#in endearing me to this clark

[nat-20s]

JAMES GUNN. DO NOT. BLOW THIS. FOR US.

[knight-intraining]

Pardon me for Smallville posting in 2024, but I still love how the show and Tom have him stop smiling with teeth after he loses Alicia, then he does it a couple of times when he and Lana are together, and then after his Dad dies those smiles become incredibly rare - only happening in incredibly happy/in love moments

I just. It has always stuck with me as such a great acting choice. And to, as an audience member, miss a character's smile is just so...wow

[martyrbat]

started reading superman vs meshi and its very cute and has made me hungrier than i ever been in my entire life

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ “ I WANNA FUCK WITH THE LIGHTS ON ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this movie isn’t out yet but i can’t wait that long to take advantage of my superman kick and fuck this man. unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ dick riding ノ objectification ノ p in v ノ praise ノ clark has huge dick syndrome.

“Just… take it slow.” CLARK KENT encourages, but it’s said more so for himself than you. A large, flattened palm emphasizes his instruction, gesturing for you to relax without grabbing you to take over your actions. You stop, his eyes flickering to meet yours questioningly, until he takes a shot in the dark. “Please.” It’s delightfully endearing, and it loosens you up a little.

“It’s not that, Clark, I’m just—you’re just so… you know,” Big. You try to hint at it without blurting it out. Hovering over his lap too long, a tremor builds in your thighs, and you bite down onto your lip as you let it pass through you in a shudder.

His expression adjusts as the realization dawns on him, “Ah,” he exclaims thoughtfully, and he tests the waters, bringing his hands to your body to rest in comfortable places. Your waist seems appropriate, and your fingers fiddle with the muscle in his shoulders as you keep chewing your lip. “Do you want me to take over?” the question is punctuated with a shift of his hips, arranging himself in a better position to begin, but even the marginal movement has you whining with need. It alerts him, tensing up instantly as he freezes while your pretty face twists in pleasured agony. You’re still wrapped around his reddened tip, and it’s a burning kind of stretch that makes you wish you could just shove him in all the way—at the cost of ripping you in half.

Through your heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you manage to meet his gaze with darkened pupils that don’t want to cooperate. You hum a pitiful “uh-huh” while you nod your head, signaling to him that he’s right. His thumbs on your torso stroke at your skin comfortingly, big hands clamped around you as he raises you. The lip of his head catches on the rim of your pussy, and you suck in a breath as an emptiness replaces what used to be filled.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” Clark talks you through it, but even his exhale hitches when cold air hits his slit. Carefully, he lowers you back on, feeding his dick back into your silken walls before taking it away again—all to introduce your hole to his size little by little. The method chips away at your tightness, and you try to follow his movements with yours even if you’re weak in the knees. “Wanna look at me, duchess? Let me see your eyes?” He tilts his head, his curls falling over his forehead as he chases your gaze. You do your best to peel your eyes open one-by-one, granting him his wish as you pant through your open mouth taking his cock one agonizing inch at a time. The sight of you barely holding on when he’s not even halfway in, stretches a smile onto his face, and if you were more coherent, you’d say it’s one of pride as well as endearment.

One hand cautiously releases your side, while the other takes your weight entirely, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a fleshlight. His other slides between you two to seek out your pretty bud, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at that clit. The new sensation slicks you up as quickly as it occurred, and you gasp at how elevated it all feels from a simple action like that. “That’s what you were missing. Right, baby? It’s hard to loosen up without it. You’re so tight…” You know he didn’t say it like it’s a compliment, but it makes your insides jump anyway. Your muscle contracts and suddenly he can fit a lot more in. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his thumb leisurely circling your bud as your pussy drools around him.

Desperately, you nod your head with a couple of “mm-hmm’s!” that lead him to speed up��introducing you to more of his length as he picks up the pace on petting your clit. Your hands abandon gripping his shoulders for stability and instead overlay his. Yours are dwarfed by him, but he takes your guidance, absorbing how you’re putting pressure on his knuckles and replicating it against your poor pearl, getting puffy from the stimulation and the lack of getting railed. It all lights a fire under your ass, and your body moves for you, bouncing in place to try and force more of his cock into you. You can’t overpower the Superman, but he does let you take it all down to the hilt—his strength making a sex toy out of you.

[cowboybeepboop]

Late Night

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut, gentle and romantic

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Your friendly neighbor Clark Kent comes to your door one evening, allowing for the two of you to finally grow your relationship.

Warnings: This is not proofread what so ever, gentle/sort of shy Clark, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, p in v sex. 

a/n: Idk rn but I genuinely can't wait for David Corenswet to be Superman (Henry Cavill is so hot tho...). I’m already imagining how perfect he's gonna be as Clark Kent. As always, send me any requests you have and I hope you enjoy!

For months now, you had been quietly pining for the man who lived across the hall from me in our unassuming apartment building. His name was Clark Kent, and there was something about him that was utterly endearing. It wasn't just his chiseled jawline or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but the kindness he exuded, the way he always had a helping hand ready for anyone in need. 

You had become something like friends, sharing the occasional awkward small talk as we passed by with our shopping bags or recyclables. You had seen him in various stages of undress, coming back from his midnight runs, his superhero-like physique hidden under loose-fitting t-shirts and sweatpants. 

Something that had fueled your evening pleasure sessions, everytime your eyes fell closed you could remember the image of his hardened abs, his huge and muscular arms. 

On a warm summer evening, there was a knock at your door. It was Clark, the guy from across the hall. He stood there sheepishly, his hand running through his black hair. 

He wore a white shirt that was unbuttoned and messy. He held a bottle of wine in one hand. "Hey", he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I was wondering if I could get a favor?"

“Sure what’s up?” you give him a small smile, your eyes fall on his exposed chest before quickly flicking back to his face. His heart rate increased as he realized that you could see through the thin fabric of his shirt the toned muscles of his chest covered in a light layer of hair.

He cleared his throat, composing himself, holding up the bottle of wine. "I, umm, I was wondering if I could borrow your corkscrew. I lost mine."

“Yeah, of course. Come on in.” you move to the side, allowing him to come in. Your mind clouding with desire as he towers over you, his cologne filling your senses. 

He steps into your apartment, the tight space meaning his body brushes against yours slightly as he passes. The contact between you both is brief, but it's enough to send a shiver down his spine as he enters.

Your cheeks flush slightly as you realize your own appearance, wearing just a button down top that is unbuttoned enough for him to see your cleavage and your underwear. You awkwardly lead him to the kitchen, arm subconsciously moving to cover your breasts as you turn around, handing him the corkscrew. 

"Uh, thanks." He says as he takes the corkscrew from you. Even with your arm draped over yourself, he can't help but notice the glimpse of exposed skin, his eyes lingering before he catches himself and averts his gaze, forcing himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

He starts to open up the bottle, the action allowing him to look away from your figure for a moment and compose himself, his hands shaking slightly as he tries to concentrate. 

Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing over his. “Oh yeah this thing is weird, you kinda have to do it a particular way.” you murmur, taking the bottle from him as you fumble with the screw. 

He bites his lip as your fingers brush over his, his stomach swirling at the touch of your hand. He watches as you take the bottle from him, his eyes fixated on your every movement as you try to open the bottle.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice low and a bit shaky. His eyes wander down, his gaze drawn to the way your top fits, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. 

“Mhm,” you reply as you pull the cork out, a small splash of wine staining your collar. You bite down on your lip while setting the bottle down, fingers rubbing the fabric. His eyes widen slightly as he watches the droplet of wine slide down your collar, the stains on the fabric making it even more translucent. 

Clark swallows hard, his mind wandering to inappropriate and ungentlemanly thoughts. He clears his throat, trying to look away, but he can't help but notice the way your fingers are now rubbing at the fabric, the motion only drawing his attention further to your chest.

You glance over him, hand falling from your shirt as you give him a soft grin, noticing the way his gaze lingers. 

His gaze flicks up to meet yours, his cheeks flushed. He realizes he's been caught staring, his eyes having been fixated on the way your hand moves over the fabric of your shirt, the motion stirring something deep within him.

"I, umm..." he stutters, his words failing him as he feels his throat dry up. He swallows slowly, forcing himself to focus on something else. "Thanks, for helping me open the bottle," he manages to say.  He shifts on his feet, trying to discreetly adjust himself as he feels his jeans becoming a bit tighter.

“Of course, do you want to share the bottle? Or do you have someone waiting for you?” you move slightly closer to him. 

His heart quickens as you come closer, his mouth going dry as your proximity makes it all that much more difficult to concentrate. He glances down at the bottle sitting on the counter, his mind racing with desire and indecision.

"No," he says, his voice low and a bit huskier than usual. "There's no one waiting for me." He looks back up at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with a mixture of nervousness and something more forbidden. "I'd like to share the bottle with you."

“Perfect.” You smile, stepping closer as you reach for the cabinet behind him, your chest pressing into his ever so slightly. You open the door, reaching for two glasses ​​his breath hitches as he feels your body press against him, the sensation sending a jolt of heat through him. 

Your chest rubs against his, and he can feel the weight and softness of you against his body. The proximity is driving him mad, his mind clouded by primal desires he's trying to keep in check.

He bites his lip, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter, trying to maintain his composure. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he opens them again, his gaze fixed on your every move.

You step back, with the glasses in hand. “We could watch a movie?” you prompt as you pour some wine into the cups, silently enjoying the way he reacted to your touch. 

He nods, his mind still racing as he tries to calm his racing thoughts and the growing hardness in his pants. "Yeah, a movie sounds good," he mutters, his voice coming out a bit more hoarse than he'd liked.

As you pour the wine, his eyes follow your every move, the way your fingers grip the bottle, the way the liquid flows into the glasses. It's all too tantalizing for him. "What do you feel like watching?" He asks, trying to keep his voice level and casual.

“How about you choose?” you hand him a glass, taking yours in hand along with the bottle as you walk into the living room. Taking a seat down on the couch you sip on the wine, your eyes follow his every move, drinking in his muscular form. 

He tries to stay composed, forcing himself to look away and focus on the task at hand. Clark walks over to the DVD collection and scans the titles, his mind unfocused and his thoughts still lingering on you. After a moment of browsing, he picks a movie at random, inserting it into the player.

"All set." He says, returning to the couch and taking a seat beside you. You pull at the hem of your shirt, trying to prevent it from riding up too much while taking another sip of your drink. 

“Great.” you smile, sucking your lip between your teeth as you admire his side profile. He can't help but notice the way you fidget with your shirt, the action drawing his mind to places he shouldn't be going at the moment. 

He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the screen, his gaze keeping wandering over to you, admiring your features and the way the fabric clings to your body. Clark takes a long sip from his glass, the alcohol doing little to calm his racing thoughts and desires. He shifts in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself as his jeans grow even tighter.

“Is everything alright?” you notice his movements and set your cup on the coffee table, scooting slightly closer to him. His eyes widen slightly as you move closer, the proximity sending a fresh wave of desire through him. He swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah," he responds, his voice a little hoarse. "Everything's fine, just...adjusting." He glances over at you, his gaze lingering on your figure, his eyes tracing over the curves where your shirt clings to you, the way your position inadvertently exposes more skin.

“Clark?” your knee brushes against his thigh as you scoot closer. He stiffens as your knee brushes against him, the casual touch sending a jolt through him. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as he tries to maintain his composure.

When he hears his name, the way you say it, so soft and gentle, almost a whisper, it sends a shiver down his spine. He looks over at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with desire. "Yeah?" He manages to respond, his voice a bit shaky.

“Are you.. seeing anyone?” you chew on your cheek as you search his eyes. At your question, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty crosses his face. He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity.

"No," he says finally, his voice steady and sincere. "I'm not seeing anyone." He swallows, his nerves getting the better of him as he wonders where this conversation is going. He can't help but feel a flicker of hope and anxiety at the same time.

Your eyes light up as you press a hand to his thigh, “Then… well I hope i’m not misreading the situation,” you murmur, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It's unexpected, but oh so welcome. 

His eyes widen for a brief moment, before closing as he melts into the kiss. Every cell in his body seems to come alive, the taste of your lips on his sending him into a dizzying spiral of emotions.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his touch gentle as he leans into the kiss, deepening it as he loses himself in the moment. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip as he presses his chest against yours, pushing your back into the plush fabric of your couch. 

Your bodies meld together, your back sinking into the cushion as he bears down on you. His tongue teases your lip, requesting entry which you give him without hesitation.

His heart races as he feels the soft give of your body against his chest, the heat and pressure of your bodies mingling together.

His hand runs over your side, his touch gentle but firm as it moves over the curves of your body, his hand sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, needing to feel your skin against his. You lean back, gasping for air as his fingers explore your body. 

He takes your gasp as an opportunity to trail his lips along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he nips and kisses his way down your neck.

His hand moves under your shirt, slowly, his fingertips dancing across your bare skin, mapping out each contour and dip of your body. He groans softly against your throat as he feels your warm, supple flesh under his fingers. You feel so good against him, it's almost overwhelming.

“Clark..” you gasp his name as he unbuttons your shirt swiftly. He loves the way you say his name, the sound of it coming from your lips making his own name sound like a prayer.

He unfastens the buttons of your shirt, revealing more and more of your body to his hungry eyes. He peels back the fabric, his hands roaming over your now-exposed skin, his fingers tracing over your stomach and up to your chest.

He presses his mouth to your collarbone, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, tasting your scent, committing it to memory. “Clark..” you moan his name again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he kisses down your chest, hands landing on your breasts. 

His name slips from your lips again, the sound like a sweet melody in his ears. He can feel the pressure of your fingers on his shoulders, the touch driving his desire even higher.

His mouth travels down your chest, his kisses feather light and seductive as he moves over your breasts. His hands follow his mouth, palms cupping your breasts as he starts to massage the soft flesh.

He moans against your skin, his touch almost reverent. His body thrums with an aching need, the desire to be closer to you nearly overwhelming as he captures your lips in another hungry kiss. He cups your breasts in his hands, his fingers kneading the supple flesh as they press into your skin. His touch is soft but firm, his hands large enough to cover them completely

Clark pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but keeping his eyes locked with yours. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving with anticipation. He can feel your heart racing beneath his palms as he gently caresses your breasts. "Are you sure about this?" He whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I don't want to rush you." His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

You smile up at him, placing a soft hand on his cheek. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life," you reply, your voice barely above a murmur. The sincerity in your tone sends a thrill through him, confirming that this is what you both want.

He nods, his expression serious as he leans back down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. He savors the taste of you, the feel of your body pressed against his. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, cradling it as he deepens the kiss, exploring every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

As the kiss lingers, he slowly starts to unbutton the rest of your shirt, taking his time to reveal each new inch of your skin. His eyes never leave yours, watching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. You melt into him, your own hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as the fabric of your shirt falls away.

The moment your skin is fully exposed, the air in the room seems to crackle with tension. He leans down to press a line of soft, wet kisses along your collarbone, feeling your body shiver beneath his touch. He takes a moment to just look at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Your cheeks flush with pleasure as he says the words, his eyes devouring your exposed flesh. He takes his time, kissing and caressing every inch of your body, his hands moving in a slow, tantalizing dance that leaves you trembling with need. Each touch is a promise of what's to come, each kiss a declaration of his desire for you.

The room is filled with the sound of your mingled breaths and the soft whispers of your names on each other's lips. The anticipation is almost unbearable, but you both know that the slow burn of this moment is only making the fire between you grow hotter.

Clark finally takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling gently as he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. You arch your back, gasping at the sensation, your hands tightening in his hair. He teases and worships each peak, his tongue swirling and flicking, drawing out your moans of pleasure.

As you lay there, the warmth of his mouth on your skin, the softness of the couch beneath you, and the gentle pressure of his body above, you can't help but feel that this is exactly where you're meant to be. With each tender kiss and caress, he's claiming you, and you're willingly giving yourself to him.

The movie on the TV becomes background noise as the only thing that matters is the connection growing stronger between you both. His kisses trail down your stomach, his hands skimming over your hips to the waistband of your underwear.

He kisses the skin just above the waistband, the heat of his breath making you squirm. "I want to make this perfect for you," he murmurs, his eyes looking up at you for approval. You nod, unable to form words as your breath catches in your throat.

He takes his time, pulling down your underwear in one smooth motion, exposing your most intimate parts to his gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he looks at you, but he keeps his touches feather-light, his mouth hovering just above your skin without making contact.

Clark takes a deep breath, savoring the moment as he gazes down at your exposed body. He gently kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs, moving closer to the apex of your legs. His eyes are filled with a fiery hunger that makes your heart race even faster. He presses a soft kiss to your mound, feeling you tense up at the contact. 

Then, with a gentle caress, he parts your legs wider, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the desire in his eyes, and it only fuels the fire burning within you. With a soft sigh, he lowers his mouth to you, his tongue tracing the seam of your folds with the lightest touch. You moan, your body trembling as he starts to explore you, taking his time to learn every curve and sensitive spot. 

Each touch is a declaration of his intention to worship you, to take things slow and savor every second of this shared intimacy. His fingers join his mouth, gently teasing and exploring, bringing you closer to the edge with every stroke. The room is filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and soft whimpers, the only soundtrack to this passionate symphony of desire.

Clark continues his gentle exploration, his tongue circling your clit with a patience that borders on agonizing. He's not in a hurry; he wants to savor every moment of this, to make sure you feel loved and desired. His fingers slide into your wetness, curling gently as he begins to stroke you internally, matching the rhythm of his tongue. 

You can't help but whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as the sensations build within you. He's so attentive, so in tune with your body's responses that you feel like you're floating on a cloud of pure pleasure. Each kiss, each caress is a testament to the connection growing between you, and you know that this is just the beginning of a night that will change everything.

Clark's eyes never leave yours as he shifts his position, aligning his body with yours. His hand moves to guide himself, and with a gentle nod from you, he begins to press into you. His movements are slow and deliberate, his expression one of intense concentration as he tries to read your every reaction. You can feel the tip of him pushing against your entrance, the anticipation of what's to come making you squirm.

As he enters you, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice a soothing balm to the building passion. He's so big, so thick, but he's so gentle that it's almost a surprise when he's fully sheathed inside you. You gasp, your eyes flying open, and he stills, giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation of being filled by him.

He waits, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pain or discomfort. When he sees none, he starts to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that makes your toes curl. Each thrust is met with a soft moan from your lips, his name slipping from your mouth like a prayer as he fills you completely.

The feeling of him inside you is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's as if your bodies are made for this, as if every inch of him is meant to be connected to every inch of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands sliding down to grip his firm ass as he moves within you.

The room seems to spin around you, the only constant is the feeling of him, the sound of your hearts beating in sync. He kisses you again, his movements becoming more urgent as the passion takes over. You can feel him thickening, growing even more inside you, and you know that he's getting closer to the edge.

You whisper for him to go faster, to give you more, and he responds eagerly, his strokes deepening and quickening. Your body responds in kind, your hips rising to meet his, the friction between you building until it's almost unbearable. You're both so close, the tension coiled tight in your stomachs, ready to snap.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, it does. You cry out, your body arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He follows shortly after, his own release shaking his body as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

For a moment, you just lay there, your bodies entwined, your hearts racing. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret. But all he sees is pure satisfaction, a mirror to what's reflected in his own gaze. He leans down to kiss you gently, a soft promise of more to come.

[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.

[superbat-love]

Clark: Bruuuce, would you still like me if I were an alien?

Bruce: You are an alien, Clark. You’re also high on painkillers.

Clark: You’re so meaaan. You don’t see me as human!

Bruce: That’s because you’re not human.

Clark: Now that’s just cruel.

Bruce: [sighs] But you’re also more human than any human I’ve ever met, Clark. You’re better than any of us.

Clark: [sniffling] Thanks. You know that I’d still like you if you’re an alien, right?

Bruce: Hn, that’s good to know, Clark.

Clark: [mumbles Kryptonian endearments]

Bruce: …Clark, would you still like me if I were a bat?

[dulcescorderitas]

♥︎ ͜͡⠀ꮪ꧑ɑ𐑚𐑚𐐷𝘪𐑚𐑚ə ♡

sleep fun

parings: clark kent x reader

warnings: smut, somnophilia, CNC

it’s late, clark’s bedroom wrapped in the kind of quiet only smallville knows, every creak of the old wooden floors amplified in the night. moonlight filters in through the thin curtains, painting pale stripes across your bare legs. you’ve always slept heavy, a habit that clark finds both endearing and, at times like this, tempting.

you’d said it before—said it with a teasing laugh and a glint in your eye that let him know you meant every word. “you can touch me whenever you need to, clark. whatever you need.” you probably didn’t think much of it, brushing it off like a passing joke, but clark… clark took it to heart. not in a creepy, obsessive way—or so he’d tell himself—but in a way that lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet whisper on nights like this when sleep evaded him, and you were right there, soft and warm in his bed.

his large hand hovers for a moment, trembling just slightly, before he lets it settle against the curve of your hip. he’s careful, his touch feather-light, as if afraid you’ll stir. but you don’t. your breath stays even, deep, and the trust you’ve placed in him sends a shiver down his spine. he lets his hand wander, sliding over the cotton of your sleep shorts, the material thin enough that he can feel the heat of you beneath it.

your thighs are parted slightly, one knee drawn up, leaving the gentle slope between them exposed. clark’s mouth feels dry as he slips his hand between them, cupping you over the fabric. you’re warm, soft, and when he presses just a little harder, he can feel the faintest hint of dampness seeping through. his breath catches. did you… dream about something? or is this just you, always so responsive, even in sleep?

the thought makes his cock twitch, hardening in the confines of his boxers. he’s still so careful, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, testing the waters. the wetness grows, a faint slickness that clings to the pad of his finger as he trails it along the outline of your lips, separated only by the now-soaked fabric. you’re dripping, he realizes, and the sight of it, the way the cotton clings to your folds, makes his head spin.

he leans closer, his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck as he presses his hips into your thigh, seeking just a little relief from the ache building inside him. the bed shifts slightly, but you stay still, save for a soft sigh that escapes your lips, your body relaxing further into the mattress. it’s as if your subconscious knows it’s him, trusts him.

clark’s hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingertips brushing against bare skin. the heat of you is intoxicating, drawing him in deeper until he’s sliding a single, tentative finger along your folds. you’re soaked, the slick coating his finger as he parts you gently, his touch exploring the places he’s fantasized about for longer than he’d admit aloud.

his thumb finds your clit, swollen and slick with arousal, and he presses against it in slow, steady circles. your body shifts then, a soft moan spilling from your lips, and he freezes, his heart hammering against his ribs. but you don’t wake. instead, your hips roll ever so slightly, as if seeking more, and he takes it as permission to continue.

each movement is deliberate, reverent, as if he’s worshiping you in the only way he knows how. his fingers slip inside you, the tight, wet heat of you clenching around him, and he bites down on his lip to stifle a groan. you’re perfect, impossibly so, and the way you respond to him—even in the haze of sleep—drives him wild.

the room is filled with the soft, slick sounds of his fingers working inside you, your arousal soaking his hand, making every stroke easier, smoother. he watches, captivated, as a bead of wetness drips from where his fingers disappear into you, soaking into the sheets below. his other hand grips your hip, grounding himself as he fights the urge to wake you, to pin you down and take you properly.

instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “whatever i need, right?”

taglist: @legalmente-loca

[caitlinbueckers]

fuck it.

caitlin clark x reader type beat

deadass this is just a mindless blurb but i CANNOT get shy yet cocky caitlin clark meeting a rivaling fan in an elevator outttt of my mind soooo enjoy (thanks @sellawrites for being my beta fr)

SLIGHT NSFW , DIALOGUE HEAVY , BULLSHIT RAMBLINGS

18+ regardless

it would come to you as a surprise. a shock, really.

it would feel almost too crazy to be true.

you don’t think you’re losing your mind or anything, which could be a super viable option if it wasn’t for the fact that you had just left the court, game fresh in mind, still wearing an oversized UCONN t-shirt, typing quickly at your phone to express your distaste with the win that IOWA just pulled over your favorite team.

the elevator doors open and close standardly— you hadn’t realized until you’d booked the hotel just how fucking busy it is, not taking into account that it was one of the nicer hotels in the city, elite only in the sense that it took a lot of fucking flight points to even book here, exclusivity aside.

it doesn’t register to you until you’re finished with an almost exaggeratedly dramatic description of the game to your friend, corner of your lips raising slightly only in jest of your words, that you manage to glance upwards, eyes flickering quickly from the back of the hooded figure, back down to your phone. well, that is, until your eyes flicker upwards again, remaining there with a studying gaze as you try to place just where the fuck you’ve seen that hoodie before, embarrassingly candid in your incessant stare—

until the figure turns, and your suspicion is confirmed, and it kinda fucking feels like karma, or maybe some sick joke from the universe that of course the hooded figure just somehow happens to be the very player that disrespected your team the most— caitlin clark.

you’re sort of gobsmacked, so it’s silent for a beat before caitlin, almost apologetically, rushes to speak.

“sorry, i just— i saw you looking, so—“

“no, no— that’s my bad, like- i just didn’t, um, realize that i like, recognize your hoodie…?” it sounds as painful as it is to say, and somehow caitlin, despite the looks of aggression, fierceness and fervor that she displays on the court, somehow melts into this weird, sort of embarrassed looking smile that makes something foreign tingle within you. it’s endearment, surely, but interest nonetheless.

“no, that’s okay— i wasn’t, like, complaining, or anything.” it’s only then that caitlin’s eyes flicker down to your tee, and suddenly, it feels a little fucking ironic. “did you make it to the game tonight?”

self consciously, your arms cross over your chest, attempting to cover the logo, but you find an awkward, sort of quiet chuckle bubble out of you, “i did,” and, because despite the fact her team sort of fucked over your favorite team, it doesn’t take away the respect you have for her because she is tough, so you even go on to say, “you played really fucking well, by the way.”

then, it’s your turn to be surprised again, because america’s hardest basketball player is fucking blushing in front of you, ducking her head like she isn’t six feet, practically demanding to be seen, and it makes you grin despite it, admiring that even now, in her claim to fame, she’s humble.

“dude, that’s- that means a lot to me, really. it was… super fucking close, but—“ she stops herself, right as the elevator dings for your floor, right as she remembers she’s talking to a person, not a conference room, and clears her throat a little. “it was… hard.” she says, and it feels so achingly honest that it makes you pause for a second, biting the inside of your cheek. “looked hard.” you remark, watching as the smile on her face returns, timid, but there nonetheless.

then, the elevator gives another warning ding, and you feel like a fucking idiot because the doors are open and you won’t just go, and leave it at that. because, when else do people just get chances to meet people like this?

the time on your phone reads 1:24 AM.

not like you had anything else to do, anyway.

“sorry, am i like— in the way…?” caitlin is almost overly apologetic as she stands aside, and you’re quick to shake your head, mostly because yeah, she sort of was in the way, but also, because you didn’t really wanna get off yet.

“no! you’re fine, um, i was just gonna suggest maybe we could, like, i dunno— grab a drink or something, y’know?”

jesus, you felt like an idiot as soon as the words are out, and you wince, eliciting a chuckle from both you and her.

you rush to explain, “sorry, that’s like— super fucking weird, i just like, fly out tomorrow morning so i just— wanted to offer, i guess?”

but for some reason, it’s mingled with the sound of caitlin’s quick reassurance, eyes wide almost as if to make sure she’s being understood, as she says, “no, no— that’s not weird, i don’t… have anything else to do, anyway.”

the answer, though only slightly backhanded, makes your lips twitch into a real smile, and you snort, shrugging a bit. “is it gonna ruin your reputation to drink at a hotel bar?”

she’s ruthless. a fighter. a winner.

she smiles again, and it’s soft, before she shakes her head, “what reputation?”

-

you both end up too fucking drunk— the bartender only a little starstruck as you both pretend under some unspoken agreement that caitlin’s name was totally debbie and she’d never heard of women’s basketball in her life. it’s stupid, and ridiculous, and somehow you want to think it’s too good to be true that one person can be so insanely talented, and somehow not be a piece of shit— caitlin seems to prove you wrong at every point.

“dude, fuckin’— god, kate’s gonna be pissed.” the words leave caitlin’s lips in a breath of laughter, the elevator shutting behind you as your hand presses to the wall for register, shoulder bumping against her arm due to the height discrepancy that isn’t totally still making something within you stir in awe.

kate martin. you’re aware of her team enough to identify who that must be, and for only half a second do you remember that this isn’t some chick you’d met at a hotel, this was caitlin fucking clark, and it fills you with a sense of astonishment, and then, weirdly, a surge of pride.

not for any posterity reasons, but because this absolute beast was fucking giggling and smiling and feverbright from the alcohol and you’re staring for way longer than you need to because, holy shit, why didn’t you realize how fucking pretty she was earlier?

“fuck it—“ you proclaimed, loopy and still a little too unsteady on your feet as you stumble, before her hand, long and firm, calloused and warm, flies out to grasp your shoulder, “my rooms like, fuckin’ empty, dude,”

she seems surprised, almost as much as you are that you’d even offered. “is that like—? are you like, sure?” and as if to make sure she has your attention, she pulls you to her, and your eyes flutter upwards, lips parted without a sound escaping because she’s looking down at you, her hair falling from its weakly tied ponytail, and she doesn’t realize that she’s holding you tight, but you can’t pull away because you don’t want to.

your response is immediate. “duh.”

she grins. your stomach flips, for the second time that night.

and really, truly, after that it should’ve been a lot more innocent. caitlin stumbles in and collapses on your bed, looking not even the slightest tired, but with a look on her face that makes you snicker out, “what?”

it escapes her in a breath of laughter, eyes lolling from the ceiling to you, standing almost idly beside the bed as your fingers caress the bedsheets, warm only from the presence of her body a few inches away.

“wish i could do this all the time.”

it makes you frown, but your lips are still upturned, giving her a look of amusement. “get drunk?”

her own hands are twiddling with each other, before she reaches up, caresses your arm with the subtlety of an elephant, tracing over the red lines she’d left on your bicep from the elevator. it makes you fucking shiver. “no, like— meet new people and stuff. just, talking to you is like— awesome, y’know…”

you don’t know, because you’re not a college athlete, but you nod anyway, leaning over her only slightly because the last vodka cranberry is settling nicely within you, and caitlin’s starting to grin, eyes hazy and cheeks pink, as you respond, soft and just for her, “consider this a prize then? winners trophy?”

she doesn’t answer, she just laughs and then she kisses you, uncoordinated and sloppy, nothing like how she is on the court, calculated and unwavering. like this, she’s loose, strong, but wobbly as she pulls you down over her, and it’s like a fucking sixth sense that you scramble atop of her, swinging a leg over her hips like you’ve done it a million times.

though, it’s more recognizable that she’s quick, her hands racing up your oversized shirt, thumbs hard as they press against your stomach, your ribcage, the lining of your bra.

she scoffs, soft and husky against your mouth, “take this shit off.” and it’s only then, that you remember cognizantly the UCONN shirt you’re wearing, and for some fucking reason, this sudden show of confidence, the liquor somehow fueling her, makes you blush.

“fuck off— “ you’re panting, but the shirt is tugged over your head regardless, a smirk on your face, “two point wonder.”

caitlin all but fucking growls, but she’s grinning, wolfish and proud, as she thumbs over your nipples, hard and pert through the lace as she presses her hips up against you, “two fuckin’— i’ll show you two fucking points.”

and she does.

maybe her post victory adrenaline had been surging, or maybe it was just all the beers she’d housed, but you’re surprised at her energy— which was stupid considering you were looking at a girl known for her endurance, her unlimited stamina.

but holy hell, she’d just rocked the fieldhouse for all it was worth— seemed like you were next on her agenda.

it’d be hard to recount all the details. you guys were drunk, and she was like a driving, pushing force— hands snuck down the front of your shorts, fingers impossibly dexterous as they curled into you, inducing every embarrassing and pitiful sound to rip from your throat, to breathe it into hers.

you probably wouldn’t remember her voice either, husky and low, gravelly with overuse, as she asks you, “hm? how’d i do tonight? tell me.” and in a sense, it’s fucking filthy. in another, it’s almost sort of sweet. the way she says it in your neck, the way she kisses you when you trip up to say, “good— so fucking good.” because neither of you are really talking about the game, and you both know it.

you pretend like you won’t remember the way she’s gone in the morning before you wake up, nothing but a warm reminder of her body on the haphazardly arranged bed, fixtures of the night surrounding you, like your littered clothes trailing off the bed, or your body under the sheets, like the pillow she’d used as leverage when she pressed open mouth kisses against the inside of your thigh, the way she’d taken you apart with her tongue and that’s all.

you do, however, remember the number she scrawls on a napkin, with an almost laughable signature that looks worlds away from her usual, coveted autograph.

instead of her looping cursive, a simple ‘cait’ sits scratched beside it, like she isn’t the award winning, competitively, aggressively ambitious beast that you used to know her as.

for now, it’s just caitlin.

[hypewinter]

*Slams fist on table* Clark and Jack switch places! And not just a mind swap either but full presto change-o magical dimensional full body switch. Maybe it's because Jack is an alternate version of Superman. Maybe it's due to ghost shenanigans. Who knows!

You know what I do know? Wild hijinks ensue. Clark wakes up in a weird laboratory, house mashup after just being at his apartment is the definition of confusion and panic. Just then Danny enters the kitchen to see his dad who's also very much not his dad having a full panic attack in the kitchen and just groans being at this point he's used to his life being turned upside down on any given day. This is probably the Ghost Writer's or Desiree's doing. Don't worry mister, we'll figure this out but until then, you're gonna have to pretend to be my dad. W-what? Ah you see my mom is very ghost obsessed and attributes everything to their doing. She also believes everything ghosts do is evil so if she realizes you're not her husband, you'll probably be strapped to a table. This makes Supes pause because A. Wouldn't she realize right away that he wasn't her husband? And B. She'd have a hard time strapping him down to anything. To which Danny answers A. She's so obsessed with her research she won't notice as long as you put in the effort and B. Trust me she has her ways. Poor Clark has no idea what situation he's stumbled into but he's about to find out face.

Meanwhile Jack is having a pretty good time all things considered. Just wait until Maddie hears about all the things he's encountering in this weird ghost territory (though the locals keep insisting their not ghosts despite having clear ghost powers). The Superfamily on the other hand is really freaking out and would really like to know where their patriarch is. Multiple heroes are called in but no one can really figure out what happened or how it happened. Until then they decide to keep in on the down low. Which isn't too hard considering how many super folks are around Metropolis. Superman is probably out on a space mission right now and Clark Kent took a vacation or something right guys? So unlike his counterpart Jack doesn't have to pretend to be anyone and is free to go full Fenton. He's researching and documenting everything, building contraptions out of any "ghost" tech he can get his hands on, and overall being a well meaning, fudging making menace. He's exhausting but also endearing. Especially how he rambles on about showing his wife all of this. He does keep slipping in some concerning " dissection" comments though.

[bloomeng]

These are some of my favorite batkids tropes in superbat fics:

Damian hating Clark fairly unprovoked (bonus if he’s friends with Jon to really rub it in)

I know it’s canon that Dick really looks up to Clark but I love when Dick makes this super obvious to Bruce and either accidentally or purposely makes Bruce jealous and Clark is like “wait isn’t this a good thing tho that your son likes me???”

Clark not knowing what to make of Tim and trying and failing to relate to him it’s awkward but it’s endearing (bonus if there’s drama surrounding Clark’s relationship to Kon and Clark is trying to win back Tim’s respect)

These aren’t tropes these are more my own headcanons that I think are cute:

Jason’s fav league member being Diana and Clark laughing at Bruce for being annoyed

To try and win over Jason Clark would help him work on his motorcycle using what he remembers from working on tractors and cars on the farm (it works but Jason mostly uses him for his strength and a chance to annoy Bruce by “stealing” Clark’s attention it backfires ofc bc Bruce is just thrilled that Jason is visiting more and hanging out with the family)

Clark meeting Duke for the first time and thinking like ‘wow the first well adjusted kid’ only to realize later that no he’s just his own brand of quirky

Clark used to being able to read other people’s vitals via superhearing realizing for the first time that Cass can read him without powers and being a little unnerved

Alfred playing obvious favorites between Clark and Bruce teasing Bruce by doing that thing parents do where they compare you to your peers in an attempt to motivate you:

“Clark probably respects Mrs. Kent’s wishes when she asks him to do something.”

“Alfred we’re grown men.”

“You’re right she probably doesn’t need to ask.”

[urdreamydoodles]

DC Comics Characters x Fem!OC

You trip a little because you were too busy staring at your crush

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth, Zatanna Zatara, Wally West, Dinah Lance, Victor Stone (Cyborg) & Shayera Hol (Hawkgirl)

Bruce Wayne aka. Batman

- Bruce Wayne is a force of nature—stoic, commanding, yet with an undercurrent of gentleness that only a few ever glimpse. You’re captivated by him, the way he effortlessly blends into a crowd yet still commands attention. That’s why you don’t see the edge of the rug in the dim lighting of Wayne Manor, tripping gracelessly. Before you can hit the ground, Bruce is there, his strong hands gripping your arms with surprising care. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice deep and steady, concern etched into his usually impassive features.

- His hold lingers for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury. “You should be more careful,” he says, his tone soft but firm. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—concern, maybe even something deeper—that makes your heart race. He steps back, adjusting his cufflinks as if to regain his composure, but the subtle way his eyes linger on you betrays his own faltering calm.

- Throughout the evening, Bruce stays close, his presence a quiet reassurance. He’s the epitome of subtlety—offering you a glass of water here, gently guiding you through the crowded ballroom there. His attentiveness is masked by his usual aloof demeanor, but you catch the fleeting softness in his gaze when he thinks you’re not looking. For all his carefully constructed walls, Bruce has always struggled to hide the depth of his emotions.

- Later, when the guests have departed and the manor is quiet, Bruce surprises you by breaking the silence. “You… matter to me,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant. He looks at you, his usual stoicism giving way to vulnerability. “I’ve lost too much in my life to ignore what’s in front of me now.” His words are raw, unpolished, but they carry the weight of his guarded heart. You reach out, your fingers brushing his, and he lets out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

Kal-El (Clark Kent) aka. Superman

- Clark Kent is the epitome of kindness, his warmth as disarming as it is comforting. You’ve always admired him—his strength tempered by humility, his smile as bright as the sun he draws his power from. Today, as you watch him navigate the newsroom with his usual charm, you’re so distracted that you trip over a stray power cord. Before you can hit the ground, he’s there, catching you with effortless ease. “Whoa, I’ve got you,” he says, his tone gentle and reassuring, his strong arms steadying you.

- Clark’s concern is immediate, his brow furrowing as he looks you over. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft but earnest. His hands linger on your arms, his touch as steady as his gaze. When you assure him you’re fine, he chuckles softly, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I guess I can be a little distracting,” he teases, though the sincerity in his eyes makes it clear he’s still worried.

- Throughout the day, Clark’s attentiveness is unshakable. Whether it’s fetching you a fresh cup of coffee or subtly guiding you around potential obstacles, his protectiveness shines through in the smallest gestures. His blue eyes find yours often, his expression softening every time. When you catch him looking at you, his cheeks flush slightly, and he quickly adjusts his glasses—a nervous habit that only endears him to you further.

- Later, when the hustle of the day has settled, Clark finds you in a quiet corner of the office. “You know,” he begins, his voice low and sincere, “I’ve faced a lot of things in my life—things I never thought I’d survive. But you… you make everything feel a little brighter.” He looks down, adjusting his glasses again, before meeting your gaze. “I just hope I can be as much for you as you are for me.” His words are simple but heartfelt, and when you smile, his grin returns, radiating the warmth of a man who feels deeply and loves unconditionally.

Barry Allen aka. Flash

- Barry Allen is a whirlwind of energy and charm, his quick wit matched only by the speed at which he moves. You’re so captivated by his boyish smile and the way his hands move animatedly as he talks that you don’t see the uneven sidewalk ahead. Before you can stumble, Barry is there, catching you with a speed that leaves you breathless. “Whoa, careful!” he says, grinning as he steadies you. “You okay? That was almost a total wipeout.”

- His concern is genuine, though his teasing grin never falters. “You know, I’ve seen people fall for me before, but this is a first,” he jokes, his tone light but his hands lingering on your arms just a moment longer than necessary. When you laugh, his grin widens, and his eyes sparkle with something deeper than amusement. “Seriously, though,” he adds, his voice softening, “are you sure you’re okay?”

- Barry’s protectiveness is subtle but constant throughout the day. He’s always just a step ahead, anticipating your needs with an almost uncanny accuracy. Whether it’s holding a door open before you even reach it or catching a falling book mid-air, his actions speak louder than words. Every time his eyes meet yours, there’s a warmth there that makes your heart race, and when he blushes under your gaze, you realize he’s just as affected as you are.

- Later, when the day slows down, Barry surprises you with a rare moment of vulnerability. “You know,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not always the smoothest guy around, but with you… I feel like I don’t have to try so hard.” His voice is softer now, his usual bravado giving way to honesty. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… you make me want to slow down, and that’s saying something.” His cheeks flush as he looks at you, and when you smile, he lets out a breathless laugh, his grin returning with a newfound confidence.

Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman

- Diana of Themyscira carries herself with a grace and strength that feels otherworldly. You’ve always admired her, but today, as she stands in the sunlight, her armor gleaming and her smile as radiant as the dawn, you can’t look away. That’s why you trip, your foot catching on a stray root. Before you can fall, Diana is there, her arms steadying you with effortless ease. “Are you hurt?” she asks, her voice filled with concern, her dark eyes scanning you with a warrior’s precision.

- Diana’s touch is gentle despite her strength, her fingers lingering on your arm as she helps you steady yourself. “You must be more careful,” she says, her tone soft but firm. When you assure her you’re fine, she smiles, the warmth in her expression making your heart flutter. “It is easy to be distracted by beauty,” she adds, her words carrying a hint of playfulness, though her gaze remains steady on yours.

- Throughout the day, Diana stays close, her protective instincts clearly at odds with her desire to let you stand on your own. She’s ever watchful, her presence a comforting reminder of her strength. When your eyes meet, there’s a softness in her gaze that contrasts with her usual warrior’s intensity. It’s as if she’s letting you see a side of her few ever do—a side that cares deeply and feels even more.

- Later, as the sun sets and the world quiets, Diana speaks with a rare vulnerability. “You remind me of why I fight,” she says, her voice low but steady. “Not for glory or duty, but for love—for those who make the world worth saving.” She reaches out, her hand brushing yours, her touch both tender and strong. “You are more than I expected,” she adds, her smile soft but unwavering. “And I find myself drawn to you in ways I cannot ignore.” Her words are as sincere as the Amazon herself, and as you take her hand, you feel the unspoken promise of her unwavering heart.

Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman

- Arthur Curry has always carried the weight of two worlds on his shoulders, but you’ve never seen it diminish his strength or his humor. Today, as you watch him command the attention of those around him with his booming laugh and rugged charm, you lose track of your footing and stumble on a slick patch of wet tile. Before you can hit the ground, he’s there, catching you with a strength that feels like the ocean itself. “Whoa, easy there,” he says, his voice deep and warm, his golden eyes gleaming with concern.

- His hands linger on your waist as he steadies you, his brow furrowing slightly. “You okay?” he asks, his tone softer now. When you nod, his lips curl into a crooked grin. “You’ve got to watch your step around water, you know,” he teases, though there’s a flicker of something more in his gaze—something protective, maybe even possessive. “Next time, just grab onto me. I don’t mind being your anchor.”

- Throughout the day, Arthur is never far from your side. Whether it’s his broad hand brushing yours as you walk or the way he places himself between you and the crowd, his actions speak louder than words. When he laughs at your jokes or catches your eye from across the room, there’s a softness to him that contrasts with his larger-than-life persona. And when you catch him looking at you, his grin fades into something deeper, more thoughtful, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your face.

- Later, under the quiet of the moonlit ocean, Arthur opens up in a way he rarely does. “You’re different,” he says, his voice low and earnest. “Most people see the king, the warrior… but you see me. Just me.” His fingers brush yours, his touch warm despite the cool night air. “And I think… I want to be that for you. Just Arthur.” His vulnerability takes your breath away, and as you take his hand, his grin returns, softer but no less genuine.

Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern

- Hal Jordan is impossible to ignore—the sheer confidence he exudes is magnetic, and his grin could rival the brightest star. You’re so caught up in watching him regale the group with one of his wild stories that you don’t see the loose stone on the ground. You trip, your balance faltering, but before you can fall, Hal is there, catching you with the ease of a man who’s saved the universe a dozen times. “Gotcha,” he says, his grin widening as he steadies you. “You okay, beautiful?”

- Hal’s teasing tone is paired with genuine concern as he looks you over, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “You’ve got to watch where you’re going,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Though I can’t blame you if you were distracted by someone as handsome as me.” His cocky grin makes you roll your eyes, but the way he’s still holding onto you betrays the softer side he tries to keep hidden.

- The rest of the day, Hal is uncharacteristically attentive. He’s always been protective, but now it’s obvious—whether he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders in a crowded room or using his Green Lantern ring to light your path. His usual banter is interspersed with moments of quiet affection: a lingering glance, a soft smile when he thinks you’re not looking. For all his bravado, Hal’s heart is open and unguarded when it comes to you.

- Later, under the stars, Hal drops the act. “I know I come off as this fearless guy,” he says, his voice quieter now. “But the truth is, I’m terrified of losing the people I care about.” He looks at you, his usual confidence replaced by sincerity. “You… you mean more to me than I ever expected. And I’m not going to mess this up.” His words are raw, vulnerable, and when you smile, he relaxes, his grin returning as he pulls you closer.

Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow

- Oliver Queen is larger than life, his charisma and sharp wit drawing everyone in like moths to a flame. You’ve always found it hard to look away from him, but today, as he leans against the bar, his trademark smirk in place, you’re completely distracted. That’s why you don’t notice the stray chair leg in your path until it’s too late. You stumble, but before you can hit the ground, Oliver is there, catching you with surprising ease. “Whoa there,” he says, grinning as he steadies you. “Falling for me already?”

- His teasing tone is matched by the warmth in his eyes as he looks you over, his hands steady on your waist. “You okay?” he asks, his voice softening as he meets your gaze. When you nod, his grin widens. “Good, because I’d hate to think I caused you any trouble.” He steps back reluctantly, his hands lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before he releases you.

- For the rest of the day, Oliver is his usual charming self, but there’s an added layer of protectiveness to his actions. He’s quick to offer his arm when the ground is uneven and even quicker to shoot a playful wink your way when he catches you watching him. His sharp humor is balanced by the genuine care he shows in the little things, like the way he quietly makes sure you’re comfortable in every situation.

- Later, as the two of you find yourselves alone, Oliver surprises you with his honesty. “You know,” he begins, his voice quieter now, “I’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be someone I’m not. But with you… I don’t feel like I have to.” He looks at you, his usual bravado giving way to something more vulnerable. “You see me—the real me—and somehow, you haven’t run away yet.” His grin returns, softer this time, and when you step closer, he exhales, his shoulders relaxing as he takes your hand.

John Constantine aka. Hellblazer

- John Constantine is chaos incarnate, a man who carries the weight of the supernatural world on his shoulders while masking his pain behind biting wit and a cigarette’s haze. You’re watching him in the dim light of a dingy bar, his trench coat draped over his chair, the glow of his cigarette illuminating his sharp features. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you trip over an uneven floorboard. Before you can hit the ground, John’s there, catching you with surprising swiftness. “Careful, love,” he says, his rough voice laced with amusement. “Hate to see a beauty like you bruised.”

- His hands linger as he steadies you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “You alright?” he asks, his tone more earnest now. When you nod, he gives you a lopsided grin. “Good. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you were distracted. Happens when I’m around.” His teasing tone is classic Constantine, but the way his eyes linger on you betrays something deeper—something he’s trying hard to keep hidden.

- For the rest of the evening, John’s attention is subtle but constant. Whether it’s shielding you from the bar’s more unsavory patrons or lighting your way with a flicker of magic, his protectiveness shines through his sarcastic façade. He teases you mercilessly, but there’s a warmth in his gaze when he thinks you’re not looking—a vulnerability that feels at odds with the cocky mage you know.

- Later, as the night winds down, John surprises you by dropping his guard. “You’re dangerous, you know,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “Getting under my skin like this… it’s not bloody fair.” He exhales, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you with uncharacteristic honesty. “I’ve got demons, love—literally and figuratively. But you… you make me think maybe there’s still a part of me worth saving.” His words are raw and unpolished, but they carry the weight of a man who’s seen too much yet dares to hope.

Roy Harper aka. Arsenal

- Roy Harper is the embodiment of resilience, his charm and humor hiding the scars of his past. You’ve always admired his strength, but today, as he adjusts the sights on his bow, his fiery red hair catching the sunlight, you can’t help but stare. So much so that you miss the loose pebble beneath your foot and stumble. Before you can hit the ground, Roy’s quick reflexes have you in his arms. “Whoa, easy there,” he says with a teasing grin. “Didn’t know I was that distracting.”

- He steadies you, his hands warm and calloused from years of archery. “You good?” he asks, his green eyes scanning your face with concern. When you nod, his grin widens. “Good, because I’m not sure my heart can handle the thought of you getting hurt.” His words are light, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze that tells you he means every word.

- Throughout the day, Roy’s attention is as playful as it is protective. He sticks close, making jokes to put you at ease, but his actions speak louder than his words. He’s always a step ahead, ensuring you’re safe and comfortable. When he catches you watching him, he winks, his grin mischievous, but there’s a softness in his expression that tugs at your heart.

- Later, as the two of you sit around a campfire, Roy’s lighthearted demeanor shifts. “You make me want to be better,” he admits, his voice low and sincere. “Not just for me, but for you.” He looks at you, his usual cockiness giving way to raw honesty. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but you… you make me feel like maybe I’m not just my screw-ups.” His words are quiet but powerful, and as he takes your hand, his grip is steady, grounding you in his presence.

Koriand’r aka. Starfire

- Koriand’r radiates warmth, her golden skin and vibrant hair glowing like a living sunrise. Today, as she tends to a garden, her movements graceful and deliberate, you’re utterly captivated. So much so that you don’t notice the uneven stone beneath your feet. You trip, but before you can fall, Koriand’r is there, catching you in her strong, gentle arms. “Oh, are you alright?” she asks, her voice melodic with concern.

- She holds you a moment longer than necessary, her emerald eyes scanning your face. “You must be careful,” she says, her tone earnest. “I would be most distressed if you were harmed.” When you stammer out a reply, her lips curve into a radiant smile. “It is alright,” she says warmly. “I find you quite lovely, even when you stumble.”

- For the rest of the day, Koriand’r’s kindness and attentiveness shine through. She hovers close, her concern evident in the small ways she cares for you—offering a hand when the path is uneven or shielding you from the sun with her body. Her usual exuberance softens in your presence, her laughter quieter, her smiles more intimate. When she catches you looking at her, she tilts her head, her curiosity and affection clear in her gaze.

- Later, as the two of you watch the stars, Koriand’r speaks with heartfelt sincerity. “You are like the stars to me,” she says, her voice soft. “Beautiful, constant, and full of wonder.” She takes your hand, her touch warm and steady. “You make me feel at home, no matter where I am. And for that, I am most grateful.” Her words are simple yet profound, her honesty like a balm to your soul.

Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl

- Kara Zor-El is sunlight personified, her optimism and strength radiating wherever she goes. Today, as she helps a group of children with their science project, her laughter ringing like music, you can’t take your eyes off her. So much so that you don’t see the toy car in your path until it’s too late. You stumble, but before you can hit the ground, Kara is there in a flash, catching you with ease. “Whoa, you okay?” she asks, her voice warm with concern.

- She steadies you, her hands gentle yet strong as she looks you over. “You’ve got to watch where you’re going,” she teases, her blue eyes sparkling. “But hey, if you wanted me to catch you, you just had to ask.” Her playful grin is infectious, but the way her gaze lingers on you feels more serious, like she’s trying to read your heart.

- For the rest of the day, Kara’s attentiveness is as natural as her kindness. She stays close, her presence a constant source of warmth and reassurance. Whether it’s brushing a stray strand of hair from your face or quietly ensuring you’re comfortable, her actions speak of genuine care. When your eyes meet, her smile softens, her usual exuberance giving way to a quiet affection that takes your breath away.

- Later, as the two of you watch the sunset, Kara’s usual cheerfulness gives way to a deeper sincerity. “You remind me of home,” she says softly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Not Krypton, but the feeling of belonging… of being seen.” She turns to you, her eyes shining with emotion. “You make me feel like I can be more than just Supergirl. Like I can just be Kara. And that’s all I want to be… for you.” Her words are heartfelt, and as you take her hand, her smile becomes radiant, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke

- Slade Wilson is intensity personified, his every move calculated and deliberate. Today, as he sharpens his sword with precision, his one good eye glinting in the dim light, you can’t help but watch. So much so that you don’t see the step behind you until you stumble. Before you can fall, Slade’s hand shoots out, catching you with a firm grip. “Careful,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You’re not as indestructible as I am.”

- He steadies you, his hand lingering on your arm as he looks you over. “What were you thinking, staring off into space like that?” he asks, his tone stern but not unkind. When you mutter an excuse, he smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were distracted by me.” His teasing is subtle, but the way his gaze lingers on you is anything but.

- For the rest of the day, Slade’s protectiveness is quiet but unmistakable. He stays close, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for potential threats. His usual cold demeanor softens ever so slightly when he speaks to you, his words less biting, his tone less harsh. When your eyes meet, there’s a flicker of something softer—something he tries to hide but can’t quite suppress.

- Later, as the two of you sit in the quiet of the night, Slade surprises you with his honesty. “You’re a distraction,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “But for some reason, I don’t mind.” He looks at you, his gaze intense. “You make me remember what it’s like to care about something—someone. And that’s dangerous for a man like me.” His words are raw and unpolished, but they carry the weight of a man who rarely lets his guard down.

Kent Nelson aka. Doctor Fate

- Kent Nelson is an enigma, a man who carries the wisdom of ages and the burden of Fate’s mantle. His presence is serene, almost otherworldly, and you can’t help but be drawn to him. Today, as he consults an ancient tome, his golden helm gleaming in the soft light, you’re so captivated that you trip over a stray book on the floor. Before you can hit the ground, a soft golden glow surrounds you, suspending you mid-air. “Careful,” Kent says, his voice calm and measured as he gently sets you upright.

- He steps closer, his eyes searching yours with quiet concern. “Are you alright?” he asks, his tone as soothing as his magic. When you nod, he offers a small, almost shy smile. “Good. The world has enough chaos without adding unnecessary injuries.” There’s a warmth in his gaze that contrasts with his usual stoicism, a glimpse of the man behind the sorcerer’s mask.

- Throughout the day, Kent’s attentiveness is subtle but constant. He uses his magic to clear your path, his golden aura flickering softly whenever you’re near. His presence is calming, like the eye of a storm, and his rare smiles feel like small treasures meant just for you. When he looks at you, it’s as if he sees not just who you are, but who you could be—a potential that even you may not fully understand.

- Later, in the quiet of the Tower of Fate, Kent speaks with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I’ve spent so much of my life serving the balance of the universe,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “But you… you remind me of what it means to simply be human.” He steps closer, his gaze steady and sincere. “You ground me in a way I didn’t think possible. And for that, I am grateful.” His words carry the weight of millennia, and as you reach out, his hand meets yours with a tenderness that feels timeless.

Rachel Roth aka. Raven

- Rachel Roth is a mystery, her dark aura both alluring and intimidating. Today, as she meditates in the corner of the room, her violet eyes closed in quiet concentration, you can’t help but be drawn to her. So much so that you trip over the edge of a rug, your balance faltering. Before you can hit the ground, a soft black energy wraps around you, setting you upright. “Careful,” Rachel says, her voice quiet but steady. “You should watch where you’re going.”

- She looks at you, her gaze calm but curious. “Were you distracted?” she asks, her tone neutral but her eyes betraying a flicker of amusement. When you nod, her lips quirk into a faint smile. “Well, try not to make a habit of it,” she says, her voice softening. “I might not always be here to catch you.” Her words are teasing, but the warmth in her eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

- For the rest of the day, Rachel’s attentiveness is subtle but constant. She stays close, her dark energy occasionally brushing against you in moments of quiet reassurance. Her usual aloofness softens in your presence, her sarcasm tempered by moments of unexpected kindness. When she catches you watching her, she raises an eyebrow, her faint smile making you wonder if she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

- Later, as the two of you sit in the glow of candlelight, Rachel surprises you with her vulnerability. “You’re different,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel… calm. Like I don’t have to fight so hard to keep the darkness at bay.” She looks at you, her gaze steady but shy. “You make me feel like maybe I can be more than what I was born into.” Her words are quiet but powerful, and as you smile, her faint smile grows, her walls lowering just a little more.

Zatanna Zatara aka. Zatanna

- Zatanna’s presence is mesmerizing, her every movement imbued with an effortless elegance that feels like magic itself. Today, as she performs a small spell to entertain the group, her voice lilting as she speaks backward, you find yourself utterly entranced. So much so that you don’t see the loose rug beneath your feet. You stumble, but before you can hit the ground, Zatanna whispers a quick incantation, and you find yourself suspended in mid-air, gently uprighted by invisible hands. “Careful, darling,” she says, her tone playful. “Magic works better when you’re standing.”

- She steps closer, her sapphire eyes sparkling with concern and mischief. “Were you distracted, perhaps?” she teases, her lips curving into a knowing smile. When you stammer out an excuse, she chuckles softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take it as a compliment.” There’s a flicker of something more in her gaze, a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat.

- For the rest of the day, Zatanna’s attentiveness is subtle but constant. Whether it’s conjuring a chair for you before you realize you need one or creating a small shield of magic to block an errant gust of wind, she seems to anticipate your needs before you do. Her usual theatrics are softened when she’s with you, her laughter quieter, her gestures more intimate. Every time your eyes meet, it feels like she’s casting a spell meant just for you.

- Later, under the moonlit sky, Zatanna’s playful demeanor gives way to sincerity. “You’re the one thing I can’t pull out of a hat,” she says softly, her voice laced with vulnerability. “You make me feel… real. Not just a magician, not just a performer. Just Zatanna.” She takes your hand, her touch warm and steady. “And that, my dear, is the most magical thing of all.”

Wally West aka. Flash

- Wally West is pure energy, his enthusiasm and humor as infectious as his speed. Today, as he zips around the room, a blur of red and gold, you can’t help but laugh. You’re so distracted that you don’t see the chair leg in your path until it’s too late. Before you can fall, Wally appears beside you in an instant, catching you with a grin. “Whoa there, beautiful,” he says, his voice warm and teasing. “Need me to slow down for you?”

- He steadies you, his hands firm but gentle. “You okay?” he asks, his green eyes sparkling with concern and amusement. When you nod, he flashes a playful smirk. “Good. Because if you’d gotten hurt, I’d never forgive myself.” His words are light, but the way he looks at you is anything but.

- For the rest of the day, Wally’s attention is as quick as his reflexes. He’s always there before you need him, whether it’s catching a falling object or pulling out a chair for you before you sit. His usual cockiness softens in your presence, his jokes more thoughtful, his smiles more genuine. When he catches you watching him, he winks, his grin wide and unapologetic.

- Later, as the two of you walk along a quiet path, Wally’s humor gives way to sincerity. “You’re my favorite kind of distraction,” he admits, his voice soft. “You make me want to slow down, to savor every moment.” He looks at you, his gaze open and earnest. “You’re the one thing in my life that feels like it’s moving at the right speed.” His words are heartfelt, and as you take his hand, he smiles, his usual energy tempered by a quiet contentment.

Dinah Lance aka. Black Canary

- Dinah Lance is a whirlwind of strength and elegance, her confidence as striking as her Canary Cry. You’ve always admired her, but today, as she moves effortlessly through the crowd, her laughter ringing like music, you’re utterly captivated. So much so that you don’t notice the edge of the stage until you trip. Before you can fall, Dinah is there, catching you with a grace that takes your breath away. “Easy there,” she says, her voice warm with concern. “Are you okay?”

- Her hands linger on your arms as she steadies you, her blue eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury. “You’ve got to watch where you’re going,” she teases, though her tone is soft. “But hey, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” Her playful smile is disarming, but the way her gaze lingers on you hints at something deeper.

- For the rest of the evening, Dinah’s protectiveness is evident in the smallest gestures. She keeps an arm around your shoulder in crowded spaces and subtly positions herself between you and any potential hazards. Her usual fiery confidence is tempered by a quiet warmth whenever she looks at you. It’s in the way her laughter softens when you’re near and the way her touch lingers just a moment longer than necessary.

- Later, under the glow of city lights, Dinah’s playful demeanor gives way to sincerity. “You’re something special, you know that?” she says, her voice soft but firm. “In a world full of noise, you’re the one thing that makes sense.” She steps closer, her hand brushing yours. “I’ve been through a lot, but you… you make me feel like it’s all worth it.” Her words are raw and heartfelt, and as you smile, she pulls you into a gentle embrace, her touch as fierce and tender as the woman herself.

Victor Stone aka. Cyborg

- Victor Stone is a balance of humanity and technology, his heart as strong as the metal that encases him. Today, as he works on a new project, his focus sharp and unwavering, you can’t help but admire his determination. So much so that you don’t notice the stray cable on the floor until it’s too late. You trip, but before you can hit the ground, a mechanical arm catches you effortlessly. “Gotcha,” Victor says, his voice warm despite the metallic undertone. “You okay?”

- He steadies you, his human hand brushing against yours as he checks for injuries. “You’ve gotta watch your step,” he says, his tone half-teasing. “But hey, if you needed an excuse to get close, you didn’t have to trip.” His grin is disarming, but the way his eyes linger on you speaks of genuine concern—and something more.

- For the rest of the day, Victor is quietly attentive. He adjusts the environment to make things easier for you, whether it’s dimming a too-bright light or creating a comfortable space for you to sit. His usual confidence is softened when he’s with you, his gestures thoughtful and deliberate. When he catches you looking at him, his smile becomes a little shy, a rare vulnerability that makes your heart flutter.

- Later, as the two of you sit in the soft glow of his lab, Victor opens up in a way he rarely does. “Sometimes, it’s hard to feel human,” he admits, his voice low and introspective. “But you… you make me feel like I’m more than circuits and metal. Like I’m enough.” He looks at you, his gaze steady and earnest. “You see me for who I am, and that… that means everything.” His words are quiet but powerful, and as you smile, he relaxes, his grin returning as he takes your hand.

Shayera Hol aka. Hawkgirl

- Shayera Hol is a force of nature, her strength and fiery spirit unmatched. Today, as she spars with another hero, her mace gleaming in the sunlight, you’re captivated by her sheer presence. So much so that you don’t notice the uneven ground beneath your feet. You trip, but before you can fall, Shayera is there, catching you with a warrior’s precision. “Careful,” she says, her voice firm but laced with concern. “The ground isn’t as forgiving as I am.”

- She steadies you with surprising gentleness, her intense gaze softening as she looks you over. “You okay?” she asks, her tone quieter now. When you nod, she smirks. “Good. Because if you’d gotten hurt, I’d have to hunt down whatever tripped you.” Her teasing tone is matched by the warmth in her eyes, a flicker of affection that catches you off guard.

- Throughout the day, Shayera’s protectiveness is both fierce and subtle. She walks close enough to shield you from potential hazards, her wing occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Her usual intensity softens in your presence, her sharp wit tempered by moments of quiet affection. When she catches you watching her, she raises an eyebrow, her smirk daring you to look away—but you never do.

- Later, as the two of you sit beneath the stars, Shayera’s tough exterior cracks just a little. “You make me feel… different,” she admits, her voice low and thoughtful. “Like I don’t always have to fight. Like I can just be.” She looks at you, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You’re the one thing in this world I’d fight for, not because I have to, but because I want to.” Her words are raw, her honesty breathtaking, and when you smile, she relaxes, her smirk returning as she leans closer.

[sweetbans29]

Protector - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: 3 times Caitlin is overprotective

Warnings: jealous(ish) Caitlin

Word Count: 2.8k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Here's another one for you!

one. fall.

You have no idea why you thought it would be a good idea to go rollerblading. It has been years since you put them on but you begged Caitlin all day saying it would be a fun little outing.

You were completely wrong. It wasn't even 5 minutes in when you fell and got a pretty nasty scrap on your knee.

It takes a few seconds before you feel like you can stand and when you do you wince then sit back down.

Caitlin is looking at our scrap with furrowed eyebrows as she examines what the best course of action would be.

"We should get you home to clean that up, I don't want it to get infected," Caitlin says as her eyes are still glued to your knee.

"No, we just started. I want to keep going," you combat and try to stand again.

Once you are on your feet, you realize you can barely move your leg. You try to hide the pain you are in from your girlfriend but have a hard time hiding anything when you begin to put any sort of pressure on your left leg.

"Okay that is it," Caitlin says as she turns around and hoists you up on her back. She leave both of your rollerblades where you fell and is now carrying you back to your apartment in her socks.

"Cait! I am fine!" You say frustrated that your cute date has been cut short.

"You are not fine." She mumbles as she marches back. "I am going to inspect it after I disinfect it and we will see if I need to take you to urgent care to get it stitched."

"Babe, chill - I am okay." You say, then realize it is a mistake.

Her head whips around as she comes to a complete stop. You can only see her profile but you know she is giving you her death stare.

You learned early on in your relationship how protective Caitlin can be. At first, you thought it was normal but then one of her teammates pointed out how whenever you are in any sort of compromising situation - both physical or mental, Caitlin is right there watching over you. It is always endearing, but could also be too much at times.

You kiss her shoulder and you feel her relax.

The two of you make your way into your apartment. She places you on the kitchen counter as she makes her way to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit.

While she is gone, you attempt to stand up, putting most of your weight on your hands as you slowly lower yourself to the ground. Once you are down on your right foot, you slowly shift your weight to your left and feel pain shoot to your knee. You hiss and begin to lose your balance, trying to grab onto the counter.

Before you know it you feel yourself going down. You mentally brace for your second impact on the ground today but it never comes.

Cait has made her way back to you and has caught you mid-fall, effortlessly lifting you back up and sitting you back down on the counter.

"Do not do that again," is all she says as she opens the first aid kit.

You listen and feel bad for trying to get down on your own. You know Caitlin is doing everything in her power to care for you and you are doing everything you can to do it yourself.

Caitlin takes her time as she disinfects the wound, her hands are the most gentle they have ever been. She is locked in on ensuring she does a thorough job and you do everything in your power to not flinch away from her touch.

You can begin to see steam come out to Caitlin's ears as she is working so intricately on your wound. You bring your hand to brush down the left side of her head.

"I'm sorry I forced you to go rollerblading." You say looking at her. "And I am sorry I fell and that you have to take care of me." This is the best you can do to say Caitlin was right about the whole rollerblading idea.

She looks up at you for the first time since last scolding you for moving.

"You don't need to apologize, babe. I know you didn't do this on purpose." She says as she kisses your right knee. You give her a half smile as she places a bandage on your knee. She stands and you pull her in between your legs and wrap your arms around her for a hug.

She wraps her arms around you and lets out a sigh. The second she does, you know it has been one she has been holding in for a while now.

You rub her back knowing the stress you have caused her this afternoon. Her body relaxes into yours and you can't imagine having anyone else take care of you the way Cait does.

two. handsy.

It’s the Hawkeyes first game in March Madness and you could not be more excited.

Typically you attend games with your friends or sit with Caitlin's family but in this game, Caitlin was able to score you a courtside seat which you gladly accepted.

You get to the game and get escorted to your seat. You chose a simple outfit that consisted of black jeans, some black pumps, and of course your girl’s jersey.

As you sit down you notice the seats around you are empty, you know they will fill up right before tipoff.

You watch the girls come out and begin their warm-ups. You see Caitlin looks around the court until her eyes land on you. Giving her a little wave, she smiles and gives a wave back. Typically you don't drag Cait's attention away from the game but being so close and seeing her look for you, you couldn't help it.

As they are announcing the teams, the people next to you show up. You don't pay them much attention as they begin to announce the Hawkeyes, cheering on Caitlin as she makes her way onto the floor.

The game begins and you are locked into watching Caitlin dominate the court.

You are pulled away from the game when you feel a tap on your thigh. Looking away from the game for a second, you turn to the girl sitting next to you.

She points down to the ground where her lipgloss has rolled by your foot. You pick it up and hand it to her with a smile then turn your attention back to the court.

The first time out is called and you are able to sit back in your chair and breathe for a minute. Watching Caitlin always has your elbows on your knees, holding your breath, with your eyes on her. So any time they call a time-out or the quarter ends you are able to sit back and release the tension your body holds.

"Hey, I'm sorry I interrupted you from the game," the girl next to you says.

You giver her a smile, "Oh you are good!"

"I'm Sarah," she extends her hand. You shake it and introduce yourself.

The game begins again and you assume your position. You cheer on the team as they put in work to stay ahead of the other team. You are on the edge of your seat and don't realize these are folding seats as you push it back slightly, losing your balance.

Just as you are about to fall you feel arms come around you as Sarah has effortlessly caught you and saved you from making a fool of yourself. You are in an awkward squat for .5 seconds as she scoots your chair back to support you. As you sit, your hand comes to her lower thigh as you mumble a thank you, still embarrassed.

"Hey you're good babe, I won't let you fall," she says with a beaming smile. You give her a small smile and nod, thanking her.

Your attention goes back to your girl who you notice has eyes on you. She is staring directly at you, eyes going between you and the girl sitting next to you. Sending you girl a nod, you lock back into the game.

It isn't long after that the half is announced and the girl next to you starts making conversation with you. You don't want to be rude and enter into the light conversation. She stops what she is saying then takes her finger and removes a hair that got caught on your lip. Her finger comes and brushes your cheek and you feel like this is going a little too far.

"Sarah, you seem like a really nice girl but I'm in a relationship." You say.

"Oh my gosh, I promise I am not hitting on you!" She says and introduces you to the girl next to her who's her wife.

A blush instantly makes its way to your face as you feel the fullness of the embarrassment that has overtaken your body. Sarah then puts her arm around you and gives you a side hug as you hide your face in your hands.

Little did you know that Caitlin had seen the whole interaction and had quite frankly had enough of whatever was happening on the sidelines.

Taking only a few giant strides, she is now in front of you.

"Cait!" You yell surprised she has abandoned her post before the fourth quarter.

She is looking right at Sarah, eyes burning into the girl next to you.

"I'm going to need you to remove your arm from my girl and keep your hands to yourself." She says as she removes her arm from you, setting Sarah's hand on her lap and patting it.

"Caitlin," you try getting her attention to let her know the newfound fact that Sarah is indeed not hitting on you.

Caitlin just goes on to tell Sarah that you are happily in a relationship and that she doesn't need the distraction of someone hitting on her girlfriend every 5 minutes.

You get fed up, standing and grabbing Caitlin's face.

"Sarah is married and you are the only one for me!" You yell at her so she can hear you over the crowd. She freezes and now it is her turn to feel the heat of embarrassment creep into her cheeks.

You place a little kiss on her nose and release her, turning her shoulders back to the court and pushing her towards Gabby who checks in with Cait. Caitlin brushes her off as she can't shake the smile on her face.

Your nose kisses are her favorite.

three. work.

Caitlin is currently sitting in the rolling chair right next to yours, tossing up a lacrosse ball as she waits for you to finish up some admin work.

Your staff decided to do its first ever 'bring your spouse into work day'. You thought it was silly considering your company is literally a team of rugby players but caved in when you told Caitlin about it and she was completely on board.

Caitlin and you weren't married yet but had been dating since high school. The two of you talked about marriage quite frequently but wanted to wait until after college to figure it all out. You both knew it was coming but just a matter of when.

"I am almost done here and then we will head out to the field," you say finishing up one of your reports. Caitlin nods, which is unseen to you but you know she is content. Between her practices, games, your work, and school - any time the two of you got together was gold.

You finish up and the two of you head out to the field. You work as a part of the sports medicine team for a local rugby team. It was perfect because it's what you are studying in school and will look good when on your resume. Your goal is to go into the WNBA with Caitlin's team wherever she is drafted.

During the practice, it is a lot of retaping and making sure all the players have what they need. Caitlin watches in awe as these giant guys come up to her girl needing her help with something. You aren't the tallest person to begin with but seeing these full-grown men come up to you makes Caitlin so proud.

Once practice is done - you and Cait go back to your office knowing the fun has just begun. Caitlin takes a seat back in the rolling chair as you grab a pile of towels and make sure your massage table is out and prepped.

Aside from taping, one of your main jobs was massaging out the guys at the end of practice and/or games if needed.

Caitlin knows what you do - you talk about frequently when your job is ever brought up in conversation. She knows what you do firsthand as you have spent countless hours rubbing out knots that she has built up from her own sport. But she was not ready for what she was about to witness.

The first player comes in and you and he joke around as he gets set on the table. By the sounds of it, he is in here after every practice.

He sets himself on his side and hikes up his shorts on his right leg as he twists to the all too familiar position. You place a towel on his upper thigh and glut. As you begin to work out his glut he starts groaning in pain.

You laugh as you continue to work him out. His hand comes up to grab your shoulder, trying to get any sort of pressure released as your elbow assaults his knot. Caitlin's eyes are on the player's hand that is clutching your shoulder now.

You ease up and nudge his hand off, making a joke that he is making you uncomfortable. Caitlin released the breath she didn't realize she was holding.

The thing is - Caitlin is beyond secure in your relationship. She has no doubts that you are hers and only hers but seeing this guy wither under your touch has a fire burning within her. At this moment, it provided no comfort to Caitlin knowing how good your massages are.

Caitlin sits there with her arms crossed as you finish working with the guy. The guy thanks you and heads out as you have a little break.

"I don't know if I like this," Caitlin says, arms still crossed as she is leaning back in her chair.

You shoot her a smile and make your way to her.

"You know best what these hands can do," you say with a shrug and a little smirk. Her eyes widen, not expecting that response from you as the next guy walks in. You lean over and kiss her on the head as you greet the next player.

The next player is similar except you are working out the back of his calves and thighs. He keeps moaning and groaning which you laugh at. Caitlin knows the sounds the guy is making are due to the pain he is in but she can’t help but feel jealousy rise within her.

Again, she knows this is your job and she knows that she is the one you come home to every night but it is wild to her that these guys are squirming at your touch.

This player is feeling so much pain that he reaches back and grabs the back of your thigh just to hold onto something and Caitlin can see him squeeze it.

She leans over and grabs the guy's hand, removing it from your leg.

“Okay that’s enough,” Caitlin says putting her hand on your thigh where she just removed his.

The player apologizes and you give Cait a questioning look.

She doesn’t say anything to you but lets you finish the massage. The player grips the table until you are finished and thanks you upon leaving.

“What was that about babe?” You ask putting everything away.

“There is no reason for them to touch you - especially the way the second guy was. It’s inappropriate,” she says.

“It’s a reflex, it means nothing. And trust me, I always have them remove it.” You say walking up to her.

You stand in between her legs as her hands come up to find the back of your thighs. She looks up at you for a second then her head falls to your stomach. Your hands come to her head and soothe her hair over.

“Your hands are the only ones I want on my body babe.” You say in a sweet tone.

“They better be,” she says giving your legs a squeeze as she pulls you in and hugs your middle.

AN: I hope you enjoyed this lil cute one. And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[wheeboo]

RANIAAA MY LOVELY HRU😍😍

this is such a random thought but i had this idea in my head of superman!mingyu who’s just a gentle giant in a big muscular body🥺🥺 an adorable coworker at a newspaper outlet that fights crime

clark kent superman mingyu... IM GONNA RIP MY HAIR OUT RACHEL UR PUTTING THOGUHTS IN MY HEAD !!!!

no cuz ik mingyu would be the type to apologize for his superhuman strength after punching the bad guy 😭😭 like my dude is just always underestimates his powers ITS SO CUTE AND ENDEARING NGL 😭😭

anyway here's a long ass headcanon cuz they gave me SO MUCH BRAINROT LMAOOA

superman!mingyu who looks so DASHING in his suit and he always likes to wave to the pedastrians when he's flying and watching over the city

superman!mingyu who besides using his powers to fight crime he's always called to help save some kitty who got stranded in a tree, his red cape flowing so elegantly behind him as he floats down to the ground, cradling the little one in his arms :((

superman!mingyu who while patrolling sees some thug snatch a person's purse, making him throw away the doughnut he was eating and flying off after the thug. he manages to retrieve the purse back and returns it to back to the owner... to you hehe. his heart may have done a lil leap once you gave him a thankful smile

superman!mingyu who struggles to keep his heroic identity at bay, thankful for the pair of glasses that he wears to blend into the normal commotion of society. he's almost been caught one too many times, and there's even a lil dent in the elevator from his hands at the daily planet

superman!mingyu who finds out you work as an A-list journalist at the daily planet. tries his best to be so friendly and charming around you--gives you coffee in the mornings, opens the doors for you, offers you a shoulder whenever you're stressed. just doesn't help that he's called into action at the worst times possible, but this doesn't seem to sever your little connection together :')

superman!mingyu who asks to treat you after a stressful day at work, and even offers to walk you home, lamely using the reason, "well what if someone comes up and snatches your purse? I'll be there to save you!" and lowkey regrets saying that afterwards thinking he gave himself away HAHAH

superman!mingyu who almost impulsively confesses his feelings for you at your doorstep, but just has to be interrupted and called into action. has to contemplate for a moment, before promising that he'll explain everything soon and rushes off

superman!mingyu who secretly hovers near you when you're walking home at night to make sure you're safe :(( and subtly guides you away from any potential danger

superman!mingyu who thinks he's just so good at hiding his identity, thinking that you don't notice the way he looks a bit disheveled when showing up to work or the way he even wore his glasses upside down one time... but you're very observant, more than he thinks

superman!mingyu who finally gathers the courage to ask you out on a real date, suggesting a quiet dinner at a restaurant he knows you like. he's determined to spend the evening with you as mingyu, but he feels the urge to just tell you everything because he trusts you that much, yet he can't get himself to

superman!mingyu who finds himself stuck in a bit of an argument with you one night at the daily planet as stress had been piling up on you on top of his odd behaviour recently, which you also bring up out of frustration

superman!mingyu who freezes when you claim him to be superman, your words hanging in the air as the two of you stand together at the balcony near the top of the building. even with his continuous denials, the determination in your features is hard to challenge

superman!mingyu who suddenly feels a jolt of panic as he watches you climb onto the railing, your hands gripping the cold metal as you look back at him with a mix of defiance and trust

superman!mingyu who watches in horror as you let go of the railing and lean backward, your body tipping over the edge in slow motion, his heart catching in his throat as he sees you disappear from view

superman!mingyu who wastes no time, his glasses falling to the ground as he rushes to the edge and leaps off after you. his arms wrap around your waist when he finally catches up to you, pulling you close as he slows his descent to the ground

superman!mingyu who can't help but stare at you in pure panic and worry once you reach down the ground, looking over your face for any signs of injury or discomfort. his face softens when he doesn't though

superman!mingyu who tells you please never scare him like that again, and kisses you in that moment, hands trembling as he cups your face gently, silently vowing to protect you for as long as he could <3

[caitified]

hiii

can you write caitlin x reader based on teenage dirtbag? like cait thinks reader is too cool for her? but reader has a crush on her? thank you

teenage dirtbag

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none

starting as rookies at iowa, you quickly become a favorite on the team—always relaxed, easy to talk to, and somehow effortlessly charming. it’s not lost on you that caitlin clark, already a rising star, often grows unusually quiet around you, her usual confidence replaced by soft smiles and glances she thinks you don’t notice. at first, it’s easy to write off as nerves, but as the weeks pass, her slight stumbles and lingering gazes are harder to ignore. what’s even harder is keeping your own crush under wraps.

after a tough practice one evening, you spot caitlin sitting alone in the corner of the dining hall, earbuds in and scrolling through her phone. you hesitate, feeling the now-familiar tug of nerves when you’re around her. taking a breath, you decide to go for it, approaching her table and setting down your tray across from hers. she looks up, and her eyes widen a bit, cheeks instantly turning a shade darker.

“oh—hey!” she says, pulling out one of her earbuds, her usual lively demeanor tempered by a touch of shyness you’re starting to recognize. “didn’t see you there.”

you grin, trying to ease her nerves—and, if you’re honest, yours too. “mind if i join? thought maybe we could use some company after a day like that.”

she nods quickly, her eyes not quite meeting yours as she fiddles with her drink. “of course, yeah. i mean, definitely. i was just… i don’t know… thinking.” she lets out a small laugh, and it’s endearing how disarmed she looks, her usual confidence tucked away.

you both start talking, at first just about practice and classes, but it quickly turns into easy conversation—laughing over stories from the court, sharing weird facts about each other. you notice how caitlin seems to relax, her usual wit and spark returning, though every now and then, you catch her looking at you, something hesitant yet hopeful in her eyes.

after a while, you finally lean forward, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “you know, caitlin… i think you’re pretty incredible. both on and off the court.”

she freezes for a second, her gaze meeting yours with a startled expression, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “really?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “i… i mean, i didn’t think you’d—” she stops herself, glancing down, clearly trying to collect her thoughts. “i thought maybe i was… i don’t know. out of my league with you.”

the words hit you, and you can’t help but laugh, more in disbelief than anything else. “caitlin, have you seen yourself play? trust me, the whole ‘out-of-your-league’ thing definitely doesn’t apply.”

for the first time, caitlin meets your eyes with a genuine, unguarded smile, something in her expression shifting from hesitant to something a little bolder, a little more certain. “so… i guess i don’t need to be so nervous around you, then.”

you smile back, feeling a surge of warmth as you hold her gaze. “nope. in fact, i’d really like if we did this more often.”

she blushes but nods, her shyness now replaced by a subtle confidence that tells you she feels the same way. “i’d like that too,” she says softly, her voice steady now.

as you both finish your meal and start talking about plans for the weekend, there’s a new ease between you, the unspoken feelings finally acknowledged, bringing a quiet thrill to the rest of the evening. when you part ways, caitlin catches your eye one last time, and it’s clear that something’s shifted, the beginnings of a connection that feels like it’s just getting started.

…

over the next few weeks, the quiet thrill of knowing caitlin shares your feelings transforms your days. in practices, you’re constantly aware of each other’s presence, exchanging quick smiles or glances that linger a little too long. off the court, it’s become your unspoken routine to find each other for a meal after a long day. you’re both rookies, navigating the highs and lows of the season together, and with each hangout, the connection between you two grows.

one evening, after a tough away game, the team is in high spirits, celebrating the win at a nearby restaurant. everyone’s buzzing with energy, laughter filling the room as teammates swap stories and recount moments from the game. you’re sitting across from caitlin, and though you’re surrounded by people, it feels like you’re in your own little bubble. she’s laughing at something you said, her whole face lighting up, and you’re caught off guard by how much you want to reach out, to close the distance that feels both close and far.

when the team starts wrapping up, caitlin leans over, her voice soft, just for you. “feel like taking a walk? it’s so loud in here.”

you nod, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “let’s go.”

outside, the air is crisp, and you both pull your jackets a little tighter as you stroll away from the noise of the restaurant. the night is quiet, the campus nearly deserted, and the only sounds are the faint crunch of leaves beneath your feet and the occasional brush of your shoulders.

“you know,” she begins, glancing up at you, “i thought college ball would be all about proving myself. but… it’s nice having you here. makes it feel a little less like i have to be the loudest one in the room.”

you’re touched by her honesty. “well, i’m glad i could help. but, caitlin, you know everyone’s already looking at you, right? you’ve got the kind of energy that draws people in. it’s not just about the basketball.”

she pauses, her cheeks turning pink even in the dim light. “guess it’s just different with you. feels… easy. and a little terrifying.”

there’s a quiet moment where you both stop walking, the space between you humming with words that neither of you quite knows how to say. your eyes meet, and without overthinking it, you reach for her hand, your fingers slipping between hers.

she looks down at your hands, her gaze lingering there for a second before meeting your eyes. a small smile breaks across her face, warm and genuine. “guess we’re both a little out of our league, huh?” she whispers, her voice soft.

you squeeze her hand gently. “yeah, but somehow, it feels like the best place to be.”

[cricket-mound]

you’ve heard clark flustering bruce with midwestern terms of endearment but might I raise you this:

bruce, thinking about what Mister Southern Doctor Thomas Wayne used to call his loves, but in a completely deadpanned delivery: hello babydoll. why are you looking at me like that.