I can just imagine flying around the city of Metropolis all day every day especially with Clark Kent🤤😍
Imagine having sex midair with him, his powers keeping the two of you up there, oml. He would be afraid to be too rough when in reality that's all you want if for him to manhandle the fuck out of you. But he's too considerate and sweet to be rough.
It would take him a lot of convincing and reassurance that you actually want him to be rough and that you can handle it. But oh boy, when he lets go of his control... best believe he is always making sure you are enjoying yourself and that he isn't badly hurting you. But he gets rough, even in the air.
I think he would even mock you slightly, not a lot but enough to make you feel dizzy. He makes jokes about how you "needed him to be rough so badly." And how he's turned you into a babbling mess for him.
I need everyone to stop thinking they can't be late to the party.
That series came out 10 years ago but a random edit has intrigued you? Watch it. That film is 30 years old? Watch it. That album thats decades years old? Listen to it. The books - read them!
You never know where inspiration/clarity/literal brain rewiring shit is going to come from. Media has no expiration date.
tags: clark kent x reader, established relationship, oral (fem receiving), clark 'munch' kent, squirting, dry humping, coming untouched.
clark's hands roam across your stomach, pressing into the soft skin with his fingers. his chest is pulled flush against your back, feeding off the warmth that is you. any chance he has to keep his hands on you, he'll take it. he's peppering kisses all along your jaw, nosing your cheek, and breathing you in. you smell warm, the salt in your skin, and the lingering whiff of your lotion— it's addicting.
the callouses on his palms tickle the soft of your stomach, you throw your head back onto his shoulder and giggle— the exposed skin of your neck, the taut muscle pushing against the surface has him swallowing back a groan. clark tongues a stripe along the muscle, drinking in the sweet taste of your throat.
a sigh washes through your chest, warmth buzzing underneath your skin as he suckles a bruise onto the spot right along the edge of your jaw that has you sinking into clark's chest. your hand combs through his thick curls, tugging at the strands, "baby, you know you can't do that. we have work tomorrow." because as much as you love the feeling of the singeing warmth of clark's tongue pressing against your neck, you would rather not have any questions from the girls at the office tomorrow morning.
"i— i know, i know, m'sorry. you jus' taste so good, though…" whining into your ear as he walks you both towards the couch, your hands coming up to wrap around his neck. as much as he would like to heed your warning, you're like pie to a cartoon dog— irresistible.
his hands travel upwards, one hand unlatching the clasps digging into your back, the other kneading the fat of your tits. you can feel the twitch in his fingers, barely contained urges fighting it's way against the surface. clark's hands are large, and rough at the edges— the wear and tear of pens pressed against the bone of his middle finger, and torn skin on his palm healed over from fighting the dangers unknown.
he takes the hardened pebble of your nipple between his fore and middle finger, rolling it and pinching with just enough pressure to have you weak at the knees. you curse under your breath, eyes squeezing together and the stimulation fogging over your brain.
the plush of clark's lips squish against your cheek, working their way down to the corner of your own, catching them in a very desperate kiss. forceful in the way his tongue slides inside, smoothing over every nook and cranny of your mouth, like he doesn't already have it mapped out in his head— every ridge on the roof of it, the divots of your teeth, knows how to deepen the kiss to swallow every whine you let out— all of it. you cling onto the thick muscle of his shoulders as his fingers find themselves working your belt off, undoing the button on your slacks, shucking them off together.
you aren't wearing anything especially sexy, no lace, no bows, no matching set— just a mismatched pair of grey cotton undies, and a black bra. but it has clark reeling at the sight of it, they hug and cup you just right that they're better than any expensive pair of lingerie could ever be. he sits you down on the couch and spread your knees apart, unveiling the fruit that was you.
he swallowed thickly, "gosh, baby. y— you look incredible." he kisses a trail from your knee, all the way up to the pudge of your thighs. slow and sweet were the kisses, stamping his quiet affections into your skin each time. clark would always take his time with you, he could never take advantage of having you in his arms, pliant and accepting. he would kiss every acre of your skin— the soles of your feet to the crown of your head— before ever rushing these moments with you. he wants to relish the feeling of your supple skin underneath the pads of his fingers, the way you squirm in your seat as he kisses closer and closer to your heat— he touches you like he's committing every noise and movement to memory.
clark's nose pushes against your clothed heat, a momentary look of approval before he slowly shed you of your underwear. you're soaked all the way through for him, the glittering sheen of your pussy catches the warm living room lights as he tongues a stripe against you. he drinks your essence with a gulp and a groan that rumbles from deep in his chest, "you taste incredible, too." he murmurs into your skin before diving in again, dying to get another taste of your ambrosia.
he can feel himself strain against his pants, tight and unforgiving as his cock fattens up. it hurts, the need to find some form of relief sits tight in his gut. hot in every sense of the word, heavy in his stomach as he eats you out. the feeling of your juices dripping down his chin and blooming wet spots against the cotton of the couch as him slowly rutting against the edge of the couch. the rough friction of the tough fabric against his aching cock is intense, coupled with the taste of you coating his mouth entirely– clark doesn’t last very long.
he suckles on the swollen bud of your clit, bathing in the yelps and whines you let out. your hands find themselves digging into his scalp, fisting thick bundles of curls in your hands as you plead for more. “please, baby– fu–ck, just a little more–!”
you’re insistent now, the tug at the root of his hair stings as you choke him out between your thighs. his nose crushes against you, hairs ticking his nose as you take rein of him. use him, and move him to relieve that ache in your belly, to push you right over the edge of the precipice.
he feels the warmth bloom in his pants, the linen now dark with ropes of thick cum soaking through. it’s damp in between his thighs, wet heat trapped in layers of cotton as he feels you reach nirvana. your hands push his head away to no avail, weak shoves to his forehead as he holds you in place— large hands pushing you closer towards him. clark feels the twitching of your pelvis, stuttering jerks into the air as he continues tonguing your sensitive hole.
every rough drag of his tongue against your swollen clit feels electric, still having not come down from your high— it’s too much to handle. you buck and whine into the air, complain about ‘s too much, clark! and ‘s enough, please, please!
clark’s greedy, needs more of what only you can give him. you’ve indulged him too much in your nectar, it’s all he wants, and he’ll do whatever makes you give it to him again. fall apart in his hands while he drinks you up entirely.
he’s relentless with his mouth. sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against your hole, and you feel something tight in your chest. like fire coursing through your veins, scorching hot and blinding.
“w— wait, wait! clark—”
it’s watery, saltier in taste. forceful in the way it sprays out against his glasses, beading down the lenses as he milks the last of it out of you. he groaned as it hit the back of his throat, gulped it down by instinct and felt his cock twitch back to life. hard, thick, and desperate for more than just the edge of the couch to get off on.
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