ditto.

Fuck.. the poor man must be desperate to bend you over your desk, shove his cock inside your pussy and feel you soak him while everybody else continues working around you. The moment you stand, you signal for him to follow you to the private bathroom, and sweet Clark trails behind you like a lost puppy. Neither of you lasts longer than ten minutes, although remaining quiet becomes almost impossible when his thick cock keeps stretching you so deliciously.

Valarr

You could fall asleep anywhere at any time. The number of times Valarr had found you asleep in a chair, your head pulled back as you soundly slept. He was almost jealous of how easily you could sleep, of how your days always consisted of impromptu naps. You get a solid 10 hours of sleep, and Valarr would still find napping in some secluded spot.

"My love," Valarr shook you awake after stumbling across you asleep on the bench in the gardens, your book left upside down on the floor, no doubt falling from your hands as you fell asleep, "wake up," he urged, watching as you woke, your eyes puffy from sleep.

"Valarr?" you sighed, taking Valarr's hand to sit up, "was I asleep?"

Valarr laughed, "You always are my love." he sat beside you, kissing your cheek softly as you tried to wake.

"You know me, I need at least 14 hours of sleep to function,"

Valarr laughed, knowing that even if you slept for a whole day, he would still find you napping.

In truth, he had once found you napping in a rose bush. Surprisingly, he had found you entirely unharmed, and he had even battered him away to get more sleep.

He could never quite figure out if you purposely chose these places to sleep or if you just happened upon them as sleep overtook you. Either way, he loved to find you sleeping in whatever nook and cranny you had found that day.

Daeron

Daeron is as sleepy as you. When you sleep, he sleeps. If he finds you curled up in a corner dreaming the day away, he simply curls up beside you and joins you in your slumber.

Sleeping beside him eases his dreams, makes him see happy times and not the nightmares that otherwise haunt him.

Daeron takes advantage of every nap you take, using it to sleep peaceful and dream of you, his best dreams. And you love it, waking up always curled into his warmth. Rare was a nap where Daeron did not find you.

He finds you falling asleep constantly adorable, and though the first few times Daeron had started by placing a kiss on your head, then carrying you off to the safety of your bed. But seeing you so peaceful had made him crave the same peace and comfort, so from that day on he joined you.

Even when he found you asleep in the strangest of places.

Maekar

Maekar could swear you would sleep through a war. You slept soundlessly every night. Most of the time going to sleep the second your head hit the pillow. Or any other surface he soon came to realise.

It frustrated him at first, finding his wife in the strange to places completely asleep, unaware of her surroundings entirely, but as time went by, he began to like this little quirk of yours. Finding you asleep always brought a smile to his lips. How unworried you were, unbothered and unburdened, it made him relax a little. Seeing your face lost to a world of dreams made him forget about his responsibilities, even if just for a moment.

Maekar would always linger when he carried you back to your bed, placing kisses on your hairline before leaving you. You would always find him after, kiss him in thanks for carrying you to your rooms, and then would tell him of the strangest dreams you would have.

And though he found you napping adorable, what he did not find adorable was how, at times, sleep seemed to strike your mind but not your body, and he would find you wandering the halls as you dreamed. He hated the prospect of your unconscious mind leading you blindly; it was why he always took you back to your rooms, to keep you safe, and of course, comfortable.

Baelor

Baleor found your impromptu napping entirely adoring. you seemed time to sleep no matter the day, busy or full he always found you sleeping.

most days Baelor watched you sleep in the settee of his solar, where you would start the day reading, only to fall asleep. waking only when Baelor placed a soft kiss to your brow to wake you.

He found your sleeping entirely too adorable, he would only wake you when needed and would happily let you sleep till you were content. He loved how you could sleep anywhere at any time. In the middle of a feast or a ball. far to many times he had turned to see your head resting on the table, out for the count. He would wake you then of course, relishing in your blush and apologies. he never made you feel bad, he loved how you felt so comfortable around him you seemed to constantly sleep.

"I can't. I have toー"

"Bed."

"Just let me finish this report, it's due tomorrow and the formatting is fucked and my boss is being a dick about the projections—"

You close his laptop.

He makes a sound like a kicked puppy.

"Hey—"

"No. You're done."

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

He looks down at his hands. They are, in fact, shaking. He shoves them under his thighs like that'll hide it.

"I'm fine," he repeats, stubborn, stupid, infuriating.

God, he's such a liar.

He's not fine. He hasn't been fine in months. He's running on coffee and cortisol and some deeply pathological need to provide, to protect, to make sure you never want for anything even if it means grinding himself into dust. He does all the cooking. All the cleaning. All the grocery shopping, the bill paying. the appointment scheduling, the car maintenance. He won't let you touch the dishes. He physically removes your hands from the laundry basket. You tried to vacuum once and he looked so genuinely distressed you thought he might cry.

"l just want you to have a good life," he said once, when you confronted him about it. "I want to give you everything. The nice things. The expensive things. You deserve— you deserve so much, and I can't— I have to—"

He couldn't finish the sentence. His throat closed up. You held him for an hour.

That was six months ago. He's gotten worse since then.

Now he's sitting in his office chair at four in the morning, vibrating with exhaustion and the desperate, delusional belief that if he just works hard enough, he'll finally be worthy of you.

As if he isn't already. As if he hasn't been since the day you met him.

You take his face in your hands.

He freezes.

His eyes go wide and wet and immediately. instantly. all the fight drains out of him. His shoulders drop. His jaw unclenches. His breathing hitches and then slows, and he's looking up at you like you're the sun and he's been living in a cave for a thousand years.

"There you are," you murmur.

He makes a soundーa tiny, broken thing, half sigh, half whimper一and leans into your touch like a cat seeking warmth.

"Baby," he whispers, and his voice cracks on it.

"I've got you. Come on. We're going to bed."

"But the report—"

"Fuck the report."

He blinks. You never say things this... aggressive.

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay."

You take his hand and pull him to his feet. He stumbles. He actually stumbles. Your strong, capable, hyper competent boyfriend can't even stand up straight because he's so depleted. You have to hold him. And when you do, his forehead drops to your shoulder and he just... stays there. Breathing. Just breathing.

"I'm so tired," he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it.

It's the first honest thing he's said all week.

"I know, love."

"l just— I want to give you— want you to have一the necklace, the blue one, I saw you looking at it, and I've been saving, I've almost got enough, l just need to finish this project and then I can—"

"You think I want a necklace?"

"..."

"You think I want anything more than I want you alive?"

He doesn't answer. But his hand clenches in your shirt.

Fuck.

He always have to make you emotional.

"Alright, we're going to bed."

He follows you.

Of course he follows you.

In the bedroom, you sit him down on the edge of the bed. He's still in his work clothes—button down wrinkled, top two buttons undone, tie somewhere lost in the office. He looks up at you with those huge, exhausted eyes, and you can see him trying to figure out what you want, what he should be doing right now to make you happy.

You peel his shirt off. He hold out his arms to help, even now, still trying to make it easier for you. His pants come next, then his boxers.

Such a beautiful man.

Your boyfriend is such a beauty.

So lucky he's going to be your husband.

"Do you trust me?" you ask.

His brow furrows. "Of course I trust you. I trust you more than— more than anything, more than—"

"Then lie down."

He lies down.

"On your stomach."

He rolls over. Hesitates for half a secondー just confusion一and then settles onto his stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, hands fisted loosely in the sheets.

You run your hand down his spine.

He start shaking. Full body. Like he's been electrocuted. A tiny, punched out sound escapes his throat, and his back arches into your touch before he can stop it.

"When's the last time you slept?" you ask.

"..Tuesday?"

"It's Friday."

"...Oh."

"Mmhm."

You keep stroking his back, slowy, tracing the knots in his shoulders, the tension that's been there for god knows how long. He's so tight it's like touching hot rock. He's been barely holding himself together and his body is screaming.

You lean down and kiss the back of his neck.

He sobs.

"Shh," you murmur against his skin. "I've got you. Let me take care of you. Just this once. Let me."

"I don't— I'm supposed to— you shouldn't have t一"

"You do everything for me. Let me do this for you."

He's crying now. Quietly, shamefully, face pressed into the pillow so you won't see. His shoulders are shaking and he's trying so hard to be quiet, to not be a burden, to not make this about him—

Fuck, he's such a mess.

Such a beautiful mess.

He's lying there naked and trembling and so vulnerable it gives you butterflies.

"Good boy." you whisper.

He whimpers. Actually whimpers. Like a fucking dog.

You reach for the drawer in the nightstand. The one he never opens because he's too busy taking care of you to even think about sex.

He hears the click of the lube cap and his breath catches.

"Baby—?"

"Shh. You're going to let me do this. You're going to let me take the stress out of you. And then you're going to sleep. Understand?"

"...Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes— yes, I understand— please—"

Please. There it is. The word he never says because he's too busy being the provider, the protector, the one who never needs anything.

You slick your fingers and then your strap一the one you bought specifically for this, for him, because you knew this day was coming, knew he'd eventually run himself into the ground and need someone to pull him back out.

Or maybe you just wanted to fuck him. But that's not important right now.

He's so tight. Damn, he's so tight.

Your first finger slides in and he gasps, back arching, hands fisting in the sheets.

"Breathe," you remind him.

He breathes. Shaky. Wet. Still crying a little.

"You're doing so well."

Another whimper.

You work him open slowly一so slowly. Because he deserves it, deserves gentleness, deserves to be handled like something precious instead of a machine that just runs and runs and runs.

He's making sounds you've never heard from him before. Little broken moans. Desperate, needy sounds. His hips are twitching, pushing back against your fingers, and he's babbling into the pillow.

"please—"

"I love you ughh—"

"Ahh fuck don't stop—"

By the time you're three fingers deep, he's a mess. Tears and pre cum and a flush that goes all the way down his chest. He's stopped trying to be quiet. He's just making noise—open mouthed, broken, gorgeous noise.

"Ready?" you ask.

"Uh-huh?"

He looks confused. So out of it already.

How cute :)

You position yourself behind him. Press in.

He keens.

A high, desperate sound that goes straight to your own core (of course you're wet, but tonight is just about him)一and his whole body goes taut for one second before it melts. All the tension, all the stress, all the months of holding himself together—it all dissolves as you push deeper.

"Oh— oh fuck— baby—"

You start to move. Slow at first. Letting him feel every inch of it, letting him adjust, letting him remember what it feels like to be taken care of instead of taking care of.

His hands are white knuckled in the sheets. His face is pressed into the pillow, mouth open, tears and drool soaking the fabric. He's moaning your name over and over like a prayer.

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.

So hot.

"You're so good." you tell him, picking up the pace. "You're so good to me. You work so hard. You take such good care of me. Now let me take care of you."

He sobs again. Nodding frantically into the pillow. His hips are pushing back to meet your thrusts now, desperate and uncontrollably, and he's so hard it's leaking onto the sheets but he hasn't even touched himself, hasn't even tried. He's just letting you use him, letting you fuck the stress right out of his body.

"Let go. I've got you."

He comes with a cry of your name. Ropes of it, hot and thick, painting the sheets under him. His whole body clenches around you一around the strap, around this moment, around the feeling of finally, finally letting someone else hold the weight.

You fuck him through it. Gentle. Lovingly. Until the last tremor runs through him and he goes completely limp.

And thenー finallyー he passes out.

Just like that. Face down on the bed, tears still wet on his cheeks, body finally relaxed for the first time in months. He's breathing deep and even, the way he hasn't breathed in weeks, and his pulse is slow and calm under your fingers when you check his wrist.

You clean him up. He doesn't stir. You wipe the tears from his face, the cum from his stomach, the lube from his thighs. You change the sheets around him—carefully, so carefully一and pull the blanket up to his chin.

He murmurs something in his sleep. Your name, maybe. Or l love you. Or both.

You kiss his forehead.

"Sleep well, honey."

He sleeps like a baby.

When he wakes up, the sun is streaming through the windows and the bed is empty and he panics.

What the fuck??

Where are you???

Fuck, he didn't made you breakfast—

He's on his feet before his brain catches up一stumbling, sore in a way that makes him pause for half a second...

Oh, right, last night, oh god—

And then he's moving again, grabbing the first thing he finds (your robe, pink, too small, he doesn't care) and following the smell.

Bacon.

Eggs.

Pancakes.

And you, standing at the stove in your pajamas, flipping pancakes like it's the most natural thing in the world.

He stops in the doorway.

"...Baby?"

You turn around. Smile. The smile that he loves more than anything in his miserable life.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Sit down. Breakfast is almost ready."

"But I— you— I always—"

"Yeah. I know. Today it's me. Sit."

He sits at the kitchen table and watch you cook.

He's confused. He's wearing your robe. He's sore. He doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

You set a plate in front of him. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs over easy, just the way he likes them. A glass of orange juice. A cup of coffee—JUST ONE— fixed exactly the way he takes it.

He just... stares at it.

"lt's not going to eat itself."

"I—" His voice breaks. He tries again. "You made me breakfast."

"I did."

"But I always make you breakfast."

"I know."

"I'm supposed to— you shouldn't have to—"

You immediately rush to him, take his face in your hands, and kiss him. Soft. Sweet. Syrup from your lips sticking to his.

"l love you," you say against his mouth. "l love you and you're running yourself into an early grave and I'm not going to let that happen. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to eat this breakfast. Then you're going to take a shower. Then you're going to tell me what's been going on at work. And then we're going to figure out a schedule that doesn't involve you dying of sleep deprivation. Okay?"

"But the chores—"

"We'll split them."

"The bills—"

"We'll look at them together."

"l just want to give you everything," he whispers, and his eyes are wet again, and god, he's so tired of crying but he can't seem to stop. "You deserve the world. And I can't— I can't give you anything if I stop一"

You kiss him again. Harder this time.

"You are the world, you idiot. You're my world. And I need you alive in it. So eat your pancakes."

He laughs. It's wet and snotty and a little hysterical.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." He picks up his fork. Looks at the pancakes—perfectly golden, just the way he taught you一and his heart just skip a beat. "But I'm doing the dishes."

"Fine."

"And tomorrow I'm making you breakfast."

"Obviously."

"And tonight..." He pauses. Cheeks flushing pink. "Tonight can we... can we do that again? The... the thing. With the..."

You raise an eyebrow. Smile.

"You want me to peg you?"

He buries his face in his hands, "Oh my god."

"Is that a yes?"

"...Yes."

"Then sure. But only if you promise to sleep at least six hours every night this week."

"l promise."

"And eat lunch."

"l promise."

"And let me do the vacuuming sometimes."

"...I'll think about it."

You laugh and ruffle his hair and he leans into your touch like a starving man offered bread.

He's still a mess. But he's eating. He's sleeping. He's sitting at the table in your too small pink robe with syrup on his chin and a soreness in his body that's painful in a good way.

And when you sit down across from him with your own plate and your own coffee and your own smile, he looks at you like you're a miracle.

"Thank you," he says.

"For what?"

"For..." All of it. For not leaving him even when he's disgusting. "Everything."

"Eat your pancakes."

"Yes ma'am."

He eats his pancakes.

He's going to be okay.

You'll make sure of it.

If you want to be in my taglist let me know :)

you're not entirely sure why he never takes it farther than giving you your first orgasm. he'll use his fingers or his tongue or both, and then roll you over to go to sleep once you've come down from the high of pleasure he wrings out from you. and it's not like he's not turned on, you know that for a fact because he's always rock hard by the time he tells you to get some sleep. sadly enough, he's only let you use your mouth on him twice :(

unfortunately, you're always just a bit too floaty from your release to ever really fight him on it, but tonight you are determined to get to round two.

" 'm so close andy- please d-don't stop-!" is what you're whining against pope's lips as he lays next to you in bed. him only in his boxers and you only in your panties that are pulled to the side, as two of his thick fingers rub deep inside you while his thumb firmly circles your clit. your grip on his curls is probably painful, but he hasn't complained, he even groans a little when you yank them as you hike your leg higher up his waist to spread yourself even further for him.

the shlick shlick sounds of pope's fingers pumping into you paired with his warm, muscular frame that holds you close, has your body lock up tight in anticipation. one more swipe of his tongue against yours and the feeling explodes into white hot tremors that shake through you, from your spinning head to your flexing toes. "andrew andrew andrew", is all that sounds from you as you fall apart for him.

when you settle back into your body, pope gently removes his fingers that sparkle with your release then places a soft kiss to your nose. "so pretty. night sweetheart." his murmured words almost have you complying before you remember the task at hand. you follow when he rolls to lay on his back, crawling on him until you're straddling his tree trunk waist.

you rest your hands on his bare chest and whimper when you feel his hard on beneath you. " 'm not tired andy... lets keep going." pope blinks up at you for a second before his rugged face furrows in what looks like confusion. "but if we kept going… you'd have to— i don't want you to fake it for me."

um- what? your face mirrors his in perplexity now. "why- why would i have to fake it?" rolling your hips against the bulge in his boxers confirms that you definitely wouldn't have to fake any praise regarding how big he is.

pope stares at you as if this is some kind of test you're giving him, his large hands slide up and down your waist as his tone goes slightly cautious. "because you just finished and you need time before… you know. you can do it again." knowing your boyfriend and his inability to take anything lightly, you bite back your giggle at his words. "andy…" you explain slowly, carefully, "that's only true for men, not women."

he looks almost astonished, "what? r-really?" you nod in a gentle confirmation, no point in making him feel bad for not knowing something he clearly was never taught. you lean down to place tender kisses to his face. "you can make me feel good over and over again and i'll be able to finish. as many times as you want." pope's cheeks blush beneath your lips, grinding his hips up into yours enough to have both of you inhale sharply. "so… so i could use my mouth on you now?"

you hum in response, and even though the thought has your thighs squeeze at his waist, you're interested in something else. you both watch as you trace one of your fingers down his panting chest, then across each ridge of abs until you reach his waist band. "or…" you slowly slide your finger back an forth just beneath the fabric as you kiss his neck, "we could have sex."

his breath catches, swallowing once before saying, "you want to?" you're squirming on top of him in anticipation, words coming out all whiney but you don't even care. "so badly andy. need you inside me." instantly, pope is flipping you over until he's pressed on top of you, his lips moving against yours and his hand pulling off your panties is confirmation enough.

after he slides off his boxers, mutters one more, "you sure?", the two of you are moaning in between kisses as he pushes inside you, only starts to slide in and out of you after a minute of letting you adjust to his size.

already sensitive and vulnerable from your first orgasm, it's almost embarrassing how quickly you feel another one start to build when you feel pope's thick cock threaten to split you in half. it's a mess of tangled sweaty limbs, slow sensual strokes, and hushed "you f-feel s'good"'s, "you were made for me"'s that have you hiccuping and clawing at pope's muscular back.

he's intently watching your face as he makes love to you, tracking what angle makes you moan, what speed makes you twitch and what location of his kisses has you clench around him.

with his bottom lip tucked over his teeth in concentration, he hitches your leg higher up your waist to get even deeper inside you, causing his coarse hair at the base of his length to rut against your sensitive clit, and the body tingling pleasure rises uncontrollably.

your hands tighten at the nape of pope's neck and your legs shake around his waist as you whimper "gonna-gonna come andy! feels so- gonna- oh andy-!" he kisses you as you tighten and cry out his name, not changing his pace or the way he holds you at all in order to intensify your release. only when you regain some brain power do you realize he's still moving inside you.

his freckled face is squeezed impossibly tight, abs contracting with restraint, clearly trying not to come yet. "andy..?" you rub your thumb on his cheekbone and his eyes flutter open, hips faltering as he looks down at you. you peck at his lips. "you can come inside me. i wanna feel you."

pope quickly shakes his head as you both groan at a particularly deep thrust. "not yet. want-want you to gimme another one." your eyes widen at his raspy words when you realize what he means.

there's no time to argue as pope abruptly pulls out and flips you over, your yelp at the upwards yank of your hips quickly morphs into a moan as he easily thrusts back into your sopping cunt. "ffuuuucckk" is all he groans before starting to pound into you. a silent scream graces your lips as his cock stretches your soft walls relentlessly, keeping you lightheaded and tingly all over as you're filled by him completely.

his tight grip on your shoulder keeps you compliant for each powerful thrust, and you can barely hear your shaky moans over the slapping of his hips against your ass. pope's huffing and puffing behind you, desperately trying to fend off his own orgasm.

"c'mon. jus want one more sweetheart. p-please. give it ta'me." he grits out above your whines.

pope uses one strong hand at the base of your neck to press you into the mattress, and brings the other to roll your clit in between two chubby fingers. the angle has his his fat mushroomy tip rubbing against the softest part of you over and over and— "oh my fucking god andy im gonna-!"

your eyes roll back and you sob beneath him, not being able comprehend anything in your empty brain past the heat overtaking you and the stars twinkling behind your teary eyes. you're only vaguely aware and half conscious as the warmth of his come fills your fluttering pussy.

pope collapsing on top of you sobers you slightly, but not enough to do anything other than nod with a lopsided smile when he rolls you back over and asks "you okay?" as he gently licks up your tears.

your glazed over eyes flutter shut as he kisses you softly. your lips, then cheek… neck… breasts… stomach then— "think you can gimme another?" he rasps by the time he reaches your spread thighs and settles in between them with a hungry look on his flushed face.

maybe you shouldn't have told pope about the different refractory periods between men and women.

Nympho!Reader who gets off on the fact that Clark is Superman. You beg him to keep the cape on sometimes while he fucks you, clinging to the red fabric as he fucks you against the wall, super strength keeping you pinned exactly where he wants you.

Free Use!Clark who has bent you over his desk in the barn, in the back of his truck, in the shower, on the stairs, and once — very carefully — in the sky. He indulges every single craving you have without hesitation.

Nympho!Reader who gets dripping wet when Clark does mundane things — chopping wood shirtless, fixing the fence, wearing those gray sweatpants. You’ll walk up behind him, press yourself against his back, and beg him to take you right there in the yard.

Free Use!Clark who never makes you feel embarrassed for how much you need him. If you crawl into his lap during dinner and start grinding on him, he just pushes his plate aside, lifts you onto the table, and eats you out until you’re crying his name.

Nympho!Reader who loves being passed out from exhaustion only to wake up to Clark gently fucking you again because you whispered his name in your sleep and started rubbing against him.

Free Use!Clark who will pick you up, wrap your legs around his waist, and fuck you slow and deep while walking through the house like it’s nothing. He’ll carry you from the living room to the bedroom without ever pulling out, kissing you the whole way.

Nympho!Reader who keeps a butt plug in sometimes just so Clark can pull it out and replace it with his dick whenever he wants — though he usually ends up indulging you instead because you’re so desperate for him.

Free Use!Clark who finds you in the laundry room folding clothes and immediately bends you over the vibrating washing machine. He slides into you from behind while the spin cycle rattles hard against your chest, the intense shaking pressing right against your sensitive nipples as he fucks you deep and steady.

Nympho!Reader who can’t even pretend to focus on the laundry once Clark starts thrusting — moaning loudly as the machine’s vibrations buzz against your tits while his thick length stretches you open, coming harder because of the relentless shaking on your nipples.

Free Use!Clark who looks at his obsessed, insatiable girlfriend with nothing but pure love and lust in his eyes, because nothing makes him happier than knowing you need him this badly.