#clark kent thought

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

Begging CLARK KENT to hit it raw for months but he’s always been too nervous. “We shouldn’t, baby, it’s not safe.”; “I don’t feel comfortable putting you at risk like that, let’s just wait a little longer.”; “I know it’ll feel good, I can’t help but worry about you though.” You thought guys jump at the chance of going without a condom, but Clark’s been frustratingly insisting your safety matters more to him. When your birthday rolls around, your handsome farm boy carries in loads of perfect gifts, all thoughtful and sweet, stuff that was on your list and stuff he picked out himself. One oddly shaped box sticks out among them, and you vaguely recall what it could be, furrowing your brows as you pull the carefully folded wrapping paper apart. Your cheeks heat up at the unmistakable color. He bought you a Plan B. You throw your arms around his neck while he laughs at your reaction, and gives you your last unwrapped gift all night long.

[frownyalfred]

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

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

[sunsburns]

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

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

and he always does.

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

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

but there are things you’ve started to notice.

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

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

you know what he’s doing in there.

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

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

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

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

no, you need to be the one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he looks utterly wrecked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“fuck, please—”

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

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

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

clark kent is completely undone.

[st4rfckerz]

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

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

[gravygranola]

sometimes you gotta just. you know

[notrobinsomethingworse]

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

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

[duckysprouts]

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

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

[luv-lock]

Their tits can cure my daddy issues.

[secretidentie]

Bruce: Oh shit

Clark: What's wrong

Bruce: I've only got a month til my birthday and I forgot to "accidentally" drop hints for gift ideas my kids could get me

Clark: You don't think the kids can find you a good gift? I'm sure you don't need to worry

Bruce: Oh I do. When I don't drop hints they start making "educated guesses"

Clark: That doesn't sound so bad

Bruce: Last time I was busy with a case that whole week so instead of a cake, Jason brought me the severed head of the guy I was looking for.

Clark:

Bruce: Another time Damian offered to go on a quest to "avenge" me for something. Literally anything. He tried to fight a pizza guy for messing up my order

Clark: that's....

Bruce: And I don't even want to talk about what Tim did

Clark: WHAT DO YOU MEAN--

Bruce: Look that doesn't matter right now

Clark: I'D ARGUE THAT IT MATTERS ALOT

Bruce: --what matters is how I'm going to convince them for the 3rd year in a row that I have a deep unfulfilled yearning for coffee mugs. And then I need to update my birthday mug spreadsheet

Clark: everything I learn about your family makes me glad they're on our side

[anxi04]

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

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

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

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

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

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

You don’t realize how big CLARK KENT truly is. The Kents grew this farm boy in a lab. It’s like he’s genetically engineered to lift hay bales and fix the farm tractor and bang fence posts into the solid dirt. If he were older, you could see him handling a railroad spike hammer, nailing crampons into the earth for giant locomotive beasts to tread on. He lumbers around with heavy feet that shake the ground. He towers over everyone you know, dwarfing them in height and width. He’s the man every guy is compared to; every 6-foot wannabe looking for a lay is nothing when set up against the golden standard. He could hook his hands under your arms to pick you up a couple feet until you’re eye level with him. Only when your arms wrap around his great head in a warm embrace do you truly realize how large it actually is, spanning the length of your chest. When his hands touch you they feel like they consume you wherever they land and knead. Even his tongue delving into your mouth for a deep french kiss feels massive, and you experience the urge to suck on it like you would his fat dick. His big hips slam against your ass and you can feel his pelvic bone on either side of it, sitting on him like a chair while he’s feeding his cock into you. You can fit inside his silhouette.

[frownyalfred]

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

[theerurishipper]

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I tried something new

Part 1 -> Part 2

Masterpost

[soangelbaby]

thinking about pervert!clark kent and my brain is allll fuzzy 😵‍💫😵‍💫

pervert!clark . . . would definitely use his x-ray vision to peek under your clothes and see your lingerie, he can’t help himself, you always have the cutest lace sets, it’s like you do it on purpose just for him. delicate lace hugging your soft skin, sheer fabrics barely covering you, tiny little bows and intricate details that he knows you chose carefully. he’s memorized every lace pattern, every bow, every strap placement. that he could sketch them blindfolded, that he knows which sets are your favorites, which ones you wear when you’re feeling confident, playful, soft.

pervert!clark . . . would use his heightened senses to smell everything about you. from the soap you use, perfume, even your natural scent. it’s addicting to him and he can’t get enough of you. he’d always be standing just a bit too close, savoring it all. he might even smell areas you were just sitting or standing just to inhale the vanilla warmth of your lotion, the floral sweetness of your perfume, the fresh, clean scent of your shampoo.

pervert!clark . . . would listen in on your private conversations or alone time. he’d overhear you sharing secrets to your friends, possibly about him. your voice dropping into a hush, playful, teasing, as you talk about him. about how he’s so tall, broad, strong. about how his voice does something to you, how his hands are so big, how you can’t stop thinking about him, how you wonder what it would feel like to be touched by him—

pervert!clark . . . he’d overhear your intimate time, listening in on your moans as you touch yourself to thoughts of him. those soft little gasps, the hitch in your breath, the way your sheets rustle, the way your voice catches when you try to stay quiet. the way you whimper his name, the way you sigh, the way your heartbeat spikes. he’s already rock hard, just listening to you fall apart for him—without him even being there. even while you’re in the shower, he’s outside the door—listening, the soft hum of a song you don’t even realize you’re singing, the sighs of relaxation when the heat soaks into your muscles, he’s probably getting off too as he uses his x-ray vision to see through the walls. and he tries not to. he really does. but then you sigh, body shifting under the heat of the water, and he caves. his x-ray vision flickers on. and there you are—completely bare, steam curling around your skin, water tracing paths down every curve. you have no idea. no idea that clark is right outside your door, stroking his dick, his grip tight as he chases his orgasm, biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. no idea that he’s watching you, hearing you, soaking in every fucking second. that if you even cracked that door open, you’d see him standing there—flushed, panting, wrecked just from looking at you.

pervert!clark . . . with his super speed could disappear right before your eyes, and you’d never know he was there. he’d be in your room, possibly watching you sleep as he fucks his fist in the dark corners of your room. it’s too easy to be right here, in your space, watching over you while you’re completely unaware. and fuck—you look so soft. so peaceful. so vulnerable. he’d probably open up your closet or drawers needing to feel a piece of your clothing between his hands, even the smell of you, he’d hold the shirt up to his face, palming himself through his sweats as he breathes you in, again and again, inhaling the sweet smell as it conveniently muffles the desperate little moans slipping past his lips.

pervert!clark . . . would sneak into your room while you’re gone, running his hands over your blankets or pillows. the satin sheets feeling like liquid under his fingertips. then he does what he always does—he buries his face in your pillow, inhaling deeply, letting your scent fill his lungs like it’s something he physically needs to survive. would you feel his presence in your sheets when you slide into bed tonight? would you toss and turn, restless, wondering why your skin tingles, why your breath comes just a little quicker?

clark hopes so….

a/n ; i have so many thoughts for this cause our boy ck is already a bit of a freak and i’m alr thinking of a part two 🫣 lmk if you guys like ! show me luvv 😚

[geelatinous]

ok so basically. i saw this and went “omg! that is so funny i need to do this.” so i did. and i know it’s not exaaactly what you wanted but if i drew their bodies i think you’d actually start convulsing

because i draw too good (haha…ha…☹️)

anyways i hope i lived up to your dream 💔 @bibbitybobbitybackoff

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

clark kent loves quietly

This is a collection of head canons I wrote with David!Clark in mind, but would really work for any Clark iteration. That teaser trailer did something to my brain

He knows that you hate being spooked, and his quiet footfalls have gotten the better of you more times than you would ever admit. When he comes home from a day of work, or finds you tucked into whatever you are working on, he purposefully makes sure that his footfalls are heavy, so that you hear him coming. You jump slightly when he notches his chin in the space between your head and shoulder, but he is quick to squeeze you tight and soothe them away. 

You would think that he tries to fight your battles for you, protection hard wired into his veins. But he’s much the opposite. He knows that you can take care of yourself (super-human threats excluded, of course) and is happy to watch you stand up for yourself. It’s nice to see you love yourself loudly by making your wishes known. 

This man can cook. He spent a lot of time with his mom in the kitchen, who used cooking to cope after his father passed. He absorbed every second of it, intent on making the memories last. Food is one of his love languages now. He will pick up your favorites if he is eating out, but when you are having a particularly hard day, he plops you down on the couch with your beverage of choice in hand, and insists you don’t move. You had assumed that cooking would be frustrating for him, all the super speed in the world can’t make onions caramelize faster, but he finds it so soothing- especially when he knows that you’re going to give him one of your big smiles, the kind saved just for him, at the end of it all. His specialties are casseroles and chilis and his mom’s fluffy biscuits, if you were wondering. 

Does his best to mind his business (keeping his super hearing off the speed of your heart) as long as you promise to let him know what is bothering you as soon as you’re comfortable. He hates to see you hurting, but also respects that sometimes you need to process on your own. It’s unspoken between the two of you, you’ll curl up with him when you’re ready and spill your guts, and he will have a super powered ear at the ready. 

Any of your accomplishments are office gossip for weeks, because he is telling everyone. A picture of you with the degree you finished several months into dating is framed on his desk, when you accept his proposal he finds ways to slip it into most conversations. You always blush, which fills him with pride. He insists it isn’t gossiping if it’s talking about yourself. You smile and resist the urge to point out that it is often more so about you. He views you as a singular unit in all things, and you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Clark was simultaneously terrified when you figured out that he was the one flying around the city fighting super humans (and rescuing the occasional cat stuck in a tree), and not the least bit surprised. He has long considered you one of the smartest people that he has ever known. He chides himself for not preparing for it better. He stood speechless for several moments, before tripping over his words, a muddled confusion of explanation and apology. He calmed when you smiled shyly at him, approaching him like he might spook at any minute. He stilled, allowing you to take control of the situation and gently slip your hand into his. You squeezed, he squeezed back, and the rest was history.