#}{ Drabble }{

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 || 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 ||

A/n: Annnd another one

You’ve always said danger was relative. Clark says you’re ridiculous.

The first time he saves you, it’s from a fire escape. You were trying to get the perfect aerial shot of a Metropolis street market from above, balancing on one foot, one hand gripping your camera and the other fumbling with your lens cap. You remember tilting a little too far forward.

You also remember the warm wind rushing past your face.

Then his arms—strong and impossibly fast—looping around your waist, gently pulling you to safety. You looked up into those eyes, framed by those annoyingly attractive glasses.

“You fell again,” he said, brow furrowed.

You grinned. “Got the shot, though.”

⸻

The second time, it’s raining. You’re kneeling on the edge of a construction site, photographing the sunrise bouncing off a freshly built skyscraper, when your foot slips on wet concrete. A scream barely leaves your lips before you’re airborne.

Clark’s just there, like he always is. One arm under your knees, the other braced around your back.

“Are you actually trying to die for your art?” he mutters, voice low and dry.

You grin again. “It’s a dramatic skyline. It deserved a dramatic angle.”

He doesn’t smile, but his thumb brushes the side of your face. You feel it anyway.

⸻

Then there was the rooftop incident. Yes, that one.

You’d convinced Jimmy to help you up onto the Daily Planet’s roof so you could photograph the rally three blocks down. Clark told you explicitly not to climb anything. You told him you were “just going up for a sec...I swear."

Cue a gust of wind and a very wobbly tripod. You nearly go over the edge, heart slamming in your chest.

Except Clark catches you. Again.

This time, he’s clearly not amused.

“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose.”

You just wink. “Well, if you keep catching me, how am I supposed to stop?"

There’s a pause.

And then he kisses you. Not softly, not cautiously—just like he catches you. With everything he has.

“You’re impossible,” he murmurs against your lips.

“And you’re invincible,” you reply breathlessly. “Seems fair.”

⸻

You don’t stop climbing. You don’t stop leaning a little too far. You don’t stop chasing light and color like it’s oxygen.

And Clark doesn’t stop catching you.

Because he knows you’ll never stop chasing the perfect shot.

And he’ll never stop chasing you.

[hellinistical]

Phainon, who kisses your knuckles without realizing. It’s habitual, like breathing. Sometimes mid-conversation, mid-laugh, even when your hands are dirty from gardening or holding a spoon. You could be rambling about something silly, and he’ll just—kiss your hand. Like it’s a tether grounding him.

When he braids you hair, it's...clumsy. He's too careful. He fumbles with strands, mutters things like "Too many gods, how do you keep this from tangling?" But he always tries, even if the braids end up uneven. You never fix them. You just kiss his wrist and thank him.

Phainon, who doesn't think you fragile. But it undoes him to see your face twist with emotion. He cups your cheeks gently, whispers “Let me hold it for you. Whatever it is—give it to me. Let me carry it.”

When you sit between his legs when he's reading or polishing his armor, you lean back against his chest. Other times, you just sit close enough to feel the warmth of his thighs and let your foot press against his. He doesn't say anything—he just reaches down and curls his fingers with yours.

Phainon knows what it looks like when you're faking your smiles and when you're not. He's observant. He notices the way your eyes crinkle, memorizes what kind of fruit you like best in summer. Which memory makes you tear up. What part of your shoulder you rub when you’re overwhelmed.

He doesn't let you walk near the curb- wordlessly, he always switches what side you're on before you realize it. Every time. City streets, dark alleys, early morning walks—his hand finds your waist, and he nudges you gently away from traffic. If you try to argue about it, he just says, "Don’t fight me on this, starlight."

[anon-188]

kansas

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.4k

summary: clark tells you everything, but there’s just one thing you can’t get past.

a/n: i loved the new movie and just had to write something! no big spoilers. just a tiny one, if it even counts?? (iykyk.)

Clark Kent had just spilled everything to you. Confessed his love. Told you he was Superman, which—if you were being honest—wasn’t as shocking as he thought it would be. But you didn’t say that. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

He finally told you where he grew up—Smallville, Kansas. He said it quickly, almost like he hoped you’d miss it, before circling back to the part that mattered most: that he loved you.

One thing had led to another. Something between kisses, half-smiles, and uneven breaths. A blur of soft touches and quiet urgency.

Now you lay there in your bed, limbs still loosely tangled with his. Your head rested against the steady rhythm of his chest while his hand moved along your back in slow, absent strokes—soothing and familiar. Your breath had started to even out, but your mind still hadn’t caught up.

He was Superman.

He was yours.

And those two things alone should’ve been front and center in your mind, but they weren’t. Not even in the slightest.

"I can't believe it," you whispered.

Clark shifted, his chest rising with a quiet inhale. "I know. I should've told you sooner. About Superman. About who I am."

You lifted your head, turning to look up at him. "I knew you weren’t from here, but I didn’t think there.”

He furrowed his brow, confused. “You mean… Krypton?” 

You made a face. “No. Kansas.”

“Everyone knows you’re from Krypton. But Clark Kent? I thought maybe, like… Vermont. Or Oregon. Definitely not Midwest.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed in mock offense. “What’s wrong with Kansas?”

You gave a half-shrug, still curled against him. “Nothing. Just… explains a lot. I mean, you’re like, painfully polite. I should’ve known.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face like you’d just wounded him, but the smile gave him away.

“No, really.” You grinned, propping yourself up slightly. “I bet you’d even stop mid-battle to save a squirrel. Like, buildings crumbling, alarms going off—and there you are, making sure it gets to safety.”

Clark shook his head, pretending to protest, but you could already feel the laugh building in his chest.

“I can totally see it,” you teased, as he slipped his other arm around you and pulled you closer.

His lips brushed yours, soft and warm.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you murmured against his mouth.

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you—deep and unhurried, laughter still dancing behind it.

It was the kind of kiss that said you weren’t wrong at all.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

• tag list: open!

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[ryiju-muunie]

In honor of this reaching 5k notes have a reblog

Your boyfriend who sleepily fondled your naked body as you both napped together on your bed, letting calloused fingers drag along skin. Who pulled his erection out of his pants to drag his head along your ass, pressing against your warmth to satiate his heat.

He was so lust drunk off your scent it was hard to grasp what he was doing until the pleasure started. Hips grinding against your behind, fingers gripping into your stomach, and legs entangling upon legs. It felt so good how you squirmed underneath him, none the wiser.

His calloused fingers dipped into your wetness, to play along your clit as your mouth opened. It felt so good right? As he ground his erection into your ass and whimpered, “F-Fuck.. you feel so good..”

Your boyfriend spread you apart and slowly let one digit get sucked into your cunt, rubbing against your walls until it hit that perfect spot. Again he abused it, getting closer to his high and pulling one orgasm out of your sleeping body. You whined and bucked your hips as you came, releasing your fluids onto his palm.

“Good girl… that’s it..” He’d coo, pulling his hand back to lick his fingers from your juices as his orgasm started to build. It was slow before it got intense, blinding him with white hot pleasure. He bucked his hips and for a second he was sure he woke you when his spend squirted all along your back. But he was pleasantly surprised to hear you stir and snore softly, drifting back to sleep.

Your boyfriend who’d deny the claims he fucked you senseless while you slept, even though the evidence was stuck to your back.

Strawpage | Bluesky

[synthetickitsune]

S.Coups (SVT) | Prophetic dream fluff | 0.9k | gn!reader

"It's over, Cheol." 

He wakes up covered in sweat, shaking, and utterly disoriented. It takes him a while to take in his surroundings. The plane's still humming along its journey across the sky. There's more noise coming from all around, the other passengers doing their own thing unaware of his both rising and ebbing panic. Mingyu shoots him a worried look.

Just a dream.

It hasn't happened.

You haven’t said those words. You haven’t broken up with him, out of the blue, but with conviction that could only stem from months or years of issues he failed to notice or address.

He’s still on the plane bound in your direction. Nothing that took place in his dream has happened. At least not yet.

His mouth feels too dry and his throat too tight. He uncaps the bottle of water almost fallen to the ground and takes a long sip. He still has time. There’s nothing he’d be able to do to immediately fix things if the issues went on for so long, of course, but he should be at least able to show that he cares. The dream feels like a wake up call. It’s better to trust the dreams, they never failed him. Even though some would say he’s reading too much into it, that it’s just stress and inevitable anxiety that comes with prolonged separation, Seungcheol knows better.

Once he lands, that same fear captures him in its grasp because he doesn’t see you there, waiting for him. Which is to be expected - it’s getting late, he told you not to come, he forbade you from coming. Still he barely remembers to say his goodbyes before getting the first taxi available and scouring the internet for a flower shop that’s still open and wouldn’t hinder his journey home too much.

He got lucky - the bouquet of roses carefully lies on the seat next to him. Unoriginal, Seungcheol knows, but he hasn’t given you roses in a long time so he hopes you’ll let it slide. 

You open the door before he can let himself in, beaming at him. In your excitement, you barely stop yourself from jumping into his arms when you spot the flowers.

“Cheollie,” you sigh with a smile that he knows is fond but still it might easily be read as resigned as well by his racing mind, “You didn’t have to.”

“No, I did - I love you,” he smiles and pulls you closer anyway, holding the flowers safely aside, “And I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you hum, planting a few kisses along his jaw, “All I have to offer in return is dinner, though. If you’re hungry.”

“For your cooking? Always,” he smiles. Seungcheol refuses to let you go. 

“Not yet,” he whispers. 

He holds you a little tighter and kisses the top of your head before finally setting you free after a minute that feels like the good kind of eternity.

It’s not new, or too unusual, but you still get flustered. Though you’d still write it off as Cheol being his usual clingy self, if it wasn’t for the other things.

The dinner is a simple dish you’ve cooked many times before, yet tonight your boyfriend keeps coming up with compliments to pay you. He honestly treats it like a Michelin star dish. Not to mention his hand is always reaching for yours and even though the situation could easily seem like a farce, it doesn’t. Not when the gratitude and awe genuinely reach his eyes.

He doesn’t let you touch the dishes, insisting on taking care of them himself. And when, after, you decide to just go to bed, he demands you let him help you with your night routine. 

“What’s going on?” you finally sign and cup his face so that Seungcheol can’t run away from you. He wouldn’t even let you hop on the counter yourself, he had to put you there like you were too fragile to handle it on your own. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“I- uh,” he stammers, “Nothing. It’s nothing. Are you happy with me?”

You blink a couple times, blindsided by the sudden question.

“Yes, very much so,” you answer with a slight frown, “Did something happen?”

“Just a prophetic dream,” Seungcheol mutters, his faith suddenly not as strong once he’s admitting it aloud. Not when you get that concerned look on your face. 

“Come again?” your frown deepens. He shakes his head with a small smile. You wouldn’t lie to him. But his brain definitely would.

“If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters,” he says as he takes your hands in his, “Tell me if there’s anything, anything, that bothers you, okay? Nothing is too small for you to have to endure it.”

“My boyfriend’s gotten crazy with longing,” you chuckle, leaning forward to kiss him, “I promise.”

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. 

Even so he takes over skincare and everything you usually do. It makes your heart flutter that he still remembers on top of everything he has on his plate and the separation.

And although you told him everything’s fine, tried to drive the point home by more compliments and reassurance, he still carries you to bed and tucks you in before settling next to you.

And after everything, he still pulls you against his chest and holds you the whole night. 

It feels safe.

It feels like home.

[jimmyvalmerenthusiast]

Hanks- Painting your nails after them

a/n; me and my bf, who's just as obsessed with DE like me, were brainstorming headcanon ideas for the hanks for funsies and I really liked this prompt so here's a drabble. pre realization and kind of mutual pining. reader is gn. tried to keep it in character as best as I could, haven't been able to play recently because of work 💔

Out of boredom, you’re constantly painting your nails and toenails new colors. Smiling to yourself as you finish off your pinky finger and closing the polish, you hold out your hands to admire your work. You were proud of how well you've gotten at painting your own nails even when using your non-dominant hand plus with some help from Barry which was much needed at the beginning. 

You beamed at your color choice and couldn’t help but simply giggle to yourself, the colors this week you had decided were going to be based off the Hanks, your favorite adrenaline junkies. Admittedly you caught yourself falling hard for the group of handsome men who always so energetically invited you to join their adventures, and you couldn’t ever say no to them.

So you thought painting your nails the colors of their signature jumpsuits might be a good start to showing your romantic interests. Once they fully dried, you hopped up off the floor of your workout room, slid on the dateviators and made your way to your closet. You aimed your glasses at the hangers and next all you heard was:

“HOUSE HOMIE!”

And there they were, as handsome and energetic as ever.

“YOU’RE BACK!”

They cheer, giant smiles on their faces as usual. The sight of them and their smiles brought you warmth to your heart and made it impossible to not greet them in the same manner.

“DUH! I’d be crazy to not come see my favorite dudes!”

You returned with a smile like theirs.Your words and expression allowed soft blushes to creep up on The Hanks’ faces; rendering them speechless for a minute. But only for a short minute.

“Hell yeah homie! That's awesome to hear!”

Four cheered with a toothy grin

“So what’s up homie? We don’t have any adventures planned today, recovery day y’know!”

One asked, the others questioned the same thing. You fiddled with your fingers nervously as you held your hands behind your back, surprised they hadn’t already asked why your hands were behind your back.

“I just wanted to show you guys something I did!”

You spoke, bouncing on your toes out of nervousness and giddiness.

“We could also be something you do, gorgeous.” 

Three flirted, sending you a wink with a bright red blush on his freckled face. His flirtation caused your face to flush red and you to stammer over your words a bit before you cleared your throat.

“Anyway, look at my nails! I painted them!”

You outstretch your hands towards them showing off your colored nails with your palms facing you

“That’s dope homie! But uh what’s so exciting about it?”

Two questioned as he tilted his head to supposedly get another angle of your nails. You only giggled at his question before speaking.

“Do the colors not look familiar? Look a bit closer dudes”

You snickered as they lowered themselves to look closer at your hands.There was a good couple minutes of silence before

“Oh. U-Um, That's..wow."

That as well as some nervous laughter was all that was heard from Hank 5. Seems like he made the connection first, a bright pink blush settled on his face.

“Dude, what does it mean?! Tell us!”

The other four echoed, desperate for an answer. You made eye contact with Hank 5, who usually seemed quite put together was too flustered to say anything, and simply smiled warmly at him before answering their question. 

“I painted them the main color of your suits! I thought it’d be a cute way to think about my favorite guys when they're not around.”

You say, a bright smile coming to your face as you lower your arms back down to your sides. You grin at the sight of the bright blushes and dropped jaws coming to the Hanks’ faces, how you adored these gorgeous himbos.

“Alright, I’m off now! Later homies!”

You cheer as you wave goodbye and make your way elsewhere, probably to geek out to Skylar. What you didn’t see were the bright smiles and love struck looks on the Hanks’ faces. This interaction helped confirm what they knew they really wanted. You.

[cod-dump]

I have a head canon that Ghost would be that type of guy to live as a recluse in the forest when he's not on base or out in the field and "accidentally" adopt stray foxes and wolves and even some coyotes or some shit

And then he invites the 141 over for the first time and there are just wolves and foxes everywhere with not explination

That's the cool Disney Princess version, my version is Ghost just having a horde of raccoons that he keeps feeding and that he's actively trying to train to steal stuff for him. And Price can't say anything because, out of all his other hobbies, this is the least concerning.

[tenjikusprincess]

why is my furniture white? yeah i wonder

it’s all over my hands..and the screen..and the floor..and my face....who made that mess..

[dykeriver]

when you and ellie go to the park for a picnic, neither of you had expected to get this… sidetracked. but you couldn’t help it. you tried. ellie just looked so fucking good in her shorts and muscle tank, a black sports bra visible from her sides, clinging to her smooth skin. so when you grab her hand and drag her somewhere a little more secluded — read as: behind a huge boulder five minutes off the trail — you obviously need to absolutely have your way with her. and ellie’s a little confused, but your lips on her neck feel so good… and when you slide a hand down the front of her shorts, she gasps, pushing into your touch. “is this o-” but then, before you can even finish, she’s rapidly nodding her head and diving for your lips. you lean in, pressing your mouth against her’s, nearly clashing teeth with the desperation in which you kiss each other. slipping your fingertips into her panties, you push your fingers through her wetness, starting a deliberate pace on her clit the moment you find it. she keens against your mouth, high and needy. with your free hand, you make a grab for one of her slender thighs, pressing it up against the boulder to hold her open. ellie whimpers as her knee makes contact with the cold, smooth surface of the boulder. you go down a little further, tracing over her entrance before pushing in two fingers. “ha,” she moans, back arching a little bit. immediately she pushes down against them, and in response you curl them against her warm walls. slipping them out again after fucking her with them for a little while, you resume your movements on her clit, and she keens out the sweetest song for you. the leg ellie has keeping herself upright is trembling with effort and she’s falling apart, quickly, quickly. when she cums, it’s with a near shout. you lick and bite her neck as ellie’s orgasm rips through her, working her through the waves.

[dragon-ascent]

YOU are a gacha character, and Zhongli is a gacha player who mains you.

Zhongli had been interested in you ever since learning tidbits about your lore scattered throughout the virtual world that has immersed him so. Being a lore player, reading every text and interaction comes second nature to him. So he gathered every bit of information on you he could find, and eagerly held onto the hope that you would be playable.

Months passed, new areas were added, and he collected more crumbs on you—and finally, leakers suggested you had a playable model. Ah, his patience has been rewarded! He diligently set about collecting enough wishes for you, and even prefarmed some materials you seemed likely to use.

When you were finally drip-marketed, your design was perfect. Just what he’d been waiting for. Your banner could not come any sooner…but Zhongli was a patient man. He waited calmly until the day the patch update dropped and then went to town with his saved wishes.

Ten-pull after ten-pull after excruciating ten-pull, and you were at C4R1. Two more constellations until you were maxed out, but Zhongli’s primogem reservoir…was drained dry. Well, he had spent some pulls on your supports, too.

Ah, well. Hu Tao probably didn’t mind when he swiped her card and put it down as a business expense.

Zhongli was your #1 main, literally—on Akasha he had the top build for you, and on the mains subreddit everyone turned to him for advice on how to play you. Figures, considering all the artifact grinding he’d done to make sure you had nothing but immaculate, god-tier substats without a single roll wasted. Boundless patience pays off, after all.

Ah, but he wasn’t just a meta player: he maxed out your companionship points within a day and listened to all your voice lines keenly, smiling at your sweet ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ messages. Your lines about other characters were silly and endearing, too. 

Zhongli prepared a nice, cushy place for you in his teapot, too! Complete with the prettiest flower arrangements, crystalflies and even limited furniture from buying the premium Battle Pass. A castle and its enchanted garden with a flower swing in the center! There were also unique floating tricks he employed to make some of the lanterns float. 

Every time he logged in, he made it a point to visit you in his teapot creation to greet you. You definitely loved his arrangement, right?

No matter what, though, he avoided social media like the plague. The game’s fandom could be…passionately vocal at times. He knew he’d find the worst opinions on you ever, and he was a self-care king. Never engaged in any discourse. Quietly enjoyed playing with you, deaf to anything other players might say about it.

And today, he’s the proud owner of official shiki, figurines, keychains, and plushies of you. It bleeds into every aspect of his daily life; when he reads a book, he uses the metallic bookmark of you he got from a museum collab. For work, he uses your official themed keyboard. To bed, he wears your official fluffy jammies!

[A little known fact about him: he is a bit of a yumeshipper. He’s commissioned tons of art of you and him, nothing too crazy. Maybe even written a self insert fanfic here and there, but honestly, his writing is fine literature. He ought to change the names and publish his work as an actual book.]

Life is great. Maining you is fantastic. The cherry on top is the con coming up next weekend where he gets to meet your VA! (Surely Hu Tao won’t mind if he puts down the signed merch as another business expense if he forgets to bring enough of his own cash. It’s for the greater good, after all.)

[bullbous]

Final Part!!! Player confronts Skips… and hopefully retains the bitchyness I was channelling, once again this is barely edited but thats not my problem anymore xx ENJOY!

Part 1 | Part 2

You were deeply hungover.

A few days in a hotel, a nice one, had done you some good. Eating good food, watching good movies, and basking in the sun made you feel normal again but it wasn’t long till you got bored. A few text messages sent with an insentient phone solved that, and you and Sam had enjoyed a proper old school sleepover with horror movies, giggles and sweets galore. After that, you both gathered some old friends and hit the town for an all night bonanza. You spent perhaps too much money and somehow scraped both knees through your best jeans before you crawled your way into Sam’s house in the wee hours but it was fun! 

Now you’re awake, just about, with a killer headache and some killer homesickness. 

As you lay on the cool tile of Sam’s kitchen (for some reason) you thought about how much fun you’d had the past month discovering all sorts of odd people around your house. Yes, it was mortifying that they had witnessed every embarrassing thing you did in private and, yes, some of them had been massive twats with little reason but it was your home. Your home that had felt so empty before Memoria and Artt had helped brighten it, Beau and that strange little man Jacques had brought you on a genuine adventure, Barry and Dasha and Mac and Zoey and Dunk and oh! Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad. 

You’d have to go home sooner or later and you’d have to face the looming surveillance. There was a bitterness that you couldn’t quite shake, the fact you had pulled and stretched at your personality for each dateable, bringing a customer service veneer into your own home. 

So, as you dragged yourself into a delicate upright position, you made a promise to yourself. If you could put your foot down with Skips, then you could do it to all of them. You wouldn’t force any persona. If they didn’t like you without the mask, then they were never going to like and why waste your time on that. 

You left Sam’s with a hastily packed suitcase, a new found resoluteness, and some stiff knees. 

When you stumbled onto your doorstep, fighting nausea all the way, any hopeful spirit you had promptly drained away. Oh fuck… you were going to have to stand up for yourself. Doing that sucked! You thought about chasing the taxi back down the road, getting a lift to a beach to find somewhere to bury your head, but when you smelt the alcohol pouring out from your pores you knew you were in desperate need of a shower. With a heavy sigh, and more effort than typically required, you managed to slide your key in the lock and stumble your way inside. 

It was blessedly quiet. No, it was too quiet. 

Dumping your bags somewhere off to the side you crawled up the stairs on hands and knees and scoured the landing for the vibrant glasses. You don’t remember closing any of the curtains but the house was dark and cold. The air was solemn almost, like when you wander though an empty hospital, eerie. When you found the Dateviators, face down and half inside the electrical cupboard, you ran a finger over the cool metal and thought about what you’d say.  Who would you talk to first? Did you have to apologise for Skylar? What if everyone hated you?!

Don’t be dramatic, you scolded yourself, though lingered a minute more before finally putting the glasses on. 

The house was immediately plunged further into shadow. You felt your heart speeding in your chest, as you looked down the stairs where a figure haunted. He filled the hallway, rolling smoke, a pale blue glow emitted inside his ribcage. 

“Penumbra…”

You bristled, any nerves you had were dashed away, and you slid your croc off with a scary efficiency and threw it at his skull, “I’m you’re penumbra again, am I?” It clearly knocked Skip’s confidence, his deepened stumbling words faltering with the false tones then fading into his natural timbre.

“You drive me out of my house! And the first words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I’m sorry’?!”

“You left me!” He tries, but his voice no longer matches his form and the fight is gone from his voice as you stand at the top of the stairs and look down at him. The second croc is thrown. It bounces off his skull. 

“You left me, Skips! One thing didn’t go your way and you lashed out at me! How dare you!” You descended, the shadows cleared as you came closer and his form shrunk until you were face to face with his pale humanoid figure, “I was sick of objects in this house choosing to be mean when something didn’t go their way and I will not be shamed for leaving it behind. I thought we got along Skips, I was really looking forward to getting to know you, the proper you, and you shouted at me.”

You teared up. Damn, that’s the last thing you wanted. As Skips noticed, like instinct, his hands reached to soothe you and, like instinct, you batted them away. 

“I’m sorry,” He said quickly, his hands still reaching between you, “You declined and all I could think of was Benji and- and- well, I like you, a lot, and the thought of you leaving scared me so-” “You pushed me away.” You said, an accusation in your tone. 

“I lashed out at you,” He corrected, and the shame in his voice was a comfort, “I am ashamed of my behaviour, penumbra.”

You held out a finger and silenced him, turning away with a spare hand massaging your temples. Doing this hungover was a mistake. 

“I like you, Skips.” You said and tried to ignore the glimmer in his eyes, “I like a lot of the people in this house but I have put up with some bullshit the past month.”

You slumped down onto the bottom step, Skips crouched down to keep at your eye level. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” “I am sorry. I have taken your companionship for granted, and I promise to never do so again.”

“You’re talking all fancy again.” You smile, you feel like you shouldn’t want to, you should still be annoyed at him but you smile. 

“I think it makes me sound sincere.”

“It makes you sound,” You sigh, you were going to say silly but that was a lie, “It makes you sound serious, yeah… Skips, all of this,” You gesture to your glasses, “It’s weird.”

“Yes, and we haven’t given you the wiggle room.” He nodded in earnest. “...what?"

He smiles, doesn't answer your question, and finally takes your hands. His are cold, clammy at the fingertips, but he squeezes yours and you don’t mind it, “Can we start again?”

You stare at him. Long enough for him to get nervous as you think. Just as his fingers loosen, as though to pull away, you tighten your grip and smile. Skips visibly melts. 

“Sounds good, shadow lord.”

He hugs you, holds you tight and you melt into him. 

But you pull away suddenly, startling Skips, your eyes wide as you remember your promise.

“I have to go stand up for myself.”

In the surge of confidence, you kiss Skips on his cheek, closer to the corner of his mouth and he flushes with a bright light, and run off to put your foot down all over your home.

Bonus -

“I don’t know who the FUCK you think you both are, screaming my house down,” You were hissing your words, threats really, as Harper and Dirk kneeled before you trying to dodge the rolled up magazine you swung about, “But if I hear a raised voice out of either of you ever again I am throwing you both out. I will go nude, I swear to God, if it keeps you two quiet.”

You’ve frightened them into submission for now, you’ll break them up another day, but you have a rubber duck to sort out next…

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐲'𝐬 || Clark Kent ||

A/n: he's the best boy.

The wind whips around you as Clark sets you gently down on the icy floor of the Fortress of Solitude, a proud little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His cape flutters behind him, majestic, dramatic, exactly as you’d expect from your superhero fiancé. He watches you expectantly, eyes shining like he just brought you home to meet his parents.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Solitude,” he says, arms spread wide like he’s unveiling the eighth wonder of the world. “It’s Kryptonian design. Advanced tech, alien crystals, voice-command architecture, memory banks that hold millennia of—”

GASP.

Clark's head never turned so fast to a sound.Your loud, breathless squeal cuts through his monologue like a bolt of lightning.

Clark blinks.

You don’t even see the towering alien archives. You don’t register the glowing control console pulsing with celestial light. No, your eyes have zeroed in on one very important thing sprinting towards you on four legs.

“Krypto!!!”

The white blur barrels into you joyfully, tail wagging at light speed, tongue out, pure delight in dog form.

“Oh my god, Clark,” you croon, dropping to your knees and immediately smothering him in kisses. “He has a little cape!”

Clark blinks again, his hands slowly lowering from their dramatic ‘ta-da’ pose. “Y-Yeah! You’ve met Krypto! He lives with us... At the apartment!"

“But you didn’t show me his cape, Clark,” you say, scandalized, holding the golden-edged red fabric between your fingers like it’s the Shroud of Turin. “And he can fly!”

It felt like it was Christmas....better than that actually now that you think about it.

Krypto barks and promptly floats three feet off the ground, tongue lolling, tail still wagging like a propeller. You gasp again like someone told you cake now contains vitamins.

“Oh, he’s a superdog! Look at him! He’s majestic. Regal. My god, he’s the hero this world truly deserves!”

Clark clears his throat, sheepish. “I mean…I also fly.”

“Mmmhmm,” you mumble, now gently placing Krypto’s paw in your hand like you’re officiating his wedding. “But does your nose boop when I touch it like this?” You gently boop Krypto’s snout. It does, in fact, boop. Gloriously.

Clark sighs, folding his arms and trying not to smile. “So…not impressed by the Fortress, huh?”

“Oh no, babe. The giant crystal space cave is very cool,” you say distractedly, as Krypto flops dramatically into your lap and rolls over for belly rubs. “But your dog has a cape. And he flies. And he’s got little teeth, look at ‘em! Look this little face." You puckered your lips smushing Krypto's face as the dogs tail wags a mile a minute.

Clark grins now, eyes warm as he watches the two of you—his fiancé completely enraptured by the world’s most powerful belly-rub beggar.

“Krypto,” he mutters under his breath with a shake of his head. “Showoff.”

Krypto barks triumphantly.

You gasp again. “He knows sarcasm.”

Clark just sighs again, quietly resigning himself to a lifetime of sharing your affection with a flying dog in a cape. And honestly?

He’s fine with that....

Later that day, as you lay sprawled out on the icy floor with Krypto napping on your chest like an overgrown, slightly radioactive marshmallow, Clark stands nearby looking only mildly betrayed.

You’ve been rubbing his belly (Krypto’s, not Clark’s… for now) for twenty minutes straight while whispering things like “I’d die for you, tiny hero” and “you’re the best boy in any multiverse.”

Clark clears his throat. “Babe, you know I saved Metropolis last week, right?”

You hum absently, fingers still working. “Mhm. And he saved my serotonin.”

Then, with perfect Kryptonian timing, the air shimmers—and Kara zips into the Fortress.

“Clark, I got your message—wait, are you—pouting?” She floats down, sees you cuddling her superdog cousin like he’s made of marshmallow fluff, and bursts into laughter so hard she nearly crashes into the memory crystals.

“Oh. My. Rao,” Kara wheezes. “She’s ignoring you for Krypto?!”

“She’s not ignoring me,” Clark mutters.

Krypto lifts his head, gives Clark a smug woof, then plants a wet lick on your cheek. You squeal and snuggle him closer.

“Oh my god,” Kara giggles, already pulling out her phone. “This is incredible. You finally bring your fiancée to the Fortress and she gets imprinted by the dog.”

“She didn’t imprint,” Clark grumbles.

You look up. “We’re soul bonded now.”

Kara cackles and almost drops her phone.

Clark just throws his head back and groans, clearly questioning every decision he’s ever made since inviting you here.

“Admit it,” Kara says, smirking. “This is so much better than when your ma saw the Fortress for the first time.”

“She cried,” Clark says proudly.

“She also didn’t immediately pick favorites,” Kara grins. “You’ve been dethroned by a dog in a cape, Kent.”

You nod solemnly from the floor. “Your dog is my hero now.”

Kara gives you a thumbs-up. “Excellent taste.”

Clark just sighs again, then walks over, flops down beside you with dramatic resignation, and mutters, “Fine. But when I wear a cape, no one scratches my belly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that…an invitation?”

Krypto barks.

Kara walks off still laughing—“I’m telling the Justice League!”—while you and Clark both groan, Krypto smugly nestled between you like the world’s fluffiest third wheel.

And the Fortress echoes with a whole new kind of warmth.

[hellinistical]

12:44

The first time you kiss Phainon, he stopped breathing. You lean in, slow and steady, and kiss him before he can overthink it. His breath catches in his throat—actually stops. He doesn’t move at first. His eyes snap wide. And then they flutter shut like something finally surrendering. His hands hover....and then they grip. Because, at first, he didn't touch you. He's stunned, reverent. Then one hand lands on your lower back, the other behind your neck, like he’s anchoring himself to this moment. His kiss back is delayed—but devastating. He pulls away, dazed.

"Why would you do that to me?" "Do what?" "Make me fall harder than I already have." He’s so clearly shaken. Quiet. Jaw clenched, thumb brushing his bottom lip like he’s trying to relive it. When you finally ask, “Was that okay?”, he only says:

“You just ruined every other kiss I’ve ever had.”

[anon-188]

starved

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 0.5k

summary: he’s superman everywhere else. but with you? he’s just a man starved.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation. 

a/n: it’s official. i’m irreversibly down bad for this man.

Clark Kent is a munch and you can’t convince me otherwise.

Doesn’t matter if he’s had a good day or a bad one—his head between your thighs makes any day better.

The worst part? He thinks about it constantly.

Like when he’s at work, sitting at his desk at the Daily Planet. Head tilted into his hand, elbow balanced on the armrest, leg bouncing as he stares blankly at the screen in front of him. He’s not typing. Not listening.

Not even hearing Jimmy call his name the first—or third—time.

“Clark? Did you hear me?” Jimmy asks as he steps into view, waving a file in his hand. And for a man with super hearing, you’d think Clark would’ve heard him anyway.

But not when the sound of you is louder.

Not when your voice is still echoing in his head, saying his name like a prayer and a warning all at once. Begging for more, for less, for everything in between.

“Clark?” Jimmy says again.

Only then does Clark turn toward him, slow and dazed like he’s been pulled from somewhere far away. His expression softens into that mild, sheepish smile, the one that gets him out of most things. But even that feels distracted.

“What is going on with you?” Jimmy asks as he drops the file on the desk.

He means it like a joke, but Clark doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t explain. Just shifts in his chair and murmurs something noncommittal, already drifting back into thought.

That conversation happens more than once. Maybe too many times in a single day.

When Clark finally gets where he’s been aching to be—when his lips press into you and his tongue tastes the very thing that’s haunted his every thought—he moans. Deep in his throat, like something inside him just clicked into place.

Like this was exactly what his day had been missing.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not until he’s had enough. That part he’s relentless about. 

No matter how many times your legs tremble around his shoulders or how breathless your pleas become, he keeps going. 

You squirm. You always do. Hands twisted in his hair, fingernails dragging over his scalp, mouth dropping open as you say some of the most sinful things he’d never dare repeat. Not even in his own head.

Of course, he could hold you still. You both know that.

One hand on your waist, one against the mattress, and you wouldn’t move an inch.

But he doesn’t.

Because he likes it better when you buck your hips in desperation, like you really believe it’s going to make him let up.

Matter of fact, he loves every single part of it.

The knocked-over lamp. The sheets pulled halfway off the bed. The way your breath catches and breaks apart as you come undone for him—again and again. Each time more wrecked than the last.

The reason Clark Kent eats pussy like a man starved?

Because it’s the only time he lets go. 

The only time he stops worrying about the world, the weight on his shoulders, the secrets in his chest.

Because when he’s between your thighs—lips slick, moaning into you like he’s found something holy—he doesn’t have to be Superman.

He just has to be yours.

And all he cares about is the way you taste. The way you sound. The way he could stay there for hours, days, forever—and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Not even close.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

• tag list: open!

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[pikasigh]

── .✦ "better than you do"

katsuki bakugou.

"yeah i bet you like that... you always like that.."

he's growling in your ear, your couch just doesn't seem big enough to fit the both of you. how could big, strong, pro hero dynamight fall for a little waitress like you? honestly, a year ago you were trying to pay off your college tuition and now -- you had a big angry blond to take all your worries away and do it all for you.

with a frown on his face, ofcourse.

he's all hot. in many ways. his body, his sweat, his breath, the feeling balling in his stomach. you just did things to him and he absolutely hated it. he hated when he got all feral like this for you, when he got all touchy like he wasn't the most short tempered hardass.

today, katsuki chose to be an asshole because he thought he saw a guy watching you at work. katsuki had come after his day patrol to pick you up from your shift when that scrawny twerp laid his eyes on you.

who the fuck looks at his girl?!

it didnt help that you were actually pretty famous now. showin up to those dumb red carpets with him that you nearly have to drag him to. all because you're just.. engaged to him.

maybe it's a dick thing to say, but he misses when you were a nobody.

"nobody does it better than i do, huhhh?" he drags out the last noise, leaning down and licking up your cheek. you've actually never seen him this...

whats even the word? horny? posessive? he never let himself get like this.

"say it.. say it you fuckin.." his hands slide down your baby soft hips.

"..fuckin sexy little .." he growls in frustration.

you moan, loud and long. needy and aching for him, for his fingers his tongue -- but especially that girthy number nobody but you got to see.

"katsu, nobody does it better than you do.."

he moans at that, nodding in response and reaching down to lift your hips with one hand and smack your ass hard with the other.

"yeah.. such a pretty girl.." he growls out those four words. something he never really said with such blatant confidence before. you really liked this new katsuki.

but hell, maybe this is the married version of katsuki. the wedding was right around the corner after all...