codinekitten

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Pervy!Johnny|Praise kink| Innocent Kink| Swimsuit|Photoshoot

“Turn around for me, baby.”

You hesitate at the edge of the motel pool — the kind that smells like chlorine and coconut oil, with cheap plastic loungers and too many bugs floating in the water.

He picked this spot, saying that no one is gonna recognise him here. Johnny’s propped up on his elbows, sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, golden chest bare, swim trunks riding low on his hips.

You tug at the hem of your gingham one-piece — powder blue with tiny ruffles along the hips, high-cut on the legs, too tight around the bust. You’re blushing like hell, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“I look dumb,” you mumble, arms crossed over your chest. “It’s…it’s too much.”

Johnny whistles low, head tilting. “You look like a fuckin’ dream, sweetheart.”

He pushes himself off the lounger, striding over barefoot across the hot pavement. When he reaches you, his hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing the stretch of bare skin at your thighs.

“Gimme a spin,” he murmurs against your ear. “Lemme see all of it.”

You shift awkwardly, half turning. The back is worse — low cut and clingy, showing off more than you’re used to.

“Jesus,” Johnny groans, voice dropping. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You look down, voice a whisper. “I just wanted to look nice for you…”

“You look perfect for me,” he says, tugging you close. “All shy in your little swim suit, blushin’ like a schoolgirl. Bet you knew what you were doin’, huh? Walkin’ out here lookin’ like temptation in a picnic basket.”

“Did not,” you huff, but your voice wobbles. He always knows how to push your buttons — gentle hands and dirty mouth, praise laced with promises.

He leans down, lips grazing your throat. “You didn’t even think about how tight it’d be around your tits? How sweet that ass would look bendin’ over the pool ladder?”

You try to pull away, flustered. “Johnny…”

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, grip tightening just a little. “You wore this for me. You want me lookin’, don’t you?”

You glance up at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t know…”

“Sure you do,” he says, soft and syrupy. “You like bein’ my girl. You like when I stare. When I say filthy things in your ear while you pretend you’re still all innocent.”

You squirm in his grasp, thighs pressing together. “We’re in public—”

He tilts your chin up, brushing his nose against yours.

“Ain’t no one out here but us, baby. You think I booked this run-down little motel for the ambience?”

You giggle — breathless, half-scandalised — and he grins, cocky and golden and dangerous.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go back inside. AC’s busted and I wanna see you sweat.”

The motel room is dim and sticky with summer heat. The blinds are crooked, the bed creaks when you sit, and there’s a Polaroid camera tossed on the dresser — the one Johnny packed “for memories.”

You perch on the edge of the mattress, still in your swimsuit, legs crossed and nervous. Johnny watches you from the doorway, drinking a warm soda and looking at you like you’re something sweet he’s about to ruin.

“You wanna take it off,” he says, voice low, “or you want me to?”

Your mouth goes dry. “W-We’re supposed to go to dinner—”

He sets the soda down. Walks over slow. Stands between your knees and slips his thumbs under the straps of your swimsuit.

“Dinner can wait,” he says, mouth brushing your temple. “Been waitin’ all day to get you alone, sweetheart.”

You’re already melting before he even touches you — the motel room hazy with sunset, skin warm from the summer heat, chlorine still faint in your hair.

Because when he tugs the strap down — slow, reverent, worshipful — you let him. Because he always makes you feel like you’re not just his girl… you’re his favorite sin.

You shiver when his fingers trail your bare shoulder, and then —

Click.

You blink, startled.

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” Johnny murmurs, cocking the camera again, that old Polaroid he picked up from the gas station just for this.

The first flash pops and you flinch, covering your mouth with your hand.

You’re half-kneeling on the motel bed now, the strap still slipped down your arm, one side of the suit tugged low, thighs pressed tight like you’re holding something in. The blinds are cracked just enough for a slice of hot golden light to streak across the sheets, hitting your flushed skin just right.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, breath catching.

Click.

“That little pout. Those pretty thighs. You were made to be photographed.”

You duck your head, but he just urges your chin up again.

“Let me keep you like this,” he whispers. “All summer long.”

Click.

You shake your head, breath hitching. “I don’t know what I’m doing—”

“You’re doin’ perfect.” He walks closer, camera still up. “Tilt your chin up. Open your mouth. Just like that. Mmm—good girl.”

You do as he says, slow and unsure. Eyes big, mouth open slightly. You’re blushing all over, especially when he shifts the camera down. The straps sliding down your arms. The curve of your hip. The cotton pulled tight over your center, soaked just faintly through.

Click.

You gasp.

“Johnny—!”

“What?” he grins, adjusting the lens. “Just wanna remember how sweet you looked on our first trip. My shy little doll, all dressed up and beggin’ without even sayin’ a word.”

You try to close your legs. He tsks.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Open up for me, sweetheart. Just a little. Wanna get a shot of my favorite view.”

You hesitate, lips trembling — but you listen. You always do.

“There she is,” he murmurs, stepping in and kissing your knee, sliding his hand up your thigh. “God, you don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me. Look at you. So soft, so shy. This ain’t just a picture, honey. This is a goddamn masterpiece.”

Click.

You cover your face again, but he catches your wrist, gently pulling it down.

“Don’t hide. C’mon, baby. Let me see those eyes.”

He leans in — close enough to feel his breath on your lips — and sets the camera down beside you.

“I’ll be real sweet with you after,” he promises. “Just wanna take my time. Treasure it. Every little sigh, every pretty expression. You’re my muse, y’know that?”

He pulls the strap of your swimsuit down the other shoulder. Kisses between your collarbones.

Click.

Then he licks his lips, eyes dark, voice thick with need:

“You think you’re ready to let me take a few with it off?”

You bite your lip. Nod.

Because even though you’re nervous and pink all over, there’s no one else you’d let see you like this.

No one but Johnny.

PS: Johnny definitely the type to make you his personal playboy bunny model, no matter the location.

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Manipulation| Food Play| Blowjob| Oral (M Receiving)| Corruption kink| Innocence Kink| Gag Reflex

“Careful with that, Bunny.”

Clark’s voice is all slow drawl and summer silk as he leans against the fence, arms crossed, watching you struggle to lift a basket of apples from the garden.

You’re in your little denim shorts, cheeks flushed, sweat beading on your collarbone. And in your mouth? A bright red cherry-flavored ice lolly, already melting down your wrist.

“Gettin’ juice everywhere,” he murmurs, pushing off the fence. “Might as well be beggin’ for attention.”

You flinch, blinking up at him. “I-I wasn’t— I just needed somethin’ cold…”

“Mm-hm.” He takes the basket from your hands like it weighs nothing, sets it down beside you. Then his thumb swipes a sticky trail off your chin.

“You always make a mess when you’re tryin’ to behave.”

Your lips wrap back around the ice lolly, nervous now. You don’t answer — just suck slow, trying not to embarrass yourself. But Clark’s eyes darken. His gaze drags down your mouth like he’s imagining everything he shouldn’t.

“You always suck it like that?” he asks, low. “So eager to get every drop?”

You freeze.

“Didn’t mean to,” you mumble around the stick, cheeks burning. “It’s just… hot.”

He steps closer — big hand cupping the side of your neck, thumb stroking under your chin.

“Go on, Bunny,” he murmurs. “Show me how deep you can take it.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide behind your lashes. “C-Clark—”

“That mouth’s good for more than sweet talk,” he interrupts, voice like honey over thunder. “Bet you’ve never been taught how to use it right. S’okay. I’ll teach you.”

He guides the ice lolly deeper into your mouth with two fingers — slow and firm. It hits your throat and you gag, jerking back, gasping around the stick.

“Aww, Bunny,” he coos, brushing hair from your face. “Too much?”

You nod, eyes watering, spit and melted sugar dribbling down your chin. He looks like he loves it. His precious bunny.

“Y’gotta learn to breathe through your nose, darlin’. Loosen your jaw. You’ll get it — you’re such a good little learner.”

Your thighs press together, but he catches that too. He always does.

He takes the stick from your hand, tosses it aside.

“Open up for me.”

“Clark— someone might see—”

He leans in real close, voice like the devil in a Sunday shirt.

“Then I reckon you better stay quiet, huh?”

And when he fills your mouth — not with candy, not with cold syrup, but with something hot and thick — you sob around him. Choke again. Learn the rhythm. The stretch. The burn.

He thrusts his hips faster as he pets your head, murmuring sweet things through it all.

“You’re doin’ so good.”

“Look at that pretty mouth takin’ me so well.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna believe what my little Bunny gets up to when the corn’s high and the sun’s hot.”

When he finishes — pulling out slow, a dribble of cum slipping from the corner of your lips, wiping your chin with the corner of his tank top — he tilts your chin up and smiles down at you like he’s still the boy next door.

“Now,” he drawls, tugging you up like nothing happened, “let’s get those apples in the house. Ma’s makin’ pie tonight.”

And you? You’re trembling, lips swollen, dazed under the sun.

But what happens in Smallville during the summer?

Stays in the summer.

PS: This is like a reoccurring dream at this point, with me and Tom Welling. Rewatching Smallville was a dangerous decision!

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Discipline| Dom/Sub| Spanking| Cheating (somewhat)| Power Imbalance

“Read it again.”

Your voice trembles as you whisper the first few words, eyes locked on the printed sheet in front of you. The agreement signed by yourself, that got you in this very moment.

Bent over his desk, palms flat on the surface, your pencil skirt bunched up around your waist. Your panties — if you had the nerve to wear any — would be around your thighs by now. But you came to this meeting prepared.

Professor Richards stands behind you, tall and clinical, one hand resting on the small of your back like a weight that anchors you to this moment.

“Out loud,” he says again, slower this time. “I want you to hear yourself.”

You inhale shakily.

“I… I acknowledge that my behavior has been unprofessional, that my emotional outbursts compromise the integrity of our shared academic space—”

His palm lands hard across your ass.

You yelp — not loud, but enough.

“You’re not crying, are you?” he asks, voice flat.

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Good. Because this isn’t punishment.”

He leans in, breath warm against your neck.

“This is instruction.”

You nod quickly. You’ve already signed the confidentiality form. Already agreed to this… arrangement.

“Continue.”

Your voice quivers as you read the next line.

“I understand that Professor Richards is committed to the cultivation of intellectual discipline, and that my obedience is part of that commitment.”

Another sharp slap. You flinch, biting your lip.

“You skipped a word,” he says coolly. “Say it right.”

You correct yourself, lower this time.

“My complete obedience.”

“That’s better.”

He presses two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up just enough for you to see his expression — calm, composed, like he’s adjusting a thesis draft. Like this isn’t personal.

Except it is. Because his hand lingers on your throat just a beat too long. Because you’re wet. Shaking. Wanting.

“You have a brilliant mind,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the curve of your spine. “But brilliance means nothing without control. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what am I teaching you?”

You close your eyes.

“To be the best.”

He smiles — faint, clinical, almost fond.

“Good girl.”

PS: The movie ‘The Secretary’ was something! Like it really was ‘Get somebody to match your freak’. Anyway I know Richards is married, but it’s Pedro Pascal

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Discipline| Dom/Sub| Blowjob| Coercion| Dubious Consent| Manipulation

“You want a seat at the table, right?”

His voice is even. Unshaken. Cold and quiet like the hum of the T-Spheres behind him.

You nod too quickly, standing at attention in the dim glow of the war room, your uniform zipped halfway down — nerves crackling just under your skin.

“Yes, sir,” you say. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He turns to look at you fully, expression unreadable. Mr. Terrific doesn’t wear emotion on his sleeve — he wears equations, strategy, precision. Everything is calculated. Including you.

“You’re talented,” he says. “Strong. Fast. But talent is a dime a dozen. What I need is someone… loyal.”

“I am,” you breathe, stepping forward. “You— you just tell me what to do.”

He studies you for a long moment. You think he might say no. That this was some kind of test. That you’ve humiliated yourself by showing up after hours, lip gloss smeared from biting it raw.

But then he tilts his head. And he nods toward the chair.

“Kneel.”

Your heart stops. But your body doesn’t.

You drop immediately — knees to cold metal, eyes locked on his boots.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, unbuckling his belt with methodical precision. “You want me to believe you belong on this team? Show me how you follow orders. Show me you know your place.”

You nod, heat flooding your cheeks.

“I want to make you proud,” you whisper.

His fingers brush your jaw — surprisingly gentle. Then he forces your mouth open with two fingers, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“You will.”

You take his cock as deep as you can. Eyes teary and fluttering towards his face. And when he uses you — slow at first, then harder when you moan around him like a damn fool — he doesn’t praise you like a lover.

He evaluates you.

“Sloppy.”

“Too much teeth.”

“Better.”

“Don’t gag. Control your breathing. Like we trained.”

Because this is training. This is your place on the new League. Your unofficial initiation.

And when you’re wrecked, smeared, and drooling — eyes glassy, knees bruised — he tilts your chin up and says:

“Now clean up. Then we’ll talk about your first mission.”

PS: Mr Terrific was so fucking cool in the movie, this might be one of my fantasy coming to reality. Like the BTS of him 😳

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Housewife Kink|Lingerie|Breeding Kink|Praise Kink

“C’mere, honey. Lemme get a look at you.”

You peek around the bedroom door, nervous fingers tugging at the hem of your slip. It’s ivory, sheer, with tiny pink bows on the straps — part of that fancy little box Johnny brought back from his trip to Paris, all wrapped in shiny paper and tied with a ribbon like a present.

You were the present.

He’s lounging on the bed, golden and loose-limbed, shirt unbuttoned and belt slung low. He whistles when he sees you — slow and appreciative.

“Now that’s what I like comin’ home to,” he grins, tongue peeking between his teeth. “You look like a dream, sweetheart. Like somethin’ outta a magazine.”

You flush, ducking your head. “You sure it’s not too much? It’s see-through, Johnny—”

He cuts you off with a low groan, sitting up and patting his lap. “Baby, I’m beggin’ you. Come closer. Lemme see my girl.”

You walk over shyly, bare feet on the soft shag carpet. His eyes trail down your legs, devouring every inch. When you finally step between his thighs, his hands go straight to your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles.

“This little number’s real nice,” he murmurs, voice thick. “But you wanna know what would look even better?”

You blink down at him, lips parted. “W-What?”

He leans in, presses a kiss just below your bellybutton, eyes flicking up with that mischievous glint.

“This pretty tummy round with my baby.”

Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks — and between your thighs.

“Johnny…”

“You’d be so gorgeous, sweetheart,” he coos, hands smoothing over your stomach like he’s already imagining it. “Little belly pokin’ out. Nipples all sensitive. You’d be waddlin’ around this house in nothin’ but my shirts, beggin’ for me to rub your back… and your cute lil’ feet…”

You bury your face in your hands, whining, but he just chuckles, pulling your hands away gently.

“Aw, don’t hide from me, baby. You know I love it when you get all shy.”

He kisses your knuckles, one by one.

“I’d take real good care of you,” he adds. “You’d never lift a finger. I’d have you restin’ up all day, drinkin’ lemonade with your feet up, lettin’ me spoil you rotten.”

You gasp as he drags your slip higher, fingers grazing the tops of your thighs.

“I mean, look at you,” he whispers. “You’re made for it. Look so sweet in your little lingerie, all soft and glowy. Don’t you wanna give Daddy somethin’ to come home to?”

You nod, breathless. “Y-Yeah…”

His smile turns sinful.

“Then lay back for me, darlin’. Lemme fill up that pretty little body of yours. Nice and deep, yeah? Gotta make sure it takes this time.”

You shiver. “Johnny, I don’t know if I can—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, kissing your inner thigh. “You’re doin’ perfect. My perfect girl. Gonna look so pretty, all knocked up and needy, wearin’ nothin’ but my name on your lips.”

And when he finally presses inside you — slow and sweet, whispering how good you take him — you realize you’d give him anything.

PS: I love me some cute vintage sleep sets. They were so feminine and cute back then!!

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Begging| Orgasm Denial| Discipline| Dom/Sub Dynamic

“Hands behind your back.”

His voice is calm. Quiet. Like he’s asking you to pass the salt at dinner, not kneel in front of him bare-legged and breathless, your pencil skirt bunched around your hips, lace panties damp and useless.

You hesitate.

He tilts his head, brow raised — and that’s enough.

You clasp your hands behind you, chest rising with every shaky breath.

Clark leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. He hasn’t touched you all night. Just watched. Watched you squirm, chew on your bottom lip, cross and uncross your legs like a needy little thing.

He hasn’t even kissed you. Not since he whispered in your ear hours ago:

“You don’t get to come until I say so, Sugar. Let’s see how well you listen.”

Now he’s just looking. Like he enjoys the way your thick thighs rub together. Like he’s memorising your every twitch.

“Please,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. “Clark, I’ve been good…”

He hums low in his throat, steps closer. The floorboards creak under his boots.

“Good girls wait,” he says simply, brushing your jaw with his knuckles. “You said you could be patient, didn’t you?”

Your eyes flutter. “I— I’m tryin’…”

“Try harder.”

You whimper. Head drops forward. Your whole body aches, core pulsing from the slow build-up he’s put you through. You’d grind on his thigh if he let you — on the corner of the table, the edge of his shoe, anything. But you won’t. You can’t. You want to be good.

Clark kneels in front of you. Large, warm hands slide up your trembling thighs but stop just short of your center.

“Beg,” he says, voice like velvet and thunder. “Go on, sweetheart. Tell me how badly you want it.”

You swallow hard. Humiliation hot on your cheeks, desperation dripping down your thighs.

“Please… Clark, I need it. I— I need you to touch me, I can’t take it anymore—”

“Mm,” he smirks. “That doesn’t sound like beggin’, Sugar. Sounds like complainin’.”

Your breath catches when he finally presses a single finger over your soaked panties — not rubbing, not even moving — just pressing.

Your hips jerk, but he grips your thighs hard, holding you in place.

“You’re drippin’, baby,” he murmurs. “Made such a mess all by yourself. Does that feel good?”

You nod frantically, biting your lip. “Y-Yeah—!”

Then the pressure’s gone. You whine. Out loud. A broken, frustrated little sound you didn’t mean to let slip. You’re panting now, tears in your eyes.

“Clark—!”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“If you cum without permission,” he murmurs, “I’ll leave you like this for the rest of the night. Maybe even tie you up ‘til morning. Is that what you want?”

You shake your head. No. God, no.

“Then you better ask real pretty.”

You take a breath, throat tight.

“Please, Clark. I wanna be good for you. I— I’ll do anything. Just… please touch me. I need you so bad, I can’t—”

“That’s better,” he says gently, and this time when he touches you — slowly tugging your panties down, kissing the inside of your trembling thighs — you sob with relief.

He chuckles, wicked and low.

“Good girl. I’m gonna make you beg like this every night.”

PS: This was an originally a Lex Luthor piece, but I was thinking if Clark was on some Red Kryptonite shit, he would be a MENACE!!! So apologies now for the OOC Clark (we know he’s just a gentle dom)

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Corruption kink|Public|Fingering| Innocence kink| Praise

“Smile for me, Doll.”

The snap of the Polaroid is sudden, blinding — like the flash of some tiny alien spacecraft — and I flinch, laughing breathlessly as the photo whirrs out, still developing in Johnny’s hand.

We’re tucked in the back of his cherry-red convertible, top down, stars above us, the movie playing some campy space-western on the screen ahead. But Johnny hasn’t looked at it once.

He’s too busy looking at me.

“I wasn’t ready,” I mumble, reaching for the photo. “I probably look—”

“Like sin wrapped in sweetness,” he interrupts, holding it just out of reach. His grin is all white teeth and trouble, the kind of smile you get drunk on. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

The photo’s still a little blurry, still developing — but even in that smoky haze, I can see myself: cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide like I’m caught in the act of falling.

He tucks it into his jacket pocket like it’s a secret.

“You keep every photo like that?” I tease.

He leans in, close enough that I feel the warmth radiating off his skin — he always runs hot, like his blood’s made of magma. “Only the ones I plan to jerk off to later.”

My breath catches.

I swat him on the arm, but he just laughs, low and devilish, brushing his thumb across my knee — bare under the hem of my sundress, where the blanket covering our laps has slipped just enough.

“Johnny,” I whisper, glancing around. “Someone might see…”

“Ain’t nobody lookin’ at us, baby. They’re too busy watchin’ cowboys wreastle aliens.” He pulls the blanket higher, shielding us. “Besides… this is the back row. You think I parked here for the view?”

His fingers creep higher, sliding under the edge of my dress like they’ve done it a thousand times. Like they belong there. And God help me, I don’t stop him.

“You wear this just for me?” he murmurs, voice syrup-thick, palm brushing the inside of my thigh. “Knew you’d look good in yellow, but this?” He whistles low. “This is unfair.”

I nod dumbly, too flustered to form words. My legs part instinctively when he nudges between them, the anticipation unbearable.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs, lips ghosting against my temple. “So shy in the diner, can’t even finish your milkshake without blushing. And now look at you.”

His fingers brush against my panties — damp already — and he groans softly, biting down a smirk.

“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”

I try to cover my face, but he catches my wrist, presses a kiss to my palm. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see those pretty eyes while I make you fall apart.”

He slides the cotton aside, touches me just right, and I buck into his hand with a soft gasp.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing my cheek, “Just like that. Gotta stay quiet now, okay? Don’t want the couple in the next car hearin’ how sweet you sound when I touch you.”

He works me slow, gentle, relentless — like he has all the time in the world to ruin me. The screen flickers ahead of us, explosions and ray guns and dramatic orchestral music — but all I can hear is his breath, hot in my ear.

“Think I could get a photo of this next time?” he murmurs against my throat, lips dragging heat over my skin. “That perfect little face when you cum for me? Frame it. Put it on my bedside.”

I cum with a stifled cry, shuddering under the blanket, legs trembling as he holds me through it. He kisses my lips afterward — sweet and slow, almost reverent — like I’m something precious.

Like he didn’t just finger me senseless in the back of a space-age convertible while the world watched a movie and stayed none the wiser.

Johnny tucks my hair behind my ear, smirking.

“Next time I’m taking you to the moon, Doll,” he says, voice smug with promise. “Drive-in’s cute and all, but I got bigger plans.”

PS: Just come back from watching Fantastic Four, Johnny Storm is 🥵😫😳. I imagine this with him. Also loved the aesthetics!!!

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Age gap| Cunnilingus| Overstimulating| Cheating

It started with a whisper.

A gloved hand brushing my lower back. A gaze that lingered too long when I walked past the Batcomputer in just a tank top and Terry’s discarded sweatpants.

The way his voice dropped half an octave when I said his name — Mr. Wayne — like he didn’t want to be called that anymore.

I don’t know what happened exactly. Lazarus Pit side effects, experimental age-reversal compound, alien tech — Gotham’s full of excuses. All I know is Bruce Wayne turned younger overnight.

And he looked at me like he hadn’t been touched in years.

Like I hadn’t.

Terry’s been distant. Missions. Training. Everything but me. I don’t blame him. Not really. But a girl can only take so much teasing before she starts fantasising about the man in the shadows who actually notices her.

Bruce doesn’t rush.

He peels me apart like he’s unwrapping a secret. My thighs quiver under the weight of his palms, and he looks up from between them like a man who knows exactly what he’s about to do to me.

“You need someone who knows how to take their time,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and velvet, his gray-streaked hair a halo between my legs.

I shouldn’t let him.

But God—when he slides two thick fingers inside me and curls them just right, when his mouth sucks on my clit like he’s mapping every pulse, every twitch—I forget why I ever waited on anyone else.

He fucks like he’s studying me. Like every moan I give him is a reward. He pins my wrists to the mattress with one hand, the other never stopping as he leans down and whispers against my lips:

“I’ll make it all better, sweetheart.”

The heat builds fast. My body arches, slick and trembling, vision spotting. I cry out his name — Bruce — and he groans low in his throat, like he’s waited years to hear it like that.

“Let go,” he whispers. “You’ve waited long enough.”

And he doesn’t stop until my legs are shaking and his name is carved into my throat in broken syllables.

He kisses me like a man half his age.

And fucks me like one who remembers exactly what it means to be Gotham’s most dangerous playboy.

PS: If you haven’t watched Batman Beyond (what are you doing with your life), this is from the episode where Bruce gets younger!! One of my fantasies!

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Corruption Kink | Blowjobs| Oral Recieving (M)| Soft Praise

“C’mere, Bunny.”

He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like asking me to help fix the tractor or lift a hay bale.

But instead, Clark’s sitting on the edge of his childhood bed, jeans unzipped, thick cock resting heavy against his abs like it has no right being on someone so sweet.

I blink up at him, eyes wide, lip gloss sticky-pink and smeared from nervous nibbling. “Are you sure? I… I ain’t never done this before.”

“I know,” he says softly, smiling that gentle, dimpled smile that makes my stomach flutter. “That’s why I’m gonna show you. You trust me, don’t you, Bun?”

I nod. Of course I do. I’d let him tie a ribbon around my neck and lead me across town if he asked.

He brushes my hair behind my ears, hand huge against my cheek. “Open that pretty mouth for me.”

I do — lips parted, tongue out, eyes glassy and obedient. He groans under his breath, thumbing at my jaw.

“That’s it… good girl. God, look at you.”

I whimper as he guides me forward, his cock nudging past my lips slow at first — testing. My jaw stretches wide, too wide, but I try not to gag. It’s hot, heavy, salty-slick against my tongue. It throbs when I moan around it, and Clark’s hand tightens in my hair.

“Just the tip,” he says, voice wrecked. “You can take that, right? You’re doin’ so good already.

I hum around him, tongue swirling, eyes fluttering. I try to take more — deeper — but my throat tightens and he pulls back just enough to let me breathe.

“Shh, slow. Don’t gotta rush, Bun.” He strokes my hair. “You’re so tight… shit… you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips buck, just once, and I choke around him, eyes watering instantly.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, wiping a tear from my cheek. “You okay? Want me to stop?”

I shake my head quickly. No fucking way.

“Good girl. You’re such a good girl for me. Gonna have you suckin’ me like this every day after chores.”

His drawl’s gotten thicker, like he’s drunk on it — the sight of me on my knees, tears streaking down my cheeks, hands clinging to his thighs like he’s my goddamn lifeline.

And when I manage to take him deeper — throat constricting, spit dribbling down my chin — he groans low and filthy, rocking his hips into my mouth.

“Fuuuck—there you go. Just like that, baby. Hollow those cheeks, yeah? Pretty little bunny mouth made just for me.”

I moan around him, hum his name like a prayer, and he shudders. My teeth gently scrape along his shaft, he hisses.

“Careful, Bun—those cute buck teeth might scrape if you’re not paying attention… unless you’re tryin’ to mark me up, huh?”

As he bunches my hair in his hand, as he slides hard and fast into my mouth.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing,” he whispers, gripping my hair tighter. “But you’re learning, huh?”

When he cums — hot and messy down my throat — I swallow out of instinct, coughing a little, lips red and raw.

And Clark just tips my chin up, smiling down at me like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever seen.

“You did real good, Bunny,” he says softly. I smile up at him.

“Those little bunny teeth of yours… fuck, they’re adorable—makes me wanna kiss that dumb smile right off your face”

“Next time? I’ll teach you how to ride it.”

PS: This is for all the girlies with the overbite bunny teeth, you deserve some love too ❤️

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Warnings: Dubious Consent| P in V| Power Imbalance| Size Kink

The office is dark except for the humming fluorescent light above the copier, flickering like it’s thinking about dying. The rest of the bullpen is empty. Everyone’s gone home.

Except me. And him.

Clark’s standing way too close. His tie’s loosened, glasses pushed up his nose, sleeves rolled to the elbow. That all-American farmboy smile? Gone.

Now, there’s only silence between us — thick, humid, and crackling like static.

“You shouldn’t flirt if you don’t mean it,” he says finally, voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. Nothing like the sweet stutters he uses when people are around.

I blink up at him. “I—I wasn’t—”

“You wore that skirt knowing I’d be the only one left in the office tonight.” He steps forward. My back hits the copier. “You asked me for help knowing damn well how tight this space is.”

“I didn’t—”

“But now we’re here.” He presses a palm to the wall beside my head, trapping me. “And you’re looking at me like you want me to make a mess out of you.”

I should say no. I should walk out. But I don’t.

Because his body’s radiating heat, muscles bulging beneath that white button-up, and his eyes — they’re glowing. Just slightly. Blue and sharp and hungry.

“You’re so small,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand grips my waist, fingers spanning almost completely around it. “So fragile. You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“Clark…”

“God, say it again,” he growls, and then he’s got both hands under my thighs, lifting me onto the copier like I weigh nothing. Like I’m paper.

He spreads my legs and presses his hips between them, cock already straining against his slacks — obscenely thick. Too much. Unfair.

“I’ll be careful,” he lies against my throat, breath hot and trembling. “But you gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Can’t have someone walking in and seeing you like this.”

My panties are soaked. Humiliation coils in my stomach. Shame and arousal knotted together.

Then he drags my panties down and rubs the head of his cock along my slit, not even trying to slide in yet — just teasing. Testing. My hips buck without permission.

“Look at that,” he whispers. “You say no with your mouth, but your pussy’s begging.”

And when he pushes in — thick and unrelenting — my eyes roll back.

“You’re too big,” I gasp, but he doesn’t stop.

“You’ll take it,” he growls, jaw clenched. “You’ll stretch for me. And you’ll cum all over this copier while it’s printing copies of your fucked-out face.”

And I do. Again and again. While the office printer starts spitting out sheets.

[codinekitten]

MDNI: Warning: explicit: P in V| Praise Kink| Edging

I told him I was wearing nothing under the dress.

Said it with a whisper and a smile, fingertips gliding down the inside of his arm while he posed for photos. Watched him freeze up like a live wire, still smiling, but I could feel the restraint vibrate under his skin like a lit fuse.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered behind his teeth.

“Mm, you like it.”

I disappeared halfway through the auction. Left just enough of a trail for him to follow. Red lipstick on his champagne glass.

By the time he found me backstage, hidden behind the curtain and props, I was already bent over the piano bench, the split of my gown revealing smooth, bare thighs and zero underwear. A challenge. A dare.

He didn’t speak.

Just slammed the curtain shut and slammed into me after.

Now—

now my cheek is pressed to cold, lacquered wood, palms braced against the keys as he drives into me from behind with the kind of rhythm that has every inch of my spine curving to meet him.

My dress is bunched around my waist like a torn-up gift ribbon, tits grazing the keys, and I swear they hit the notes each time he thrusts—sharp little musical moans punctuated by the wet slap of skin-on-skin.

“God—fuck—look at you,” he groans into my neck, voice ragged. His chest is pressed to my back, hand sliding up my throat until his thumb rests just beneath my jaw. Not choking me. Not yet. But holding me in place like he wants to brand the moment into my bones.

“Was this what you wanted, kitten? Hmm?” His voice is tight, close to breaking. “Wanted to act like a brat in front of all of Gotham, just so I’d fuck you back into place backstage?”

I whimper, trying to nod, but he grabs my jaw and turns my face toward him.

“Uh-uh. Words.”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, fuck—please—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I’m not stopping.” He grinds his hips in deep, cock dragging against every nerve-ending I have. “Not until you say it. Say how good I make you feel. Say it!”

“You make me feel—so fucking good—” I can barely breathe, let alone think. “I—Dick—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” he cuts in sharply. “Not yet.”

Then he pulls out completely.

I scream. Actually scream. My nails rake the piano keys, teeth bared in frustration, pussy fluttering helplessly in the cold air. He holds himself just inches away, slick tip brushing against my soaked hole.

“Beg for it.”

“Dick—”

“Beg.”

“Please,” I choke. “Please, I need it, I need you inside me—I’ll be good, I’ll behave—fuck, just—please, please—”

“That’s my girl,” he growls, and slams back in like a reward, the stretch and fullness crashing over me so hard my legs nearly give out. “You take me so good. God, you’re perfect.”

He fucks me like he’s trying to make me forget my own name. Every thrust lands hard, deep, filthy. And all the while he’s murmuring against my neck

“So pretty. So good. That’s it, princess—just like that. All mine.”

When I finally break, it’s with a sob that echoes off the backstage walls. My whole body clenches around him, and he follows with a groan that feels like lightning splitting through the dark.

We collapse forward, panting, sweaty, fucked stupid—and I can still hear the gala music drifting through the curtain. Somewhere in Gotham, the night plays on.