Castiel’s Honey

Seraph | 25 | they/she | bi | freakin nerd | I like Marvel, DC, Supernatural, etc but this is mostly just stream of consciousness | deconstructed so hard I’m Jewish

[somewherefornow]

CLARK KENT & MARTHA KENT & JONATHAN KENT (+ SHELBY) in SUPERMAN: FOR ALL SEASONS

[seraphina-barnes]

THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT HES A BIG BOY

[morganblues]

is that my handsome, elegant, intelligent, charming, kind, thoughtful, strong, courageous, creative, brilliant, gentle, humble, generous, passionate, wise, funny, loyal, dependable, graceful, radiant, calm, confident, warm, compassionate, witty, adventurous, respectful, sincere, magnetic, bold, articulate, empathetic, inspiring, honest, patient, powerful, attentive, uplifting, classy, friendly, reliable, ambitious, intuitive, talented, supportive, grounded, determined, charismatic, extraordinary, trustworthy, noble, dignified, perceptive, innovative, refined, considerate, balanced, open-minded, composed, imaginative, mindful, optimistic, virtuous, noble-hearted, well-spoken, quick-witted, deep, philosophical, fearless, affectionate, expressive, emotionally intelligent, resourceful, delightful, fascinating, sharp, selfless, driven, assertive, authentic, vibrant, playful,, well-rounded, magnetic, dynamic, radiant, radiant-spirited, soulful, radiant-hearted, insightful, creative-souled, justice-minded, reliable-hearted, tender, uplifting-minded, persevering, devoted, angelic, down-to-earth, golden-hearted, gentle-spirited, clever, courageous-hearted, courteous, harmonious, loyal-minded, beautiful-souled, easygoing, sincere-hearted, respectful-minded, comforting-voiced, confident-minded, emotionally strong, respectful-souled, imaginative-hearted, protective, noble-minded, confident-souled, wise-eyed, loving, serene, magnetic-souled, expressive-eyed, brilliant-hearted, inspiring-minded, and absolutely unforgettable man?

[softhandz]

visions are seldom what they seem

pairing: kal-el of krypton x afab! reader

description: wedding royal au; the night you've spent years dreaming about, and it's nothing like you thought it would be

wc: 3.6k

warnings: clark is refered to as kal-el exclusively here, smut, fingersucking, lingerie, mirror sex, breeding kink, possessive kink, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, implied clark having sex with others

13 nights of kinktober masterlist

The kingdom of Vayara, your homeland, had stood as Krypton’s ally for centuries, its mountain citadels carved into glittering stone and its people as proud as their history. This marriage was meant to mark the strongest bond yet between your worlds, etched not only in treaty, but in flesh and vow. 

You had told yourself that was enough, even as the whispers of your future husband Kal-El’s escapades cut deeper than you’d ever admit. Whispers of him being seen entering women’s chambers late at night, some even as scandalous as being seen entering a room with Lord Wayne and a woman no one could name. 

And yet, throughout the years, he had never once treated you with anything less than reverence. His charm was not feigned, his humor never forced. If anything, his kindness made the rumors sting more, because it meant you had let yourself dream that your union would be different. 

You couldn’t believe that the same man who laid down jackets to cross over streams, and offered you his arm for every walk around the gardens, was the same one who was talked about in these salacious rumors. 

As time went on you noticed the slight darkness and heat that lingered within his eyes when he looked at you. The care was still there, but there was something deeper and unnamed that laid beneath it. Something that appeared more often as your wedding date approached closer and you and Kal-El spent more time together while your parents and advisors handled the intricate details of what this marriage meant for your kingdoms.

But tonight, on the day of your wedding, you could no longer deny the way his eyes burned. Every glance across the ceremonial hall had been fire, every brush of his hand against yours a spark. The kiss at the altar still lingered on your lips; searing, dizzying, full of a claim you hadn’t expected. By the time you left the feast, his arm firmly around your waist, you were trembling with something that was decidedly not resignation.

Now you stood before the mirror in the bridal chambers, the polished obsidian frame catching the low amber light of the sconces. You smoothed the silk clinging to your hips, the color a deep, ceremonial red—Kryptonian tradition, your attendant had insisted, meant to signify passion, unity, and renewal. The lingerie itself was delicate but commanding: sheer crimson panels embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like starlight, a corseted bodice that lifted your chest into a daring swell, slender straps sweeping off your shoulders like ribbons of flame. The stockings, sheer and gossamer-thin, were fastened with delicate silver clasps, while a single jewel—a blood-red crystal mined from Krypton’s southern ranges—rested at the hollow of your throat, glowing faintly against your skin.

You felt almost absurdly exposed, even though the garment was crafted to be regal. And for what? Your husband has plenty of sexual exploits to bother himself too much with you. You’ve resigned yourself into knowing that your wedding night would be nothing more than obligation than passion, love. Though after Kal-El’s actions at the wedding and ceremony you find yourself having doubts if that would still be the case. You take off the slip, attempting to see if that made you feel any less ridiculous, but in your distraction, you’d forgotten to close the chamber door.

The soft sound of footsteps reached you too late. You glanced up—and your breath faltered.

Kal-El stood in the doorway, framed by the pale white stone, his ceremonial armor stripped away save for the regal sash still draped across one shoulder. His gaze found you instantly in the mirror. The warmth and kindness you had always known were still there, but layered now with something rawer, hungrier. 

His lips parted, though no words came at first, only a slow exhale that seemed to make the air heavier between you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, reverent, and threaded with a heat that left you unsteady:

“You are… breathtaking.”

And from the way he was looking at you, as if you were not only his bride but his crown, you felt that tonight would not be the empty union you had once thought. This will be something new altogether. 

Each step he takes builds up the tension between you and him. As he steps behind you, you never break eye contact in the mirror, feeling the heat building up in your core. Gods, he's never looked at you like this. So passionately, so intently. Like you're something he's finally allowed to have. He brings his hands up to rest on your waist, feeling instant heat seeping into your hips from his touch. 

“My King,” you whisper, lowering your head slightly in acknowledgement of his power. One of his large hands leaves your hips to lightly raise your chin, a touch that’s opposite to the strength that he obviously displays within his muscles. 

“We are married, so you share an equal rank as mine. Do not lower yourself like that again, own your power, my love.”

At the term of acknowledgement, your head snapped up to look at him. Kal smirked faintly at your reaction, but then his gaze drifted downward, settling on the mirror. His eyes traced the reflection—your body enveloped by his frame, the shift of muscle as he drew you closer, the way you fit against him as though made to belong there.

A startled gasp escaped you when you felt the bulge pressing firm against your lower back, undeniable in its size and promise. Heat flared through you, chased almost instantly by a cold pang. For all his kindness, for all the years you had known him, this was not his first time exploring pleasure. He had experience, while you… you had only your hopes, your fantasies.

And worse—the thought of others sharing him, of women in shadowed rooms knowing the breadth of his body before you did, twisted like jealousy sharp in your chest. Your shoulders tensed. A slight frown crept unbidden across your lips.

Kal noticed at once. His brow furrowed, the warmth in his expression dimming into something heavier. His hand fell away from your waist.

“What is wrong?” His voice dropped low, careful, but urgent. “What changed?” He leaned in, seeking to gather you close, to soothe you—but you slipped from his reach, stepping back toward the counter.

The distance was slight, but his reaction was immediate. His eyes darkened. “You step away from me?”

You exhaled, fighting to steady your voice. “I just needed space.” You hesitated, words catching in your throat. “I’m not as well… practiced as you. But I understand. This doesn’t have to mean anything beyond duty.”

The look that crossed his face pierced you. Kal reeled back as though struck, his head tilting sharply. Color rose in his ears, though his expression was hard to read. For a long, heavy moment, he simply studied you, impossibly blue eyes searching. When your gaze faltered, it seemed to give him his answer. A low hum rumbled in his chest, and then he moved.

In one decisive step, he caught your arms, spun you to face him, and closed the gap between you. His presence consumed the space, shoulders squared, voice rough as gravel.

“I see you’ve heard the rumors.” His jaw tightened. “I am sorry for any distress they caused. But let me be clear.” He leaned closer, eyes boring into yours. “I have never touched another woman personally.”

You opened your mouth, disbelief ready on your tongue—but the sharp look he leveled at you stopped the words cold.

Seeing you still, he pressed on. “Yes, I entered those rooms. But only for research.”

Your breath caught. “Research? What sort of—” You stopped yourself, realization dawning, but needing him to speak it.

A flush spread along his cheekbones, but he didn’t look away. “I have never done things by half measures. I have known you for many years, and I have loved you for more. I knew our marriage was inevitable, and I wanted to ensure I was an incredible husband in every way possible.” His voice softened, earnest despite its weight. “Yes, I sought knowledge of how to please a woman. But I never allowed one to touch me. I am yours. Do not mistake it—just as you are mine.”

Silence hung between you, thick and fragile. You stared at him, the truth of his confession unraveling in your chest. He had studied pleasure not out of indulgence, but devotion. He had waited, had loved you, and somehow spoken the words so plainly—as though they were fact.

A laugh bubbled up, startled and incredulous, spilling past your lips. “You—studied?”

Kal blinked, then a low laugh broke free of him too, rumbling in his chest until it tangled with yours. The absurdity of it, the relief, the strange sweetness of this revelation—until the tension that had bound you both snapped like a bowstring.

The laughter faded slowly, leaving only the hum of awareness between you. Kal leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. His hands cradled your face as though you were breakable.

“Will you let me show you what I’ve learned?” His lips brushed each of your cheeks in turn, reverent, soft. His next word was a plea, not a command. “Please?”

Gods, you were hopeless when he asked like that. Kal-El of Krypton, prince of a world, strongest of his people—standing before you not as a sovereign, not as a warrior, but as a man asking for the chance to love you.

Your throat tightened, but you nodded, surrendering to him at last. Your jaw drops at his display of strength as he lifts you up to the counter, your hips at the edge, as he kneels before you. 

He spreads your legs softly, fitting himself between them as he tilts your hips up slightly, putting his face to face with your core. Kal looks you in the eyes as he kisses your mound once, before moving the underwear to the side as he runs his tongue up your slit to circle your clit and suck lightly once, almost like a promise of what’s to come. 

Seeing the soft lines of pleasure clouding your face already made his heart beat faster, happy to have already gotten off to a good start, but he knows he can’t lose focus yet. What was it that Bruce had said? Oh right, 

Another gasp gets drawn from you as Kal slowly prods your entrance with his tongue, always pulling away when you get too tense. His left hand shifted from your hips to above your clit, his thumb pressing slow and tight circles. 

Kal eventually pulls away, his azure eyes darkened to midnight as he slides two fingers from his right hand into his mouth. The wet sound of his tongue against his knuckles sends a shiver down your spine. He withdraws them slowly, a glistening thread of saliva stretching between his lips and fingertips before breaking. When he presses one finger into you, his pupils dilate, jaw slackening at the velvet heat that envelops him.

Your shallow gasps transform into desperate, high-pitched whines as molten pressure builds low in your abdomen, coiling like a spring but hovering tantalizingly below the precipice of release. A fresh wave of arousal slicks his finger, and Kal's nostrils flare at the scent. He slides a second finger alongside the first, the stretch making your inner walls flutter around the intrusion.

His fingers curve upward with unearthly precision, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. The pads of his fingers stroke relentlessly while his calloused thumb works rough circles against your swollen, pearl-like clit. The chamber echoes with the obscene symphony of wet flesh and your ragged breathing, punctuated by his baritone praise. 

"Look how perfectly you take me," he growls, voice thick with wonder. "Made for my touch alone."

With each honeyed word, the coil within you winds tighter, your thighs beginning to tremble. Kal's breathing grows ragged, his chest heaving as he watches your face contort with pleasure. Just as the first tremors of release begin to ripple through you, he slows deliberately, leaving you suspended on the knife-edge of ecstasy. "Tell me I'm yours," he demands, voice rough as gravel. "Say you understand." 

"Kal, please, I—" The words dissolve into a keening whine as you arch your hips desperately toward his hand, seeking the friction he's denying you.

"Say it. I'm yours." Each syllable punctuates a deep, languorous thrust of his fingers, the heel of his palm grinding against your most sensitive spot with devastating accuracy.

"Yes, yes, I know. You're mine, you're mine, please, Kal." The admission tears from your throat as you buck wildly against his hand. His lips curve into a devastating smile, teeth flashing white against his sun-kissed skin as he tilts his head, saying a line he’s heard from Bruce. "Was that so difficult to admit?"

Without warning, he resumes his merciless pace, fingers plunging into your soaked heat with such force that the lewd, squelching sounds of your arousal fill the room. "Come on, give it to me," he commands, voice strained with his own desire as he sucks his left thumb into his mouth before pressing it firmly against your throbbing clit. The dual sensation catapults you over the edge. Kal's name rips from your lungs in a broken cry as your head falls back, spine arching like a bow as waves of blinding pleasure crash through your trembling body

But Kal doesn't let up. Seeing you go over the edge lit a desperate determination within him, focused on you to see it again. His fingers continue their relentless assault, curling and stroking through your pulsing walls as your first orgasm crests. Each thrust sends aftershocks rippling through your overstimulated nerves, your thighs quivering uncontrollably against the cool marble countertop.

You shake your head weakly,  sweat-dampened hair clinging to your temples as you try to push his broad wrist away. "No, it's too soon, I can't," you gasp, voice fracturing around the edges.

Kal's tongue clicks softly against the roof of his mouth. "Yes, you can," he murmurs, midnight eyes fixed on where his fingers disappear inside you. "You're already squeezing me so tight. Can't you hear how desperately she's taking me?"

Only then do you register the obscene symphony—the slick, rhythmic squelching as he works you open, the wet suction that seems to echo off the gilded walls. Heat floods your cheeks at how wanton it sounds, how the royal guards outside might hear your surrender. When you attempt once more to push his hand away, his lips pull back in a primal display, revealing gleaming teeth. The growl that rumbles from his chest vibrates through your bones as he commands, "Be still for me," his voice paradoxically gentle yet unyielding. 

Your resistance crumbles as a second, more powerful release crashes through you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the counter as you dissolve into liquid pleasure beneath his masterful touch.

In the dim, flickering light of the chamber, his fingers, slick with your essence, withdraw, glistening like dewdrops on a leaf. He stands, bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean with an audible pop, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Stepping between your trembling legs, he bends down, his lips crashing onto yours in a dirty, passionate kiss. The taste of yourself on his lips is strange, yet intoxicating, a primal reminder of the pleasure he's just drawn from you. 

This night has been a revelation, a dance of desires you never expected. The Kal you knew was gentle, kind even, but the man before you is a beast of pure focus, his every move a testament to his single-minded devotion to your pleasure. Between kisses, silent vows are exchanged, a sacred pact in the language of lust.

I am yours. You are mine.

His mouth trails from your lips, down to your cheeks, then to your neck, leaving a path of soft, sucking bruises, little mementos of this night. When he pulls away, your hips buck, chasing his lost touch. "Don’t worry," he rasps, voice thick with desire, "we’re not done yet. There’s something I’ve been dying to try."

With a firm grip on your hips, he lifts you effortlessly from the counter, making sure your stance is steady before turning you to face the mirror. His knee nudges your thighs apart, and he positions himself behind you. The remnants of your lingerie are discarded, as are his own, leaving you both bare, your overheated skin welcomed by the cool air. 

The reflection staring back at you is unrecognizable, not the respectable rulers of a kingdom, but a pair of lovers lost in a dance as old as time. Your eyes are pools of barely restrained heat, your hair disheveled, and sweat beads on your skin like morning dew. Yet, his dark eyes, locked onto yours in the mirror, hold you like you're the most precious jewel in any kingdom.

"Watch us," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Don’t take your eyes off."

You whisper his name like a secret as he slowly enters you, every inch stretching you, filling you. You try to pull away, overwhelmed, but his hand on your stomach holds you firm. He pauses, allowing you to adjust, then pushes deeper, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. You feel impossibly full, a deep heat settling within you, despite the multiple orgasms he’s already wrung from you. When he’s finally sheathed to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, you realize he’s been chanting something the whole time.

"All mine. Only mine." Lost in his daze, you cover his hand with yours, drawing his attention. "Gods, do you see this?" he groans, "Look at how perfectly you fit me. Like you’re made for me." The raw possession in his voice draws a moan from deep within you, causing him to thrust unexpectedly, feeling you squeeze him.

He starts to move, slowly at first, then building speed. "Breathe, my love. Let me in, yes. That’s my girl. Take me deeper." The room fills with the sounds of your lovemaking, the smack of hips meeting, the wet, sucking sounds of your bodies joining, the symphony of your moans and his grunts.

"Fuck," he groans, "if you keep squeezing me like that, the kingdom will have an heir by dawn." The thought of filling you, pumping you full of his seed, causes his head to throw back, his hand to tighten on your stomach. Your moans grow with each thrust, murmurs of praise for Kal, and whimpers of "Please, don’t stop, don’t stop–"

His voice is a low growl in your ear, "I could take you all night, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Do you see us in the mirror? No one else will ever touch you like this. Every time you look in this mirror, I want you to remember this, remember who fills you up and stretches you out like this."

Your head tilts back, resting against his shoulder as he speeds up, your eyes locked on the erotic tableau in the mirror. You never imagined your wedding night to be like this, but you’re deliriously happy with the reality. His tip bullies into your tightness, your body clenching around him as another orgasm approaches. Kal clenches his teeth, feeling your impending release.

"You’re clenching so hard, are you already close again? Good. Come apart on me as many times as you want, just keep your eyes open. Lemme see you fall apart."

A few more deep thrusts and you shatter, softly moaning his name, gripping his forearms for balance. Kal thrusts through your orgasm, his words of praise a constant stream. "That’s it, love, squeeze me, Gods, you’re perfect, and you’re mine. Can you take me? Will you let me fill you? Please, let me give you a child."

Too worn out to do anything but nod, you feel him speed up, chasing his own release. He thrusts deep, shooting his essence into you, filling you, claiming you. "Yes, that’s it. Take it, all of it. Better than my dreams."

His hips stutter forward in gentle pulses as he rides out his aftershocks, his muscled body trembling against yours like a plucked bowstring. The iron grip of his fingers gradually softens, replaced by the velvet brush of his lips, warm and reverent—tracing constellations across your flushed face, the sensitive curve where your neck meets your shoulder, the hollow of your collarbone still glistening with sweat. When your breathing finally steadies, you turn in his arms, abandoning the heated reflection that witnessed your joining. You search instead for the oceanic blue of his eyes directly, no glass between you now.

"Thank you," you whisper, voice still rough at the edges. "I've never... I've never felt anything like that. I didn't know it could feel anything like that."

His smile blooms slowly and tenderly, crinkling the corners of his eyes before he captures your lips in a kiss that lingers like honey on the tongue. "Good," he murmurs against your mouth, "it means I did a good job and my studying was worth it."

"Oh, I would say you passed with honors." A laugh bubbles up from your chest, lighter than you've felt in months. "If every night is like this, I'll never fear our union again." Your shared laughter mingles in the candlelit air between you, a promise that the night stretches long ahead, and the weight of political alliance has transformed into something unexpectedly precious.

a/n: first night of kinktober is done! superbat never leaves my mind and once the idea of bruce being the one to teach kal about pleasure, it just never left my mind. Also, did you catch it? i phrased kal's explaination very particularly. anyways i hoped you all enjoyed it!

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. i love you regardless, so here's a smooch from me 💋

ps: taglist is open for kinktober so lemme know if you wanna be tagged for the other parts! also: do you guys like the banner i made?!? i have a couple of new ones done for the different characters i write after kinktober is over!

as it's kinktober, makes sure to give all your favorite writers flowers and love!

taglist:

@veryberryjelly @spiderstyles04 @thel0v3hashira143 @notsochillnerd @souperbat @sekidekiboombeki @Babypink224221 @sapphichotmess @Itszarinaig @socialmess-jery @stargirl-mayaa 

@lulasagna @h-l-m @deamlucem @Sunnyx07 @yiiiikesmish  @Kaedaterumi @artvoyager @yourlocaldreamrgirl @originaltyphoonkryptonite @animegamerfox @Cassiecasluciluce 

[seraphina-barnes]

De-fuckin-licious

[angelic1angel]

ykw i do wanna be scott millers cute gf like yes stand behind me like a bodyguard while i look cute

[alebrini-deactivated20260402]

CATCH IT SUPERMAN 😝😝😝

[seraphina-barnes]

Say less 🏃🏻‍♀️‍➡️

[unificsation]

happy birthday ༓･*

this is dedicated to C @theworstwolvie who's been around since an independent woman — i remember i messaged you very sheepishly about whether you'd be willing to give the series some feedback, and now our chats are just clark kent tiktoks and southernisms. thank you for being a friend, and i hope you have a wonderful birthday <3

clark kent x f!reader, 0.7k

⚠️ 18+ SMUT MDNI, dry humping with the suit on

"Can't believe this was what you wanted..."

Dinner was beautiful and so was the cake—he cooked and picked your favorite flavor. But then he asked you what sort of gift you'd like for your birthday (aside from the pendant necklace he already got for you anyway), and you murmured admissions you never thought would see the light of day.

But who is Clark Kent if not a dutiful boyfriend?

"Feels like it's my birthday instead," he adds, voice hoarse.

Because you're naked on his lap, watching as the blue in his eyes slowly gets swallowed by pupils. He's in his suit, sitting on the couch, strong hand groping an exposed tit, the other guiding your hips into his—specifically towards the bulge underneath fabric. You feel his eyes travel, studying the slow circles you make, inching up past your stomach and onto your chest, where he lingers before finally witnessing your face.

He looks lost.

In all fairness, you do too. And it's only been, what, minutes since you told him you wanted to grind on him with his suit on?

Yet there's already a smear of something sinful across the tent of him.

You. Wet, ready, deliberately restraining desire. Your boyfriend also does the same—you can tell by the flex in his jaw, how his chest heaves. Eyes bore heat onto your body, helpless to the thing that's making it so hard for him to be good.

Friction catches at your clit just right, and it sends your head lolling forwards.

"Clark," you whimper, and he's on you like you need saving, lips moving against yours to devour your sounds.

"I'm here," his reply is strained, "what do you need, sweetheart?"

You shake your head, not because you don't need anything, but out of reflex for how perfect he is even in times as depraved as these.

"You, more—" is all you can muster. Enough for him to move.

The hand that guides your hip now grips your waist, slipping easily from a suggestion to a command. His other hand joins, the both of them caging your sides, and then you feel your body move.

Not out of your own volition.

He's moving you, directing your pussy over the rigid line of him just right, like he knows you better, and maybe he does, because the drag lights up your nerve endings like an electric shock. Clark lets out a long groan, eyes leaving your face only to snap down to watch the way you're leaking all over him.

"So pretty," he murmurs against your ear, hands maneuvering your body up and down his length. It's dizzying, how he crowds your senses. "You're gonna finish like this, aren't you, sweetheart?"

The knot tensing low in your stomach makes it known to you and you nod into the crook of his neck. One hand shifts to the hinge of your jaw, directing your line of sight to collide with his.

"Wanna see your face when you do," he has the audacity to smile. "Let go for me."

It's his fault. Those words, the curl of his lips, kind and cruel, and the pressure he adds with every slide of you against him that sends you toppling over the edge. You moan something that vaguely sounds like his name littered with oh, god, f-fuck. He allows himself one of that last expletive, quiet and gritted through teeth at the sight of you undone.

Your spasming body is one thing. Your dazed face is another. Clark burns it into memory: the shape of your parted lips, the look in your eyes, the hitch in your voice as you call out for him through the waves taking over you.

Then you limp on top of him and suddenly he's overcome with thirst.

The world spins. You feel the texture of the couch fabric on your naked back in between your vision returning from dark edges. Hands part your legs.

Two blinks later and his face is between your thighs.

You almost scream his name when his tongue licks a broad stripe up your folds, sob when he sucks on your clit.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," he murmurs into you, and you shiver, "just come lots and lots for me, m'kay?"

[seraphina-barnes]

I know what I want this year

[bajablastlover1-deactivated2025]

the urge is so very strong

[p1nkiek1ttie]

no, actually, i can’t be friends with someone who has opposing political views. this is mostly due to the fact my views are “people deserve rights”

[seraphina-barnes]

Why does he look so slutty I don’t understand

[seraphina-barnes]

The way I logged onto this app not realizing what day it is is wild anyway happy birthday Castiel Winchester who is alive and married goodbye

[seraphina-barnes]

Well shit it happened again, happy belated anniversary to this post

[barnesdreamcatcher]

The loneliness got to you sometimes but Clark always made it better.  He’d see it without you needing to say anything to him, his big, broad arms coming to rest around you when he pulled you into a hug. 

His scent enveloped you like a blanket, strong and protective. As long as he held you, things didn’t seem so terribly depressing.  A forehead kiss from him must have had healing energy as it always cheered you up. 

The second he’d pull up the covers around the two of you, trapping you in between his body heat and soft, plush blankets, nothing could hurt you. 

Falling asleep in his arms was the easiest thing in the world. Sweet nothings reached your ear, his deep voice lulling you into your dreamland in no time. 

It was the waking up that was the hardest. 

Because he was gone and the only memory of him were the words written on your laptop, the cursor still blinking. And no matter how often you wrote about him, made him real in your mind and on your screen, he never climbed out of that perfect fantasy to truly hold you when you needed it. 

[seraphina-barnes]

How fucking dare you

[elliefilms-deactivated20251207]

part i

part ii | ALMOST IS NEVER ENOUGH (the projectionist x reader)

warnings: MDNI +18 smut, still no plot, sexual activities, talks of penetrative sex but not actual penetration, dry humping, nipple stimulation, the projectionist finishes on his pants but it’s his choice (and i think it’s hot), he has a dirty mouth (i also think it’s hot)!

it’s past midnight now. the theater had closed a long time ago now but the projector was still pretty much playing a random movie from the last session of the day. it was the projectionist’s job to take care of it and put the film reels back in place but he was too busy with you in the small bed on the projection booth, making out for so long your lips were swollen and your dress was half undone just barely hanging on to your shoulders.

his hands got hungrier and hungrier with each encounter and he was really struggling to hold back to his self promise to not deflower you just for the sake of it. he was used to taking it and leaving but he feared he wouldn’t be able to leave if he took that from you. he might get addicted.

in all honesty, he already was.

the kisses where lazy now, rhythm lost to the heat of the moment a long while ago with you slowly grinding your hips on his lap and feeling him hard as a rock beneath you, the rough material of his pants combined to it creating a delicious friction between your bodies. his hand were in your hips, guiding your every movement.

“this is not how they did in the film.” you complained a little while kissing him, but your gasps of pleasure didn’t lie — you were enjoying it.

“but ‘s too good, isn’t it, sugar?” he asked with a raspy deep voice against your lips, nipping on your bottom lip. you gasped a little.

“yes…” you whispered and leaned back to stop the kiss, much to his dislike and he groaned at the absence of your lips. “but it’s not what i want.”

“you don’t know what you want.” he said a little condescendingly and to make him regret it, you ground your hips harder on his clothed cock.

“i know what i want.” you said stubbornly and he couldn’t even be mad at your audacity because he loved it. he loved your curiosity and eagerness, he loved that fire he didn’t know you had in you. he smirked a little, shaking his head as he pushed his hips up against you as if to stand his point.

“oh, yeah?” he asked as his hands slipped up your waist, resting on the underside of your clothed breasts. he was still condescending in his words but it was more a dare than to belittle you. “want me to fuck you?”

“yes.” you responded without hesitation and he chuckled a little, his hand moving to your back again to properly undo the ties of your dress, pulling you close enough his lips were on your neck, kissing on your skin while he worked the top of your dress off.

the straps of it slowly fell past your shoulders and he made no ceremony pushed it down all the way to your waist, your tits exposed to him for the first time. you shivered when you leaned back to let him take a look, his hands immediately coming to cup your breasts, stealing your breath the moment he grazed his thumbs experimentally on your hard nipples.

“i could fuck you.” he said lowly, breaking the silence. when your reaction to his touches were positive, he started to circle your nipples gently, testing the sensitivity. “i could spread you open in this bed and shove my cock inside you just because i’m dying to feel you sucking me in while i pound into you but that would be no fun to you.”

you gasped, closing your eyes to take in the sensations, you hips absentmindedly moving against him, making him exhale heavily.

“could have this pretty pussy of yours full of my cum by the end of the night.” he whispered as he leaned forward, his face hovering over your left nipple, pressing a kiss right above your heart, surprisingly tender. “and that would ruin you and me both.” he said before moving his hand off your breast and taking your nipple on his mouth without a warning, getting a creaky moan from you when the warmth of his mouth enveloped the hard bud like it did days ago on your clit, which pulsed at the memory.

“it’s ruining me not to have you.” you confessed softly as your hand went to the back of his head while he worked his tongue on your nipple, switching to the other to lavish some attention and he found your right breast was more sensitive than the left one when you moaned more needy.

“your skin taste so good. all of you taste so sweet.” he muttered against your skin. he lapped at your nipples and gave them soft nips and sucks, leaving a few red marks on them as if claiming the spot. mine, it said intrinsically even though no one would see the hickeys tomorrow.

“please…” you begged softly when he pulled back to look at you once he judged your tits we’re enough marked and your nipples enough swollen from attention. “i need… i need to cum.” oh, he throbbed in his trousers at your words. he was as needy as you but he dealt with it much better, though it didn’t make it any easier to concentrate not to finish right there before he should just with you pleading for him to make you cum because your pleasure was his to bring to you. and he thought, what a bastard i am, but the satisfaction of it didn’t get any smaller.

“sure you do, sweetheart.” he whispered, his hands on your thighs slipping up under your dress to hold your bare hips and guide them to move back and forth on his lap. “move like this… feels good right?” he asked softly as he looked at you, lips parted for his own heavy breaths to leave his lips.

“it’s not… not enough.” you whimpered, frustrated.

“it is— fuck.” a moan cut this words, your movements making him impossibly closer to his own edge. but he wouldn’t get without you. he pressed you fully against him, his hand on your lower back holding you there while he pushed up against you in a way that had his clothed hardness right on your clit, his other hand on your face pulling you into a kiss.

he was right, it could be enough and it’s still not what you want but feels good enough you momentarily forget to complain when you hump back on him like a bitch in heat, your legs getting shaky and his own thrusts getting as sloppy as the kiss you two share, swallowing each other’s moans as you come and you swear you can feel his cock throbbing through the fabrics between both of you when he finishes right after you, making a mess on his pants, and he buries his face to your neck like this was the only way to merge into you for now.

feels different than cumming on his mouth. it’s less explosive and more latent and your clit still feels neglected like it wasn’t given enough attention and your inside feel emptier, making you impossibly aware you’re tight around nothing. you’re not sure how it feels for him but you also know it’s not enough. he holds you tighter, his hand on your lower back sliding to your ass and cupping one of the cheeks, giving it a light squeeze.

“i came in my pants.” he said humorously against your neck and you chuckled at the way he sounded embarrassed.

“you chose to.” you replied with a smile in your voice, body still sensitive and unfulfilled but relieve. he leaned back to look at you, his head against the wall as his free hand moved a strand off hair off your face, your forehead sticky with sweat from all the effort you didn’t realise you took to reach your high.

he just stared at you. in silence, for long seconds before he decided to speak. his eyes seemed full of conflict but he had that smirk on his face he displayed to show confidence.

“next time i won’t.” he said, and it was both a warning and a hope.

a/n: uhm hiii i will write part 3 for this i’m not edging y’all for no reason i have a plan trust me!! 🙂‍↕️ like, reblog or comment if you liked this and pls let me know your opinions i love feedbacks mwah love y’all <3

[seraphina-barnes]

[seraphina-barnes]

Never gonna get over watching Corenswet!Clark Kent trying to maneuver through a busy sidewalk while being LITERALLY HEAD AND SHOULDERS ABOVE THE ENTIRE STREET LIKE WTF YOU BIG BEAUTIFUL MAN I WANNA SQUEEZE HIM

[fire-joestar]

this ain’t a phase yall

(gif credits to owners)

[seraphina-barnes]

God bless whoever put that gif in rotation

[pinksplace]

I get wet at the thought of you (being a responsible guy)

Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Clark Kent, staring as the lamb. He has more than one pillow, calls his mom (but not too much), isn’t afraid to buy you tampons, and thinks about your needs like it’s second nature. You, staring as the lioness. In your opinion, his thoughtfulness is more effective than any other foreplay. Inspiration from Tears by Sabrina Carpenter

Word Count: 4.0k

Authors Note:stared at this for so long I don’t even know if it’s good anymore but here it is!!! If it’s bad don’t tell me!

Warnings: MDNI 18+ p in v, reader is a freak, Clark Kent fucks, established relationship, sub!Clark if you squint idk maybe even more like switch Clark? they’re horny! that’s all I know, brief prey/predator dynamic, ikea, gratuitous use of italics, please let me know if I missed anything <3 also keep this visual 🖖 in mind for later okay thanks.

It was sick really.

Clark wasn’t even doing anything, and yet here you are, legs twisted together while your heart beats between your thighs.

You watch him now, walking back to your table from the bar, your drink held above the crowd to avoid spilling. His other hand raised too, as if to say I am big but friendly! Don’t be afraid! He’s turning side ways, pivoting with every step to avoid jostling anyone he passes.

You watch his presence ripple, jealous eyes latching onto him as he passes and Clark doesn’t even seem to notice. You don’t mean to, but you relish in it. In the women who bat their eyelashes and reapply their lipstick, praying he’ll notice. You’d been dealing with it ever since you got together, even from your single friends, politely smiling when they make jokes like ‘Does he have a brother?’ Or ‘Do they sell him on Amazon?’ You lie tell them that there’s hope. Other tall, dark, handsome and hung fish in the sea.

Clark finally reaches your table, a relieved smile painted across his face. “Almost got lost there for a minute.” He jokes, his glasses started to slip on the journey. They sit on the edge of his noise, barely hanging on, just like you. “For the lady.” He puts your drink on the table, but before he slides it over he pulls a straw from his pocket and in one quick movement unwraps it and slips it into the glass for you.

Your thighs squeeze tighter, the heat in your lower stomach growing.

This is so stupid, you think, he’s just a guy!

Expect he’s not, he’s Clark.

You felt like a teenager, ruining your panties at the drop of a hat, practically creaming at the smallest gestures. A door that’s held open, a chair that’s pulled out, one time he switched with you on the sidewalk so you were on the inside. The motion had been smooth, effortless, he did it without even breaking conversation, just pulled your hand until you were in-front of him, then he dropped it and side stepped so he was closest to the street. He didn’t even acknowledge it afterward, just continued walking, switching his bags to the other hand so he could hold yours.

You nearly pulled him into the first alley you saw.

That doesn’t even count the things you’ve watched him do as Superman, the times you’ve ridden him into oblivion after a reading a story where he saved a cat from a tree or performed was he described as ‘life changing’ head after he saved your favorite food truck from being smashed to smithereens.

“Thank you.” You hum, bringing the straw to your lips and taking a sip. “What is it?” You ask.

Clark slid into the booth across from you, taking a sip from his own drink- a water. “Just a dirty Shirley, was gonna get a Bay Breeze but I remember you said pineapple juice gives you heartburn.”

You imagine all two-hundred and forty pounds of him at the bar asking for a Dirty Shirley with that sweet farm-boy smile. You wonder if he’d let you drag him the bathroom.

“It’s perfect.” You assure him, taking another sip to avoiding adding something sappy like ‘so are you.’

Clark beams, then starts telling you about how he saw an ad for a furniture store that’s going out of business.

“Lois said the deals are crazy.” He explains, hands waving as he talks. “Thought I might pickup a new bedroom set.”

You tilt your head, “What’s wrong with the one you have?” Most guys hardly had a bed frame and a top sheet, Clark had a matching headboard and armoire.

Clark shrugs, “I only have one end table, you should have one for your side.”

Your side. Your cunt pulses again, needy and inconvenient, you can’t take her anywhere.

“I also want a bigger dresser, so you can have more than just one drawer.” He explains. You actually have two drawers, and at least a quarter of Clark’s closet. Nevermind your spot in his medicine cabinet or the key to his apartment in your purse.

Maybe he’s trying to get you pregnant. Seduce you with domesticity and home furnishings.

“Something wrong?” Clark asks.

Nothing honey, you think, just imagining you installing car seats and holding babies.

“Nothing.” You promise.

You insist he continue telling you about furniture and all of his other home decor plans. You wonder if he’d want to live on a ranch some day, you’d bet it’d have a great big porch with a swing. Or was he more of a suburbs guy? You wonder if he’s thought about it, owning a house, having a mortgage and hosting barbecues. Visions of Clark in front of grill wear a cheesy apron and nothing else. Your brain spins.

You make a joke about reinforcing his new headboard and Clark’s entire face turns red, then he admits he already ordered a kit to mount it to the wall.

Dear god.

You only last another half hour, resolve cracking after when you try to pay the bill and Clark swats your hand away with a dismissive ‘Don’t be silly.’ You splurge for the extra fast Uber.

Clark’s apartment gives you butterflies. It’s perfectly mundane, filled with bookshelves, a couch and floor to ceiling windows. What really gets you is way he actually has seasonings in his cabinets, multiple pots and pans in the drawers, cleaning products under the sink. In the bedroom he has room darkening blinds, hanging on real curtain rods instead of cheap tension rods. A shoe rack by the door and above it a hook he added for your purse.

“I did some laundry with the clothes you left here-“ Another pulse, she’s furious now. “-I hope you don’t mind I ironed that white blouse with the flowers.”

You know exactly what you blouse he’s talking about, it’s cotton and wrinkles if you so much as look at it wrong. A total pain in the ass to iron.

“You ironed it?” You ask, incredulous.

Clark shrugs, “I iron all my shirts, Ma says life is too short for wrinkles.” He’s at the fridge, grabbing each of you a cold bottle of water before moving towards the bedroom.

You want to eat him alive, tear his button down off with your teeth and ride him until he forgets his name. You feel like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight, or a rope that’s fraying from tension, you’re about to snap. Your cunt screams, refusing to be ignored any longer.

You trail Clark to the bedroom, like a lioness stalking her prey.

Clark rests on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes, then his socks.

When he catches you waiting in the doorway, he jerks his head, as if to say ‘come here,’ and welcomes you between his legs without a second thought, knees spreading to make room for you to stand between them. Your hands curl around to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the rogue strands of hair. His smile is intoxicating, as sweet as it is devastating.

You crawl into his lap, legs landing in either side of his hips as he shifts backward to make enough room for you. His hands, big, strong, and capable, find your waist.

Your kiss is searing, an entire evening of pent up energy channeled into your lips. Into your hands pulling at his curls, into your thighs clenching against his hips. Your tongue is in his mouth, like you’re trying to capture his essence and swallow it. Clark is playing catchup, a startled noise erupting from the back of his throat.

What he lacks in preparation, he makes up for in enthusiasm, hands sliding down to your ass and squeezing the soft flesh. His lips press hard against yours, teeth clashing as he rises to the challenge, determined to match your intensity.

Your nose hits his glasses, once, then twice, and by the third time you need to break for air anyway. Your hands reach up, grabbing the arms and pulling them off his pretty, pretty face. You fold them and despite the urge to throw them across the room, you place them on his end table. Mr. Terrific would be pissed if you another pair anyway.

You’re leaning back in when Clark seems to remember himself, moving his hands off your ass and lips pulling out of your reach.

Uh oh.

“Honey.“ He clears his throat. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

The fuck?

“Is there a reason you don’t want to have sex with me Clark?” Your cunt asks. Your words have more bite than you intend, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re horny, you’re not thinking straight, and in all honesty you’re pissed he didn’t let you keep kissing him.

Clark goes stiff as steel beneath you, ears going bright red. “Not what I said!” He defends, eyes screaming Innocent! Innocent man here! “I just wanna make sure you’re up for it.”

“Clark I’m the one who climbed onto your lap, I’m very much up for it.” You assure him.

“Not complaining about that, trust me.” Clark says, his hands have found their way back to your waist and he gives it an affectionate squeeze. “Just,” he says tentatively, “You have that big presentation in the morning and I want to make sure you get a full eight hours.”

You actually consider it for a moment. It is a big meeting, and you do still need to review the slides, an early night is probably a good idea. But then another thought interrupts you. What man would willingly give up sex so his girlfriend (who totally forgot about that presentation by the way) can sleep? Your cunt flares, white hot and screaming his name.

Instead of answering you drop your full weight onto his lap, your thighs landing firmly on top his, your cunt pressing tight to his crotch. His hips jerk, reacting to the sudden heat of you.

You grind down, chasing any friction you can get. You’re so wet you can almost smell it, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel it already. If you were any less turned on you’d be embarrassed. Besides, what else is a girl to do when her boyfriend spends all of date night promising domestic bliss and being built like a brick shit house.

“Clark.” You nip at his ear, “I’m sure.” The words come out low and lusty, whispered against his lips and punctuated with an achingly slow roll of your hips.

Thankfully, Clark is easily swayed. “Okay.”

You make quick work of his buttons, pressing a kiss each sliver of skin that gets exposed.

He’s burning up under your hands, thick cords of muscle rippling as you pull the fabric off of him. A smattering of chest hair decorating his pecs and abdomen, trailing into his pants like map to your ultimate goal.

You reach for his belt next, giving it a hard tug and smirking when his hips jump. It lands with a thud somewhere across the room. Next, his jeans your hands almost clumsy with your excitement.

You yank them off, fast and aggressive, barely giving him a chance to process. You only have his briefs left, your index fingers crooked into the waist band when Clark’s hand stops you, dwarfing your wrist in his grasp.

He gives you that look, the pleading one that makes his eyes look like saucers. You love when he’s like this, at your mercy, happy to let you take and take and take. “You’re still fully dressed,” he says, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, then another to your pulse point, a third to your collarbone. “Not fair.” He whispers.

Sweet, perfect man.

You stand, and he reaches after you, hands flexing when he catches himself. Your top lands on the floor, and your bottoms quickly following suit.

Clark watches you undress, ands grabbing at the sheets beside him. You can see his cock straining where it’s still trapped under fabric, you’d bet money on there being a wet spot pooling against his tip. The thought makes your mouth water. A little voice in your head coos, mine mine mine mine.

“You wanna take care of me right?” You ask, doing your best impression of silk, making sure each word drips with want.

He nods, frantic, eager to please.

You crawl back onto the bed, walking on your hands and knees towards him. Your Clark, big blue all scared and excited, lets you chase him. His long legs kicking at the sheets for traction as he shuffles back, not stopping until he hits the headboard with a ‘thump.’

You don’t stop until you’re back in his lap, even closer than before. Your tits pressed so tight to his chest you can feel his ribcage shudder with each breath. Gotcha.

Despite your victory, you can’t help but think that he’s exactly where he wants to be.

His lips are parted, pink and swollen from your kisses.

This time when you kiss him it’s almost soft, at least the closest you’ve come to it all night. He moans against your mouth, and you can feel his hands hovering over your body as he brings them higher and higher. You wonder where he’ll land, what part of you he needs to touch the most.

He bypasses exposed skin, all the soft places just begging to be groped and cradles your face instead. His thumbs swipe delicate strokes over your cheekbones, like you’re something precious.

In contrast, your hands are rabid. A wave of want so strong you swear you feel wetness drip down your thigh. You’re too impatient to take his briefs off now, instead you pull him out, his cock thick, heavy and hot in your hand. His tip is red and angry, like he’s the one who’s been worked up all night.

You think it’s only right, that a man who is so good, so thoughtful, was rewarded with a dick pretty enough to make angels cry.

You tuck the waist band under his balls, making sure to give them a soft little tug, (something you know he likes), and then you start sink onto him.

The stretch is immediate, intense and overwhelming. Like your body is rearranging itself to find every spare inch of room, whatever it takes to make him fit.

Normally Clark prepares you, eats you out until you can hardly spell your own name, then he fingers you until you can’t remember the alphabet, but tonight you need the stretch, need a fullness only he can provide. You want to sit at your desk tomorrow and feel him every-time you move. Want every curve, every vein etched into your walls.

Clark makes a noise, something between a gasp and a moan, as if you’ve stolen the air out of his lungs. Then he kisses you, hard and messy like he’s trying to do the same to you. You don’t pull back until he’s bottomed out.

“This is how you can take care of me.” You murmur against his lips.

It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, and suddenly the lines of lion and lamb are blurred. You whimper, hips grinding down even though you have no where to go. A smug smile pollutes Clark’s pretty face, beneath you, ever so slightly the tables start turning.

In an effort to keep your lead, you rise up, stopping just short of his tip, and then drop down again, putting your all your weight behind the it. He hits so different like this, finding that spongey spot inside you with every pass.

His smile disappears into a moan, his head tipping back in pleasure as you give him the tightest squeeze you can muster. You watch the veins on his neck pop, he’s already closer than he wants to admit.

“Gosh, honey.” He whispers, “So tight.” His voice is full of reverence, the kind most men reserve for praying. His gaze is locked on the sight of you wrapped around him, the ring of your arousal that’s forming at the base of cock. He stares at it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes wide and hands shaking. A sacrificial lamb at the alter of your cunt.

It makes you feel drunk.

Your thighs are burning, trembling on either side of him as you try to raise yourself again. Between the width of his body, and the sheer length of cock you have to travel, you’re already struggling to find a rhythm.

You can feel his heart racing, body tense and all but vibrating as try to steady your self, both of your palms pressed flat to his chest for support. You’re trying to find the will, doing vaginal acrobatics to try and distract him from the fact that you’re falling apart. But Clark, who has made himself an expert in reading your body, doesn’t fall for it. You’re suddenly reminded of his strength, of the superhero hiding under a mop of a curls and dimples. You foolishly mistook his tension for want; you realize now, as his hands curls around your hips and lift you up, that it was restraint.

Instead of pushing you back down, he holds you there, letting your cunt flutter around just the head of his cock. You can’t even think as you try to fuck yourself down onto him. Your hips thrash with the efforts, but gravity is no match for his strength.

“Clark what are you doing, please.” You beg, angry red welts appear under your nails as you claw at his skin, willing him to let you fall.

Your breaths, which had been up to this point been controlled and even, become heaves, borderline sobs. Your hips trashing in his grip as you try to get friction.

He shushes you, gentle and loving. As if it’s obvious he says. “Taking care of you.”

Then without warning, Clark pushes you down, faster than you could ever achieve yourself. Then he lifts you back up, and brings down again, fucking you on his cock until you’re crying out with each pass. Until your hips start to move with his hands, canting in time with each thrust.

“Tell me what you want.” Clark says.

You gasp, when did you lose control of this?

“Touch me.” You beg anyway. You grab one of his hands and drag it off your hip until it finds where your bodies are connected. “Please.”

Clark obliges, his thumb zeroing in your clit and beginning a familiar rhythm of slow, tight circles. The rest of his fingers spread against his cock, resting alongside your folds, teasing your weeping hole where it’s stretched around his cock. His fingers dance along the edges, like he’s threatening to slip one in. You’re already so full of him, but your pulse stutters at the thought.

Your hips jerk again, chasing his thumb as he bottoms out again, this time Clark lets you stay there, grinding against his hand while you fuck yourself down onto the base of his cock.

“That’s it, use me honey. Take what you need.” He says, his hand is sandwiched between you at an awkward angle in this position, but Clark is unphased, his thumb pressing even harder against your clit.

You cry out, your head falling into the crook of his neck as you chase your orgasm. You can feel it creeping up your spine, pushing your nerves to the edge, every hair standing at attention.

“Tell me-“ You hiccup, your own moan interrupting you. “Tell me about the bedroom set again.”

Clark freezes, surprised, but only momentarily. Then he resumes his efforts with fervor, shifting his hips so he can thrust up into you while his thumb doubles its speed.

“The end tables have outlets.” He tells you, “So you can plug your laptop in, work from bed when you’re too sore to walk.”

You bite down on his throat, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. You’re so close, so fucking close.

“Need a better bed,” He pants, “So I can fuck you through it.”

You clench, another ragged moan of his name falling from your lips. You can see your orgasm, the wave creating as it prepares to knock you over.

“Finance or buy?” You ask, voice shaking.

“Finance.” He punctuates it with a thrust. “Good-“ Another thrust “-for credit score.”

The earth shatters, your vision turning white and your blood to lava. Your orgasm crashes into you with the power of a tsunami, the power of it sweeping Clark away with you. Despite his own orgasm, his thumb never stops, he keeps circling your clit, dragging your orgasm out as long as possible, not pulling away until you finally stop twitching.

When you try to breathe again, you’re covered in sweat, both of your thighs are drenched in your ecstasy. So are the sheets.

“Jesus.” You pant, still not finding the strength to move, letting his cock soften inside you.

“Nope.” Clark says, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Just me.”

“Ha. Ha.” Your body sags against his, limp and exhausted.

You stay like that until your bladder finally gets the better of you. You pull off of Clark with a hiss and a wet sound that can only be described as vulgar.

It takes a minute to remember how to stand, legs uncertain as you take your first steps.

When you come back from the bathroom, clean and ready to sleep. Clark has changed the sheets, and is setting two Tylenol down next to the water bottle (he already broke the seal on it for you) that he grabbed earlier. “So your thighs don’t ache as bad in the morning.” He explains.

Folded in a neat square, one of his t-shirts is sitting on your side of the bed. He’s already slipped on sweats, and to your delight, he hasn’t bothered with a shirt. The clothes you’d abandoned on the floor earlier are gone, probably in his hamper (You love that he has a hamper).

Sweet, perfect man.

“Thank you.” You slip on the shirt and slide underneath the covers.

Clark climbs in beside you, holding his arm out so you can take your place curled against his side. He doesn’t speak until you’ve settled.

“So.” He starts, your head is on his chest, listening to his heart beat. “Since when are you so horny for furniture?”

You hum, too tired to be embarrassed. “IKEA catalogues are my Playboy.” You joke, a beat of silence passes. “I like how responsible you are. It’s really hot.” You admit.

You feel Clark nod, he doesn’t say anything but you hear his heartbeat pick up. With a tired you throw your leg over his waist, a silent ‘down boy.’

Then you remember what he said, right before you came.

“Since when are you worried about your credit-score?” You ask.

Clark doesn’t speak for a minute, like he’s weighing his options. His hand traces a lazy path up and down your spine.

“Wanna buy us a house someday. Good credit means a better mortgage.” He explains, point-blank and nonchalant. “Paying off stuff like furniture can build a positive payment history and they have a deal with no interest rate for the first two years.” Like the journalist he is, Clark Kent has done his research.

You freeze, head tilting up so you can see his face. Clark isn’t even looking at you, just smiling at the ceiling like he’s picture it. You and him, a white picket fence and a freshly mowed lawn.

You cunt roars back to life.

“Oh my god.” You groan.

Clark looks down at you, brows furrowed. “What?”

You don’t answer. Instead you sit up and despite the protest in your muscles, straddle him once more.

Authors note: that’s all folks!!!! In all seriousness I hope you liked this, if you made it this fair thank you so much. If you enjoyed this fic please holler at me. I had a lot of fun writing this and ignoring the 194729 other wips I should be finishing! Go stream mans best friend by sabrina carpenter! Okay love you, say it back!

Masterlist

[seraphina-barnes]

Now you see, she gets it, she sees the vision

[dingbatblr]

you know how a lot of girls will go through a pink is awful i want nothing to do with it phase and then stop associating it with "being girly" and then find it delightful

i feel like a similar thing happened to me with superman maybe to society as a whole with superman? as a kid i thought he was lame because hes just so boring. the guy with every power ever and hes just Good and the Leader yeah yeah we get it. and i feel like that was all he was In Media too. and then i watched my adventures with superman and superman 2025 and its like "look at him again with fresh eyes and see that superman is a representation of trying your best and being kind and helping people" and you know what? i find him delightful.

[seraphina-barnes]

SOMEBODY PUT IT INTO WORDS FOR ME THANK YOU

[poutibunni-deactivated20251030]

I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him.

[seraphina-barnes]

What she said