i get so soft for subs with heavy praise kinks. the ones whose whole body responds when i tell them they’re being good. who get more turned on every time i say “good girl” or “good boy.” who love asking for permission to cum because hearing “yes you can, baby” is what pushes them over the edge. the ones who love being talked through it gently, who need me to guide them verbally. “keep going, sweetheart. just like that. you’re doing perfect.” who need constant affirmation, who get off on being told how well they’re doing, how good they are, how perfect they feel.
Princess treatment doesn’t mean you buys her whatever she wants. It means you LISTENS. You PROTECT. You LEAD. You are HUMBLE. You communicate. You don't let her go to sleep crying or upset. You don't makes her feel like she is hard to love. You are her PEACE in chaos and her HOME.
I want skin on skin. I want soaking every moment up. I want stealing kisses between breaths. I want falling asleep 1/2 way through the movie because my head is on your chest and your breathing feels like home. I want you.
u know how when u finally get it all the way down ur throat and ur nose presses up against their stomach and they groan and grab the back of ur head and push just a little bit deeper? yeah...
It's late, the fire's gone low, and Simon's got you spread out beneath him on the creaky mattress. He works you slow but heavy, and it's good, too good— every thrust filling you until you can barely breathe around it. his weight, his warmth, cages you into the bed, pinning you down, and your voice has been wrecked to broken pleas for minutes now.
you're close, so close you can't stop shaking, muscles fluttering helplessly around him, and the word tears out of you without permission against the broad of his shoulder.
"please, daddy, let me—"
you clamp your teeth shut the second it's out, shame flooding you so hot it almost burns. the word hums in your ears, thrumming in your skull like a struck bell, impossible to unring.
but Simon doesn't give you a second to wallow. his hand slides up, palm rough from rope and earth, fingers curling around the underside of your jaw until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
his gaze doesn't waver, not for a heartbeat.
"if that's what ya need," he growls, voice steady, unshaken, "then that's what you'll 'ave. look at daddy while you come."
the command is iron, leaving no crack for shame to slip through. he rides you harder, his forehead against yours, gritting his teeth, a dark and hungry groan spilling from his throat when he feels the bite of your nails on his skin. you're on fire, and he knows it— knows what your breaking point feels like, and when he takes you to the edge again, this time he doesn't let you fall without him.
he doesn't care for the word, doesn't get off on it, but what he likes is seeing you dissolve under it, that it strips you down to nothing. he takes it without hesitation because it's his hands, his cock, that have you crying for him— for daddy— and all he can think about is if it makes you feel safe enough to shatter, then he'll wear it like armor.
Smth smth Simon being obsessed with your tits. He's like downright insane about it, he practically drools when he gets a look at your boobs.
And he has no shame about it. He gropes and squeezes your breast anytime he gets the chance, licking his lips as he feels your soft skin under your tight shirt against his palm, continuing to massage them.
"Look at these lovelies," He rasps, eyes fixated on the way your tits moves against his rough hands, his cock already stirring in his pants, "All f'me, yeah luv?"
It doesn't take long for him to be tugging your shirt up, unclasping your bra clumsily and absolutely devouring your tits, sucking your nipples and kissing the areas around it while his hand massages the other one.
"Mhmm.. tastes so goddamn good," he murmurs between kisses, tasting you like you're the most exquisite food there is, he just can't get enough. "Fuckin' irresistible."
And you know he's not gonna stop. Not by a long shot.
Clark has a long & hard day being Superman, and all he wants to do is fuck his pretty girlfriend dumb.
✶ nonnie…your mind. this is SO SO hot i wanna holler akbfclksegnvb. everyone line up n say thank u.
cw: 18+, smut, sensual sex, male moaning <3, messy/lazy make-outs, mating press, missionary, p-in-v, cream pie, breeding kink, sleepy sex, use of pet names, lazy cuddles, they have the baby-makin-kinda sex (1.6 wc)
He doesn't mean to make you feel like the only thing he thinks about is sinking slowly and deep into your warm, pulsing cunt. But being Superman is hard. Failures weigh on his mind, and widespread evil takes a toll on even a man as invincible as him.
You've told him that you were okay with it. For him to take what he needed, you knew your boyfriend deserved some reprieve. Plus, your schedules hardly ever crossed, with you mostly working night shifts at the hospital.
Clark promises that he'll fuck you awake one day. Today wasn't the day, though.
You feel yourself being rocked gently, the weight of his arms lulling you awake with a firm tug to his sturdy back.
"Baby…wake up."
You squirm, escaping the goosebumps that run down your spine when his lips graze the nape of your neck. "Mmh…y're..home…" It's a half-awake mutter at best, but you're able to lift your hips enough for Clark to snake his arm under your hips, flipping you around to face him in a fluid movement.
He smiles at the sight of your groggy self, knuckles grazing where your cheeks were all squished on the pillow. "Baby?"
His words hung in the air, unanswered. It took you a second to register them, but you eventually nudge your face into his touch that curls into a tender hold to your cheek. You mumble, "..go t'sleep..." before burying face first into the pillows.
Clark counters with an insistent no, pepperingslow, hot kisses to the exposed skin of your pulse.
"Babyy…" He whines, fingers skimming down your hips and to your thighs. It flexes there, then hikes you to rest over his limbs in a warm tangle. Your skin was fever-hot, cooling slowly as you struggled to rouse.
It's futile to try to stop him from easing you to lie flat on your back, his heavy chest resting on you like a paperweight.
"Urgh. Too…heavy." Clark lifts his head, lips pressed into a purse, lifting you and higher onto your pillow. Reluctantly, you blink awake, an angry pout on your face.
His smiles, lopsided, pressing a peck onto your sternum. "C'mere, baby." Clark leans in, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
You groaned, half-heartedly, pushing his jaw away at the ticklish feeling. "I have work later…lemme sleep."
"In a minute," he mumbles into your skin, fixated on the softness of your chest, tracing over the peaks with his fingers that turn to gentle gropes.
You sigh, rolling your shoulders. It felt good wherever he touched you, even more so when he gets handsier by the second.
Your arms slide over the divots where his back muscles flex beneath your touch — running them up and through the softness of his curls.
He peeks up at you, catching you yawn and wriggling an unsatisfying stretch, the thighs around him quivering.
Clark huffs out a laugh, a cuteness aggression taking over him at the adorable sight of his girlfriend look far too similar to the barn cats that snuck into the Kent Farm.
You yelp when he suddenly nuzzles into your cheeks with force, busying himself with leaving little love bites down your neck. "Ow — hey…"
He couldn't help himself. You were too…— "adorable." The words come out breathless when he finds the source. A soft, lingering scent of your vanilla and cocoa bath scrub. So uniquely you. He takes deep inhales as his palms drag down your ribs, rubbing up and down. Deeply inhaling where it was the strongest.
He pulls away for a second, "mmh —…you smell good. Did you just bathe?" He questions before diving back in, skirting his palm beneath your sleep top. "Gosh —" he grunts into your neck, pushing the fabric up to your neck, heavy palms cupping your bare mounds directly. You mewl softly, hips arching to every kiss he places there.
"I missed you." Your thumb rubs at his lobes, sighing in resignation, letting him ease you out of your top entirely.
Clark leans down to brush his lips onto yours, slanting his face to take in your quick breaths. You nudge back into the pillows at the pressure, tilting your face to rest on his palm. He pulls back slowly, pressing another kiss on your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth. Mirroring your dazed look.
You start to feel the dull, building pleasure of want pool in your gut. Your arms curl around his neck, parting your lips to give way to his softer ones. Clark smiles at how pliant you'd become for him.
The tip of his tongue glides past your lower lip, and a satisfied hum leaves you, throaty. He takes the moment to deepen it, slipping his tongue in just for a second, then latches his mouth to yours, lolling his head deeper with every kiss.
Clark squeezes your tit again like there has been a magnet drawing him there, tracing his fingers down to the fat of your hips. You lift higher for him to rid you of your shorts, instinctively trying to clamp them shut at the gust of coldness that flares at your core.
"S'cold…" You grumble, kicking weakly at his sides.
He catches you, nudging your legs open wider with his overwhelming size. "Won't be for long." Clark leans down, grinding the growing bulge beneath his pyjama pants onto your bare cunt.
Your head tips back, a breathy shudder leaving you. Clenching subconsciously at the girth that teases you. He's quick to tug them down, and you feel a hefty weight slap onto your mound.
Clark doesn't protest as your fists bunch around the fabric of his shirt, pulling them off him clumsily. The instant heat from his body has you grabbing him closer, until you have your bare breasts pressed against his chest.
You lift your cheeks up to rest on his shoulders, breathing heavy into his jaw. He drags one of your thighs up until it presses onto your sides, opening you up wide for him.
A long, drawn-out moan leaves your lips when he bullies his cockhead into your pussy. It threatens to push him out at first, but Clark jerks harder into you with a grunt.
"H—ahh…hhn…" Your mouth curves into an 'o', steady breathy gasps growing louder with every inch he eases in.
"Mmhm. Almost there. Open up for me." Clark's pressing open-mouthed kisses to your ears, hips lazily thrusting in and out of you.
"G-Gosh…j-jus' like that —" His forearm slumps next to your face, shaking with effort when your pussy practically sucks him in.
Your nails dig into his shoulder, pushing against the sudden weight that presses onto you. Clark groans your name out, pushing your hair away from your face, resting his big palms at the top of your head.
"More — more." Your words are a whisper, but catch it regardless. Nodding with urgency.
"Deep breaths. I'm putting it in. Okay?" He doesn't wait until the end of his sentence when he begins to thrust, slowly at first, with the full force of his weight behind each movement. "O-Oh…oh—gosh. You're so perfect — so…so perfect. I love you. I love you s'much."
"…Mm—hh—hrk!" The words are caught in your throat every time his cock drives into you. Knocking you breathless.
Your face tips, dragging your nose into his cheeks as he babbles more 'I-love-you's.'
"Clark —…uhn—mmhh…"
He looks at you half-lidded at your whimpers.
"Mm? Yeah, baby? What is it?"
"Please —" you gasp, his increased pace has you gripping his shoulders tighter, "cuminme—"
Clark's expression turns to a furrow at the incoherent jumble of words, he tips your face up with a nudge from his nose, rolling his hips deep. "please — what? Say it again f'me."
"Cum in me," you say through a broken moan, whimpering softly at the corner of his mouth.
Clark groans audibly, shaking his head. "Gosh — o-h Gosh." His lips find yours, whimpering into them as he fucks you harder.
His palms pressing the underneath of your knees up to your chest, whispering hot and heavy into your mouth. "Want me to cum in you? Hm?"
You nod, loosely fisting his hair.
Clark's movements turn clumsy — planting his arms onto the bed, caging you, thrusting you up with force now. Every grind rubs at your clit deliciously, and your hips meet it, chasing the hot white pleasure that threatens to consume you.
His lips caught whatever they could find, your jaw, your neck, it didn't matter. All he could focus on was the tightness growing in his balls. A sheer driving need to pump you deep with his cum and put a baby into you.
"Cum in me — cum in me —" You babble into his lips between gasps, and Clark's thrusts turn meaner.
"Mm—hhn! Mmh — gonna… oh —! Gonna…—…Urgh!" He whimpers into your mouth. The bed is starting to creak louder and louder at how fast he was humping you silly.
"Yeah — ngh — yeah." You pant, clenching and relaxing your pussy. Your arms hook tight around his neck, lips latched at his cheek, and he gasps loudly.
Grunting with effort, he offers a few more thrusts till his cum bubbles in you in deep spurts. You groan with him, thighs tensing with the sensation of it pooling deep within you.
Clark takes a moment to catch his breath and melts into you, drinking in your overstimulated whimpers. Rolling and grinding his hips into you to make sure his thick, virile spend remained.
He noses at your jaw. Readjusting your legs around his hips.
price is kinda mean. my bad. oh and implied age gap. second part
“can’t you just leave me the fuck alone for once?” price snapped, looking up from the files he was reviewing and meeting your gaze as you stood in the doorway of his office. the one in his flat.
he had had a long day, you knew that. he hadn’t replied to a couple of texts you sent him throughout the day and he barely looked at you when he came back from base. he immediately holed himself up in his office. you were worried. he hadn’t touched the dinner you made and you could assume he had barely eaten today from how grumpy he was.
his voice pulled your attention off your thoughts and on him again. “ya act like a fucking dog. waitin’ for me by the door every day like some stupid mutt. fucking needy. just because you sit on your arse all day, doesn’t mean you can bother me all the fucking time when i’m home. if i’d known dating you would mean this, i would’ve given it more thought.” he was loud and scary, intentionally hitting your most sensitive spots. that was part of his job, after all. find the enemy’s insecurity and crush them.
you weren’t an enemy, though. he knew that. of course he did. but right now he was so angry at those soldiers that fucked up, at a recruit who almost shot his teammate, at life itself for being so frustrating, that he saw red.
a couple silent seconds passed before you walked out and carefully closed the door behind you. you were blinking away tears and your throat was burning but you needed to keep your composure. you had to. you’d been bad. needy and clingy. you didn’t deserve to cry or go back to his office and yell back at him.
was he right? you did act like a fucking dog. most nights, you waited for him by the door of his flat, greeting him with a smile and a kiss. but… but that was because you loved him. you were excited to see him. was that so bad? and you did do things during the day. you had a part time job, went to lectures or labs and if you had a free day, you did chores around the house or ran errands. you didn’t want to bother him when he came home. you just wanted to spend time with him because you missed him. it was john’s idea to move in together, telling you that you shouldn’t be renting a place when you always stayed over his. it was a waste of money, he said. this was your home now, he said.
suddenly these walls didn’t feel like home.
you grabbed your bag and left the apartment, feeling like you were being suffocated by the same place that brought you comfort.
midnight found you sat in a hotel room. you had walked for almost an hour, your mind numb. you hadn’t even noticed you were shivering from the cold. not until the receptionist at the hotel you entered asked you if you were okay. she was a sweet older woman, made you feel safe. you asked for a room for one night, making up some excuse you had already forgotten about, and made your way upstairs when she gave you the key.
you sat on the bed, staring at the wall in front of you. why did you always do this? cared too much. no one had ever matched your energy. from a young age, every friend you had never cared about the friendship as much as you did. it made you feel out of place. why couldn’t anyone care about you like you cared about others? why couldn’t you be loved the way you love?
you had thought you found that in john. he loved you. he loved you like you loved him and he missed you when you were apart and he hated sleeping without you. was it all a lie?
you had pushed him to his limits with your clinginess. it was only a matter of time, really.
18+, established relationship, pussy eating, soft filth
you had told him it was just a migraine, but clark kent looks at you like he can see through the lie.
and technically, he can.
your apartment door swings shut behind you with a soft click, the sound barely registering over the incessant pounding in your skull. you barely manage to kick your shoes off before crumpling onto the edge of your bed with a long, breathy groan. the room is warm and dim, lit up by the city glow leaking through your blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the sheets.
clark's still standing near your bedroom door, shifting on his feet like he's not sure what to do with his hands. there's something tight in his jaw, something about the way his eyes sweep over you like he's memorizing every little tremble in your fingers, every shallow breath, and every twitch of discomfort.
"you're sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" he asks, voice low and soft. concern weaved into every syllable. "this looks like a bad one."
"it's just a migraine," you manage, fingers dragging over your temples. "it's nothing, it'll pass."
clark lingers.
you can feel him linger. the air shifts with his presence, always a bit different when he's near. charged? maybe a little electric. you can hear his breathing behind you, the faintest hitch in it when you wince and flop back against your bed.
you don't see him move, but you feel the dip of the mattress beside you a second later. he's close enough now that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.
then softly, "...you smell like ozone."
you blink open an eye, sluggish. "what?"
clark's looking at you like he's fighting himself. his brows pulled low, lips parted. he's flushed at the neck. that perfect button down is slightly wrinkled at the sleeves from where he rolled them up. his tie is loosened, the top button undone. he looks rumpled, a bit warm, and just a little...guilty.
"i—um," he clears his throat. "i've read that...sometimes an orgasm can, uh. help relieve pain."
your breath catches.
the words roll off his tongue so earnestly. like it physically pains him to offer that kind of thing out loud. like he's afraid you'll laugh or tell him to leave or think he's making a move on you when all he truly wants is to make sure you're not in pain anymore.
you tilt your head, a small smirk just barely pulling at your lips. "you've...read that?"
"i mean, not like just now—i wasn't looking it up or anything," he stammers, tripping over his words as the tips of his ears go red. "i saw it in a study. about like hormones. it's science."
you bite back a laugh. barely. "and this is your scientific solution?"
clark stiffens. for a second, you think he's going to bolt. but then he meets your gaze with a heat that surprises you and even makes your stomach dip."
"let me help," he says, quiet but firm. "please."
there's a beat.
and then he's moving.
clark leans over you, his fingers ghosting down your sides like you'll break if he touches you wrong. he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. then your jaw. then the soft skin of your throat. featherlight touches that somehow burn.
"just let me take care of it," he murmurs, lips brushing your soft skin. "let me take care of you."
then he sinks to his knees.
he spreads your thighs like they belong to him—gently, as if he's done it a thousand times. like he's imagined this or even longed for it.
his hands stroke the backs of your thighs, warm, big, and trembling slightly. he kisses the inside of your knee, and then higher, and then higher still. until he's peeling down your panties and he's staring at your wet, aching pussy. until he's so close that his breath ghosts against your folds and makes you whimper.
clark glances up at you once—checking. making sure you're okay and that you're sure. when you don't move, he devours.
he kisses your pussy like it's holy. as if you're something sacred, and he's on his knees praying. his big tongue is hot and firm as it slides up your slit and circling your clit, then dipping lower to taste your arousal straight from where you're dripping.
he groans like he's starving. like you're everything he's ever wanted.
"you're dripping," he growls, pulling back just far enough to catch his breath. his chin is wet and lips swollen. "gosh, baby. you're so wet."
"clark—oh, fuck—“
"sweetheart..." his voice is ruined. "you're pulsing. are you close already? just from this?"
he goes right back in. messier and hungrier now. he licks in tight, focused strokes, and the second your hips buck he moans into you. loudly. like he's the one losing control and getting you off is the only thing keeping him grounded.
you rock against his face shamelessly now, desperate, and his big hands spread your thighs wider. his thumbs keeping you open for his tongue to fuck deeper, for his mouth to cover every inch of you.
"baby, i wanna feel you cum on my tongue," he pants, breath wet against your clit. "please. wanna make you feel better."
and then you do.
your orgasm slams into you and your whole body tightens, then shatters, spasming against his mouth as he groans and eats you through it. and he doesn't bother stopping.
"good girl," he huffs, tongue flattening against you, licking up the slick you've mad. "that's it. just like that. give it to me, baby."
your hips stutter, your thighs tremble, and you're already floating when the second one hits.
this time it's messier and louder. you cry out, and his name is all you remember.
and when you come down, just barely, you find his cheek pressed against your thigh, eyes fluttering closed, swollen lips damp with your cum. his voice is so soft when he finally speaks that you barely hear it.
"still got that headache?" he whispers.
you can't even speak. you just whimper.
he smiles and kisses your inner thigh like it's a reward.
"didn't think so."
likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! line divided by @/ cursed-carmine
"morning, ma" he whispers against your shoulder as his hands slide over your waist. you're brushing your teeth while he buries his face into your neck. you can feel him pressing kisses on your warm skin. his hands grip the hem of your pajama pants while he attacks your neck in kisses. he lets you go when you finish brushing your teeth. you turn to look at him and he just kisses you. his lips are warm against yours, a bit chapped, but so him.
Simon never admits it out loud, but the first time he saw your baby’s rolls (tiny wrists swallowed by baby pudge, cheeks like little dumplings, thighs that looked like fresh-baked bread loaves), he melted.
He swears you must’ve overfed the little one, but he’s the first one sneaking extra bottles or letting baby gnaw on a biscuit when you aren’t looking.
Baby’s favorite nap spot? Right on Simon’s chest. That soft rumble of his breathing and big warm hands cupping their back — baby’s out cold in seconds.
When the baby coos and smacks those chubby hands against his mask, Simon just mutters, “Yeah, alright then…” and lets them tug it halfway up so they can gnaw on his chin stubble.
Your chunky baby loves airplane rides. Simon lifts them up with zero effort, those rolls bouncing while he says in the softest Mancunian tone: “Look at you, eh? Little bloody blimp.”
He secretly LOVES bath time. Watching the baby’s rolls squish and float while they giggle? It’s the only time you see Simon grinning like a fool.
When he’s away on mission, he asks for pictures — not just of the baby, but specifically ones that show the cheeks or belly sticking out. He misses holding that weight against him.
And you’ll catch him, one evening, shirt off, baby sprawled across his chest, both snoring. And for once, Simon Riley looks at peace.
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