Shay, She/Her, ISTJ Requests are always open All of my fics are either named after or have songs linked to them, which I recommend listening to while readingâ¤ď¸đ¸
TW for graphic discussing of depression and mentions of suicide
Smallville! Clark being one of the most depressed but also one of the more inarticulate versions of Clark is something dreadful because he is almost completely incapable of describing the anguish he feels for merely existing to anyone. I see him speaking with others on the show- humans and aliens- and there is a cruelty in their lack of understanding. His experiences and existence is so disorienting for him, so isolating and in the beginning, down right body horror-esque. All he wants is for someone to understand or even just listen to his poor attempts at explaining his plights but every time heâs made out to be selfish, ungrateful or self loathing. But are his wants any more selfish than any personâs desire for community? Can he be eternally and unwaveringly grateful for a power that has brought him so much hardship? Can he grow up hearing he is the center of the universe for so many people without feeling responsible when those peopleâs lives fall apart or end?Â
Clark spends five seasons pleading to just be normal before just giving up and turning himself over to his destiny. He said he wanted to be normal so many times it sort of lost it meaning but what he meant is he wants to be able to want for a future with the same ferocity as his human peers without feeling like he is compromising his identity or unfairly getting ahead. He wants to make mistakes without the world shattering. He wants to feel whole in mediocrity; that he is worthwhile even if all he accomplishes is waking up and being kind. He wants to love and be loved. He doesn't want blind devotion or a relationship on the foundation of lies; he wants ease and mundanity that he can infuse with the spark of life by being around people he cares about.
There is something so soul crushing that he feeling a life like that is out of reach for him. I watch the light and optimism drain from his eyes with every passing episode and just hope he finds joy again before the darkness takes him. This season he doesn't try to stop brainiac when it tries to kill him as a baby so he never exist and him explaining to Chloe why feel so much like suicide that I almost threw up.
Art block is kicking my butt so here's some floating Clarks (ăĽ Ě Âł Ě)ăĽ
(That scene where Clark is devouring that pizza in the kitchen kills me every time. Tom had to be actually eating bc he carries the slice in between sets)
you whine as he buries his thick cock deep inside you, âah! clarkkk!â, burying your face into the pillow as he looms over you. kissing your cheek and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. âmâsorry honey, i know..i know itâs a lotâ, he emphasises, bringing you sweet relief when he clumsily reaches between your body and the mattress, finding your clit and rubbing soft circles, trying his best to help you ignore the dull ache the stretch brings. he smiles softly when he sees your eyes roll back, the smile quickly wipes off his face with a deep groan when you clamp down and tighten on his length.
he braces himself on one forearm, careful not to crush you with his weight, âdoing so good fâme sweetie..â, he murmurs, pressing his broad chest to your back, the position felt maddening, you could really only feel him, both inside and out. finally, when the ache morphed into nothing but pleasure, he jerked his hips into you, sliding aaaall the way in, his pelvis flush against your ass and his balls smushed agaisnt your sensitive clit. clarkâs eyes roll back, a heavy whimper crawling from his throat, he loved how you felt around him, so warm, so wet. sometimes he wishes he could be there forever. his large palms grab your hips, lifting you up slightly to get even deeper and fuck into that sweet spot of yours, the one he knows you like and makes you cry out his name. he groans in ecstasy when when you clamp down. "mngh! a-ah-golly, o-oh sweetheart, you feel s'good", he pants out, leaning back over to pound into you with a certain gentleness.
you can only moan shamelessly, gripping the pillows, heaving and arching back to meet his thrusts, âclark! please! mâso close!â, your pussy squeezed around him, forcing all the cum out of his heavy balls. clark whines, abs flexing and tensing as he buries himself to the hilt, his brain fuzzy with the pleasure whilst he cums deep inside, thick creamy spurts oozing out with every small thrust to drive out your shared orgasm.
for a moment, the room is still and quiet, all thatâs audible is the sharp panting between you both. clark tilts your head so that you look at him over your shoulder before leaning in to give a soft sweet kiss, jarringly different to the rough pounding you just received a minute ago. âdid so good for me sweetie, my pretty girl..â, he mutters between kisses.
Zuko was leaning back against the headboard with a breathless groan, leaving his lips as your fingers threaded through his messy black long hair, your fingers tugging at the strands gently. His attention never strayed from your pretty face, completely focusing on you and on the moment. You were straddling him, sinking down slowly onto his throbbing length with shaky breaths.
You were already on the verge of being overwhelmed, but Zuko's hands shot up from your thighs to your hips, halting you in your movements, causing a shudder to emit from your lips. "Zuko?" you whispered, blinking at him, confused.
"Don't move," he whispers into your ear. "Let me feel all of you." His words alone made your walls tighten around his length immensely, his head dropping to your neck, feeling his cock.
He tilted his head, but his cock twitching inside you made it really hard to focus much on what he was saying. "Fuck," he moans into your neck, almost bordering on a whimper, Zuko's arms circle around your body, one hand slides up your spine, pulling you flush against him until your chest presses to his. Zuko shakily breaths, "Stay still."
Your breath hitched, body trembling as his length pulsed inside you. "W-What? But-"
"Shh." He kissed the corner of your mouth slowly while holding you perfectly still. You don't think you could do this, you're already so overstimulated as it is.Â
The stillness was maddening. His cock throbbed inside you with every heartbeat, the stretch so deep and constant it had your body trembling from the effort of holding still. Your nails dug into his shoulders. "Feels so good.... my pretty wife, missed you so much," Zuko murmurs, "just a little longer... promise."
You whined, trying to roll your hips, but his hand immediately pressed down on your waist, pinning you harder against him. "No," he said firmly, and the deep sound of his voice made your body heat up further.Â
The minutes dragged, your body shivering from the overwhelming sensation of being filled and denied movement. Zuko kissed along your jaw. "You're shaking," he murmured, nipping lightly at your ear. "So needy."
You whimpered his name, and he finally pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes scanning every inch of your trembling body. "Hold out a little longer," he promised, hands gripping your hips tightly. "And then I'll let you fall apart as much as you want."
Your thighs trembled from holding yourself still, his cock throbbing inside you with every pulse of blood rushing through your veins. The ache was unbearable, and every breath made you whine softly into his chest.
"Zuko... I can't," you whispered with your voice cracking. "Please." You broke with a strained moan of his name, his cock deep inside you, clenching violently around him as your orgasm ripped through you, making your body shake in his lap. The wet sound of your release coating him only spurred him on, making his thrusts sharper.
"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, hips slamming into yours one last time as he spilled hot inside you, grip bruising on your hips. He buried his face in your neck, muffling a rough moan as his cock pulsed, filling you to the brim.
Sheltered farmboy Clark hates doggy with a passion. He thinks itâs degrading to women, and he hates it because he canât see your pretty face. He wants to see your hazy eyes after a good fuck, wants to kiss you when he cums.
But you beg and plead and even cry. He trusted you for everything else, why not this?! You even give him the silent treatment for exactly 18 minutes. Thatâs enough to break him.
So Clark bends you over on your bed, apologizing profusely. His mama would smack him over the head for treating his girl like this. But he canât deny how good you look, ass perked up in the air. You wiggle impatiently too.
Clark can see everything as he nudges your lips apart with the tip, how it glistens with each pass. He can watch as he slowly presses in, your puffy pussy struggling to take every thick inch. Your cute hole back there winks back at him too.
Clark settles his hands on your waist, slowly pushing into you. You gasp at the feeling; heâs so thick and long, and this position has him in your lungs. But when you nod weakly and tell him to move, all that blurs along with your vision.
Itâs perfect, the angle hitting the right spots just enough to have you keening. You push back against his every thrust, your pussy soaking everything. Thereâs soft little plaps as his balls smack against your clit, and each one has your breath catching. Clark shifts his angle, just to get a better seat on his knees.
âRight there!â You cry out in a strangled whimper. You can feel his tip pressing on a new spot, right against the back. You go boneless and collapse face first. âThere, Clarkie!â
Your desperate whimper has Clark whimpering too,. You can feel his hands tight on your waist, bringing you back. Clarkâs staring at that little frothy ring around the base of his cock, and something snaps. He goes harder, knocking each whimper out of you with a groan of his own. Clarkâs hand drifts to your clit, rubbing soft circles and sending you flying into your orgasm. Usually this is when Clark would stop .
But Clarkâs too entranced with how your pussy nearly refuses to let go as he pulls back. Heâll even brush a thumb over your spread folds, and come at the sight of your pussy fluttering.
Later, when youâre spent with his seed dripping outof you, Clark will fuss over you. Heâll apologize for going too hard and too long.
âNext time, pull my hair,â You mumble .
Clark turns bright red at that, and protests amidst gasps and sputters. But the twitch of his cock against his thigh means youâll get your way once again.
pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 3.1k | KENT <- collab m.list (be sure to check out the other lovely fics & stay tuned for more!!!)
summary: clark canât leave you aloneâeven when he really, really should. the pressure builds⌠and something has to give.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), clark cusses 2.5 times, unprotected sex (p in v), pussy drunk!clark, rough sex, loss of control, furniture breaking, overstimulation, nsfw themes + language, reader called âbabyâ
a/n: clark breaks the bathtub while fucking you. thatâs it. thatâs the fic. A BIG THANK YOU to @tw1sters for including me in this collab!!! i had so much fun writing this and canât wait to read everyone elseâs!! hope you guys enjoy! <3 //graphics: @sparklingsin â thank you ash for the beautiful header below. still canât get over how talented you are!! đ¤đ¤
Clark was supposed to be leaving for work.
Well, that had been the plan, at least. He was mostly dressed for it too, shirt crisp, tie half-adjusted, sleeves buttoned, everything in place except the last few steps that would actually get him out the door.Â
His shoes waited by the couch. His jacket was draped neatly over the dining room chair. Just a few final adjustments and heâd be gone.
It should have been simple. Really, it should have. But when it came to you, simple had never been something he could count on.
You were minding your own business. Relaxing. Existing. Apparently, that alone was enough to ruin whatever focus he had left.
Clark stood at the sink, adjusting his tie in the mirror, fingers working at the knot with practiced precision. He fixed it once, then again, and again, like something about it still wasnât sitting right, even though it had been perfect the first time.
Behind him, the tub sat visible in the reflection, and you were there, sunk low in the water, completely at ease. Steam filled the room in slow curls, softening the edges of everything, including you.
Clarkâs eyes kept flicking toward you in the mirror, quick at first, then slower. Then longer. And longer. Long enough that heâd forget what he was doing entirely before dragging his gaze back up to his own reflection like that might somehow fix it.
He swallowed hard and forced his attention back to his tie.
Focus.
Clark straightened, running a hand through his hair before adjusting his glasses, eyes fixed on his reflection to anchor him there, to keep him moving, to keep him fromâ
His gaze slipped again.
Slower this time. Heavier in a way where he couldnât even pretend it was accidental.
The water moved when you shifted your legs, the surface breaking just enough to catch and follow, offering brief, shifting glimpses before settling again. Droplets clung to your shoulders and throat, slipping slowly over your skin each time you moved, tracing small paths he couldnât stop noticing. The whole room felt warm with it, thick with quiet and water and the faint scent of whatever youâd poured into the tub.
You werenât even doing anything, not really, which only made it worse. Clark couldnât seem to look anywhere else, or think of anything else for that matter.
That didnât stop him from trying, though.
And God, did he try.Â
Clark let out a slow, steady breath, deeper than it needed to be, like it might push whatever this was back down where it belonged.
âAlright, baby,â he said, voice quieter than usual. âI have to go.â
He turned and stepped closer as he said it, already leaning down before the sentence had fully settled between you. It was supposed to be quick. Normal. Just one last soft kiss before work.
Clarkâs hand braced on the edge of the tub as his lips met yours, gentle and familiar, something that shouldâve ended there but didnât. You were warm, your mouth slightly parted, soft where you gave under him without resistance.
He lingered a second too long, catching the faint drag of your lower lip before pulling back just barely, his breath brushing yours.
His gaze dropped to your mouth againâand stayed there.
Something tightened in his chest, heavier now, pushing up from where heâd tried to bury it.Â
He kissed you again.Â
Longer this time.Â
And then again, deeper, his mouth pressing into yours with intent, the kiss opening, getting away from him, losing whatever restraint had been left in it. His hand on the tub clenched tighter, grounding himself in the strain while the other came up to your face, thumb pressing along your jaw as he pulled you into him.
He should have stopped. He knew that. Knew that this was the last thing he should be doing right now.
The thought flickered, thin and useless, drowned out by the way you felt, by the way your lips moved with his, by the immediate reaction in his body. Heat hit him low and sharp, his cock caught tight beneath his slacks, the pressure there before he could even pretend otherwise.
Still, he didnât pull away.
His mouth stayed on yours, each kiss deepening with every second he didnât stop. His breathing shifted, uneven, heavier now, pulling through his nose in quiet bursts that brushed hot against your skin. Every inhale came tighter than the last, tension winding through his chest instead of easing down.
You laughed softly against his mouth, a quiet, breathy sound that brushed his lips when you spoke. âYouâre gonna get all wet,â you murmured, the words light, amused, as if this was still something easy. Still playful.
His response came in the way his mouth pressed harder to yours, more insistent, the kiss turning urgent without pause. His hand flexed against the edge of the tub again, grip tightening, fingers pressing into the porcelain for resistance, for something solid to hold while everything else slipped further out of his control.
A faint sound gave under his palm.
Small. Thin. Barely there.
A hairline crack split through the porcelain, too quiet for anyone but him to hear, but he caught it all the same. That faint give beneath his hand, the smallest surrender under pressure, something yielding when it shouldnât have.
It echoed too closely. Too much like the way his restraint had been going, not all at once, but splitting, fracturing, giving in pieces he wasnât getting back.
He didnât notice himself leaning closer at first. It just happened gradually, his weight shifting forward, his body following where his mouth already was, where his focus had narrowed completely.Â
The edge of the tub pressed into his body, then more and more. He kept going. Closer. Further. Until there wasnât really a line left to cross.
His weight tipped past the edge before either of you could slow it, one knee dropping into the water, then the other, his mouth still fixed to yours. The bath surged around him, spilling hard over the sides as his clothes soaked through all at once. His shirt and pants stuck to him in seconds, ruined and heavy, water streaming from the fabric and pooling across the floor.
It didnât matter. None of it did. The mess, the sound, the fact that he had been halfway out the door minutes ago. All of it dropped away under one singular focus.
You.
His hands were already on you, firm, urgent, pulling you up and into him with a kind of need that made it clear he was past the point of caring how it looked. Water sloshed violently with the movement, spilling over again, your body shifting against his as he maneuvered you onto his lap.
It wasnât neat or careful. It was messy, rushed, a little clumsy in the way urgency always was with him when he got like this. Clark moved fast, driven by how badly he needed you there, by how little patience he had left to get you there any other way.
You startled, breath catching sharply, the surprise obvious in the way your hands braced against him, the way your body reacted to the suddenness of it. He didnât ease up, didnât even think about slowing down. His mouth found yours again, rougher, open, all urgency now. He sank lower into the tub beneath you, water shifting hard around his body, soaking him through completely, but it didnât register. Not with you on him.
His hands moved like he couldnât pick a place, like he needed all of you at once. One slid up your back, broad and hot, pressing you down into him, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades before sweeping lower. The other traced down your side, slow for half a second before taking hold of your hip, then shifting again.
Higher.
His hand closed over your breast, fingers curling around the weight of it as he squeezed. His thumb moved slowly over your nipple, pressing, rolling, pulling a breathy reaction from you. The sound you made hit his mouth, and he swallowed it instantly, tongue pushing in to taste it, to take more of you anywhere he could.
His hips worked beneath you with no real attempt to hide it anymore, rolling up against you with purpose. His cock pressed against you through the soaked fabric of his slacks, the friction pulling a low, strained sound from him as it jumped against you, needy and insistent. His hands settled harder at your hips, keeping you right where he needed you.
Steam hung thick around you both, heat wrapping tight, softening everything around the edges until even his glasses began to fog.
It registered for half a secondâ
That was all it got.
Clarkâs hand shot up, ripping the glasses from his face before they could fog over completely. He tossed them aside without looking, the frames skidding across the bathroom tile with a sharp crack that failed to pull his attention.
His mouth crashed into yours again, deeper, sloppier, breath hot and wrecked as his hands went right back to you, gripping, sliding, squeezing like any space between his hands and your body was too much.
Clark wasted no time. One hand dropped from you just long enough to fumble at his belt, fingers clumsy with urgency as he yanked it loose. The buckle knocked dully against itself before he shoved his pants down, fabric resisting under the water, soaked and clinging as he forced it out of the way beneath you. The movement jostled you both, water splashing up and over the edge again, but he didnât pause, didnât dare break the rhythm of his mouth against yours.
He didnât give you the usual slow slide, didnât ease you into it like he normally would. The second he freed himself, he was already pulling you closer, lining himself up more by need than patience, his breath catching the moment he found you before pushing in all at once.Â
The stretch hit immediately, sudden and full, pulling a cry from you as your body clenched around him. Clark groaned at the feel of it, low and broken, his head dipping forward like the sensation had knocked the rest of him loose.
âShiââ
The word broke apart in his throat, cut off into something rougher.
There was no time to adjust, no chance for your body to catch up before his hands found your hips and started moving you again. His hands locked onto you, fingers sinking in as he guided you into motion, pulling you down onto him, lifting you back up, setting a pace that hit hard and fast right from the start.
Water sloshed violently with every movement, spilling over the edge in steady waves, the sound of it mixing with breath and skin and the wet slide of your bodies coming together again and again.
It didnât take long before you caught it, matched itâ
Then took it.
Your hands twisted into his soaked button-up, fingers curling tight in the fabric as you shifted your weight and rode him properly, not just following anymore. You bounced on him, harder now, faster, the angle changing as you ground down between each lift, dragging him deeper every time you came back down. The friction got to him immediately.
A ragged sound slipped out of him, as you took over, his hands braced at your hips while your pace started pulling him apart. Each movement worked more out of him, left him less steady, less able to hide how badly you had him.
You felt too good.
Too tight, too warm, too perfect around him, every bounce pulling another rough sound from him, every grind making his grip tighten.
He was already gone.Â
Fucked out in a way that stripped him down to instinct, to reaction, to nothing but the feel of you working him over. He could feel it bleeding into everything else too, that lack of control, the way heat built behind his eyes each time you sank down, the way his strength kept threatening to slip into his hands where they held you. Even the air leaving him came out wrong now, too hot, too wrecked.
He tried to keep it all in check, tried to rein it in before it got away from him.
Clarkâs jaw tightened, breath snagging as his hands clung to you with a care the rest of him had no room for. Everything in him wanted to push harder, take more, fuck up into you with all the strength he kept buried under skin and restraint. He held it back by inches, barely, muscles locked beneath you while his touch stayed careful through sheer force alone.Â
It worked.
Mostly.
Until you leaned forward.
Your arms slid around him, pulling him close, pressing your body flush against his as his breath broke hard in his chest. The sound of his name left you in a low, wrecked moan, dragged straight out of you with the roll of your hips, each one locking tighter around him.
âBabyââ he tried, the word breaking halfway through, strained, like the start of a warning he already knew wouldnât survive the next second.
You didnât slow down, didnât give him the space to finish it, and he didnât fight for it either. The warning lost shape in the way you kept moving, in the fact that he didnât want you to stop at all.Â
Your hips drove down again and again, relentless, the pressure building with every movement, taking him deeper each time, too much and not enough all at once. It stacked on him fast, sensation piling as his hands dug into your waist.
And then your hips sank lower.Â
One deep, filthy grind.
It pressed him all the way in and held him there, your weight settling fully, the drag of it hitting something sharp and exact that tore straight through whatever control he had left.
Clarkâs entire body seized before a loud, guttural groan ripped out of him as he came hard, hips jerking up into you on instinct.Â
His hand slammed down with it, the force splintering through the side of the tub hard enough to break a chunk loose. Porcelain gave way beneath his palm, the side splitting open as water flooded through the gap and rushed across the floor.
At the same time, his eyes flashed.
Just for a split second.
A flare of heat vision shot wide, too sudden for him to catch, striking the metal faucet behind you with enough force to shatter it clean. The pipe split with a harsh snap, water bursting out hot and pressurized, hissing into the room and adding to the chaos.
âShitââ
His eyes squeezed shut instantly, jaw clenching hard as he tried to rein it back in, like he could force himself under control if he just held tight enough. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, locking you against him as another rough groan tore out of his chest, muffled against your skin.
Water poured around you now, from the split-open side of the tub, from the broken pipe, soaking everything, flooding the tile, but he didnât stop.
He couldnât.
Your reaction caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, a choked inhale, a sound that never fully formed as the pace hit too fast, too hard. Your body tried to respond, hands tightening on him, fingers gripping into soaked fabric, but every attempt got swallowed by the next thrust, the next snap of his hips that stole whatever you were about to say.
The break in the tub shifted everything, the side giving way enough to let his legs spread wider beneath you, changing the angle completely. He felt it and used it without hesitation, hips bucking up into you even as he was still coming.
He kept you pressed to him, hands locked at your hips as he fucked up into you through the broken rush of water, through the soaked mess around you, through the wreckage of everything heâd already let go too far.
âIâm sorryââ he gritted out, the words catching as his hips snapped again. âIâll fix itâI promiseâjustââ His hands pressed harder into your hips, breath shuddering hot between you.Â
That was the only thing left in his head.
Need.
His pace changed, not easing, only deepening, his body rising to meet yours as he dragged you down against him in heavy rolls that kept him buried inside you while he chased the feeling again and again. His hands moved with it, guiding the motion, making you feel every inch of him as he ground up hard, breath breaking with each grind.
Clark forced his eyes open, pulling himself back into it, into the moment, into you. His brows pulled tight immediately, mouth parting on a ragged breath as his gaze dropped between you, locking onto where your bodies met. He watched the way you took him, the way he disappeared inside you with every movement, and the sight tore another wrecked sound from his chest.
The reaction chased up his spine just as fast, too much, too immediate, and his head tipped back on instinct, eyes squeezing shut again before it could go any further. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he tried to contain it, tried to fight that heat building fast and dangerous behind his eyes again. It came back stronger, hotter, threatening to spill if he lost even a fraction more control.
But that didnât stop him.Â
âKeepââ his voice faltered, breath catching, âkeep goingâdonâtââ
You could see how badly he was fighting it. It was there in the hard set of his jaw, in the faint tremor running through his hands, in the way his breathing refused to settle even after everything. The pressure hadnât eased. If anything, it had gotten worse.
Your mouth parted, instinct kicking in, ready to ask if he was sureâbut he caught it.
Maybe it was the way your hips stilled for half a second. Maybe it was the breath you pulled in, that slight pause before you spoke. Whatever it was, he felt it instantly, his hands locking at your hips hard enough to keep you there.
âDonâtâfuckâdonât stop,â he groaned.
His hips ground up as he pulled you down harder, the motion breaking his words into something rougher, something he barely seemed to realize had left him.
The edge of it cracked just as fast as it came.
His voice dropped in sync with your hips, the tone softer but no less strainedâ
âPlease.â
Š anon-188 - est. 2025 | please do not repost, copy, translate, or recreate my work in any form.
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Smallville's Lex Luther is such a genius and heartbreaking villain. All he wants is to be better than his father and yet all he gets in return is punishment. Clark is literally the only person who didn't assume everything Lex touched was tainted. He's a villain not because he's evil, but because he'll do anything to find the truth and feel rewarded
oblivious!aang being told "it looks heavy" by someone who's obviously flirting with him as they pointedly look at his crotch. but aang instantly assumes they're referring to his bag and goes, "oh, not really! it's pretty light but thanks for your concern!"
later on, aang will tell you about the encounter and you immediately clock the actual meaning. but you don't tell him because him thinking that the person genuinely cared if his bag was too heavy or not is too cute to crush.
just LOVE aang who's such a sweet puppy to you but being an absolute menace to those who dare cross the boundaries of you and everyone he cares about it.
Bingpot! @carlandoxlestappen - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
