im not new to tumblr but i am new to posting and writing so plz be kind
im mostly gonna be writing x readers n such for various fandoms i'm in but there might be the occasional ship drabble lol mebe.. my fics will include nsfw works, but they will be explictly tagged soooo minors beware rawrrrr
anyways, feel free to request in my inbox (?... not sure how this works yet) in the meantime heres some awesome facts abt urs trulyy
i'm 18, infp, and holy cow i luv seals. i'm also super into danmei like tgcf, mdzs, and svss :33 ace attorney, seinen manga, rhythm games.. what else... superman and dc i suppose.. :P
alr dats abt it, i hope to see more of everypony >_0
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
everyone can thank @superbabetotherescue and this post for all of... this. This is my first time writing for Clark so I hope it's a-okay :)
wc: 1.3k
warnings: MDNI SMUT just pure submissive Clark smut. piv, coming in pants, Clark cries, overstimulation, the usual
The text you send him is filthy and he almost chokes on his coffee while he sits at his desk.
’can’t wait to see you later tn and fuck you stupid 🥰’
Jimmy looks over his shoulder and notices how red Clark is but doesn’t say anything about it, just laughs under his breath as Clark looks around the office to make sure no peeping eyes are looking at his phone, still so paranoid even after you got him a privacy screen.
Clark’s half hard in his pants, his pretty tip leaking precum from that simple text alone. He knows he’s in trouble at home.
“Fuck, Clark-” you pant as you grind yourself against his slacks. Your underwear is already leaving a wet stain on his pants.
“Honey,” he throws his head back against his the couch. He takes in a shaking breath and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s not going to cum yet, he tells himself. Not like every other time. But his hands are on your hips guiding you, your nails dig into his shoulders through the soft material of his button up, and his head is a dizzy mess.
“I’m not gonna..” He swallows, thick and rough, and his hands tighten on your hips. The pressure spurs you on.
“You will, Clark, you can last. I know you can. Because you’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” You coo into his ear.
That does it for him.
His hands keep you still as he comes in his pants. His cock throbs in his pants as he lets out a pathetic whine.
“Oh m’gosh. I’m so sorry,” he pants through his orgasm and you laugh under your breath.
“It’s okay, baby.” You assure him. You work at his wet pants to unbutton them and he whines again, this time from overstimulation. You smile to yourself when he hisses as the cool air hits his boxers.
“Such a mess, Clark. What am I gonna do with you, hm?” You ask mockingly. You palm his twitching cock through his wet boxers and moan at how much there is. Clark whimpers, stomach muscles spasming with the aftershocks.
“I- I dunno,” Clark shakes his head. He’s still staring up at the ceiling, blinking the white spots from his vision. “You’re just- I don’t know why- I’m sorry. I don’t want to be done. I want to make you feel good.” He finally looks at you like a dog being scolded - pathetic and desperation for your approval.
You run your clean hand over his jaw and cup his cheek and lean down to kiss his forehead.
“I know, baby. And you will. I’m not done with you.” You tell him before you’re grinding on him again. He lets out another hiss and his nails dig into your skin. Your warm slick mixing with his cooling cum makes you wetter. Your eyes close from the sensation and you let out a low moan. He’s already hard again.
“I-” Clark’s head is against the couch again and he’s licking at his lips, “I need to- need to be inside of you.” His cheeks turn red and you open your eyes to look at you. The look in your eyes is something close to hunger but the smile you sport is downright devious and if Clark were looking at you he would probably cum again.
You slide your panties to the side and pull Clark’s cock out of his underwear. Your free hand is on the back of his neck to steady yourself as you start to lower yourself down onto him. His flush tip barely slips into you when
“Hah-, wait!” His head snaps to look at you, panic in his eyes. And then you feel another hot load shoot into you, half of it painting your entrance, the other half making it inside of you, it smears against your thighs. “Sorry, m’sorry.” He whines as his body trembles when he orgasms again,
“Clark, seriously?” You ask, half in disbelief, half in amusement.
“I know, I know. It’s-”
“It’s okay,” You cut him off, but you’re starting to get impatient now. “Stop apologizing and just sit back, okay?” He gives a shaky nod but twitches again when you lower yourself another inch.
Everything is wet and warm and so, so good that Clark isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last. Again.
Even after coming twice already his cock feels like it’s splitting you open, his tip bullies against your cervix as you fully lower yourself onto him and you’re almost certain you can feel him in your tummy.
“Gosh, you feel so good.” His voices cracks, raises an octave, there’s tears in his eyes. “So tight, perfect-” He wraps his arms around you, big and warm and safe, pulls you into him until you’re chest to chest.
You nod, eyes closing from the pressure, and slowly start rocking your hips. His cum smears across his pants and your thighs, most of it beading around the base of his cock as you fuck it back into your tight cunt. He’s so thick that it takes you a few seconds of grinding into him to get used to his size but when you finally do that’s when you start bouncing on his cock.
That’s when Clark absolutely loses it.
Between your gummy walls contracting around him, his cum that you’re practically using as your own personal lube, the absolutely obscene squelching noises that you’re creating - he’s on the verge of another orgasm,
Sweat beads at his temple and he presses his forehead into your shoulder, shaking his head. You run a hand through his hair to soothe him.
“It’s okay, Clarky, it’s okay.” You repeat for the nth time that night. “You can come again but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop using you.” Your breath is warm against his ear and it sends goosebumps down his arms that tighten around you.
You raise your hips until only his tip is left inside of you and then you slam down, just roughly enough that you feel it in your legs, toes curling. Clark’s arms hold you still when he cums again from the pressure.
He’s panting against your chest, tears spill from his eyes as thick ropes of white paint your cunt the prettiest color of all - his.
“I can’t- it hurts.” He whines.
“Do you want to stop?” You ask. Your hips are less torturous now as you talk to him, small bounces now. One of his hands slides down to your ass and grips firmly at the muscle. He shakes his head.
“N-no. No. Not done. Wanna make you feel good. Please, I want you to come. Please come, honey, I need it.”
You smile and kiss his temple.
“You’re so good to me, Clark, aren’t you?”
He nods like he’ll die any second if he doesn’t make you come soon.
Clark ruts up into you, his movements meeting yours. His entire body is trembling, soft whines and moans leave his parted lips. He's muttering a quiet mantra of “please, please, please” and who are you to deny your boyfriend anything when he looks so pathetic beneath you?
You kiss the tears from his cheeks, his fingers dig into your sides. Despite how sensitive his cock is, how much it hurts but feels so, so good he pounds into you from below in an unsteady rhythm.
Your walls clench around him when you come, milking him again - you've lost count of how many times it's been. And Clark, being the gentleman he is, fucks you through your orgasm. You're slick meets his cum and you're so stuffed full by now that it's leaking out of your spasming cunt, creating a pornographic mess in Clark’s lap.
“So pretty - hah - you're so pretty when you come, honey. Goodness, feels so good when you get tight like that.” Clark mutters into your neck as his hips begin to even out and slow.
Your forehead connects against his shoulder as you let out a shuddering breath and you swallow dryly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: you take clark back to your hometown to teach him how to line dance. also he's in boots *drools*
tags: bf!clark kent x gn!reader, SFW for now..., fluff, line dancing n such, mebe ooc, COMES WITH FANART!!!!!!!!!!!!
wc: 1.1k drabble
a/n: lots of insight from my last post.. still i feel like western cowboy is the best cowboy. also i am mexican so i am super bias towards vaqueros... imagine whtv line dance u want to this but to me im making his ass dance payaso de rodeo
“come on, just this once?”
“i don’t really know.. you know i’ve got two left feet..”
clark rubs the back of his neck, nervously shifting in his brand new boots. boots that you had gifted him just earlier that week. you had forced him to wear them around your house to break them in preparation for tonight. despite this, he trailed behind you stiffly.
taking him line dancing was something you never thought of, considering the fact you spent all your time in the bustling city of metropolis. however, when you finally took him back to your home town in the south to meet your parents, it suddenly seemed like the most logical thing to do.
so naturally you gifted him a pair of perfect leather cowboy boots. clark had never owned such boots, being more accustomed to steel toes caked in mud and worn down with years of farm labor. still, he expressed his gratitude with a shower of kisses, immediately trying them on and showing off with a dorky little jig.
that confidence was nowhere to be found now, where you both stood off to the side of your dingy hometown bar. despite being on his second drink, he remained apprehensive.
"don't you guys dance in kansas?" you question, taking a sip of your drink. clark's brows furrow at this question, seeming a little speechless. "i mean ma and pa definitely do. i've seen them in the kitchen enough times to know.." he fiddles with the glass in his hands "but i never really learned.. didn't really expect to have anyone to dance with." he admits, looking bashful.
the sentiment makes your heart skip a bit. really you were grateful to be many of clark's firsts. you bite your lip, supressing a giddly smile. "sooo... you don't want to learn?" you tease, watching the way he turns sharply.
"i never said that! it's just..seems daunting. i don't want to embarrass you, you know?" he shrugs his shoulders. you roll your eyes at the suggestion. he could never embarrass you. you were nothing if not prideful to just be standing next to him. still, you fake sigh and rest your chin on your hand im fake contemplation.
"then i guess i'll just have to find some other handsome gentlemen in boots to dance with me..." you say and glance around to find every man there wearing boots. "no shortage of 'em it seems..." you mutter under your breath, knowing clark can hear.
his jaw drops for a moment before he scoffs "really? you can't pull that!" you just smile and look around thoughtfully, resisting the urge to giggle.
clark's eyes dart from you and the crowd, contemplating and trying not to panic, before finally.. "okay! i'll learn, just for you.." he admits. you grin and throw your arms around him "aweee! i knew you had it in you!"
clark smiles softly, seeming amused and a little satisfied at your reaction. truthfully, he was still nervous. on the way in you had greeted almost everyone you saw, even admitting that you didn't know half of them. still, the thought of messing up his debut as your boyfriend made him fidget. you saw this all of course, and grabbed his hand reassuringly.
"it'll be okay! how about i teach you from here for now.. " you suggested, staring up at him with pleading eyes. he pursed his lips, looked around and let out a sigh.
"you know i can't say no to you. alright, teach me then. but go slow.." he relented, chuckling softly as he watched your excitement increase tenfold.
"yes! alright, i have a feeling of what song they'll play soon.. soooo.." you grab his shoulders gently and make space where you stand at the side of the bar. clark lets himself be moved easily by you, looking amused watching you so focused on teaching him.
you stand side by side now, looking very determined. "alright! you ready?" you clap your hands together excitedly. clark laughs nervously but nods. " 'bout as ready as i'll ever be.." he says wearily and places his hands on his hips, which gets a giggle out of you.
"right! so you start off, two steps foward, two steps back, then-"
"-ah uh wait.. where do my hands go?" he asked, his hands now hovering awkwardly above his hips. you pause "uhmm... wherever you feel like they go! focus on your feet first." you say. clark mouths an "oh" and laughs nervously again, feeling embarssed at already having derailed the lesson.
you show him the first few steps, demonstrating alone with counts. clark watched very seriously, shuffling his feet around trying to copy your movements. he very obviously struggles, but you continue to praise him generously.
clark stumbles, holding your shoulder steady as he moves his feet this and that way. his glasses are starting to slide off because he won't stop looking down at his feet, so you gently push them up for him, your eyes meeting as you do so. it makes you giggle, the way he blinks a couple times before giving you a sheepish grin.
as you guide him, you don't shy away from the hands-on aspect of it all, even if it is a little unecessary. you keep your hand on the small of his back to "support" him and tap his thigh occasionally to remind him which leg goes where. he doesn't fluster as easily as he used to when you first started dating, but you notice the way he stares at you before asking you to repeat whatever direction you 'just' gave him.
after some time, the crowd in the bar gets noticebly more lively. defintely a sign of what's about to occur.
"okay, one more time all together. remember, you turn to your right after the kick." clark nods in understanding, brows furrowed like its the most important thing he'll ever have to do. of course, clark does it right as he does most things, albiet a little clumsily and stiff. to you though, its perfect.
"perfect! you got it babe!" you beam and grab his hands, swinging them happily. clark huffs a laugh, his ears going a bit pink. "you really think so?" he asks, actually feeling a bit confident. "of course! you look like a natural, born and raised." clark preens under the praise, smiling to himself like you can't see.
as if on cue, you hear the beginning strings of the song you just learned. slow and methodical, enough to give people time to down their glass, adjust their hat, and run to the dance floor. you look at clark expectantly, and this time he looks at you the same.
"no matter what, just follow my lead. 'kay?"
"yes ma'am." he says sweetly, leaning down to share a chaste kiss before you drag him through the crowd of people.
a/n: and then they danced the night away yayyy! nsfw sequel coming soon, guess the title lol. i tried making this pretty ambigious so u can think of any line dance, sooo. this took so long cause i wanted to draw clark in boots which u can find HERE! anyways sorry dis is so short, skewl n stuff..
summary: it's close to midnight in the daily planet and you have to finish your paper. but so does clark. how things will go when you're so close to the man that have been in your thoughts for months?
cw: +18. mdni. praise. semi-shy!clark. messy kissing. groping. fully clothed orgasm. gridding. thigh-riding. not proofread because i’m lazy.
taglist: @plaidcowboy @prismozo @lcvgty-4929 @kissmxcheek @deansbeer @alexxavicry @rottingpink ( to be added )
The newsroom felt hollow when the clocks had pushed past midnight. Most of the staff had long since gone home, but the fluorescent lights hummed above your head as if mocking you for still being there, hunched over your desk. The hum of computers and the low whir of the old heating system made up the soundtrack of your exhaustion.
Your eyes burned from staring at the screen, the cursor blinking on an unfinished sentence, but the work wasn’t done. Deadlines didn’t wait. You rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand and let out a long sigh, when a shadow stretched across your desk.
Clark.
Of course. He looked almost too put-together for someone else who had been chained to this newsroom for hours, his tie loosened but still neat, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing strong forearms that shouldn’t have been as distracting as they were. He smiled when you glanced up, that small, shy smile he always seemed to wear when the newsroom had thinned out and it was just the two of you.
“Still at it?” His voice was soft, almost apologetic, like he hated to disturb you even while checking in.
“Deadline,” you said simply, gesturing helplessly at your screen. “What about you? Shouldn’t you have clocked out hours ago?”
He chuckled nervously, eyes flicking down at the floor as if you’d caught him in something. That was Clark — always skirting around his own joke without fully leaning into it. “I guess I… lost track of time. Perry wanted a second draft, so…” He trailed off, shrugging those broad shoulders as if they didn’t carry the weight of the world.
You smiled, leaning back in your chair to stretch, your back cracking in protest. Clark’s eyes followed the movement, though he tried to disguise it with a push of his glasses back up his nose. You caught the flicker anyway. He wasn’t as unreadable as he thought.
The office air felt different with just the two of you. Less professional, more charged. You could hear the rustle of Clark’s papers as he gathered them, the scrape of his chair when he shifted, even the faint inhale when he worked up the courage to speak again. “You, uh… need help with anything?” he asked, hesitating just long enough to make you glance up.
The offer was genuine — Clark was always genuine — but there was something more in the way his voice caught. Something that made your stomach tighten and your thighs press together beneath the desk. You wondered if he felt it too, this humming energy that seemed to swell louder the later it got.
“Depends,” you said slowly, teasing without really meaning to. “What kind of help are you offering, Kent?”
The pink that touched his ears was immediate. He ducked his head, shuffling papers in a way that was almost comically bashful for someone so broad and striking. But you didn’t laugh. Because deep down, you didn’t want him to retreat. You wanted him to step closer, to close the distance in this too-bright, too-empty newsroom.
And when his gaze lifted again, hesitant but warm, you knew the night was going to unravel into something neither of you would be able to take back.
Clark didn’t step closer immediately. He lingered in that way only he could — like he was both rooted to the spot and yet drawn forward, pulled by something heavier than gravity. His papers landed on the desk beside yours with a soft thud, his hand brushing your pen by accident.
Or maybe not by accident.
Your breath caught, the small spark of contact more electric than it had any right to be. You glanced at him, expecting the same innocent smile, the casual shrug. But Clark wasn’t looking at the papers anymore. He was looking at you.
“I, uh…” He adjusted his glasses again, as if that could steady him. “I just… think you’ve been working too hard. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
The words, so simple, hit harder than they should have. Praise from Clark always sounded different. Maybe because he meant it. Maybe because he looked at you like he saw something more than just another byline. You tilted your head, pretending to be unaffected. “Careful, Kent. That almost sounded like flirting.”
Clark’s lips parted, his face flushing deeper, and for a second you thought he might retreat — laugh it off, apologize for overstepping. But instead, his voice dropped lower.
“What if it was?” Your stomach flipped. That was all it took — four words, hushed, almost swallowed by the hum of the lights overhead. The tension that had been simmering for months cracked wide open.
You stood before you could second-guess yourself, your chair scraping back against the linoleum floor. Clark mirrored you, towering as always, his height enough to make your pulse race. His hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them, and then, when you stepped closer, he found out.
Large, warm palms settled at your waist, tentative but certain enough to draw you in. You pressed against him, feeling the solid plane of his chest, the faint heat radiating off him. His scent — clean soap, paper, something sharper beneath — filled your head until it was all you could breathe.
“Clark…” you murmured, testing his name on your tongue in a way that made his grip tighten, just slightly.
He bent his head before you could say more, his mouth brushing yours in the softest kiss — shy, hesitant. But when you leaned up into him, demanding more, it unraveled into something messier. His glasses nearly slipped off from the angle, his nose bumping yours, your teeth catching on his bottom lip. He gasped softly, the sound half-embarrassed, half-needful, and you swallowed it in another kiss.
Your hands found his shoulders, sliding down over the swell of his biceps, anchoring yourself against him. Clark’s fingers flexed again, moving from your waist down, slow and deliberate, until his hands curved around the swell of your ass. He groaned — low, helpless — and pulled you tighter against him, as if the thought of space between you was unbearable.
The sound alone sent heat straight to your core. You broke the kiss, panting softly, your lips wet and swollen. Clark’s pupils were blown wide, his glasses fogged at the edges.
“You don’t… you don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, his forehead pressing to yours like he couldn’t bear to look away. “God, you—” He cut himself off, exhaling hard. “You feel so good.”
The praise, so raw and unfiltered, made your knees weaken. You ground against his thigh instinctively, the firm muscle beneath his slacks catching just where you needed. Both of you froze for half a second — him because he felt it, you because you realized you’d given yourself away.
But Clark didn’t pull back. His grip tightened on you, his breath ragged as he murmured, “Do that again.”
The look in his eyes made your breath catch — half nervous, half desperate. His thigh was still pressed between yours, solid and unyielding, and the way his hands gripped you left no doubt that he wanted you to move again.
But Clark… Clark was Clark.
“Here,” he murmured, suddenly letting go just enough to guide you back. He gestured toward your chair, the one you’d been slumped in for hours. The absurdity almost made you laugh — Clark Kent, six-foot-four of muscle and nerves, carefully lowering himself into your seat like he belonged there. He adjusted awkwardly, knees spread, the chair creaking under his weight. When he looked back up at you, his glasses slightly askew, his tie loose, the sight alone was enough to make your pulse race.
He patted his thigh, hesitantly, as though afraid he’d crossed a line. “If… if you want.”
Want didn’t even begin to cover it.
You stepped between his legs, palms braced on his shoulders as you lowered yourself over him. His thigh was firm beneath you, the muscle flexing as he shifted to give you more. You straddled it, the press of his slacks rough against the heat between your legs, and exhaled shakily.
“God…” The word slipped out before you could catch it.
Clark swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His hands hovered at your hips, then settled, tentative but grounding. “You feel—” He cut himself off, a nervous laugh bubbling out. “I mean, if this is—if you’re comfortable—”
“Clark,” you interrupted, grinding down just enough to drag against the muscle of his thigh. The friction was immediate, sharp, exactly what you needed. His breath hitched. You smirked faintly, leaning in until your lips brushed his ear. “I’m more than comfortable.”
That seemed to undo him. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding you down until you were pressed flush to him. You rocked once, twice, and his reaction nearly undid you — a ragged groan, his head falling back against the chair, glasses slipping further.
“God, you’re—” He broke off again, fumbling, but then his voice steadied into a husky whisper. “So perfect. Every part of you. I… I can’t believe you want me like this.”
Your lips crashed against his in a messy, desperate kiss. His tongue slid against yours, wet and uncoordinated, like he couldn’t keep up with the heat between you. He kissed you like he was starved, like he’d been holding back for months and finally couldn’t anymore.
You ground harder, riding his thigh in a steady rhythm now, the drag of fabric against your core sparking through you. The angle forced you to cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders. His hands roamed lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you down so the friction was deeper, rougher.
Clark’s praise spilled out in broken gasps between kisses.
“Just like that.”, “You’re incredible.”, “Feels so good—God, you feel so good.”
His words, so earnest, so raw, only pushed you further. You could feel how hard he was beneath his slacks, pressed against your hip, but still he gave you everything — his focus, his thigh, his hands steady at your body as if this was enough for him. Your rhythm grew frantic, desperate. Heat coiled low in your stomach, pleasure building with every grind. Clark’s forehead pressed to yours, his glasses crooked, his voice trembling.
“That’s it. Don’t stop.” He kissed you again, sloppy and breathless, lips wet with yours. His thigh flexed beneath you, intentionally this time, and you cried out, clinging tighter.
It was too much. The friction, the praise, the sheer overwhelming closeness of him. You rocked harder, faster, chasing it, until your body broke — release rushing through you in hot, shuddering waves.
You buried your face against his neck, muffling the moan that tore out of you as you came against his thigh, still fully clothed. Your hips stuttered, trembling with aftershocks, Clark’s hands holding you steady. His breath was ragged, his voice breaking into your skin. “God, you’re beautiful. You—” He groaned softly, almost reverent. “You did so good.”
Your thighs quivered around him, your chest heaving. You lifted your head just enough to see him — glasses fogged, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing. And still, his gaze on you was nothing short of awed.
The newsroom was silent except for the uneven rhythm of your breathing, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. You were still perched on Clark’s thigh, your body trembling from the aftershocks, your forehead pressed to his shoulder. His shirt was damp where your breath had warmed the fabric, but he didn’t move. Didn’t rush you. Just held you there.
Clark’s hands, broad and steady, smoothed down your back like he was afraid you might fall apart if he didn’t anchor you. His touch was reverent, almost cautious, as though he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured finally, voice low and hoarse in your ear. He sounded shy again, but there was a steadiness beneath it — a conviction. “I’ve never… never had anyone like you.”
You pulled back enough to look at him. His glasses were crooked, his hair mussed, his cheeks flushed pink, but his eyes… God, his eyes were wide and warm, overflowing with something that made your chest ache. “You make me feel—” He stopped himself, shaking his head with a little laugh that was more nerves than humor. “I don’t even have the words.”
You smiled, brushing a thumb across his jaw, rough with stubble. “That’s a first. Clark Kent, speechless.”
His laugh this time was softer, genuine. “You’ve always done that to me.”
For a moment, you just stayed there — straddling him in your chair, his arms around you, the weight of what just happened settling between you. It wasn’t awkward. If anything, the silence hummed with the same charge that had been building for months, now brighter, sharper.
You leaned in, kissing him again. It was slower this time, deeper. Not messy, not frantic — just soft, grounding. His lips lingered against yours like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth.
When you pulled back, he looked at you like you’d hung the stars outside the office windows. “Can I…” He hesitated, his hands flexing at your hips. “Can I take you out? Properly, I mean. Not just—” His cheeks flushed deeper. “Not just this.” Your heart skipped. For all his size, all his strength, Clark’s vulnerability hit harder than anything else. “I’d like that,” you whispered. The relief in his smile made your chest tighten. He pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling softly.
“Good. That’s… that’s good.” He chuckled under his breath, flustered again, and gave your hips a reassuring squeeze. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about you now.”
You grinned, shifting just enough to make him jolt beneath you. His eyes went wide, his breath stuttering. “Already thinking about round two, Kent?” you teased. The flush spread all the way to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t mean—”
You kissed him again, cutting off his fumbling, smiling against his mouth as his hands instinctively pulled you closer.
And in that moment, with the newsroom still lit around you, the work forgotten, and Clark Kent flushed and flustered beneath you, you realized one thing with absolute certainty: this was only the beginning.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hiiiii can you possibly write a sub clark kent where hes like on his knees crying and begging the reader for forgiveness after getting into an argument and then lead to more…. tehe 🌷
ೀ at your mercy
summary: clark misses your anniversary dinner and is eager to make it up to you anyway he can (reader doesn't know he's superman)
tags: sub!clark kent x :dom!f!reader , reader is a little mean but.. , mebe ooc clark. he's super puppy in my mind sooo, dacryphilia, oral f!receiving, cumming in panst, cumming untouched, leg humping, clark is on his KNEES look 18+ MDNI
wc: 2.5k
a/n: EHEHEHHEEE.. mmyess yeds.. perfect.. yes.. clapping my hands like a seal ehehehehe PLEASE REQ MORE SUB CLARK thank you not so anonymous friend <3
it wasn't surprising really. you shouldn't be dissapointed. you aren't, really. at least that's what you keep telling yourself. it shouldn't be surprising that you sit alone in your apartment, heels discarded but dress still on, staring at the wall. you had already wasted an hour at that fancy greek place that only accepted reservations months in advance. waiting and waiting and.. well nothing.
it shouldn't be surprising that you left quietly, ignoring the pitying look the hostess gave you. it was nothing new really. you took a cab home, tipped him generously, and now... you're here.
dissapointed and a little surprised. it was your anniversery after all.
clark made a big show of buying a nice dress shirt for the occasion weeks before, something rare because he 'wanted to impress his girl' you were supposed to see it on him tonight. you probably wouldn't though, and the dress you saved up for would probably be discarded in the back of your closet, forgetten until the next year. you sigh, it's a really pretty dress.
you're frustrated , yes. hurt too. angry maybe. but before anything, you're dissapointed in yourself for having hope. he always does this, you tell yourself. clark's tendency to leave you hanging, no texts or calls, only to show up hours later is.. well.. something you thought you could look past. you didn't mind it as much in the beginning. everyone has their secrets, even you. you didn't mind it because everything else about clark outweighed that flaw. his charm, his smile, his complete and utter kindness and endless generosity. his adorable quirkiness and sometimes awkward personality. his ability to just sweep you off your feet and make you stumble over your words. he's the epitome of boyfriend, hell maybe even husband, material and yet here you are. again.
"whatever.." you mutter to youself, even though it really isn't whatever. you click on the tv and watch whatever late night news is broadcasting. some fire that started in some luxury apartments, suspected arson by god knows who. you tune it all out, thoughts spiraling until finally..
you hear the soft jingle and click of keys outside your door and the unmistakeable labored breathes of your very guilty boyfriend. your eyes are still trained on the tv.
"hey baby..." he says, sounding breathless and definitely aware of what he's done. "listen i'm so sorry. i know that doesn't fix anything and.. gosh i just feel so awful. i really am so sorry.. see i was on my way and--"
you're not listening. well you are, but, you're making no effort to acknowledge him. you keep your face neutral and pretend to be interested in tomorrows forecast. possible thunderstorm... amazing..
"--and i just got so caught up i lost track of time. and..." as clark rounds the couch and finally faces you, he realizes just what he's done. his heart breaks even further when he notices the dress, a new one he hadn't ever seen. "oh baby... gosh you look so beautiful.."
he kneels beside the couch when you remain silent. "jeez... i really screwed up this time. i'm so sorry sweetheart i really didn't mean it. i should have called or texted or something... you got all dolled up and here i am.. gosh..." he looks down, biting his lip and looking like a kicked puppy.
"you have every right to be hurt and to hate me.. but please, baby.. talk to me. yell at me, hit me.. anything.." he pleads, gripping your ankle and resting his forehead on your knee. he really looks pitful like this. his big frame looks comically small when he's resting at your foot. you can't see his face like this but you can feel the heat of his breath against your leg. he smells oddly like smoke and sweat. you ignore it and roll your eyes, clicking your tongue.
this gets a reaction out of him. his head shoots up as a choked sound escapes him. "baby! i-i'm sorry i really am.. but don't give me the silent treatment.. you know how much i hate it.." clark whines, gripping your leg tighter. "just say something!" he pleads.
it really is tempting to just scoop him up in your arms and coo that it's okay, that you forgive him and kiss him senseless. and maybe you will later, but right now you're tired of it all. your eyes meet his desprate ones, and for a moment his breath catches. theres a pause.. and then you roll your eyes... again. you sigh and stand up, not caring that he's still clinging to your leg like a puppy. at this point, you're playing a little dirty, aiming just to hurt him a fraction of the way he hurt you. he hasn't exactly earned your forgiveness just yet.
you attempt to take a step foward, but clark is a big man and oh so determined. "w-wait! y/n, please... just talk to me!" his voice is pathetic and catches in his throat, a tell tale sign of how emotional he's getting. it hurts something in you and maybe you start to feel a little guilty but... a little pettiness never hurt.
you look down on him with a distasteful look, and you can tell just how surprised he is at such a face being aimed at him. you only ever look that way at other men who are bothering you. and right now clark isn't any different from them. his eyes glisten a bit and his throat catches as he gulps painfully.
"our anniversery, kent." you state, crossing your arms.
he's speechless for a moment, you never call him that, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and hugging them. "i know, i know baby. i'm sorry, i'm sorryimsososorry..." his voice is muffled a bit, but judging by the way his shoulders are hunched and the iron grip he has on you, you guess he's probably close to crying. too bad you're kinda into that.
"really? you're sorry?" you question and scoff a bit. he looks up and nods frantically, eyes red. "uhhuh! i'm really sorry baby, i-i'll do anything.. just forgive me.. please?" his voice breaks as fat tears finally slip down his eyes. his lip trembles as he pouts, big doe eyes staring at yours. you feel something stir in you, deep and slow. you bite your lip at the sight of your boyfriend, on his knees, face red and eyes glittering.
"i sat there waiting all night while you ran aroud the city doing god knows what. how do you think that feels?" now you're getting a little emotional. really it was humiliating, to have to make excuses for a man like clark.
he chokes back a small sob, pressing his face against your legs, glasses shifting uncomfortably so. he sniffles and you can feel the wet smear of tears on your bare leg. "ngh... 'm sorry dear... please pleaseplease just let me make it up to you.. 'm begging.." he cries, hands grippng the backs of your thighs so hard like he's afraid you'll fly away.
you bite the inside of your cheek and look away. it's getting really tough now. your hand slithers down to his curly hair, brushing it aside and gripping it gently. "you're pretty when you cry, kent." you whisper. he whimpers and sniffles, rubbing his face on your legs before gazing up at you, all teary and pretty. you comb the hair from his forehead and trail your hand to his cheeks, rubbing the tears from his eyes. his lashes are clumped together and his nose is precious shade of pink. your hand finds his bitten lips, slightly swollen and wet. you run your thumb across them, parting them and tugging his bottom lip down. his lips part just enough to let your thumb in.
his mouth opens compliantly as you press down on his tongue. he groans a bit as you play with his mouth. you slide your two fingers in, feeling the warm heat of his mouth and demand. "suck." and clark does just that, lips closing around the digits. it feels better than it should considering the context. even better, it seems that the man beneath you is getting something out of it, judging by the deep labored breaths he's taking. you pull your fingers out and shove his head back a bit, trying to get a clearer look at growing bulge in his pants. your eyes meet his.
"mind explaining why you're like this, considering you haven't done much to deserve it. quite the opposite in fact."
clark pants heavily and whines at the implication. "mfmplease.. please, i know i don't deserve it but.. but i can smell you.." his face crumples, and he sniffles. he doesn't bother adjusting his crooked glasses, instead choosing to hug your thighs closer to him. ".. i can smell you 'n it's driving me crazy.. please..." he presses a kiss to your thigh, right near the hem of your dress. "please.. just let me make it up to you.." he begs.
you stare for a bit. you were really angry then but now you just feel bad. you roll the thought around in your mind for a bit. i mean... it would make you feel better. you sigh for the thousandth time.
"fine. go on."
his reaction is immediate. he sighs in relief, peppering kisses all along your thighs and gripping them so hard you think you might fall. he whispers "thank youthank you... oh sweetheart thank you" and "'m so sorry." over and over. he pushes up the hem of your tight dress above your hips, groaning at the sight of your panties eye level with him. you can't help the breath of relief that escapes you, especially when he lays a kiss right in the center.
he mouths at you through the cloth, kissing and dragging his tongue through what he can reach, though eventually he places his hands in between your thighs and carefully spreads them as you stand. you hiss at the feeling of his tongue poking and prodding at your folds, the way his hot breath contrasts with the cooling dampness of your underwear. clark groans, sucking at the wet fabric until he decides enough is enough. he grabs the waistband of your panties and tugs down in one swift motion. "ahh.. clark!" you fuss. but he's not really listening.
his thumbs find your fold, spreading them before he dives in. he whimpers at the taste of you, at shudder running down his back in relief. his tongue smacks obscenely as it moves from your folds to your clit. if theres one thing about clark you'd miss, it's the way he devours you with full devotion and determination. his tongue and fingers move in tandem, rubbing your clit furiously and licking up your arousal. he's loud when he does this, moaning softly like it's the best meal he's had in ages.
your hand finds his hair, gripping his curls and pushing his face futhere down as if it isn't enough. your legs are starting to feel a little weak and yet you grind down on his face, moaning with him. "yesyesyes.. thank you baby.." he whimpers, using his fingers to gently tease your entrance. "mmfmmtaste so good.."
your breath hitches when his fingers finally enter you, thrusting and searching for that one spot that makes you squirm. when he finds it, you almost double over in pleasure, holding his head in both hands. "c-clark.." you whine. he groans in response, moving his fingers faster. the stimulation is so overwhemling you do end up losing your balance.. almost.
you stumble, regaining your footing easily... said footing being on clark's noticeable bulge. but right before you could take it off, you hear him let out a high pitched whine at the pressure. sensing an advantage you keep it there, holding his head where it's at, and rubbing at him with your foot. he lets out a strangled cry. still he can't help himself and ruts against your foot.
"thank you sweetheart..feels so good thankyouthankyou" he mutters against your heat before continuing to press wet kisses along it. he's thrust up into you foot at this point, practically trying to hump your leg. he mewls when his clothed length rolls against the plane of your shin. it's not the most effective way to get off but clark doesn't mind. he's not the focus.
his eyebrows are pulled taught, ignoring the way his glasses are sliding down his face and fogging up. instead he continues to pump his fingers, keening at the obscene noises your arousal makes. his lips pull and suck at your own, prodding at your clit and rubbing it until he feels the tell tale tense in your thighs.
"a-ah.. clark.. i-i'm almost.." you gasp out, giving a harsh tug at his hair, receiving ragged whine in response. he kisses at your clit, thumbing it with his free hand "c'mon baby.. please please.. give it to me.." he places another loud kiss "just let go.." he whisperss.
even you can't resist his pleading, feeling yourself tense up with the quickly rising heat in your abdomen. you ride his face, gasping his name as you feel yourself near the edge. clark picks up his speed, writhing against your leg and abusing that one spot you love.
he feels your walls clench around his fingers as you spill over with a string of curses. his mind feels hazy and clouded as he laps up your heady scent. you're all he can taste and smell, and the thought is enough to drive a tremor through him. he keeps his mouth on you even after you've come, grinding frantically against your leg trying to chase his release.
you've never really seen him like this, completely drunk on your taste, getting off without you even touching him. you can tell by the way he's huffing and groaning into your heat, yet it still seems he's holding back.
"its okay baby, come for me.." you coo and thread your fingers in his hair. he shuts his eyes, keening as he lets out a punched out moan. "nghnn..hnn" you feel his hips stutter for a bit before he rests, panting heavily against your thigh, his large shoulders shaking. he shudders and sniffles.
"that's enough.." you say softly, and pull his face away from your legs, kneeling down alongside him. "nnhuh? o-oh.." realizing he was still trying to mouth at you, clark feels a little embarassed about his state. still, those glittery blue eyes look at you expectantly.
you huff and smile, pulling him close, petting his head "its alright clark, i forgive you.. it's okay." he lets out a ragged breath and nods, sniffling as he rubs his face against your neck.
"...'m sorry baby.. thank you."
"shhhh... enough. just... don't pull that again okay?" you coo, running your hands up and down his broad back trying to soothe him. who knew he was such a crybaby.
he nods, relaxing in your embrace as his breathing evens out. no surprise, by the end of the night, it's still you comforting him. you don't mind it this time.
a/n: yayy my first fic. sorry its probably really ooc and theres not much real superman but liek... clark kent >>> superman ykwim? also, first real time writing smut and publishing it gulp.. erm plz be kind and give me pointers maybe. anyways thank u 4 reading and subscribing to my sub big beefy men propaganda campaign.
