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The tension in his neck, his jaw! Those thick thighs, bulging biceps! The adrenaline! My battle-focused man handing back 1A! Oh Big Blue, I love when you're rough and rowdy
summary: Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, neighbors to friends to lovers, whipped clark kent, he is a gentleman, clark and reader are horny for each other, oral (f receiving). clark has a BIG DICK, unprotected p in v sex, creampie.
wc: 3.4k words.
a/n: first of all... thank you so much to @tw1sters for managing and giving me the chance to take part in this SEXY event! i had so much fine writing it ahhh. second, hugeeeee thanks to @theworstwolvie and @clarknsun for being the first one to read and comment on this one, i am truly grateful. third, @sparklingsin!!!!!!!!! YOU AND YOUR TALENT HELLO i love the header sooo much thank you for making time to make it for me. i love all of you (and you readers too) very dearly <3
KENT masterlist | masterlist
You live in a humble apartment located in the heart of Metropolis. With a good amount of room for one person, every night, the sound of the traffic around you would hum like white noise, the high floor-to-ceiling window showing you the perfect view of the city’s nightlife—you mostly never closed the curtains in your living room—hell, you could even view Superman fighting one of his weekly villain fights through it.
Yet the thing that made you love it even more—to the point where you would rather be inside all day than go out with your friends, declining their offers—was not those.
It was your perfect neighbor: Clark Kent.
You pegged him as the ultimate neighbor since the first day you moved in. As the moment he saw you struggling with your boxes of too much stuff, he immediately offered to help.
Lifting up three heavy objects that were filled with your heavy kitchen appliances and bathroom necessities too easily, you can’t help but stare at those bulging biceps as he moved around. Quickly looking away every time you feel like he’d almost catch you.
And let’s just say your moving-in process was finished in just an hour, rather than the whole afternoon, with his help.
“I’m Clark, by the way,” mentioned the broad and tall man as he brushed his palm against his jeans, with his thick rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his deep dimples and boyish smile that you were sure would make you do a double take if you saw him on the streets.
“I live next door,” he pointed to the unit next to you.
So– you have a good view of the city AND a hot neighbor too? You really felt like you hit the jackpot with this one.
You smiled and offered him your name. “Nice to meet you, neighbor. I hope we could be good friends then.”
He nodded, lips curling up even more. “Just knock if you need anything. I’ll leave you to it?”
Humming, you then lead him out of your boxes-filled apartment, thanking him one last time.
You thought it would stop with him acting like a decent person—just helping a girl out with her things, but it didn’t. Later that night, you heard a knock on the door.
Looking up from your kitchen floor, you fixed up your shirt before padding down the hall. Checking the peephole to see the same new neighbor—Clark—carrying a plate filled with what you presume were freshly baked cookies.
Your eyes widened as you opened the door and saw exactly that. His soft smile, the scent of sweetness and the warmth emanating from the cookies almost made your heartbeat quicken.
“Sorry to bother you,” he fixes up his glasses with his free hand, then offers the plate out.
“Housewarming gift. Freshly made– though please do not mind if it’s not that good.”
You looked down at the plate, taking it, then up at him again. “Clark– wow, you didn’t have to…”
His smile softened immediately. “I wanted to. Hope you enjoy it.”
You breathed out a small thanks before he left you to continue your organizing.
The next day, you knocked on his door. His once-filled plate with cookies was now replaced with chocolate muffins you made all morning.
His surprise was evident, soft red hues creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t make those cookies just so you could bake me something as well,” his brows knitted.
“Well, consider it as a thank you for helping me out yesterday.”
He sighed softly. “Thank you,” with his classic, shy smile.
Then it continued. Always using the “I cooked too much” as a reason.
You’d give him your signature pasta recipe, and he’d return it the next day with a pan of freshly baked pie. He’d give you some homemade chicken dish he told you he learned to make from his Ma, you’d return it with a pint full of ice cream you made (just for him).
Though it went on and didn’t stop with the both of you casually exchanging meals.
Your kitchen pipes weren’t working? He’d be there in seconds with a wrench in his hand after you asked for help. Your eyes zeroed the moment his shirt went damp, making it practically transparent. You gulped as you stared at how his back muscles shifted with every move.
You didn’t know he could hear the way your breath hitched, though. His own body reacting the same as he could feel that you were also being affected by the closeness of the moment.
“Just need it to be tightened up,” he hummed, looking up at you from his knees just before the under-sink cabinet.
“Oh–” you straightened up, his voice breaking the trance you were in. “All fixed then?”
“Yeah…” he murmured as he stood up, his tall figure towering over you.
You felt your neck straining. “Thank you, Clark.”
“No worries. I’m open to help you with whatever, okay?”
Whatever, huh?
You almost choked at your own spit with the thought of him helping you with whatever. Immediately pushing those… thoughts down.
“Okay,” you managed to rasp out.
He smiled again before he continued with his day.
“Fuck…” you muttered to yourself the moment you closed your door, your forehead thudded against the wood.
More happened.
You were cooking, realized you were out of some ingredients, and went to him.
“Hey, sorry to bother you… but I’m cooking something, and I just realized that I’m out of onions. Do you potentially have any spare ones?” you asked him sheepishly.
Clark cursed to himself because he didn’t have any. He wanted to keep being the one you go to with every struggle you have; he wanted to keep being your lifeline and salvation, so what did he do?
“I’m sorry I don’t… though I’m gonna go out,” a lie. “Soap’s running short,” another lie. Clark literally just bought a full bottle yesterday.
“Really? Would you help me get some onions then?” your eyes gleaming with anticipation, but not wanting to burden him.
“Of course,” he smiled. “I’ll go get some for you.”
He returned less than 30 minutes later with a bag of onions and some snacks you mentioned you liked weeks ago.
You flushed, thanked him, and he nodded before leaving.
Week after week, it kept happening. It was like the both of you were trying to make excuses to see each other even more.
Purposefully switching up your mails with each other. When he saw your balcony railing wobbled just below an inch, he’d offer to fix it immediately. He heard you struggling with your shopping bags after a day out? He would take it from your hands, letting you carry nothing in your hands.
The both of you started to get closer. Unprompted movie nights in his unit, baking and cooking together, even doing nothing but enjoying a warm cup of tea as you both sit on the lounge chairs on your balcony, sharing childhood stories and laughing together.
Oh, both of you were falling deep.
The gaze held longer, smile now softer—deeper in a way—nothing like you ever shared with other people. You told him about your day, your stressful work, your family—and he told you about his life.
It was sweet, really. Clark Kent was sweet.
At this point, he knew everything about you. How you take your coffee, how your nose scrunched before you let out his favorite free laugh every time he made one of his stupid jokes, how sweet you smell whenever his touch lingered just on your thighs whenever you whispered a secret to him, how your pulse thrummed so evidently the moment he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.
And you knew everything about him as well. How his eyes would crinkle with amusement when you rolled your eyes and acted all annoyed, how his hand would linger around you as you both worked around the kitchen, how his body would tense, how his breath would hitch every time you told him something about yourself. Every time you draped yourself on his lap while watching one of the romcoms you forced him to see.
You felt it. The palpable tension, so thick you could cut it with a dull knife, through the not-so-innocent touches, the whispered words—He felt it too. The problem was, Clark Kent is too much of a gentleman to break those boundaries first, and there’s no way you’re the one who’d tear the bandaid off.
So the both of you didn’t advance into anything more than his arm around your shoulder as you both relaxed, or your arms around him as you let out your stress through the feeling of his warmth and scent wrapped around you.
Until one day.
You told him you were buying a couch, and even made him help you pick the color and measure your space. So the moment it arrived, he was at his feet instantly. Going down to carry the box filled with the parts.
It should be normal now; he’s helping you make furniture and fixing around your place, though he usually didn’t use this thin, figure-hugging compression shirt that made all of his muscles look swollen.
He made you stay out of it completely, just like always, not wanting you to do the work at all—yet you can’t help but linger.
You can’t help but ogle him—practically sexualizing him inside of your head.
The way his bicep would flex with every twist of the screwdriver, his veins popping under his sleeves through his forearm, making you wonder if those blood vessels would also look this enticing around his cock.
Your thighs clench the moment he lay under the couch as he tightened the bolts there. His shirt was riding up to reveal a patch of his skin, covered with soft hairs leading down to his crotch.
And he knew. He could practically smell the heavy, sweet smell of your arousal. He could hear the soft breaths you didn’t even know you let out every time he shifted, and his shirt went up even more.
His own body starts to heat up, flushing even though all of his blood was going south. He was thankful that he opted to wear his baggy sweats rather than his tight jeans.
Nevertheless, you saw his bulge start to thicken under the grey fabric. Eyes widening, you immediately looked away.
Clearing your throat. “Do you want some water?”
He looked up, noting the way that you were more fidgety than usual. “Yeah. Sure, thanks.”
You gave him a tight-lipped smile before walking through the kitchen.
Clark couldn’t help but fixate his eyes on your form. Your soft curves swaying with every step, ass peeking out of those short shorts that—the fact that it was always shorter than the last made it obvious that you want him to see. But he can’t. He can’t lose his control–
Gods, you were bending over the freezer now.
He shut his eyes, sucking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. He felt it wavering—his self-control thinning with every quiet hum you let out of your lips.
His fingers tightened around the whatever tool he was holding instantly. His cock throbbing inside his boxers, wanting—needing to be freed from the confinement and the pressure.
You knelt beside him, handing him the cold water. “All good?”
He cleared his throat, hand brushing over the couch’s fresh cushion to distract himself. “All good.”
You then helped him, fingers brushing his palm, lingering on his forearms whenever he asked you for a tool, and you’d give it. You also made it more obvious now that you saw him get hard.
You would blatantly eye him up and down, bare thighs brushing against his hands– you were horny.
Clark Kent made you horny, and he was the only one who could fix it.
His fingers would tighten around the wooden foot, and you imagined it was you instead. He’d let out grunts, and you imagined that it was you pulling it out of him, how he would probably praise you instead of dirty talking just because he was so respectful—too respectful.
He gulped as he watched how your breath starts to quicken, mirroring it unconsciously.
Then– Click.
The last bolt—the last piece of the couch was put in place. Dragging you back into reality.
“You’re done?” you asked.
He nodded, and you immediately sank down onto the new couch. Shifting around to feel the soft padding underneath you.
He joins, and your thighs grazed immediately, making you almost jolt—the neediness heightening back up inside you.
“It feels solid…” he murmured.
You finally glance at him, eyes low and half-lidded with lust. “Wanna test it?”
He eyed you, the way your chest heaved, pupils blown out before rushing forward and kissing the life out of you.
You stumbled with your lips, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him flush on top of you as you sank against the armrest. Lips parting, swiping your tongue along his lower lip before nipping it, making him groan out your name.
His fingers brushed along the hem of your shirt, lips separating from yours so he could kiss down your jaw and neck.
“Ask me to stop and I will, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.
You shook your head profusely.
“I need words…” as he pulled away to study your face, the way your eyes glossed with want.
“Please– I need you, Clark, please…” You whined.
“Of course,” giving a soft kiss on your cheek. “Anything for you, sweet girl,” another on your lips. The nicknames and his gentleness burned you inside out, making you fall deeply towards him more and more.
He finally lifted your shirt off gently, kissing every inch of your skin revealed. Unclasping your bra, groaning at the sight of your breasts bare before him.
You squirmed underneath him the moment he wrapped his soft pink lips around your hardened nipple. Back arching as your hands found his shoulder and squeezed it.
“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, kissing further down till his lips made contact with the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?”
“Yes– Clark, yes…” his hips lifting instantly as he hooked his fingers around it, pulling it and your panties with such softness and gentleness that no other man could give other than him.
He let out a shuddered breath as he spread your thighs open. The delicious scent of you hits all of his senses immediately.
He hummed as he saw how your folds glistened—borderline dripping. “Don’t wanna make a mess on the new couch, don’t we, sweetheart?” he whispered, before hooking your legs over your shoulder and diving right into it. Collecting all of your wetness—dragging his tongue on your hole up to your clit, making you let out a quiet cry.
“Clark–!” fingers snaking through his curls, tugging them as you held yourself back from grinding your hips against his mouth.
He looped his arms around your thighs, mouth expertly working you out—all the while his gaze stayed on you. Watching every bit of your reactions, the way you threw your head back against the armrest, eyes rolled, lower lip stuck between your teeth as you hold back your sounds.
It was a sight he could never forget now. He was sure to etch it into the deepest crook of his brain.
You whined out his name the moment he pulled back, though. “I know… I’m gonna give you something better, okay?”
You nodded reluctantly, too weak, too drunk with pleasure to deny and fight him over it. You kept your eyes as he stripped out of his clothes. Hole fluttering and tightening around nothing the moment he was bare before you.
His cock—full of girth and length, was straining and slapping against his stomach. His tip red, glistening with his pre. “You’re– huge, holy shit…”
He let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll make it fit. Don’t worry,” as his fingers brushed your hair back, grazing along your cheekbones.
You hummed softly, parting your legs even more to accommodate his broad figure.
Clark lets out a moan as he begins to slowly slide his tip against your folds. “So wet… you’ve been wanting this, hm?”
The silent nod in your response made his heart bloom, because he had wanted this too. He imagined this happening too many times before—whether when he was with you or alone in his bedroom whispering your name as he stroked himself to the thoughts of you—and really, the reality was so much better for him.
The moment he finally pushed himself inside you? He broke. Letting out a deep guttural sound to the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped so perfectly around him—it was as if you were made for him, no– he was made for you.
And you felt the burn, the stretch, splitting you open from your inside. Your hands find his arms immediately. Making imprints of your nails as you dug into his skin from the feeling of the pleasurable pain.
“Clark–”
“Shh… open up for me, sweetheart. I know you can.”
He stayed still the moment he was buried deep inside you, fingers softly brushing along your bare skin as you began to relax.
You nodded, eyes looking up at him with adoration the moment the burn dissipates.
“All ready?” he asked softly.
“Yeah…”
The both of you let out choruses of moans as he began moving, slowly at first. He pulled your arms so you could wrap them around his neck, his own snaking around your back just to keep you close to him.
His forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good…” he whispered, pulling you into a deep kiss filled with passion. He kept his easy pace, but it was like he was holding back.
“More…” you moaned against his lips.
Who was he to deny you, his sweet, sweet girl, from pleasure?
He picked up his pace. Still deep, reaching to every inch of your walls, but it was more punishing now.
The couch starts to squeak underneath you—but you both didn’t care. Too captivated by the feeling of each other’s bodies to even notice the foot of the couch.
“Fuck–!” you moaned the moment he angled your hips. Your fingers now sprawled on the span of his back, raking it. Your walls began to clench around him tightly, making him fuck you deeper and faster.
“More!” you cried. And he served. His thrusts now punishing, both your chests panting. Your gasps and his moans echo around your apartment.
Clark swore that you were like an angel before him. With your body wrapped around a thin sheet of sweat that made it seem like you're glowing, hair messily draped everywhere yet still beautiful, your breasts bouncing like an invitation, and your face… gods, your face. He could die peacefully thinking about it alone.
So utterly beautiful and broken, and he was the one who did it.
His hips are working like an animal now, brutal, feral.
You finally realized that the couch underneath you was shaking, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was him, him, and him.
He noticed the way the couch was groaning in protest with the amount of pressure it was being given, but the way your cunt was tightening around him meant that he couldn’t stop. “Gonna break this–” before your walls gripped his cock even further.
“Gonna come–!” you cried.
“Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”
And you obeyed. Letting out a sharp cry of his name as your body jolts—convulsing as the waves after waves of orgasm hit your senses—burning your body with the amount of pleasure.
“Fuck–” he cursed, fucking you deeper as he chased his own climax. At last, with a final and intense thrust–
Craaack.
The foot snapped completely, making you yelp out and scrambling to hold onto him.
Clark didn’t even realize that he had already came and spilled inside you, too stunned, too focused on making sure you’re not hurt.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” his eyes widened, doing a one-overlook look at you to make sure no blood came out of you.
Your arms tightened, before you burst out laughing. “I am–” you wheezed. “The couch though…”
He blinked, then huffing out a small and relieved chuckle. “Guess it’s not strong enough, huh?”
Before pulling you onto his lap, shifting you on the floor carefully—still seethed deep inside you, and tugging you closer into a soft kiss. Fingers cuping your cheeks gently.
YESSS BARK BARK i dont care if i get hurt omg i need him so bad
ALSO YOUR TAGS LMAO i agree bring men who yearn back. thank you so much for enjoying it <3
@kunaikisser yes i can lend him a bit to help you build your furnitures (he will break it tho i fear) I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR READING AND ENJOYING ITTT!!
din djarin isn't loud during sex, but he somehow always makes you feel treasured. ¹⁸⁺
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, soft mando, AFTERCAREEEEE, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, the helmet stays on btw, probably inaccurate lore/technicalities... wc: 862.
masterlist
every time he finishes a bounty, he’ll fly back to nevarro—to search for the comfort of a familiar place, and also you.
always finding you back in one of the bars where he first met you, he’d take you to his cabin to drink—and eventually fucking you through the night, as long as he can.
he never once opened his helmet, which you respect. his T-visor would gleam under the lowlight, head thrown back as he slipped into your warm and soaked cunt, his soft—almost audible grunts muffled but there through the modulator.
you’d grip his armored shoulders as he fucked you missionary—broken gasps flying out of you as his thick and hard cock stretches you out, your legs wrapping around his hips just to feel him closer.
he astonishingly keeps having a way of knowing which angle makes you moan the loudest and, of course, what you need—whether you wanna lie and be a pillow princess, making him do all the work, or even when you’re feeling particularly bold—holding your waist as he guides you to bounce on top of him.
forever prioritizing your pleasure over his.
he was always quiet, though, and it wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy it, not at all. on the contrary, he enjoys it too much—thinks about it too much. purposely finishing his bounties days earlier than the deadlines the new republic gave to him, just so he could fuck you again.
he’s just an… “action speaks louder than words” kinda guy.
that’s why there were no words exchanged as he fucked you hard and deep, only the sounds of the bedframe creaking, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, and the occasional hiss of your name that always made you whimper louder from how scarce it is.
and you never minded, you know how he is.
so you kept clinging onto him, your body shivering as you felt the cold beskar through the thin nightgown you somehow left in his cabin. you moan out his name, how good he makes you feel, and the fact that you can sense how his cock would throb under every compliment you give him.
when the tension snapped, he’d let out a rare groan as you came, squeezing his cock so tight he followed. his white pearly seeds spilling inside you, filling you so deep and full you could feel his stickiness inside your guts—warming you from your insides.
and again, no words. but his aftercare? out of this galaxy.
he’d pull you into his chest the moment you calmed down, those deliciously big arms wrapping you like he’s afraid you’d be gone if he held you too loosely, he’s so gentle with one hand cradling the back of your head and his fingers tangled in your hair, the other running back and forth against your spine underneath your nightgown—all calming you down from the high he just made you experience.
he would bring fresh water, slightly cooled, just like how he remembers you preferring it, tipping the canteen down to your lips ever so carefully. the action helps you drink slowly, hydrating dry lips and a raspy throat from hours of crying out for him.
wrapping a warm cloak around your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ears, before pulling you back onto his lap. lulling you into the comforting warmth as his helmet rests softly against your covered shoulder.
“shhh… take a deep breath,” the first real sentence he said since he’s inside you. his voice still muffled through the modulator, the raspy voice you enjoy listening too much now laced with a certain tenderness he only shows with you.
and you can’t see it, but you feel how his eyes would burn into you. checking your face to see if there’s any hidden pain, making sure you were okay again and again, like once wasn’t enough. or maybe he just loves seeing how pretty you are, even after the amount of roughness he gave.
gone was the skillful mercenary that half of the galaxy was scared of. he was never that with you.
“you good?” he asked softly, fingers moving just to wipe the sweat dripping on your forehead.
you nodded, a soft and weak smile etched on your face from the overwhelming pleasure you experienced and how cherished you felt.
and then he did the impossible. lifting up his helmet just the slightest, so he could kiss your forehead tenderly. his lips are burning your skin with how it lingers, making you freeze.
before you could say anything, he closed it back down. “sleep,” he whispered, fingers now brushing your cheekbones as he carefully lay you down, pulling up a spare fabric and tucking you under it and onto his chest.
“i’ll stay. thank you,” his tone so delicate it hurts, as his arms tightened around you, fingers absentmindedly running along your back before you fall asleep in his embrace.
and he made it happen, the promise of staying, never letting you wake up alone, and would always be there for you, that is, until he has to go, taking down one target at a time.
a/n: the credits rolled in and i immediately thought of this.
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
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i apologize but writings might be slower now. currently having 0 motivations and june would be a very busy month for me (i have a big practical exam, proposal defense for my thesis, and finals in the end if the month so wish me luck) 😔😔
i promise that all your requests are duly received and noted! just no promises on when it will be out.
Thank you so much to everyone that read, liked, commented, and reblogged my works this May, it was clearly a month for Clark Kent and Jason Todd and a lot are just short headcanons. I appreciate all of you lots!
Below are the stories I've uploaded for this month (if you haven't catch up yet). Make sure to read all the tags before proceeding to read :D
*⏾ for smut indicator, main masterlist
⭑ jason todd is always so gentle with words during sex. | Jason Todd | 995 words. ⏾
⭑ Can't Squirt? Come to Clark Kent for Help! | Clark Kent | 927 words. ⏾
⭑ being jason todd's first. | Jason Todd | 1k words. ⏾
⭑ Deny Clark Kent and He WILL Deny You! | Clark Kent | 1.1k words. ⏾
⭑ neighborly favors. | Clark Kent | 3.4k words. ⏾
Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???
⭑ din djarin isn't loud during sex, but he somehow always makes you feel treasured. | Din Djarin | 862 words. ⏾
Also check this out!
⭑ KENT: A Clark Kent Furniture-Breaking Collaboration Masterlist (hosted by my beloved @tw1sters <3)
Looking for quality furniture or durable equipment? Have no fear, KENT is here! We guarantee the quality of all of our pieces — trust us, only Superman could break it.
summary: Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, neighbors to friends to lovers, whipped clark kent, he is a gentleman, clark and reader are horny for each other, oral (f receiving). clark has a BIG DICK, unprotected p in v sex, creampie.
wc: 3.4k words.
a/n: first of all... thank you so much to @tw1sters for managing and giving me the chance to take part in this SEXY event! i had so much fine writing it ahhh. second, hugeeeee thanks to @theworstwolvie and @clarknsun for being the first one to read and comment on this one, i am truly grateful. third, @sparklingsin!!!!!!!!! YOU AND YOUR TALENT HELLO i love the header sooo much thank you for making time to make it for me. i love all of you (and you readers too) very dearly <3
KENT masterlist | masterlist
You live in a humble apartment located in the heart of Metropolis. With a good amount of room for one person, every night, the sound of the traffic around you would hum like white noise, the high floor-to-ceiling window showing you the perfect view of the city’s nightlife—you mostly never closed the curtains in your living room—hell, you could even view Superman fighting one of his weekly villain fights through it.
Yet the thing that made you love it even more—to the point where you would rather be inside all day than go out with your friends, declining their offers—was not those.
It was your perfect neighbor: Clark Kent.
You pegged him as the ultimate neighbor since the first day you moved in. As the moment he saw you struggling with your boxes of too much stuff, he immediately offered to help.
Lifting up three heavy objects that were filled with your heavy kitchen appliances and bathroom necessities too easily, you can’t help but stare at those bulging biceps as he moved around. Quickly looking away every time you feel like he’d almost catch you.
And let’s just say your moving-in process was finished in just an hour, rather than the whole afternoon, with his help.
“I’m Clark, by the way,” mentioned the broad and tall man as he brushed his palm against his jeans, with his thick rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his deep dimples and boyish smile that you were sure would make you do a double take if you saw him on the streets.
“I live next door,” he pointed to the unit next to you.
So– you have a good view of the city AND a hot neighbor too? You really felt like you hit the jackpot with this one.
You smiled and offered him your name. “Nice to meet you, neighbor. I hope we could be good friends then.”
He nodded, lips curling up even more. “Just knock if you need anything. I’ll leave you to it?”
Humming, you then lead him out of your boxes-filled apartment, thanking him one last time.
You thought it would stop with him acting like a decent person—just helping a girl out with her things, but it didn’t. Later that night, you heard a knock on the door.
Looking up from your kitchen floor, you fixed up your shirt before padding down the hall. Checking the peephole to see the same new neighbor—Clark—carrying a plate filled with what you presume were freshly baked cookies.
Your eyes widened as you opened the door and saw exactly that. His soft smile, the scent of sweetness and the warmth emanating from the cookies almost made your heartbeat quicken.
“Sorry to bother you,” he fixes up his glasses with his free hand, then offers the plate out.
“Housewarming gift. Freshly made– though please do not mind if it’s not that good.”
You looked down at the plate, taking it, then up at him again. “Clark– wow, you didn’t have to…”
His smile softened immediately. “I wanted to. Hope you enjoy it.”
You breathed out a small thanks before he left you to continue your organizing.
The next day, you knocked on his door. His once-filled plate with cookies was now replaced with chocolate muffins you made all morning.
His surprise was evident, soft red hues creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t make those cookies just so you could bake me something as well,” his brows knitted.
“Well, consider it as a thank you for helping me out yesterday.”
He sighed softly. “Thank you,” with his classic, shy smile.
Then it continued. Always using the “I cooked too much” as a reason.
You’d give him your signature pasta recipe, and he’d return it the next day with a pan of freshly baked pie. He’d give you some homemade chicken dish he told you he learned to make from his Ma, you’d return it with a pint full of ice cream you made (just for him).
Though it went on and didn’t stop with the both of you casually exchanging meals.
Your kitchen pipes weren’t working? He’d be there in seconds with a wrench in his hand after you asked for help. Your eyes zeroed the moment his shirt went damp, making it practically transparent. You gulped as you stared at how his back muscles shifted with every move.
You didn’t know he could hear the way your breath hitched, though. His own body reacting the same as he could feel that you were also being affected by the closeness of the moment.
“Just need it to be tightened up,” he hummed, looking up at you from his knees just before the under-sink cabinet.
“Oh–” you straightened up, his voice breaking the trance you were in. “All fixed then?”
“Yeah…” he murmured as he stood up, his tall figure towering over you.
You felt your neck straining. “Thank you, Clark.”
“No worries. I’m open to help you with whatever, okay?”
Whatever, huh?
You almost choked at your own spit with the thought of him helping you with whatever. Immediately pushing those… thoughts down.
“Okay,” you managed to rasp out.
He smiled again before he continued with his day.
“Fuck…” you muttered to yourself the moment you closed your door, your forehead thudded against the wood.
More happened.
You were cooking, realized you were out of some ingredients, and went to him.
“Hey, sorry to bother you… but I’m cooking something, and I just realized that I’m out of onions. Do you potentially have any spare ones?” you asked him sheepishly.
Clark cursed to himself because he didn’t have any. He wanted to keep being the one you go to with every struggle you have; he wanted to keep being your lifeline and salvation, so what did he do?
“I’m sorry I don’t… though I’m gonna go out,” a lie. “Soap’s running short,” another lie. Clark literally just bought a full bottle yesterday.
“Really? Would you help me get some onions then?” your eyes gleaming with anticipation, but not wanting to burden him.
“Of course,” he smiled. “I’ll go get some for you.”
He returned less than 30 minutes later with a bag of onions and some snacks you mentioned you liked weeks ago.
You flushed, thanked him, and he nodded before leaving.
Week after week, it kept happening. It was like the both of you were trying to make excuses to see each other even more.
Purposefully switching up your mails with each other. When he saw your balcony railing wobbled just below an inch, he’d offer to fix it immediately. He heard you struggling with your shopping bags after a day out? He would take it from your hands, letting you carry nothing in your hands.
The both of you started to get closer. Unprompted movie nights in his unit, baking and cooking together, even doing nothing but enjoying a warm cup of tea as you both sit on the lounge chairs on your balcony, sharing childhood stories and laughing together.
Oh, both of you were falling deep.
The gaze held longer, smile now softer—deeper in a way—nothing like you ever shared with other people. You told him about your day, your stressful work, your family—and he told you about his life.
It was sweet, really. Clark Kent was sweet.
At this point, he knew everything about you. How you take your coffee, how your nose scrunched before you let out his favorite free laugh every time he made one of his stupid jokes, how sweet you smell whenever his touch lingered just on your thighs whenever you whispered a secret to him, how your pulse thrummed so evidently the moment he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.
And you knew everything about him as well. How his eyes would crinkle with amusement when you rolled your eyes and acted all annoyed, how his hand would linger around you as you both worked around the kitchen, how his body would tense, how his breath would hitch every time you told him something about yourself. Every time you draped yourself on his lap while watching one of the romcoms you forced him to see.
You felt it. The palpable tension, so thick you could cut it with a dull knife, through the not-so-innocent touches, the whispered words—He felt it too. The problem was, Clark Kent is too much of a gentleman to break those boundaries first, and there’s no way you’re the one who’d tear the bandaid off.
So the both of you didn’t advance into anything more than his arm around your shoulder as you both relaxed, or your arms around him as you let out your stress through the feeling of his warmth and scent wrapped around you.
Until one day.
You told him you were buying a couch, and even made him help you pick the color and measure your space. So the moment it arrived, he was at his feet instantly. Going down to carry the box filled with the parts.
It should be normal now; he’s helping you make furniture and fixing around your place, though he usually didn’t use this thin, figure-hugging compression shirt that made all of his muscles look swollen.
He made you stay out of it completely, just like always, not wanting you to do the work at all—yet you can’t help but linger.
You can’t help but ogle him—practically sexualizing him inside of your head.
The way his bicep would flex with every twist of the screwdriver, his veins popping under his sleeves through his forearm, making you wonder if those blood vessels would also look this enticing around his cock.
Your thighs clench the moment he lay under the couch as he tightened the bolts there. His shirt was riding up to reveal a patch of his skin, covered with soft hairs leading down to his crotch.
And he knew. He could practically smell the heavy, sweet smell of your arousal. He could hear the soft breaths you didn’t even know you let out every time he shifted, and his shirt went up even more.
His own body starts to heat up, flushing even though all of his blood was going south. He was thankful that he opted to wear his baggy sweats rather than his tight jeans.
Nevertheless, you saw his bulge start to thicken under the grey fabric. Eyes widening, you immediately looked away.
Clearing your throat. “Do you want some water?”
He looked up, noting the way that you were more fidgety than usual. “Yeah. Sure, thanks.”
You gave him a tight-lipped smile before walking through the kitchen.
Clark couldn’t help but fixate his eyes on your form. Your soft curves swaying with every step, ass peeking out of those short shorts that—the fact that it was always shorter than the last made it obvious that you want him to see. But he can’t. He can’t lose his control–
Gods, you were bending over the freezer now.
He shut his eyes, sucking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. He felt it wavering—his self-control thinning with every quiet hum you let out of your lips.
His fingers tightened around the whatever tool he was holding instantly. His cock throbbing inside his boxers, wanting—needing to be freed from the confinement and the pressure.
You knelt beside him, handing him the cold water. “All good?”
He cleared his throat, hand brushing over the couch’s fresh cushion to distract himself. “All good.”
You then helped him, fingers brushing his palm, lingering on his forearms whenever he asked you for a tool, and you’d give it. You also made it more obvious now that you saw him get hard.
You would blatantly eye him up and down, bare thighs brushing against his hands– you were horny.
Clark Kent made you horny, and he was the only one who could fix it.
His fingers would tighten around the wooden foot, and you imagined it was you instead. He’d let out grunts, and you imagined that it was you pulling it out of him, how he would probably praise you instead of dirty talking just because he was so respectful—too respectful.
He gulped as he watched how your breath starts to quicken, mirroring it unconsciously.
Then– Click.
The last bolt—the last piece of the couch was put in place. Dragging you back into reality.
“You’re done?” you asked.
He nodded, and you immediately sank down onto the new couch. Shifting around to feel the soft padding underneath you.
He joins, and your thighs grazed immediately, making you almost jolt—the neediness heightening back up inside you.
“It feels solid…” he murmured.
You finally glance at him, eyes low and half-lidded with lust. “Wanna test it?”
He eyed you, the way your chest heaved, pupils blown out before rushing forward and kissing the life out of you.
You stumbled with your lips, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him flush on top of you as you sank against the armrest. Lips parting, swiping your tongue along his lower lip before nipping it, making him groan out your name.
His fingers brushed along the hem of your shirt, lips separating from yours so he could kiss down your jaw and neck.
“Ask me to stop and I will, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.
You shook your head profusely.
“I need words…” as he pulled away to study your face, the way your eyes glossed with want.
“Please– I need you, Clark, please…” You whined.
“Of course,” giving a soft kiss on your cheek. “Anything for you, sweet girl,” another on your lips. The nicknames and his gentleness burned you inside out, making you fall deeply towards him more and more.
He finally lifted your shirt off gently, kissing every inch of your skin revealed. Unclasping your bra, groaning at the sight of your breasts bare before him.
You squirmed underneath him the moment he wrapped his soft pink lips around your hardened nipple. Back arching as your hands found his shoulder and squeezed it.
“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, kissing further down till his lips made contact with the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?”
“Yes– Clark, yes…” his hips lifting instantly as he hooked his fingers around it, pulling it and your panties with such softness and gentleness that no other man could give other than him.
He let out a shuddered breath as he spread your thighs open. The delicious scent of you hits all of his senses immediately.
He hummed as he saw how your folds glistened—borderline dripping. “Don’t wanna make a mess on the new couch, don’t we, sweetheart?” he whispered, before hooking your legs over your shoulder and diving right into it. Collecting all of your wetness—dragging his tongue on your hole up to your clit, making you let out a quiet cry.
“Clark–!” fingers snaking through his curls, tugging them as you held yourself back from grinding your hips against his mouth.
He looped his arms around your thighs, mouth expertly working you out—all the while his gaze stayed on you. Watching every bit of your reactions, the way you threw your head back against the armrest, eyes rolled, lower lip stuck between your teeth as you hold back your sounds.
It was a sight he could never forget now. He was sure to etch it into the deepest crook of his brain.
You whined out his name the moment he pulled back, though. “I know… I’m gonna give you something better, okay?”
You nodded reluctantly, too weak, too drunk with pleasure to deny and fight him over it. You kept your eyes as he stripped out of his clothes. Hole fluttering and tightening around nothing the moment he was bare before you.
His cock—full of girth and length, was straining and slapping against his stomach. His tip red, glistening with his pre. “You’re– huge, holy shit…”
He let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll make it fit. Don’t worry,” as his fingers brushed your hair back, grazing along your cheekbones.
You hummed softly, parting your legs even more to accommodate his broad figure.
Clark lets out a moan as he begins to slowly slide his tip against your folds. “So wet… you’ve been wanting this, hm?”
The silent nod in your response made his heart bloom, because he had wanted this too. He imagined this happening too many times before—whether when he was with you or alone in his bedroom whispering your name as he stroked himself to the thoughts of you—and really, the reality was so much better for him.
The moment he finally pushed himself inside you? He broke. Letting out a deep guttural sound to the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped so perfectly around him—it was as if you were made for him, no– he was made for you.
And you felt the burn, the stretch, splitting you open from your inside. Your hands find his arms immediately. Making imprints of your nails as you dug into his skin from the feeling of the pleasurable pain.
“Clark–”
“Shh… open up for me, sweetheart. I know you can.”
He stayed still the moment he was buried deep inside you, fingers softly brushing along your bare skin as you began to relax.
You nodded, eyes looking up at him with adoration the moment the burn dissipates.
“All ready?” he asked softly.
“Yeah…”
The both of you let out choruses of moans as he began moving, slowly at first. He pulled your arms so you could wrap them around his neck, his own snaking around your back just to keep you close to him.
His forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good…” he whispered, pulling you into a deep kiss filled with passion. He kept his easy pace, but it was like he was holding back.
“More…” you moaned against his lips.
Who was he to deny you, his sweet, sweet girl, from pleasure?
He picked up his pace. Still deep, reaching to every inch of your walls, but it was more punishing now.
The couch starts to squeak underneath you—but you both didn’t care. Too captivated by the feeling of each other’s bodies to even notice the foot of the couch.
“Fuck–!” you moaned the moment he angled your hips. Your fingers now sprawled on the span of his back, raking it. Your walls began to clench around him tightly, making him fuck you deeper and faster.
“More!” you cried. And he served. His thrusts now punishing, both your chests panting. Your gasps and his moans echo around your apartment.
Clark swore that you were like an angel before him. With your body wrapped around a thin sheet of sweat that made it seem like you're glowing, hair messily draped everywhere yet still beautiful, your breasts bouncing like an invitation, and your face… gods, your face. He could die peacefully thinking about it alone.
So utterly beautiful and broken, and he was the one who did it.
His hips are working like an animal now, brutal, feral.
You finally realized that the couch underneath you was shaking, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was him, him, and him.
He noticed the way the couch was groaning in protest with the amount of pressure it was being given, but the way your cunt was tightening around him meant that he couldn’t stop. “Gonna break this–” before your walls gripped his cock even further.
“Gonna come–!” you cried.
“Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”
And you obeyed. Letting out a sharp cry of his name as your body jolts—convulsing as the waves after waves of orgasm hit your senses—burning your body with the amount of pleasure.
“Fuck–” he cursed, fucking you deeper as he chased his own climax. At last, with a final and intense thrust–
Craaack.
The foot snapped completely, making you yelp out and scrambling to hold onto him.
Clark didn’t even realize that he had already came and spilled inside you, too stunned, too focused on making sure you’re not hurt.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” his eyes widened, doing a one-overlook look at you to make sure no blood came out of you.
Your arms tightened, before you burst out laughing. “I am–” you wheezed. “The couch though…”
He blinked, then huffing out a small and relieved chuckle. “Guess it’s not strong enough, huh?”
Before pulling you onto his lap, shifting you on the floor carefully—still seethed deep inside you, and tugging you closer into a soft kiss. Fingers cuping your cheeks gently.
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din djarin isn't loud during sex, but he somehow always makes you feel treasured. ¹⁸⁺
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, soft mando, AFTERCAREEEEE, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, the helmet stays on btw, probably inaccurate lore/technicalities... wc: 862.
masterlist
every time he finishes a bounty, he’ll fly back to nevarro—to search for the comfort of a familiar place, and also you.
always finding you back in one of the bars where he first met you, he’d take you to his cabin to drink—and eventually fucking you through the night, as long as he can.
he never once opened his helmet, which you respect. his T-visor would gleam under the lowlight, head thrown back as he slipped into your warm and soaked cunt, his soft—almost audible grunts muffled but there through the modulator.
you’d grip his armored shoulders as he fucked you missionary—broken gasps flying out of you as his thick and hard cock stretches you out, your legs wrapping around his hips just to feel him closer.
he astonishingly keeps having a way of knowing which angle makes you moan the loudest and, of course, what you need—whether you wanna lie and be a pillow princess, making him do all the work, or even when you’re feeling particularly bold—holding your waist as he guides you to bounce on top of him.
forever prioritizing your pleasure over his.
he was always quiet, though, and it wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy it, not at all. on the contrary, he enjoys it too much—thinks about it too much. purposely finishing his bounties days earlier than the deadlines the new republic gave to him, just so he could fuck you again.
he’s just an… “action speaks louder than words” kinda guy.
that’s why there were no words exchanged as he fucked you hard and deep, only the sounds of the bedframe creaking, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, and the occasional hiss of your name that always made you whimper louder from how scarce it is.
and you never minded, you know how he is.
so you kept clinging onto him, your body shivering as you felt the cold beskar through the thin nightgown you somehow left in his cabin. you moan out his name, how good he makes you feel, and the fact that you can sense how his cock would throb under every compliment you give him.
when the tension snapped, he’d let out a rare groan as you came, squeezing his cock so tight he followed. his white pearly seeds spilling inside you, filling you so deep and full you could feel his stickiness inside your guts—warming you from your insides.
and again, no words. but his aftercare? out of this galaxy.
he’d pull you into his chest the moment you calmed down, those deliciously big arms wrapping you like he’s afraid you’d be gone if he held you too loosely, he’s so gentle with one hand cradling the back of your head and his fingers tangled in your hair, the other running back and forth against your spine underneath your nightgown—all calming you down from the high he just made you experience.
he would bring fresh water, slightly cooled, just like how he remembers you preferring it, tipping the canteen down to your lips ever so carefully. the action helps you drink slowly, hydrating dry lips and a raspy throat from hours of crying out for him.
wrapping a warm cloak around your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ears, before pulling you back onto his lap. lulling you into the comforting warmth as his helmet rests softly against your covered shoulder.
“shhh… take a deep breath,” the first real sentence he said since he’s inside you. his voice still muffled through the modulator, the raspy voice you enjoy listening too much now laced with a certain tenderness he only shows with you.
and you can’t see it, but you feel how his eyes would burn into you. checking your face to see if there’s any hidden pain, making sure you were okay again and again, like once wasn’t enough. or maybe he just loves seeing how pretty you are, even after the amount of roughness he gave.
gone was the skillful mercenary that half of the galaxy was scared of. he was never that with you.
“you good?” he asked softly, fingers moving just to wipe the sweat dripping on your forehead.
you nodded, a soft and weak smile etched on your face from the overwhelming pleasure you experienced and how cherished you felt.
and then he did the impossible. lifting up his helmet just the slightest, so he could kiss your forehead tenderly. his lips are burning your skin with how it lingers, making you freeze.
before you could say anything, he closed it back down. “sleep,” he whispered, fingers now brushing your cheekbones as he carefully lay you down, pulling up a spare fabric and tucking you under it and onto his chest.
“i’ll stay. thank you,” his tone so delicate it hurts, as his arms tightened around you, fingers absentmindedly running along your back before you fall asleep in his embrace.
and he made it happen, the promise of staying, never letting you wake up alone, and would always be there for you, that is, until he has to go, taking down one target at a time.
a/n: the credits rolled in and i immediately thought of this.
din djarin isn't loud during sex, but he somehow always makes you feel treasured. ¹⁸⁺
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, soft mando, AFTERCAREEEEE, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, the helmet stays on btw, probably inaccurate lore/technicalities... wc: 862.
masterlist
every time he finishes a bounty, he’ll fly back to nevarro—to search for the comfort of a familiar place, and also you.
always finding you back in one of the bars where he first met you, he’d take you to his cabin to drink—and eventually fucking you through the night, as long as he can.
he never once opened his helmet, which you respect. his T-visor would gleam under the lowlight, head thrown back as he slipped into your warm and soaked cunt, his soft—almost audible grunts muffled but there through the modulator.
you’d grip his armored shoulders as he fucked you missionary—broken gasps flying out of you as his thick and hard cock stretches you out, your legs wrapping around his hips just to feel him closer.
he astonishingly keeps having a way of knowing which angle makes you moan the loudest and, of course, what you need—whether you wanna lie and be a pillow princess, making him do all the work, or even when you’re feeling particularly bold—holding your waist as he guides you to bounce on top of him.
forever prioritizing your pleasure over his.
he was always quiet, though, and it wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy it, not at all. on the contrary, he enjoys it too much—thinks about it too much. purposely finishing his bounties days earlier than the deadlines the new republic gave to him, just so he could fuck you again.
he’s just an… “action speaks louder than words” kinda guy.
that’s why there were no words exchanged as he fucked you hard and deep, only the sounds of the bedframe creaking, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, and the occasional hiss of your name that always made you whimper louder from how scarce it is.
and you never minded, you know how he is.
so you kept clinging onto him, your body shivering as you felt the cold beskar through the thin nightgown you somehow left in his cabin. you moan out his name, how good he makes you feel, and the fact that you can sense how his cock would throb under every compliment you give him.
when the tension snapped, he’d let out a rare groan as you came, squeezing his cock so tight he followed. his white pearly seeds spilling inside you, filling you so deep and full you could feel his stickiness inside your guts—warming you from your insides.
and again, no words. but his aftercare? out of this galaxy.
he’d pull you into his chest the moment you calmed down, those deliciously big arms wrapping you like he’s afraid you’d be gone if he held you too loosely, he’s so gentle with one hand cradling the back of your head and his fingers tangled in your hair, the other running back and forth against your spine underneath your nightgown—all calming you down from the high he just made you experience.
he would bring fresh water, slightly cooled, just like how he remembers you preferring it, tipping the canteen down to your lips ever so carefully. the action helps you drink slowly, hydrating dry lips and a raspy throat from hours of crying out for him.
wrapping a warm cloak around your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ears, before pulling you back onto his lap. lulling you into the comforting warmth as his helmet rests softly against your covered shoulder.
“shhh… take a deep breath,” the first real sentence he said since he’s inside you. his voice still muffled through the modulator, the raspy voice you enjoy listening too much now laced with a certain tenderness he only shows with you.
and you can’t see it, but you feel how his eyes would burn into you. checking your face to see if there’s any hidden pain, making sure you were okay again and again, like once wasn’t enough. or maybe he just loves seeing how pretty you are, even after the amount of roughness he gave.
gone was the skillful mercenary that half of the galaxy was scared of. he was never that with you.
“you good?” he asked softly, fingers moving just to wipe the sweat dripping on your forehead.
you nodded, a soft and weak smile etched on your face from the overwhelming pleasure you experienced and how cherished you felt.
and then he did the impossible. lifting up his helmet just the slightest, so he could kiss your forehead tenderly. his lips are burning your skin with how it lingers, making you freeze.
before you could say anything, he closed it back down. “sleep,” he whispered, fingers now brushing your cheekbones as he carefully lay you down, pulling up a spare fabric and tucking you under it and onto his chest.
“i’ll stay. thank you,” his tone so delicate it hurts, as his arms tightened around you, fingers absentmindedly running along your back before you fall asleep in his embrace.
and he made it happen, the promise of staying, never letting you wake up alone, and would always be there for you, that is, until he has to go, taking down one target at a time.
a/n: the credits rolled in and i immediately thought of this.
din djarin isn't loud during sex, but he somehow always makes you feel treasured. ¹⁸⁺
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, soft mando, AFTERCAREEEEE, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, the helmet stays on btw, probably inaccurate lore/technicalities... wc: 862.
masterlist
every time he finishes a bounty, he’ll fly back to nevarro—to search for the comfort of a familiar place, and also you.
always finding you back in one of the bars where he first met you, he’d take you to his cabin to drink—and eventually fucking you through the night, as long as he can.
he never once opened his helmet, which you respect. his T-visor would gleam under the lowlight, head thrown back as he slipped into your warm and soaked cunt, his soft—almost audible grunts muffled but there through the modulator.
you’d grip his armored shoulders as he fucked you missionary—broken gasps flying out of you as his thick and hard cock stretches you out, your legs wrapping around his hips just to feel him closer.
he astonishingly keeps having a way of knowing which angle makes you moan the loudest and, of course, what you need—whether you wanna lie and be a pillow princess, making him do all the work, or even when you’re feeling particularly bold—holding your waist as he guides you to bounce on top of him.
forever prioritizing your pleasure over his.
he was always quiet, though, and it wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy it, not at all. on the contrary, he enjoys it too much—thinks about it too much. purposely finishing his bounties days earlier than the deadlines the new republic gave to him, just so he could fuck you again.
he’s just an… “action speaks louder than words” kinda guy.
that’s why there were no words exchanged as he fucked you hard and deep, only the sounds of the bedframe creaking, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, and the occasional hiss of your name that always made you whimper louder from how scarce it is.
and you never minded, you know how he is.
so you kept clinging onto him, your body shivering as you felt the cold beskar through the thin nightgown you somehow left in his cabin. you moan out his name, how good he makes you feel, and the fact that you can sense how his cock would throb under every compliment you give him.
when the tension snapped, he’d let out a rare groan as you came, squeezing his cock so tight he followed. his white pearly seeds spilling inside you, filling you so deep and full you could feel his stickiness inside your guts—warming you from your insides.
and again, no words. but his aftercare? out of this galaxy.
he’d pull you into his chest the moment you calmed down, those deliciously big arms wrapping you like he’s afraid you’d be gone if he held you too loosely, he’s so gentle with one hand cradling the back of your head and his fingers tangled in your hair, the other running back and forth against your spine underneath your nightgown—all calming you down from the high he just made you experience.
he would bring fresh water, slightly cooled, just like how he remembers you preferring it, tipping the canteen down to your lips ever so carefully. the action helps you drink slowly, hydrating dry lips and a raspy throat from hours of crying out for him.
wrapping a warm cloak around your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ears, before pulling you back onto his lap. lulling you into the comforting warmth as his helmet rests softly against your covered shoulder.
“shhh… take a deep breath,” the first real sentence he said since he’s inside you. his voice still muffled through the modulator, the raspy voice you enjoy listening too much now laced with a certain tenderness he only shows with you.
and you can’t see it, but you feel how his eyes would burn into you. checking your face to see if there’s any hidden pain, making sure you were okay again and again, like once wasn’t enough. or maybe he just loves seeing how pretty you are, even after the amount of roughness he gave.
gone was the skillful mercenary that half of the galaxy was scared of. he was never that with you.
“you good?” he asked softly, fingers moving just to wipe the sweat dripping on your forehead.
you nodded, a soft and weak smile etched on your face from the overwhelming pleasure you experienced and how cherished you felt.
and then he did the impossible. lifting up his helmet just the slightest, so he could kiss your forehead tenderly. his lips are burning your skin with how it lingers, making you freeze.
before you could say anything, he closed it back down. “sleep,” he whispered, fingers now brushing your cheekbones as he carefully lay you down, pulling up a spare fabric and tucking you under it and onto his chest.
“i’ll stay. thank you,” his tone so delicate it hurts, as his arms tightened around you, fingers absentmindedly running along your back before you fall asleep in his embrace.
and he made it happen, the promise of staying, never letting you wake up alone, and would always be there for you, that is, until he has to go, taking down one target at a time.
a/n: the credits rolled in and i immediately thought of this.
summary: Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, neighbors to friends to lovers, whipped clark kent, he is a gentleman, clark and reader are horny for each other, oral (f receiving). clark has a BIG DICK, unprotected p in v sex, creampie.
wc: 3.4k words.
a/n: first of all... thank you so much to @tw1sters for managing and giving me the chance to take part in this SEXY event! i had so much fine writing it ahhh. second, hugeeeee thanks to @theworstwolvie and @clarknsun for being the first one to read and comment on this one, i am truly grateful. third, @sparklingsin!!!!!!!!! YOU AND YOUR TALENT HELLO i love the header sooo much thank you for making time to make it for me. i love all of you (and you readers too) very dearly <3
KENT masterlist | masterlist
You live in a humble apartment located in the heart of Metropolis. With a good amount of room for one person, every night, the sound of the traffic around you would hum like white noise, the high floor-to-ceiling window showing you the perfect view of the city’s nightlife—you mostly never closed the curtains in your living room—hell, you could even view Superman fighting one of his weekly villain fights through it.
Yet the thing that made you love it even more—to the point where you would rather be inside all day than go out with your friends, declining their offers—was not those.
It was your perfect neighbor: Clark Kent.
You pegged him as the ultimate neighbor since the first day you moved in. As the moment he saw you struggling with your boxes of too much stuff, he immediately offered to help.
Lifting up three heavy objects that were filled with your heavy kitchen appliances and bathroom necessities too easily, you can’t help but stare at those bulging biceps as he moved around. Quickly looking away every time you feel like he’d almost catch you.
And let’s just say your moving-in process was finished in just an hour, rather than the whole afternoon, with his help.
“I’m Clark, by the way,” mentioned the broad and tall man as he brushed his palm against his jeans, with his thick rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his deep dimples and boyish smile that you were sure would make you do a double take if you saw him on the streets.
“I live next door,” he pointed to the unit next to you.
So– you have a good view of the city AND a hot neighbor too? You really felt like you hit the jackpot with this one.
You smiled and offered him your name. “Nice to meet you, neighbor. I hope we could be good friends then.”
He nodded, lips curling up even more. “Just knock if you need anything. I’ll leave you to it?”
Humming, you then lead him out of your boxes-filled apartment, thanking him one last time.
You thought it would stop with him acting like a decent person—just helping a girl out with her things, but it didn’t. Later that night, you heard a knock on the door.
Looking up from your kitchen floor, you fixed up your shirt before padding down the hall. Checking the peephole to see the same new neighbor—Clark—carrying a plate filled with what you presume were freshly baked cookies.
Your eyes widened as you opened the door and saw exactly that. His soft smile, the scent of sweetness and the warmth emanating from the cookies almost made your heartbeat quicken.
“Sorry to bother you,” he fixes up his glasses with his free hand, then offers the plate out.
“Housewarming gift. Freshly made– though please do not mind if it’s not that good.”
You looked down at the plate, taking it, then up at him again. “Clark– wow, you didn’t have to…”
His smile softened immediately. “I wanted to. Hope you enjoy it.”
You breathed out a small thanks before he left you to continue your organizing.
The next day, you knocked on his door. His once-filled plate with cookies was now replaced with chocolate muffins you made all morning.
His surprise was evident, soft red hues creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t make those cookies just so you could bake me something as well,” his brows knitted.
“Well, consider it as a thank you for helping me out yesterday.”
He sighed softly. “Thank you,” with his classic, shy smile.
Then it continued. Always using the “I cooked too much” as a reason.
You’d give him your signature pasta recipe, and he’d return it the next day with a pan of freshly baked pie. He’d give you some homemade chicken dish he told you he learned to make from his Ma, you’d return it with a pint full of ice cream you made (just for him).
Though it went on and didn’t stop with the both of you casually exchanging meals.
Your kitchen pipes weren’t working? He’d be there in seconds with a wrench in his hand after you asked for help. Your eyes zeroed the moment his shirt went damp, making it practically transparent. You gulped as you stared at how his back muscles shifted with every move.
You didn’t know he could hear the way your breath hitched, though. His own body reacting the same as he could feel that you were also being affected by the closeness of the moment.
“Just need it to be tightened up,” he hummed, looking up at you from his knees just before the under-sink cabinet.
“Oh–” you straightened up, his voice breaking the trance you were in. “All fixed then?”
“Yeah…” he murmured as he stood up, his tall figure towering over you.
You felt your neck straining. “Thank you, Clark.”
“No worries. I’m open to help you with whatever, okay?”
Whatever, huh?
You almost choked at your own spit with the thought of him helping you with whatever. Immediately pushing those… thoughts down.
“Okay,” you managed to rasp out.
He smiled again before he continued with his day.
“Fuck…” you muttered to yourself the moment you closed your door, your forehead thudded against the wood.
More happened.
You were cooking, realized you were out of some ingredients, and went to him.
“Hey, sorry to bother you… but I’m cooking something, and I just realized that I’m out of onions. Do you potentially have any spare ones?” you asked him sheepishly.
Clark cursed to himself because he didn’t have any. He wanted to keep being the one you go to with every struggle you have; he wanted to keep being your lifeline and salvation, so what did he do?
“I’m sorry I don’t… though I’m gonna go out,” a lie. “Soap’s running short,” another lie. Clark literally just bought a full bottle yesterday.
“Really? Would you help me get some onions then?” your eyes gleaming with anticipation, but not wanting to burden him.
“Of course,” he smiled. “I’ll go get some for you.”
He returned less than 30 minutes later with a bag of onions and some snacks you mentioned you liked weeks ago.
You flushed, thanked him, and he nodded before leaving.
Week after week, it kept happening. It was like the both of you were trying to make excuses to see each other even more.
Purposefully switching up your mails with each other. When he saw your balcony railing wobbled just below an inch, he’d offer to fix it immediately. He heard you struggling with your shopping bags after a day out? He would take it from your hands, letting you carry nothing in your hands.
The both of you started to get closer. Unprompted movie nights in his unit, baking and cooking together, even doing nothing but enjoying a warm cup of tea as you both sit on the lounge chairs on your balcony, sharing childhood stories and laughing together.
Oh, both of you were falling deep.
The gaze held longer, smile now softer—deeper in a way—nothing like you ever shared with other people. You told him about your day, your stressful work, your family—and he told you about his life.
It was sweet, really. Clark Kent was sweet.
At this point, he knew everything about you. How you take your coffee, how your nose scrunched before you let out his favorite free laugh every time he made one of his stupid jokes, how sweet you smell whenever his touch lingered just on your thighs whenever you whispered a secret to him, how your pulse thrummed so evidently the moment he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.
And you knew everything about him as well. How his eyes would crinkle with amusement when you rolled your eyes and acted all annoyed, how his hand would linger around you as you both worked around the kitchen, how his body would tense, how his breath would hitch every time you told him something about yourself. Every time you draped yourself on his lap while watching one of the romcoms you forced him to see.
You felt it. The palpable tension, so thick you could cut it with a dull knife, through the not-so-innocent touches, the whispered words—He felt it too. The problem was, Clark Kent is too much of a gentleman to break those boundaries first, and there’s no way you’re the one who’d tear the bandaid off.
So the both of you didn’t advance into anything more than his arm around your shoulder as you both relaxed, or your arms around him as you let out your stress through the feeling of his warmth and scent wrapped around you.
Until one day.
You told him you were buying a couch, and even made him help you pick the color and measure your space. So the moment it arrived, he was at his feet instantly. Going down to carry the box filled with the parts.
It should be normal now; he’s helping you make furniture and fixing around your place, though he usually didn’t use this thin, figure-hugging compression shirt that made all of his muscles look swollen.
He made you stay out of it completely, just like always, not wanting you to do the work at all—yet you can’t help but linger.
You can’t help but ogle him—practically sexualizing him inside of your head.
The way his bicep would flex with every twist of the screwdriver, his veins popping under his sleeves through his forearm, making you wonder if those blood vessels would also look this enticing around his cock.
Your thighs clench the moment he lay under the couch as he tightened the bolts there. His shirt was riding up to reveal a patch of his skin, covered with soft hairs leading down to his crotch.
And he knew. He could practically smell the heavy, sweet smell of your arousal. He could hear the soft breaths you didn’t even know you let out every time he shifted, and his shirt went up even more.
His own body starts to heat up, flushing even though all of his blood was going south. He was thankful that he opted to wear his baggy sweats rather than his tight jeans.
Nevertheless, you saw his bulge start to thicken under the grey fabric. Eyes widening, you immediately looked away.
Clearing your throat. “Do you want some water?”
He looked up, noting the way that you were more fidgety than usual. “Yeah. Sure, thanks.”
You gave him a tight-lipped smile before walking through the kitchen.
Clark couldn’t help but fixate his eyes on your form. Your soft curves swaying with every step, ass peeking out of those short shorts that—the fact that it was always shorter than the last made it obvious that you want him to see. But he can’t. He can’t lose his control–
Gods, you were bending over the freezer now.
He shut his eyes, sucking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. He felt it wavering—his self-control thinning with every quiet hum you let out of your lips.
His fingers tightened around the whatever tool he was holding instantly. His cock throbbing inside his boxers, wanting—needing to be freed from the confinement and the pressure.
You knelt beside him, handing him the cold water. “All good?”
He cleared his throat, hand brushing over the couch’s fresh cushion to distract himself. “All good.”
You then helped him, fingers brushing his palm, lingering on his forearms whenever he asked you for a tool, and you’d give it. You also made it more obvious now that you saw him get hard.
You would blatantly eye him up and down, bare thighs brushing against his hands– you were horny.
Clark Kent made you horny, and he was the only one who could fix it.
His fingers would tighten around the wooden foot, and you imagined it was you instead. He’d let out grunts, and you imagined that it was you pulling it out of him, how he would probably praise you instead of dirty talking just because he was so respectful—too respectful.
He gulped as he watched how your breath starts to quicken, mirroring it unconsciously.
Then– Click.
The last bolt—the last piece of the couch was put in place. Dragging you back into reality.
“You’re done?” you asked.
He nodded, and you immediately sank down onto the new couch. Shifting around to feel the soft padding underneath you.
He joins, and your thighs grazed immediately, making you almost jolt—the neediness heightening back up inside you.
“It feels solid…” he murmured.
You finally glance at him, eyes low and half-lidded with lust. “Wanna test it?”
He eyed you, the way your chest heaved, pupils blown out before rushing forward and kissing the life out of you.
You stumbled with your lips, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him flush on top of you as you sank against the armrest. Lips parting, swiping your tongue along his lower lip before nipping it, making him groan out your name.
His fingers brushed along the hem of your shirt, lips separating from yours so he could kiss down your jaw and neck.
“Ask me to stop and I will, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.
You shook your head profusely.
“I need words…” as he pulled away to study your face, the way your eyes glossed with want.
“Please– I need you, Clark, please…” You whined.
“Of course,” giving a soft kiss on your cheek. “Anything for you, sweet girl,” another on your lips. The nicknames and his gentleness burned you inside out, making you fall deeply towards him more and more.
He finally lifted your shirt off gently, kissing every inch of your skin revealed. Unclasping your bra, groaning at the sight of your breasts bare before him.
You squirmed underneath him the moment he wrapped his soft pink lips around your hardened nipple. Back arching as your hands found his shoulder and squeezed it.
“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, kissing further down till his lips made contact with the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?”
“Yes– Clark, yes…” his hips lifting instantly as he hooked his fingers around it, pulling it and your panties with such softness and gentleness that no other man could give other than him.
He let out a shuddered breath as he spread your thighs open. The delicious scent of you hits all of his senses immediately.
He hummed as he saw how your folds glistened—borderline dripping. “Don’t wanna make a mess on the new couch, don’t we, sweetheart?” he whispered, before hooking your legs over your shoulder and diving right into it. Collecting all of your wetness—dragging his tongue on your hole up to your clit, making you let out a quiet cry.
“Clark–!” fingers snaking through his curls, tugging them as you held yourself back from grinding your hips against his mouth.
He looped his arms around your thighs, mouth expertly working you out—all the while his gaze stayed on you. Watching every bit of your reactions, the way you threw your head back against the armrest, eyes rolled, lower lip stuck between your teeth as you hold back your sounds.
It was a sight he could never forget now. He was sure to etch it into the deepest crook of his brain.
You whined out his name the moment he pulled back, though. “I know… I’m gonna give you something better, okay?”
You nodded reluctantly, too weak, too drunk with pleasure to deny and fight him over it. You kept your eyes as he stripped out of his clothes. Hole fluttering and tightening around nothing the moment he was bare before you.
His cock—full of girth and length, was straining and slapping against his stomach. His tip red, glistening with his pre. “You’re– huge, holy shit…”
He let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll make it fit. Don’t worry,” as his fingers brushed your hair back, grazing along your cheekbones.
You hummed softly, parting your legs even more to accommodate his broad figure.
Clark lets out a moan as he begins to slowly slide his tip against your folds. “So wet… you’ve been wanting this, hm?”
The silent nod in your response made his heart bloom, because he had wanted this too. He imagined this happening too many times before—whether when he was with you or alone in his bedroom whispering your name as he stroked himself to the thoughts of you—and really, the reality was so much better for him.
The moment he finally pushed himself inside you? He broke. Letting out a deep guttural sound to the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped so perfectly around him—it was as if you were made for him, no– he was made for you.
And you felt the burn, the stretch, splitting you open from your inside. Your hands find his arms immediately. Making imprints of your nails as you dug into his skin from the feeling of the pleasurable pain.
“Clark–”
“Shh… open up for me, sweetheart. I know you can.”
He stayed still the moment he was buried deep inside you, fingers softly brushing along your bare skin as you began to relax.
You nodded, eyes looking up at him with adoration the moment the burn dissipates.
“All ready?” he asked softly.
“Yeah…”
The both of you let out choruses of moans as he began moving, slowly at first. He pulled your arms so you could wrap them around his neck, his own snaking around your back just to keep you close to him.
His forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good…” he whispered, pulling you into a deep kiss filled with passion. He kept his easy pace, but it was like he was holding back.
“More…” you moaned against his lips.
Who was he to deny you, his sweet, sweet girl, from pleasure?
He picked up his pace. Still deep, reaching to every inch of your walls, but it was more punishing now.
The couch starts to squeak underneath you—but you both didn’t care. Too captivated by the feeling of each other’s bodies to even notice the foot of the couch.
“Fuck–!” you moaned the moment he angled your hips. Your fingers now sprawled on the span of his back, raking it. Your walls began to clench around him tightly, making him fuck you deeper and faster.
“More!” you cried. And he served. His thrusts now punishing, both your chests panting. Your gasps and his moans echo around your apartment.
Clark swore that you were like an angel before him. With your body wrapped around a thin sheet of sweat that made it seem like you're glowing, hair messily draped everywhere yet still beautiful, your breasts bouncing like an invitation, and your face… gods, your face. He could die peacefully thinking about it alone.
So utterly beautiful and broken, and he was the one who did it.
His hips are working like an animal now, brutal, feral.
You finally realized that the couch underneath you was shaking, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was him, him, and him.
He noticed the way the couch was groaning in protest with the amount of pressure it was being given, but the way your cunt was tightening around him meant that he couldn’t stop. “Gonna break this–” before your walls gripped his cock even further.
“Gonna come–!” you cried.
“Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”
And you obeyed. Letting out a sharp cry of his name as your body jolts—convulsing as the waves after waves of orgasm hit your senses—burning your body with the amount of pleasure.
“Fuck–” he cursed, fucking you deeper as he chased his own climax. At last, with a final and intense thrust–
Craaack.
The foot snapped completely, making you yelp out and scrambling to hold onto him.
Clark didn’t even realize that he had already came and spilled inside you, too stunned, too focused on making sure you’re not hurt.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” his eyes widened, doing a one-overlook look at you to make sure no blood came out of you.
Your arms tightened, before you burst out laughing. “I am–” you wheezed. “The couch though…”
He blinked, then huffing out a small and relieved chuckle. “Guess it’s not strong enough, huh?”
Before pulling you onto his lap, shifting you on the floor carefully—still seethed deep inside you, and tugging you closer into a soft kiss. Fingers cuping your cheeks gently.
ivy my darling my baby thank you so much for joining us in this adventure!!!! you've managed to capture clark as this wonderful, amazing human being slash neighbor but also the sexiest fucking thang <3 i adore him so much in this story, thank you for birthing him
Your eyes zeroed the moment his shirt went damp, making it practically transparent. You gulped as you stared at how his back muscles shifted with every move.
WET AND BACK???? SIGN ME TF UP
He returned less than 30 minutes later with a bag of onions and some snacks you mentioned you liked weeks ago.
i'm in love your honor
And he knew. He could practically smell the heavy, sweet smell of your arousal.
i love when he uses his powers inappropriately
You finally glance at him, eyes low and half-lidded with lust. “Wanna test it?”
OH SHE CLENCHED
“Don’t wanna make a mess on the new couch, don’t we, sweetheart?” he whispered, before hooking your legs over your shoulder and diving right into it.
“I’ll make it fit. Don’t worry,” as his fingers brushed your hair back, grazing along your cheekbones.
FUCKKK IM SUCH A SUCKER FOR LINES LIKE THESE
Clark didn’t even realize that he had already came and spilled inside you, too stunned, too focused on making sure you’re not hurt.
nasty ass mf
“Help me order another one?”
he better that shit is moneyyyy
omg ivy i adoreee this so much!!!!!! you always do clark so well so i can do clark so well heh
MWAH I LOVE YOU SAM your comments made me so happy!!! i'm glad you enjoyed reading it just like i enjoyed writing it!!! also you do clark SO GOOD WHAT its an honor for you to compliment my clark <3
also more reblogs under the cutt.
@theworstwolvie are you crazy??? i love YOU and yes pls i want to break couches with him mhm
@i-wanna-be-your-muse EXACTLLYYYYY i love when characters go out of their way to test each other's restraints LMAO thank you soo much <3
@sparklingsin dw i WILL be forcing him to pay up for the new couch because he's the one who broke it smh. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LIKING IT ASHHH
and for all of the other reblogs and comments, thank youuu
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