luvlofiie

[luvlofiie]

This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen on the internet 😭

We approached them with nothing but RESPECT. Superman was so sweet and willing. The bald headed bitch on the left had the craziest attitude. And he was grasping onto Kal like someone was trying to snatch him. Girl relax. And bitch you're not even fitted. Like yk your new tech just came out, you're trending, you were just in the Pocket Universe. Don't walk around Metropolis looking this crazy. Suit buttoned to the TOP and that stupid ass briefcase. What's going on? Idk is he coked out or what ????

[luvlofiie]

Oh give this too me NEOWW

next door's lemonade

pairing: dilf!clark kent x fem reader

summary: clark kent’s a mild-mannered single dad, but when you decide to turn up the heat, things get messy—literally. three easy steps to seduce your unlikely crush, plus one totally unexpected meltdown. chaos, flustered kisses, and way too much dad energy guaranteed.

cw: age gap, domestic thirst, 40 yr old single dad clark, i had mid 20s reader in mind but it's up to you, soft-spoken filth, oral (f!receiving), pet names, overstimulation, size kink, thigh riding, praise, piv smut, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, 3k wc mdni

you’re convinced clark kent was god’s personal apology to women for everything else men have done.

he’s quiet, polite, and always has that bashful little smile when he sees you. when he walks his daughter to the bus stop every morning, your heart does that stupid flutter thing—but worse than that, your uterus practically weeps. her pigtails are always slightly crooked, like he tried his best and she wouldn’t sit still, and the sight alone makes you want to hand in your iud and volunteer as tribute.

but clark? clark’s completely unaware of the chaos he causes. or so you thought.

you’d always exchanged casual greetings—him with his chipper “morning” and you with a smile that bordered on horny—but nothing past that. until one day, standing outside your front door, key half in the lock, you catch sight of him in his front yard.

his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, hands deep in the flower bed. his shirt clings to his back in all the right places. biceps flex. forearms strain. there's a smudge of dirt on his jaw.

he looks up. catches you staring.

you freeze.

he waves. smiles. it’s boyish. innocent. cruel.

you scramble inside like you just saw god himself—because, honestly, you might’ve.

and that’s when it hits you: this man will not realize you want him unless you physically spell it out. and even then, there’s a 50/50 chance he’ll think you’re just being neighborly.

fine.

you can be aggressively neighborly, because one way or another, you are going to get into clark kent’s dad pants if it’s the last thing you do.

step one: bait the child

you “accidentally” bake too many muffins. double batch. how clumsy of you.

“these? oh no, i can’t eat them all. would your daughter like some?”

she comes over giggling and thanks you every time, bouncing with excitement. and when she beams up at clark and says, “daddy, she made blueberry again!”—your heart squeezes in your chest and your pussy clenches right after from the goofy smile he gives you, muffin crumbs on his lip.

step two: damsel in distress

you wave him over one hot afternoon. “mr. kent! my ac unit’s being dumb again. it’s so confusing. would you mind taking a look?”

he spends twenty minutes crouched down fiddling with it, sweat glistening along his hairline, shirt riding up in the back, glasses slipping down his nose. you pretend not to stare. you fail. miserably. he turns back, flustered. “it was just the filter. uh—real easy fix.”

“still, thanks,” you say, handing him a cold, homemade lemonade. “you’re such a good neighbor.”

his ears turn red. he mumbles, “a-and you can just call me clark, you know. ‘mr. kent’ makes me sound like… my dad.” his laugh is self-conscious, cheeks pink as he glances at you and quickly looks away.

god, how can a 40-year-old dad be so fucking hot and so stupidly cute at the same time?

“sure thing, clark.” you purr. he blinks twice like his brain just blue-screened.

step three: verbal homicide

today’s the day.

you and clark are sitting on your front porch. he’s sipping the lemonade you made. his daughter’s across the lawn, playing with chalk on the driveway. you watch her draw a lopsided sun with a smiley face.

“she’s amazing,” you say softly. clark beams with quiet pride. “next woman in your life’s gonna be real lucky to have your baby.”

he chokes.

full on, hand-on-chest, coughing fit.

you innocently pat his back, wide-eyed. “oh no, clark! you okay?”

“w-wow, that’s… uh… that’s quite a thing to say,” he manages, voice an octave higher. his ears are red. “i mean—thank you, that’s… that’s kind. she’s, uh… she’s my whole world.” he glances away again, adjusting his glasses like they’re suddenly the most interesting thing on earth.

you blink at him all doe-eyed. “i just meant—anyone would be lucky. you’re an amazing dad. sweet. strong. gentle. built like a truck.”

his jaw tightens.

you bite your straw.

he gulps.

it’s so over for him. 

step four: reap the rewards

you wait until his daughter gets picked up for a sleepover before making your move.

it’s storming. your lights flicker. and right as scheduled, you're knocking on his door.

“power out?” he asks softly.

“yeah,” you say. “can i wait it out in here?”

he hesitates. then nods. “of course, it's no bother.”

you smile sweetly as he lets you in.

both of you are sitting on his couch now. clark’s all stiff and awkward. his glasses fog slightly every time he exhales.

your legs are in his lap.

he’s definitely pretending not to look at them.

he’s not touching you, not really, but his hand’s resting near your calf and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. his eyes flicker down to your thighs again—just for a second.

then he mumbles, “you’re, uh… you’re real young.”

you blink innocently. “too young for what?”

he opens his mouth. closes it. flusters.

you lean in.

he doesn’t stop you.

you touch his cheek, soft and slow, and whisper, “you’ve been such a good neighbor to me, clark. such a gentleman.”

he swallows again. you’re starting to love how often you make him do that.

then you murmur, “you wanna keep bein’ a gentleman, or can i show you how long i’ve been thinking about your hands?”

you start to climb into his lap and his breath catches.

“i don’t think—i mean, this probably isn’t—” he cuts himself off when you fully settle in his lap. his hands hover near your waist but don’t quite touch. “i’m—i’m not exactly good at this sort of thing,” he says quietly, eyes darting everywhere except your face. “you think i don’t notice when you look?” you murmur. he swallows. “i—well. i try not to.” “that’s cute.”  you lean forward. “wanna try failing a little harder?”

then you grind down.

he jerks beneath you.

his hands fly to your waist—but he doesn’t stop you.

“been thinking about this forever,” you whisper against his neck. “thought about riding your thigh just to see if you’d notice.”

his chest rumbles. “i noticed.”

you shiver.

“then why didn’t you do anything?”

he exhales shakily. “i’m not supposed to want you like this.”

you whimper. “but you do.”

“yes,” he admits, breathless. “god help me, i do.”

you start grinding against his thigh, desperate, sticky, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

he’s hard. thick and long and straining against his pants.

his hands move to your hips. help you rock. guide you through it like it’s killing him.

you whimper when your clit drags against the firm muscle of his thigh.

“oh my god—fuck—”

he stiffens. “don’t say that. don’t curse.”

you blink, dazed. “you don’t like it?”

he looks almost pained. “i just—i don’t use that kind of language, and i don’t like hearin’ it on your pretty mouth. not when you’ve got so many sweeter things to say.”

you blink.

then you grind harder.

“you’re unreal,” you pant, high on power. “clark, i swear—your thigh—i’m gonna cum just like this, i can’t—”

his breath comes fast.

“you wanna come on my thigh, darlin’?” his voice is low, but there’s that shy hitch in it, like he’s almost embarrassed to say it out loud. “go ahead. make a mess, it’s alright—i’ll take care of it.”

your whole body shudders at the warmth in his tone.

“yeah?” he murmurs, glancing down at where you’re pressed against him. “you gonna–uh, soak right through these shorts for me?”

you nod frantically.

“pretty girl,” he breathes, thumb brushing your cheek in a gentle, almost hesitant touch. “you’ve been actin’ so sweet lately, real flirty. but– you’re not a bad girl, right?”

“i’m such a slut,” you whisper, breath hitching.

clark sits back just slightly, blinking hard. “hey—hey, now. don’t say that.”

“why not?”

his brows pinch. “’cause that’s not… that’s not what this is. you’re not—i mean, you’re just…”

he looks flustered. desperate to explain. “you’re sweet. and—and good. and i’m probably too old and really not good at this anymore, but—”

you pull him back in by the collar.

“clark,” you whisper. “shut up and keep ruining me.”

“yes ma’am,” he mutters again, voice cracking.

you’re whimpering into his neck, panting like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

your clit is throbbing. his thigh is slick. and he’s so still underneath you, chest heaving with every shaky breath, eyes fixed on where your soaked sleep shorts have turned nearly translucent against his skin.

“clark—i’m gonna—”

“go on, honey,” he breathes. “i’ve got you”

your head drops against his shoulder. you cry out—soft, desperate, overwhelmed—and he shudders beneath you when your body locks up and twitches in his lap.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, a little bashful. “such a good girl for me.”

you’re trembling. sensitive. overstimulated. and yet—

you still want more.

you roll your hips again, chasing that high, gasping when it stings a little but still feels so good.

he freezes, swallowing hard. his voice gets all tight and breathy.

“don’t… don’t do that.”

“why?”

he bites his lip, voice cracking just a little.

“’cause if you keep goin’, i’m not gonna be able to stop… and, uh, that’d be a problem.”

your eyes flutter open.

your lips part.

yes, you think. finally.

“then don’t stop,” you whisper. “please. i want it. i want you.”

he groans—actually groans, like you just kicked the legs out from under his self-control—and then suddenly you’re on your back, clark looming over you, so much bigger than you imagined.

his broad shoulders block out the lamp behind him. his hand cups the back of your knee, spreading your legs gently but firmly, as if he’s trying to be respectful even now.

you’re soaked.

he stares down at your flushed body and breathes, “you look like temptation itself.”

he sinks to his knees at the edge of the couch like you’re holy.

like he’s praying.

your breath catches when he pushes your thighs apart, pulling down your small shorts and panties, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your inner thigh. then another, higher. and another, closer to where you need him.

he looks up at you once, eyes dark, lips parted.

“i haven’t… done this in a while,” he confesses. “i hope i don’t mess it up.”

“you wont,” you whisper, chest heaving. 

he smiles. soft and sweet. “okay, baby.”

then he leans in and devours you.

his mouth is warm. firm. so, so thorough. he kisses you like it’s a love language, like it’s something he’s always wanted to do but never thought he’d get to. he eats like a man starved—slow at first, reverent, dragging his tongue through your folds until you’re squirming—and then deeper, rougher, gripping your thighs tight as he licks into you like he’s memorizing the shape of your pussy with his tongue.

you moan. loud. unrestrained.

“oh wow,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to blink up at you, dazed. “you—you taste like—uh—like sugar? or lemonade? is that weird to say?”

you giggle, breath hitching when his tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe through your folds again.

“you can say whatever you want as long as you keep doing that.”

“okay,” he mumbles, immediately diving back in, muffling a sheepish, “yes ma’am” against your cunt like the respectful farm boy he is.

you whimper.

he laps at you again, dragging his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one long, messy stroke.

you arch off the couch. cry out. your second orgasm hits harder than the first—shaking your legs, making you grab for him, thighs clenching around his head.

he doesn’t stop.

god, he doesn’t stop.

he sucks your clit right through it, tongue flicking, mouth hot and wet and everywhere, and suddenly you’re crying—hands fisting in his hair, tears streaming down your cheeks.

and clark—sweet, soft clark—he pulls back just enough to kiss your thigh and murmur, “you cryin’, darlin’? oh, honey. did i go too hard?”

you sob. “n-no—feels so good—i just—”

he kisses you again. this time, between your legs. slow. gentle. sinful.

then he presses a kiss to your hip and asks, sweet and red-faced, “may i…?”

you nod. “please.”

he pulls out a little foil packet from his wallet.

“you had that ready?” you tease.

he blushes so hard you think he might die. “i—just in case. not that i assumed—i didn’t! i just… hoped.” you bite your lip, voice soft but steady. “i appreciate the gesture, but i wanna feel you, clark.”

clark blinks fast, mouth opening and closing like a stunned fish before he fumbles, setting the condom aside like he’s a little caught off guard.

you giggle.

and then he unbuttons his pants.

you don’t even get to see him pull it out. you just feel the weight of it as he presses the head against your inner thigh, and even that makes you twitch.

“you sure about this?” he asks, voice tight, breathless.

you nod, voice shaking. “please. want it so bad.”

he leans over you. presses his forehead to yours.

his cock nudges your entrance.

thick. heavy. he’s holding back like he’s scared of breaking you.

he’s so careful when he pushes in. you’re so tight around him he actually groans.

“oh, sweetheart. i’m—i’m sorry, i’ll go slow—”

you nod.

he bottoms out.

his hands tremble when you look up at him. flushed. full.

your hands clutch his shoulders as your body stretches around him. you feel every inch. every pulse. he’s groaning—groaning, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he sinks deeper and deeper.

“feels like heaven,” he chokes. “tight little thing—s’like you were made for me.”

you nod, trembling. you feel so full—like your body had just been waiting for this, built for this, desperate to be filled up by a man with hands big enough to lift you and a voice soft enough to break you.

stays there.

“you okay?” he asks, voice almost shaking.

you nod, tears still on your cheeks.

“clark—i need you to move.”

and when he does?

it’s over.

he breaks you down slowly, tenderly, thrust by deep thrust.

he kisses your tears away.

he calls you his sweetheart.

he thrusts deep, still trying to be gentle.

“feels like i’m dreamin’, sweetheart,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. “i can’t believe this is real.”

you gasp. your walls clench. he whimpers.

he whimpers.

his forehead is pressed to yours. one of his huge hands is cradling the back of your neck. the other is splayed low on your stomach like he’s trying to feel himself from the outside, to make sense of how snug you are, how perfectly your body takes him.

“can feel it, sweetheart,” he pants softly. “you’re squeezin’ me so good. like you don’t wanna let me go.”

you don’t.

you never want him to stop.

you’re crying now, wrecked and wet and shaking, each drag of his cock against your walls sending little shocks of heat straight to your toes.

he murmurs against your skin, “is that too much, baby? you need me to slow down?”

you sob out a broken, “no, please don’t stop—feels so good—clark, please—”

he hushes you softly, lips brushing your temple. “i got you, honey. i know.”

you swear you can feel him twitching inside you, the stretch just bordering on overwhelming—so thick and deep and gentle, like he wants to ruin you but only if you’ll let him.

and you will.

you want to.

you want to feel him lose it. you want to feel him fall apart.

“i wanna make a mess in you,” he confesses, voice cracking just a little, breath heavy. “wanna fill you up good. is that okay?”

you moan. nod frantically. “yes—please—please—”

his thrusts get a little rougher. still slow. still deep. but heavier now, driven by the desperation he’s clearly been holding back this whole time.

“clark—”

and then he kisses you.

not just a press of lips—a real, messy, breathless kiss, mouths open, tongues grazing, teeth clashing a little when he finally ruts deep and stays there, cock pulsing hard inside you as he cums.

you feel it—hot and thick and endless, like his whole body’s pouring into you.

you gasp against his mouth. twitch. your walls flutter around him.

he groans through his orgasm, lips brushing your cheek. “that’s it, baby—take it. take all of it, you’re doin’ so good—”

he stays there.

buried inside.

not moving, not pulling out, just breathing hard and holding you like you might float away if he lets go. you’re both sweaty and sticky and breathless, and your thighs are quivering, but his arms never stop holding you.

you don’t know how much time passes.

just that eventually, you feel his hands—big and warm and careful—slide beneath your thighs as he lifts you gently into his arms.

“where are we going?” you whisper, voice small and dazed.

he chuckles softly. “bed.”

“you want me to stay?”

he kisses your forehead. “if you’ll have me.”

(you will.)

he helps you clean up. tucks you in. finds one of his old flannel shirts for you to wear—big enough that it hits mid-thigh.

you’re curled up in his lap again—except this time, under the covers. his hands are stroking your back slowly. steady. reassuring.

you murmur, “was it weird? being with someone younger?”

he blushes a bright red.

“felt right to be with you.”

you go quiet.

then: “i think i wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

he laughs—bright, full, happy—and kisses the top of your head.

“yeah?” he murmurs. “that why you keep bakin’ cookies for my daughter and flirtin’ with me?”

“…yes.”

he smiles against your hair. “well. if you’re serious about it, honey—”

he kisses your temple.

“—we can talk about it over breakfast.”

“you’re makin’ me breakfast?”

“of course,” he says, brushing your hair off your cheek. “you like bacon? i make ‘em good. you can show me how you make that lemonade."

and maybe—just maybe—he makes you a baby too.

but that’s for next time :3 a/n: still haven't watched superman. this was supposed to be a request and i got very carried away...

[luvlofiie]

Me right now

Need him so bad im ripe with it

[luvlofiie]

ARE YOU KIDDING

like you’re kidding……

[luvlofiie]

Clark having a crush on the journalist next to him:))

You’re known for writing the fashion and social culture on the daily planet newspaper. But Clark knows you as someone else, someone he’s been yearning for since he started his job. He loves sound of your heels that he can hear from miles away- tapping against the sidewalk of downtown Metropolis. You’re strawberry perfume that always has his mind going oozy every time he gets a whiff when you walk by, and your sweet voice that is constantly giggling and always sharing positivity throughout the workplace. You’re the work sweetie pie, everyone adores you- Clark wouldn’t be surprised if every man or woman had a light crush on you, he can’t get you out of his mind.

You’ve got him completely swooned. And when you talk to him? He’s a stuttering mess, “Hey Clark, do you want a donut?” You ask him, your words coated in sugar. He spins around to face you and can’t help but admire you. You’re balancing the box of a dozen on one arm, your matcha in the other. He just stares at you for a moment, taking you in as it was the first time he’s seen you all day. Your hair so smooth and silky with a red headband, your gingham dress hanging loose below your knees, small white cardigan, hanging off the shoulder that belonged to the hand arm holding the donuts. Your lacy socks peeking out of your red heels, but most of all… he admired the bright smile that you gave to everyone. The smile that lights up any dark room, brightens someone’s day even when it’s been a rough one, and the smile that greeted Clark on his first day… so welcoming and wholesome. After a few moments of gazing up at you from his chair, he broke out of his trance due to you saying his name repeatedly, “Clark? Clark!” He snapped back and began muttering, “what- Oh! Yes, please…” His words are followed by a chuckle as he began to reach over and grab a glazed donut.

Now, despite your amazing skills on being able to dissect the ways of love and relationships, you sure are too oblivious to his antics along with the fact that you practically have Superman head over heels for you. Even when he’s always checking up on you, brings you matcha from your favorite matcha place, always offering to walk you home and when you deny, he asks to at least walk you halfway- asking you to call him when you get arrive to know your safe, he even proofreads your work to make sure it meets Perry’s expectations. Clark will never forget the time you asked him to proofread your article on, ‘Victoria Secret’s Top 5 Lingerie Collections’ like it was no big deal, he swears he almost choked on his coffee. He still edited for you, wanting to make sure you didn’t have to do it yourself. Not that there was much to edit, you were great at what you did, it was top tier material and he secretly made a note to himself of which collection you thought was the best, just because he cares;)

The funniest part about the whole thing is everyone, and I mean everyone knows about Clark’s little crush on you- except for you. They see him staring at you as you talk to another male coworker, shooting daggers into him with his glare. He notes the small things you talk about with Lois. Like your favorite place to eat, where you get your nails done, that thrift store you get a lot of your fun clothes from. He loves the way you are always trying to be sweet and kind to everyone, always talking and making sure everyone is included. You’re a very radiant spirit and stand on the things you believe in, it’s very magnetizing. Jimmy will always grin when you squeal and drape your arms around Clark’s neck, pressing your bodies together, spilling out ‘thank you’s’ to him over and over again. All because he got you the Vogue Magazine that you’ve been searching for, for weeks. He has overheard you talking about it with Lois and how it would take a ‘miracle to find it’. Lucky, Clark’s alter-ego is a pretty popular face and has a lot of connections. So when he made a deal with the Vogue CEO to make an appearance at his nieces birthday party, he’d make two ‘special edition’ copies- he knew he won the lottery. Clark’s face was very red after that. Jimmy chuckling, “way to play it smooth…” sending a joyful reaction out of Perry who was currently talking to Lois. They laugh because they all know something that Clark doesn’t. That you also have a big crush on him that everyone, and I mean everyone sees. Everyone except, him.

~~~

a/n: hey berries! First fic, I hope you guys enjoyed it. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always greatly appreciated! I’m also accepting requests, if you have any other reader’s you’d like to see or if you would like more of journalist!reader:)

Much love, 🍓

[luvlofiie]

ICONNNNN

#Love him

[luvlofiie]

Joel miller the kinda man to give ur pussy pronouns fr… WAIT WHO SAID THAT?!??

[luvlofiie]

clark kent…. it seems i’ve grown fond of you.. perhaps i’ll open a google doc and label it after you and write about your pretty brown eyes.

[luvlofiie]

Biting my nails I NEED CLARK SO BAD I WISH HE WAS REAL:(((

Livingggg for Clark calling you princess when you're not expecting it!!

"S'cuze me, princess," while he's making his way behind you. His big hands holding your hips as he makes his way past you.

Or when the two of you are on his couch snuggled up while watching your favorite show and he starts handing you pieces of his candy –not even giving it to you, but pressing it up to your soft lips with a "here y'go, princess."

And its even worse when hes balls deep in your pussy with your legs thrown over his broad shoulders and his raven hair disheveled, dark tendrils sticking to his forehead.

Youre quivering beneath him –eyes rolling back when the veiny girth of his cock grazes that spongey spot that makes you keen. Your walls tightening around the pulse of him when you cum with a hitched moan.

Clark's hips falter, amused at the way you sob at the heat of it all, "Oh, that was a big one huh princess"

And there's other times that are sweeter and softer in nature —times where you accidentally hurt yourself after a stressful day and he's bandaging a cut you got while chopping carrots for dinner.

You hiss when he applies neosporin, the cut still raw and angry against your skin.

"I know, I know, m'sorry hon." he shushes you softly before pulling out a bundle of bandaids from your medical box.

"Which one, princess?"

And after you pick your favorite one, hes gentle as he wraps it around your finger, pressing a sweet kiss to the bandaid, "there y'go, good as new."

[luvlofiie]

No literally

[luvlofiie]

So glad I’m not the only one that caught this disease 🤧

stomach in knots thinking about the clip of david working out in the long sleeve yellow shirt, baseball cap, full beard and long curls….

[luvlofiie]

[luvlofiie]

need jackson!joel to hold me and baby me and let me lay in his lap when he comes home from patrol

[luvlofiie]

HES A BABY HERE OMGGG

Just Bucky and Barky Barnes

[luvlofiie]

TOMMY GIRL FOR LIFEEEEE

i love joel but… I LOVE TOMMY MORE! 😩 JUST LOOK AT HIM

he’s so…. UGH! 🫠 just look at his curls, they’re so cute 🥺

[luvlofiie]

Challengers but it’s Danny ramirez, Lewis pullman, and me

[luvlofiie]