Below are all of the characters I have written for in the past or I’m planning to write about.
Currently only taking requests for Mike Faist and his characters.
*=smut
Stranger Things
Eddie Munson
Steve Harrington
Robin Buckley
Merlin (BBC)
Arthur
Fluffy Alphabet
Seeking Safety
Braying For Love
In the Morning
Oblivious to Love
Is Destiny Decided?
No More PDA
Now and Forever
Love Will Prevail
Fallen Kings
Mothers Know
Heights
Lay Your Love
Merlin
Fluffy alphabet
Gwaine
Fluffy alphabet
West Side Story
Riff
Oh Brother pt. 1
Oh Brother pt. 2
Fluff Alphabet
Medici
Giuliano de Medici
What Difference Does It Make
Friday Night Dinner
Jonny Goodman
A Night of Chaos
Things Don't Always Go According to Plan
MCU
Peter Parker (1)
Fluff alphabet
Panic!
Dodge Mason
If The Hat Fits
Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes
Coriolanus Snow
Sejainus Plinth
Lucy Grey Baird
Any of the actors who portray the aforementioned characters
Bradley James (Arthur Pendragon)
Nothing More Perfect
Mike Faist (Riff in 2021 WSS and other Broadway roles)
studying history is like. here's to another beautiful day of not being pregnant and of having no obligation to ever be. thank you women who fight for abortion and contraception and independance from men for another beautiful day of not being pregnant and of having no obligation to ever be
I remember right after the Superman movie come out everyone was making the “Clark saved Lex’s life by saving Krypto before Kara ever found out” jokes and its absolutely fantastic to me how supergirl 100% confirmed that to be true. Lex doesn’t even KNOW how lucky he is that he got the emotionally stable super
Just watched supergirl and oh my god i am so obssed with the fact that we have a female main character and shes sloppy and snippy and rude and an alcoholic and messy and flawed. And yet shes still able to be kind and good and be an inspiration to people. All while not having a romance and while not trying to appeal to anyone. This is what everything should be.
they addressed the whole stupid schtick people do about super “girl” once and for all when they said supergirl isn’t because she’s a girl who is a hero, it’s because she is a hero for girls
it’s about a movie that says to be a girl is to be treated as an object, a commodity, goods, and also says that girlhood is something that is murdered not grown out of, something stolen not softly kissed farewell at a beautiful coming of age, it’s something that can be gone at the age of thirteen while someone’s full grown adult cousin can still be “young”, Supergirl is a film about the grief thats held inside and the anguish at losing that girl, at her being ripped away by the cruelties of reality and the desperate ways we cling to the preservation of others, to protecting those who come next, because it’s a generational story across planets, across histories, across cultures
I like that Supergirl says it’s okay to kill someone’s abuser so long as you don’t let the thirteen year old do it and I like that Supergirl says vengeance will not solve things but neither will allowing a cycle of violence to continue
okay, after much deliberation (3 seconds) ive decided to just make a masterlist for my “clark kent is a bloodhound and can’t keep hands off his girl” fics 😛
Description: a series of fics detailing Clark Kent’s horniness for his favorite girl
Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!Reader
Warnings: lots of smut and suggestive content, proper warnings in each chapter/drabble
Of course they don’t like Milly Alcock’s Supergirl. She’s a grown ass woman with zero love interests who spends the movie saving her dog, casually dismantling a sex trafficking ring while she’s at it, and preaching the importance of being good, not nice or smiley or cheerful but good. I for one adored the movie and I really hope I’ll get to see more of Alcock’s Supergirl she’s now my favorite iteration of her and I love her so dearly.
Yes! I wish I could just project this to the world. I’m so fond of Supergirl but this version is so well matched to, at least, what I’ve been needing to hear.
Summary: Valarr and his Lady love had anticipated their union for a very long time. Now that the two are wed, they wish to experience pleasure together in almost every way.
Warnings: Smut, cunnilgus, fingering, cum eating, semi-public(?), outdoor activities(The gardens), fear of getting caught, both of you are inexperienced, mentions taking readers maidenhood(past tense), mentions past coupling + breeding, religious imagery(?), mediocre.
I am not responsible for the media you comsume.
This is my first Valarr creation! Someone get him vaccinated!
I started this on May 17th and I'm finally posting it. The beginning is also kind of really long, so skip ahead if that's not your thing. I'm actually iffy about this one.
"Shhh!..."
.
.
.
There was a difference between Kings Landing and Dragonstone. Although both had kept Targaryen ancestors safe for hundreds of years, Aegon the Conqueror first commissioned the Red Keep to be the future official house of his blood.
His son, Maegor the Cruel, had seen through with the plan.
Heirs, and even second sons got to inherit Dragonstone by right. Baelor II Targaryen, heir and hand of the King had inherited the island when he was still young. He would one day pass it on to one of his two children after his crowning.
Valarr knew this just as well as he knew his grandsire's keep. It was quieter, less populated, and filled with just as much history.
However, wedding plans had taken off across the bay. Kings Landing had welcomed many Lords and Ladies just a few days prior.
As heir to the heir, Valarr had been required to wed his Lady love on the rambunctious land. The Great Sept of Baelor bore witness to such a union, just as it had done for three generations after its creation following the death of Baelor the Blessed.
The young couple had not yet left the main land, remaining in the chambers Valarr had claimed when he was just a babe. First ever grandson, and grandchild in general.
The Prince had long since familiarized himself with halls and rooms, no matter how hidden they were.
He shushed you with a smile on his face, one that matched your own. Your hands were intertwined while you avoided handmaidens and knights alike.
Mere days ago, the two of you had reached a breaking point. Mere days ago, the two of you were united after years of waiting. Mere days ago, Valarr took your maidenhood.
Years of shared feelings came bubbling up. Betrothal had been lengthy, but it was all made worth it the second Valarr draped his Houses cloak over your shoulders, declaring you as his before the Seven.
You had joined as one in many different ways because at the end of the night, he eased himself into the spot between your legs and spilled his seed.
A new door had been opened after that night.
"We must be quiet, my love." Valarr laughed lightly right after a similar noise slipped past your own lips. The gardens were abandoned during the hour of the bat. No courtesan's were wandering, not like their prince was doing with his wife.
Pleasure came in many forms, and your husband was eager to learn the different ways that bodies ticked. It was a whole new world for the both of you. A lifetime of chastity had been broken, and desire was something neither of you were short on now that you had experienced bliss.
The sound of your combined footsteps on the cobblestone path would be suspicious if anyone was to hear. The waves sounding from the bay hardly did anything to cover noise, but the spread out walkways and tall cypress trees offered cover.
Giddiness flooded your being, tightening your chest. Or, perhaps it was adrenaline that made your heart beat so.
"This will be perfect." Your husband whispered, slowing down as he led you down another side path, guiding you with his hand on your own. He would not settle for anything that would just 'do'.
Valarr's gaze was softer, filled with affection despite how unusual this was for him. The prince was nearly as phlegmatic as his own father, and to stumble across the inevitable sight of him and his Lady Love exploring not just the gardens, but each other would be a shock to anyone.
He led you down to a stone bench, hard and cold even through your layers.
"Comfortable?" Valarr asked, finally letting go of your hand once you were situated.
"For now." You responded, bracing your hands on the carved seat. It would serve you, but that did not stave the apologetic look Valarr gave you.
"We will return to bed before you know it." The prince leaned down to kiss your brow before pulling back to look into your eyes. "Unless you wish to go back now? Just say the word and I will walk you to your chambers."
Your lips curled up once more, endeared by his worry. "All is well for now, husband. I wish to remain with you."
He softened, nodding his head wordlessly and exhaling a quit sigh. His hand met the side of your neck, resting there for a second when he pressed another kiss to your skin. "Good."
Valarr's knees met the pavement slowly, pressing into the stone under your feet in a way that he would surely regret later.
It was an odd sight to see a prince of the realm kneeling in the gardens. Especially when it came to him being an heir to the throne. One would think that he should kneel to no one for anything, and yet here he was, on the ground with his hands trailing up the calves of his wife.
He started slowly, just grazing your ankles when he slipped under your dress. Your stockings were smooth and dark, covering you from foot to knee.
Valarr sighed silently, pressing one of his thumbs into the side of your calf so that he could lift your leg slightly, ducking his head down to press a kiss against the fabric held up over your shin bone.
"Thank you." He murmured with reverence in his tone. His lips followed the seam alongside your stockings, raising your dress to the edge, but never going past that.
"Might I?" He whispered, looking up at you with his double colored eyes. His kisses did not pass your knees, remaining a great distance away from where you had not granted clear approval yet.
Your heartbeat raced, mimicking that of a small birds fluttering wings. This was an unexplored corner of a map, discovered by only two people who weren't meant to be outside. "You may..." You breathed.
Valarr's lips ghosted over you like a feather landing, never quite pressing hard, just tickling you with his affection. His head was spinning at this point, nearly matching your own restlessness. Your consent made his hands travel higher, groping your thighs like he often did when overtop of you. Only this time, he was below.
"I am honored to have been granted such an opportunity." His words mingled with the wind, getting carried away by the breeze. "You flatter me, my love."
"It is not flattery." You told him, leaning back on your palms a little more when he began inching your dress past your knees, bunching it despite not wanting to crease the fabric. The layers of your kirtle were scooted upward, ending with your chemise flipped. White covered black, and nothing covered you.
"Right..." Valarr eased your legs apart, glancing up at your face for half of a second before his mismatched eyes darted back downward.
"Yet it is still the most wondrous gift."
Another breath escaped from his lips, which parted as if anticipating what exactly they should be doing. He pulled you forward slightly, making you all more accessible to him, keeping them spread in an awkward position as he sat between.
"Might I just—" You trailed off, lifting up one of your legs to rest over his shoulder.
The prince nodded, finding it to be easier for him. He even guided the other one to do the same on the other shoulder. "That would do well." He grinned, trailing his fingers over the smooth skin bracketing his head, running over the curve of your knees.
"Are you ready?" He asked next, glancing back up towards your face. You nodded at first, resulting in a pointedly from him. "My love..."
"Yes!" You answered, swallowing down any of your last minute nerves. "Yes... I am."
"If you wish to—" Valarr began to go over the terms again, making your hand leave the stone bench so as to lace into his neat hair.
"Please, Val." Urging him forward, you begged. "As of this moment, I wish for anything but stopping."
He stared, gaze lingering before blinking once. "If that is what my love wishes for, then who am I to deny her?"
A prince.
Yet a devoted husband above all of that. At least, that was how he saw it.
He listened to your silent beckoning, leaning forward to nose at the soft space where your thighs often rubbed together. His hands had explored the area before, but never had his face.
He inhaled where your musk was the strongest, tilting his head towards the thatch of hair above your slit. It was then that his tongue darted out, seeking the one spot that he knew would make you preen.
Valarr groaned at the same time an exhale escaped from you. He worked to explore every syrupy turn, swiping through your labia.
You tightened your grip on his hair, mimicking the way he pawed at your thighs, squeezing the flesh between his fingers.
"Valarr—" His name slipped past your lips with ease, having gasped it more and more ever since the wedding.
He nearly grinned from his spot between your legs, scooping through your cunt with the muscle before retreating, only to do it again, delving as deep as he could go. Your hips shifted, attempting to press closer to him.
It was all so foreign.
Never had anyone lavished you with their tongue. It was vulnerable, perhaps more so than a normal coupling.
Valarr seemed to revel in it, making occasional noises while pressing open-mouthed kisses to your flesh. All of which put his previous ones to shame.
"You are the sweetest." The prince rasped, breaking away for only a second. He let go of one of your thighs, bringing his hand under his chin so that his tongue could seek your pearl again, all while his fingers could dive in.
He started with only one, slipping his middle finger in with ease. Your willingness made it easier because his index soon joined in soon after.
Valarr had a usual rhythm, often remaining purposeful and slow when he would twist his wrist or shift his fingers to spread as much as you would allow.
Though, he was not overtop of you tonight. He was not grinding into you. He did not have to worry about grasping or pressing too hard. He just had to worry about whether or not his teeth scraped your sensitive sex.
The action was typically used to open you up, but now it was just to bring you to the brink.
He felt your spongey walls cradle his insistent digits, just as you oftentimes squeezed onto his cock. It was reminiscent, but now experienced with newfound vigor.
In fact, Valarr found himself already liking this all too much.
Both forms of stimulation proved to be successful, working you up to a point where your stomach tightened in warning. It was easier than when the two of you would lay together in the traditional sense.
Valarr often had to angle himself to find the perfect spot while also rubbing your swollen and sensitive nerves. At the moment, his fingers were much more dexterous, finding euphoric bliss much quicker.
A choked noise fought to escape, but with the absence of privacy in this public garden, a moan was not a luxury that you could afford, no matter how how badly your husband longed to hear your sweet sounds.
"Valarr!" You hissed in a hushed but desperate tone.
"Mmm?" He hummed, still glued between your legs with his tongue out. He only stopped to swallow, and his eyes— which had long since slipped shut— fluttered open. He was graced with the sight of your flushed face illuminated by only the full moon overhead.
In that moment, he felt every bit like a man worshipping the God's.
"I am nearly there." You spoke breathlessly, pulling on the brunette locks grasped tightly between your fingers. It created a stinging ache on the prince's scalp. Some things were meant to be endured he decided in that moment.
Your peak was his goal. The one thing that he knew he must work you up to tonight.
He never did like making you wait for it.
His fingers curled upward, filling the garden with wet squelches caused by your own slick. Instead of just laving his taste buds over your clit, he pressed his lips flush against you and sucked. And then he stopped, and then he did it again, and so on.
Your jaw clenched at the same time as your abdomen squeezed the hardest. The pressure inside of you always tightened in one familiar spot while also taking your breath away.
Just as your body braced to let go, Valarr switched the spots in which his mouth and fingers had been. Once more, he pushed his tongue into your hole all while his thumb glided over your pearl, rubbing tight circles.
It was then that your composure broke.
A near scream ripped out of your throat, too loud when it pierced through the calm night. Your back arched, driving your hips forward against the prince's face.
Each press of his finger sent a jolt up through your body. Your orgasm crashed through you, and now the waves had to calm. They couldn't just stop entirely.
Valarr lapped up your spend while you caught your breath, suddenly all too aware of the cold coastal air against your hot skin. His free hand rubbed your leg, offering a comforting touch when he finally pulled away, sitting back on his haunches to look at you.
The bottom part of his face glistened, wet from a combination of your arousal and his spit. He breathed with you, though less labored.
"Was that well, my love?" He asked you, voice but a mere whisper. The question came from his own concern, as well as his need for your approval.
Your nod arrived a second too late, but you answered him regardless, waiting for your racing heart to ease up while you let go of him.
"It was... wonderful." You revealed, resulting in a grin from your kneeling husband. He made quick work of situating your dress so that it covered your shaking legs, granting you the return of your decency.
Valarr did not force you to recover quickly, he just continued to rub your covered knee and lifted himself up off of the ground, moving to sit beside you.
His unsullied hand reached your own, lacing your fingers with his.
"It is peaceful out here." He observed, speaking to you in a gentle tone.
There was a heat between your legs that would soon be snuffed out entirely after a brief rest, only to re-ignte once stoked again. For now, though, you remained with your husband, growing weary due to the energy that had been drained.
Valarr took note of this and moved your head to rest on his shoulder, listening to you take in breaths while sitting peacefully. It was a sort of scene he often yearned for on busy days.
With the moons glow shining down on Kings Landing, the two of you remained beside one another, basking in the quiet night.
"Might I get my chance to return the favor soon, husband?" Your voice broke through the silence, filling the space with your ask. It was equally as scandalous as what had just taken place.
Valarr hummed under his breath, all too aware of the pressure behind the front of his breeches, fighting to be acknowledged.
"Mayhaps once you are well rested."
A/n: And then he dies.
Much love!
(P.s. I still dont really know how to feel about this.)
summary: your history with clark is complicated, and your relationship even more so– but if anybody can make it work, it's you two freaks.
word count: 6.6k
contains: moderately toxic angst & smut. FREAK4FREAK CLARK AND READER!!! weirdpervert!clark & reader, fighting, unhealthy jealousy. childhood friends to lovers, dubious kryptonian urges, clark is kind of unstable. pet names, obsession, begging, apologies. *rough piv, biting, prone bone, quickie apology cunnilingus lol. *no use of y/n
a/n: this one was so fun i love psychological freaks. this is pretty mild considering what i was thinking of doing… might revisit with something way weirder. darker clark is really fun… might play with him more... enjoy anons mwahaha
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
Your relationship with Clark Kent was tumultuous, but it wasn’t always that way. In fact, you did everything in your power to avoid that outcome at the beginning. It was all because of him and his monstrous, infuriating, idiotic, blinding ego. And it all started when you were fourteen.
Coming into freshman year on a nervous note, you had very few friends. Middle school had afforded you two and a half of them through the student government. Chloe Sullivan was planning to revive the dying office of the Torch paper, and Pete Ross was going to help her with hearts in his eyes. You pledged to join up to make your best friends happy, despite being a terrible writer, photographer, interviewer and otherwise; it didn’t really matter, because no one was going to read the thing anyway, and it was a way to spend time with them. It would’ve been good for you and Clark, too, who was more friendly with Chloe and Pete than you, but was nice enough.
You always wished you had a greater excuse to bridge the gap, because Clark was brutally cute, even though he had been lanky and tall and unusual since grade school. None of it mattered to you. He wasn’t popular, which befuddled you based on his everything, so that made him more accessible, but he seemed… closed off. You couldn’t recall a time over the years, be it in conversation with Chloe or in simple passing, that he said more than a few words to you. Or looked your way, even. You had your insecurities like every other teenage girl, what with your weight and each other scrutinizable thing, but you had hoped there was something about you that seemed worth looking at. Clark never gave you the privilege. Alas, you still liked him against your better judgement.
It was hard not to– he was everywhere. He delivered his parents’ groceries to your home; he spent time in the coffee house with your friends; he never joined any clubs at school, but he was always around to pick up Pete and Chloe after, and so he was partially orbiting in the outer sphere of your life. But for every chance you and Clark had to make small talk, he shied away like a shrinking violet. You weren’t sure if it was you or him anymore, but Chloe assured you it was him. On that fateful first day, as you helped her jiggle the lock on the door to the defunct Torch, you had asked if Clark would join with you around, and she scoffed as if you were being ridiculous.
“Sure he will,” she said. “He likes you.”
“I don’t think he does,” you countered, flushing a bit. “He doesn’t talk to me. He barely looks at me. I feel like he avoids me on purpose, like I freak him out or something."
Chloe had turned to tilt her head and cross her arms, gloating that classic look of I-know-something-you-don’t. She rolled her eyes and promised, “He likes you.”
When Clark came to check out the office, he found you alone and under the cover of hue headphones. Blue, metallic plastic ones that covered your ears and blocked out any sound. You were pinning Chloe’s photographs on the wall; oddities and random shots she’d been collecting over the years in support of her personal passion for uncovering the unexplained phenomena in the town. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows as he leaned in the doorway and watched for a second, seeing your soft fingers mushing blue tack and your hips swaying to whatever you were listening to.
Clark had been avoiding you. Deliberately. And Chloe was right: he did like you. He liked you a lot. In fact, he thought of little else, to the point where it was mortifying to even come near you.
For years he had struggled with his own identity. Questions of his strength, worth, and purpose plagued him day in and day out. A detachment from his human side made everything feel so much more consequential. But when he first met you, all the way back in grade school, he saw how in touch with yourself you were, even then. Small and chubby, with cherubian cheeks and a missing front tooth, you offered him half of your cookie at lunch with the most endearing little grin, and his heart thumped hard. Being so little, he had no idea what he would become, but he knew he liked you. When the other shoe dropped, his tether to you only grew tighter. Being an alien was terrifying, and it drove him to care about preserving what human parts of him were left. You reminded him of a beating heart and a near-uncontrollable hormonal drive just by walking down the hall, and his weakness was letting that passion grow into something… maladjusted.
It made him feel dirty. Perverted, freakish, all the time. He dreamed about you in every imaginable way– driving you home, shoving you against a wall, being your prom date, having soft talks in the barn, attaching his mouth to your hips. Every possible scenario one person could have with another had crossed his mind in sleep, while awake, and at the wrong moments. He was ashamed of how he fantasized about you, and how deeply connected he felt to a girl he barely spoke to. It felt obsessive and wrong.
Clark would linger outside Chloe’s meetings just to get a glimpse of you, watching you laugh with your classmates and feeling a violent flame of jealousy burning hot in his throat. He wanted to make you laugh. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted you. But he wasn’t human, and how he felt about you was not what a human should feel– he was terrified that it might be some extraterrestrial urge, some breeding gene, some primordial sludge inside his gut that made him drool over a perfectly innocent and kind girl for so long. So he stayed away. You didn’t seem particularly taken with him, so it would be easy– he would just steer clear and protect himself from a dangerous moment in which you might smell the lie on him, and find out what a degenerate he was when it came to you.
With Chloe picking up the newspaper, he was running out of options. She wanted him on the team. He was in high school now, and he had to get involved. He had to find ways to live in the world while navigating his powers; they popped up fresh every week, something new and volatile, and everything felt so out of his grasp. And then there was you, humming to yourself in the office like nothing could hurt you. You were completely unaware of the guy watching you, staring at your body, listening to your lilting, craving you and aching and wondering what his problem was. He could kill you just as easily as he could save your life. The rushing wave of possibility was so crushing that it froze him in his place, and he just watched, struck with the weight of who he was and what you meant to him in the most parasocial, confusing, twisted way.
When you turned around to see Clark Kent standing there, fourteen but tall and broad, warm eyes pleading and face flushed, you startled and yelped, yanking your headphones off.
“Woah! Jesus, Clark– you scared me!”
Clark was faced with his first real chance, then and there, to prove to you he could do this. He could talk to you. He wasn’t a freak, it was normal to like a girl, and you wouldn’t find him out. The words didn't come, though. He just stood there and floundered, mouth opening and closing. Your voice was so soft.
“Did you need something?” you asked, turning pink as you placed your headphones on a nearby desk.
All he could choke out was, “Chloe.”
You nodded softly, face falling a bit, but you mustered a sweet smile within a second. “Oh. She’ll be back in a bit, she ran to get coffees. She has me setting up. Do you… want to help?”
Clark’s heart was in his throat, but by some miracle, he nodded. You didn’t make him talk. You didn’t press. You just handed him some tack and tape, and you let him collage the wall with you quietly. Every time you two would brush arms, you made a joke about it being a game. Some challenge to see who could get the wall up faster. He eventually found the strength to say something meaningless about his score, which sparked a first conversation, and the first day of your friendship.
You never knew the extent of Clark’s feelings– well, his jealousies– until your junior year, when you got asked to the dance. Granted, the whole thing turned out to be a joke, but his reaction was real. It was the first time you had seen what he was hiding.
Some band of jocks had caught wind that you were on the prom committee that year. With your carefully crafted reputation at Smallville High of being a co-editor for the Torch, a student government representative, a library intern, and a transfer guide, you were somewhat known as the nerdy catch-all for people to use. You never lost your baby fat, you still wore glasses, and you worked for the school. Talk about being a target.
These jocks got it in their head that it would be funny to pitch a fake promposal to you and rescind it in front of a pep rally crowd. The promposer in question would be the one athlete you talked to now and again in your chemistry class; Jake seemed nice enough on his own, without all the dogs barking in his ears. They knew you’d be covering the game for the following week’s Torch edition, and so they set it all up– a sign, confetti poppers and everything. You were completely shocked when you were trapped on the sidelines by the football team, holding your notepad and staring at Jake in shock as he asked you to prom.
“Are you serious?” You asked. Not yes, not no.
Jake felt bad. He wasn’t supposed to. He was supposed to wait until you said yes, and then tear the rug. But he couldn’t do it. You were just… too nice. He gave in and dropped the sign. “No.”
You furrowed your brow, glancing around at the big to-do and feeling overwhelmed. “Oh.”
“Listen, it was a stupid prank. The guys thought it would be funny. I’m sorry–”
You felt humiliated. It wasn’t that you had been asked, but that you had been the butt of a joke. You walked off the field as the crowd roared in a mixture of cheers and boos, and Clark intercepted you by the field gate.
Clark, your best friend, was fuming. Clark was more than Chloe and Pete, closer to you, gentler. You trusted him with everything. You slept at his house all the time, you tutored him in math (something he lied about needing), and you were desperately in love with him. But at that moment, the universe has not yet had its way with you.
Clark was red in the face as he grabbed your arms. “What the hell was that?”
You jumped at his force, and a quick anger rushed to match his. “What do you mean? I’m the one who just got made a fool of in front of the entire school! You think I asked for that?”
“You never told me you were into Jake!”
“I’m not! Oh my God, you are not trying to fight with me right now– Clark, I’m humiliated, and you’re choosing now to get territorial?”
“I’m not territorial,” he snapped. Clark felt his anger flying off the handle. After three years– the best three of his life, full of you– he was not going to be hurt this way. “You should have told me.”
“First off, I don’t have to do anything. What I tell you is my choice. And second, I'm not into Jake! Jake just pulled a fucking prank on me to embarass me publically– I can’t believe you’re acting like I wanted this! Who do you think I am? Is this a game to you?”
Mine, Clark thought, you’re mine. My prize, my girl, mine to win and keep. “Of course it isn’t–”
“I can’t even begin to understand what kind of– of– selfish and egotistical person you would have to be to think that of me! You know how I feel about myself!”
“Oh, I’m selfish?! I’m not the one talking to other guys!”
“Get off me, Clark! Don’t talk to me, don’t follow me! Fix your fucking attitude!”
You stormed off that night, and it took a whole week filled with apologetic flowers and notes to even catch your attention. He was burning inside, itching and scratching at his skin to get you back. He finally had you after so long of needing you. You made him feel like a person. All of these freakish feelings and desires were deafening without you at his side. How was he supposed to live without you?
Clark showed up at your window in the middle of the night after all his spoils had softened you, and he acted recklessly.
“I’m sorry,” he crooned, perched in your open window. You remember how the curtains floated over his shoulders, like a hero swooping in for a night visit.
You were in a nightdress, and the wind raised the hairs on your arms and legs as you leaned against the wall, gazing up at him. Your eyes glistened with tears. “I needed someone to be there for me, and you made it worse.”
“I know… God, I’m so sorry, bunny,” he hopped down into your room, feet light on the floor. Your stomach leaped as he cupped your face. “It just made me so crazy to think about you with someone else.”
“But we're not together, Clarkie,” you croaked, feeling your skin temperature rising as breath came shorter. His hands were so warm and big…
“We could be,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours like a baby deer nudging a companion. “I don’t want anyone else to touch you. Look at you. I don’t want them thinking they can have you.”
“You mean it?”
Clark ghosted his lips across your mouth as he spoke, not yet kissing. He breathed shakily as he traveled them across your cheeks, feeling the soft peach fuzz, wondering if he could just take a chunk out of the fruit, if you would let him. He groaned softly and sank his teeth into the meat of the cheek– not hard, not to hurt you– and pressed his tongue to the hot flesh. “Yes.”
“Clark,” you begged, “I only want you…”
His hands smoothed your dress down and yanked you closer, pressing you against the hard planes of his body. “Forgive me, baby, please,” he panted, nipping little loving bites down your shoulder. “I was an idiot, I was an asshole. You make me insane. Forgive me.”
“I forgive you,” you whimpered, buzzing with need. Your hands shoved up his shirt to touch the skin.
It was so unlike you both to be so forward and careless, but that was why you worked together. Somehow, you brought out the darker side of yourselves, the more truthful sides, and gave them a chance to exist in a space where only constraint and care were allowed for so long. And you relished in it, because this was Clark. Clark who you always loved, and who you had finally gotten through to. This was the Clark whose faults you looked past, all the secrecy and fear, because you trusted him. You unlocked his complexes just as he unlocked yours. This would be your eventual first lesson in jealousy.
Over the next few years, until you were both graduated and hired at the Planet, it happened again and again. Most people would have told you it was toxic, the way Clark got jealous over every little thing– a man glancing your way on the street, a reporter sweet-talking his way into your scoop in the elevator, whatever it might be. People had reasons to believe that protectiveness at a certain level was controlling. You didn’t discount them for being concerned. But by your senior year, you found out what made Clark tick in that slightly offputting way that drew you to him in the first place: his powers.
You stumbled across his journal one night in the barn, glancing down at the foreign symbols and languages. Clark uncovered you when he came back with a pizza, and he tossed the box on the table and snatched you up, making you drop the book.
“What are you doing?”
“I was just looking– I don’t know what any of it said!”
“I told you not to go through my stuff,” he growled, seizing you and pressing you to the wall.
You were shocked at the show of hostility. Clark was so careful with you, even when you felt the radiating heat of his worry around others. As he glared down at you, a glint of fear flickered in his eyes like a lighting candle. Your heart sank, and you ordered gently, “Let me go.”
Clark dropped your wrists immediately when he felt how hard he was holding you, and tears pricked in his eyes as he inspected your skin for any bruises. “I’m so sorry, honey…”
“Just tell me the truth. Why are you so scared of me seeing that journal?”
Ever since that night, Clark seemed to cool off. Even after the truth came out, Clark never shirked that intense, unnerving quality; but the immense weight of holding his true identity back from you was what made him lash out over the years, you knew that now. It wasn’t healthy, and you certainly didn’t want to excuse it, but you could at least justify it now– and you couldn’t expect him to lose his anxiety overnight. You were never one to make the most wise decisions anyway. Part of you didn’t even care how imbalanced his behavior was. He developed issues from hiding all that time– inferiority and superiority mashed into a dangerous blob, and so did his heroic and selfish tendencies. His claims on people as his own bled into his search for his heritage and what his use on Earth was for, molding him into a moderately irrational and emotionally unpredictable powerhouse.
It was all so out of your world, how could you judge him or hold it against him? Any sane person would have issues. Any sane person would probably have killed himself if they had to live like Clark did, in constant fear and hiding, struggling with an addictive power running through him at all times, and feeling like a monster among men for experiencing emotions and thoughts on a completely different plane. You could only interpret his behavior based on a purely human level of comprehension, and with how deeply you adored him, you were often inclined to give him slack, since he wasn’t human.
So, yes, maybe it was toxic, but you didn’t care. It wasn’t toxic enough that you couldn’t call it love. And he hadn’t been jealous in a long time, not in the way you knew him to be. No, now his jealousy was coming from a place of pure affection. It was a game, like you always joked. It was a test.
You were adults now, writing for the Planet and saving people in the interim– you manned the Watchtower with Chloe and slept in his bed every night. There was no you without him and vice versa. His secret only brought you closer, and over that new time, Clark discovered that you actually quite liked his disturbing manner. When you confided that his quiet demeanor, his nervous, shifty eyes, and his lurking were all cute back in the day, Clark had released a tight breath of guilt, never to hold it again. He never forgot what it felt like to look at you when he was younger and scare himself with his own mind. He never forgot the sick and hungry pit in his gut when you laughed or smiled at other people. He just pushed it down once he got you. But now, he had an opportunity to feed that part of him. You soaked up his praise and affection like it was sunshine, and now you gave him permission to act on those impulses, however primal or alien or outright weird they were. It was heaven for two people who acted against the usual code of relationship conduct.
Clark would snap and snarl at men who came near you because he saw how you loved it, and it satisfied his urges. Sometimes you purposely smiled at strangers just to rile him up. This new development had you knocked to your knees or shoved against walls more times than you could count, and you had never been happier. Maybe you were both a bit maladjusted, but at least you did it together. It worked for a long time; you tended to the Blur, kept him fed, and you ate up his devotion. It even grew more radical, the game; sometimes you would intentionally flirt with men at the coffee cart, or wear something unfit for work, just to see what Clark would do. All the fuss usually ended up in him pushing you onto the nearest surface, being gentle in the most intimate way, leaving you babbling for more. It was a secret challenge of cat and mouse that you mutually jonesed for. Finally you felt completely adored for every chubby and outcasted inch of yourself, and finally you were not judged. It was just you and your man, without explanation, giving into the desires that brought you together.
Until tonight, when you made a grave mistake. You completely overshot Clark’s threshold for the chase. It felt harmless when you did it. You didn’t know anything would go so awry, but then again, you hadn’t entirely thought it through.
Clark was running late after a meeting with Perry, but he was your trip home. He had been particularly pent up all day and you barely got to talk to him. You were burning for attention. So, when your shift ended, you headed down to the ground floor of the Planet to chat with the guy at the front desk. Andy, his nametag said. You saw him every morning and night, and many a time did you flash him a grin to get Clark going, but you wanted more this time. You could feel Clark’s tension tightening during the shift, and so you thought a big jab at his possessive streak might help him snap it.
You had simply gone down to talk with Andy for a while, maybe lean on the desk and laugh. But Andy had eyes for you that you didn’t notice. Andy got up from behind the desk and walked around to you, smiling like a wolf. Andy touched your hair, and you flushed with embarrassment– you led him on too far. Andy didn’t catch on when you stepped back, and he followed you, cornering you against the desk. And when Clark came downstairs from a stressful and grating meeting, after a stressful and grating day, to see the love of his life trapped by another man…
“Hands off,” he barked, yanking Andy by the collar of his shirt and tugging your arm.
You flushed deep red and stumbled into Clark, and Andy backed away like a kicked dog. You mumbled as he led you towards the revolving doors, “Clarkie, I was only playing, I didn’t think he’d get so close–”
“That wasn’t playing.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear!”
The dewy nighttime wind swatted your dress as Clark dragged you onto the street, and his face scrunched up in anger. He shoved the hem down on you and grabbed your face, fingers digging into your cheeks. “Too far, bunny.”
You winced a bit, which made him loosen his grip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would come onto me like that, they usually don’t–”
“Go home.”
“What?”
“I need to think. Go home.”
“Without you?” You frowned, eyes glazing with tears.
Clark stormed off in the other direction, wrenching the strap of his bag. “I said go!”
You stood on the street, growing cold and feeling incredibly guilty. It wasn’t your fault that Andy got the wrong idea. Well, maybe it was, but you didn’t ask him to back you into a corner or touch you. Clark was behaving as if you’d begged the guy to help you cheat.
In a burst of panicked anger, you called after him, “You’re being an asshole!” Clark turned on his feet, and you locked eyes with him. “An asshole and a hypocrite! You like it one second and the next you don’t? Everything is my fault if it doesn’t go how you planned it in your head? I thought you got over that shit!”
All Clark did was turn again, stranding you in the street. The yelling was for nothing. You sniffled and began the trek up the block toward your shared apartment with Clark, gnawing on your nail and wondering how long this would last. The sun was barely setting. He could be gone all night, you thought, angry and alone. You were more worried about that than you were miffed about his ego.
It was nearly one in the morning when the front door of the apartment opened. You were wide awake, anxiety raging as you watched reruns on the television. You nearly fell in your race to climb off the couch, and you stopped at the end of the foyer. There he was, still in his work clothes, looking tired and frustrated.
“Clark,” you swallowed, “I called you so many times.”
Clark raised his phone from his pocket, and you saw the little screen flashing with notifications of missed calls. “I know.”
You walked closer with caution, but he didn’t make any sudden moves. After gently taking his messenger bag from him and hanging it on the coat rack, you reached out to tuck a finger into his belt loop. “I’m really sorry, baby. It was only a joke. I was trying to work you up.”
“Bed,” was all he said. A man of many words.
“Huh?”
Clark looked down at your wide eyes and repeated himself coldly. “Bed. Now, please.”
You swallowed thickly. At least he said please. Your Clarkie was still in there, but he was angry. That misguided part of him still blamed you, you figured, but he came home. He loved you. So you walked down the hall meekly, slipping into the bedroom and climbing onto the mattress, laying down flat. Clark stalked in behind you, and as he kicked off his shoes, he ordered, “Take your clothes off.”
A nervous tug twisted your stomach. You two got at it pretty frequently, but he was never rough or mean. You didn’t trust he would keep that momentum with the way he was watching you undress. You felt a growing urge to beg, to grovel for forgiveness. “Clarkie, I–”
“Quiet. Lay on your stomach.”
You flushed in apprehension and turned over. An aching swell began to rumble in your hips, and you sickened yourself with how much his cruelness turned you on. Maybe it was the daunting feeling of incoming punishment that did it, or the guilt. Maybe it was the consequences of a risky gamble. But there was no denying how wet you were. You could feel the air conditioning caressing the skin between your legs as you rolled over.
The bed dipped behind you and you felt the weight of Clark’s body against your back. He still had his shirt on, and you felt the chill of his metal belt buckle at the base of your spine. He was fully clothed. You were in trouble, weren’t you?
“So I’m an asshole. And a hypocrite. Is that all?” Clark’s palm slid up your side, between your breasts, and over the bend of your neck until it could cup your jaw. He held you up, craning you, and he whispered in your ear, “I don’t blame you, but I am very upset. I am very upset with that man, and I want you to remember what it is you come home to. I don’t want you to enjoy teasing me like that. I don’t want you to try bigger stunts. You know you’re mine, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you breathed, feeling increasingly weak in his arms. His cheek pressed to yours, and you felt him shift around, metal clinking. His knuckles brushed the curve of your ass.
“I need to get all this anger out, bunny, so I’m going to use you. Okay?”
You nodded eagerly, burning red hot and trembling with need.
“Look at you,” Clark clicked his tongue, tone condescending as anything. “Shaking like a leaf. You think I’d hurt you, honey?”
“No,” you confirmed, knowing it in your gut, no matter how this creepier, slower-speaking version of your lover seemed to shake you.
“Good girl. No, I won't,” he purred, and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the familiar warm prodding of his length between your thighs. After a small groan, Clark rasped, “I won’t hurt you, but you don’t get your turn until I say so. You’re gonna make this up to me.”
Your stomach flipped with desire, and you dared to ask, “How?”
Clark let go of his grip on your chin and shoved you into the bed. Your searing cheek hit the covers and you whined as his strong palms laced with yours and pinned you down, his broad chest keeping you in place. He dipped his face into your neck and breathed you in before growling, “You’re gonna lay there and take what I give you, and you’re not going to cum until I believe you’re sorry.”
A hot pang of debased panic flooded you, and you wriggled a bit. Clark grunted as your thighs clenched around his hardening cock. “Do you understand?”
“But I am sorry–”
“I said, do you understand, bunny girl?”
You moaned in conflict and nodded, “Yes.”
“Good. Now don’t move.”
Clark sunk his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, giving you a stinging distraction before he hooked an arm around your belly and hitched you up. There was no foreplay, no time spent making you wide and ready, no– he was too frustrated for all that tonight. This was about payback. Clark shoved the thick head of his cock between your folds, feeling the coiled tension fighting him as he pushed past the ring of muscle.
You cried out in a sudden rush of forceful pleasure, burying your face in the sheets as he bullied into you, keeping you trapped. The stretch was so intense, and you were so unprepared– even after years, sometimes he would spend an hour kissing you, working your clit, getting you loose for him. Your vision blacked out as he pounded into you, hips rutting into the soft cushion of your ass.
Clark groaned as your body took him in surprise, your legs twitching and your fingers digging into the blankets. Your every whimper and squeak made his cock twitch inside you as he slammed in and out, over and over again, kneading the plush of your stomach and panting into your ear. “Tell me you’re sorry,” he commanded.
A moan hiccuped your reply. “I’m s-agh– sorry!”
“For what?”
The cogs in your brain were turning at breakneck speed to churn out words. If you took too long, he’d fuck you harder, and part of you wanted that. But you had a feeling that you’d get that no matter the answer. “For– mmf– flirting with that guy!”
Clark let go of his entangled grips on your body and smushed you down with a palm between your shoulder blades, effectively restricting you from moving at all. He spread your thighs and rocked into you even harder, sweat beading at his hairline. He moaned hungrily as he saw the stringy residue of your arousal connecting his skin to yours after every thrust. “You like this, don't you? You like getting punished, bunny girl?”
A helpless sob escaped you as pleasure coursed through your body. You couldn’t move, could barely breathe, and you were sure that he had never forced himself so deep as he was now. It felt like he never left your spongy spot, only knocking into it deeper. You drooled on the sheets as his motions jolted your body, and you reached back to claw at his hips. “M–mmf–mhm!”
“What was that? Can’t talk, honey?” Clark sneered, yanking your hair by the base of your scalp. He watched your chin glisten with spit and he bent down to lick it up, rocking his hips against yours with fervor. “See what happens when you shut your mouth? You get what you were looking for.”
“Please, Clarkie!” You whined.
“Please what?”
Your eyes rolled back as he tossed your face back down, and you fell limp. Your cunt clenched around his swelling length as you begged, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Clark grinned in cruel satisfaction, and he lightened his grip for just a moment to watch how hard you babbled. Your hair was strewn across your face in a sticky pattern, your lips were bitten raw and red, and your soft body laid there like a prize, promising him that you weren’t going anywhere. He remembered the fear that accompanied speaking to you once upon a time. How he worried even a look would be enough to scare you off, and that all these rough urges he felt would be too animalistic for you, too inhumane. But here you were, moaning and writhing beneath him like something out of a dream, and swearing with your body that nothing was too much.
“You’re sorry?”
“I– I’m so sorry… fuck, Clarkie– please!”
Clark bent down again, cloaking your back with his heaving and hot chest, and he thrusted harder, feeling the familiar heat pooling low in his stomach. “Tell me you’ll never do it again.”
“I’ll never d–do it again!”
Clarked moaned, nudging one knee wider and drilling into you. “Tell me– mmf– that you’re all mine!”
You bobbed and lolled as he made mince of you, body shaking with the effort it took to hold back your orgasm. He said he’d give you the go ahead, and you were dying to please him. You slurred, “M’all yours– fuck!”
Clark couldn’t take it anymore. You felt too good, you listened so well, and he was two seconds away from bursting. He encircled your wrists with his hands and held you down as the tip of his cock battered your cervix, pushing you over the edge. “Come, baby.”
The permission was as welcome as rain in a desert, and soon enough you were a crying, moaning mess, creaming embarrassingly quick as Clark pistoned into you, chasing his own release. You felt the natural warmth stuffing you after another moment, and the broken whine of your boyfriend as he collapsed on top of you, immobilizing you. You just lied there and reveled in it– the attention you wanted.
The man was quick to roll off and flip you over onto your back gently. The anger and frustration drained out of him through the recent means, and now all he had was that obsessive love to look over you with. Clark began painting patterns with his lips as you slumped there, twitching with overwhelm. He mumbled into your sweet, sweating skin, “Too rough? Anything hurt?”
You shook your heavy head, eyes closed. Your hands found his hair as he trailed down your body with intention. “Mm… no…”
Clark settled between your hips and spread them wide, studying the swollen pink flesh of your cunt. It glistened like velveteen curtains with remnants of him, and he kissed the sensitive skin, just to make you jerk. “Let me make it up to you,” he purred.
“Clarkie…”
“Shh… m’not mad anymore. I’ll be good for you.”
You didn’t protest when you felt the soft, slick heat of his mouth sealing over your cunt, slurping happily into the well from which he drew his water. You writhed and bucked aimlessly, pinned by his hands on your hips while his tongue circled your sweet bud and caressed the innards of your walls, promising wordlessly to take it easier on you the next time you fuck up. Your hearing fuzzed out, your heart raced, and you came on his tongue like your body was working on a timer– shocked and rapid, unable to help yourself. Clark lapped you up like ice cream, tongue flat and happy, and it seemed he was finally relieved.
You deflated like a balloon by the time he retreated, and Clark printed stamps of your cum on your round tummy before crawling over you and cornering you into a wet, hungry kiss. You groaned and let him have what he wanted, flushing and melting into the affection that he withheld until now.
Against your lips, Clark whispered, “I’m sorry I was so mean. I get so jealous.”
You grinned drunkenly. “S’part of the game…”
Clark’s heart swelled. Anyone else would have fought him off, told him he was crazy and overbearing and violent. Toxic, like the people at work had said to you. But you yearned for it. You drew pleasure from his inherent need to claim you and keep you. He still wasn’t sure if it was his Kyprontian side or just the human half of him that was fucked in the head, but it didn’t matter now, because you did not force him to compromise. You were the willing receiver of his undivided attention, beautiful and spent. He kissed you again and murmured into your mouth, “Never flirt with that guy again.”
You squeaked and nipped his lip. “Promise, Clarkie.”
“Mm… that’s my girl.”
As you laid there with him, watching him recoup before the fire would eventually return and he’d want you all over again, you let the slowing beat of your heart remind you of what it felt like to be without him all those years.
Back when you were younger, you would have never imagined growing into this woman who navigated a relationship so out of the ordinary. Clark could be so unpredictable and so alien at times, but you loved that part of him. You wouldn’t change it for the world. Maybe it was weird to people; maybe no one would ever truly understand what it meant to give Clark what he wanted out of your own desire to do so. Maybe you were brainwashed, or Stockholmed– whatever. You didn’t feel it. All you ever felt was the spark. The challenge, the rush, the comfort, the protection, the devotion. All you ever felt was right with Clark. And that made all of it worth it– the fights, the makeups, and the inbetween.
Plus, angry sex clearly was not a setback in the deal. In fact, you were considering ways to piss him off this very second, just to see what it would take to get a couple bruises on your hips and wrists. Probably not a smart idea, but what were you and Clark if not ever-evolving, and always changing the rules of the game?
TW!; 18+, MDNI, targcest(modern au and canon AKOTSK split),
Note; my first time doing this so don't mind that they are a little bit long(got a little overboard with aerion again)
AERION
After day of teasing aerion with that tiny little skirt of yours, bending down to pick something up or "accidentally" sitting on his lap looking all pretty for him he got fed up.
Aerion and his filthy breeding kink getting the best of him when his dearest wife would look so good round, the thought of it making his cock throb and engorge itself nestled in your velvet soft folds pulsating around him.
Teasing you by tapping his tip between your folds but never really putting it in yet, he wants to make you squirm before suddenly thrusting it all in.
Mean!aerion fucking his fist inside your stretched out pussy until you scream his name.
Letting his cute little sister sit on his using him for your own pleasure when maekar was away.
Making you work to get fucked. Your cute stretched out pussy with the girth of his cock whilst you could only whine trying to not your legs give out.
Aerion is a pussy eater but sometimes he just wants to have your ass on his face when he had a bad day.
Caging his little puppy in heat when you keep bothering him, having you naked in a cage with nothing but a firm collar on your neck sucking his cock like you weren't going to touch it again.
He's just "rough housing" with his little sister until you cry and moan, overstimulated by his cock going dumb in the process.
VALARR
Letting big sister milk him with his back arched nuzzling his face on the pillow moaning like a bitch in heat.
Hearing those noises coming out of your mouth, he couldn't help but stop his teasing to properly shove his cock inside you.
Toying with your wet cunny after being such a good girl for him, holding you in his arm pumping those thick fingers well-endowed with how tight your walls were trying to suckle him in your engorged insides.
Teasing him whilst he's asleep, hearing those whorish moans for someone who is so polite and coy.
Dry humping his knee when he's busy with work, he is such a meanie not even touching you properly whilst making his slacks wet with your slick.
Daeron
Even while drunk he still fucks you properly so you'll be walking funny tomorrow, just because he's a drunkard doesn't mean he wants you to be dissatisfied.
He is always so sleepy even when he plays with you, such a lazy big brother never fully awake to remember anything, try waking him up.
Sending a cute little video after not seeing him for so long, he moans so prettily it's ashamed your not there to satisfy him like your meant to.
Sweet dreams and his girls sweet tight walls around his throbbing cock, your just the sweetest thing aren't you?
Anyways that's all 😺 it was really short since my phone is overheating.
any ideas for a royal/political arranged marriage, but (against all expectations) both are into it?
Leading up to the ceremony
‣ knowing they would not be thrilled, the couple is not informed of the arrangement until it is set in stone and only few weeks away
‣ A had to be locked up and guarded in the days leading up to the wedding to make sure they don‘t run away
‣ B had to physically be dragged to A‘s kingdom
Right before the ceremony
‣ A threatens to stab their promised spouse upon meeting them at the altar
‣ B is threatened by their parents about making a scene during the wedding
‣ both expect the other to be much older than themself, arrogant, or otherwise undesireable
‣ “Is that a knife in your sleeve? Give me that, you are not killing your spouse before the vows are even read!”
During the ceremony
‣ the promised couple meets at the altar… and both wonder why their parents failed to mention that their promised spouse is H O T
‣ both relaxing as they make little comments during the ceremony, matching each other's freaks
‣ both only having prepared passive aggressively insulting vows and either reading them with matching smirks or improvising new ones
During the reception
‣ the newly weds ignore almost everyone else because conversation is so good between them
‣ intense chemistry, to a point that the new in-laws fear the couple will sneak into the bushes together
‣ “You're not gonna like this, but up until an hour ago I was sure I was gonna have to kill you to be able to escape.” “Oh no, me too. But then I saw you, and… Well, I reconsidered.” “Likewise.”
‣ bonding over their mutual distaste for their parents' overreach
‣ “Most dissappointing that my parents will get to gloat about finding me a good match.” “I understand. We can always make them regret it by being horrible together.” “Perfect.”
