herweirdass

[herweirdass]

clark smut with reader that can’t focus while they fuck🙏

very much relatable. thanks for requesting 💌

CHATTERBOX 18+ ⸻ CLARK KENT

clark kent x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 658 WARNINGS. 18+ only! general filth, pinv, reader can’t turn her brain off and clark being cute and teasing about it. mdni

Turning off your mind is always quite the struggle, it's never quite as easy as you hope it to be. It's like there's no off switch, your brain always seeming to be a rapid pingponging of thoughts, no matter the situation. 

Even now, when your mind should be empty, sole focus supposed to be on Clark with the way he looks and smells and sounds and feels; your brain is drifting back to a conversation you had in passing with someone at the train station, and then to the paper shopping list you made and lost soon after. 

Clark pulls his face out from the crook of your neck, lifting his head to get a better view of you below, your brows scrunched — but not in bliss like they usually are at a time like this, but instead focus. 

He lowers slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips. "Penny for your thoughts," he whispers against your mouth, the tip of his nose skimming yours. 

"I never found that shopping list."

"I did," he smiles lazily, a dopey grin tugging on the corners of his mouth. He presses another kiss to your lips, and the unrushed motion of his hips into yours subside, a lull occurring in the gentle fucking he's giving you. "It's on the fridge."

"You found it?" you ask, eyes ardently softening as you peer up to him. You slip your hands from around his shoulders and up to his neck, palms settling either side of it. "Where was it?"

"Next to your phone."

"You found my phone?" you ask, elated tone genuine.

"I did," Clark chuckles softly and shakes his head, the act small, like he finds the exchange endearing. He presses another kiss to your lips and another and another, searing warm acts of affection across your cheek, along your jaw and then down your throat. "Was by your shoes next to the front door."

You slide one hand up the short dark hair at the back of his neck, grazing your fingers along his scalp until you settle them around the crown of his head. You shake your head slightly, baffled by your own inanity. 

When he thinks your mind to be clear, he resumes the motion he had halted a few moments prior; hips winding into you, cock retracting and pushing back into you in a steady, easy rhythm.

Though that's the case, and Clark should've known that. But really, he got just too ahead of himself.

"Did you know lemons float—"

"But limes sink," he finishes off your fact, an entertained smile lining his lips — temporarily halting the small littering of kisses at the base of your throat. "I did know that."

"Did I tell you that before?" 

"You did," he nods and lifts his head, lining it back up with yours. "But I don't mind it," he kisses the tip of your nose, blue eyes gentle on you below.

"Did I turn the oven off?"

"No," he brings a hand to hold the side of your head, keeping you there. He chuckles. "I did."

"What time tomorrow—"

He dips in to sear a kiss to your lips, disrupting your question as he knew this to be a futile game with you. Clark knew of your inability to shut down your brain, and while he loved your natural inquisitive nature, he knew you needed a little bit of help quietening the contents swirling in your mind. If anything he was doing you a favour.

"No more questions," he shushes you softly, cooing into your mouth. "Focus on me," he whispers, timing it with a slightly more deliberate roll of his hips — cock sinking in that bit deeper.

And as he predicted, a whiney noise falls from between your lips, the blissed sound hindering the chance for you to ask anymore questions. And so he does it again, knocking another airy gasp from you; further disabling the thinking centre within your brain. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[herweirdass]

freaknasty clark is so important to me i just KNOW that man has ISSUES.

that kitchen scene when Lois is talking about important stuff but literally Clark just wants to be kissing on her? walk with me.

THAT SCENE CHANGED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY OMG TOU DONT UNDERSTANDDDDDD

like listennnnnnn…. you’re ranting about a case brief you’ve had to write, talking about how some of the men at the firm you work at are absolute dolts.

“i really don’t understand how those dunderheads graduated high school,” you huff, irritated by the constant incompetence in your office, “much less graduated from law school and passed the bar.”

“mhmmm,” clark hums, his big hands wandering all over your suit clad form. you can tell he’s only halfway listening, but you can’t bring yourself to call him on it.

you’re in the kitchen, pressed up against a counter as clark mouths at your neck and jaw.

“what’s worse is that… ohhh,” you breathe, cutting yourself off as he sucks at a particularly sensitive spot, fingers carding through his black curls.

“keep talkin’, honey,” he rumbles into your skin, “i wanna hear about your day.”

[herweirdass]

i love your posts! can you pls write clark helping black!reader with their hair? maybe clark comes home late and notices reader went straight to bed after working a late shift and forgot to tie their hair up. he knows the importance protective styles so he puts a bonnet or a scarf on their head before joining them in bed (:

hi queen, i just published this one. i loved this & i hope you enjoy it as well! x

the little things | clark kent

[herweirdass]

the little things | ck

synopsis: after coming home late, clark notices you forgot to tie your hair up for the night [requested, keep them coming! i love you guys x]

clark slipped in through the door as quietly as he could, loosening his tie with one hand while setting his glasses down with the other. it had been a long day—longer than he meant it to be—and guilt tugged at him when he saw the soft glow of the lamp still faintly lighting the bedroom.

you were already in bed, curled up under the blanket, your breathing even. your hair spilled over the pillow, curls free and untied. clark paused at the doorway, his chest warming at the sight of you, but then he noticed—no scarf, no bonnet. he knew how careful you were about your hair, how you never let yourself fall asleep without protecting it, even when you were bone-tired.

he crossed the room slowly, careful not to wake you, and crouched down by the nightstand. the drawer creaked softly as he opened it, pulling out your satin bonnet. clark turned it over in his hands for a moment, smiling a little to himself. he wasn’t raised to know these things, but he’d learned because you mattered.

“you must’ve been so tired,” he whispered, almost to himself.

with a gentleness that came from years of holding the world in his hands without breaking it, he gathered your curls, tucking them carefully inside. you stirred faintly, but didn’t wake, and clark slipped the bonnet on, adjusting it so it sat comfortably against your forehead.

he brushed his fingers over your cheek, lingering just long enough to feel your warmth, then leaned down to kiss your temple. “sleep, baby. i got you.”

only then did he shed the rest of his clothes, sliding into bed beside you. he pulled you into his chest like he always did, protective as ever, his hand resting softly over the crown of your head.

if the world needed saving again before morning, it would have to wait—right now, you were his world.

[herweirdass]

OLANDRIA CARTHEN on What Happens Live with Andy Cohen

[herweirdass]

this legit gave me flashbacks of me and my ex woah. i love this 😆

Clark Kent who missed you during the day, but is too eager to feel your pussy the second he's back home, so he just has you talk to him while you're on his cock

“How was your day?” he asks, kissing your shoulder as his hands rub up and down your hips, squeezing the flesh gently.

“It was fine,” you say breathlessly, holding onto his arms, thighs trembling slightly on either side of his hips. He's big, his cock stretching you out, the angle making it press against your womb.

“Just fine? How was that meeting you had?” he questions, kissing your neck, feeling your slick dribbling down and smearing on his lower abdomen.

“Great,” you reply, dazed. “It went great.”

“Yeah? I'm glad,” he says as he slides a hand to your womb, angling your hips and groaning at how wet and warm and tight your gummy walls are.

You whine, gasping softly.

“Nothing new today? Nothing different? You just had a boring office day?” he teases, leading you to bounce on him, making your cunt flutter around his cock.

“It was fine,” you manage, a little mewl leaving your pretty lips.

“You keep saying fine,” he points out, his hand adding pressure to your lower belly as his thumb lands on your clit. “You usually have a million things to tell me, and you complain about that old hag at the desk next to yours. Not today?”

“I—It was—Yeah,” you gasp, moaning.

Clark grins. There's something about seeing your mind draw a blank while he's in you, that just turns him on so much. “What's wrong, baby? Pretty head not working? Should I pull my cock out so we can keep talking?”

“No!” you gasp. “No.”

“Then talk to me. Tell me about your day, I missed you,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“I missed you too, just...it's not easy to think.”

“Try? For me?” he whispers, removing his thumb from your clit and stopping you from going up and down, leading you to just rock back and forth on him.

You whine, but find it somewhat easier to recall the events of the day.

He makes you tell him all about it while he eases the tension out of you. He listens intently, commenting and asking questions. And by the time you're done, your slick has soaked all the way down to the bed sheets under you both and his cock is painfully hard in you.

“Well, now that I'm all caught up, I can fuck you properly and make you feel better, yeah? Gonna treat my girl like the goddess she is.”

♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing

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Taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛

@booboobear-12 @savvysavsblog13 @donnadiddadog @akkahelenaa @tysukier @animegamerfox @absolutelybloodyhopeless @teenytinylilcrawdaddies @simpingreader @tezooks @justheretoreadmydear @lovexbunny @lahniii @dolleciita @tinawantstobeadoll @preciselyshifts @markiplex @kissmxcheek @buckyisveryhot @rayamaya 

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Clark Kent masterlist

[herweirdass]

[herweirdass]

of course clark’s girlfriend is a virgo

clark thinks it’s hilarious and endearing how organized you are. you’ve got lists for everything—grocery lists, to-do lists, even a “movies clark hasn’t seen yet” list that you keep updating. he pretends he doesn’t need it, but he secretly checks it when you’re not around.

you always notice the little things clark does for you. if he folds your bonnet neatly on the pillow before bed, or puts your edge control back where it belongs instead of leaving it on the sink, you notice it immediately and thank him. he loves that you catch details no one else would.

as a virgo, you’re a natural perfectionist, which means you’ll edit clark’s daily planet articles before he turns them in. sometimes you catch spelling errors he didn’t even see, and he’ll just shake his head like, “how do you do that?”

he teases you for being “bossy,” but he loves it when you tell him what to do. you keep him grounded—reminding him to eat real food instead of rushing off to save people on just black coffee, or making him stretch after a fight so his back doesn’t get tight.

you keep your skincare routine on lock, and clark loves watching you do it at night. sometimes he’ll even ask if you can put a mask on him too.

you don’t even mean to, but sometimes your perfectionist streak makes him crazy for you. like when you’re adjusting your curls in the mirror, frowning at a part that won’t lay flat. he’ll come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and murmur, “you’re perfect. stop looking for flaws.”

he loves how clean and soft your space always smells—shea butter, vanilla, fresh linen. and when he buries his face in your neck, that mix of lotion and your skin becomes his addiction.

clark has a thing for how detail-oriented you are during intimacy. you notice every little change in his breath, every twitch of his fingers. it drives him wild how attentive you are to his body—almost like you’re studying him.

sometimes you’re bossy in the sweetest way. “take your shirt off.” “lay back.” “don’t move.” he’ll obey every time, lips quirking into that boyish smile because he loves letting you lead.

he always kisses your forehead and thanks you. like genuinely thanks you. virgo or not, he knows you give all of yourself when you love someone, and he never takes that lightly.

[herweirdass]

I am a plus size latina girly and have been obsessed with the summer I turned pretty and was wondering if you can do one with a Latina plus size reader x Conrad fisher if nit can you do if with clark kent

Where they meet at a bakery and Conrad is just getting over belly so he goes to a bakery only to meet reader and he falls in love with her at first sight and it takes him a while to ask her out because he is learning her native language and finally he does and they make love and the end can be them married and the reader having her fifth kid and Conrad telling her they are going to have a whole soccer team

ok full disclosure, i’ve never watched TSITP 😭 give me a few days to catch up then i’ll come back to this!

[herweirdass]

leave a message at the tone

summary: in which Clark becomes very familiar with your voicemail after choosing work and Lois, once again. when you finally call, he’ll drop everything for you.

content: fluff and then just hurt with little to no comfort or resolution :/ feeling less than and like a second choice (story of my life!), clark basically begging bc he loves you obvi, sorry im an absolute sucker for angst

———————————————————————————————

present day.

“hey - you know who it is, and you know what to do.” beeeeeep.

he’d gotten used to hearing it. he could recite your voicemail from memory, the amount of times he got it when he’d call.

after the first couple dozen calls, they became less frequent until they shrank down to zero. you weren’t going to pick up. he knew that, but some small part of him thought maybe, just maybe, he’d hear the line click and your breathing on the other end.

he missed you, so much, and it was his fault you were gone.

———————————————————————————————

2 months ago.

you stare at the string of texts - as if your glare could alter reality.

made those cupcakes you love, can’t wait to see you! really missed you today ☹️

i missed you more, pretty girl. I’ll be home soon.❤️

part of you had just been waiting for it to happen again. another night - some baked good getting staler by the minute propped up on a pretty plate, awaiting Clark’s arrival. the frosting on the cupcakes looked sadder each hour that passed where Clark didn’t walk through the door. you knew where he was, who he was with, and what he was doing.

you can’t get mad at him for doing his job. it’s who he’s with, and when that person happens to need him, that bothers you. you’ll never get used to the feeling of your stomach dropping when you check find my friends, and their locations are directly next to one another at the office.

you think you’re numb to the situation. that it shouldn’t be a suprise anymore. you don’t cry - yet. all you do is sigh, pick yourself up, and crawl into bed. tears fall, but not for him, for you.

———————————————————————————————

The last text he sent was at 7:30. you asking where he was sent at 8:00. It’s almost midnight when you hear the front door creak open. you don’t get up to greet him. instead you close your eyes, resuming your curled up on your side position under the sheets.

when your bedroom door pries open, you still don’t open your eyes. you hear him pad across the hardwood, landing on his side of the bed.

he peels back the covers, gently crawling into the bed next to you. you feel the weight in the bed shift, but don’t move a muscle. he leans over, kissing your exposed shoulder and down your bicep. you softly stir on instinct, halting your movements as quickly as they started.

“‘m so sorry, baby,” he whispers between pecks. “caught up at work again - perry has been on us this week.” he attempts to joke.

you don’t roll over, you don’t shift, you only softly reply, “i can’t keep coming in second.”

his brow furrows, pulling back. “what do you mean, honey?”

“Were you with Lois?”

the silence is deafening. and it’s all you need to hear. it’s a moment before he speaks up again.

“yeah, uh - i was. why?”

“i don’t think we should see each other anymore.” you mutter, voice hoarse - evidence of the sobs that wrecked you not even an hour prior.

time stops for clark. a tear you didn’t realize had been forming slides across the bridge of your nose.

“what?” his voice is no longer a whisper. “why? baby-“ his hand is on your arm, prompting you to turn to him, but you don’t. not looking at him makes it easier. you can’t cave, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. letting him do it to you. he pauses, pieces falling into place in his mind. “because- cause of Lois? baby, we were working, I promise-“

“I know,” you interrupt. “your work is important to you. you should focus on that.”

“no, baby - no. stop it,” he’s lightly shaking your arm, begging you to just look at him. “baby - can you just look at me? please?” nothing.

“Lois, too - you can have the best of both worlds without worrying about how to make time for me.”

he’s panicking now. you’re right next to him, but he can physically feel you slipping further and further away. he’s trying to grab you, pull you back in, but your slipping through his fingers like sand.

“honey, what are you even saying? i love you, more than anything, you’re the most important thing to me.”

“it doesn’t feel like it.”

“then I’ll do better. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m so sorry for making you feel like you weren’t. I love you so much, don’t wanna lose you,” his voice is breaking. you fight every urge to turn around and comfort him.

“you started losing me the first time you didn’t show.”

he thinks he’s going to be sick. your words hit him like a punch to the gut. all those missed dates, all those late nights - they come flooding back to him. he can just see you, alone in the apartment, glancing at the door every few minutes for him to come in, and it never happens. how could he do this? what has he done? is he losing you forever? all these thoughts are running through his head - all he knows for sure is it is no one’s fault but his.

before he can say anything, before he can keep begging for you to listen to him, that he loves you, that he’d never intentionally make you feel like less than you are to him, you speak up once more, with a finality in your voice that breaks his heart into even smaller pieces than it already had.

“leave your key in the morning. goodnight, clark.”

he lies awake that night, listening to your breathing, unsure if he’ll ever fall asleep to that lullaby again. in the morning, with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart, he slips out the door. you choke on sobs when you hear the door close on your lives together.

———————————————————————————————

present day.

you shouldn’t call him. you owe yourself that. yet you can’t ignore the pull you feel towards him when something goes wrong - after the day you had, you yearn for just a glimpse of the comfort he always gave you before. fuck it.

the tone only drones once before it clicks, and Clark’s voice comes through the speaker.

“hello?”

“hey,” you breathe. there’s a beat where neither of you speak, silence killing you softly. “I, um- sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you - I just didn’t know who else to call,” he hears you sniffle on the end of the line, perking up as alarms sound in his mind.

“no, swee-,” he stops himself before he can fully call you sweetheart. he bites his lip prevent him from further embarrassment. he can’t call you that anymore, but it was once so natural. like instinct. you catch it too, more warmth growing in your tummy at the slip up than you’d like. “no. y’re not bothering me. ever. what’s going on?”

“can you just- can you come here?” you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for an impact that wouldn’t possibly come. he would come. any time you call, he’d come - no questions asked.

he’s caught off guard, making few sputtered starts of sentences. he manages to set himself straight, speaking an eager (but not too eager), “of course i can. im wrapping up in the office, be there in 15?”

“yeah, no rush. thank you, clarkie.”

he smiles at the nickname. “always. whenever you need me.”

he was going to fix this - with hopes that he’d never have to hear your voicemail again.

———————————————————————————————

a/n: still not over the love on my last fic, thank you 🥹

[herweirdass]

new light | ck

synopsis: after combing out your locs, you surprise clark on your dinner date with your curls loose for the first time. in honor of me combing out my locs lol

you’d had your locs for ten years. they’d been with you through everything—graduation, your first real job, even the day you met clark. he’d never known you without them. they were a part of you, steady and familiar, and you always figured they always would be.

but something inside of you whispered for a change. not because you didn’t love them, but because you wanted to see yourself differently. so, late at night, in front of your bathroom mirror, you started the process. hours and hours, conditioner, patience, sore fingers. it took you a whole week to comb them out.

and every time clark stopped by after work, smiling that warm farm-boy smile, you’d rush to tie your bonnet, keeping the transformation hidden. he never questioned it—just kissed your forehead, wrapped his arms around you, and whispered how much he missed you.

finally, the night came. your dinner date. you stood in the mirror for a long moment before leaving, your curls hanging free, brushing against your shoulders like they had a mind of their own. soft, springy, light. your stomach twisted nervously. would he notice? would he like it?

the second clark saw you, it was like the whole world stopped moving. he froze mid-step, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“wow,” he breathed, almost to himself. his gaze followed every curl that framed your face, the way your shoulders seemed lighter. “you look… you look incredible.”

you tried to laugh it off, teasing him, “so you like it?”

he stepped closer, his hand hovering before he finally let his fingers brush one of your curls, reverent. “i love it,” he said softly. “you’re beautiful no matter what, but—seeing you like this…” his voice trailed off, eyes shining with something that made your heart flip.

the restaurant could’ve disappeared right then and you wouldn’t have cared. because the way clark looked at you—like you’d just hung the stars yourself—was all you needed.

[herweirdass]

https://www.tumblr.com/herweirdass/792746777832030208/if-youre-taking-requests-im-asking-for-virgin?source=share

Passing through to say thank yooouu!! You work fast as hell lol

lol you’re welcome! i love when yall send me recs ❤️

[herweirdass]

new light | ck

synopsis: after combing out your locs, you surprise clark on your dinner date with your curls loose for the first time. in honor of me combing out my locs lol

you’d had your locs for ten years. they’d been with you through everything—graduation, your first real job, even the day you met clark. he’d never known you without them. they were a part of you, steady and familiar, and you always figured they always would be.

but something inside of you whispered for a change. not because you didn’t love them, but because you wanted to see yourself differently. so, late at night, in front of your bathroom mirror, you started the process. hours and hours, conditioner, patience, sore fingers. it took you a whole week to comb them out.

and every time clark stopped by after work, smiling that warm farm-boy smile, you’d rush to tie your bonnet, keeping the transformation hidden. he never questioned it—just kissed your forehead, wrapped his arms around you, and whispered how much he missed you.

finally, the night came. your dinner date. you stood in the mirror for a long moment before leaving, your curls hanging free, brushing against your shoulders like they had a mind of their own. soft, springy, light. your stomach twisted nervously. would he notice? would he like it?

the second clark saw you, it was like the whole world stopped moving. he froze mid-step, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“wow,” he breathed, almost to himself. his gaze followed every curl that framed your face, the way your shoulders seemed lighter. “you look… you look incredible.”

you tried to laugh it off, teasing him, “so you like it?”

he stepped closer, his hand hovering before he finally let his fingers brush one of your curls, reverent. “i love it,” he said softly. “you’re beautiful no matter what, but—seeing you like this…” his voice trailed off, eyes shining with something that made your heart flip.

the restaurant could’ve disappeared right then and you wouldn’t have cared. because the way clark looked at you—like you’d just hung the stars yourself—was all you needed.

[herweirdass]

clark kent is the type of guy to wave at you when you look back at him while he's giving you backshots

That's So Clark Kent

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, smut, fluff, super backshots, Clark being cute

WC: 0.3k

A/N: I wrote this because I could. Thank you anon 😙

***

You’re face down, gripping at the sheets like they might tear under your hands. While Clark's fucking you deep enough to rattle your bones.

Your voice raw with want and need, yelling “Clark!” for what must be the millionth time, now hoarse and cracking, nothing left but breathless pleas.

When you shoot a look behind, his face is carved in concentration, eyes blazing with heat, sweeping over your naked body like you’re to be cherished and loved. 

Making sure not to hold too tight to bruise but memorising all the little textures and tremors of your skin, from the curve of the small of your back to the trembling arch of your thighs.

But the moment you make eye contact, he softens, gives you a dimpled smile, and waves at you. That's right, he waves.

You know that wave.

It’s the kind he gives you when he spots you at work, after being late for the third time that week. Or when he’s searching for you in a crowded place and finally finds you, relief softening his whole face. Or when he’s standing on the street outside your apartment at night, waving up at you with the stars in his eyes as he reluctantly leaves.

This was not the wave he was supposed to be giving you when he's giving you backshots and tuning your brain to mush.

His pace doesn't even slow when he does it. He just keeps thrusting into you from behind with expert precision.

You giggle a little, half your face pressed to the mattress, your smile muffled in the sheets. The sound makes Clark pause just enough to glance at you, brow furrowing as he asks what happened, his lips quirking into a pout when you can’t get the words out.

But you don’t need to explain. Because waving at a time like this was so Clark Kent.

Main Masterlist || DC Masterlist

[herweirdass]

I'm hoping you still write for Vinnie Hacker cause I have a request pretty please 😭

Let's say y/n is an actress and her latest project was being in Death Stranding 2 as Tomorrow. And Vinnie decides to play the game on stream and react to her performance along with the chat. You can decide whether or not y/n is present to see it 🩷

vinnie had been hyping up death stranding 2 on his stream for weeks, mostly because he thought it looked sick, but also because you were in it. his chat had been clowning him nonstop about it, spamming “simp” and “supportive bf” every time he mentioned the game.

so when release day came, he booted it up live.

“alright, chat,” he said, leaning back in his chair, hoodie falling off one shoulder. “moment of truth. apparently tomorrow—” he paused, smirking because that was your character’s name, “—shows up around here. y’all ready?”

the second your face appeared on screen, rendered in flawless detail, chat absolutely lost it. messages flew: BRO THAT’S HIS GIRL, OMG / SHE’S SO PRETTY WTF / W RIZZ / HE’S ABOUT TO CRY.

vinnie went quiet for a moment, staring at the cutscene with this small, proud smile tugging at his mouth. “nah, this is crazy,” he muttered, almost to himself. “look at her, bro. she’s insane.”

chat spammed HE’S BLUSHING / LOOK AT HIS FACE.

when your character delivered her first big line, vinnie laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “she did not tell me she was gonna sound like that, bro. nah, i’m not gonna survive this game.” he leaned closer to the screen, pretending to analyze. “like, look at the expressions. that’s actually her. they got it down perfect. i don’t even know how they do that.”

every time you spoke, he’d go quiet again, watching intently. half the time he forgot he was even live until the alerts went crazy. “chat, stop clipping me. stop. i’m just—bro, imagine having a girlfriend that’s literally in a kojima game. i don’t know how i won.”

by the end of the stream, he was slouched in his chair with the goofiest grin, eyes glued to the screen. “i’m not even kidding,” he said, shaking his head, “this might be my favorite game of all time just ‘cause of her.”

chat, of course, was ruthless: SHE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER IN HIS HEART / MAN’S DOWN BAD / BEST BOYFRIEND AWARD.

and vinnie just laughed, cheeks pink, before muttering, “y’all can make fun of me all you want. i don’t care. i’m just proud.”

[herweirdass]

If you're taking requests, I'm asking for virgin reader embarrassed/shy about performing oral sex for the first time with Clark Kent. Pls & thx.

you’re curled up against clark on the couch, the weight of his arm heavy and warm around your shoulders. he’s always so gentle, always so careful with you, which only makes your stomach flutter harder as you think about what you’ve been debating all evening. you bite your lip, nerves tangling with want, and finally whisper, “clark… can i— um— try something?”

his blue eyes soften instantly, concern flickering. “of course. what’s on your mind?”

your cheeks burn. you can’t even look at him straight when you mumble it, words nearly swallowed by your own embarrassment: “i want to… y’know… um… with my mouth.”

for a beat, he just blinks— then his whole expression melts, like sunlight spilling through clouds. “hey,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up so you can’t hide. “you don’t have to be nervous about that. you don’t have to be nervous about anything with me.”

your heart is thundering. “i’ve never done it before,” you admit, voice small.

clark smiles, the kind of smile that makes you feel safe no matter what. he presses a kiss to your forehead. “that’s okay. we can go as slow as you want. and if you change your mind, that’s okay too. all i care about is you being comfortable.”

your blush only deepens, but there’s a tiny spark of relief blooming in your chest. because with clark, you know he’ll never laugh, never judge

when you finally nod, he guides you with such patience it makes your nerves melt into something warmer. his large hand stays on your back, steadying, grounding, as you explore him with hesitant touches. every time you pause, embarrassed by your own inexperience, he soothes you—soft words, a tender smile, fingers brushing through your hair.

“that’s perfect,” he breathes, voice low, like he’s afraid to break the moment. “you’re perfect.”

the way he says it—so full of awe, like you’re giving him the whole world instead of your nervous, clumsy first attempt—makes the butterflies in your chest lift into something almost giddy.

by the time you finally pull back, cheeks flushed, clark is quick to tug you into his arms, kissing your forehead like he can’t help himself. “you’re incredible,” he whispers against your skin. “thank you for trusting me.”

and for the first time all night, you feel it too—not just the nervousness, not just the heat in your chest—but the certainty that with clark, you’re safe enough to try, safe enough to learn, safe enough to be loved exactly as you are.

[herweirdass]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍 [C.K]

slightly dark clark!• devoted christian clark• fem reader (church girl au)• blurb smut• religious guilt• adultery themes• obsession• age-gap (clark early thirties/reader is early twenties)• dark thoughts• clark is not so holy(neither am I fr)•

notes:my gift to you <3 it’s wayyy past my bedtime as I write this out (swear it’s the best time for me when I decide to write )

church is, as usual, crowded. and service has barely started, and already he can’t focus. as usual. his eyes can’t seem to stop flicking over to you in the pew, hands tightening around the hymnal. he swallows thickly, admiring you.

it wasn’t always like this. this obsession started months ago—he remembers when your family first moved into smallville, your parents, two twin brothers, to be away from the ‘toxic city life’ as your mother describes it . neighbors had been buzzing about them for weeks, excited to see new faces. of course, clark and his parents, along with his wife and little jon kent , didn’t hesitate to show some good hospitality. which eventually led to a good wholesome strong friendship. clark had heard your name mentioned plenty of times in conversations with your parents. she’s away at college, studying hard, I’m sure yall will get to meet her soon. he hadn’t given it much thought back then. only thinking just another young woman chasing her future.

until seven months ago.

until the sunday morning you showed up, home again, and taking a break from that college lifestyle,sliding into the pew with a smile so pretty that it’ll even make the devil—himself swoon. it was the first time he’d ever actually saw you. but it was also the last time his thoughts felt clean.

because since then, clark has become restless. watching the way you carry yourself, a quintessential sweetheart, with a radiance so naturally alluring. a woman who is impossible to ignore. always with your family, playing make believe with your brothers, helping your mother with dinner whenever they’d invite them over. his parents adored you and even lois complimented you on your infamous peach pie last week. to which you bashfully gave credit to your father who went out to fetch the ingredients last minute. so unpretentious.

but no matter how wholesome, no matter how much he tried to remind himself of his wife’s hand on his or jon’s giggling in the back of the pew with your twin brothers during service, you had carved yourself in his mind permanently. as if you were a scripture he couldn’t forget.

and still, despite the closeness of your families, despite the eyes of god staring down at him giving him a “what the heck!?” look. he couldn’t stop the way his mind wandered, imagining what it would feel like to have you in many ways, in different positions he has no right to think about.

but it’s not like you make it easy for him not to, like today.

your hair is styled just right, showcasing your pretty features, the faint curve of your lips when you hum along to the choir—sinful, he thinks, so sinful. speaking of—the dress you were wearing almost made him lose any train of thought during service. it’s modest, appropriate for church, and yet it hugged your curves in all the right places. because no matter what you wore, nothing could hide the fullness of your figure, the way your hips showcased beautifully, and the not so subtle shape of your gorgeous ass beneath the fabric.

he clears his throat, lifts his gaze, and began to recite aloud:

“blessed are pure in heart, for they shall see god.”

his words rang accurate for the congregation, but in his mind, pure doesn’t describe him at all. he could feel your soft eyes on him, out of all the gazes from the people in the room your gaze is the only one he wants.

focus, clark. god, please give me the gift of focus .

but he doesn’t. not really anyway. every word he is reciting echoes hollowly in his head, because all he can imagine is you leaning forward, the gentle breezy smiles you flash his way.

“blessed are a meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” he can barely finish the line when a brief thought of what it will feel like having you as his wife, the mother of his children—making those children— crosses his mind and he immediately hates himself for it. his stomach twists with guilt.

prayer. prayer. prayer. I need prayer—along with some holy water. he prays silently, wishing these thoughts would just vanish. wishing he could feel somewhat pure again. but every time he glances in your direction it’s like fuel on fire, with too much desire. he’s a sinner, a married man with a good, loyal wife just waiting a few pews away along with their son , but still his selfishness craves you.

service ends. the hymnals closed, and the congregation headed toward the after-service table. you’re there as always with your infamous, peach pie in hand. chatting quietly with lois and the others. being so sweet, and so good. the guilt is unbearable and thick in his throat as he forces himself to look away as you coo at jon’s messy drawing .

he prays silently, whispering every verse he could think of in that moment, but it’s useless. he’s feigning for something he knows he shouldn’t want. and the thought of his wife and child , should slap him back into reality—but instead it sharpens his ache for you. every sinful thought is getting louder than doing what’s right.

after everything trickles out, and majority of the food had been wiped out, his wife, lois steps over to him, with a small grin and places a chaste kiss on his lips. he wished he could say that he didn’t feel disappointed knowing that it’s not your lips. “another beautiful service, clark.”

he nods absentmindedly, lips moving to thank her, but of course his eyes aren’t on her at all they’re on you, gathering your things, hips swaying slightly his hands tightens around lois’s waist wishing they were yours as she rambles on about her day. clark can’t seem to find his focal point, every fiber of him rebels. every word lois says is background noise, he can’t hear her. he can only focus on his anticipation of you walking up to him like you always do at the end of service, with an extra piece of pie just for him and the smell of something sweet—maybe the pie? or is it just you?

luckily your mother— distracts lois, giving him moments to breathe as they chatted about her plants and the local animals are terrorizing her garden.

then you’re at the pulpit, soft steps echoing slightly against the wood floor, due to your cute kitten heels. your hands hold the pie holder which was empty. “sorry, no extra piece today.” you murmur, disappointedly. you looked so cute with a pout. he steps closer to you just to get a whiff of the faint smell of baked peaches and cinnamon. intoxicating.

“it’s okay,” he breathes out. he wants to say much more,tell you how gorgeous you look, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you since the service began. but the words choke in his throat.

“I can bake another one,” you said softly, voice warm and slightly teasing. “I could bring it later today…just for you.”

clark nods. just for me. he bit back the groans that were threatening to escape. “ill…ill be home all day,” he whispers, barely audible, and heavy with desire. every sinful thought creeps back into his mind, hotter than ever and burning behind his blue eyes.

it finally happens.

a promised pie turns into a knock on his door. lois had errands to run. jon was tucked away in his room with your younger brothers, laughter from their play date spilling faintly through the walls. you were supposed to just drop off the pie and stay a awhile while the boys played . simple and safe.

but now?

..now you are bent over the kent’s kitchen table as it rattles beneath you. the half eaten peach pie slid inch by inch toward the edge, but neither of you cared. especially clark who was gripping your hips so tight his knuckles were bone-white.

his curls were damp, sweat-filled, sticking to his forehead and temples. his glasses were tucked in his breast pocket, leaving his blue eyes bright and wild. He was still fully dressed as were you.

the dress—the same freaking dress you wore to church that morning—was bunched up around your waist. the modest cloth that teased him all morning was now hiked indecently high, giving him everything he’s ever dream about. his eyes couldn’t look away and he’s glad that he didn’t because the hem of your dress, exposed not just the swell of your hips and the arch of your back, but the ink sprawled low across your skin. a flower vine, winding horizontally. a tattoo. a secret. ah, you dirty girl.

“jesus christ.” he whimpers, hips slamming forward harder, deeper and sharp enough to jolt the table. his hand spreads over the tattoo, thumb tracing the curling lines while his cock twitches inside you. “you—fu-fuh—fuck!“

oh jeez, you’ve got him cursing now..

he was utterly wrecked. torn between awe and filth, he was obsessed already but this? just ignites his fire even more.

“got a little mark just for me, huh?” clark rasped, his voice low and deep just like his cock. though he knew you probably couldn’t respond, pretty sure you couldn’t think straight enough to respond. “no one sees this. hiding it underneath those little church dresses. no one but me? I get to see it just like this.”

his curls brushes against your skin as he groans, forehead pressing on your shoulder, teeth gritted as he tries to keep quiet. being somewhat mindful that his son and your brothers are upstairs, and here he was rutting into you like a madman with no shameful sense in his body. every thrust harder than the last.

“cl-clark!” you gasped, your voice high and breathless. his hand immediately shot up, covering your mouth, smothering the sound before it reached beyond the kitchen walls.

“shhh, “ he soothes, voice ragged and hot against your ear. “ don’t—don’t let them hear. don’t you dare, sweetheart.”

even though he enjoyed those little heavenly sounds leaving your lips, the very last thing he wanted is to have three seven year olds walk in on you two like this with one being his son. he’s being a piece of shit right now but he wouldn’t be that kind of piece of shit.

and yet he doesn’t slow down. the table rattles louder and if your moans won’t bring any attention that surely will. too risky. clark stills, chest heaving and you whimper at the sudden stop. his hand trails to your stomach, yanking you upright.

“c’mon,” he hissed in a whisper, dragging you with him as you whine at the loss. he hauls you into his lap on the nearest kitchen chair, your back pressed against to his chest, his thick cock buried back inside from beneath your dress.

you inhale sharply, legs trembling as he spreads them wide, caging you in. with one arm locked across your stomach, the other grips your thigh tight, keeping you still as he drives up into you. the position is utterly filthy, and so are the things he’s whispering, things he’ll never say in the daylight.

“bounce for me, sweetheart,” he says quietly, voice filled with restraint . his hand leaves your thigh, slides up the curve of your waist, and then presses flat against the small of your back. the force causes you to arch your back. his hips tilting just right. . almost immediately you reach forward palms gripping the counter in front of you to lift and drop down on his cock frantically. eager. now the chair is groaning beneath you two, every movement threatening to give away the secret filth of what’s happening.

“quiet now… don’t wake the boys.” his warning is more of a plea, breathing hot against your shoulder as his other hand reaches up to fondle with your breast that was spewing out. massaging them gently. almost apologetically, he’ll make sure to give them extra attention next time.

a silent sob burst out of you anyway—you’re absolutely gone— your mouth open against the back of your hand to stifle it, tears of pleasure running down your pretty cheeks. your hair which was in a neat updo is now tragically unkempt, still you look so beautifully wrecked.

and clark—clark wasn’t any better, he’s pussy drunk. on you specifically, your tiny squeaks and sobs, the deafening sound of your wetness squelching the way you thighs quake and your ass—god that ass— slams on him over and over again. every time you expertly grind and bounce on his cock he thinks he’s in heaven. all while your pretty face is crumpling with pleasure.

but all he could see when he angled his head down over your shoulder, was that damn tattoo. the flowers inked permanently on your skin, blooming every time you snapped your hips down.

“god, you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he pants, eyebrows furrows as if he’s in deep concentration, and he was, on his cock finally being in the home where it belonged, which was your beautiful tight cunt. intruding it without mercy. “im never letting you go .”