a/n: There's definitely some spice in this update. But maybe not the kind you expect. Feedback (reblogs/comments/likes) is always appreciated!
Sitting hunched over the edge of the bed in your slightly oversized shirt and sleep shorts, your toes absently traced circles along the gray carpet. You twisted the engagement ring between your fingers, studying the solitaire diamond and watching the way it caught the soft rays of sunlight slipping their way between the closed curtains of the bedroom. The diamond delicately sparkled in the quiet stillness of the morning, and you sat silently transfixed by it.
You'd woken up to the sound of a coffee grinder down the hall a few minutes ago, a noise which had even woken Goose from his deep sleep beside you. He’d hopped off the bed and slipped through the partially open door before loping down the hallway out of sight. You figured he'd disappeared to the kitchen probably in search of his own breakfast, and you’d decided the promise of coffee was worth getting up yourself. But after you’d tossed the sheets off, you’d spotted the black ring box sitting on the nightstand and it'd completely distracted you.
You'd put both your engagement ring and the wedding band inside of it last night, finally having somewhere safe to keep them after leaving the hospital. Truthfully you'd never really looked too closely at them while you'd recovered at St. Thomas, too distraught over the whole situation to have much of a desire to examine the rings given to you by a man that you barely knew. They’d been uncomfortable to wear while you'd been in the hospital, so you'd taken them off days ago, keeping them safely tucked in a pocket in the bag of your things that Jax had brought to St. Thomas. During the times he'd visited, his gaze often drifted to your bare finger during conversations, and you'd caught the flicker of hurt behind his eyes whenever he noticed them missing.
Letting your curiosity over them finally win out this morning, you’d taken a minute to really look at them. Both rings were understated but stunning, elegant in their simplicity. The engagement ring was a simple white gold band with a striking, cushion cut diamond. Your wedding band, which sat nestled safely in the box, was a thin band lined with a handful of small, tiny diamonds set into the circumference of it. Paired together, you imagined they looked beautiful when you’d worn them in the past.
But you were more focused on the engagement ring. It was such a small thing, something that easily fit in the palm of your hand, yet it carried more weight than you could actually feel. Because this was the ring the man down the hall currently making coffee had gone to some jeweler and picked out just for you. The very same ring he’d held in his hands while knowing with complete certainty that he wanted you in his future, that he wanted to make an entire life with you. Something you’d once said ‘yes’ to yourself.
This tiny thing in your fingers glittering in the morning light was a physical reminder of what you couldn’t remember. So was that crow tattoo between your shoulder blades that you’d stared at again in the bathroom mirror before you’d gotten ready for bed last night. Somewhere in the span of those last two years that you couldn’t remember, you’d fallen in love with the man down the hall enough to permanently mark your body and to legally bind your life with his. Even if you couldn’t remember any of that, it still meant something.
Releasing a heavy sigh, you leaned over towards the nightstand and gently placed the ring back into the box. You closed the lid before scooting off the end of the bed, a strange feeling settling in your chest. When Jax had come to comfort you last night because he’d overheard you crying in bed, you’d surprisingly found yourself feeling a little more comfortable with him than you had while in the hospital.
You’d also discovered that he was funny. While you'd sleepily asked him a handful of questions about your relationship, he’d entertained you with stories that had you smiling and occasionally laughing as you listened. It was obvious he'd been trying to cheer you up, and you'd found that sweet before eventually drifting off against him. When you'd woken tucked in beneath the sheets alone, you assumed that was Jax’s doing. You felt an odd, unexplainable warmth hum through you at the thought of him carefully laying you down to bed before returning to the couch to sleep.
But none of that meant you felt comfortable enough to wear those two rings in that black, velvet box. While you might’ve legally been his wife, Jax was still just a guy you were living with. A guy you didn’t know that well even if you were starting to open up to him just the tiniest bit.
Shuffling barefoot down the carpeted hallway, you rubbed the heel of your hand against your forehead, trying to push the grogginess of sleep from your mind. The sound of coffee mugs clinking against each other and Goose munching on his cat food filled the house, and so did the bright sunshine flooding through the windows. You walked down the hallway and passed by the living room, summoned towards the kitchen by the warm aroma of coffee brewing, but you immediately stopped in the archway the second you entered.
Jax stood with his back to you wearing only a pair of low slung gray sweatpants, his upper torso bare. You'd seen him in just some black boxers last night when you’d been crying, but with how emotional you'd been, you hadn’t really paid much attention to his state of undress last night. Stumbling on him so exposed in the light of day had an entirely different effect on you, though.
He was busying himself with pouring a cup of coffee into a plain black mug while your eyes traced over each dark line of black ink on his back. It was the same design that was sewn onto the back of his kutte in multiple patches, but these were permanently marked into his skin. Yet another reminder of the man he was forever spanning the entire expanse of his back, reminding you of the parts of him that he still kept hidden from you.
But as the shock of his tattoo slowly started to wear off, your eyes traveled over the rest of him. He spooned some sugar into his mug, still unaware of you behind him staring as he mixed his coffee. Gaze roaming over the pull of muscle beneath skin and ink as he moved, you stood silently mesmerized by him. The way the golden sunlight streamed through the kitchen window across the room, painting him in its honeyed glow and softening his hard edges, had your heart pounding a little heavier. His long, shaggy hair was messy and disheveled in a way that tempted you to slip up behind him and comb your fingers through the unkempt strands.
It hit you hard as everything else in the room abruptly faded and muted into the background. Jax wasn’t just attractive, he was handsome. Effortlessly, ruggedly, devastatingly, and dangerously handsome. He looked nothing like any of your exes, but the sight of him like this in such a calm, domestic setting had your pulse racing in a way not a single one of them had ever managed. The reaction took you by surprise since you hadn’t ever once looked at him like this during his visits to St. Thomas, yet here you were practically dumbstruck by the sight of him this morning.
Mouth growing dry as you gawked at his bare torso, all thoughts disappeared from your mind. You stood there stupidly content to just watch him make a simple cup of coffee as your eyes roamed over every visible inch of him. But when he turned around towards the table with his mug in hand, his gaze met yours.
The sudden eye contact abruptly broke whatever spell you'd temporarily been under. Embarrassed at being caught staring, heat crept up your neck. You blinked hard a couple of times, your attention darting away from him and towards the fresh pot of coffee behind him the second the corner of his lips twisted upwards into a smirk.
“Mornin’,” he greeted you. “Figured coffee would still wake you.”
The rasp of his voice first thing in the morning was sinfully delicious when paired with his disheveled appearance from a night sleeping on the couch. He raised the ceramic mug to his lips for a sip as he ambled towards the kitchen table, and you swiftly ducked around him, moving straight towards the coffee maker on the counter. You were desperate for your own cup and a minute to control your reaction around him, because you hadn’t expected to wake up and be struck with a wave of attraction considering the circumstances. It didn't help that the smug look on his face told you he'd noticed.
“I uh,” you began but quickly fell short. You paused to collect your thoughts, picking up the pot of coffee and beginning to pour some of it into the other mug on the counter. “I assume I never stopped liking coffee then?”
Jax chuckled behind you at the table, the sound making your stomach do some strange swooping thing. What the hell was wrong with you this morning?
“Don't think that's possible,” he answered. “Think I saw you drinkin’ coffee more than water most days. But you always worked long shifts and weird hours, so I never really blamed you.”
“Right,” you muttered to yourself.
Watching the dark liquid fill the cup, you tried to ignore the heat burning at your cheeks and the feel of his eyes on your back. Your throat felt tight at the thought that maybe he was checking you out from behind just like you'd been doing to him.
“So you said you're going to the clubhouse today?” you asked, trying to distract yourself.
“Yeah,” Jax answered behind you. “Gotta go deal with some shit after disappearin’ on everyone all day yesterday. So I might not be home ‘til later tonight, but I'll swing by around lunchtime. Fridge is a little empty at the moment, so I figured I'd bring you that wrap you always liked from the café downtown and we could eat together.”
A thick tension unexpectedly settled in the kitchen as you spooned a bit of sugar into your mug. You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about–the café or the wrap. Charming still remained a mystery to you, a complete blank spot in your mind. You figured you might explore the town more tomorrow after you tried to simply adjust to being in the house today, so you were entirely clueless as to what he was referring to for lunch. But it seemed like something that'd been routine for you both before the accident, and that thought had your inappropriate thoughts melting away.
“Or I can get you something else for lunch,” he added awkwardly after a long pause. “If you want.”
“I'm sure it's fine,” you replied, stirring your coffee. “I appreciate the gesture. Thanks.”
The wooden chair at the table creaked as Jax shifted in it behind you while you continued overstirring your coffee. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you tried to set aside all the confusing feelings running rampant through you this morning. You figured it'd be difficult living with Jax once you were released from the hospital, but you hadn’t realized just how difficult.
“So what're you thinkin’ you might do today, ba–”
At the way he cut himself off, clearing his throat on the word that'd clearly been about to be ‘baby,’ you shot him a sidelong look from your place beside the counter. Your spoon hesitated in the mug, your chest warming strangely at having Jax refer to you like that so casually, especially considering how he currently looked sitting at the table in such beautiful disarray.
He was staring hard down at his own coffee mug, a crease on his forehead giving away his internal conflict. He’d always seemed to carefully avoid calling you anything too intimate, though you'd quietly noticed the occasional slip up. You never commented on it because you imagined it must be difficult for him to break what must've been a normal habit.
“Well, I'm stuck on medical leave for a few weeks because of the amnesia,” you reminded him. Finally pulling the spoon out of your mug, you stepped over to the sink and dropped it in. “Figured I'd try to get reacquainted with everything in the house. Do some laundry and dishes. Maybe see if anything on my phone brings back any memories since you gave me the code to unlock it last night.”
You carried your mug over to the table he was still sitting at and pulled the chair out opposite of him. Sitting down, you forced your gaze out the window to your right, avoiding looking at his bare chest as you sipped on the steaming coffee. You hoped it wasn't as obvious as you felt it was that you were trying not to openly stare at him. If it was, you were grateful he didn’t comment on it.
“That's a good idea,” he replied. “You always took a fuckload of photos and videos of shit. Maybe you'll remember somethin’ looking at ‘em.”
“At the very least, it'll help pass the time,” you said with a heavy sigh. “I've got a few weeks of nothing ahead of me since I can't work now. Not really sure how I’ll survive all that quiet…”
You had no idea how you were going to pass multiple weeks without work, but the medical board that oversaw everything at St. Thomas had decided it was for the best that you took some time off and focused on recovery after the accident. But the last thing you wanted to do was be trapped in a life you didn’t know with nothing but endless free time. At least with work you could’ve had a distraction even if you didn’t remember a single co-worker.
“Hey,” Jax said, ducking his head to catch your eyes. “I said we'll get through this together and I meant it, darlin’. Whatever you need, just ask. Anytime. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
You glanced at him briefly across the table, offering him a tight smile of thanks before picking up your coffee and taking another sip. It was a sweet offer even if you didn’t think there was much he could do to help.
Stretching your legs out in front of yourself along the bed, you leaned back against the headboard while anxiously chewing your thumbnail and scrolling through old text messages on your phone. Not having much to do earlier this morning, you’d crawled back into bed to take a nap after reading one of the books you’d picked up from a shelf in the living room. You couldn't ever remember reading it, so it'd held your interest for a bit until your eyelids started to droop and you’d succumbed to sleep.
After waking from your nap, you realized that you still had a half an hour to pass before Jax returned with lunch, so you’d moved some laundry from the washer to the dryer and decided to look through the contents of your phone. You hoped something in it might help to unlock some past memories, so you’d started with something familiar by scrolling through your texts between Ailani first. Even if you'd forgotten everyone else you'd met over the past two years, at least you'd never forgotten your best friend.
Most of the texts between you two were just the pair of you venting about work or discussing your day, though a few of them were you inviting her out to the clubhouse for parties or her pining over whoever this ‘Juice’ guy was. There were a few selfies of you and Ailani that you’d both sent back and forth to each other, pictures of you two with beers in your hands and smiles on your faces. But a video she’d sent a few weeks back with a message that simply said ‘look at u adorably gross fuckers’ had caught your eye and stopped your scrolling.
Still chewing on your thumbnail, your other thumb hovered over the screen as you hesitated, an unexplainable nervousness creeping through you. Seeing videos of yourself always felt strange now, because while you knew that it was you, it felt as if you were watching somebody else be you since you couldn't recall whatever you were watching.
Eventually you forced yourself to press the play button, ignoring the uncomfortable churning of your stomach. The video came to life with loud music and chatter blaring through your speakers, and you briefly startled at the noise. While the video was a bit dark, it was still bright enough to see that it was taken at the clubhouse–something you only knew from the photos Jax had previously shown you when he'd tried to help jog your memory of the past.
In the video, you sat on Jax’s lap on a couch, watching him take a hit off what looked like a joint in his hand. Squinting at the dark image on your phone and tuning out all of the loud background noise of the party, you saw Jax turn his head and grab your cheek with his other ringed hand before pulling your face towards his. Lips parting in surprise as your thumbnail slipped out from between your teeth, you saw the you in the video press your lips eagerly against Jax’s before shotgunning the hit he’d just taken.
You couldn't tear your eyes away from the screen of your phone, too stunned to even blink. The moment quickly progressed into you and Jax making out on the couch, oblivious or uncaring of the people wandering around you both with beers in their hands. Your fingers tangled into the hair at the back of his head before the video abruptly ended with Ailani's giggle in the background.
Staring wide eyed down at your phone, your mouth hung open as you gaped at the frozen image of you on Jax’s lap and your mouth on his. It was shocking seeing yourself so comfortable with a man that you barely knew, and you certainly never remembered kissing him. It took a long few minutes before you recovered from the surprise of that short clip, your face suddenly feeling as if it was on fire.
You hadn’t stumbled across anything quite that intimate before in the photos and videos Jax had shown you in the hospital, though it made sense that he wouldn't pick something like that to share with you. But the realization that you were about to probably uncover a lot more like this in your phone since he was your husband had a spark of something you weren’t certain how to decipher flicker to life inside of you.
Exiting out of your messages with Ailani, you cautiously pulled up your texts with Jax next. If you were already going down the rabbit hole, you might as well fully dive headfirst into it. It didn't help that you felt almost compelled by something more than simple curiosity, wanting to see what else you would uncover between you and the man who was apparently your husband.
Skimming through the most recent texts between you and Jax, you were surprised at how sweet they were. It was mostly just both of you checking in with each other, sharing what your schedules looked like for the day. A few of the texts were you telling Jax that you were grabbing groceries or listing off dinner ideas for the week. There were a lot of ‘I love you’s’ being exchanged along with cute little pet names in between all of the other messages, and you found yourself softly smiling as you read through them.
You really had loved him once. It was obvious in the way you spoke to him. Which was why you continued scrolling through the text message history with him, desperate to learn more about the details of your relationship from past you's perspective instead of just what Jax had already shared with you. But you didn’t have to scroll too far back to find the types of texts that you'd wondered about existing.
Almost two months ago, not too long before you’d apparently had your accident, there was a whole slew of blatant sexts between you both. There were handfuls of filthy, raunchy things written back and forth to each other over the span of a few hours, and it had surprisingly been instigated by you. Your lips parted on a gasp as you scrolled past a naughty selfie of yourself precariously draped in a towel in the steamy bathroom mirror–the same bathroom just down the hall.
Apparently you'd been teasing Jax on your day off of work, and he'd made repeated ‘threats’ that he would stop home soon to properly show his ‘old lady’ why she couldn’t be distracting him from the club. Your body couldn't resist reacting to his messages, particularly the line where he said he'd fuck you so hard that you'd be bedridden for the rest of the day.
The conversation ended shortly afterwards, and you assumed it was due to Jax stopping back home and ‘handling you’ like he’d said he would in the texts. A warmth of arousal unexpectedly tickled awake low in your gut at the thought of what'd happened after the hours of these texts being exchanged, especially remembering how good he looked this morning.
You found yourself wondering just how good in bed Jax might be before you abruptly shook your head in an attempt to remove the obtrusive thought. But as you closed out of the text messages on your phone, you couldn't seem to stop thinking about it. With how he'd spoken and the way you'd intentionally riled him up, you assumed he wasn't just boasting about his sexual prowess.
Your head fell back against the headboard behind you, eyes drifting up towards the ceiling as you blew out a heavy exhale between your lips. Raising a hand to your face, you pressed your palm against your cheek, feeling the warmth of it radiating against your skin while your heart thudded erratically in your chest.
“Shit,” you cursed softly under your breath.
Letting your hand fall away from your cheek, you swiftly fanned it in front of yourself as you tried to imagine Jax’s voice repeating all those filthy things that you’d read in the texts. You’d never once known a man to be quite so capable of turning you on simply through text messages. No wonder why the you that you couldn’t remember had taken an interest in Jax in the first place, you imagined his flirting must've been impossible to resist. Especially with that dangerous edge of his that you’d usually stay away from, because it radiated from him like a neon sign that screamed “orgasms guaranteed.”
“I think I’m forming a crush on my own husband,” you confessed to the ceiling. “Because damn…”
After taking a minute to recover, you retrieved your phone from your lap and decided you’d do something more tame. Looking through your old photos seemed safe enough, because you weren’t sure if you’d survive reading another round of sexts from Jax at the moment. You also were admittedly curious to see what and who you’d taken photos with over the past few years. But the second you pulled up your phone’s photo albums, your eyes quickly caught onto the private album staring back at you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as a new internal struggle struck you.
Most likely that private album contained nude photos of Jax and possibly ones you might’ve sent to him of yourself. There was the briefest sensation of unease twisting in your stomach, as if you were suddenly holding someone else's phone about to invade their privacy. Nude photos of yourself were one thing, but how would Jax feel knowing you’d discovered a potential treasure trove of his dick pics while he was out this morning?
The smug smirk from him after he’d made his coffee and caught you staring reappeared in your mind. Would he really care if you looked? Technically you had seen him naked plenty of times before, you just didn’t remember it. And he did sound pretty sincere with that comment about letting you maul him if you felt like it. If you were also being honest, you were growing increasingly curious to know what was hidden in this private folder.
“I’m sure it’s just dick pics,” you muttered to yourself. “Not a big deal. A dick is a dick.”
You opened up the folder without allowing yourself an opportunity to overthink it any further. Immediately your eyes widened as your screen filled with far more than just dick pictures. There were most definitely nudes, many of Jax and his apparently jaw-dropping, perfect body. You’d already seen his defined abdominal muscles while having coffee this morning, but having them plastered all over your phone had your teeth sinking deeper into your bottom lip. Even his cock was mouthwateringly impressive, which was why your finger had abruptly clicked on an image to study it closer as if on instinct.
Eyes trailing over the veins along his impressive length, you might’ve embarrassingly emitted a pathetic little whimper at the thought of him fucking you with it. He’d certainly stretch you out with the size of his cock, there wasn’t even a question in your mind about it. It was more than your two hands could hold, and the girth of it had your cunt clenching air. Everything about it had you wishing you could taste it through the screen of your phone.
“Holy shit,” you breathed out. “How is he real?”
Shaking your head, you exited out of that photo and returned to the main album, noticing a handful of videos scattered in amongst all of the naughty images. Blinking down at your phone, you sat dumbfounded on the bed. You couldn’t believe there were actual homemade sex videos on here.
“Who the hell was I after moving to Charming?” you whispered to yourself.
Never could you recall a time in your life that you’d ever considered filming yourself having sex. You’d never felt a desire to in the past, but apparently the you that you couldn’t remember had made videos with her husband–multiple times. But you supposed you couldn’t entirely blame her. Jax was hot.
You stared down at the most recent video on your phone, teeth still nibbling on the flesh of your lower lip. Did you just close out of these without looking any further? Was it wrong of you to watch them when they felt like they were videos of someone else and not yourself? But even if you didn’t recall making any of these, they still were of you. So did you not have the right to watch them if you wanted to?
“Maybe just one…” you muttered to yourself. “For research purposes.”
You quickly pulled up the most recent video, and without delay it started playing on your phone. The sounds of panting breaths and skin on skin filled your room, and the delicious obscenity of it sent blood rushing straight between your thighs and had goosebumps prickling along your forearms. It looked as if the phone was propped against your lamp on the nightstand as the you in the video sat in Jax’s lap. Jax sat upright, his back against the headboard which kept repeatedly smacking into the wall behind it as you rode him.
This didn’t look like some filthy porn, though. Even you could see the level of intimacy in the way your forehead was pressed to Jax’s, your mouth parted mere inches from his as you fucked him, the two of you sharing the same gasping breaths. You had one arm wrapped around his neck and your other hand tangled up in his shaggy, sweaty strands of hair. His own arms were wrapped tightly around you, one snaked low along your waist and the other wrapped around your upper back as his hips moved rhythmically in time with yours.
“That feel good, baby?” Jax’s strained voice asked between panting breaths. “This how much you been missin’ me?”
The you in the video answered with a strained moan, your fingers tightening in his hair as you kept bouncing along his cock. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the screen of your phone, transfixed by the way you both moved together. Your bodies were perfectly in sync, and there was no mistaking the genuine noises of pleasure you were making or the faint tremble in your thighs bracketing his hips. You were not faking a single thing about how much you were enjoying yourself.
“Fuck, fuck,” you whimpered out. “Don’t wanna stop, Jax.”
“Don’t gotta stop, baby,” Jax encouraged. His head abruptly dipped down to your neck in the video, kissing or licking at it, you couldn’t quite tell. His voice came muffled against your skin when he spoke again. “Keep fuckin’ riding me with that tight fuckin’ pussy. Wanna feel you lose yourself on this dick.”
Your own breath was coming in shallower as you watched the two of you going at it, one of Jax’s hands finding your ass and squeezing it as you kept moving along him. A dampness had formed between your thighs, and there was a dull ache throbbing low between them. You couldn’t deny that you were becoming aroused watching such a private moment that you’d once had with your husband. By the time you heard yourself making high pitched whines in the video, the noise of a rumbling engine climbing into the driveway outside cut through the sounds of sex on your phone.
Remembering that Jax was bringing you lunch, you immediately closed out of the video before locking your phone screen. The engine of his bike cut off outside just as you tossed your phone away from yourself on the bed as if you were about to be caught doing something wrong. Smoothing a hand across your forehead, trying to calm the racing of your heart, you tried to forget all of the filthy images and noises still playing in your mind. The front door to the house opened a minute later, and Jax’s voice filled the air as he called out your name. Your eyes guiltily snapped shut.
“I’m just–just in the bedroom,” you called back, eyes still closed. You caught the faint tremble in your voice and hoped he didn’t notice it. “I uh–” you paused, swallowing hard and trying to keep a level tone, “–just had a nap. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“A’ight,” Jax called back. “I got lunch like I promised this mornin’. Figured I’d come see how you’re adjustin’ to everything.”
His heavy footsteps headed in the opposite direction, thankfully carrying him towards the kitchen instead of to the bedroom where you still sat. Opening your eyes to the empty bedroom, you blew a slow breath out, trying and failing not to visualize his perfect dick from those photos you’d found in that hidden album. You struggled to push aside the sound of those low grunts he made while you fucked him, but the memory of his deep groans from that video kept repeating in your head, which only encouraged the dull ache between your thighs.
How the hell were you supposed to sit across the table and eat lunch with him after that?
It’s part of his biology, there’s nothing to do about it. Clark is supposed to have a bunch of kids, and for that he has to cum a lot. A whole lot. Which means you end up completely full of his cum every single time he fucks you.
He's quick to recover after each orgasm, so the moment he's done pumping you full of one load, he's already picking up the pace again and thrusting into you just the way you like it.
It's so messy. His cum causes wet, obscene squelches every time his cock pushes in. The thick, creamy substance dribbles from you, down between your ass cheeks and onto the bed, gathering in a sticky puddle under you.
And there's just so much of it.
“Gosh, baby. Oh, gosh, you feel so good,” he whines, his body hot as the pleasure starts building in him again.
You mewl underneath him, your nails dragging down the skin of his arms, leaving behind red tracks. You can feel his cum in you, warm and thick where it's gathered against your womb.
Clark slides a large hand between your bodies, his fingers drawing messy shapes on your clit. He feels bad about how many orgasms he's had, seeing how you've only had two and he's had at least five. It makes the entire situation feel unfair, but he just can't help it.
“Can you come for me, hon?” he asks sweetly, peppering kisses across your jaw, up to your cheek.
You nod, moaning, feeling that tight knot of pleasure coiling in your womb.
Clark whines as he feels you clench around him tight, another orgasm already building low in his abdomen.
You'd been close already. Clark just gives you the final push so you fall over the edge. You mewl his name, hips grinding against his as the waves of your pleasure wash over you.
Clark gasps and moans as he feels your cunt squeezing him tight and he comes again, spilling more of his thick cum into you.
“Golly,” he chokes out. “Oh, baby, so good, so good.” He kisses across your face with quick pecks. He's already getting hard in you again. “You okay to keep going, baby?”
You nod weakly, your lips seeking his to kiss him softly.
He smiles against your mouth. “That's my girl.”
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Clark Kent masterlist
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𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
"What's wrong with you? What'd you do?" Carol asked, watching you rubbing your neck and shoulder.
"I think I tweaked something moving all that gear yesterday. Those boxes were heavy as fuck..."
"You moved all that by yourself? I told you to ask for help!" Carol replied.
You shrugged. "Eh... asking for help was never written into my programming," you joked. She shot you a look.
"You won't be any good to anybody if you put yourself out of commission," she scolded you. "You know Daryl would drop everything to help you anytime," she added with a smile.
You felt your cheeks flush. "Shush... Daryl has more important things to be doing than—"
Suddenly, his drawl sounded from right behind you. "Than what?"
"She didn't want to ask for help and now she's maimed herself moving heavy boxes," Carol replied cheekily.
"I didn't maim myself! I just pulled something slightly..." you murmured.
He shook his head. "We can't have ya hurtin' yerself. Just ask me next time. It dun make ya less of a badass to need help from time to time. Otherwise I'mma start thinkin' I need to follow ya around to prevent this shit."
Carol grinned. "That's a GREAT idea. I love it!"
"Carol... shut. up."
Prompt: "I told you to ask for help." / "Asking for help was never written into my programming."
content: 18+, SMUT, MINORS DNI, prison era, sub daryl, pretty vanilla (didn't wanna make it kinky as that feels pretty uncharacteristic for daryl), reader on top, let's ignore that i left daryl high and dry here, short and straight to the point, 0.9k words
While dominating Daryl, he has to stop and tell you that you're being too rough.
Daryl’s stretched out on the bed, unclothed, with his hands gripping the meat of your thighs as you straddle him.
He never thought he'd be in this position—so open, so willing, under the control of another, let alone a woman. But here he lies, face twisted into a grimace while you ride him so hard he thinks he might combust.
He's not quite sure what's gotten into you this evening. Usually speaking, yours and Daryl’s sex life is pretty tame. Not boring, just… normal.
He’s also used to being the one on top. In a post-apocalyptic world, missionary just seems to be the quickest, most convenient position.
Sex with him is satisfactory, to say the least. He doesn't have the highest sex drive, but he always gives in when you have the itch. He'd do just about anything to make you happy, which is why—
“Fuck, Daryl!” you moan above him, loud enough to wake the entire cell block. He sits up in just enough time to clamp his big hand over your mouth. You ride his dick like it's your last day on earth, like a herd of walkers is sure to lurch in and tear the both of you apart.
You're relentless, grinding against his dick at a rate he would be impressed by if he wasn't fearing for his goddamn life. Your hands slam down on his bare chest, keeping him locked in place and allowing you to maintain the rapid movement of your hips.
He’s been grinning and bearing it, which he fully intends on keeping up—until you slap him across the face.
That has his hands reaching out to seize your hips, thumbs roughly digging into the flesh. With the brute strength of his arms, you're unable to move. You're forced to sit on his dick and look him in the eyes, reminding you that you're only in control because he lets you.
“Jesus Christ, girl,” is the first thing to come rasping out from his mouth. The devastated look in your eyes is enough to make him falter over his words. He swallows hard, letting up his hold over your hips. “You're bein’ too rough.”
You frown. “I didn't mean to hurt you,” you say not so innocently. Your thighs tremble on each side of his middle, the wetness from your cunt permeating the dark patch of hair atop his pubic bone.
“You're not exactly hurtin’ me. It's just…” he trails off, looking somewhere past your face. “You're gonna break the damn bed,” he says with a laugh.
You grin stupidly at him. “Guess I got a little carried away, huh?”
“Ya think?” He tucks a strand of sweaty hair behind your ear. “Ya just wanna come so bad, is tha’ it?”
You nod.
“Go on then, sunshine.” He lightly pats your hip. “Make yourself feel good for me.”
You begin to roll your hips against his lap, only a little slower this time. He lies back down, relishing the view that is you conquering his dick. His dick hits the back of your cunt just right with every grind of your hips, eliciting soft moans to fall from your mouth.
He feels you squirm above him, knowing you must ache to pick up the pace, ride him harder, but you're obedient, careful to heed his warning.
Well, for the most part anyway.
“Careful,” he warns when he feels your hips buck forward, threatening to move at a quicker, harsher pace. “Don't wanna wear your old man out, do ya?”
You shake your head, mumbling something unintelligible in response. His lips twitch into a grin, amused that only he has this kind of power over you—and the same goes for him.
Despite his warnings, you can't help but hasten the grinding of your lower body, chasing after something he can feel approaching from inside you. He grasps your hips again, but instead of stopping you, he pushes them back and forth, guiding the movement.
He smirks. “Like a bitch in heat,” he says, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. Your newfound pace is teetering on too much for the old man, but he's far too in awe to do anything about it now. He lies under you with his mouth hung agape while you use him to get off.
“I-I’m gonna—fuck,” manages to escape from your mouth, hips jerking violently back and forth, fingers clinging to his chest. His eyes tape shut, feeling himself become overworked but too stubborn to do anything to stop it. He’s yours… and you're going to use him like it.
“There ya go, girl,” he rasps, putting his weight on his hands to sit level with you. He cocks his head back and a bead of sweat travels from his chin all the way down to his collarbone, stopping beside the tattoo on his chest. “Take what you need.”
And you do just that—folding on top of his chest when your orgasm takes control, causing you to helplessly tremble all over. He holds you in place by your ribs, gently coaxing you through your peak with that raspy southern drawl.
When your orgasm fades, you sit back up on his dick and work to catch your breath. He uses his thumbs to rub slow circles on your thighs, grinning up at you like you’ve never seen.
“What?” you ask, smiling at him.
“Nothin’,” he says, placing his hands behind his head.
“Hope it was worth it,” he adds after a minute.
“Hope what was worth it?”
“Almost killin’ me.”
“Shut up,” you say with a laugh, playfully smacking his chest. “You're so dramatic.”
He scoffs. “You're an animal, woman.”
You lean down, pressing a small peck to his lips. “And you love me.”
"fuck!" you cry, throwing your head back and letting your jaw go slack. clark is pistoning his hips against yours relentlessly, the only sounds in the room being the lewd skin slapping and the heavy panting and moans emitting from both of you.
"i know, honey" he coos, trying his best to be sweet verbally despite how rough he's being with you physically. "m'sorry babygirl" he tries.
the stretch was borderline excruciating. he was just too big. the funny part is he doesn't even know he's that big! or atleast he didn't know it until you started screaming complaining about it.
"s'too big, clark!" you mewl, squirming under him, but you can't help but arch into him. it's almost instinctive.
"just breathe, baby... breathe" maybe he should take his own advice, because he's barely able to take in a full breath with just how tight your gummy walls are squeezing and fluttering around him.
"i- can't-" the pleasure becomes overwhelming when clark reaches in between the both of you to aimlessly rub at your clit, anything to get you to stop whining. he immediately notices your eyes roll back and your breath hitch. "s'that better honey?" he asks, "that feel a little better?" you nod frantically, barely able to compute his sweet words as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to coming undone. the sniveling and the cries coming from you morph into delighted moans as the stretch becomes euphoric, his praises egging you on impossibly.
"there she is" he purrs, a small, knowing smirk playing on his face. "there's my girl" he litters your face with small kisses in an effort to calm you down as he continues his thrusts, growing closer to the edge himself.
"g-gosh- baby," he groans, his big fingers still working at your clit. "feels s'good clark!" you moan, right at the edge. "yeah?" he moans right back at you. "that feels good, huh?" he speeds up his thrusts, making you squeal. "feel me so deep, yeah?" he looks down and sees himself poking through your lower belly. he reaches down and presses on the bulge, making you wince at the tightness. the bulge is disappearing and reappearing with every thrust. "shi- shoot, honey" he mutters.
you feel the white hot band in your tummy snap, pleasure shooting through your body as you cry out his name. that alone is enough to push him over the edge as well. he cums deep inside you, fucking into you a few last times. you both lay there, panting. he's heavy on top of you, all 6'3, 235lbs of him laying sweaty on top of you (not that you mind). and of course, clark is quick to comfort you.
he pushes some of the hair out of your face, off of your damp, flushed skin. "you did so good, baby... m'sorry i was so rough" he speaks gently, kissing your forehead.
you know what's hotter than din djarin burning down the world searching for you? din djarin burning down the world searching for you, but he can't even admit to himself that he's in love with you.
there's an iron focus to how he moves that scares everyone who is unfortunate enough to cross his path. he's usually stoic, difficult to read, easy to submit to, but it's like a flip switches in his head when he's trying to get information about your whereabouts. there's rage behind every step he takes, slicing through doors and holding up informants with just an arm pressed to their throats.
dozens of bridges lie burnt in the wake of his disappointment and he doesn't even care.
it's an obsession, he doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat, he doesn't allow himself a single moment of rest, not when he knows you're out there waiting. every second counts. and he'll be damned if he lets you sit in fear and anxiety when you could be—should be—with him.
he almost convinces himself that he would do it for anyone. leave no stone unturned, reconnect with everyone that has ever owed him a favour, work leads until he's bloody and beaten and bruised.
and no one dares tell him otherwise—to point out the glaringly obvious emotion behind his unnerving focus.
Imagine giving Jax head in the clubhouse bathroom... (NSFW 18+)
His hands were behind his back, gripping the sink with white knuckles. Your lips wrapped around his throbbing cock as your head bobbed up and down at a steady pace. His kutte reeked of cigarettes, Jack Daniels and worn leather. Your knees buckled beneath you, hands gripping onto his hips while Jax’s muffled groans were nearly drowned out by the loud music echoing through the bathroom walls. A knock on the door didn’t make you stop and it only made Jax smirk in satisfaction. “Busy!” he yelled.
Your head moved even faster, creating sloppy sounds while saliva mixed with pre-cum coated your chin. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he growled lowly, gripping a fistful of your hair before starting to fuck your mouth. Hitting the back of your throat, the choking noises you made around his cock sent him right over the edge. Cumming into your mouth, you swallowed it down just like the good girl you were.
Hello, love… yes, you. The one reading this.
Liked where this came from? Want more?
Something longer… or maybe another imagine?
Got a request, but think your idea might be too fluffy and cute? Or maybe completely unhinged, rough and dark?
Message me. Try me.
I don’t judge and honestly… my mind is already fucked up enough, so your idea might just haunt me long enough for me to put it into words. 💜
From Crossbows To Skin | Daryl dixon x reader | short fic. (Part 1)
Your eyes squinted as you cocked the crossbow, pulling the string back with far more effort than you had expected. Your hands trembled slightly under the strain, it made you curse quietly, muttering under your breath. Carefully, you placed the bolt into position, pressing your lips together in utmost concentration. For a moment you genuinely thought you were going to nail it and impress Daryl, but the second you pulled that trigger the bolt would drop embarrassingly fast into the dirt. It had only dropped several feet away from you, not even close to the target Daryl had set out for you. “Ain’t holding it right” His voice was low and the smug little smirk tugging at the corners of his lips only embarrassed you further. “What do you mean… I did exactly as told” You sounded irritated, though it wasn’t toward him, more toward your own failure. Failures these days meant death… just one mistake and you could end up killed or even worse.
You were not going to give up this easily, your trembling hands cocked the crossbow again as Daryl stepped in to hand you another bolt. His fingertips found yours slightly brushing against each other as you took the bolt from him, carefully sliding it in place. Daryl tried not to laugh as he stepped in behind you “Still ain’t right, Y/N” You could feel his breathing against your ear, his rough hands found your wrists as he adjusted your hands under the crossbow. The smell of the worn leather, cigarette smoke and even fresh rain filled your senses at how close he suddenly stood behind you. It made your breath catch in your throat as you desperately tried to focus on the crossbow instead of how badly you wanted him. “Can feel yer heart poundin’ from here.” His voice is still low. Was Daryl teasing you?
His chest pressed against your back, you could feel his breath hitch against your neck as you adjusted your posture getting even closer into him even though it was only to straighten your shoulders. It almost seemed to be surprising him, the physical closeness suddenly making him hesitate for a brief moment. He was contemplating if he even should be doing this as he took a step away from you. An internal war clearly crossed his mind, he was craving your touch, but didn’t dare to let himself have it. He took that step back again anyway. The hand around your wrist pushed your hand under the crossbow up a little more, his thumb mindlessly brushing the back of your hand in the process. He was probably already scolding himself for wanting you this badly. Surprised at how he wanted to be so close to you. It was something he tried to withhold himself from acting upon for a while now and he was losing his own war.
His hand lingered around yours, his finger brushing yours as a sign to pull the trigger. The recoil made you lose balance, as your mind was long gone from that crossbow. Your back pressed tightly into his chest, your heartbeat rapidly pounding in anticipation. The feeling of your lower body brushing against his was enough to make him lose control. His hands gripped your waist instantly, without a thought. Both your breaths hitching, his hands squeezing your waist made you realise what exactly you were doing to him. Your heart skipped a beat, goosebumps covering your skin now knowing he wanted you too. He had never given you any reason to even think the slightest about him wanting you, but getting to know him you were starting to learn it was in these small touches that he had only reserved for you. He roughly exhaled against your skin “Yer killin’ me here” he muttered into your neck, his forehead brushing into your hair. All you could do was gasp, something normally so small felt like fire spreading beneath your skin.
Note for my fellow Daryl angels… 🖤
Don’t worry. A smutty part 2 is already planned for tomorrow.
Sometimes I remember how awful it must have been for Steve Rogers in 2012.
It wasn't even the fact that he woke up in the future, all his friends except Dum Dum and Peggy were dead, and he was still mourning Bucky, who, for everyone else, had died decades ago, but the very fact of society's expectations for him.
Steve was awakened from the ice, and people expected the great Captain America, whose myth had grown over the years, the experience and wisdom of a hundred-year-old man…
And Steve was a goddamn 26 years old.
He was the youngest member of the Avengers at the time and people looked up to him and expected a mentor. Even the fandom forgets this and says Steve and Thor are the oldest, when Tony could practically be his father.
summary: clark has always prided himself in being one of the good guys. and he is, for the most part- until you come along. suddenly, his hands are in places they shouldn't be while his mind plagues him with visions of you being oh-so-sweet beneath him.
clark kent x fem ! reader
themes: 18+ so mdni, yearning and a whole lot of it, jealousy, clark just can't help himself. kinda feral!perv!clark trying to be as respectful as possible but lowkey failing. filthy in the best way. enjoy! x
Clark is a good guy.
Always has been, and Ma would certainly like to think that he always will be. At school, he never got so much as a stern look and pointed gaze- after all, he was a sweet little kid that smiled a bit too much and tried to take up the least amount of room possible. His teachers loved him, the envy of all his peers.
During High School, Clark kept his head down. Did his work in a flurry of soft smiles and polite nods, offering help when needed, kindly rejecting any flirtatious advances under the bleachers that would result in him getting into trouble.
"You're somethin' else, Kent." Lana rolled her eyes at him once, flicking the spectacles on his face just a little of their axis.
College followed suit. While his friends joined fraternities and disrespected sorority sisters, Clark diverted all his attention to perfecting his degree. Sure, he had a couple pecks here and there, a few misunderstandings with a handful of very drunk and slightly deprived college girls- but hey, at least he didn't take it any further.
All in all, Clark Kent grew up with the belief that he wasn't like that. He was kind. Respectful. Ma would tell him so, and Pa would go to the ends of the earth to enforce it; listen 'ere, Clark, a lady should be left alone unless prompted otherwise. You hear?
He'd nod. Pa's shoulders would relax, and Ma would place a dear old hand on her heart at the relief of her son turning out just the way she'd hoped.
But then one day, during an intense intern briefing amidst the bustling bullpen of the Daily Planet, Clark Kent met you.
And he soon realised that he might not be such a 'good guy' after all.
Because it wasn't enough that your skirt was always far too short, or that the lip gloss you wore blinded him no matter the lightning in the room. It wasn’t even the way you laughed, bright and careless, like you had no idea what it did to the people around you- what it did to him and every fibre of his superhuman being.
It was everything else.
Your perfume would linger in the newsroom ten minutes after you’d left, sweet enough that Clark could still catch it when he bent over his desk. Every time he did, his chest tightened with something ugly; vanilla sugar and lemon, wrapped in a pretty gold ribbon of guilt and shame.
He hated it, but he also couldn't get enough of it.
Your voice would carry on over everyone else’s, no matter how crowded the bullpen got. It was like his hearing had singled you out on purpose. Your heartbeat, your exhales, the slight pucker of your lips when an article brought on confusion.
Every other sound in Metropolis dulled itself accordingly, just so he could hear you ask Jimmy if he wanted coffee, or laugh at something Lois said, or mention your boyfriend in that absentminded little way that made Clark’s jaw lock so hard it ached.
And god, your boyfriend.
Your dumb fucking boyfriend.
Clark never usually swore (it didn't come to him as naturally as the likes of golly and gosh). But fuck, Superman on Red Kryptonite himself wouldn't have the mirage of different profanities that Clark did for the man you called yours.
Funnily enough, he had never even met the guy.
Didn’t need to. He hated him anyway.
He hated the way your phone lit up and brightened your face when you glanced at it. Despised the little smile that curled at your mouth when you typed back. Loathed the thought that someone else got to touch what Clark could barely stand to look at for too long.
However hard Clark made you laugh, however red your face flared after every shh little compliment thrown your way- it was never enough.
Someone else got to walk you home, kiss that gloss right off your lips, hear you laugh when no one else was around. Someone else got to climb over you at night, cover your gorgeous frame with theirs, fuck you gently into the bed until the early hours of the morning.
The thought would come to Clark late at night, when the city was finally at rest and he had only his thoughts to keep him awake. He'd envision you writhing beneath him, soft voice dripping like honey in his ears, moaning his name like a prayer and begging, pleading, for his touch.
His release would come quick. But on the nights the guilt settled in too deep, it wouldn’t come at all- and he’d spend the next few hours lying awake in silence, trying to atone for every impure thought he’d ever had about you.
It made something mean curl low in his stomach, something he’d spent his whole life pretending wasn’t there.
Because Clark was supposed to be good. He was supposed to smile and hold doors open and politely excuse himself when you leaned over his desk to point something out, cleavage threatening to spill, exposed neck so inviting he felt like a rabid animal; your mere existence flooding his senses so completely that for one humiliating second, he forgot his own name.
Lately, being around you felt less like admiration, and a hell of a lot more like drowning.
You’d walk into a room and he’d know it before he looked up. His whole body knew. The tiny hitch in his breathing, the way his shoulders went rigid, the awful, immediate awareness of where you were- crossing your legs at your desk, tugging your coat off your shoulders, leaning your cheek into your palm while you read over some notes.
Clark noticed all of it. Against his will. Against every decent thing Ma and Pa had ever taught him.
Eventually, he did the only thing he could think to do.
He booked some time off.
He told Perry he needed a break from the city, his eyes never quite leaving the floor. "Ma and Pa..." he scratched the back of his neck nervously, the lie coming out in one smooth sweep, "They've been asking for me. Some fence panels fell, Pa's heart... just wanna be there in any way I can."
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. The Kent farm always had something that needed looking after, even if it wasn't an immediate fence post. There were always animals to feed, fields to tend. Plenty to keep a man occupied.
"Take the time off, Kent. You deserve it."
After that, the situation became a civil war in his mind; one that had him at a loss no matter the outcome.
He convinced himself day after day that the dirt under his nails, the sweat on his back and the ache in his muscles would drown out the ache you’d left somewhere far deeper. He busied his hands, giving them something to do other than grip the base of his cock at night, eyes squeezed shut, pretending it was your skin beneath his legs and your mouth wrapped around his tip.
He needed Kansas air in his lungs instead of your perfume in his office, your laugh in the elevator, your voice drifting over cubicle walls and undoing him with every syllable.
He thought distance would help. What with Ma’s cooking and Pa’s quiet talks on the porch, there was simply no way the trip home wouldn't knock some sense back into him; remind him who he was, who he was supposed to be.
Even in Smallville however, you followed him.
And by the time Clark came back to Metropolis, he was exhausted in a way no amount of sleep could fix.
But you weren’t there.
Your desk sat empty.
Chair tucked in. Computer dark and oddly enough, collecting a light blanket of dust.
At first, Clark thought you were just running late. You were always stuck in traffic, and coffee lines always seemed to double in size whenever you walked into a café. He tried not to look at your desk every five minutes as he ran out of excuses to make on your behalf.
By noon, he was making mistakes. The backspace was hit more than a coherent sentence was formed; typos littered his edge of the column. Missed calls had Lois smacking him on the shoulder with a rolled-up newspaper. For someone so in tune with the written word, Clark even found himself reading the same paragraph three times over without taking in a single word.
Finally, he looked up from his monitor and asked Jimmy as casually as he could manage. Though the other man barely glanced up from his camera, Clark got the only answer he needed.
“Oh, she took some time off. Started a few days after you left, I think.”
He swallowed, nodding slowly, and that should’ve been the end of it.
But Jimmy kept talking.
“Guess her and her boyfriend broke up. Saw her crying in the break room last week. Lois said she’s staying with family for a bit.”
Clark didn’t hear the rest.
The words lodged themselves somewhere deep and awful, echoing through his skull all day. He hated how quickly his pulse kicked up.
Broke up.
You and your god-awful fucking boyfriend that made Clark swear (albeit in his own mind) had broken up.
And you were single.
A hot, selfish feeling unfurled in his chest before he could stop it.
You had been hurting. You had been crying. Yet the first thought that crossed his mind- before concern, before decency, before anything good that he was taught all his life- was that there was no boyfriend anymore. No one standing between you and him, the line between reality and fantasy dissolving into a thin blur in the week he spent throwing hay bales and flying circles around the equator.
That night, Clark lay in bed staring at the ceiling of his apartment, the city humming beyond his windows. For the first time in weeks, he found his restraint collapsing completely.
He let his mind wander, hands itching to free the stiffness in his boxers. He stroked long and deliberately, steady, the way he'd always imagined your first time with him would be.
He wasn't like that ex-boyfriend of yours. Wasn't selfish or needy or desperate. No, Clark would kiss the ground you walked on. He'd fuck you nice and slow, praise you like you were the God, make you come so hard the other guy would feel like fiction. He's not just Clark Kent after all- he's Superman, and even Superman has a few fun tricks up his supersuit sleeve.
You were a rocket. He'd overheard your conversations with Cat in the break room in the past, each one lewd and inappropriate but addictive all the same. Your ex could only last so long, only cared for a few unimpressive positions- but Clark, Clark could last forever and a day if you wanted. You burned hot and filthy and Clark knew he could match you without breaking a single sweat.
You'll come back to work soon- tired, maybe, eyes a little puffy from crying, soft from the heartache. You'll lean against his desk again, this time with no mention of another man. No absent little smiles at your phone. No reason for Clark to pretend he doesn't need you like oxygen.
He'll be there for you. Whether it's a shoulder to cry on, someone to vent to or an outlet in general, there's no other place he'd rather be.
And if, somewhere between the late nights at the office and grateful smiles meant only for him, you start needing him a little too much… you can't expect him to refrain from giving you what you want, surely?
Clark Kent is a good man. A nice man.
But if leaning into the bad is exactly what it takes to finally have you under him instead of just in his head...
🕷️ asking bf!clark kent if he wishes he were taller and him taking it a little too seriously
the first time it slips out, it’s not even meant to be mean.
you’re both crammed into the tiny kitchen of Daily Planet at nearly midnight, surviving on stale vending machine cookies and coffee that tastes burnt enough to classify as a workplace hazard. clark is leaning against the counter beside you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses sliding down his nose while he listens to you rant about a headline rewrite.
he’s smiling.
he always smiles at you like you’re the only person in the room worth listening to and maybe that’s why you say it so casually.
“you know,” you mumble, stealing his mug, “sometimes i wish you were taller.”
clark blinks. “…taller?”
“just a little,” you tease. “for dramatic purposes.”
he gives this soft, confused laugh, ducking his head. “i’m six foot three.”
“yeah, but like. emotionally.”
that gets a real laugh out of him, warm and helpless and so pretty it almost distracts you from the fact that his hand has slid onto your waist without him even seeming to notice.
“emotionally taller,” he repeats.
“exactly.”
“i’ll work on that.”
you grin, expecting him to move on. instead he looks thoughtful. actually thoughtful, like a baby discovering ice cream for the first time.
his thumb rubs absent circles against your side while he stares somewhere over your shoulder, like he’s genuinely considering the logistics of becoming taller for you.
“clark,” you laugh, “baby, i’m kidding.”
his eyes flick back to yours at the word baby. god. that expression should be illegal.
soft blue eyes behind glasses. pink mouth slightly parted. giant farmboy build practically folding around you in this tiny kitchen while his entire attention locks onto you like you hung the moon.
“right,” he says quietly. “kidding.”
but he still looks weirdly determined.
the next morning, you find him standing straighter. you notice immediately because of course you do. “are you —”
“good morning,” he says very quickly.
you narrow your eyes. “clark.”
“yes?”
“ youre standing like a victorian man posing for a portrait.”
“i’m not.”
he absolutely is.
his posture is ridiculously perfect. shoulders back. spine straight. chin lifted. he’s somehow making himself look even broader than usual, which should honestly be impossible considering the man already looks unfair in sweaters.
today’s sweater is dark blue. you hate him a little.
“did my joke actually get to you?” you ask.
“no,” he says. pause. “maybe a little.”
your heart immediately melts into soup. “clark—”
“i know i’m not…” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “you know. huge.”
you stare at him. this man could probably bench press a pickup truck without breathing hard. “you are objectively huge.”
“not compared to some people.”
you burst out laughing because oh my god. “are you comparing yourself to bruce wayne.”
clark goes silent which is answer enough.
you actually have to sit down. “that is insane behavior,” you wheeze.
“he’s taller.”
“by like an inch.”
“it’s still taller.”
“clark, sweetheart, i promise i do not spend my time wishing you resembled a haunted cryptid billionaire.”
he smiles despite himself.
then quieter, almost shyly, “you promise?”
and that’s the thing about clark.
under all that strength, all that impossible goodness, there’s still this softness in him. this quiet want to be enough for the people he loves.
especially you.
you walk over slowly until you’re right in front of him.
“clark kent,” you murmur, sliding your hands up his chest, “do you have any idea what you do to me.”
his breath catches instantly.
every single time.
it’s unfair how reactive he is to you.
“you bend down every time you kiss me,” you whisper. “you block the whole damn sun when you stand in front of me. your hands are so big they practically cover my waist.” your fingers curl into the front of his sweater. “and when you lean over me at my desk? i literally forget my own name.”
his cheeks go pink.
pink like he isn’t built like every single fantasy you’ve ever had.
“really?” he asks softly.
you just stare at him. “clark. be serious.”
his hands settle carefully on your hips like he’s handling something precious. “you said you wanted taller.”
“i said sometimes.”
“that implies recurring thoughts.”
you laugh so hard you nearly snort and apparently that does something to him too because his eyes suddenly darken in that way they do when he gets overwhelmed by affection.
“c’mere,” he murmurs.
before you can answer, he’s lifting you effortlessly onto the counter.
you squeak. “clark!”
“what?” he says innocently, stepping between your knees. “thought maybe this would help with the height issue.”
you stare down at him now eye level. “oh my god.”
his mouth twitches. “better?”
“a little.”
“good.”
and then he kisses you.
slow at first. warm.
the kind of kiss that melts through you piece by piece because clark kisses like he’s terrified of not loving you enough. one hand cradling your jaw, the other spread against your thigh while he tilts his head deeper into it.
you can feel him smiling when you kiss him back harder.
“still wish i was taller?” he murmurs against your mouth.
“mm. maybe.”
his eyebrows lift.
you grin lazily. “might need a better demonstration.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
he gives you this look.
this devastatingly fond, slightly heated look that makes your stomach flip.
then suddenly he’s crowding closer, big hands gripping the counter beside your hips, effectively trapping you there while his chest presses against yours.
and god there it is. that impossible size difference. the sheer warmth of him. the way his body surrounds yours so completely it makes your head fuzzy. “how’s this?” he asks quietly.
your brain completely stops functioning.
because clark kent — sweet, gentle, unbearably polite clark — absolutely knows what he’s doing right now.
especially when he ducks his head to kiss the corner of your mouth and murmurs, “feel pretty small from this angle.”
you make a sound that is genuinely embarrassing.
his smile turns smug. smug. on clark.
“okay,” you whisper faintly. “you win.”
“i know.”
“don’t get cocky.”
“too late.”
and then he kisses you again like he’s very pleased with himself.
toy flesh [explicit 18+] — [part 1] Clark randomly feels someone sitting on his dick even when he’s alone in his room. pretty much. part one for that magic toy prelude in my masterlist
. . .
Clark thinks it has to be a one off thing. Has to be. A wet dream too close to reality that somehow got his dick a little too wet. A hallucination manifested in some relaxing body tremors that felt so good it ultimately had him cumming everywhere in his pants, untouched, with the book he was nose-deep in forgotten while he lied down and stared at the wall in wide eyed, wide-mouthed shock. What just happened? How did that just happen?
He holds out hope that maybe he’ll get to touch himself and get rid of this pent up energy, get it flushed out of his system, not feel the same unexplained touch of someone else’s body—someone else’s flesh directly on top of him. While he goes about his daily routine before work he doesn’t ever stop looking down at his dick like he’s checking in on it. See if it falls off or grows a bigger brain of its own. Pulls his waistband out to take a confused peak while he’s scrubbing his teeth, foam running down the corner of his mouth. Watches his dick swing around and reluctantly roll upward and harden again from the memory even as he’s ironing the fine lines in his button down shirt.
It felt juvenile. It felt ridiculous.
What grown man couldn’t keep it down and stay soft for a dull eight hour work day?
He has to fondle himself to the memory again before he leaves, cum uncontrollably splashing just about everywhere even though he prepares himself with a tissue right at the tip. The shirt he spent nearly fifteen minutes ironing had to get thrown in the wash and replaced with something wrinkly and unkempt, but at least it was free of cum stains.
Clark sighs as the elevator door opens up to his office floor, trudging over to his desk and setting his briefcase down. Skips right over to their break room’s coffee maker to brew up a sugary full cup for the day ahead of him. Jimmy gave him a greeting with a rougher pat on the shoulder, jolting Clark in a reactionary shiver when he thinks back to being touched in bed by no one or something while he was withering all alone in his room.
He pushes his glasses up his scrunched up nose, letting out an almost disgruntled sounding hey.
Jimmy squints at him, noticing the offbeat attitude of his close friend and coworker. “You good, man? Sleep alright last night or did somebody take a hot piss in your Froot Loops?”
“Slept… slept fine, it’s just I’m kinda going through stuff right now. I don’t know.”
Clark swallows and stirs his steaming cup after dropping another sugar cube in. Jimmy pats his shoulder once again, trying to get Clark to meet his eyes with a tilt of his head.
“You know… maybe it’s about time.”
“What?”
“You know, dude, maybe it’s that time. Time for you to get yourself laid. I think it could help flush out some of these nerves in your system. You seem so tense. I know a few girls that would hop on that train, if you know what I mean.”
Clark turns beat red rather quickly, taking a long sip to gather his thoughts and come up with a response.
“Yeah you couldn’t have been any more direct actually. I… listen I understand, but it’s not that. Trust me, I’m getting… more than you think. I guess. Cause something like, something happened last night, I don’t even know how to explain it. And I liked….. it. It’s just really weird so maybe now’s not the time to discuss—“
Jimmy laughs a long, boyish giggle and slaps one of Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling Clark further aside into the corner with a look around for any coworkers meandering.
“Dude, I knew it. You found yourself a lady. You’ve been getting some and you haven’t been telling me. That’s really lame of you man, I thought our friendship had no barriers—“
“I haven’t met a— look, okay, it was weird, and I mean really really weird. I don’t know if you’ll understand it or if it’ll just sound crazy.”
“Whatever crazy thing you’re about to say, I’ve probably done crazier,” Jimmy assures with a knowing nod paired with a grin. “Trust me.”
“Uh, okay….” Clark clears his throat and lowers his voice, leaning down to Jimmy’s ear level. “Have—have you ever like, came untouched before? Felt someone…. down there…. even though no one else was in the room?”
Clark stares at Jimmy now, loosening the tie around his collar like he’s already broke out in another sweat just thinking about it. Wondering if it might happen again. If he has some odd guardian angel that likes to fuck him and look after him all at the same time.
“You mean you finished, no hands, completely dry? You’re living the dream. Should be more grateful. Why do you look so terrified right now.”
Clark closes his eyes and pinches his brows in a long sigh before nodding to Jimmy to follow him to the bathrooms after setting his coffee on his desk. With uneasy paranoia he peers down to check for any feet on the floor in the stalls before he continues.
“I… I don’t think you get it. It felt like someone literally rode me, like, put me inside them and came on my dick and everything. I wasn’t doing anything! Wasn’t even hard before it started happening, I was just reading. I don’t know how else to explain this or make it any clearer to you!”
Jimmy looks astounded after every word, awestruck with an open mouth. Even flashes of envy pass through his eyes while he chuckles and shakes his head. Typical Clark and his way of complicating things. Overthinking what truly sounded like a gift. “Sounds like a you’re being haunted by a friendly ghost that just wants to hop on that thing, dude. So what did it really feel like? And can I get one too?”
Clark closes his eyes and his mind goes back to last night. In the comfort of his soft sheets, legs sprawling out and taking over the entirety of his bed. How right when the plot of his novel started taking off he felt almost a tickle. A wiggle of what felt like a smooth, slithery tongue. It was unrecognizable when it started, like maybe he had an itch down there to scratch, or maybe some blood began randomly flowing down south.
When it became unmistakeable, too soft and wet to deny what was happening to him, he slammed his book shut with the bookmark in place and spread his legs wider, feeling the sweat breaking out. Feels his dick happily jump right into the warm invisible hole teasing his tip. He felt the hole clench down and struggle to take him all, slowly inching up and down like a bunny on top of what it could take. He clenched a fist at his side and held his dick up with a thumb, raising his hips gently into the heavenly heat. How the pace it had going stuttered when he did, probably in shock that he had more of himself to give.
Clark remembers crying with pleasure, pre cum getting drained out of him so effortlessly, so smoothly. Drool picks up on his tongue while he’s nearly going cross eyed, the pussy on top of him bouncing harder, bouncing faster—
“It feels— it feels unbelievable. I mean it was incredible,” Clark answers Jimmy’s question that had awkwardly hung in the air. “Haven’t felt anything like it before. Something might be seriously wrong with me.”
Jimmy raises a brow. “Watching too much porn? Just take a break. Meet a girl.”
Clark’s full body shivers, goosebumps now swarming up his arms and the back of his neck, making all the hairs there start to stand up. He feels an eager hand all the sudden grab onto his bare cock and slick their palm down, cold and wet like the hand had a puddle of lube to gloss him down.
If it hasn’t visibly shown up as a wet spot on his groin through his trousers yet, by the feeling of it it’ll start showing a dark spot soon. If he didn’t take his dick out it would surely start a puddle that would only dry as a fresh stain.
Clark takes a deep, shaky breath, turning over to grab onto the tile of the wall, resting his forehead against it and gripping like he’s engulfed in pain. Like his surroundings started spinning all around him.
“Woah, Clark. Dude. Take it easy. What’s happening?”
Jimmy gets closer to check on his friend but Clark can’t take it, shooing him off with a hurried no, it’s fine—just get out of here. I need a second. thanks!
“You sure you’ll be able to hold up the rest of today? You have enough leave. I’m sure Lois would understand—”
“Just, just…. I need to take a— I’ll take a ten, okay,” he whimpers, clutching onto the humiliating bulge growing so fast he already was showing a hefty print. “Maybe a fifteen. I can’t—I don’t know.” The hand stopped slicking up and down his cock and he feels it tease him by rubbing his length up and down a pearly wet slit, not yet having him enter.
He shoos Jimmy away and hurries to a stall, slamming it shut and locking it with his back to the door while his dick bobs around for more of her attention. Tingles sprout in his belly while his whole body starts to tense.
“Uh, okay,” Jimmy mutters. “Well I’ll leave you to it I guess? Here for you buddy. Don’t piss off your ghost girlfriend. Maybe next time she won’t fuck you as good if you do,” he laughs.
“Shut. The door. And shut. Up!” Clark howls, fumbling with his zipper and rushing to roll some toilet paper up into a ball for his tip when he’s hanging out of his boxers. He distantly hears his friend mumble a jeez, so touchy. sorry and the door creaks open and falls closed. With privacy at last, Clark is able to heave and thrust his hips gently into the beautiful, tight wet heat, little abstract murmurs and whimpers leaving his throat while his dick gets wetter, and wetter, and wetter.
“Don’t—Don’t, don’t want you to stop,” he quietly begs. Veins popping on his temple from all the straining his body is doing. “But I… I have to get back to work.”
Whatever is wrapped around his cock doesn’t pay his words any mind, sinking down all the way to his balls and creaming on his base the more they start their rough bouncing. Like they’re angry, like they’re taking everything out on his cock. Clark wished he knew what he did wrong, or maybe what he did right to deserve this kind of treatment from someone he couldn’t even see.
“I’m not gonna last, I’m not, it feels so good…. feels too good…. I can’t handle this again, not right now,” he breathes. Sees his tip bead more floods of pre cum and slip down the base of his cock, getting his balls messy with slick. The sound is obscene, with every up and down motion everything can be heard. How wet the pussy around him really is. How his cock stuffs it all the way through. If somebody came in right now, they would think he’s having real sex with a real body in this stall right now. When in all honestly, Clark doesn’t know what he’s having.
“Oh my gosh, gosh you’re more wet this time, you’re getting it so wet…. You’re gonna get me in trouble, wait…. please.”
The pussy on top of his dick starts to quiver, tremble and squeeze him down harder than before. Like it’s finally found release after a record of an eight minute round of going nuts on him like he’s nothing but a toy built strictly for their use.
Some cum that isn’t even his starts dribbling down on him, and that’s when the floodgates start to open. Clark can’t hold it anymore, and he doesn’t know how bad it’s gonna be trying to both cover his load and then clean it all up.
He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut once again, knuckles turning white while he holds on for dear life and busts another long, drawn out nut into whatever this thing is that’s tortured him yet again. He spits out rope after rope of cum in the waiting piece of balled up paper and tries to catch it all there but a few stray drips do manage to burst out too fast for him to act. He sprays a part of the wall and whines a little no, please, please no, you made me cum too hard again, I need to get back to work.
The come down is always humbling. Seeing exactly how foolish he was acting as the sweat under his arms and on his face visibly stains his clothes and his skin. He managed to wipe off his messy cum lines off the wall and stuffs another rolled up ball of toilet paper down his boxers to soak up whatever else is leftover in his pants.
When he feels ready enough he’s still catching his breath and trying to get his blushing face under control as he heads over to the sink to splash some water on his face. Presses on the soap dispenser over and over again until more than a mountain of soap is bubbling in his palm, lathering his sticky, filthy hands.
Clark fights everything inside him to try and act natural when he heads back to his desk. Ruffles his hair more than necessary, tightens his tie, rolls up his sleeves.
The cup of coffee he’d made had lost most of its heat but Clark was so preoccupied in his head he doesn’t notice, still gulping some down and logging back into his computer to answer more messages and emails that were left for him. His eyes zone in on an email he’d been CC’d in from Jimmy and Lois about an upcoming new hire’s start date for their vacant Office Assistant position.
The email read that Clark would be assigned as the one primarily training her since he’d started out in her exact title position a year ago. Clark adds a thumbs up to the email and closes out of it to start on another assignment, thinking in the very back of his head that if his dick can’t control himself while he’s training said new hire next week he’d be blowing his brains out, not out of his cock next time.
Jimmy side eyes him from across the room, mouthing a you good? much to Clark’s bashful shake of his head, assuring him with a roll of his eyes and a tired response of yeah, I’m fine. shut up.
Lois comes out of the blue up behind him and drops a fat stack of paperwork on Clark’s desk with a tight smile.
“New hire coming in next week. You got my email right?”
Clark nods and leans back in his chair, casual as he can muster.
“She’ll have to mostly rely on you for help and onboarding, since me and Jimmy have too much going on. Travel, deadlines, some new leads finally getting back to us for interviews. So you’ll take her under your wing for us, yeah?”
“Of course. It’s not uh, it won’t be a problem,” he answers under his breath, taking another sorry sip of his lukewarm coffee. He hopes the thing in his pants won’t be a problem.
“You sure? Jimmy said you didn’t look well. You can’t call out and leave her all alone here on her first few days, it’s gonna be overwhelming in the start—“
“Jimmy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m fine. It’ll get taken care of,” he promised.
“Alright, then don’t get her sick, got it?”
Clark wants to slap Jimmy for even bringing up his frazzled state to anybody in the office, mortified over what had taken place barely ten minutes ago, and how unpredictable his dick was gonna act for a while. Or forever. Who even knows at this point.
“My germs are all mine,” he swears, hands defensively up in the air. “Count on it.”
Lois gives him another one of her hard stares that basically told him she’d make him eat his words if he dared showing up to the office coughing, sneezing, puking. Clark was only worried about leaving his desk for twenty minutes at a time to get his dick rode by the same tempting mystical source he had yet to fully identify, let alone begin to understand.
It never left his brain even while he worked, back of his pen stuck in his mouth to chew on while he wrote up more emails and forwarded ones from their general inbox. Hours had gone by until he had about forty five more minutes left until he could be freed and finally head home, and Clark really thought he was in the clear of having another accident during work hours.
That was up until the fucking tease went at it again. The warm, sopping wet tightness wraps around his tip and slips him in, no mercy given. His dick springs back to life effortlessly, and Clark wants to cry.
He holds his head by covering his face with both hands, scooting his swivel chair forward so his crotch was safely hidden underneath. He drools an ungodly amount at the tip, feeling how eager this round was for her, how quickly she ruts against him and has him crying softly into the sleeve of his shirt.
Clark’s mewling and groaning is muffled into his arm, too helpless to hold in any of his noise when they move in sways up and down, switching off between going deep and going shallow with their pushes. Clark is beat red all over again, giving up after several minutes of unabashed torture and shielding his wet crotch with his briefcase pressed up against him, running off back to the toilets this time to sit down and breathe while undeniably enjoying everything being done to him. Fuck the last thirty minutes of his shift. Fuck the emails and the phone calls and the scans and the letters.
Clark shuts his eyes and actually smiles for a change as he eggs on whatever higher power bouncing on top of him to keep going. Nods his head and can’t help his soft murmurings of please, yeah, yeah keep doing that, you do it so good.
It might be his new imaginary best friend, or it might be his first sign to go to a mental hospital. Whatever it was, since it’s made Clark cum this hard, he guessed it couldn’t have mattered too much if it always made him feel this good.
. . .
The weekend was spent the same way. Getting his dick milked while he lied back and screeched every time she squeezed on him some way, somehow. He doesn’t answer anyone that texts him for plans, doesn’t do the dishes or take care of his laundry like how he’d hoped. No. He whines and stutters and cries, barely able to get in the shower without his dick getting trampled on.
It’s not a long shot to think he could be developing something. A mental illness. A haunted curse that plagues him with orgasms at all times of the night and the day. He’s one more round away from calling somebody to perform an exorcism or splash holy water on him to escape this succubus that had to be laughing in his face at how easy he is to rile up.
When Monday comes around again Clark doesn’t want to take any chances traumatizing the new hire with all the blotches of cum stains littering his pants. With a scoff and a sigh he steps each leg into a second pair of boxers to make slightly more effort into covering up. Even packs a backup pair in case both pairs he’s currently wearing are soiled by the end of the day.
After a hectic first hour of scanning and distributing the stack of morning mail from the bin, he slips a stick of gum on his tongue and gnaws on the flavor with his mouth open when an unfamiliar silhouette teeters closer towards the edge of his desk from the entrance.
Clark doesn’t get to looking up until she’s clearing her throat, playing with a strand of her hair with a smile aimed at the ground.
“Hi, sorry if I’m interrupting your work. I’m actually starting today,” she explains, eyeing him up from head to toe. Clark rips his head up at the voice and clears his throat, sitting up straighter and pulls a polite hand out.
“Oh! Oh, yeah that’s right. You’re our new hire. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Clark.”
She takes his hand with a laugh. Clark wished he understood what was funny. He joins in on it anyway, anxiously chuckling while he doesn’t stop shaking her hand in his. Realizing it had been well over ten seconds of her soft palm held up in his own long, gigantic fingers, he slips his hand off of hers, lingering in the awkward air of the moment.
She nods and scans her gaze around, peaking at the state of Clark’s desk. The endless string of sticky notes, the protein shakes, the tie he’d already taken off his neck. “So am I in the right place, or—“
“Yup. Yeah, yeah you found where you should be. I’ve been tasked to uh, help you fill all this out. After that we can get you started on some basics,” he breathes out, pointing to the stack resting on the side of his desk, sticky note on top with her name on it. Clark finds himself trying a little desperately to keep himself more cool, more composed. She’s the kind of pretty that made him nervous, suddenly aware of his undone appearance, of every awkward move he makes. He stops chewing his gum with as much rigor, clenches his jaw and scratches the back of his neck.
“I started out in the position you’re in, it’s real easy to move up,” he mentions, gathering up the paperwork and attempting to straighten it out before a quarter of the pages fall from his grasp in a pile. Beat red, Clark doesn’t do anything but stare at the ground and sigh before sheepishly joining in on her laughs.
“You’re pretty organized, aren’t you?” she chuckles, bending over to pick up the few documents that landed on the floor. Clark’s jaw even drops when he catches the smallest glimpse of her hot pink colored thong poking up above from her dress pants.
“Yeah. Yeah I really am, you know. Organization is key,” he nods, tight lipped smile still on his face. He takes the pages she hands him over, watching her subtly arch her head to smell something in the air. Fuck. What the fuck? Did he even put on any cologne this morning after draining his dick for the hundredth time?
Before he could shoot himself in the head with more irrational insecurities his mind makes up she soothed his very visible worry with another laugh and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Is it me? Do I reek like sweat or something—?”
“No, no. You don’t smell bad, you’re fine. I was just trying to figure out if you were chewing Spearmint or not,” she assures. “I like it. Promise. You do not reek of anything,” she snorted through another laugh. Clark beams, looking around everywhere but her face. Afraid his face could give his every fleeting thought away.
Thank god. “Uh, oh yeah. Yeah it’s Spearmint. You want a piece? I have a new pack,” he offers. To his surprise, she snatches up a piece out of his hand hardly before he gets to offer it to her. Blinks dumbly while she opens it up and tears the piece in half, stuffing one in her mouth and giving the other half back to him.
“Uh—“
She smiles at him, chewing the gum out of one side of her cheek. “I have this oral thing. A fixation I guess. Chewing or having something in my mouth really helps me.”
The thing about Clark is, he has manners. Has restraint. Thought he was a good boy that didn’t go on and chase any tail that came into his orbit. Especially not a new pretty co-worker. He doesn’t want to think about putting different parts of himself inside her mouth just to calm her down. Or the color of her thong. Or that wicked smile and addicting perfume to match. Something tries to draw him in closer, reason with his conscience like she’s teasing little signals, it’s not like you’re her boss or anything. if you flirt back no one would know a thing.
Clark stops his zoning out and nods his head to agree. “I get it. Having stuff in my… in my mouth cools me off too. Like—like stress.”
“You shouldn’t worry yourself that much. Seems like you’re wound up pretty tight.”
He feels like there’s this window into his thoughts standing clear as day right above his head, broadcasting every fleeting thought or mood. When he tries to look at her, stare at her back the same way she stares at him, he just wanted to run away before his own dick caught up with him.
Clark scratches his chin and sheepishly nods with his head down, agreeing with a gentle mumble, yeah you know, just normal stuff, kinda on edge. Not like he randomly cums in his pants or anything. He quickly finds a way to change subjects by directing his focus back to the work left in front of them and guides her to sit over at her new desk to fill out some new hire paperwork. She taps him on the shoulder and grins when she says his name to ask him questions. He dutifully answers everything he can, emails some higher ups to get her logins to some of their systems and trains her how they go through their mail and answer consumer’s inquiries over the phone.
She takes just about everything in a stride. Overwhelmed of course by certain things that have nuances and will take more time getting used to. Clark introduces her to more staff, waves to Lois, makes the new hire her own cup of coffee after showing her their break room. Jimmy tries to raise a brow, even wiggles both of them up and down at him from behind her back, but it only makes Clark kick him in the shin and gruffly threaten him under his breath as he’s passing by while she wasn’t looking.
Clark sends her off to her first break, telling her to meet him back at her desk for more training later. Watches absentmindedly as she picks up her purse, snatched up a lighter from one of the pockets and stuck a cigarette behind her ear, waving goodbye and strolling out to the elevator doors. Before the elevator doors close he could see her take the stick from her ear and put it between her lips, probably a habit she’s picked up from that oral thing, Clark figured. He wants to stop himself from picking apart her business but he’s too intrigued to stop, still lost in thought at his desk while he takes a break of his own.
After spitting his piece of gum out he chugs a few thick swigs of his protein shake, spaced out in blank thought. A corner of his mouth smiles when he feels the other half of that stick of gum she’d torn off and given back. His dick twitches but ultimately stayed soft, undetected in his pants. He’d shamefully started wondering how the hell his dick was so well behaved, so normal today of all days. Not that it was a bad thing. He just found it curious. Why was this the first time in days his dick wasn’t getting swallowed, rode, or came on by whatever invisible force that clearly had been having its fun tormenting him? And will it ever come back to fuck him again?
Once Jimmy finds Clark alone at his desk wiping fingerprints off his glasses, he swats his shoulder and bashed one of his knees to his swivel chair, causing him to start spinning.
“What the hey, dude—don’t—“
“This could be your shot. All’s I’m sayin,” he shrugs. Sees Clark stop his chair and shove his friend forward, only enough power to knock him off his feet a little bit. “Hey, hey! That’s all I’m saying, I said!” he laughs and defensively puts both his palms up to shield himself from any more of Clark’s wrath.
“You can’t say that stuff. Don’t. She’s new, okay! And… and she needs my help learning everything around here. She doesn’t need some big oaf getting in her business, abusing power, or being… being weird towards her,” he concludes.
“Hey, opportunities sometimes fall right out of the sky. This one just fell right into your lap. And you’re not a fat oaf dude. Pfft, you actually think being her co-worker is gonna affect anything?”
“Uh, yes it does in fact. It will literally affect everything. You think it’d be appropriate for me to treat her like that?”
Jimmy shrugs again, ruffles Clark’s curls and says he should think about reconsidering some of his rules and start breaking them in order to finally get something he wants.
When she’s back from her break her hair is damp, fresh perfume sprayed on her coat to get rid of some of the stench from her cigarette. She looks refreshed, albeit a little more flustered than she was before she left. Her boots squeak slightly on the floor from stepping out on the wet ground outside. He thinks about complimenting her boots, her coat, her hair, thinks about complimenting her everything. But his words fall short after his voice cracks from the very simple greeting of hey, welcome back.
“Hey, can I ask you for a favor after work? It’s totally fine if you say no or if you can’t. You don’t have to give me any reasons,” she assures.
Already eager to know what she’s going to be asking of him, his ears perk and his posture straightens up as he scoots his chair over to her desk.
“Yeah of course. What’s up?”
“It started raining pretty hard and the forecast says it won’t stop until tomorrow morning. I actually walked here to work, and if it’s not any trouble, would you be able to give me a lift back home?”
Clark swallows an upcoming lump in his throat, feeling his palms start to get clammy. The mere thought of the proximity was enticing. Having her next to him, in his car. Her trust in him helping her with something as intimate as having her get back home safely. He tries to answer casually, like he’s a nonchalant guy — as if the offer wasn’t any big deal, wasn’t making his heart start to beat a little faster.
What comes out though is a horribly rushed, clumsy, stuttered —
“Ohyeahofcourse, you don’t even have to worry about it!”
Jimmy’s teasing still echoes through the hallway of his brain. About opportunities. About how sometimes they seem to fall right out of the sky. How this one has fallen right into his lap.
“Thanks so much Clark, I appreciate it. You’ve been the sweetest guy. I’m really lucky to have you here to teach me everything,” she praised. Turning his cheeks pink in all of two seconds with a flat palm on his broad shoulder, squeezing gently and holding the warmest smile.
“We’re lucky to have you. You’ve been— you’ve been great,” he gulps, trying to bring the focus back to her. “We don’t have too much more to fill out, but um, I don’t wanna overwhelm you with any more new things today. Let’s wrap up this paperwork then we’ll hopefully get you on those phones to practice the last hour.”
“Great! I’m almost finished with those. And for the record I do promise where I live isn’t far, I don’t wanna be too much an inconvenience,” she laughs. Clark shook his head again, ready to protest the very idea that she was asking too much. In truth, she was so stupid pretty that if she asks him to say his ABC’s backwards he’d still give it his best shot. She almost cuts off his attempt to deny it, straightening up some of the last pages left to read over and sign.
“You are not any inconvenience. If you are, then please keep inconveniencing me,” he says, flashing a toothy smile at her. He prays to himself that it comes out right, and to his delight, she grins back, adorable face expressing back to him, well, then don’t mind if I do. “with anything you need, I’ll be here.”
Is he being too much?
“Thanks, Clark. I owe you.”
Oh? What should you owe me?
He shakes off any perverted thoughts and spares a glance at his watch.
“Are you hungry? It could be lunch time. Up to you. We don’t clock in and out, we just have timesheets, so breaks are pretty flexible.”
“Yeah, I could eat.”
Clark’s head screams well there’s a full meal right in front of you.
“Great.”
. . .
He sees her head off to the break room and start chatting with Lois, smiling at her welcoming disposition while she checks in on how her training is going. Clark knows he has the option to stay, to ogle while he ate at his desk, but he feels like he has too much steam to blow off before handling the rest of the day. With a long final exhale, he adjusts his glasses and snatched up his keys to head back home for his lunch hour.
Once he’s back at his apartment he immediately sheds his god awful shoes and his suffocating button down before he’s lying flat on his back in bed, staring up at the wall. Trying to manifest that magical touch and beckon it to come back. Beg for it even. Wonders to himself if there’s some hidden way he hasn’t figured out yet to trigger it, or if it’ll always remain spontaneous.
Clenching his jaw he angrily starts groping his crotch, trying to feel himself out. He opens one eye to peer down at his dick and see if he just thought about it hard enough he’ll bring it back to life, feel that beautiful all consuming weight drip on top of him again.
“C’mon. C’mon, please… You… you’ve fucked me every day and I took it all last night, now I want it, I need it. Right here, please?”
Clark strokes his cock while it sways back and forth against his belly, mind already feeding into an idiotic fantasy of his new hire bending over, showing him her pretty colored thong. Maybe she’d pull her panties up higher so they’re peaking out further above her waistline, or maybe she’d pull them over to the side….
He raises his hips off the bed to thrust into his fist at the thought, pants still strung down barely past his groin. Figures if he shows back up to work the rest of the day in different pants, it’s his business and his business only, and so be it.
“Oh god it was so good last time, wish you could touch me like that again…”
He knows it’s pathetic. Everything he’s doing, everything he’s saying. While he grips the tip and twists particularly tight, he shamefully whimpers out his new hire’s name while his dick starts to drip into pubes. Messy, sticky, but gosh he needed this. Clark deeply misses the warmth on top of him, the hot teasing, the bouncing, and the thrill of not knowing what will happen next—
“Oh my god….”
. . .
posting this cuz I’m so done looking at it already dear jesuslawd. if I should keep going somehow let me know I love coworkerXcoworker getting down and nasty. I like the idea of clark not knowing what’s going on and getting slobbered on by his work crush. fully no clue when/if the next part comes out oh my lawd. thanks soooo so much for all the love on the first little prelude:( im so obsessed with every reblog+comment
Despite having gotten him to fold once, Clark still prefers missionary or lotus position, anything where he sees his pretty girl’s face. He feels like an animal when he does it. Why would he treat his darling like that? Didn’t you like kissing him? Looking into his eyes when you came? Every time you suggest it, Clark gets all pouty and sad.
No, Clark wasn’t an animal. But he was a Kryptonian, and that came with its own quirks, such as sporadic periods of time where his body wanted one thing; to fuck. He’d been feeling off the whole week, off-kilter in a way that Superman couldn’t. Waking up on a Friday came with immediate pain in his stomach, and a half-terrified you fussing over him. You’d gotten Kara on the line. Maybe she could bring him to the Fortress, have the robots and stuff look him over?
“Oh, he’ll be alright.” Kara snorts. “He’s going through a rut.”
“A what now?”
“When Kryptonians find their partner, sometimes we go into ruts. Clark just needs to fuck and he’ll be fiiine.” Kara drawls.
Clark, the sweet boy that he is, is horrified at how base and animalistic that sounds. Fucking, just for the sake of it? And for him? He couldn’t.
But one well placed kiss on his jawline has Kal-El taking over. First he has you in missionary, but your legs keep getting in the way. With a growl, Kal-El shoves your legs up and over his shoulders.
"Clark- wai- oh gosh!" You squeal as he leans forward, nearly folding you in half. He doesn't slow down, thrusting hard and heavy with his balls smacking against your ass. Your pussy flutters around his shaft weakly, barely able to keep up. But even this mean mating press isn’t deep enough for Clark.
He yanks out and presses you face first into the mattress, slamming back in.
“Ah!” A cry tears out of your throat as Clark’s hips piston back and forth. You can feel each and every ridge, his veins throbving heavily. Your orgasm nearly hurts when it finally slams into you, choking his cock. Clark just groans as he grinds the tip of his cock right into your cervix, pouring his seed right into your womb.
You barely have enough time to catch your breath before Clark presses you back down. He’s not done yet.
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