#clark kent thoughts

[svnriseblvdd]

arty reblogged one of my neighbour clark posts once and said that clark jacking off wasn't something she thought she needed in her life. i'm here to provide. (@artyandink)

clark absolutely jacks off. he's a guy, he spent most of his formative teenage years getting no action and trying to save smallville from the baddie of the week, and he's a little afraid of what his strength could mean for a girl in bed (and he's also kind of terrified of accidentally putting a hole through her with his heat vision - i imagine the first time reader gives him a blowjob he accidentally puts a hole through a wheelbarrow or something).

i know this man whines. like he's pushing his hips up to meet his hand because he's so desperate for that pleasurable feeling, and he's making these little high-pitched gasps, punching out little 'ah, ah, ah's because it feels too good.

he gets lost in fantasy too, using all different scenarios to get him closer to the edge. sometimes he just uses the mental images of you that appear to him in moments where he's seeing you - long bare legs around his waist when he sees you in a short party dress, the glimpse of your panties he'd get with the material all bunched around your hips. he feels awful when he uses the memory of something you've said that he's sure you don't realise is dirty, your whiny voice as you talk about how long and hard your day was.

he gets so lost in these fantasies that between his whimpers and whines and gasps, he'll talk, as if you're right there with him.

"y-yeah, that's it, honey"

"keep going baby, please, i'm almost there"

"yeah, right there. right there. yes. yes. yes. yes."

"fuck me. fuck me. fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuckme."

but to double down: not only does clark jack off, he edges himself. it's so many things at once. it's guilt and punishing himself for thinking about you like this when you're none the wiser. turning mind-numbing pleasure into pain as he barrels towards an orgasm. it's drawing out the pleasure until his toes curl and his thighs twitch with the need for release.

when he thinks he's almost there, he'll slow it back down, or he'll push his thumb over his tip, sometimes his entire free hand covers his tip to stop himself. but he's still begging you for his release as though you're there, as though you're the one depriving him of it.

"please, baby. please, let me cum. please, please, please. yea- no, need it. need it, please."

[arkhambug]

how this show got me feeling bruh

I NEED HIMMM

the sharp as lil canines??? the dimples??? the fucking hair????? i can’t he’s so UGHHHHHH 😔😔 i like him a normal amount i promise

[arkhambug]

rattling the bars of my enclosure i NEED HIM

okay i’ll bite, here’s where this line comes from.

clark knows that sometimes if you’re in a mood, all you really need is a good orgasm— however, the pair of you aren’t always in the place or position for him to fuck it out of you. sometimes, you have to settle for riding his thigh in the back of the truck.

he’s not rushing you and you like that, his body all big and comfy for you to slump over into. he even neatly folded your skirt and panties on the seat beside him beforehand as he gently guides your hips over his jean-clad thigh.

“m’sorry w—was bein’ a nightmare before.” you hiccup, going all soft on him now you got your way, voice coming out muffled into his sweater. he smiles, rubbing a big hand up and down your back.

“hey don’t be sorry. what kind of guy would i be if i didn’t look after my sweet girl when she gets all fussy, huh?” his tone is light despite the way his flagpole of an appendage is creating a throbbing tent at his crotch. he doesn’t mind going without, right now was about you.

“fussy.” you repeat like you’re trying it out, tongue heavy as you nuzzle further into his clothes, dragging your hips. you like how it sounds, it’s the right word to use — it describes just how you were feeling without being overtly offensive to your state. clark was gentle like that, he always knew the right things to say.

“mhm. fussy.” he hushes warmly.

your tummy warms as your clit catches over a fold in the denim material and you whine unsurely at the sensitivity, feeling a fresh wave of hot arousal seep out of you and onto his jeans. as if sensing your worry about this, clark kisses your temple, rubbing your sides. “its okay, it’s okay baby. when you’re ready to let it go, just let it go. i’m right here.”

your jerky pace picks up a little, and you swear you feel the truck swaying just a little — and timing it perfectly like he always did, clark waited for you to nearly get there before he started spewing praise, knowing how hard it makes you cum.

“pretty girl. that’s it. i know that feels good baby, keep going for me, okay?” he’s sweet, and soft, and it’s all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge. you rock on his lap, letting out desperate and almost pained cries as he soothes you through it. you press your mouth just below his collar bone and he smiles, flushed in the face at how he feels your saliva seeping through to his skin.

“aw are you drooling on me baby? does it feel that good?”

he wasn’t even teasing you, simply in awe at the way pleasure would possess your body — leaving you feeling safe and judge-free in his embrace.

when you finally lift your head, slowing your hips you look all puffy and messy like you’d just woken up, blinking your doe eyes at him, pupils dilated to hell and back.

“theres my favourite girl.” he grins and you suck in a shaky breath, still trying to orient yourself. to ground you, clark rubs a thumb over your cheek. “you really liked that.” he observes and you nod, leaning into his cheek. “maybe i’ll wear jeans more often, then.”

[frownyalfred]

a nosy socialite at an event, leaning down: “Oh Richard, it must be so hard for you in that house, what with Bruce’s…proclivities for nighttime guests.”

Dick Grayson, fully aware at age 13 that Bruce Wayne is a Loser™ whose only “nighttime guest” is Clark Kent, who comes over to “review cases” with Bruce before/after patrol while both of them awkwardly ignore any and all tension between them: “Something like that.”

[noodles-and-tea]

Eyes

[plutonicbees]

save a horse (the sequel) 🐎

[gravygranola]

sometimes you gotta just. you know

[sunsburns]

imagine trying to keep up with clark 🤯 (18+)

clark kent is an undeniably gentle lover—clumsy at times, almost bashful, his movements hesitant in a way that’s endearing. sometimes, he looks to you for reassurance, those soft blue eyes pleading, asking if he’s making you feel good.

and he always does.

he knows your body so well it’s almost frustrating. his hands, his mouth, the way his voice drops just slightly when he whispers your name—it’s enough to leave you trembling every time.

he always tells you that you do. “perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and uneven as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his voice is wrecked, raw in a way that makes you believe him—for a moment.

but there are things you’ve started to notice.

like the way he lingers for just a second too long, his lips brushing your temple as if hesitating to pull away or draw you closer. or how his hands tremble slightly when they release you, the strength behind them still careful, too careful. then, there are the moments he waits for you to fall asleep—the soft creak of the mattress, the shuffle of his feet as he slips out of bed, barely disturbing the air.

it’s always the same. the quiet click of the bathroom door, the faint rush of water as he turns on the shower.

you know what he’s doing in there.

and it eats at you, imagining him under the stream of hot water, head tilted back, his chest heaving as he works through the need that still claws at him. need that you weren’t able to fully satisfy.

once, you caught him. half-asleep and bleary-eyed, you stirred when the bed dipped, his weight returning as if nothing had happened. his skin was still damp, his hair darker and curling against his forehead.

but you want to be the one to help him blow off that steam.

“just blowing off some extra steam,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

no, you need to be the one.

you want him completely undone—panting, his chest heaving, red staining his cheeks while he’s too wrecked to say anything but your name. you want him shaking with pleasure, the same way he leaves you, winded and unable to think of anything else.

you want him gasping, moaning louder, his voice breaking apart as he tries to keep himself together. you want to see spit pooling at the corners of his lips, his body shuddering uncontrollably. you want him to blow load after load—on you, with you, inside you—until neither of you can take any more.

you just have to make sure you don’t turn the tables on yourself.

“you got another one for me, hun?” clark pleads, his voice soft but ragged.

his curls stick to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his face is flushed deeper than you’ve ever seen. his big hands hold your hips gently, fingers twitching as if he’s trying to resist gripping you tighter.

you’re blubbering, incoherent, your eyes unfocused as your nails scrape at his shoulders. it’s ridiculous trying to leave marks on steel skin, but the feeling of him, the weight of him, makes it impossible to stay still.

you’ve finally managed to corner him. after weeks, nearly a month of easing him into the idea that you could keep up with him, he let you try. and now he’s showing you a side of himself you’ve never seen before.

his body trembles against yours, his movements are frantic, urgent, a stark contrast to the measured pace he usually sets. your legs ache as you struggle to keep up, your body pliant and exhausted, while he bucks up against you, doing most of the work after you had given up on riding him.

he moves you easily, up and down his cock, his strength apparent even in his restraint. his head falls back against the headboard, blue eyes locked on yours, his glasses long discarded.

in all honesty, you don’t know if you have another one in you. you’d lost count three orgasms ago. you must’ve been delusional thinking you could keep up with clark kent, a man who is finally breaking a sweat, his broken moans and soft whimpers starting to turn into ones you’ve never heard from him before. even after cumming countless times, making a mess of your sheets, he still wants more, asks for it, begs for it—he needs more, he can take more, wants to give you more.

the slow drag of his cock, sliding in and out of you, has you mewling, tears staining your cheeks as the pleasure mounts again. his grip is firm but careful, guiding you, ensuring you can take everything he’s giving.

he makes you feel so good. your body trembling in his hands, every nerve alight and melting under his touch. you’ve become putty for him to mould.

it’s a little embarrassing, honestly—that he’s got you like this. you were supposed to be the one pleasing him, breaking him down, undoing him. not the other way around.

but he seems perfectly satisfied with the way things are right now.

you’re fully collapsed onto him now, your strength all but gone. his hips jerk upwards, his movements frantic and desperate, breath puffing hot air against your ear.

“can you… can you look at me?” he pleads, his voice cracking as his hands shift from your hips to cradle your face, tilting your head so you’re staring into his glassy, almost desperate eyes. “look at me while you come—it’ll make me come, too. please.”

you mean to whine, his touch burning against your skin, but the sound catches in your throat when you see him.

he looks utterly wrecked.

his eyes are clouded, unfocused, his lips slick and parted, his brow furrowed with something between pain and pure desire. you imagine you look much the same—spit glistening on your chin, cheeks flushed and tear-streaked, wetness trailing down your thighs.

he holds your gaze for a moment, his thumb brushing your lower lip before slipping into your mouth.

then, both of you move at once—you surge forward to kiss him, capturing those perfect, pink lips, your movements slow and languid while he remains restless. he adjusts to your pace, pulling you impossibly closer.

his blue eyes roll back as he thrusts into you again. one hand traces lines up your spine while his lips devour yours, leaving you trembling and teetering on the edge within minutes.

his kisses turn softer, trailing to your cheek, his teeth catching on your skin as he nips gently. “i’m not hurting you, am i?” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “i know it’s sensitive, baby. tell me if it’s too much, okay? i can stop if—”

“no, please,” you whimper, terrified he might actually stop. “it’s so good.”

you’re drunk with desire, clenching tightly around him.

“you feel so good, baby. so fucking good. you’re taking me so well.” his next thrust is sharp, deep, dragging a cry from your lips as he stills, buried to the hilt. “you’re gonna make me come again,” he groans, his voice breaking.

“fuck, please—”

“i want you to come for me again,” he interrupts, his desperation bleeding through. “you’re so tight and hot when you do. i need it again—please, baby, one more for me. can you give me one more?”

“i—yeah,” you nod, trembling, your body already vibrating on the verge of release.

he hardly gives you a moment to recover before he’s crooning, “one more, just one more, please, please, please—”

clark kent is completely undone.

[st4rfckerz]

clark kent is the kind of guy to plan out his entire future with you while he’s balls deep and absolutely pussy drunk. his body is pressed against yours with his head buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily while making scarcely comprehensible promises in your ear. the fantasies swirl in his mind, becoming more vivid as he gets closer and closer.

“ ‘m gonna marry you, a-and we can have a farm of our own, ah- and a big house with kids, fuck…jus’ want it all with you please.” and then in true clark fashion he gets a tad embarrassed about what he said after he’s done, but you both know he really means it.

[leoleolovesdc]

something about bruce calling superman clark and diana calling him kal-el. how two of his best friends each see a different side of him. diana as an outsider and princess sees his pain, the legacy he doesn’t fully understand but still needs to live up to, the last son of krypton. bruce sees the boy who grew up in kansas, with a mother and father, and had a human childhood, who despite everything that made him different, was still just another person.

[secretidentie]

More thoughts on Clark fantasizing about sweaty Bruce "in a friend way":

The reason this lasts so long is coz every time Clark considers that maybe this behaviour isn't normal, he looks over at Bruce who's doing the exact same thing and thinks "nah, this is how friends act, totally bros"

He's memorising his heartbeat and scent? Bruce has already studied every inch of his body in great detail multiple times

He's interested in learning more about Bruce's parents and childhood? Bruce has been learning to speak kryptonian and studying the culture for years now

He treats the bat kids like his own kids? Bruce literally buys the bank his parents owe money to so they can keep the farm

He stares at the man's scars for a bit too long in the changing rooms? Bruce just full on looks him in the eye while he strips down then continues on like nothing happened

This man has not only matched his freak, he's doubled it and put a batsymbol on it

[arkhambug]

i need him….

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Teen!Dick, in tears: B I’m gay and I’m proud of who I am so if you don’t accept me well… I’m not sorry.

Bruce, in the middle of a very passionate make-out session with Clark Kent: Chum…

[frownyalfred]

“Bruce Wayne’s superpower is money” Bruce Wayne’s superpower is the ability to actively have a full-fledged panic attack and still look Superman himself dead in the eye without any of his vitals changing. Heart rate is a solid 60 BPM. You can’t even see him breathing. Put some respect on my man’s name.

[duckysprouts]

dc injustice is messed up because they write such refreshing yet disgustingly awful takes on every single relationship and person. like how do u misunderstand the core of every character?? can only be consumed when removed from the context of all canon

anyway take 2 people make em obsessed yada yada hand in unlovable hand or whatever

[anxi04]

kon ends up developing a pretty substantial kryptonite immunity and it’s purely cause supers are just…. weak ass motherfuckers with pain. yeah sure it dampens their powers and hurts like a motherfucker but with exposure and not just dealing with a large amount of pain very shortly and only once every so often kon just pushes through it.

he refuses to explain how though and that’s cause he let tim just poke him with a sharp kryptonite shard to get used to being around it so it’s not so jarring when it happens and then he stubbed his toe and sobbed like a bitch and he decided he needed to get higher pain tolerance.

kon refuses to explain how because he is not telling everyone he cried over a stubbed toe and that was the tipping point and tim refuses to explain cause he doesn’t need people think he’s going into supervillain territory again.

this does get revealed by kon getting stabbed with a very sharp shard once on a mission with clark and clark panicking while kon just takes it out and puts it in a container he keeps with him now. he then looks clark dead in his eyes and says “what you think that’s bad? you’re just weak. loser.” and then continues on as normal

there was also a period of time where kon had a kryptonite necklace so he could get piercings without messing the recovery process up. it was a very difficult time period cause he couldn’t take it off or else the piercings would heal way too quickly.