Sam

── .✦ Clark Kent x fem!reader

synopsis: Jfc, Clark teasing you by pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, only to pull back, then press forward again, then pull back???

cw: porn and no plot, clark teases you, bigdick!clark, slight dacryphilia, depictions of porn in general <3

wc: 364 (blurb)

a/n: can you tell i'm ovulating 😩

He'll do it for a good while, after he's already worked you up, eaten your pussy, and fucked you on his fingers for well over an hour. So when, instead of sinking his cock into your needy cunt, he starts teasing you, you start crying.

A/n: He’s got an unhealthy amount of obsession with your tail… 𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Pairing: Caleb x Bunnygirl!Reader ☆ 18+

SFW:

Messes with your bunny tail a lot. Loves to give it a soft squeeze whenever you’re least expecting—while he walks past, while you’re lounging around the house, or even while you’re in the shower (he sneaks into the bathroom and gives you a fright). 

As long as your tail is within view, Caleb’s reaching over to cup a handful. (And it’ll always be within his sights… as if he’d ever take his eyes off you, silly bunny.)

It’s mostly to annoy you, he loves that your tail’s sensitive and that it incites such a reaction. He’d never be too rough with you though. It’s never to hurt, only to tease. But sometimes he treats it as a stress toy.

Loves having you sit in his lap, chest to chest, legs around his waist. He squeezes and fondles your tail with one hand, while he occupies himself doing fleet work with the other. 

Clicks his tongue when you eventually get bored/stiff and shift in your seat, telling you to “Be good f’me, just a little longer.” 

Tugs on your ears and tail when he wants to get your attention. He’ll apologise when you nip at his fingers angrily, but he’s back to being a nuisance within the hour. 

NSFW:

Gets you a carrot vibe (he doesn’t care that it’s a little too on the nose). At first it’s just for fun, but the more he uses it on you, the more his carrot-themed collection grows. (If you look like you’re enjoying the toys too much though, he gets jealous.)

We know Caleb’s an eater, he could stay between your thighs forever if you’d just let him. But while he’s down there, he also loves to kiss where your tail meets your lower back <3

Calls you his sweet bunny while you’re getting fucked silly. When he’s about to cum, he’ll use your ears to pull your face close to his, so he can kiss you.

In general, I think that Caleb has a sort of predator/prey kink. He loves tracking and hunting you down… you being a bunny girl intensifies that by tenfold. Would bring you somewhere secluded, giving you a head start to run off… but even with your heightened bunny senses, you never seem to see him coming. 

Same goes with his breeding kink. On a normal (human) basis he already loves filling you up and keeping you full of his cum, but as a bunny girl? He’s crazy about breeding you.

thinking about trying to deep throat caleb...

trying because your caleb is a big guy. and that applies to all of him. he's tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and long limbs, his cock heavy to match. you've never been able to get more than a few inches into your mouth at a time.

he watches you on your knees between his legs, watches as your hand strokes up and down his length slowly. your eyes fixate on it, studying every inch. you're so careful when you try to take it into your mouth. you suckle in the first inch, gently laving your tongue at the ridge. he grunts quietly as you bob down about halfway.

it feels good, but he can see that look in your eye. the determination to do more.

"baby, you- you don't have to," he chokes out through a tight jaw.

you look up from under your lashes with your mouth still full of him, and he almost finishes right then. a deep groan flows from between his lips. he expects you to pull off, to give him your usual "but i want to."

but instead you just try harder. you slide yourself down further, take as much of him as you can all the way back into your throat. his fingers grip the edge of the couch hard and his eyes roll back.

you start to gag, and that only makes it harder for him to hold on. your muscles contract. some more saliva oozes from your mouth. he’s pretty sure you’d choke yourself on him if you could, and that makes him feel sick with pleasure. he doesn’t like seeing your eyes water like this or your firsts clench around your thumb. but when it’s for him… when it’s for proving your devotion to him… he can’t help indulging in it.

yet when you make another wet, gargly noise, his hands come to either side of your head with gentle strength and pull you off. you try to whine around an desperate inhale, and his dick twitches. your eyes are hazy, leaking tears and so watery. he wraps an arm around you and lifts you up into his lap.

“wait- almost had it,” you say as he sits you down straddling his lap.

he chuckles softly, rolling his hips up and silencing those protests with the friction of his wet cock against your panties.

“doesn’t matter. can’t have you passin’ out on me before we get to the best part, pipsqueak.”

the door bangs her on the head so hard that she doubles over in pain, and he’s just like “holy shit pips, are you okay?!” but then, he sees a little more into the crack and realizes exactly what she’s doing. she’s so fucking embarrassed and didn’t think he’d come back from the fleet so soon. now he’s laughing at her, crouching at eye level and yanking her chin into his grasp with that dark look in his eyes. the one that proclaims everything without uttering a word.

he pushes it in midway, only to pull it out again to feel that tight ring pop around his fat tip. it makes his balls tighten and his shaft pump with blood, soft groans croaking from him each time he feels her swallow him in. he’s terribly fond of seeing her legs spread impossibly wide for him, calves folded onto the back of her thighs. he’ll smirk, muttering “you’d stay like this forever for me, wouldn’t you? just a pretty little hole for your brother to stick his dick into whenever he needs to get off…” and she’s just sobbing as he begins to pound into her ruthlessly, ashamed but still screaming out his name, chanting for him to keep going, ‘please don’t stop!’ and trust, he won’t. he doesn’t have to say it. she’s always been his to take, to consume. he’ll make sure of it, dumping his fat load over and over inside of her until he no longer can.

⋆ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧ ⋆ AppleDays ⋆ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧ ⋆

𑣲Day 6

Is it too much to ask for another pair of violet eyes?

Warnings: Explicit NSFW, MDNI (18+), Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, (Mild) Unplanned pregnancy Tropes: Dom!Caleb, Sub!Reader, Breeding, Brat taming, Overstimulation, Rough, Praise & Degradation, Mating Press WC: 1469

summary: clark kent doesn’t do well with jealousy- never has, probably never will. mentioning the gross regular at the upscale bar where you work seemed harmless. but when clark shows up with a sheepish smile and tense jaw, you realise it probably meant more to him than you thought.

clark kent x girlfriend ! reader

themes: jealousy, jealousy, jealousy! domestic fluff, established relationship, very subtle nods to smut, with some scott miller thrown in!

You shouldn’t have told him.

Well, okay- that’s slightly dramatic. Of course you should have. You did the right thing; if it was the other way around, and a girl at the Daily Planet made it her personal vendetta to be on your sweet, bumbling boyfriend’s radar for three weeks in a row, you’d want him to tell you.

It was the right thing to do.

The only thing to do.

Right?

“Right.” Clark echoes mindlessly, his eyes drifting far away from you in a way that makes your heart ache and your eyes narrow.

He’s always too sweet, your Clark. Always too polite, too hesitant to tell you how he really feels.

On this occasion, you let him off. Figure it’s better to let him sit in it, cool off, before continuing the inevitable conversation of So, what are we going to do about it? a lot later.

There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately. It makes you feel helpless and stuck and very, very angry at the world- but at the end of the day, Scott is a customer. A paying customer. One that smacks his gum a little too loud and looks you up and down every chance he gets, but a customer all the same.

You wonder what business he has plaguing your hotel bar three (nearing four) weeks in a row now. You’ve never seen him before. Nobody comes to the Regis for a casual drink unless they’re there on business; a key to one of the overtly expensive rooms tucked in the back pocket of a slack trouser.

Scott isn’t a guest. Nor is he a bar regular. He is just a very annoying man, with a very smug grin, and a very disgusting entitlement to your sweet, uncomfortable attention.

Your shift tonight starts at 8pm.

Usually, Clark gets home just after six, and he brings you a bagel and a smoothie and doesn’t let you have them until you reach up on your tiptoes and press glossed lips against his. He doesn’t usually let you plate it up yourself, either; he perches you carefully on a bar stool and does it for you. Everything bagel (extra cream cheese, light on the salmon) on your favourite plate, the paper straw in your drink swiftly replaced by a glass one with a heart.

“You’re one bagel away from turning into one.” is a teasing joke he likes to say often, eliciting a sweet little eye roll from you and a light laugh.

You’re treasure, Clark says. He makes it known to you too, through kisses and cuddles and pecks on the cheek that you have to fight against to eat your bagel. And when you’ve finally finished your food and slurped up the drink, that’s when he can have your full attention, every bit of it, before you have to get ready and he happily drives you to work.

You don’t typically work this late. It’s a one-off, some big business event on the top floor that’s lasted a week longer than expected, meaning a whole week more of missed dinners and missed plans and overall, missing your boyfriend.

So when Clark texts you at 5:30pm, a sweet rambling of apologies that end in a very flustered So sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you when I pick you up at 1. Love you. You can’t find it in your heart to be upset with him. You just hail a cab and slot inside, fingers drumming mindlessly on your exposed lap.

The uniform could be a lot worse, especially for a bartender. The Regis is a five-star utopia of crystal chandeliers, polished silverware and bellboys that are addressed only by their surnames- you’re almost glad to have only the responsibility of popping open a four-hundred dollar bottle of wine every now and then.

Even so, you keep a firm grip on the bottom of your pencil skirt, sleek black pumps clacking against the linoleum floor.

It’s busy. Much busier than a usual Thursday evening, but you convince yourself you don’t mind. More room to be busy. More things to do in the time you have to kill. Bartending isn’t your dream job by any means, but at the moment it pays for all the good things in life- you could have it a lot worse.

You think of Clark. Sweet, handsome, beautiful Clark, who is probably working so hard at his desk right now that it makes your chest ache. Brows furrowed, pen gnawed at and forgotten between his beautiful plush lips. You imagine the way he types; thick fingers soft and precise, the backspace bare because he always seems to know exactly what to say. He doesn’t make mistakes- you’ve seen him write in person. He just makes whatever’s lacking… better.

Naturally, your stomach flutters at the thought.

Sam greets you with bright eyes and an even more radiant smile, blonde hair falling in waves past her sharp shoulders as you walk towards her and reach for a glass to polish.

She’s beautiful, Samara; with her big blue eyes and pointed chin and great knack for conversation. She’s also the only one you can call a true friend here, so you like to keep her very close.

“You’re late,” she jokes, sharp elbow digging softly into your own. “How big was that bagel?”

Faux offense floods your features, “I’m right on time!”

“Late for you,” she nudges you playfully, head nodding towards a part of the bar you can’t quite see from where you are. “Your man beat you here.”

“Ha-ha,” you deadpan immediately, eyes beginning a roll, “Very funny. You’re on Scott duty tonight.”

“Wha- no!” the realisation is quick to dawn, “No. Absolutely not. I was on Scott duty last night.”

“Mhm. That’s the price you pay for making that joke,” you’re dramatic about it, a heavy sigh you don’t mean falling from your lips.

“What joke?”

“The he’s my man joke,” you fold your arms, half-polished pint glass forgotten on the counter. “It’s dumb and not funny.”

A smirk falls on her lips then, eyes falling away from, “Wasn’t a joke, dummy. Your man is here. Your real one.”

You’re about to bombard her with even more confusion- lest you actually check yourself and come eye-to-eye with the irritatingly vainglorious Scott Miller- but she’s called away by the ding of a kitchen bell quicker than you can stop her.

With an amused shake of your head, your eyes scan the otherwise empty tables; the polishing cloth almost falling from your grasp when your eyes finally settle on the delicious sight a mere ten steps away from you.

Clark.

He isn’t back at the Planet at all, surrounded by his too-small desk and countless pictures of you in neat little gold frames, sipping sludgy coffee from a chipped work mug.

Clark is here; right in the middle of your workplace, his blazer slung carefully over the back of his chair, the rich wood ever so slightly creaking under his ginormous frame. He practically dwarfs his laptop; all 6’4, 240 pounds of superhuman beef.

His briefcase sits gingerly on the floor next to his feet, polished leather a lovely chocolate brown that matches his sensible loafers. Your body relaxes at the mere vision of him; this Kryptonian God that practically kisses the ground you walk on and would tilt the world on it’s axis just to fit your needs- here, on a work night, undoubtedly for you.

It’s almost an innate reaction, the two steps forward you take. And it’s also very Clark to sense you on a whole other plane, because his head tilts up like a puppy ready to play, blue eyes roaming the bar.

They find you almost immediately as a breath catches in your throat. Together three years, one month before your fourth and still, the way he looks at you makes every moment feel like the first.

He lifts his arm up to wave, no doubt refraining from being a full distraction. He knows his mere presence is enough to knock you off balance completely.

You’re about to do the same, the warmth in your chest threatening to burst, when-

“Usual, sweetheart. Make it neat, no ice, yeah?”

The invisible capsule encompassing you both collapses. There’s a voice; a deep, daunting, degrading voice that has the power to contort your expressions into one of pure disgust in milliseconds.

You smell him before you see him, all seventy-four spritzes of his overpriced Hugo Boss cologne. The scent of that minty clump of rubber he seems to always chew on follows soon after, as he winks at you and adjusts the cap on his head.

StormPAR, it reads. You shudder. It’s scarily fitting for a man capable of turning the sunniest of days into a cyclone.

You freeze, goosebumps rising along your shoulders. Clark is out of sight, but you can picture him perfectly in your mind.

Alert. Tense. Maybe even frowning slightly. Your heartbeat falters- not from fear, but irritation at the man in front of you. Clark doesn’t know that. He’s probably listening anyway, waiting for that moment when your pulse skips a beat just a little too long, so he can rush to your side with a concerned smile and a cold shoulder pointed towards Scott.

Still sweet. Still gentle. Still very much Clark.

Except what happens next is something you never could have predicted.

You give a small nod, lips pursed in a tight line because exactly three weeks ago, you shot him a kind smile that he immediately took as an invitation to try and get more out of you.

It’s dirty. It’s disgusting. It’s StormPAR’s poster boy for disaster- and yet, here he is, your only customer at the bar. Unfortunately, you don’t have much of a choice.

You reach for the whiskey, trying to keep it together for the ten seconds spent pouring and mixing. It’s not the usual Johnnie Walker or Jack Daniels favoured by suited businessmen; this is something expensive, Japanese, its name foreign and sharp. The glass is special, polished long in advance, kept apart from the rest of the dishwasher-bound crockery.

You slide it over to Scott without your eyes ever meeting his. He grins and it’s toothy and wide, and in another lifetime you might visually find him not vile- but in this life, he may as well be a fire-breathing dragon with a venomous bite and even worse gaze.

The knocks the whiskey back in one. The glass staggers alongside the table towards you, so quick that you just about manage to block it with a startled elbow.

“Another, princess.” he winks.

Clark tenses. You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s probably standing stiff, brows furrowed, pupils pointed over his glasses.

“Make it two, actually. Got nowhere to be now that you’re here.”

A grimace fills the lower half of your face. You’re about to turn away to pour the next glass, but the sound of a different voice altogether stops you.

“You always talk to people that way?”

It’s warm. Familiar. It’s a megaphoned version of the one that whispers in your ear late at night, gentle and patient and slow and always accompanied by a baby or a hon; a voice notorious for both talking you through it and providing you gentle comfort right after. In this instance, it’s still a blanket of comfort, but in a very different way; something soft and safe thrown over a very icy situation.

Clark slides onto the stool beside Scott like he has every right to be there. Your mouth practically falls open.

His shoulders are relaxed, hands loose against the bar. Whatever article had his full attention not even five minutes ago is completely forgotten now, lost in the shut laptop behind him. Ink lines the grooves of his palm, fresh from attempting to amend print far too soon.

There’s no tension in him at first glance. He doesn’t look angry, though you know better than that.

Scott’s eyebrow raises as he turns toward him.

“What’s it to you?”

Clark can take him. Easily. Beneath that bashful gaze and blinking blue eyes is a man who is so used to protecting you that it comes second nature to him. If it comes to that, you know he wouldn’t hesitate.

Clark hums softly, like he’s considering Scott’s words. Then he glances at you, a silent check-in without uttering a single word, and something in his expression changes. It’s not soft nor does it harden- it doesn’t even twist inside out.

You realise then and there that the outcome of this situation is entirely dependent on you. It relies on what you want him to do, what exactly you want to happen- unfortunately, you’re too tense right now to give him any sort of clear signal.

“It’s not complicated,” he says, turning back, voice still mild. “Just need to watch your tone.”

There’s no bite in his words, but it’s louder than his initial statement. The times you and Clark have argued are very few and far between, but not once has he raised his voice at you or spoken with his tongue dipped in venom.

Hearing it for the very first time is slightly exhilarating.

Scott leans back, sizing him up, “Didn’t realise she had a guard dog.”

Clark smiles at that, lips curving upwards in the kind of smile that should belong on a farm under open skies and humming cicadas, not here under dim bar lights and repetitive jazz music.

“She doesn’t,” he says easily. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then-“

“She’s a lady. You don’t speak to a lady like that.”

It throws Scott, just for a second. Enough for the bravado to falter, for the narrowed eyes under the cap to soften around the edges. You find yourself watching them both, this intense silence growing and filling the air with a thick tension.

Clark doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t even square up; someone built like your boyfriend doesn’t need to.

He just sits there, as calm as the saxophones acting as background noise between you, one hand resting against the bar like he could stay all night if he had to.

“Look, man-“

“You’re gonna stop,” Clark interjects gently, somehow still polite- only now there’s something unshakeable threaded through it. “You’ll ask her right, or you won’t ask at all.”

The air tightens. And Scott scoffs- but it’s weaker this time, eyes flicking between the two of you before he grabs the edge of the bar and pushes himself up. “Whatever, man.”

He doesn’t ask for another drink.

He doesn’t even look back at you as he stalks off- head slightly hung, eyes darting this way and that in quiet anticipation of witnesses.

You both watch him go for a moment. It’s only until Scott turns the corner, gives one last fleeting glance your way and ducks his head out of the double doors that finally, a soft exhale leaves the man beside you.

When Clark turns back to you, it’s like the tension was never there. It’s just him again.

Gentle Clark. Sweet Clark. Yours.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice so low and careful it reaches deep in the pit of your stomach and twists in the best way. A big, warm hand reaches over the counter and rests on top of your own.

You can’t help it; you smile.

“Thank you.”

His eyebrow raises. “You never need to thank me for taking care of you.”

Maybe tomorrow, you'll kiss him a little longer before taking a bite of your bagel.

i owe you all a massive apology - i have had the most insane couple of months, and i cannot wait to share it all with you very soon :')

i know this was just an observation but it made me want to elaborate that moment between clark & reader 😭

FORTRESS OF UNIFICATION — Clark Kent

pairing: clark kent / f!reader. word count: 582. content: addition to this fic. established relationship. silly bickering over where to live.

clark kent masterlist

You straddled your boyfriend on the couch, grinding your soaked pussy down on him repeatedly. Your thin panties were completely drenched, clinging obscenely to your folds as you rocked your hips faster, rubbing your swollen clit along the thick outline of his dick through his boxers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, hands gripping your ass, yanking you down harder against him. “Keep humping me like that, baby. Gonna make me cum in my fucking boxers.”

You moaned filthily, rolling your hips in messy circles, pressing your dripping pussy against him with shameless need. The wet spot on your panties grew bigger with every grind, soaking through the fabric of his boxers until you could feel the heat of his throbbing cock twitching beneath you.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, riding him faster, your tits bouncing in your tank top as you chased it.

“Yeah? Cum for me baby,” he growled, thrusting up roughly to meet your movements. “Make a mess all over me.”

A few more frantic grinds and you shattered, crying out as your pussy clenched and pulsed, soaking your panties and his boxers with your cum. The feeling of you creaming all over him pushed him over the edge immediately. He let out a deep, guttural moan, hips jerking up as he came hard, thick ropes of cum flooding his boxers, pulsing against your soaked pussy while you kept grinding through both your orgasms.

masterlist || based on this request || 1k event :3

The safehouse was quiet except for the soft hum of the city far below and the steady rhythm of Wally’s breathing against your neck.

You were both still in your suits — yours the sleek black and gold armor, his the bright red and yellow Flash suit, both scuffed and torn from the night’s chaos. A rogue meta-human had caused havoc in the Narrows, and you’d jumped in to help without thinking. Wally had been right behind you, as always — the fastest man alive, but never too fast to leave you behind.

Now, the adrenaline was crashing.

Wally had you pinned gently against the wall, not with force but with need. His hands slid under the edge of your armor, palms warm against your bare skin as he kissed you slow and deep, like he was still reassuring himself you were okay.

“You scared me tonight,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky. “Jumping in front of that energy blast like that. I know you’re tough, but… fuck, I hate seeing you hurt.”

You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy red hair. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. And you were right there to catch me. Like always.”

TW. kinda stalkerleb, gege/calling him older brother, dubcon i feel like, dryhumping, he cums in his pants, unread and unedited i’m sorry :(

as a child, caleb’s protective and overbearing nature was seen as cute. the way he’d trail after you had always made the older women in your neighborhood coo over what a doting older brother he was. even you kinda liked it—the fact your handsome gege who had so many admirers only had eyes for you.

eventually though, it began to lose its charm. he still acted the same; calling you everyday, asking why you were out late, who you were hanging out with—the only difference was that you guys were adults. you had done everything together as kids, but now you had your own life, one that caleb didn’t have the right to intrude on whenever he felt like it.

you tried to pull away, put distance between the two of you, but somehow he always managed to get even closer than before.

your weekly calls were filled with questions asking how that coworker you liked is doing, something you couldn’t recall telling him about.

the café you stopped by after work was now his favourite place too, conveniently bumping into you every time you were there.

whenever you asked how he knew all this, he’d simply shrug.

“you tell me things.”

you bit your lip, palms clamming up at his intense gaze. “i never told you that.”

he’d smile, “lucky guess.”

it should’ve sounded charismatic with that sweet eye smile of his, but instead it left a strange feeling sitting heavy in your stomach.

you never stayed mad at him for long though. how could you? he really was the perfect, most caring older brother anyone could ask for. like every time a date canceled, one after another dropping like flies, he’d be there with a bag of your favourite takeout in hand.

“since you’re free now,” he’d say, already raising it to show you.

you never even had to text him before he was showing up, swiping away your tears and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he walked you back to your place.

“he was a loser anyway. barely makes enough to spoil my princess, you’re too good for him”

an alarm went off in your head at the comment, curious as to why or how he knew your dates salary when even you didn’t, but you didn’t have the chance to ask as he lead you inside. he placed the bags of food on the counter before turning to your figure, watching you take your shoes and coat off.

“i’m jus’ saying…maybe you don’t have to look that far for a perfect guy.” you quirked a brow at his words, a shiver running down your spine when you realized he was staring down at you. “i’m always gonna be here. i know all your favourite things. no one else is gonna understand your life like i do.”

he punctuated each word with a step towards you, leaning down once he had you crowded against the wall. “i read your diary pips. i know you’ve thought about it.”

warm breath fanned against your face as your cheeks tinted red. “w-what are you talking—“

“i wonder if caleb leaves the uniform on during sex, or if he uses that interrogation stick. id kill to have him order me around like a dog. those are your words, right?”

you slowly nodded with shame as everything began to click, how he knew all the small details about your life without you telling him. before you dwelled on it too much, he spoke again.

“wanna try some of those thoughts out?”

not giving you a chance to respond, caleb pressed a hungry kiss to your mouth, tongue immediately licking the seam of your lips before wrapping around your own. you barely registered what was happening as he picked you up, pressing his bulge into your hot core as he continued his assault on your mouth. “taste so fuckin good…even better than i imagined”

a whine left your throat when he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away with a growl before kissing down your neck. “c-cay, maybe let’s take it slow?”

he pulled away from your neck, an already fucked our expression in his eyes before he chuckled darkly. “y’know that’s not what you call me…”

he watched you swallow, an audible gulp sounding through the room. “g-gege…” you whined, the endearing term making caleb thrust particularly hard against your clothed cunt.

“good fuckin’ girl…” he growled, going back to marking your neck. “gonna leave these for everyone to see. even if you try n go on another date, they’ll know you belong to me.”

his lips trailed to your pulse point, tongue flicking against it before he began to suck harshly, hips relentlessly grinding against you. your heart raced with every movement, pulling at his brown locks for stability.

“m-my girl…you’re mine, pips” he whined, thrusts turning erratic. you felt a wet spot bleeding onto your jeans as he slowed down, still holding you against the wall as he panted into the crook of your neck. just as you thought he was about to put you down, caleb carried you towards your room, throwing you onto the bed as he shrugged off his coat.

“i’m not done yet.”

Or: The one were you leave before your fwb wakes up

Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Wally West, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent and John Constantine

Warnings: a tiny bit suggestive in a couple of them cause yk it's a fwb au, but nothing explicit

Morph's thoughts: Sorry everyone i forgot i had all these screenshots prepped and just never posted them lmao. As always any feedback is welcome!!

⋆. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𐙚˚ || 𓄹 ⊹ . 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 . 𐐒𐐚₊⋆｡˚

CLARK KENT’S sexual awakening never happened. His ma did enough to hide him from the more carnal parts of life, so imagine his surprise and borderline nose-wrinkle in sex-ed junior year when he found out what adults did behind closed doors.

Even when he grew up, got a job in the Planet, made his alter-ego known, he still didn’t feel the need to… have coitus. He was too scared he’d snap some poor girl in half if he tried.

The first time he ever tried, he’d barely got the tip in before he came, embarrassingly quick. Maybe it was the nerves of it all, maybe his body was eager to get it over with. Safe to say, that girl — as lovely as she was — broke up with him a week later because she felt like he was just in pursuit of his own pleasure. Not true, by the way, his ma always told him to think of the lady first.

Like every Monday, he was pushing his way through the Metropolis work crowd, against the tides of people. Not really looking where he was going, trying not to drop an iced tea — Lois forced him to try it, just to be clear — on any unsuspecting people by holding it high above possible shoulders.

That failed.

In the pursuit of not splashing anyone with peach iced tea, he forgot to look straight and collided straight into someone, sending a drink flying into a silk dress.

Oh, no.

He watched in horror as the material dampened, clung to your body, and became slightly more sheer by the second. “Golly, I’m so sorry—”

The subsequent scoff nearly tore into his self-esteem battery for the day. “Hey, watch where you’re…”

Your eyes locked. All anger faded away, replaced by the dread that you hurt this sexy behemoth of a man’s feelings and he now hated you forever. “… you know what? No worries, don’t— don’t think about it too much.”

He instantly shrugged off his blazer and held it out to you. “But your dress— great dress, by the way,” it was a… really pretty dress, golly, “it’s ruined. I ruined it. I can pay for the dry cleaning.”

You waved your hand noncommittally, but you took the blazer anyway to cover up, it was massive on you. Lord— wait, he shouldn’t take his name in vain. “Seriously, I’m fine. I was on my way to a bachelorette party, one of my friends there will definitely have a spare, she has one for everyone.”

He blinked. “Everyone?”

“Yeah.” You grinned, gosh, it was a pretty smile. “She’s like that. Weird, I know. And— don’t worry about the dry cleaning, I’ve got it. I’m sorry about your drink.”

“No, you saved me.” He laughed nervously. “My coworker forced me to try it, to tell y’the truth, I did not want to.”

“So I saved you.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his curls, messing them up even more. “And please. Please bill me for the dry cleaning, I’ll feel bad if you don’t.”

“Fine. Fine.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll bill you.” Locking eyes with him once more took the words from his lungs. Good Lord, those eyes were sexy. All of him was sexy, in a cute way, bumbling gait, pushing his glasses up his nose, the rosiness of his cheeks. You checked your watch. Fuck. “Well, I’m in a rush, so—”

“Yeah, you gotta—”

“See you.” You began walking off at a fast pace. Something jolted in his navel. He felt hot from embarrassment. His relaxed-fit trousers felt… not so relaxed anymore.

He looked down. That looked like a sexual awakening.

“Clark!” He yelled loudly, head snapping up to stare at you like a dishevelled deer in headlights. What the hay? Why did he do that? Why did he yell that? He covered his crotch with his messenger bag.

Your smile told him you noticed. With an uptick in your heart rate and an increase in your breathing’s heaviness, a sweet smell tickled his nose. It wasn’t the bakery next to him, that’s for sure. You smiled, and shouted back your name at the same volume.

He hurried to the nearest bathroom to yell at his body.

Cat slid onto his desk, setting core in front of him. Not for him, clearly. “I was at a bachelorette last week.” She started, tapping her nail on his desk to get him to look at her. Deadlines needed to be crunched, so he barely did. She accepted that.

Clark’s fingers kept flying. “Cat, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

She laughed. “I have a friend. She asked me about a dorky guy named Clark Kent who still writes his name on the tags of his clothes.” She dropped a sugar cube into her coffee, stirring it. “A habit I thought we left back in our sophomore year of high school.”

His neck turned red. His foot covered the name tag on his bag’s handle. But she laughed and dropped another sugar cube into. He sent a furtive glance of concern for her health. “Whatever.” She sighed, taking a long sip. “I told her you were single.”

He almost spluttered over no liquid. “What?”

“I told her you were single.” She repeated simply.

“Why?”

“She asked.” This time he almost choked on a gulp of straight, bitter black coffee. “I gave her your number. To bill you for the dry cleaning.” Pause for an effectively captivating sip of over-sweetened coffee. “Among other things.” She muttered under her breath, but he caught it. She smiled widely. “Toodles!” She got up and walked off.

He threw his hands up, tripping over his words. “Cat— you can’t—” But she was in her own world, singing Freak by Doja Cat.

His phone buzzed. With shaking hands, he opened it, unknown number.

Didn’t know they made clothes in your size. Underneath: Wanna come round to get it this weekend? To talk to bit.

He saved your contact first. Before typing out a clumsy agreement, which he didn’t know was possible over text. Judging by how you didn’t immediately get put off, you were into it.

He was on time, on the dot of the agreed time, which was two o’clock. After lunch, before it got too dark, but still enough time to talk.

He’d cleaned up a little more than usual. Tried to use a hair pomade to ensure his curls weren’t as wild as they usually were. Wear a slightly tighter fitting shirt than before. Brush his teeth. Pop a few breath mints. Avoid the morning coffee, put on copious amounts of hand lotion and lip balm. Everything had to be perfect. He even trimmed his happy trail for this.

You laid the plan. Took a shower so your skin was dewy. Prepped your hair. Kept the makeup minimal, because a full beat would give the plan away. You chose your best, flowiest robe.

You wanted him to unwrap you like a present.

When your doorbell rang, you dabbed on a final bit of lipstick before you chucked it onto a side table and opened the door.

You felt your thighs rub together on instinct the moment you saw him. He felt his breath leave his body when he saw you, checking his watch. “Maybe I’m early—”

“You’re on time.” It came out more breathless than expected. Nodding back into your apartment. “I… I have your jacket. I put it in the wash, the inside got stained with a little iced tea.”

“You can bill me for that too.”

“Seriously? No.” You waved your hand. “No. You’re fine.” You ushered him inside. “It was a thank you, for paying for my dry cleaning and lending me your jacket.” You waved him towards the couch. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

You.

“Um, I’m fine.” He sat on the couch, you sat opposite, picking up a glass of wine that was there before he came. You looked… stunning. He felt his collar get hot. He tugged at it. “You invited me to watch a movie.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you still want to watch a movie?”

“No.”

“Oh. Oh. I was under the impression that we’d be…” He gestured in between you two. So he had the same assumption you did.

Your lips curled up. “I was under that impression too.”

He nodded. You could see a bulge slowly growing in his trousers. “I mean, I— I have to warn you, I’m not that… experienced.”

You blinked, slightly amused. A little interested. “Oh? How so?”

“I…” He made a weird motion, he didn’t even know what it was supposed to mean. It’s likely get interpreted as something like flying a plane, “finish too quickly. Women find it off putting.”

The way you were looking at him, it seemed like you found it off putting as well. Just frozen in time, sat there, staring at him. “That’s…” You let out a whoosh of air. Then your hand gripped his jaw, “really fucking hot—”

Oh. You were into it.

Huh. You were kissing him.

Golly. He was kissing back.

His hand covered the one holding his jaw, pressing into your lips and your body instinctively like there was a magnet from him to you. You pushed back, swinging a leg over both of his till your knees knocked into his hips. This was new.

You smiled when you saw his other hand hovering awkwardly. Not knowing whether he had the right to touch beyond what was respectful. So you guided it to your thigh, fabric moving and bunching under his fingers. Allowing him to touch bare skin.

Oh, boy.

The soft whine from the bottom of his throat was a boost to your ego, a deep moan following when you pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck, rolling your hips forward. “Ohhhhh, gosh,” He breathed out slowly.

Oh, fuck. He was massive. Though you didn’t know what to expect, he was six-five.

Both his hands flew to your hips, pads of his fingers pressing into your skin, head tipping back against the sofa cushions, breathing in sharply. He could feel you gently sucking on his skin, he knew it wouldn’t leave a mark, but he whimpered quietly anyway, dragging your hips forward, so he could feel your pussy drag over his dick yet again. His head spinning as your tongue traced over his Adam’s apple.

Your hands slipped off his tie like you’d had practice, popping the buttons of his shirt slowly. You felt his warm palms burning up your waist, stopping at where your robe was tied at your front. His eyes were wide, blinking up at you through his lashes. “Can I…?”

Fuck, he was hot.

You undid the tie yourself but let him gently move the fabric off your shoulders, undoing his belt and letting you take off his trousers. His cheeks flushed as he dragged his boxers down, cock painfully hard. It was pretty, flushed at the tip, pre smeared just a little.

Oh, that was a lot bigger than you manifested.

“Oh, shit.” You grinned at the sight of him, watching his whole face turn red.

He adjusted his foggy glasses, stumbling over his syllables. “Will it…” He gulped, wondering how to say it, “fit?”

The look in your eye almost made his heart stop. Like you didn’t care. “Oh, honey.” You laughed a little. “We’ll make it.” You positioning yourself above him, ready to sink down onto his throbbing cock was not something he expected to see. He let out a strangled sound, placing a hand on your arm. “Don’t you want me to… prepare you?”

“I’ve quite literally been prepared since the first time we met.” You grabbed a condom from — wait where did you get that from? — and tore it open delicately, giving it to him to roll on. He did, safety was key, and when you finally did lower yourself onto him— holy shit.

His forehead pressed to your shoulder, before he started pressing sloppy, whining kisses, almost making out with it as he felt your pussy grip him deliciously. So this was what he’d never felt drawn to. Until now.

He was stretching you out. A lot. For a guy so shy about his own abilities his endowment was something women only experienced in their wildest dreams. The more you learned, the more turned on you were.

Huh. That usually didn’t happen with men.

You let out a deep sigh as you sank down further, feeling his size fill you in the best way. His tip nestled against your cervix, pretty vein brushing your g-spot, fuck, maybe moving would feel too good.

But you did it anyway, small, cut-short gasps and moans jumping from your throat as he kissed his way back up to your lips so he could feed his own noises of encouragement into your mouth. Holding your hips just tight enough so he wouldn’t bruise them, still guiding you firmly, still holding your hips just close to him as he clouded your brain over with every push and pull of his hands and each wet smack of his lips and yours (and skin on skin, but we don’t mention that).

His head was fuzzy. Mumbling shit he couldn’t make out himself in between every collision of your lips, tangling one hand in your hair while the other slipped down to press his thumb onto your clit.

You clenched hard; he almost came right there.

His eyes rolled back for half a second and he willed himself not to finish too early but he couldn’t stop it once you clamped down with the second roll of his thumb, your name leaving his mouth, the highest you’d heard his voice be, cracks in between syllables feeding your ego. But he kept circling your clit like he was born to do it, mumbling encouragement, his forehead glistening as his head fell back.

“C’mon, sweetie, gotta make you feel good too,” He panted, gripping your hip so he could encourage you to grind forward into his thumb. “Please, please give it to me—”

It all felt too much. The onslaught of his thumb, his tip still prodding at your cervix, seeing him fucked out from one round (that made you more horny than you’d care to admit) had you coming too, him swallowing that moan by meeting your lips in the middle, stroking your hair back from your face and rolling his hips up a little so the high wouldn’t be harsh on you. His kisses turned slower, more languid, to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, finally lifting your hand so he could kiss your palm and the back of your hand.

“You’re stunning.” He breathed, kissing your knuckles. “So beautiful, honey.”

How the fuck was he respectful after the best sex you’ve ever had? There had to be a catch.

“So… that was hot.” You smiled, brushing his curls back from his forehead. “You were being pretty modest.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t last past two minutes.”

Your tongue traced your canine as you smiled. “Well, I wanna see it again.”

He blinked. Oh, boy. “Golly.”

© 2026 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED : SRENIQUE. DO NOT MODIFY, REPOST, PLAGIARISE, TAKE DIRECT INSPIRATION FROM OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN WITHOUT PERMISSION OR GIVING CREDIT.

contents :: NSFW. mdni. established relationship. not quite somnophilia but 'reader' isn't fully awake either. brief finger sucking. thigh job. p -> v. soo many nicknames + lots of praise. i haven't written smut in maybe three years, so forgive me if this is not great ^^7 wc. ~1.6k

The night had gone to shit, and Jason was pissed.

He had one thing he needed to do, just one. It should have been easy, but every little thing that could go wrong did go wrong. And things that didn't usually frustrate him were making him feel like a bomb about to go off. He was surprised he hadn't gone off already.

He felt pretty damn close to it by the time he finally got home, unlocking the front door of your shared apartment.

Tags: established relationship, fluff, grumpy emily, smitten drama queen emily, kisses, the bau being annoying, soft reader, no use of yn

Summary: Emily claims you haven't given her enough attention; dutifully, you try to remedy that. Requested here.

Word count: 1.1k

There's two, persistent points of heat boring into your cheek. You don't notice them right away—not until the weight of them starts to settle, tingling on your skin. When you turn, you immediately find the source.

Emily's arms are crossed, her brows ever so slightly drawn together, that same look in her eyes that she gets when she's trying to crack at a case. It's intense, a tad scary if you're honest, but you still find the laugh slipping out from your mouth.

"What?" You probe. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

She doesn't answer right away. Instead she gives you a long look, her eyes narrowing when you continue to stare at her blankly.

Eventually, a small furrow digs between her brows. "I'm seeing if you'll remember."

"Remember what?"