tiffy

tiffany or roxxie | 9tn | scorpio | david corenswet ily | goth & punk

[ackpplepie]

let me love you!

clark's been overworking himself recently and all you want to do is take care of him.

pairing: clark kent x reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, handjob, boobplay, reader gets off on the fact that clark is being vulnerable with her

a/n: HI GUYS so sorry that this one took so long to get out oml i've been working so much recently. thankfully, i have some time off, so i hope i can write a bit more here and there :) also rest assured that i see the requests i've been sent in!! i'll start writing those when i finish bruce's part.

Superman. The Man of Steel. Symbol of hope and strength.

Superman can carry any burden placed upon his shoulders with a smile on his face, gladly bearing the brunt of evil for humanity's sake.

Clark Kent, though? A whole different can of worms.

He's just a man, after all. A terribly kind, optimistic, loving man who craves somewhere soft to land at the end of the day. He's been very open about that side of him since the two of you started dating. It'd be hard to hide. Clark's a loverboy down to his core with such a big, soft heart.

And he's surprisingly one of the most open people you've ever dated. Y'know, after he came clean about the whole Superman thing. He's got his heart on his sleeve, overflowing empathy, and more love than he knows what to do with.

Unfortunately, boundless optimism and unshakable compassion come with unpleasant shadows that follow behind him, nipping at his heels while threatening to drag him down.

Righteous anger, the kind of feeling that, when given to the wrong person, can destroy all the good someone has deep inside and twist their morality into something unrecognizable. Clark doesn't wear this often, and he usually bears it alone.

Bone deep exhaustion is the shadow you see more often. As unbreakable as he can be, the weight of injustice can still overwhelm Clark. And, while he never bends, he does stumble. Usually right into your waiting arms.

So, tonight, when he barely has the strength to do anything beside lie down on the couch with his head in your lap, you meet him with a soft gaze and a delicate hand in his hair.

"Oh, Clarky. Are you tired, honey?"

His only response is a muffled "mmf" against your thigh. It'd make you laugh if you weren't so concerned for him.

"Poor baby…" Your hands slide down the sides of his neck. His pulse flutters under the gentle strokes from your fingers, and a slight smile plays at your lips. "Hmm? Do you like that? Do need your special treatment, honey?"

"Please," Clark mumbles into your thigh. The quiet plea hits you right in the chest and knocks loose all the mushy affection you usually try to keep under control.

"Lie on your back for me, then," you murmur.

Clark does as you ask and turns over in your lap. His head is still nestled in the dip of your thighs, his black hair soft and messy from your fingers. The second his handsome face is revealed to you, you lean down over him and press sweet little kisses to every bit of skin you can. Each kiss is soft as a petal falling to the ground, and the gentle treatment has a dopey grin forming on Clark's face: it's just what you were hoping to see.

The fact that he's smiling already tells you it'll be okay. That it's not one of the nights he questions his ability to protect people until the sun's rising in the sky. That Clark hasn't convinced himself that he needs to work himself to the brink of collapse, only to still believe he isn't doing enough.

Thankfully, it seems like your intervention's coming early enough in the night that his thoughts haven't had time to spiral that far out.

"I missed you," he whispers, the words a quiet offer of devotion. Three little words that say so much: 'I love you.' 'I think about you.' 'My heart yearns for you when you're not next to me.'

"It's only been a few hours," you smile, letting your hand slip up under the hem of Clark's loose t-shirt.

"A few hours without you," he grumbles. His head turns just enough for him to be able to nuzzle along a strip of exposed skin at your midriff.

"I think you've survived worse."

"Debatable. It's up there, for—hah, for sure." A gasp cuts through Clark's words when your hand finds his inner thigh. The thick muscle clenches under your touch, and you take your time feeling the contours of his leg through his soft pajama pants, only stopping when Clark's hips give an involuntary twitch up into the air.

"I guess I shouldn't tease you, huh?"

A cute pout appears on Clark's face, and you want to kiss it right off his ridiculously handsome face. If it wasn't for the glossiness in his big, blue eyes, you'd be even more tempted to drag this out. But, with Clark lying in your lap and staring up at you with such trust, you just can't bring yourself to do it.

"Lift your hips up for me, baby," you say calmly, untying his pants and dragging them and his boxers down his thighs when he complies. Everything about your boyfriend is larger than life: his heart, his hands, his shoulders…his cock—hard, thick, and beaded with precum—bobs in the air in front of you. "There you go."

Clark's hips shift in the air again as he tries to get comfortable, but his hands are gripping the edge of your shirt, and he's staring up at you like a wounded puppy. "Can I?"

"Of course."

Now with your permission, Clark's fingers slide under the fabric before tugging it off of you completely. His hands start at your belly before tracing their way up the dip of your waist…up to your ribs…and then up even higher to cup your breasts through your bra. Thumbs working your nipples into peaks through the cups, Clark's already in heaven at the sight in front of him.

And, god, it only gets better when you spit-slicked hand finally closes around his cock. Pleasure shoots through him instantly, intensifying with each stroke and twist of your wrist.

"Oh, ohhh, hnn," Clark's moaning like the sounds are being forcefully ripped out of his chest, and his brows are furrowed like they're surprising even to him. Eventually, one of his big hands slides into the cup of your bra, and he pulls down on the fabric until one of your breasts is exposed to him. The sudden feeling of cool air on your skin makes you gasp, but it's quickly replaced by the wet heat of his mouth. Your free hand slides under his shoulders, silently helping him curl closer, while your other hand slowly works his cock.

Despite his desperation to feel you, Clark still remains gentle. He sucks on your nipple slowly, tongue rubbing over the peaked flesh in soothing motions. His left arm stays curled around your waist while his right hand palms at your other breast.

"Clarky, that feels so good," you whisper. "Doing so good for me, baby. You're such a sweetheart."

Clark's whimpering against your skin now, and the vibration sends a pleasant buzz through your head. Of course, touching your boyfriend like this turns you on endlessly, but the satisfaction pulsing through you comes more from the fact that you're the one he comes to for comfort. You're the person who gets to see Superman curled up in your lap like this, hips bucking up into your hand while he acts like your chest is the best stress toy he could ever ask for.

And fuck if you don't love it.

You're not too shy to tell him, either. In fact, you know how much he craves the verbal affirmation of your feelings.

"I love seeing you so relaxed, honey. I love doing this with you." Clark's eyes flick up to your face, only to find you looking back at him already. His eyes are glazed, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is falling into your eyes. There's a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth that you're all too happy to wipe away with your thumb. "Messy boy."

"Mmfmm…" Clark merely hums around you and closes his eyes again, more than happy to get swept up in the tide of pleasure your hands are coaxing out of him.

"Just like that…" The veins running up the sides of Clark's shaft are throbbing and twitching now, and you know he's getting closer and closer. "Don't hold back, Clarky. Just let go. You deserve it. You deserve to feel good."

While some men might bristle at the soft tone of voice you're using, Clark's brain just turns right to mush. It only takes a few more pumps of your fist to have his eyes rolling back in his head and his hips bucking up into your hand as he paints his own chest white. You work him through it slowly, savoring the way his cock pulses in your hand before finally releasing him.

The room falls into silence that's only broken by Clark's heavy breathing. He's vaguely aware of you wiping the cum off his chest, though he's not lucid enough to realize you're using your own shirt—he would have stopped you if he'd seen that. Once you've wiped him off, you wrap your arms right around his torso, and he just melts right into you.

Clark's always felt eternally grateful that he has you: soft, beautiful, kind-hearted, but always willing to get tough when necessary, even if it's against him. He likes that you're not intimidated by him. He likes that you respect him enough to give him space but love him enough to hold him through whatever storm he brings to you.

He just loves you. Your hands, your voice, the way you can wind him up and work him back down, he's so smitten it's kind of sickening, but you're right there with him. How could you know what makes him tick if you weren't equally as gone for him as he is for you?

That night, you have dinner together. You wash his hair in the shower while he washes your back. You rub lotion into each other's skin without complaint because that's just how you love.

His thoughts don't haunt him that night. Neither do his failures. The only things floating around his head are the softness of your skin and the scent of your perfume.

all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.

[carbon-dating-everything]

Hello!!!

Can I request Robert Robertson x ex villain reader? Like, they used to be that cocky confident silly kind of villain and is now just.. a nervous wreck. Kinda had the mentality of "well everyone hates me always I might as well be annoying for fun", and now doesn't have that to latch onto, so is a quiet and anxious mess.

(Feel free to ignore this bit if it's too hyper specific!!)

The type of nervousness is lots of social anxiety. Like, if someone looked at them for more than 5 seconds they nervously and quietly, ask for them to stop looking at them. Will freeze up if put on the spot

Have a nice day/night!

hi anon!! this was an interesting request and i liked writing the reader and robert's dynamic here - hope you enjoy this ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

trust admitted in a diner

pairing: robert robertson x gender neutral reader

summary: at a diner, robert notices how it's easier for you to speak to other people if you're looking at him.

content / warnings: fluff, reader has social anxiety, reader is a former villain, established relationship, kissing

word count: 986

a/n: why does robert have to look so handsome. who allowed adhoc to do this. i spent way more time on this header than actually needed just looking at his smirking face. i'm suing

‘They’re looking at me.’

‘No, they’re not.’

‘They’re all looking at me, Robert,’ you insist, eyes darting over to the tables around you, ramrod-straight in your seat. ‘That woman to the right just gave me a withering stare, I swear.’

‘I think that she was trying to flag down a waiter.'

‘Well, she keeps staring.’ Your mouth presses into a flat line, your fingers tearing your napkin to tiny shreds as you glare down at the colorful menu laid out in front of you. 'I just don't like people staring like that.'

‘Hey. Hey. Relax, it’s okay,’ Robert commands, reaching out and interlacing a hand with yours, intending to be grounding. It works; your fingers curl around his, and he rubs a thumb over your knuckles. ‘No one's going to bother us. They don't know who you are, or who I am, and as far as anyone is concerned, we’re a normal couple on a date. Which we are.’

‘Hi, folks! Can I get you started with anything?’ a waiter chirps, sliding into view at the worst possible moment, notepad in hand. Your eyes shoot wide and you freeze, almost about to give possums playing dead a run for their money.

‘Maybe just two waters to start with, thanks,’ Robert interjects before you can do so, smiling up at them. ‘We’re still having a little trouble deciding.’

You let out a sigh as the waiter leaves, slumping forward onto the table. ‘How do you do that all the time? Just — talk to people?’

He shrugs. 'Well, I mainly just talk to people.'

You scowl at him. 'Helpful. Very helpful.'

‘You used to be fine in public,’ Robert says. ‘What about when you crashed the opera house a couple of years ago? Everyone was looking at you then.’

‘That was different,’ you retort.

‘How?’

‘Well, for one, it’s a lot easier to have people watching when you care more about being evil than what people think,’ you say, then admit as an afterthought: ‘Also, I had grenades.’

The waiter comes back with two glasses of ice water in their hands, setting them down, and Robert notices you clam up again, all the tension coming back in full force; your hand stiffens in his, holding him in a vice grip. Your eyes fasten themselves to the table.

‘And are you all set to order?’ the waiter asks, looking at you both.

‘Yeah,’ Robert answers, finding his item on the menu. ‘Could I get the, uh, Starlight Burger, with the curly fries? Or “flares”, I guess you call them. With ketchup.’

‘Of course!’ the waiter says, turning towards you and being just a little too attentive — Robert sees the way you shrink further into your seat. ‘And for you?’

‘Uh,’ you say. It comes out less as a word and more of a squeak, like a deflating balloon.

Robert squeezes your hand, intending to be reassuring; the action makes you glance back up at him. And a curious thing happens: something flickers over your expression, tongue darting out over your lip briefly before you take a deep breath.

‘…I’ll just have the same thing, please,’ you finally mumble, eyes not leaving his. 'And a Coke.'

‘Great,’ the waiter says, oblivious to what’s just happened and jotting the order down. ‘Coming right up!’

‘Did you see that?’ Robert asks as they leave.

‘See what,’ you groan, letting go of his hand to grab your water and gulp down a relieved mouthful. ‘How I totally copied off your order? That burger had better be good, by the way, because I didn’t look at anything else on the menu.’

‘But you did order,’ Robert says, brushing past your deflection. ‘Despite being put on the spot and stared at. The only difference is that you were staring at me.’

Your brow furrows. ‘So?’

‘So, why was it easier to talk to someone staring at you when you were staring at me?'

‘I don’t know!’ You trace little shapes in the condensation of your glass, avoiding his questioning look. ‘I guess it's because…’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Because?’

‘Well,’ you say haltingly, ’it’s because I trust you.’

The weight of the confession — the simplicity of it, the honesty — knocks the witty retort right out of Robert’s mouth, and it slowly blooms into a grin.

‘You trust me,' he says slowly.

You huff, face growing hot. ‘Shut up. We’re literally dating, of course I trust you. You're handsome too, is that what you wanted to hear?'

‘You’ve never said it out loud before.'

You swallow, shifting in your chair. ‘I can take it back —‘

Robert leans over the table and kisses you, cutting through all your panicked thoughts, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush against yours, all other sensation dulling for a moment. When they open again, he’s pulled back, just staring; his rich brown eyes are softened at the sight of you, unhurriedly taking you in, a faint blush making his freckles stand out on his cheeks.

‘I’m glad you trust me,’ he murmurs, low and utterly sincere in the way that you know means you have no choice but to believe him. ‘Thank you.'

Well, that's unfair. You can't come up with anything when he looks at you like that. It tugs the corners of your lips into a small smile. 'You’re welcome.’

‘If you don’t like people looking at you, just keep your eyes on me when you answer them, then,’ he says, and before you can say anything further, he adds smoothly, ‘Since I’m both trustworthy and handsome.’

And that has you rolling your eyes, ducking your head to try and suppress your own widening grin. ‘Dick.’

He hums, smirking at you. ‘Your dick.’

You dip your fingers into the icy water and flick them at him, trying (and failing) to stifle a squeal as he promptly does it right back, all social anxieties forgotten for the moment.

[coquettepascal]

roommate!clark is back!!!

your roommate clark ch. 5 comes out on june 27th !! mark your calendars... need to catch up ? here's the masterlist

♡ sneak peek below ! ♡

“I’ve been home for two minutes and you’re already perving on me,” he pouts while folding his arms.

You scoff but can’t bring yourself to fully immerse yourself in the role of defensive-yet-guilty-perv since it would include potentially taking your eyes off him and you just… can’t. Your heart rate has finally calmed down after who knows how long and you feel more relaxed the longer you stare at him.

His hair is a little messier than usual, curls flat on one side of his head from when he probably took a nap on his flight, bags under his eyes from how much he probably overworked himself for his parents sake, and his clothes are more rumpled than usual. Clark looks tired, but he looks just as perfect to you as he always does. You want him to rest, he deserves it after the week he’s had.

“... will you still lay down with me even if I am a little bit of a perv?” You ask him, pouting back even harder at him.

His chest puffs with breath and he pulls his gaze away for a moment, as if really contemplating. The line of his jaw sets as if he’s really frustrated at the idea of settling into the bed of his freaky little roommate but you know his mind was made up before he even left his parents house this morning.

[coquettepascal]

tomorrow !!!!

[coquettepascal]

roommate!clark is back!!!

your roommate clark ch. 5 comes out on june 27th !! mark your calendars... need to catch up ? here's the masterlist

♡ sneak peek below ! ♡

“I’ve been home for two minutes and you’re already perving on me,” he pouts while folding his arms.

You scoff but can’t bring yourself to fully immerse yourself in the role of defensive-yet-guilty-perv since it would include potentially taking your eyes off him and you just… can’t. Your heart rate has finally calmed down after who knows how long and you feel more relaxed the longer you stare at him.

His hair is a little messier than usual, curls flat on one side of his head from when he probably took a nap on his flight, bags under his eyes from how much he probably overworked himself for his parents sake, and his clothes are more rumpled than usual. Clark looks tired, but he looks just as perfect to you as he always does. You want him to rest, he deserves it after the week he’s had.

“... will you still lay down with me even if I am a little bit of a perv?” You ask him, pouting back even harder at him.

His chest puffs with breath and he pulls his gaze away for a moment, as if really contemplating. The line of his jaw sets as if he’s really frustrated at the idea of settling into the bed of his freaky little roommate but you know his mind was made up before he even left his parents house this morning.

[coquettepascal]

tomorrow !!!!

[coquettepascal]

roommate!clark is back!!!

your roommate clark ch. 5 comes out on june 27th !! mark your calendars... need to catch up ? here's the masterlist

♡ sneak peek below ! ♡

“I’ve been home for two minutes and you’re already perving on me,” he pouts while folding his arms.

You scoff but can’t bring yourself to fully immerse yourself in the role of defensive-yet-guilty-perv since it would include potentially taking your eyes off him and you just… can’t. Your heart rate has finally calmed down after who knows how long and you feel more relaxed the longer you stare at him.

His hair is a little messier than usual, curls flat on one side of his head from when he probably took a nap on his flight, bags under his eyes from how much he probably overworked himself for his parents sake, and his clothes are more rumpled than usual. Clark looks tired, but he looks just as perfect to you as he always does. You want him to rest, he deserves it after the week he’s had.

“... will you still lay down with me even if I am a little bit of a perv?” You ask him, pouting back even harder at him.

His chest puffs with breath and he pulls his gaze away for a moment, as if really contemplating. The line of his jaw sets as if he’s really frustrated at the idea of settling into the bed of his freaky little roommate but you know his mind was made up before he even left his parents house this morning.

[coquettepascal]

tomorrow !!!!

[hunnismokah]

choso spread my husband omg

[snoopysupe]

thinking about Clark’s wife being mad at him (but not really) bc she had a bad/scary dream and he wasn’t there to save her in the dream. I feel like Clark takes it far more seriously than he should lmaooo. He’s like “why does my wife’s subconscious not want me to help her? Maybe the dream means I’m not around her enough…”

he’s such a wet rag for his wife i love it

pairing: clark kent / wife!reader. content: silly fluff. clark feels guilty about a dream bc he’s down bad for his wife. minor descriptions of kidnapping! (wc: 1.0k)

clark kent masterlist

When Clark saw your name light up his phone, his initial reaction had always been the same. His heart would swell, a smile splitting across his face as he would refuse to let it ring more than three times before sliding his thumb across the bottom of the screen; pressing his phone to his ear to hear the sweet symphonies of your voice; prepared to hear the events of your—as you would call it—mundane day in comparison to his. 

(It was never mundane to Clark. Kept him grounded.) 

However, nothing had prepared Clark for when he answered the phone to you, to be met with a tone he feared hearing from you. 

“I’m mad at you.” You said bluntly, without a greeting. 

Clark paled, “I’m thousands of miles away, honey. What did I do this time?” 

You sighed dramatically, head dropping onto the plush pillow of your bed as you looked up at the ceiling, “I had this…horrible dream. All this tension between you and Lex Luthor has clearly began to seep into my subconscious.” 

“Tell me more.” 

“He decided to use me as bait. Against you. I was tied up in a dark room with duct tape over my mouth. He would taunt you with videos, or photos of me. And—” you paused with your eyes narrowed, “—You just never came. You left me there. To rot away.” 

Clark frowned, “Oh, honey. You know I would burn the whole of Metropolis—” 

“Till death do us part, Clark.” You interjected sardonically, “Was this your way of parting with me?” 

“What? No!” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose and paced the floor of the Fortress of Solitude. Despite being Clark’s entire centre of gravity, you weren’t opposed to occasionally giving your husband a dull headache from your flair of theatrical display. He dragged a palm down his face, “Never, honey. It was just a dream. I promise I would save you. Even if it meant my life.” 

You hummed, “Tell your dream-self that then.” 

After that, you gave up the topic with ease, and to be quite frank, you were only toying with your husband—understanding that the dream was out of some deeply embedded fear within you, rather than Clark’s ability to protect you. However, the further you conversed about your day, and the gossip that had whirled around your workplace; the quieter Clark had become. 

His usual self was upbeat, keen to engage in heart-to-hearts with you seeing as you had been apart for far too long. (It had only been two days.) 

This time, Clark was quiet. Engulfed in his own thoughts whilst you talked his ear off about the fight that broke out over the coffee machine in the staff room. A new wave of guilt began to gnaw away at his thoughts, creating a three-headed monster that was growing to be a problem by the minute. 

All because you had brought up your dream, where he was incapable of saving you. 

But, that was his whole purpose? Saving people. Tilting the world upright each day at a time. Citizens looked to Superman as a beacon of hope, to bring them to justice and protect them from harm. So, why all of a sudden did it fall short with you? 

You had once told Clark over breakfast, that dreams meant something, if you had the time to look it up. This came after he sleepily mentioned that he dreamt that you had replaced all of his teeth with Kryptonite. Obviously, you were only prodding fun that it could’ve meant something deeper than it really was…but, Clark latched onto that piece of information.

And now, he was beginning to run wild with it. 

There was obviously some underlying cause as to why your mind would have ever conjured up such an absurd outcome to a hypothetical kidnapping by Lex Luthor. Clark didn’t want to dwell on the imagery of it all, because it made his stomach churn at the thought.

However, he could think of a million reasons as to why that particular scenario happened.

Clark had been more occupied than usual. Far away from the one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Metropolis, far away from the warmth of the kitchen with the toaster that nearly always burnt his toast in the morning, far away from the soft sheets and ambient lighting of the bedroom; and most importantly…far away from you.

Albeit, only being two days on this particular occasion. It still didn’t account for the four days from the week prior, and the month stretch when he had flown himself to Jarhanpur. 

It was evident what was needed. 

Clark needed to be with you. To regain the trust to make you believe that he would save you. (If you didn’t save yourself in all your strong-headed excellence.) 

“Clark?” Your voice tugged at his strayed thoughts on the other end of the phone. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“Yes, honey.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he spoke. 

You paused, incredibly in-tune with your husband. Two peas in a pod. 

“You’re upset, aren’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question, as it was a statement; an accurate one at that. When your husband didn’t reply, you spoke again, “Clark, I’m not really mad at you. It was just a dream. It meant nothing.” 

“But, you said—” 

“—I said dreams meant something deeper. Yes. But…more along the lines of if you dreamt we had a baby!” You waved your hand about, “It means, you probably would like a baby. Or, if you dreamt about Ma’s cooking. You miss the farm. That sort of stuff. This was just me being subconsciously scared of Lex Luthor.” 

Clark’s jaw set at that. “I’m coming home.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Yes. I am.” Clark gave a nod to Gary who was loitering around the area he had been pacing in, “I will be there soon, alright?” 

You rubbed at your eye with the heel of your hand, frustrated with yourself, “Why are you doing that? I promise, I was joking.” 

“Because—” Clark started as he stepped outside of the Fortress and into the cold emptiness, “—You need me, honey.” 

[orobaxis]

Am I allowed to eat? 

Summary: You jokingly ask Clark if you are allowed to eat in front of his parents. 

Dad Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

more kent family adventures here!

even more kent family adventures here! (pt 2 of the masterlist)

By the time you were eight months pregnant with Leia, one thing had become very clear to everyone around you: Clark would do absolutely anything for you. 

Which was precisely why the prank had been so tempting.

The prank simply appeared in your mind while sitting at the Kent farmhouse table on one warm afternoon, watching Clark pile food onto your plate for the third time before you’d even fully finished the second helping.

“Honey, you need more potatoes,” he said earnestly, already reaching for the bowl.

“Clark,” you laughed, “I’m still eating.”

“You’re eating for two.”

Ma Kent snorted softly from across the table. “At this point, that baby’s probably ninety percent mashed potatoes.”

Clark looked entirely unashamed. “They will be a very healthy, growing baby.”

You bit back a smile.

That was the thing about Clark during your pregnancy, he hovered.

Did you need water? A pillow? Another blanket? Less blanket? A snack? Different snack? Did your back hurt? Were your feet swollen? Had you rested enough? Too much? Was the baby kicking enough? Too much?

The man treated your pregnancy like the world’s most important mission.

And it made him very, very easy to fluster.

And suddenly, sitting there at the table with Ma and Pa Kent, watching your husband lovingly shovel corn onto your plate like he was personally responsible for feeding both you and the baby, the idea struck.

You looked down at your half-full plate thoughtfully.

Then, very gently, you asked, “Clark… am I allowed to have some more?”

Clark didn’t even look up.

“Of course,” he said immediately, mouth still full, already spooning another helping onto your plate. “You barely ate any! Here, have more chicken too.”

You pressed your lips together. You continued carefully, in the smallest voice you could manage. “Are you sure?”

Clark blinked at you. “Sure about what?”

“That it’s okay for me to eat more?”

Clark stared at you for a long moment. Then looked at your plate. Then at you again.

“…Yes?” He sounded deeply confused.

You nodded solemnly, “Okay,” and resumed eating.

Clark reached for the biscuits.

“You want another one?”

“Yes please.”

“Here you go, my love.” He handed it over immediately.

You sighed as your prank failed, silently waiting for another opportunity.

-

Said opportunity was when Ma Kent brought out dessert.

Her specialty peach cobbler was still warm, the smell filling the kitchen instantly.

“Oh my goodness,” you sighed dramatically. “That smells amazing.”

Ma Kent smiled warmly. “Go on, honey, have some.”

You coached your face to look anxious, worried, then slowly turned toward Clark.

“…Am I allowed?”

The room went silent.

Clark froze with the serving spoon halfway in his hand.

Ma Kent blinked. Pa Kent’s expression changed immediately into a frown.

“Allowed?” Ma Kent repeated.

You looked down shyly. “Well… I just wanted to check first.”

Clark looked like his soul had briefly left his body.

“Why would you…what do you mean allowed?” 

You kept your face perfectly straight. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Upset me?” Clark nearly choked. “Why would it upset me?”

Ma Kent’s eyebrows shot up.

Pa Kent set down his fork, slowly and very carefully.

Clark turned toward you so quickly his chair squeaked against the floor.

“Honey, what are you talking about?”

You blinked innocently. “The cobbler.”

“The cobbler…”

“Yes.”

Ma Kent turned to Clark at the same time he looked at you incredulously.

“Clark,” she said carefully, “why would she need permission to eat dessert?”

“I—she doesn’t!” Clark’s brows were furrowed with concern, slowly feeling like he was unnecessarily put on the hot seat. “Why would you need my permission to eat cobbler?!”

You shrugged lightly. “Well, you may not want me to eat any more.”

Ma Kent slowly turned toward her son.

“Clark Joseph Kent.”

Clark’s eyes widened in immediate horror.

“No! No, no, no—Ma, I swear—”

Pa Kent crossed his arms.

Clark looked even more panicked.

“I have literally never stopped her from eating anything in her life! She eats whatever she wants, whenever she wants. I've actually been actively encouraging her to eat more because she sometimes forgets in the afternoon and the doctor said…" He caught himself, and looked back at you. "What is going on?”

You tilted your head. “But maybe you didn’t want me eating cobbler specifically?”

“Why would I not want you to?!”

Clark looked moments away from a full system shutdown.

“Honey,” he said frantically, stumbling over every word, “I have never, not once, told you what you can or can’t eat. Or do. Or wear. Or…anything!”

Ma Kent was now openly suspicious. “Clark…”

“No! Ma, listen to me—I swear, she does whatever she wants! Constantly! Happily! And I support her! Enthusiastically!”

You nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true.”

Clark pointed at you wildly. “See?!”

“But maybe secretly you don’t like how much I eat?”

Clark looked genuinely devastated.

“What?! No, Ma, Pa, listen to me. I’ve never told her not to do anything she wanted! Ever! If anything, she tells me what to do!”

He turned back to his parents, fully distressed now.

“I am not controlling! Right? I’m not controlling.”

Pa Kent finally spoke, voice low. “Son…”

Clark turned toward him in absolute panic. “Pa, I swear to God, I have never denied her anything in my entire life! I don't restrict her eating. I don't restrict ANYTHING! I don't tell her what to do. I would never." Clark's voice had taken on the slightly desperate quality of a man watching a small fire and patting his pockets for something to put it out with. "She has complete autonomy over everything. Every single thing. I've never once told her she couldn't eat or do or–"

"Clark," you said.

“--have anything she wanted, I mean she went through a period in the second trimester where she wanted a very specific brand of crackers at two in the morning and I flew forty minutes to three different stores to find them, I have the receipts, I can show you the receipts–”

“Clark.”

“--and I don't know what this is right now but I need everyone at this table to understand that I am not and have never been–”

“CLARK.”

He stopped his rambling.

He looked at you.

You were smiling. A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Then suddenly you were laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach.

The entire table stared at you.

“Oh no,” Ma Kent whispered, already realizing.

You wheezed helplessly, tears gathering in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I’m sorry…I was joking.”

Silence.

Clark blinked.

“…What?”

You covered your face, laughing harder. “It was a prank, baby.”

Clark stared. Ma Kent burst into laughter instantly.

Pa Kent leaned back in his chair.

Clark remained frozen. “You…”

“I’m sorry,” you laughed again. “You were just so easy to fluster.”

Clark looked deeply betrayed.

“I thought Pa was about to kill me.”

You grinned at Pa, “He was in on it,” you confessed, remembering how Pa chuckled gruffly when you told him about your plan.

Clark dropped back into his chair dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.

“I cannot believe you.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek sweetly.

“I’m sorry I scared you, honey. You're a wonderful husband," you said. "Why do you still have the receipts?"

He put his arm around you, and you could feel him giving up on the wounded dignity, the whole structure of it just gently collapsing.

"Souvenirs," he said again, quieter, “I didn’t want to forget anything about your pregnancy. And so that I could show our baby that I would do anything for them.”

You smiled at him, cupping his cheek tenderly before giving him a kiss. Clark turned pink.

"Forty minutes,” he reminded you, “Three stores."

"I know."

"In the rain."

"It wasn't raining."

"It was drizzling." Clark sighed deeply. 

You laughed, then immediately reached for the cobbler.

Clark instinctively grabbed the serving spoon and loaded a giant portion onto your plate.

Everyone at the table burst into laughter again.

Clark looked around defensively.

“What? She’s eating for two.”

-

taglist

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[luveline]

Clark gets a photo from his girl. fem, 0.5k

Look at this. 

Clark peers down at the notification on his phone screen curiously. He’s a little too busy arranging a bouquet at the moment to open it—he likes to buy a couple from the florists and hodgepodge them into behemoth, beautiful arrangements for you. You deserve them. The first time he made you one you got teary-eyed, and spent the night sitting under his arm like some dearly loved creature too happy to move away from him. 

The phone pings again with an attachment, a photograph. He abandons the pink sprig of teeny flowers and picks his phone up, the screen covered in green trimmings and splashed water. 

Clark opens the notification. It immediately displays your photograph full screen: it’s a selfie, sort of, with the majority of your face and shoulders and the soft valley of your chest, and just behind you there’s a butterfly caught in motion. 

Clark smiles. So beautiful, he texts back. 

Isn’t it! Blue wings, that’s an emperor butterfly? you respond.

Not the butterfly, you. You are so beautiful. Where are you? 

There’s a couple of seconds, and then, to his delight, another selfie, sitting in the same place with the sunshine on your skin. The only difference is the park now shown behind you. You’re out with friends, and must’ve stopped in Metropolis Park to enjoy the spring-to-summer heat. 

At the park. Do you want to come and get me? They’re all going home, but it’s so nice. 

Clark stares at you. It must’ve taken you half a second to capture a photograph of yourself, and you’ve never looked so beautiful. Smiling, eyes tired from an early morning, your lashes in a crush at the corners of your eyes. 

You’re perfect. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, he texts.

So you’re not coming to the park? you ask. Then, quickly, you don’t have to say stuff like that.

Clark sends off a last message that says he is absolutely coming, scooping the arrangement out of the vase and wrapping it in a scrap of wax paper. You deserve flowers now, right now, his heart practically racing as he thinks of you waiting for him in the grass. So pretty. He wishes you could read his mind sometimes, to realise the extent of his appreciation, and to appreciate yourself with more tenacity, but he does not mind doing the reminding.

When he finds you, he almost melts. “Here you are,” he says, the bouquet as big as his chest, flowers tucked up under his chin and at the bottom of his view, framing you where you’re looking up at him with delight. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I looked everywhere, but I finally asked someone if they’d seen the prettiest girl in the world and they pointed me to you.”

You climb up on your knees with your arms out. Clark leans down to kiss you, the flowers reflecting gentle colour onto your neck.  

[blondwhxrewrites]

Imagine surprising Clark by shaving your bush into the shape of a heart.

Like, he gets home after a long day at the Daily Planet; he's exhausted, and all he wants is for you to suffocate him with your thighs and pussy for at least an hour. Multiple hours if he had his way.

Of course, you don't deny him; his puppy eyes are impossible to resist, but when you finally tear off your panties, he's met with…

A heart.

He’s met with a heart.

Yeah, he audibly whimpers. Like full-on whines. He also might've just cummed a little. Ignore the stain, please. If he wasn't so pussywhipped, he'd be embarrassed.

“So, uh—” he gulped. “—watcha got going on there?”

You giggled, more like cackled, at his awestruck demeanor. “Do you like it? I did it just for you.” You pointedly wiggled your hips, and for a moment he swore he saw heaven.

This was unfair. You sprawled out on his bed, completely bare, and with a fucking heart between your legs. How was he supposed to survive?

Superman, Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, defeated by his girlfriend shaving her bush into a heart.

“Thank you, Universe, for blessing me with this gift of a woman.” He bowed his head in silent prayer, muttering the words beneath his breath.

“Are you seriously praying?” you snickered.

“I’m saying grace.”

“Amen.” He gave one final bow of his head, then leaped forward, burying himself between your thighs. Where he was meant to be.

[midnightportals]

Big fan of not wearing a bra.

[urumashunistheonlyone]

first impressions

pairing: aki hayakawa x reader

genre: fluff, slice of life, domestic romance

warnings: mild language, light teasing, mentions of smoking

synopsis: you ask aki what his first impression of you was.

the floor creaked under your feet as you padded into the kitchen, stretching your arms high above your head, oversized t-shirt sliding up your thighs just a little. aki stood at the sink with his back to you, sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, the sound of running water and the clink of dishes filling the quiet apartment.

his hair was tied up, a few wisps falling against his neck, and you watched him for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, admiring the soft curve of his shoulders and how peaceful he looked doing the most mundane thing in the world.

you walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

“tell me what you thought of me when we first met.”

he didn’t turn around. didn’t even flinch. just kept rinsing a cup like you hadn’t dropped a question heavier than the silence you walked into.

“hm?” his voice was calm, like always.

“i’m serious,” you mumbled against his back. “your exact first impression. what you were doing. what you were thinking. how you were standing. i want all of it.”

now he sighed, reaching over to shut off the water and setting the last glass onto the rack. he turned in your arms, your palms now flat against his stomach, eyes lazily trailing up his chest as he looked down at you.

“you’re not gonna let this go, huh.”

“nope.”

he paused. then ran a hand through his hair, flicking the dampness off his fingers before crossing his arms.

“alright. but you’re not gonna like it.”

you grinned and stepped back, motioning to the open kitchen like it was a stage. “reenact it. i need visuals.”

he blinked slowly. “you’re annoying.”

“and yet here you are.”

aki rubbed at the bridge of his nose like he was preparing for battle. then walked over to the counter, standing stiffly next to it.

“it was a mission briefing,” he started, voice flat like he was reading from a textbook. “i was standing… right about here.”

“okay.” you sat down on the barstool, chin in your hand. “and me?”

“you walked in late.”

you laughed. “classic.”

“you were wearing a jacket two sizes too big and had your hands stuffed into your pockets. your hair was messy and you didn’t look at anyone.”

“oh?” your eyes sparkled. “was i mysterious?”

he gave you a flat look. “you were chewing gum with your mouth open and told kishibe to ‘scoot over, old man.’”

you wheezed. “and what did you think?”

aki exhaled through his nose, pretending to roll his shoulders like he was back in that room, arms crossed again, mimicking how he stood. he turned his head slightly, pretending to glance at you. his voice dipped into a quiet mutter.

“i thought, ‘great. another pain in the ass.’”

you gasped, laughing, hitting his arm. “aki! rude!”

“i was right, wasn’t i?”

“no! okay—yes—but you didn’t know me yet! what was your face like?”

he stared at you.

“show me!”

he sighed again, but he looked away for a second, shoulders lifting like he was hiding the smallest smile.

then he turned back to you, standing with a slight lean to one side, lips pursed just a little and brows subtly furrowed. it was subtle. but very him.

“that’s it?” you squinted. “you didn’t squint suspiciously or arch a brow?”

“i don’t make cartoon faces.”

“you’re so boring.”

he raised an eyebrow at you. “and yet you’ve been obsessed with me since day one.”

you huffed, crossing your arms, but your smile gave you away.

“okay, but like… when did that change? when did you stop thinking i was a pain in the ass?”

he stepped closer, standing between your knees now, his hands finding your hips. his thumbs rubbed slow circles into the bone there, and his voice was lower now, quiet enough that only you could hear.

“probably around the time i caught you sneaking food to denji when you thought no one was looking.”

“oh?” your brow lifted. “so soft spots for strays turn you on?”

“no,” he murmured, leaning down, lips brushing your ear. “soft spots in general. like when you made me tea that night i came home late. or when you watched movies with power even though she talked through the whole thing. or when you stole cigarettes out of my pack to try and get me to quit and denied it even though you’re the worst liar alive.”

you were quiet now, watching him with wide eyes, lips parting just a little.

he looked at you like he was still in that first meeting but this time, with softness behind his gaze.

“and when you fell asleep on the couch with your head on my lap and you drooled on my pants,” he added.

you shoved him with a laugh. “ugh, you ruined it.”

“you asked.”

“fine,” you said, pulling him closer by his shirt. “what was your first nice thought about me?”

he tilted his head like he was actually thinking about it. then ran his fingers up the sides of your arms, sliding them under your shirt at the waist.

“it was after a mission. you had a scratch on your face, and you didn’t complain about it once. but when we got back, you let me clean it for you. you flinched when the antiseptic hit your skin but tried to hide it.”

you looked down at his chest.

“i remember that,” you whispered. “you were really gentle.”

he nodded. “you said, ‘thanks, nurse hayakawa.’”

you laughed into his chest.

he kissed your forehead and pressed his nose into your hair.

“i think that was the first time i realized i cared about you.”

your hands found the back of his neck, thumbs brushing against the soft hair at his nape.

“i’m glad you didn’t stay annoyed.”

“i’m still annoyed.”

you kissed his jaw. “but you love me.”

he kissed your cheek.

“yeah,” he said simply. “i do.”

[owwllly]

one more time

[maiamore]

Since your inbox is open.....how about free use with roommate clark kent and reader

hi amor! y'all are quick w this. i'm gonna assume that you've also read the other roommate!clark i did for kinktober. between u n me…missed them BAD.

tags: pwp, smut, f!reader, roommate!clark, free-use themes, clark fucks reader from the back while she's cookin, lowk a lil asshole!clark (1k + wc)

—

"i'm back."

you don't lift your head at the sound of that familiar drawl. plastic bag rustling in his hands as he shucks his shoes by the doorway. "they didn't have Diet Coke. so…i got some… off-brand…spiced soda."

it was fairly easy to have set that one cardinal rule with having clark kent as your roommate — you could never, ever fuck each other. both of you had agreed that it would've been too messy to deal with. its potential fall-out, or awkwardness of running into each other on campus if you did indulge.

"not the same thing, asshole."

consequently, it was just that easy to break it.

the shuffling behind you grew closer. routine sounds you'd connected to clark's arrival. keys, bag against the floor, and then —

"jus' keep cooking." his voice comes as a heady, lazy murmur, it trails down your pulse, leaving goosebumps in its wake. you feel his weighty palms slide past the quilted apron you had on, shuddering as his thumbs skim past the hem of your shirt.

"seriously." you manage, with a shaky palm coming down to rest on the aged mosaic tiles. clark's inhaling the warm, sweaty skin at your pulse, nipping over the marks he'd left on you the day prior had begun to fade. "n-not — anywhere visible!"

he grunts at your swat, the gentle curve of his nose now tracing up your jaw and ears. "hey —" he calls out, tugging you hard against his chest, enough for you to feel the hard line of his erection poking your lower back. "water's boiling over."

you gasp sharply, chucking the wooden spoon to lay horizontal on the ceramic pot. "no shit," you manage, squirming a little as he rolls his hips against your ass. "…y-you're…distracting me."

clark only laughs at your complaint, his palm having slid upward, rested under your breast. his nail skims the soft fat there, and last your sensitive nipples. you yelp, clutching over his forearms.

"smart girl like you can't multitask?"

"t-that's…" you swallow thickly at his taunt, relaxing further into his chest at the gentle squeeze of his palm over your tits. "not...fuckin'…fair.."

"c'mon, it's gonna get all soggy." he nods his chin toward the still-boiling water, and you begrudgingly turn the stove off.

it was damn-near impossible to focus on scooping out the pasta, some of the cooked noodles falling into the sink at his wandering hands. callouses dragging down your ribs. "careful." he chides, sliding his hand down the waistband of your bottoms.

you jerk forward hard in surprise, palms pressed heavy against your clit. his two digits slides between your folds, rubbing you slowly. the spoon clatters onto the dishrack at every needy nudge of his fingers in your pussy. "fuck….kansas —"

he whistles, low, much more brazen in his touches as your arousal coats him. "shit. you're soakin' me." he coos, tugging your trousers halfway down your thighs. you don't protest, looking over your shoulder hazily to meet his gaze.

your pussy pulses around nothing at the loss of his digits, all achy for more. he grunts low, at the slight nudge of your ass against his pelvis. holding you still by your hips. "…easy now."

a shuddered breath leaves you at the press of his bare length, half-tucked out of his shorts, rested at the line of your spine.

"told you to keep, cooking…didn't i?" you feel the thickness of his girthy tip, drag past the globes of your ass, resting it flush against your folds. you whine, clutching tightly around the rag.

"a-are you kidding me?" you manage in a soft squeak, hips nudging backwards to meet the languid thrusts he provides, tip catching your clit at every move.

"m'not."

the lucidness in his words make you shudder, and you take a shaky glance toward the sauté pan he's nudged your way. you squeeze your eyes shut, hands trembling as they clutch around the handle, lifting them onto the stove.

"atta girl."

your breath stuttered at the gentle probe of his tip, pressing insistently into you. "don't stop. please." your fingers fumble to turn the stove back on, and he rewards you with an inch.

"mm—hn."

clark's palm comes up to rest at the column of your throat, tilting your head up. you don't react to the sizzle on the pan as he deposits the mise en place, laid all organized on your cutting board.

"gonna let anyone fuck you like this, huh? that easy?"

your cheeks flush at his words, locking your gaze with his as he bottoms out fully in you. rolling his hips, setting a quick and hard pace.

"you think — nngh…fuck, just anyone's got the keys to my apartment?" you pull away from his hold, resting the back of your head against the crook of his neck. every thrust felt way too fucking good despite the initial sting.

"nah…just me." he smiles to himself, pants turning much more bated at every snap of his hips. "only i get to fuck you like this, mm?"

his voice is everywhere around you, in that needy, teasing intensity that threatens the familiar roll of your eyes whenever you were getting close. "l-like that, harder." your hands clutch around his forearm, meeting his thrusts halfway.

"ugh.. squeezing me so t—ight." he lowers his head, words muffled as he mouths at your neck. biting down at your pulse, the snaps of his hips grow more frenzied and urgent. clark's palm presses down hard at your clit, rubbing you until your body goes rigid in his hold, giving his cock a delicious series of pulses down his length.

"shit, oh shit shit." clark lets you come down from your orgasm, taking in the gentle squeezes of your cunt.

your body bucks forward, dangerously close to the steam radiating off the flame, clark catches your forehead before you got too close, groaning incoherent mumbles to your cheeks as he pulls out at the very last second.

he pumps, clumsily, the sound of the wet, thick soaps as he cums with a shudder, all over your lower back. you're completely putty, slumped against his chest, and you hear the distinct click of the stove, snapping you out of your orgasmic haze.

your gaze falls to the stove, where clark's effectively turned the gas off to a pan full of black, burnt vegetables.

"fuck."

"…take-out?"

[luveline]

clark’s obsession with buying you clothes is getting worse. he feels like a freak, convincing you into department stores ‘cos he knows you’ll get stuck eventually, that you’ll ask for his opinion and let him choose, and he can beat you to the card reader, rocking subtly on your heels with your own type of pleasure as the attendant bags your purchase and smiles at you like she’s happy you found one of the good ones.

you know what he’s doing. clark likes dressing you and you like to be dressed. he doesn’t always care about the choosing, only the paying, finds smugness in the fullness of your wardrobe, how you have to start putting dresses in his closet, your socks in with his. it becomes normal in that you stop feeling guilty aloud, but you always say thank you, and clark– clark’s not even sure he cares. he doesn’t do it for your gratefulness, he just feels as though you deserve to have the things you want, and gets enough gratification from seeing you in things he knows he bought day after day.

eventually, your wardrobe is full. you don’t need another dress, or another pair of shoes. it’s borderline wasteful to keep it going—you can’t wear it all. and clark starts to experience withdrawals. he is accepting, he’s happy, he loves you, and he misses buying your panties. he doesn’t know what to do to chase the high. you keep wearing the things you love and he’s happy for you, but clark needs something. for a little while he gets really into marking up your neck with nips and hickeys, but it’s not the same, and you only have so many turtle necks.

you must feel sorry for him. poor girl, you don’t seem the type to care about seasonal dressing to such a degree, but one day you slink onto the bed with your hand rubbing softly against his knee and ask if he’d mind helping you pack away your winter clothes. make some room for summer, you murmur, ever-so-slightly uneasy, like you’re worried even now that he’s gonna find you presumptuous.

yeah? he breathes. i don’t mind, honey. we can vacuum pack them and box them in the linen closet. when do you want to do it? tomorrow?

tonight? you ask. the weathers gonna turn soon… I might need, you know, some new blouses, some lighter skirts… what do you think?

what does clark think? clark thinks he’d bankrupt himself if he wasn’t saving for a house with a big closet and a bigger bed. he’d spend it all on you.

[maiamore]

when clark’s fucking you too good you just have to rub your clit to get yourself over the edge — but then he’s just so big, everywhere, that you can’t squeeze your hand between his heavy body on yours.

so what does he do? turn you the fuck over, forcing your thighs apart as he lays you — with your back to his chest, and then those big hands of his would slide down your soft, sweat-slick body to rub your clit for you.

circling his flattened fingers, palming her so fast n’ good until you’re squirting cumming on his cock.

[ceruleanheaven]

how to become good at everything no practice no effort no motivation no passion no talent fast free