck…” he whispers, one hand dropping to grip your hair. His other hand stays on the keyboard, fingers trembling as he tries to keep typing. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
You hum around him, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. His hips twitch up involuntarily, pushing more of his now rock-hard length into your warm mouth. His breathing grows ragged, glasses slipping down his nose as he fights to stay focused.
Every time you swirl your tongue or suck harder, he lets out these soft, broken little sounds, half-moans, half-whimpers — that make you even wetter. He looks so cute like this: flushed cheeks, messy hair, trying so hard to be a responsible boyfriend while you sucks him off under his desk.
When he finally comes, it’s with a quiet, shaky groan, hips stuttering as he spills down your throat. You swallow every drop, gently licking him clean while he pants above you. He pulls you up into his lap afterward, kissing you, tasting himself on your tongue. His arms wrap around you tightly, face buried in your neck.
“You’re evil,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. “I’m never gonna finish this project now.” You just smile and kiss his cheek.
━ Summary: You and Clark have always been careful, no matter how desperate things got. But one night, while he’s buried deep inside you, you make a decision. You reach down, pull the condom off, and whisper that you don’t want anything between you anymore.
━ Pairing: clark kent x f!reader
━ CW: explicit smut (18+), established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, multiple rounds, possessive/devotional behavior, explicit language, emotional intimacy, aftercare, very overwhelmed and deeply in love clark kent ♡
━ 1.1k wc
likes and comments are very appreciated <3
You and Clark had always been careful. Even after years together, moving in together, building a life that felt steady and permanent, there was one boundary the two of you had never crossed. No matter how many nights ended tangled up in each other, no matter how much trust sat between you, Clark always insisted on protection. Not because he didn’t want more closeness — if anything, he wanted it too much.
But Clark worried. About his strength, about hurting you without meaning to. About the weight of everything he carried, even here, in the quiet safety of your shared bed. And underneath all of it sat another fear he rarely admitted out loud: what happened if something changed before you were both ready?
The room was dim, city light slipping through half-drawn curtains and stretching silver across the sheets tangled between the two of you. Clark hovered over you, broad shoulders tense beneath your hands, his breathing uneven despite how carefully he held himself together. His hips rolled slow and piercing, controlled in the way only Clark could manage, like restraint had become second nature to him. Even now. Even when he was clearly losing himself.
His forehead pressed briefly to yours, warm skin damp at the edges from exertion, a quiet sound leaving him every time he buried himself deeper. The familiar latex barrier was still between you, but you could still feel how hard he was trying to stay measured. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly, voice rough around the edges but steady. Always checking. Always careful.
Instead of answering, your hand slipped between your bodies. Clark’s rhythm faltered when your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock. You hooked them under the slick latex and tugged. The condom came off easily, and you tossed it toward the edge of the bed. Clark froze, buried halfway inside you, eyes wide with shock.
“Baby…” His voice cracked. “What are you doing?”
You looked up at him, cupping his face with both hands. “I don’t want anything between us tonight,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”
Clark’s breath caught hard. For a long second, he just stared at you, chest rising sharply, that familiar crease forming between his brows. Concern. Love. Hunger. All of it fighting behind those big blue eyes. Then he sank back into you — bare. The sound that left him was broken. “Fuck…” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. His whole body shuddered. “Oh my god… you feel…”
He couldn’t finish. The raw, wet heat of your pussy wrapped around his bare cock seemed to overwhelm him completely. No barrier. Just tight, silky warmth gripping every inch of him. Clark stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, like he was trying to process the feeling.
You felt it too. The burning heat of him, the way every thick vein and ridge dragged against your walls. He felt bigger. Hotter. More intimate.
Clark started moving again, slow and careful, savoring every inch. “I can feel everything,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You’re so warm… so wet. God, I can feel you pulsing around me.”
The wet sounds were filthier now. Skin on skin. No latex to dull anything. Every thrust made an obscene, slick noise as he pushed deeper. His pace gradually picked up, control fraying at the edges. Clark fucked you harder, hips snapping with more force than he usually allowed himself. You moaned loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, voice strained. “Baby, I’m so close already—”
“Inside me,” you gasped. “Please, Clark. Fill me up.”
He buried his face in your neck and came with a deep, guttural groan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy for the very first time. You felt every pulse, every heavy spurt as he pumped you full. Clark kept grinding through his orgasm, pushing his cum deeper, like he couldn’t stop.
When he finally stilled, he pulled back just enough to look between your bodies. The sight of his thick white cum leaking out around his cock — still buried inside you — made something in him snap. “Jesus…” he breathed, eyes darkening.
He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried deep as he started moving again, already getting hard inside your cum-filled pussy. The second round was much nastier. Clark fucked you like he was addicted to the feeling. Long, deep strokes that pushed his cum in and out of you, making wet, filthy squelching sounds with every thrust. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider so he could watch.
“Look at that,” he groaned, voice hoarse. “My cum’s dripping out of you and I’m still so fucking hard.”
He pounded into you harder, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your soaked skin filling the room. The feeling of his warm cum being fucked deeper into you with every thrust was overwhelming. You were a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him, completely lost in the raw sensation of having him bare. Clark leaned down and kissed you messily, tongues sliding as he fucked you through the obscene wetness. When he came the second time, he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes locked on you as he spilled even more cum deep inside your already full pussy.
Afterward, Clark stayed inside you for a long time, both of you catching your breath. When he finally pulled out, a thick rush of his cum followed, leaking onto the sheets. He stared at it for a moment, almost mesmerized, before gently kissing your forehead.
He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a warm, damp cloth and a glass of water. Clark helped you sit up, holding the glass to your lips while you drank. Then he cleaned you carefully between your legs, with gentle touches that still made you twitch from sensitivity.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly, blue eyes full of concern. “I didn’t hurt you?”
You shook your head, smiling tiredly. “I’m perfect.”
He cleaned himself quickly, then crawled back into bed and pulled you into his arms. Clark wrapped himself around you completely, one leg thrown over yours, his big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” he admitted quietly against your hair. “Being inside you with nothing between us… feeling you take all of me like that.” He swallowed hard. “It was everything.”
You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. Clark held you tighter, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your temple, and the tip of your nose. His hand never stopped its soothing motion on your back as the two of you drifted off together, warm and more connected than ever.
18+ | cw - making out, dry humping
dry humping your man
He’s been at his desk for hours, papers spread out in front of him, pen scratching steadily across the page. The lamp casts a warm glow over his focused expression, sleeves rolled up, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
You stand in the doorway for a moment, watching him. Then you walk in wearing nothing but his oversized button-down shirt and a pair of delicate lace panties. His shirt barely covers the curve of your ass, but you know he loves it on you.
He looks up when you approach, eyes widening slightly. Before he can say anything, you climb into his lap, straddling him right there in his office chair. “Baby- ” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss.
It’s messy and deep from the start. You lick into his mouth, tongue sliding against his as your hips roll forward, grinding down against the growing bulge in his pants. He groans into the kiss, hands instinctively gripping your waist, pulling you closer.
You kiss him harder, wet and needy, tongues tangling as you rock against him. The lace of your panties drags over his clothed erection with every grind, leaving a damp spot on the front of his slacks. He’s getting harder and needier by the second, thick and hot beneath you. “Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice rough. One hand slides under the shirt to grip your bare ass, guiding your movements as you hump him faster.
The kiss turns filthier; spit-slick, desperate, teeth nipping at each other’s lips. You moan into his mouth every time your clit rubs against him just right. He answers with low, hungry sounds, hips bucking up to meet your grinding.
You’re soaking through your panties now, making a mess on his lap. He doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps kissing you like he can’t get enough, one hand wrapped around your throat, while the other squeezes your ass, encouraging you to keep riding him.
When you finally pull back for air, lips swollen and shiny, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “You always know just what I need, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, hips still rolling up against you.
18+ | cw - making out, dry humping
dry humping your man
He’s been at his desk for hours, papers spread out in front of him, pen scratching steadily across the page. The lamp casts a warm glow over his focused expression, sleeves rolled up, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
You stand in the doorway for a moment, watching him. Then you walk in wearing nothing but his oversized button-down shirt and a pair of delicate lace panties. His shirt barely covers the curve of your ass, but you know he loves it on you.
He looks up when you approach, eyes widening slightly. Before he can say anything, you climb into his lap, straddling him right there in his office chair. “Baby- ” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss.
It’s messy and deep from the start. You lick into his mouth, tongue sliding against his as your hips roll forward, grinding down against the growing bulge in his pants. He groans into the kiss, hands instinctively gripping your waist, pulling you closer.
You kiss him harder, wet and needy, tongues tangling as you rock against him. The lace of your panties drags over his clothed erection with every grind, leaving a damp spot on the front of his slacks. He’s getting harder and needier by the second, thick and hot beneath you. “Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice rough. One hand slides under the shirt to grip your bare ass, guiding your movements as you hump him faster.
The kiss turns filthier; spit-slick, desperate, teeth nipping at each other’s lips. You moan into his mouth every time your clit rubs against him just right. He answers with low, hungry sounds, hips bucking up to meet your grinding.
You’re soaking through your panties now, making a mess on his lap. He doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps kissing you like he can’t get enough, one hand wrapped around your throat, while the other squeezes your ass, encouraging you to keep riding him.
When you finally pull back for air, lips swollen and shiny, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “You always know just what I need, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, hips still rolling up against you.
“Rafe, baby? Can you help me with sunscreen?” you asked, stepping into the bedroom in your tiny white bikini.
Rafe looked up from his phone, eyes darkening the second they landed on you. The bikini was sinful; barely-there triangles straining over your tits and strings tied high on your hips. He gave you that charming smile, standing up smoothly. “Of course, princess. Come here.”
He took the bottle from your hand and squeezed lotion onto his palms, rubbing them together as he stepped behind you. At first, he was the perfect boyfriend — carefully spreading the cool cream over your shoulders and down your back. But his hands quickly grew bolder.
His palms slid around your ribs, cupping the underside of your breasts, squeezing and massaging them slowly under the excuse of “making sure it’s even.” His thumbs brushed over your nipples until they hardened. You let out a soft breath, leaning back into him.
“Gotta cover everything,” he murmured innocently against your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder. He untied the back of your bikini top “for better coverage,” letting it fall loose so he could grope your bare tits freely, rolling your nipples between his fingers.
His hands traveled lower, sliding over your stomach and then gripping your ass, kneading the soft flesh hard as he spread the sunscreen. He dropped to his knees behind you, kissing the curve of your lower back, then lower, sucking marks onto the top of your ass while his hands continued massaging and spreading your cheeks.
By the time he stood up again, you were flushed and breathing heavier, thighs pressing together. Rafe kissed your neck sweetly, hands still lazily groping your ass as he whispered against your skin, “All done, baby. You look perfect.” He gave you one last firm squeeze, a secret smirk playing on his lips while you tried to steady yourself. He had no intention of letting you leave the house like this.
18+ Big scary men who let you slap them during sex.
He’s massive beneath you — broad chest, thick arms, powerful thighs that could easily pin you down if he wanted. But right now he’s on his back, letting you ride him however you want. His hands rest on your hips, not guiding, just holding you steady as you sink down on him.
You lean forward, bracing one hand on his chest, and bring the other down hard across his cheek. The sound is sharp. His head snaps to the side with the force of it. A low, guttural groan rumbles out of his chest as he twitches hard inside you. “Fuck… do it again,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
You slap him again, harder this time, watching the way his eyes flutter and his jaw clenches. His hips buck up sharply, driving deeper into you. The sting on his cheek blooms red against his flushed skin, but he doesn’t stop you. If anything, he looks drunk on it. “Harder, baby,” he begs, voice hoarse. “I can take it.”
You ride him faster, grinding down on him while you slap him again and again. Each hit makes him groan louder, his grip on your hips tightening as he lets you use him. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, dark and hazy with lust.
When you finally come, clenching hard around him, you slap him one last time, right as your orgasm hits. That’s what breaks him. He groans deep and filthy, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, thick and hot, pulsing with every slap you land.
Afterward, he’s breathing hard, cheek bright red, but he pulls you down against his chest and kisses you soft and attentively. His hand strokes your back gently, almost apologetically, like he’s the one who should be sorry.
“Again next time?” he murmurs against your lips, voice still rough.
You smile and kiss the reddened mark on his cheek.
summary: After an argument leaves you giving Clark the cold shoulder all day, he spends every moment trying to earn your forgiveness. When he finally slips into the shower with you,he drops to his knees, desperate and determined to apologize with his mouth until you forgive him.
paring: clark kent x reader
tags/cw: light angst, oral (f. receiving), desperate & sub clark, shower setting, tongue fucking, f!reader, established relationship, body worship
wc: 909
The fight had been stupid. Something small that snowballed into silence by breakfast. You were still angry by the time Clark left for work, and you made sure he felt it. No goodbye kiss. No “be safe.” All you gave him was cold shoulders and clipped words. All day he tried.
Flowers appeared on the kitchen counter with a handwritten note. Your favorite takeout showed up at lunch with a little heart drawn on the bag. He even called the apartment from Metropolis just to say he was thinking about you and that he was sorry. When he finally came home that evening, cape gone and glasses on, he looked like a kicked puppy in a flannel shirt. He cooked dinner without being asked, cleaned the living room, and kept stealing these soft, hopeful glances at you across the table.
You held firm. You weren't trying to be cruel; you just wanted him to feel it. He hated when you withheld yourself. And right now, that was exactly what you were doing.
By 10 p.m. you were done. You slipped into the bathroom, stripped, and stepped under the hot spray of the shower, letting the water beat against your shoulders. Steam filled the room, and for the first time all day, your muscles started to unclench. Then the glass door slid open.
Clark stepped in behind you, completely naked, water instantly soaking his dark curls. He was already half-hard, but his expression was pure desperation—eyes wide, shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller despite being built like a god.
“Baby…” His voice was low, almost pleading. “Please let me take care of you.” You didn’t answer, but you didn’t stop him either.
He picked up your body wash, squeezed some into his palms, and started with your back. Strong hands glided over your wet skin, thumbs pressing into the tight knots along your spine with just the right amount of pressure. He was gentle. Worshipful. Every slow circle of his fingers felt like an apology.
“I hate fighting with you,” he murmured against your shoulder, voice thick. “I’ve feel like I've been losing my mind all day….” he paused, "No i have lost my mind being without you."
His hands slid lower, soaping your hips, the curve of your ass, then back up again. He pressed his chest against your back, and you felt how hard he was now—thick and heavy against your lower back, but he made no move to grind against you. He was waiting for you. Needing permission. When you still didn’t speak, Clark exhaled shakily and slowly sank to his knees behind you.
The sight of Superman on his knees in the shower, water cascading over his broad shoulders and muscular back, made heat pool low in your belly. He looked up at you with those devastating blue eyes, wet lashes clumped together, completely submissive, only for you.
“Can I?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Please… I need to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it since this morning.” You turned slowly to face him. The second you parted your thighs just slightly, he leaned in like a starving man.
He started with slow, worshipful kisses along your mound, then lower. His large hands gently held your thighs apart as the hot water streamed down your body and over his face. Clark pressed his mouth to your pussy with a broken moan, dragging his impossibly long tongue through your folds in one slow, filthy stroke from entrance to clit. He licked you like he was savoring something sacred, tasting every inch of you mixed with the shower water.
“Fuck… you taste so fucking good,” he whimpered against your slick flesh. His tongue was relentless—broad and flat as he licked wide stripes up your pussy, then pointed and firm as he circled your swollen clit with tight, needy spirals. He sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth, humming desperately around it, the vibrations traveling straight through you.
He was completely lost in it. Eyes half-lidded, wet curls plastered to his forehead, he buried his face deeper between your thighs like he couldn’t get close enough. His long Kryptonian tongue dipped inside you, fucking you with slow, curling strokes that reached places no human ever could. He thrust it in and out while his nose rubbed against your clit, then pulled back to lap messily at your dripping entrance, groaning at the taste of your arousal.
Clark was breathing hard, almost panting between licks. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, baby,” he gasped, voice muffled against your pussy. “Just use me. Please. I’ll stay on my knees all night if you want.”
You tangled your fingers in his soaked hair and rocked against his face. He moaned loudly in relief, becoming even more eager. His tongue moved faster, flicking rapidly over your clit before sucking it hard again. One of his hands slid up your thigh, not to control you, but to hold you open wider so he could devour you more thoroughly. He alternated between long, hungry licks and focused suction, whimpering and whining every time your thighs trembled or your grip tightened in his curls.
He was painfully hard, cock flushed dark and leaking against his stomach, twitching every time you moaned, but he never once touched himself. All of his focus, all of his desperation, was on making you feel good, on earning your forgiveness with his mouth.
s: your boyfriend is upset and needs a release (18+)
p: multi x f!reader
wc: 333
request | masterlist
He’s mad at you. You can feel it in every bruising grip of his hands, in the way he presses you back onto the bed without a single word. There’s no sweetness tonight, no soft murmurs or gentle touches. All that's on his mind is a frustrating need.
He pulls your legs apart and pushes inside you in one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You gasp at the sudden stretch, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust. He fucks you with deep, punishing strokes, hips snapping against yours with enough force to make the bed creak.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice rough and low. One hand pins your wrist above your head while the other grips your hip. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”
He’s rough, relentless, but there’s no cruelty in it. He's overrun with overwhelming want. Every thrust is deep and deliberate, like he’s trying to fuck the argument out of both of you. His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing your skin, but a hot, open-mouthed kiss follows the bite.
You moan, arching beneath him, and he lets out a broken sound against your throat. “Yeah… just like that,” he rasps, hips slamming into you harder. “Take it. Take all of me.” He’s not gentle, but he’s not mean either. He’s desperate for you, even if his frustration takes over. So fucking in love with you, it makes him angry sometimes.
When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, and his cock buried deep inside you. He follows right after, groaning into your neck as he spills hot and thick, hips jerking through every vibrating pulse.
Afterward, he doesn’t pull away immediately. He stays inside you, breathing hard against your skin, then slowly shifts his weight. His hand slides up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek with newfound gentleness.
“You okay?” he asks, voice still rough but softer now.
You nod, and he presses a slow, almost apologetic kiss to your lips.
Summary: In a sunlit orchard, Clark feeds you freshly picked fruit, sweetness lingers on your lips and in the way he looks at you.
Pairing: Cowboy!clark x reader
Content: Domestic fluff, slightly suggestive, est. relationship, pet names, clark kent is in love with his wife (ofc)
WC: 616
The orchard hums softly in the late afternoon, sunlight dripping gold through the leaves, warm and slow. The air smells sweet, ripe, a little sticky, and the grass brushes your ankles as you wander between the rows. Clark’s a few steps ahead of you, sleeves rolled, hat tipped back just enough for the light to catch in his hair.
“You’re supposed to be helping,” you call, watching him reach up easily, fingers curling around a plump peach high on the branch.
“I am helping,” he says, glancing back with a small smile, tugging it free. “Quality control.”
You huff, crossing your arms, but there’s no bite to it. “That’s not helping. That’s eating.”
Clark steps closer, slow and unhurried, the way he always does when his attention shifts fully to you. He turns the fruit in his hand, inspecting it like it matters more than it should, then looks up at you through his lashes. “Gotta make sure it’s good,” he murmurs.
You narrow your eyes. “And?”
“And,” he says, voice softening just a little, “I think you should try it.”
Before you can respond, he lifts it to your lips. It’s such a small thing, but it makes your breath catch anyway. His fingers are warm where they brush your chin, steadying you, guiding you closer. You hesitate for half a second, just enough for him to notice, for his thumb to shift slightly like he’s giving you the choice.
You lean in. The first bite is sweet, juice bursting against your tongue, and you hum softly without meaning to. Clark watches you the entire time. Not the fruit. Not your hands. You. Your lips, your throat as you swallow, your eyes as you look up at him.
“Good?” he asks, quieter now.
You nod, swallowing, smiling a little. “Yeah. Really good.”
He exhales like that was the answer he was waiting for, something easing in his shoulders. But he doesn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he turns the fruit slightly, thumb brushing over the spot you just bit, and lifts it again.
“Another,” he says gently.
You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Just one more, darlin'” he murmurs, already holding it there, patient as ever. You give in, taking another bite, slower this time. Juice slips down his fingers, sticky and warm, and before you can wipe it away, Clark’s hand is there.
His thumb presses lightly against your skin, catching the drip. He pauses for a second, eyes flicking up to yours like he’s checking, asking without words. You don’t pull away. So he brings his thumb to his mouth.
It’s quiet. But something about it shifts the air between you, soft turning into something just a little deeper. His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he licks the sweetness from his skin, slow, absentminded, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Your breath stutters. Clark lowers his hand, expression softer now, something warm and steady settling back into place. “Told you,” he says lightly, like nothing just happened. “Good.”
The orchard stretches around you, quiet and golden, but it feels smaller now. Like it’s just this moment, just the two of you, just the soft rhythm of sharing something simple and making it feel like everything.
When you finish, he takes the last bite himself, quick and easy, then wipes his hands on his jeans. But his other hand finds yours right after, fingers lacing together like it belongs there.
“C’mon, baby” he says softly, giving your hand a small tug. “We’ve got a whole field left.” You follow, still smiling, the taste of sweetness lingering on your tongue. And the way he looks at you lingering even longer.
the phone is pressed to your ear, the room dark except for the glow of the city lights through the window. clark’s voice is low, a little rough around the edges, like he’s been thinking about this all day. “tell me what you’re wearing,” he murmurs.
you smile, fingers tracing the hem of your sleep shirt. “just one of your old shirts… and nothing underneath.”he lets out a shaky breath. you can hear the faint rustle of sheets on his end.
“guck, baby… I can picture it. the way it rides up your thighs when you move.” His voice drops even lower. “touch yourself for me. slow. like i would.” you obey, sliding your hand between your legs. a soft gasp escapes you when your fingers brush your clit.
“that’s it,” he praises, voice thick. “are you wet already? tell me.”
“so wet,” you whisper, circling slowly. “i’ve been thinking about you since you left this morning.” clark groans quietly. you hear the sound of his zipper, then the soft, rhythmic sound of him stroking himself.
“i’m so hard it hurts,” he admits, breathing heavier. “been thinking about your pretty pussy all day… how warm and tight you feel around me.” you moan softly, slipping two fingers inside yourself, matching his pace.
“clark-”
“say my name again,” he begs, voice strained. “i love when you say it like that.”
“clark,” you whimper, pumping your fingers faster. “I wish you were here… wish it was your dick instead of my fingers.”
he lets out a wrecked sound. “me too, sweetheart. i’d fuck you so slow… make you feel every inch. you’d be so full of me.”
your thighs start to shake. “i’m close—”
“come for me, baby. let me hear you. i need it.” you come with a broken moan of his name, clenching around your fingers. on the other end, clark groans deeply, almost whining as he follows right after you, spilling over his fist with shaky breaths.
for a moment, there’s only the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath. then clark speaks again, voice soft and warm now. “i miss you,” he whispers. “can’t wait to come home and do this in person.”
you smile, still flushed and glowing. “hurry back, baby.”
𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝜗ϱ ˖ @plasticplaymate - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
