Gonna be working on a lot of updates to my blog and the master list so hopefully it looks good! Also if yall could lmk if the links are buggy that would be greatly appreciated!!! <3
I planned out my whole smallville Clark Kent series to take place during season 4 and just realized that he’s 17 for most of the season so now I feel weird 😩
Idc if I’m just in love and delusional MY BF LOOKS LIKE TOM WELLING AND I WILL SCREAM IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS THAT I SCORED A GOODAMN CLARK KENT LOOKALIKE
Okay yall, I’m scheming on a new series BUT I need to ask a question to see how I wanna do it!
The premise is: after taking a journey though one of Lex’s pocket dimensions in an attempt to get some answers for your article, you were spat out in a completely foreign world: smallville in the 2000s, complete with you being back in your teenage body
It’ll be set when everyone is 18, but would it be weird for the reader to be physically 18 but mentally like 25ish? Or am I just overthinking it?
Prompt: Being Daily Planet's resident music journalist had its perks, such as having the resident beauty of a man be enthralled to hear your daily song recommendations.
Warnings: fluff, smut (oral fem receiving, fingering, dirty talk, praise, public(?) sex, panty stealing-ish, Clark is a good/bad boy), language, the weirdest assortment of song recs (bc what else do you expect from me?)
A/N: Soooo as you can assume, I saw the new Superman and became a lil obsessed, so here's my brain baby from that. Enjoy :)
"Ooh, late againnn," you hummed, watching Clark rush into the bullpen from your peripheral as you slipped your right headphone off your ear. "Second time this week and it's only Wednesday."
"Sorry," he huffed out, rounding the corner into the junction that held your desk next to his.
"Don't apologize to me, I don't give a shit. Perry, however, is a different story."
"Language."
You rolled your eyes and finally swiveled in your chair to face him as he placed himself at the edge of your desk. "You didn't seem to mind that language when I had you listening to Dead Kennedys last week." Your gaze dropped from his face to the paper bag he gripped in his hand. "That why you're late?"
A smile cracked across his face at the mention, reaching into the bag and fishing out a cinnamon roll sandwiched in-between a sheet of wax paper. "Payment for your song of the day?"
As the sole writer for the music segment of the Daily Planet's entertainment section, you were the go-to for all things of that variety— well, more like you spoke about the topic nonstop to anyone within your immediate vicinity, their willingness to listen not exactly a requirement.
Clark, however, seemed entirely enthused in your caffeine-filled ramblings (or, in the early morning and late at night, the lack thereof that was segmented between yawning spells). So enthused, that, despite the warnings from others, he actively sought to find out what song was playing on repeat in your bulky headphones. And it wasn't just for show, either. As soon as you sent him that Spotify link, he'd pop in his earbuds and bop his head to the song for most of the day, his lips mouthing the newly familiar lyrics towards the end of the work day.
You scoffed, taking the cinnamon roll from his outstretched hand and placing it beside your laptop. "You don't have to pay me, Clark. Your interest is enough."
"I mean, I can take it back-"
"No, it's mine, fuck off." You took in a deep breath and cleared your throat. "Besides, I'm not too sure you'll vibe with today's song." You tapped your phone screen on and pressed pause on the player.
"Aw come on. Like you said, I handled the Dead Kennedys just fine. How bad could it be?"
You pursed your lips in thought for a moment before shrugging and opening your phone, clicking share on the song and sending it to Clark's number. "Alright, if you say so. Touch Tank by Quinnie. Go nuts."
He smirked at you, one of those half-quirked smiles that barely showed a sliver of his teeth. One of those smiles that brought a rush of blood to your cheeks as you averted your gaze. As Jimmy walked past, he nudged your chair with his foot in a knowing manner. You kicked out and landed a soft blow to his shin.
***
The blue glow of your laptop was the only source of light illuminating the entire floor of the office, besides the soft yellow light that crept through the windows from the setting sun. You rubbed at your eyes, sluggishly tapping the down key on your keyboard to scroll over your article painstakingly slow. Everyone else was long gone, attending to their dinner plans or their families or, in Jimmy's case, whatever flavor of the month he felt like entertaining.
You, however, were hunched over in your ergonomic desk chair, frustrated to the point of catatonia as you tried to figure out just what wasn't working in your most recent draft that needed to be finalized and submitted by midnight tonight.
As the sun dipped lower and lower into the horizon, so did your attention span. Your jaw was set into a hard line, and a scowl settled comfortably on your lips. At this point, you were silently praying for some sort of alien-oriented catastrophe to take over so you had an excuse for the delayed article.
But all that came was the dinging chime of the elevator as the metallic doors parted, revealing possibly the last person you'd expect to see in the office so late.
"Clark?" you voiced, sliding your headphones off your ears to hook around your neck.
"Oh, hey, I didn't think you'd be here," he spoke, voice steady and sweet as honey.
"Neither did I," you sighed, craning your head to the side to pop your neck. "This article is bugging me and the office is the only place I can actually focus."
He hummed in sympathy, lips slightly pouted at the sight of your sleepy and disgruntled visage. "Well," he drawled, "I just came to grab my earbuds because I left them here, but I'm more than happy to keep you company." he settled into his desk chair and scooted over to you. "If you'd like."
"Oh, Clark, you don't have to do that. I'm not gonna be much fun to be around right now."
His eyes searched yours as he wheeled his chair in closer, sidling up just a few feet from you, his back facing the desk so he could look at you directly. "I can help."
You gave him a soft look, matching his pouted lip and furrowed brow as a silent conveyance of your gratefulness. "Frankly, at this point, I'd rather take some sort of distraction to get my mind off of this article for a few minutes." You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms over your chest. "And I know for a fact that you're very good at that."
He grinned, nudging the leg of your chair playfully. His teeth pulled his lower lip into its bite for a moment as he stared at you, visibly thinking for a moment. "A distraction," he echoed, as if tasting the words on his tongue.
As he pondered, you felt inklings of regret settle into your stomach. Whatever he was thinking of, it was not going to be good or helpful by any stretch of the imagination.
"Okay," he spoke finally, sitting up in his chair and settled his elbows on the arm rests, clasping his hands in his lap. "Did you know that the music you listen to tells me how you're feeling?"
You blinked once. then twice. Your brows furrowed. "What?" you spoke blankly, struggling to understand what he was insinuating.
"Every day you give me a song, and usually that song tells me what's on your mind. How you're feeling that day."
Maybe the way his sleeves were rolled over his forearms were distracting you, but regardless, his statement wasn't clicking in your mind. "I'm gonna need you to elaborate."
He chuckled, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he averted his gaze to the ceiling for a moment. "Like when Luthorcorp supplied weapons to Boravia, you were listening to Rage Against the Machine and Woody Guthrie the entire week."
You rolled your eyes. "Okay, but that's one situation-"
"When things were going good with that guy you were seeing a couple of months back, you were listening to Taylor Swift. When he dumped you, you had a two-week streak of listening to Mitski and specifically Liability by Lorde. When you'd accidentally hit a squirrel in the road on your way to work, you listened to Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens. Or, let's not forget about when you went out of state to visit the mountains and came back listening exclusively to crunchy folk music-"
"Okay, Superman, alright. I get it," you huffed, scrubbing your hands over your face to hide the slight embarrassment that bloomed over it.
That made him falter for a moment. "Superman?"
"Yeah, y'know, Superman has that like x-ray vision that helps him read minds?"
"I don't think it does that."
You rolled your eyes. "Of course you would know that." You cleared your throat and sat up in your chair. "Okay, fine. You can read my mind because of my music choices. What does that have to do with anything?"
That playful, toying smile crept its way back onto his lips. He sucked in a deep breath before tilting his head to the side. "Who was the song about today?"
At that moment, you felt all of your organs drop into your ass like it was a black hole. Gone were your lungs, your heart, your stomach and, apparently, your brain because all you could utter was: "Huh?"
His grin only got bigger. "The song you showed me today. Someone's gotta be on your mind for you to be listening to that song. So..." He scooted closer, his silhouette illuminated by the blue glow of your laptop. "Who's on your mind like that?"
You gulped, pressing your lips together as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. "Wow, Lois has really helped with your investigative journalism tactics," you coughed out, attempted to shimmy your chair away just a touch to escape the suffocating gaze that Clark held you under. It was no use, as the toe of his shoe was hooked under the leg of your chair, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
"You're deflecting," he hummed. "C'mon, you can tell me. Is it Jimmy?"
"Jimmy?" you gasped incredulously. "That manwhore- no, god no. Frankly, I'm offended that you'd think that low of me."
He chuckled, and you realized that if you stared hard enough, you could see your reflection in his glasses. Flustered, nervous, you. You averted your gaze to the floor. "So then, who is it?"
You huffed. "Why does it even matter that much to you, Clark?"
With one swift movement, he pulled you closer by the leg of your chair, so close that your chairs were touching and your noses nearly were too. "Because..." His eyes searched yours as his breath shuddered. "If it's not about me, then I'm gonna have to work on losing my feelings for you."
You matched his shuddering breath, nails digging into the foam of your armrests. "And if it is?"
His hand reached out to loosen your grip, letting his fingers dance over the pulsing veins on your wrist. "Then I'll have to make good on that song, won't I?" He rose to his feet, leading you to stand with him. You gazed up at him, slightly awestruck, as he gently directed you over to your desk and perched you up on the ledge of it. "Show you how pretty I am when I go down on you?"
The breath that left your lungs came out in a nervous chuckle as you nodded. "I-I mean," you coughed out, eyes searching his as your fingers searched for purchase on the lip of your desk. "I wouldn't complain if you did."
He grinned, hands settling firmly on your waist as he ducked his head to capture his lips with yours. Immediately, you whimpered into his mouth, gripping so tightly to the particle board of your desk that you feared you might crack it. The warmth of his touch radiated through the thin material of your skirt as he kneaded the plush of your hips in his hands, thumbs skimming over your pelvic bones every few moments. Slowly, you loosened your grip on the desk to clutch onto his broad shoulders, feeling the strain of his shirt stretched so tightly over the muscle. As his hands worked you over, you felt like that flimsy fabric, stretched so tight and thin that you might burst at any moment.
The reach that you had to accomplish to grip onto him grew shorter and shorter as he gently sunk to his knees in front of you, eventually sliding up into the loose curls in his hair and tangling your fingers in the soft locks. His lips skimmed away from yours to trail down your neck and over the stretch of your sternum that was exposed from the cut of your shirt. As soon as his lips hit fabric rather than skin, he dropped fully to his knees and starting to bunch the material of your skirt up your legs and into his grip.
The second a glimmer of your legs caught the moonlight shining outside, his lips mouthed against the exposed skin. "So gorgeous," he murmured against the side of your knee, brows furrowed in what almost looked like absolute anguish. "Every last bit of you."
One of your hands skimmed over his face and cupped his cheek, cradling his face in your grip as he looked up at you. His hands abandoned the fabric of your skirt, deeming it bunched up enough, and settled them on the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs open for him to gain access. "You haven't even seen every last bit of me," you breathed out, just short of a chuckle, attempting an air of nonchalance despite the shake in your knees as his lips mouthed against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
"I want to," he huffed, pausing for a moment to meet your gaze. "If you'll have me."
You gulped, absentmindedly tightening your grip on his hair as some sort of anchor into the present moment. "We'll see how you do here first."
Luckily, he caught the teasing edge to your voice, grinning as he nuzzled against your thigh. "Guess I'll need to prove myself." His hands, settling comfortably on the tops of your thighs, squeezed the flesh once as the tip of his nose found purchase against the soft cotton of your panty-clad mound. "Earn it." His lips puckered, pressing a soft kiss to the blooming wet spot on the fabric.
You restrained the squeal that bubbled in your chest, catching it in your throat and strangling it down into a weak whimper. He cooed along to your noise, smattering a few more kisses along the deep inner junction between your thigh and your heat and the sweet blue cotton that dressed your middle. His left hand made purposeful movements against your thigh, skimming up as his thumb traced directly along your femoral artery. His fingers made contact with the hem of your panties, toying with the lace edge as his thumb grazed along your covered clit.
As the fingers on his other hand landed in the same position on your other side, he began to hook his fingers under the fabric. "May I?" he whispered, gazing up at you dreamily. Your head bobbed in a nod, sitting up slightly to assist him in the shedding of your panties.
After the cloth made its way down your legs, Clark gently guided each of your legs to settle over his shoulders, the bend of your knees hooking over the broad expanse of flesh and muscle and your socked feet- with your docs abandoned under your desk hours ago- feeling his shoulder blades ripple underneath you.
The second your pussy was exposed, a shuddering sigh left his lungs and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Nervously, you yearned to lock your knees together and block your most vulnerable parts from his sight, but the position he placed you in prohibited you from doing so. You barely had any time to shift, really, as the moment his lust struck him back to the present, he dove deep and immediately began to mouth at your sticky folds. You two whimpered in unison, your hand fleeing from the side of his face to steady yourself on your desk. One of his hands fled from your thigh as well, rushing to his crotch to knead against the growing erection that bloomed in his pants.
His tongue slid through your folds with ease, gathering the essence of you on his taste buds and letting it sear into his memory. He worked desperately to lick you up, laving and sucking on your wet skin and drinking it down gratefully while your legs quaked around his head. Though he knew he could stay down there for extended periods of time without needing to come up for air, you weren't privy to such information, and you fought to keep your legs from collapsing around his head. You'd like to keep him around for a bit longer.
But, oh god, did he wish he could drown right now. Suffocate in the everything-ness that was you, the smell and the taste and the feeling of you engulfing everything that he knew, everything that he'd ever want to know. And the sound of your whimpers, your cries, your calls of his name reverberating off the empty marble of the office? It was the only thing he'd ever want to hear from now on. What was that phrase that his ma and pa used like it was going out of style?
Music to his ears.
He'd just been dazily licking and mouthing at your folds, slurping down your juices with his lids hanging low like he was high on you. But the second you tilted your hips up and his mouth chased after the movement, his tongue hooked over the sensitive bundle of nerves and it made a full-bodied wail rip through your chest as your knees squeezed around his head, he slipped from that hazy cloud and fell back into his body. His hand rushed to undo the buckle of his belt as he pointed the tip of his tongue and worked adamantly over the sweet bud that throbbed under his touch.
"Clark!" you screamed out, the fingers of one hand latching onto the lip of your desk while the fingers of the other curled into his soft raven locks and gripped tight. "Fuck, right there!"
He nodded, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he worked you over and finally worked the buckle of his belt off, tugging at his fly. The relief he felt as some pressure eased off of his hard-on made his eyelids flutter, burying his face deeper between your thighs and sucking your clit between his lips.
You whimpered, watching the way his glasses, askew and slipping down the bridge of his nose from his ministrations and your eager thighs wrapped around his head, began to fog up as he switched between panting and sucking fervently. As his droopy eyes flitted back to your gaze, you pulled your hand from his hair to press your index finger on the nosepiece of his glasses, gently gliding them back up the bridge of his nose. His hand that cradled the back of your thigh gave you an appreciative squeeze, kneading your flesh in his hand for a moment before it trekked over to your dripping heat.
He swirled the tip of his middle and ring fingers in the slick that soaked your skin while his other hand worked his cock out of his boxers. As his thick length sprung free from its confines, the soft fabric of your panties grazed against the back of his hand, resting where he gently placed them on his thigh to keep them clean and neat for you. While he laved at your slit and the tip of his dick tapped against the second-to-last button of his his white button-down, he let his fingers that weren't working against your skin pinch and rub the fabric. His deft fingers found the soaked gusset with a sense of almost urgency, barely able to restrain himself from feeling for that wet spot he'd just kissed minutes ago.
The thought that popped into his head made his movements halt for a moment, but as he continued, he picked up the panties from their resting place and positioned them in his grip with the opposite side of the gusset resting in his palm. Gulping, he connected the soaked fabric to the bottom of his shaft at the same time that he plunged his middle and ring fingers deep into your cunt. You both cried out simultaneously, instinctually pushing him by the back of his head deeper into your pussy. He groaned and whined into your skin, working himself over with your slick panties fervently.
At that point, pinned between the unending ecstasy that was you and the way he was fucking into your panties that he had clutched in his fist, all inhibition went out the window. "So good, honey," he cooed over and over as he matched the intensity of his fingers fucking you with his hand that was running over the length of himself.
You could only last a few moments of the barrage of fingers and tongue before you head to lean back on your desk, propping yourself up on an elbow. The position, however, allowed you to rut yourself against Clark's face more easily, which he seemed to greatly enjoy based off the way his brows furrowed, and he rewarded you by crooking his fingers up just right to nudge against the sensitive patch of flesh inside you. You squealed, throwing your head back as he continuously thrusted against that sensitive spot due to your reaction.
"Clark- oh my god- Clark I'm-" you stuttered out, unable to catch a moment of reprieve to form a sentence.
He didn't need to understand your words, though, based on the way your slick was dripping down his hand and your walls were gripping him so tight he debating commenting on if he'd get his fingers back any time soon. You were so, so tantalizingly close, and by the way his hips were meeting the thrusts of his hand, he was too. He nodded at you and sealed his lips around your clit, sucking on the bud and humming for added effect.
Your thighs quaked around his head and your back arched, and though you fought to keep his sweet and alluring cornflower eyes in your sight, as your orgasm sprinted closer and closer, your eyelids began to flutter.
"Let go for me, sweetheart," he encouraged, the vibrations of his words against your clit making you gasp. "Gosh, you look so pretty. Bet you look even prettier when you cum. Please, honey."
You nodded, rocking your hips against him once, twice, three times before the wave crashed over you. Your back arched, pushing your body deeper into his touch as you rode through the surges of pleasure that coursed through your body like electricity. Clark continued his ministrations as you made your way through your orgasm, working you over that edge until it neared overstimulation. Your hand fisted his hair, gripping on for dear life, and the tingle along his scalp made him creep closer to his own end.
As you settled down, his fingers retreated from your entrance and wrapped them around his cock, on top of his other fist. He lapped at your dripping folds and rocked his hips into the panties clad in his grip, muffling his grunts in your flesh.
Finally, as the last few drops of your orgasm dribbled against his tongue, he let go, panting and huffing as he moved to bury his face in the junction between your folds and your inner thigh. His hips stuttered irregularly as ropes of cum spilled out of his tip and into the soft and pliant fabric of your panties. Every few moments, when another desperate spurt leaked out, he bit down on your skin, leaving blooming little marks that marked his newfound territory.
Finally, he settled back on his haunches, hanging his head low like his eyelids as he sucked in gasps of air. You panted along with him, pushing yourself onto your elbows and then onto your hands, your head tilted back towards the ceiling.
Clark was the first to re-initiate contact, his hand gripping onto your calf and massaging the muscle he cradled in his touch. You dropped your head to look down at him still kneeling on the floor, and you saw that he was already looking up at you. Blinking slow, awestruck, the bottom half of his face still slick with you and he didn't seem to have any intention of changing that any time soon. You flashed him a small but loving close-lipped smile. His face split into a pleased and beaming smile, his pearly canines glittering under the light of the moon.
"So?" he hummed before gulping, his Adam's apple bobbing.
You bit down on your bottom lip. "So pretty," you cooed, cupping his cheek in your hand. "Even prettier than I imagined."
"I earned it, then? A date with you, maybe?"
You chuckled. "That and more, Clark." You ruffled his hair before moving your hands to unbunch your skirt from around your hips. "Okay, where are my..." Glancing down on the floor, you saw the item you were pondering the whereabouts of gripped loosely in his fist, soaked and glimmering with Clark's spend. "Oh."
Heat crept over his cheeks and up his neck and he noticed where your gaze was focused. "I'm- I-" He cleared his throat. "I'll wash them and give them back to you."
Part of you wanted to teasingly chastise him for stealing and fucking himself with your panties, but when you caught the way he was looking up at you like a sad little puppy, you decided to let it go. "Keep them," you shrugged. "In case you need them to tide you over."
He gulped and chuckled nervously, haphazardly tucking them into his back pocket before tucking himself back into his pants. As you fixed your skirt, he grabbed your boots from under your desk. Gently grasping your left heel, he guided your foot into the boot. "Your slipper, Cinderella," he teased, tightening the laces before tying them into a bow.
"Does that make you Prince Charming?" you hummed back, watching him with doe eyes as he slipped your other boot on.
"I sure would hope so." Once he finished up on your other boot, he rose to his feet, fingers tracing gently up your body until they settled on your hips. You tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, giving him a soft smile. He leaned in close, bumping the tip of his nose against yours. Your eyelashes fluttered, craning your neck in an attempt to press your lips against his.
"Yesterday's song," he murmured, lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, but not yet fully touching. "Gold Rush by Taylor Swift."
"What about it?" you grumbled, growing impatient.
"Was that also about me?"
You paused, heat blooming across your cheeks as your gaze flickered to the floor. That earned a laugh from Clark, who finally relented and sealed his lips against yours. "Shut up," you huffed into his mouth, gripping onto his shirt collar and pulling him deeper into you.
Prompt: Being Daily Planet's resident music journalist had its perks, such as having the resident beauty of a man be enthralled to hear your daily song recommendations.
Warnings: fluff, smut (oral fem receiving, fingering, dirty talk, praise, public(?) sex, panty stealing-ish, Clark is a good/bad boy), language, the weirdest assortment of song recs (bc what else do you expect from me?)
A/N: Soooo as you can assume, I saw the new Superman and became a lil obsessed, so here's my brain baby from that. Enjoy :)
"Ooh, late againnn," you hummed, watching Clark rush into the bullpen from your peripheral as you slipped your right headphone off your ear. "Second time this week and it's only Wednesday."
"Sorry," he huffed out, rounding the corner into the junction that held your desk next to his.
"Don't apologize to me, I don't give a shit. Perry, however, is a different story."
"Language."
You rolled your eyes and finally swiveled in your chair to face him as he placed himself at the edge of your desk. "You didn't seem to mind that language when I had you listening to Dead Kennedys last week." Your gaze dropped from his face to the paper bag he gripped in his hand. "That why you're late?"
A smile cracked across his face at the mention, reaching into the bag and fishing out a cinnamon roll sandwiched in-between a sheet of wax paper. "Payment for your song of the day?"
As the sole writer for the music segment of the Daily Planet's entertainment section, you were the go-to for all things of that variety— well, more like you spoke about the topic nonstop to anyone within your immediate vicinity, their willingness to listen not exactly a requirement.
Clark, however, seemed entirely enthused in your caffeine-filled ramblings (or, in the early morning and late at night, the lack thereof that was segmented between yawning spells). So enthused, that, despite the warnings from others, he actively sought to find out what song was playing on repeat in your bulky headphones. And it wasn't just for show, either. As soon as you sent him that Spotify link, he'd pop in his earbuds and bop his head to the song for most of the day, his lips mouthing the newly familiar lyrics towards the end of the work day.
You scoffed, taking the cinnamon roll from his outstretched hand and placing it beside your laptop. "You don't have to pay me, Clark. Your interest is enough."
"I mean, I can take it back-"
"No, it's mine, fuck off." You took in a deep breath and cleared your throat. "Besides, I'm not too sure you'll vibe with today's song." You tapped your phone screen on and pressed pause on the player.
"Aw come on. Like you said, I handled the Dead Kennedys just fine. How bad could it be?"
You pursed your lips in thought for a moment before shrugging and opening your phone, clicking share on the song and sending it to Clark's number. "Alright, if you say so. Touch Tank by Quinnie. Go nuts."
He smirked at you, one of those half-quirked smiles that barely showed a sliver of his teeth. One of those smiles that brought a rush of blood to your cheeks as you averted your gaze. As Jimmy walked past, he nudged your chair with his foot in a knowing manner. You kicked out and landed a soft blow to his shin.
***
The blue glow of your laptop was the only source of light illuminating the entire floor of the office, besides the soft yellow light that crept through the windows from the setting sun. You rubbed at your eyes, sluggishly tapping the down key on your keyboard to scroll over your article painstakingly slow. Everyone else was long gone, attending to their dinner plans or their families or, in Jimmy's case, whatever flavor of the month he felt like entertaining.
You, however, were hunched over in your ergonomic desk chair, frustrated to the point of catatonia as you tried to figure out just what wasn't working in your most recent draft that needed to be finalized and submitted by midnight tonight.
As the sun dipped lower and lower into the horizon, so did your attention span. Your jaw was set into a hard line, and a scowl settled comfortably on your lips. At this point, you were silently praying for some sort of alien-oriented catastrophe to take over so you had an excuse for the delayed article.
But all that came was the dinging chime of the elevator as the metallic doors parted, revealing possibly the last person you'd expect to see in the office so late.
"Clark?" you voiced, sliding your headphones off your ears to hook around your neck.
"Oh, hey, I didn't think you'd be here," he spoke, voice steady and sweet as honey.
"Neither did I," you sighed, craning your head to the side to pop your neck. "This article is bugging me and the office is the only place I can actually focus."
He hummed in sympathy, lips slightly pouted at the sight of your sleepy and disgruntled visage. "Well," he drawled, "I just came to grab my earbuds because I left them here, but I'm more than happy to keep you company." he settled into his desk chair and scooted over to you. "If you'd like."
"Oh, Clark, you don't have to do that. I'm not gonna be much fun to be around right now."
His eyes searched yours as he wheeled his chair in closer, sidling up just a few feet from you, his back facing the desk so he could look at you directly. "I can help."
You gave him a soft look, matching his pouted lip and furrowed brow as a silent conveyance of your gratefulness. "Frankly, at this point, I'd rather take some sort of distraction to get my mind off of this article for a few minutes." You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms over your chest. "And I know for a fact that you're very good at that."
He grinned, nudging the leg of your chair playfully. His teeth pulled his lower lip into its bite for a moment as he stared at you, visibly thinking for a moment. "A distraction," he echoed, as if tasting the words on his tongue.
As he pondered, you felt inklings of regret settle into your stomach. Whatever he was thinking of, it was not going to be good or helpful by any stretch of the imagination.
"Okay," he spoke finally, sitting up in his chair and settled his elbows on the arm rests, clasping his hands in his lap. "Did you know that the music you listen to tells me how you're feeling?"
You blinked once. then twice. Your brows furrowed. "What?" you spoke blankly, struggling to understand what he was insinuating.
"Every day you give me a song, and usually that song tells me what's on your mind. How you're feeling that day."
Maybe the way his sleeves were rolled over his forearms were distracting you, but regardless, his statement wasn't clicking in your mind. "I'm gonna need you to elaborate."
He chuckled, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he averted his gaze to the ceiling for a moment. "Like when Luthorcorp supplied weapons to Boravia, you were listening to Rage Against the Machine and Woody Guthrie the entire week."
You rolled your eyes. "Okay, but that's one situation-"
"When things were going good with that guy you were seeing a couple of months back, you were listening to Taylor Swift. When he dumped you, you had a two-week streak of listening to Mitski and specifically Liability by Lorde. When you'd accidentally hit a squirrel in the road on your way to work, you listened to Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens. Or, let's not forget about when you went out of state to visit the mountains and came back listening exclusively to crunchy folk music-"
"Okay, Superman, alright. I get it," you huffed, scrubbing your hands over your face to hide the slight embarrassment that bloomed over it.
That made him falter for a moment. "Superman?"
"Yeah, y'know, Superman has that like x-ray vision that helps him read minds?"
"I don't think it does that."
You rolled your eyes. "Of course you would know that." You cleared your throat and sat up in your chair. "Okay, fine. You can read my mind because of my music choices. What does that have to do with anything?"
That playful, toying smile crept its way back onto his lips. He sucked in a deep breath before tilting his head to the side. "Who was the song about today?"
At that moment, you felt all of your organs drop into your ass like it was a black hole. Gone were your lungs, your heart, your stomach and, apparently, your brain because all you could utter was: "Huh?"
His grin only got bigger. "The song you showed me today. Someone's gotta be on your mind for you to be listening to that song. So..." He scooted closer, his silhouette illuminated by the blue glow of your laptop. "Who's on your mind like that?"
You gulped, pressing your lips together as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. "Wow, Lois has really helped with your investigative journalism tactics," you coughed out, attempted to shimmy your chair away just a touch to escape the suffocating gaze that Clark held you under. It was no use, as the toe of his shoe was hooked under the leg of your chair, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
"You're deflecting," he hummed. "C'mon, you can tell me. Is it Jimmy?"
"Jimmy?" you gasped incredulously. "That manwhore- no, god no. Frankly, I'm offended that you'd think that low of me."
He chuckled, and you realized that if you stared hard enough, you could see your reflection in his glasses. Flustered, nervous, you. You averted your gaze to the floor. "So then, who is it?"
You huffed. "Why does it even matter that much to you, Clark?"
With one swift movement, he pulled you closer by the leg of your chair, so close that your chairs were touching and your noses nearly were too. "Because..." His eyes searched yours as his breath shuddered. "If it's not about me, then I'm gonna have to work on losing my feelings for you."
You matched his shuddering breath, nails digging into the foam of your armrests. "And if it is?"
His hand reached out to loosen your grip, letting his fingers dance over the pulsing veins on your wrist. "Then I'll have to make good on that song, won't I?" He rose to his feet, leading you to stand with him. You gazed up at him, slightly awestruck, as he gently directed you over to your desk and perched you up on the ledge of it. "Show you how pretty I am when I go down on you?"
The breath that left your lungs came out in a nervous chuckle as you nodded. "I-I mean," you coughed out, eyes searching his as your fingers searched for purchase on the lip of your desk. "I wouldn't complain if you did."
He grinned, hands settling firmly on your waist as he ducked his head to capture his lips with yours. Immediately, you whimpered into his mouth, gripping so tightly to the particle board of your desk that you feared you might crack it. The warmth of his touch radiated through the thin material of your skirt as he kneaded the plush of your hips in his hands, thumbs skimming over your pelvic bones every few moments. Slowly, you loosened your grip on the desk to clutch onto his broad shoulders, feeling the strain of his shirt stretched so tightly over the muscle. As his hands worked you over, you felt like that flimsy fabric, stretched so tight and thin that you might burst at any moment.
The reach that you had to accomplish to grip onto him grew shorter and shorter as he gently sunk to his knees in front of you, eventually sliding up into the loose curls in his hair and tangling your fingers in the soft locks. His lips skimmed away from yours to trail down your neck and over the stretch of your sternum that was exposed from the cut of your shirt. As soon as his lips hit fabric rather than skin, he dropped fully to his knees and starting to bunch the material of your skirt up your legs and into his grip.
The second a glimmer of your legs caught the moonlight shining outside, his lips mouthed against the exposed skin. "So gorgeous," he murmured against the side of your knee, brows furrowed in what almost looked like absolute anguish. "Every last bit of you."
One of your hands skimmed over his face and cupped his cheek, cradling his face in your grip as he looked up at you. His hands abandoned the fabric of your skirt, deeming it bunched up enough, and settled them on the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs open for him to gain access. "You haven't even seen every last bit of me," you breathed out, just short of a chuckle, attempting an air of nonchalance despite the shake in your knees as his lips mouthed against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
"I want to," he huffed, pausing for a moment to meet your gaze. "If you'll have me."
You gulped, absentmindedly tightening your grip on his hair as some sort of anchor into the present moment. "We'll see how you do here first."
Luckily, he caught the teasing edge to your voice, grinning as he nuzzled against your thigh. "Guess I'll need to prove myself." His hands, settling comfortably on the tops of your thighs, squeezed the flesh once as the tip of his nose found purchase against the soft cotton of your panty-clad mound. "Earn it." His lips puckered, pressing a soft kiss to the blooming wet spot on the fabric.
You restrained the squeal that bubbled in your chest, catching it in your throat and strangling it down into a weak whimper. He cooed along to your noise, smattering a few more kisses along the deep inner junction between your thigh and your heat and the sweet blue cotton that dressed your middle. His left hand made purposeful movements against your thigh, skimming up as his thumb traced directly along your femoral artery. His fingers made contact with the hem of your panties, toying with the lace edge as his thumb grazed along your covered clit.
As the fingers on his other hand landed in the same position on your other side, he began to hook his fingers under the fabric. "May I?" he whispered, gazing up at you dreamily. Your head bobbed in a nod, sitting up slightly to assist him in the shedding of your panties.
After the cloth made its way down your legs, Clark gently guided each of your legs to settle over his shoulders, the bend of your knees hooking over the broad expanse of flesh and muscle and your socked feet- with your docs abandoned under your desk hours ago- feeling his shoulder blades ripple underneath you.
The second your pussy was exposed, a shuddering sigh left his lungs and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Nervously, you yearned to lock your knees together and block your most vulnerable parts from his sight, but the position he placed you in prohibited you from doing so. You barely had any time to shift, really, as the moment his lust struck him back to the present, he dove deep and immediately began to mouth at your sticky folds. You two whimpered in unison, your hand fleeing from the side of his face to steady yourself on your desk. One of his hands fled from your thigh as well, rushing to his crotch to knead against the growing erection that bloomed in his pants.
His tongue slid through your folds with ease, gathering the essence of you on his taste buds and letting it sear into his memory. He worked desperately to lick you up, laving and sucking on your wet skin and drinking it down gratefully while your legs quaked around his head. Though he knew he could stay down there for extended periods of time without needing to come up for air, you weren't privy to such information, and you fought to keep your legs from collapsing around his head. You'd like to keep him around for a bit longer.
But, oh god, did he wish he could drown right now. Suffocate in the everything-ness that was you, the smell and the taste and the feeling of you engulfing everything that he knew, everything that he'd ever want to know. And the sound of your whimpers, your cries, your calls of his name reverberating off the empty marble of the office? It was the only thing he'd ever want to hear from now on. What was that phrase that his ma and pa used like it was going out of style?
Music to his ears.
He'd just been dazily licking and mouthing at your folds, slurping down your juices with his lids hanging low like he was high on you. But the second you tilted your hips up and his mouth chased after the movement, his tongue hooked over the sensitive bundle of nerves and it made a full-bodied wail rip through your chest as your knees squeezed around his head, he slipped from that hazy cloud and fell back into his body. His hand rushed to undo the buckle of his belt as he pointed the tip of his tongue and worked adamantly over the sweet bud that throbbed under his touch.
"Clark!" you screamed out, the fingers of one hand latching onto the lip of your desk while the fingers of the other curled into his soft raven locks and gripped tight. "Fuck, right there!"
He nodded, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he worked you over and finally worked the buckle of his belt off, tugging at his fly. The relief he felt as some pressure eased off of his hard-on made his eyelids flutter, burying his face deeper between your thighs and sucking your clit between his lips.
You whimpered, watching the way his glasses, askew and slipping down the bridge of his nose from his ministrations and your eager thighs wrapped around his head, began to fog up as he switched between panting and sucking fervently. As his droopy eyes flitted back to your gaze, you pulled your hand from his hair to press your index finger on the nosepiece of his glasses, gently gliding them back up the bridge of his nose. His hand that cradled the back of your thigh gave you an appreciative squeeze, kneading your flesh in his hand for a moment before it trekked over to your dripping heat.
He swirled the tip of his middle and ring fingers in the slick that soaked your skin while his other hand worked his cock out of his boxers. As his thick length sprung free from its confines, the soft fabric of your panties grazed against the back of his hand, resting where he gently placed them on his thigh to keep them clean and neat for you. While he laved at your slit and the tip of his dick tapped against the second-to-last button of his his white button-down, he let his fingers that weren't working against your skin pinch and rub the fabric. His deft fingers found the soaked gusset with a sense of almost urgency, barely able to restrain himself from feeling for that wet spot he'd just kissed minutes ago.
The thought that popped into his head made his movements halt for a moment, but as he continued, he picked up the panties from their resting place and positioned them in his grip with the opposite side of the gusset resting in his palm. Gulping, he connected the soaked fabric to the bottom of his shaft at the same time that he plunged his middle and ring fingers deep into your cunt. You both cried out simultaneously, instinctually pushing him by the back of his head deeper into your pussy. He groaned and whined into your skin, working himself over with your slick panties fervently.
At that point, pinned between the unending ecstasy that was you and the way he was fucking into your panties that he had clutched in his fist, all inhibition went out the window. "So good, honey," he cooed over and over as he matched the intensity of his fingers fucking you with his hand that was running over the length of himself.
You could only last a few moments of the barrage of fingers and tongue before you head to lean back on your desk, propping yourself up on an elbow. The position, however, allowed you to rut yourself against Clark's face more easily, which he seemed to greatly enjoy based off the way his brows furrowed, and he rewarded you by crooking his fingers up just right to nudge against the sensitive patch of flesh inside you. You squealed, throwing your head back as he continuously thrusted against that sensitive spot due to your reaction.
"Clark- oh my god- Clark I'm-" you stuttered out, unable to catch a moment of reprieve to form a sentence.
He didn't need to understand your words, though, based on the way your slick was dripping down his hand and your walls were gripping him so tight he debating commenting on if he'd get his fingers back any time soon. You were so, so tantalizingly close, and by the way his hips were meeting the thrusts of his hand, he was too. He nodded at you and sealed his lips around your clit, sucking on the bud and humming for added effect.
Your thighs quaked around his head and your back arched, and though you fought to keep his sweet and alluring cornflower eyes in your sight, as your orgasm sprinted closer and closer, your eyelids began to flutter.
"Let go for me, sweetheart," he encouraged, the vibrations of his words against your clit making you gasp. "Gosh, you look so pretty. Bet you look even prettier when you cum. Please, honey."
You nodded, rocking your hips against him once, twice, three times before the wave crashed over you. Your back arched, pushing your body deeper into his touch as you rode through the surges of pleasure that coursed through your body like electricity. Clark continued his ministrations as you made your way through your orgasm, working you over that edge until it neared overstimulation. Your hand fisted his hair, gripping on for dear life, and the tingle along his scalp made him creep closer to his own end.
As you settled down, his fingers retreated from your entrance and wrapped them around his cock, on top of his other fist. He lapped at your dripping folds and rocked his hips into the panties clad in his grip, muffling his grunts in your flesh.
Finally, as the last few drops of your orgasm dribbled against his tongue, he let go, panting and huffing as he moved to bury his face in the junction between your folds and your inner thigh. His hips stuttered irregularly as ropes of cum spilled out of his tip and into the soft and pliant fabric of your panties. Every few moments, when another desperate spurt leaked out, he bit down on your skin, leaving blooming little marks that marked his newfound territory.
Finally, he settled back on his haunches, hanging his head low like his eyelids as he sucked in gasps of air. You panted along with him, pushing yourself onto your elbows and then onto your hands, your head tilted back towards the ceiling.
Clark was the first to re-initiate contact, his hand gripping onto your calf and massaging the muscle he cradled in his touch. You dropped your head to look down at him still kneeling on the floor, and you saw that he was already looking up at you. Blinking slow, awestruck, the bottom half of his face still slick with you and he didn't seem to have any intention of changing that any time soon. You flashed him a small but loving close-lipped smile. His face split into a pleased and beaming smile, his pearly canines glittering under the light of the moon.
"So?" he hummed before gulping, his Adam's apple bobbing.
You bit down on your bottom lip. "So pretty," you cooed, cupping his cheek in your hand. "Even prettier than I imagined."
"I earned it, then? A date with you, maybe?"
You chuckled. "That and more, Clark." You ruffled his hair before moving your hands to unbunch your skirt from around your hips. "Okay, where are my..." Glancing down on the floor, you saw the item you were pondering the whereabouts of gripped loosely in his fist, soaked and glimmering with Clark's spend. "Oh."
Heat crept over his cheeks and up his neck and he noticed where your gaze was focused. "I'm- I-" He cleared his throat. "I'll wash them and give them back to you."
Part of you wanted to teasingly chastise him for stealing and fucking himself with your panties, but when you caught the way he was looking up at you like a sad little puppy, you decided to let it go. "Keep them," you shrugged. "In case you need them to tide you over."
He gulped and chuckled nervously, haphazardly tucking them into his back pocket before tucking himself back into his pants. As you fixed your skirt, he grabbed your boots from under your desk. Gently grasping your left heel, he guided your foot into the boot. "Your slipper, Cinderella," he teased, tightening the laces before tying them into a bow.
"Does that make you Prince Charming?" you hummed back, watching him with doe eyes as he slipped your other boot on.
"I sure would hope so." Once he finished up on your other boot, he rose to his feet, fingers tracing gently up your body until they settled on your hips. You tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, giving him a soft smile. He leaned in close, bumping the tip of his nose against yours. Your eyelashes fluttered, craning your neck in an attempt to press your lips against his.
"Yesterday's song," he murmured, lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, but not yet fully touching. "Gold Rush by Taylor Swift."
"What about it?" you grumbled, growing impatient.
"Was that also about me?"
You paused, heat blooming across your cheeks as your gaze flickered to the floor. That earned a laugh from Clark, who finally relented and sealed his lips against yours. "Shut up," you huffed into his mouth, gripping onto his shirt collar and pulling him deeper into you.
