you feel the ache in your thighs before you fully wake. it's a dull throbbing, not in the way that it felt when anakin hasn't seen you in weeks (or days, at that), but the kind that you feel when he teases you over and over again. a tired whimper leaves your lips, trying to find the source of what's causing it. sleep still made you hazy, not fully coming to yet. then you start to feel. the blankets moved down from your body, exposing your chest and midriff to the cold air. and he's tasting you, slow and with a sort of desire that hasn't hit you yet, but was slowly crawling through your veins as you registered anakins' mouth on your pussy.
another moan, more audible this time, as you lifted your hips towards his mouth. his tongue was deep inside your cunt, mouth sucking on your clit. his hands placed on the inside of your thighs, his grip soft to not be the cause of what woke you, but he was so needy, that at that point, he didn't fully care what would do it.
you glanced down, your heavy lidded eyes finally opening, and his blue eyes met yours. another thrust of his tongue inside you, before he pops up, rubbing circles on your innermost thighs.
you didn’t want to be a pervert or anything. however you were curious about what would clark do if he seen you try to catch print. that’s if he ever was up on the socials. which was impossible not to—he’s a reporter.
laying on your shared bed, you heard him get out the shower and this was the perfect time. clark would get out, towel sitting low on his hips, steam rolling off his body, skin glistening. he’ll talk to you about work, rambling about how his day was even if he just told you when he came home.
as if on cue, he comes out. talking immediately about his day, throwing emphasis on certain words because apparently his reports seem to be off according to his coworkers. your eyes trail down to his crotch area, covered by the towel. if you look closely you can see the curve of him. he’s soft—for now. it moves occasionally—you would always tease him when he did that
you didn’t need to actually catch print with clark, but it was fun to do so when he’s half naked and has some pent up frustration from earlier. nodding along to his words, throwing in some ‘hm’ occasionally. he suddenly stops talking but you don’t register it.
clark is definitely more than an ‘A’. it was obvious. his dick alone sometimes made your mouth water. tip slighty pink, the length of him was unreal, girth was something else. whenever he was inside you, it felt like he was splitting you open. he kept clean most of the time.
the best part, he can fuck you with the tip only and you’ll be drunk of that.
you wouldn’t be surprised if he was at work, and woman fawned over him but mr kent made it clear he had eyes for one special lady in his life.
who is staring at his dick like he can’t see.
“you’re staring.” clark voice cuts through the silence. you finally look at him, unbothered that he caught you. shrugging your shoulders. “yes, i am.” you state. he walks over to you, you tilt your head back a bit when he gets in front you.
his hands on his hips, he had a look in his eyes before he spoke. “catching print?” you nod smiling. you swear you could see his dick twitch a bit in the towel
got him.
clark hums lowly. he clears his throat taking the towel off. there it was. head swollen, precum beading at the tip slowly dripping down the base of him. he stares at you.
“got what you needed?” he asks—in another words there was a secret message behind the words. which meant, ‘you got it. might as well’.
you sit up on your knees, hands on the bed, he steps closer. the tip of him on your lips, precum smearing your lips a bit before he nudges your mouth open.
alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
Yo I hate the “um actually🤓, he wouldn’t want to be called daddy, and he wouldn’t be rough in bed🤓 he would do xyz”
God forbid we have some fun and imagination on this fvcking app about a fictional character. Just write what YOU want to and shut up. Ain’t no one forcing you to read that shit☠️😭
being in a secret relationship with clark is ten times harder when you’re on a weekend trip in the woods with your friends
cw: mdni, unprotected sex, super hearing mention, doggy, throat holding (?), pet names, clark’s a cutie pie rushed ending oops
It had taken weeks of construction, but you all had finally managed to sync up your rare, shared days off for this cabin trip, determined to use the weekend to just drop your guards and actually relax.
After a long day of hiking, swimming in a lake, and a sad attempt at fishing, the wired energy finally fizzled out, and everyone had tucked away into their separate rooms one by one.
The absolute stillness of the house is what wakes you. So you decide that a glass of water and a small snack might help settle you.
As you slip out from under the covers and pad quietly down the hallway, small streaks of light spill out from the kitchen, cutting through the darkness.
Clark stands there, his large, broad frame practically taking up the entire opening of the fridge as he stands with the door held wide open. He’s only dressed in a plain white t-shirt and his boxers, and you can’t help but notice that one of his socks is slightly more scrunched down around his ankle than the other. Cute.
You lean against the doorframe, just watching him as he tilts his head back to slam a bottle of water.
“I know you’re there,” He speaks softly with his back still facing you. You push yourself off the doorframe and walk over, sliding your arms around his waist to hug him from behind. Your hands smooth over the front of his soft tummy, while your cheek presses right against the hard muscle of his back. The contrast makes you smile to yourself, your face burying into the cotton of his shirt as you breathe him in.
He sets the water bottle down on a shelf in the fridge and finally turns around in your embrace. His large hands rest on your hips and he looksdown at you with a soft, sleepy warmth in his eyes.
“Hi, pretty,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling vibration.
You and Clark have been secretly together for a little while now, keeping the quietness of your relationship entirely to yourselves. Going on a group trip meant a lot of careful acting, lingering glances when no one was looking, and a shared tension that made finally being alone together in the dark kitchen feel like the first real breath you’ve taken all day.
You turn around in his arms, smiling up at him as you echo a soft ‘hi’ back before leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips.
“I missed you,” Clark murmurs against your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening.
“I missed you too.”
You lean in to kiss him again, but as your lips meet, he steps even closer, crowding you completely against the kitchen counter. You can feel the hard, heavy press of his boner straining right against your thigh.
Oh.
Giving each other one last, lingering look, he takes your hand in his and you quietly sneak out of the kitchen and down the hallway, and finally slipping safely into your bedroom.
Now, you’re both stripped completely bare, Clark has you on all fours on top of the soft comforter laid across your bed, your hands gripping the sheets for leverage. Clark settles his massive weight right behind you, one large, heavy hand clamping down on your shoulder to steady you, holding you exactly where he wants you.
He uses that firm grip on your shoulder to manually pull your hips back onto his cock, bottoming out inside you every time he thrusts forward.
“Needed you so bad baby, so so bad,” Clark groans as he keeps up the harsh pace. His free hand slides down to grip your hip, pinning you firmly in place.
He shifts his weight slightly, moving the hand that was anchoring your shoulder up to your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just keeps his large thumb pressed right against your racing pulse point.
The sudden change and pressure makes your head spin, causing you to let out a whimper that’s a little too loud for the quiet house.
Clark leans down further, his sticky chest pressing firm against your back as he guides your hips back onto him once more.
“Shhh, honey,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing right against the shell of your ear. “Can’t be too loud.” Even with your eyes squeezed shut,you can practically hear the dimpled grin in his voice.
As he continues to jackhammer into you, his tip suddenly nudges your sweet spot a little too hard, and a loud, involuntary sob slips past your lips.
The sound is cut off almost instantly as Clark clamps his large hand firmly over your mouth. He leans fully over you now, his chest completely covering your back as the side of his cheek rests heavily against the side of your head. His thick arm wraps around your front, anchoring your torso and holding you up against his massive weight.
“Hey, hey,” He slows his thrusts down to an agonizing pace, keeping his hand tight over your lips as he murmurs into your hair. “I know it feels good, but we don’t need the whole house figuring us out, okay?”
You nod your head against his palm, your eyes watering from the intensity as you feel his thick length slowly glide all the way in and out of you.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he presses a sweet, lingering kiss to the side of your head before firmly picking up the relentless pace all over again. “Wish I could hear you, you always sound so pretty,”
The last thing you see before forcing your eyes shut are the pillows you both had frantically stuffed between the wall and the headboard earlier. You thought that would be enough to muffle any movement, especially since there wasn't another bedroom on the other side of that wall.
But when the next morning comes and you and Clark finally wander down to the kitchen for breakfast, the smug, knowing looks the others give you over their coffee mugs let you know that the headboard hitting the wall was only one of your worries.
normally not my vibes but ya know what? i’ve been caught at a moment of weakness (horny)
warnings: smut obvs, breeding kink is coming to say hello also pregnancy kink? i dunno, clark just loves that he got his girl pregnant
send me a request here! | drabble masterlist here!
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“That’s my girl,” Clark whispered, his lips brushing your ear.
You held onto his forearm where it wrapped around you. You had been trying to take a nap with your lovely husband after he’d come back from some battle downtown, just wanting to feel close to him. Evidently, he wanted to be even closer.
Snuggling turned into spooning, which turned into some dry humping, which turned into him pushing into you from behind, your leg draped over his thigh.
He held you protectively, hand resting on the slowly forming bump of your belly.
“So pretty for me,” he breathed, kissing your neck. “My girl, rounding out for me. My baby…”
You let out a soft, shaky breath, gripping the pillow where your cheek was pressed.
“Clarkie, m’close.”
“I know, honey. I know. So needy when you’re pregnant, huh? I oughta put a baby in you more often.” He smiled against your skin, his pace picking up. “Y’look so pretty like this.”
You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as you felt your climax fast approaching. You reached behind you, hand tangling in his dark hair. He slid his hand that rested on your tummy down, circling his fingers to get you closer to that edge. It wasn’t long before you were finishing, his name a needy cry on your lips as you squeezed him.
He groaned, panting against your skin. “Oh… sh-mm. I’m… I’m gonna…”
You nodded quickly, and he fell off that edge himself only a second later. He plunged into you as deep as he could go, filling you up with everything he had until it was leaking out and dripping over your leg. He breathed deep, taking a moment to gather himself.
“Gosh, I love not having to worry about protection.”
You laughed, then winced slightly as he pulled out. “Not like we’re concerned about a pregnancy scare, I guess.”
“And you feel even better like this. Every little contraction and pulse and… mm…” he groaned, kissing your lips once. “I get to feel everything. Also, you’re a very gorgeous pregnant lady. Love seeing you get all plump with my baby.”
“You’re a kinky fucker, aren’t you?.”
He chuckled, dimples poking into his cheeks. “Maybe. For you.”
“Uh huh,” you mumble, raising a brow at him playfully. “I’m kinda craving an egg roll.”
He grinned again, immediately getting up to find some clothes.
Notes: woooooo finally!! i’ve been promising a full length alpha!clark fic for a while and here it is finally :D turned out a bit angsty-er than i originally anticipated but folks this is a two parter!! enjoy !!!!!!!
This might be the most embarrassing moment of your life.
It’s a high bar to clear. There was that period of your life where you openly read old school erotica paperbacks at the lunch table, half-naked alphas on the cover and all. There was your Hamilton phase. The countless times you’ve tripped and fallen in public. But this – being huddled into the nearest supply closet in your workplace, on the cusp of heat – somehow takes the cake.
Your heats have always been consistent, on the dot, every three months, which is why you paid it no mind when the symptoms started to appear early. In hindsight, you should’ve known when Lois left her cardigan at your place after a movie night and you refused to return it, instead adding the piece of clothing to the pile of comforting items on your bed and whining when you had to leave that pile every morning, to get ready for work. But you ignored the glaring signs of pre-heat until it started to hit you, full-force, in the middle of your day in the office. Warmth crept up under your collar until you began to sweat, and then the cramping started, and only then did you cancel your meetings for the day and lock yourself in the supply closet.
And really, barricading yourself in wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had. It felt like a great idea in the moment, compared to walking all the way home on the crowded streets of Metropolis, alone, stinking of pre-heat (horrible). Now you’ll just have to wait till all your colleagues head home for the day, and then take an overpriced taxi home, after dark (slightly less horrible).
Then someone knocks on the door.
“Anybody in there?”
This is the worst-case scenario. You’d know that deep, comforting voice anywhere: your coworker, Clark Kent.
Despite your mutual friendship with one Lois Lane, you don’t cross paths often. Clark prefers to collaborate with Jimmy on his articles, and you’ve never taken that to heart. Honestly, you don’t envy how often Jimmy ends up running around town anyway, getting photos of Superman’s latest heroic exploits to go with Clark’s interviews. Clark never joins the Daily Planet happy hours at the bar across the street. The most you’ve heard him speak is at the monthly staff meetings.
None of that has stopped you from developing a crush on him. It’s no wonder, considering how considerate he is, how tall and broad he is, how smart he is, how he still brings you coffee in the morning despite the fact that you barely know each other. Quite frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if half the office was in love with him.
“... Clark?” You called out, even though you know it’s him, he always smells so good.
“Yeah, it’s me,” He replies, his tone gentle, like he’s trying to soothe the distress he knows you’re feeling. “Are you alright?”
And now you know for sure that he’s aware of why you’re locked in this supply closet. Humiliation creeps up your throat and your eyes start to sting with tears and shit, you hate the state that pre-heat puts you in, constantly on the verge of crying.
“Did you… smell me?” You ask, your voice quieter than you’d like it to be, but he manages to hear you even through the door.
He pauses for what seems like forever.
“Yes, I-I did.” You groan in response. You’d picked the closet that’s farthest away from any cubicles, hoping the distance and the concrete walls of the Daily Planet building would work in your favor, but of course it wouldn’t. “It’s okay, I’m the only one who can. I-I mean, I think”
“I’m sorry,” You tell him, putting all your effort into holding back your tears, because of course you would end up scandalizing the only man you’ve had a crush on in years.
“Don’t be,” He’s comforting you, because any decent alpha would. “Would it be okay if you let me in?”
You know your judgement is clouded. It must be, if you thought this whole supply closet business was a good idea, but Clark is always so kind. You can tell he wants to be respectful, that he’s just concerned about his colleague.
So you shuffle towards the door and open it just wide enough for him to slide through, in some last-ditch effort to prevent any more coworkers from scenting you in this state.
He looks you up and down, taking in the sweat starting to bead at your forehead and the flush that seems to spread down your chest, and immediately, instinctively, crouches down to your level, reaching a hand out to caress your cheek. “It’s not safe for you to come to work like this.”
“I didn’t know,” You insist, though his tone isn’t accusatory. “It’s early. Weeks early. I panicked when I realized-”
“-And hid in a supply closet?”
“I can’t walk home alone like this!” You practically whine, and Clark hums in agreement, his thumb brushing your cheek soothingly. You lean into his touch while he contemplates the dilemma you’ve gotten yourself into, and you’re suddenly grateful that he’s here out of everyone in the world, because now that you’re close to him you can make out the specific notes of his scent. It’s fiery and comforting and strong, like a fireplace, and you could just lean right into him to get more of it-
“What if- I could scent you?” He says suddenly, uncertain, because he knows you’re prone to his persuasion in this state. “If I cover you with my scent enough, you should- I can get you home. If it’s okay with you?”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” He’s already taking off his jacket, and you’re already nodding, dizzy at the thought of being drenched in him.
His jacket is massive on you, but it’s soft, lined with silk on the inside, and it smells like him, and you want more. When you look back at him, his pupils are already blown wide at the sight of you draped in his clothing, his scent already starting to cover yours.
He leans closer, trailing the hand on your cheek down to your neck, his thumb coming up to stroke your skin, right where your scent gland is.
“Are you sure this is okay?” He asks again, his voice gravelly, restrained.
You nod eagerly, shuffling closer, knee-to-knee on the ground with him. Finally, his head ducks down, and you feel his nose gently nudge your scent gland, and your hand flies to grip his shoulder, already overwhelmed by having him so close to you.
He’s incredibly careful with you, frustratingly so, because your base instincts want him to hold you as tight as possible, if he asked nicely you honestly think you’d let him take you right there on the floor, but you beat back those instincts, trying to remember that he is your coworker and is just doing you a favour. Just being nice, like he always is.
So you try not to get too dizzy when Clark rubs his cheek on your scent gland, try to quell your whimpers when you feel his tongue on your neck, his scent beginning to completely dominate yours, marking you as his for just a few hours.
He brings one of your hands up to his neck, guiding you to rub your wrist against his gland, making sure every inch of you is covered in him. Leaving no room for leering alphas to mistake you for being unclaimed.
He takes a few deep breaths once his work is done, double-checking that your scent is undetectable under his, before helping you stand on your shaky legs and adjusting his jacket on you.
He cups your face in his hands again, forcing your dazed gaze back onto him. “Deep breaths, honey. Are you alright?”
You nod, but he shakes his head.
“Gonna need you to say it for me.”
“Yes,” You breathe out. “‘M okay, w-we can go.”
Clark guides you all the way home, never more than a few inches away, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. You keep stealing glances up at him, but his eyes are always elsewhere, observing everyone around you, daring them to look your way. It’s the most intimidating you’ve ever seen him look, and honestly, you know if you look too long, you’ll start leaking slick long before you make it home, so you determine it’s best to keep your eyes low. But you stick close, his warmth shielding you from the blistering windchill in the air.
He walks you into your building, all the way to your door, and really, there’s no reason for him to come inside, but you invite him up to your apartment anyway, offering hot cocoa to warm him up. Really, you just want to bask in his warmth a bit longer, hoping the smell of him rubs off on one of your pillows or something, so you can shove your face into it as soon as he leaves.
He takes his shoes off at the door before you even ask him to, careful not to spread dirt on the floor. He looks hesitant to even sit on your couch, not wanting to disturb your carefully curated apartment. It’s sweet, the way he looks around your living room, taking in all your decorations, the way your scent covers every inch of the space.
You disappear into the kitchen, finding yourself suddenly fretful over the process of making a Swiss Miss hot chocolate, pouring the nervous energy from having the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your living room while on the cusp of your heat into measuring out the packet of cocoa sugar. You pray to whatever deity might be up there that he’s not picky over recipes, because you know he won’t complain – hell, you’ve seen him apologise to other people for ramming into him with the mail cart – but you want to make it perfect for him. You balance two mugs of hot chocolate carefully on a wooden tray, laden with random snacks you keep around for whenever a craving might hit you.
You find Clark still perched on your couch, facing the kitchen doorway like all he’d done while you were gone was wait for you to come back, and he smiles fondly when he sees the little set-up you prepared.
He stands, taking the tray from you and setting it down gently on your coffee table.
“Sit with me for a second, sweetheart,” He says, patting the spot next to him on the couch, where you happily perch for him, sitting on your calves.
“Thank you for making sure I got home safe,” You tell him, smiling shyly.
“‘S no problem, honey, I wasn’t gonna leave you like that.” He keeps that tone with you, deep and soothing, and it only makes you want him more. Just him calling you honey has you dripping into your panties again, and you hear him grunt as the scent hits his nose. “D-do you have somebody you want me to call? To help you?”
You shake your head, a bit embarrassed at the admission of your non-existent love life.
“Do you have-” For once, he’s the one blushing. “Do you have… supplies? To get you through your heat?”
Your head tilts, confused. “I have, um, water, and groceries, and plenty of blankets, if that’s what you mean.”
“You don’t have… toys?”
Your mouth parts with a silent “oh”, realising what he means — there are plenty of them out there, special-made dildos with knots at the bottom to help an omega through their heat. You’ve always thought that if you were going to get one, you’d want one of the fancier models, the ones that have a button to inflate the knot on command, or the ones with a thrusting function, or maybe one where you can customize the size. Every time you searched online, you ended up overwhelmed by the options, not to mention the prices, and ended up closing out the tabs before you could make a decision, half-heartedly thinking that you’ll save up enough to buy it one day.
“No, I- I usually just deal with it, um, on my own.” You curl your fingers around the hem of your skirt, tugging on it nervously, feeling yourself dampen further with just the thought of touching yourself.
He glances down at the motion, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, dizzy as he takes in your flushed cheeks and heady scent.
“You’re close,” He mutters, almost to himself. ”Sweetheart, if you want… I can- I can stay. I can help you, but if you don’t want me to, I’ll leave now, bring you anything you need, promise, it doesn’t have to b-“
You shake your head vehemently, cutting off his rambling, scooting closer to him.
“Want it to be you, I-” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, your mind becoming a bit hazy at how close his face is getting to yours. “I like you.”
Your confession makes him smile.
“Yeah?” He nudges his nose against yours, playfully affectionate. “I like you, too, baby.”
Then his lips are on yours, deep and wanting, a groan escaping him as soon as he gets a taste of you. He lets you climb into his lap while you slip your tongue past his lips, desperate for him, his hands falling to your hips to encourage you to grind into him for a bit of relief from the burning, feverish desire you feel.
You used to dream about this. On quiet nights after a long day, you’d slip your hand under your pajamas and allow yourself to believee that Clark stole glances at you like you did to him, that some day you’d be stuck together for an assignment, or the last two left after a happy hour with the rest of the Planet crew – you switched up the scenario to keep it interesting, but the result is always the same – he’d reveal his overwhelming attraction to you, take you back to his cozy apartment, and fuck you ‘till your legs felt like jelly and his spend was dripping down your legs, all the while whispering in your ear about how you were the sweetest omega he’d ever touched.
The supply closet was not your idea of a fantasy, but this, being lifted by your thighs when Clark stands and carries to your bedroom, felt eerily similar to what you’d pictured on all those nights, down to his lips never leaving yours, the mass of muscle under your hands as you held onto his biceps, the heated edge to his scent as his arousal became evident.
He lays you on your bed, and even through the haze of desire, you feel a tinge of embarrassment at the state of your bedroom, the collection of soft objects carefully arranged in subconscious preparation for your heat, your cloying scent coating every inch of the room. If Clark minds, he doesn’t show it, exceedingly careful not to disturb your nest when he sets you down. He finally pulls away from spit-slicked lips to press open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, while he moves to lift your shirt off.
“If at any point, you need me to stop-” He looks back up at you, pressing a kiss just below your navel. “Just tell me, baby, and I’ll stop.”
“‘M not gonna want you to stop,”
He takes his time removing your blouse and simple bra, his eyes fixated on the flush of your skin that goes all the way down your bare chest, long enough to make you squirm under his gaze before he gets his mouth on your nipples, kissing, sucking, kneading your sensitive flesh till you feel slick soak down your thighs. He relieves the discomfort of wet fabric on your skin before you can even voice it, removing your skirt and panties in one tug, soothing your slick, burning skin with his touch.
Then your legs are over his shoulders, kisses trailed up your thighs as he sets his hungry gaze on your sex, a low, rumbling purr forming in his chest at the sight of you bare for him.
“Can’t believe you’re gonna let me taste this sweet cunt,” He mumbles against your skin, not bothering to hide the deep breaths he’s taking, drinking in the smell of you. “You’re gonna send me into a rut, sweetheart, just the taste of you-”
“No, please, alpha,” You beg, tangling your fingers through his curls and trying to tug him up from between your legs. “I need you-”
“Need me inside, baby, hm? I know,” He coos. “Know it hurts, but I have to get you ready for my knot first, need to make sure I don’t hurt you.”
He answers your distressed whines by opening his mouth over your pussy, lapping at you languidly like he’s doing it for himself, not to hear your desperate mewls, just the taste of you making him groan.
You’re sensitive, and completely at his mercy, letting out pleasured whimpers every time he touches you. He has no trouble bringing you to multiple climaxes, closing his lips around your clit and sucking until you’re rocking your hips against his face, knuckles cramping from the strength of your hold on his curls. His strong hands holding you in place are the only thing that stops you from squirming away when it all gets too much, his tongue unrelenting against your clit, his thick fingers slipping inside you easily after two orgasms, stretching you and curling inside you till you’re incapable of forming sentences, only able to cry out his name over and over again. Still, the burning in the pit of your stomach won’t subside, only getting more intense with each high, you can feel yourself getting delirious with your need for him.
And just when you think Clark is done prepping you, torturing you by bringing you to orgasm after orgasm without him deep inside you, he finally lets you see him. You can’t stop yourself from staring once he finally removes his briefs, his fully hard cock so heavy it can’t even stay upright, thick and flushed red and so pretty. Your eyes swim with tears of joy when he settles over you, his shaft resting so perfectly between your folds, parting them, as he smears his still-wet lips against yours and begins to rut against you. His cock slips between your lips, covering it in your slick, the tip nudging against your clit deliciously but never catching against your entrance, never giving you what you need.
You’re practically sobbing for it. “A-alpha, please, please-“
“Be good f’r me, omega,” Clark slurs, drunk on the feeling of your soft skin against his, the smell of your slick in the air, the taste of it on his lips. He can feel it, the creeping fever on the back of his neck, the need to fill you overtaking every instinct he has. He just wants to draw it out a bit longer, make sure you’re really ready to take his size without hurting, just wants to make you feel good over and over again before he stuffs you with his load.
Your orgasm comes suddenly and leaves you breathless, twitching, digging your nails into his back when you finally feel the head of his cock at your entrance. Your legs wrap around his waist, trying to get him to push in just a little bit, but it’s no use — his strength far outweighs yours. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, forcing your eyes open and on him.
His gaze is intense, and forcing you into clarity for a moment, focusing on meeting his eyes as he presses into you, inch by inch, pausing when your breath catches. He waits, every time your brow pinches with the force of the stretch, pausing until you nod for him to keep going.
When he bottoms out, his pelvis flush against yours, he stays there, pressing sweet kisses to your lips despite you rocking your hips up into him. The hand on your jaw moves down in favour of gripping your thigh, hoisting it further up on his waist, forcing you open for him and halting your movements.
“Gotta give me a second, omega, or ‘m gonna- fuck- gonna pop my knot before I’ve even felt you cum around me.” He warns, his jaw clenched tight.
You watch him as you wait, his eyes screwed shut, his glasses slightly fogged, cheeks bright red. You can’t believe you get to see him like this. Fully rooted in you, not an inch of space between you. All pent up, just from getting his mouth on you, giving you exactly what you need, what you’ve wanted for so long, and then-
He’s rocking his hips into you shallowly, just letting you feel his cock drag against your walls, grinding up into that spot that makes you see white while he whispers praise, trying desperately to contain his strength so he doesn’t bruise your thighs. You cum just from that, from feeling so full and raw and satisfied, finally, that your lungs constrict and you feel the gush of slick between you, soaking both of you, but he doesn’t stop for a minute, just mumbles how good you are for him, “Yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby, cum for me, just like that-“
He starts to fuck you in earnest, the hard thrust of his hips knocking moans from both of you, sloppy and slick and unrestrained.
All you can do is cling to him, clenching and whining sweetly for him, the hot clutch of your cunt drawing him in over and over again till you can feel the swell of his knot nudging at your entrance, and then you start to beg again. Pleading for him to fill you, to make you his, telling him yesyesyes when he laps at the curve of your neck, smothering you in his rich scent again.
You can feel him thickening inside you, beginning to lose himself to the feel of you as his hips lose their controlled swing, reduced to groans tight in his throat like he can’t bear to form words anymore. Then his teeth, the sharp ridge of his incisors, scraping at your scent gland, the hint of a claim tips you over the edge again, making a mess of the sheets under you and reducing your limbs and mind to mush. It’s here, in this state, that he can finally push his pulsing, massive knot into you, locking you with him as he spills his seed.
And he cums so much. Filling every inch of you, till you have nothing to want for, finally sated for the time being. Your head is fuzzy with his scent, the hot swell of his knot inside you, the feeling of his lips on yours again, soothing and grounding.
“Omega,” He mumbles, pulling away, a string of spit between your lips and his still connecting you. “How do you feel?”
A pleased chirp leaves your mouth, and you wiggle your hips under him just to feel the tug of his knot inside you, making him grunt in surprise, a fond smile forming on his face.
“‘M so happy,” You tell him, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “So full, alpha, thank you.”
You stay like that for a while, letting him fawn over you, peppering praising kisses anywhere he can reach, asking if you’re hungry or thirsty repeatedly, despite your insistence that all you want is him.
When his knot deflates just enough to slip out, he grabs you water anyways, coaxing you into downing at least two glasses and half a granola bar with several pecks in between sips and bites. Only then does he settle back into bed with you, purring comfortingly as he wraps an arm around you from behind.
For a few minutes, you lay with him, soothed despite the fact that when your heat clears, you’ll go back to being coworkers, this fulfillment of your desires only lasting so long before this favor is done and you return to coffees in the morning and a few words exchanged during meetings.
Then your mind clouds again and you’re reaching for him, moaning sweetly when he lifts your thigh and fills you from behind, promising to spear you on his knot as many times as you need.
You get worse before you get better. Clark takes you more times then you can even make sense of in your delirium, even makes you cum on his knot a few times, grinding into you and swirling his thumb over your clit just to tire you out and soothe your feverish pleas.
And he kisses you. All over, but especially your lips, can’t seem to go long without the taste of your mouth on his, and when he’s not kissing you, he’s telling you how good you are for him, how good you feel, how much he loves filling you. Spends every lucid moment you get making sure you’re both energised, even sweet-talking you into getting a few hours of sleep when he can.
You give yourself over to him. For those few days, you let yourself forget that it’s a fantasy at all.
clark kent who can't fuck you in doggy because he keeps leaning down to kiss you. just can't help it, he needs to feel your whimpers as he bullies that thick cock deep in your core. he needs to feel you squeal into his lips as his palm presses onto your lower abdomen, where the tip of his cock nudges into that sickly good, gummy spot of your hot, warm walls.
there's a compromise he settles with — pulling you against him as he lays on his side. parting your thighs that much wider with his sheer width, tangled around his limbs as he finds purchase around the soft fat of your skin. that same, dull arousal paralyses you when he realigns his slick, reddened tip back into your entrance.
though you aren't sure if the change in position was for your or his benefit. especially now as clark's stuttered, desperate, needy grunts warm your tongue at every snap of his hips.
He's looking up at you with wide eyes through foggy glasses, big hands desperately pawing at every inch of your waist and hips. You're smiling down at him, hands on his chest as you lazily roll your hips on his cock, his reddened tip leaking deep inside your pussy.
"Gosh… feels s'good," he manages to babble between whines, voice shaky and lashes fluttering with every movement. His words spur you to roll your hips faster, grinding his fat cock right against your cervix, wet squelching sounds harmonizing with his now louder whimpers.
His thick arms pull you down onto his chest, needily wrapping around you as he stuffs his face into your sweaty shoulder. His hips desperately buck upward, creamy slick mixed with his earlier load coating his length with every fervent rut. The viscous mixture creates an obscene glide between your bodies.
This is how it always ends, with him holding you as close as possible, your bodies practically mended together into one. Clark's a clingy man, something you knew before. The intensity of it still surprises you when he suffocates you against him as he thrusts inside, stretching you full for hours.
"Need to cum 'n you, please sweetheart…" he begs, voice slightly muffled against your skin. His balls are tight and aching, covered with slick and cum, slapping against your ass with every needy rut.
"Go ahead. Y'deserve it," you whisper with a kiss against his temple. His body immediately responds to your reassurance, unloading inside your sloppy pussy with a final, impaling thrust from below. Hot white load fills you up and oozes onto his pelvis, his twitching hips making it drip onto the sheets. His cries fill the room, his voice broken and high.
You slowly grind onto him, milking every drop out of him through his climax. His cock throbs hard making your pussy clench and spasm around him. His body starts to relax, his hold loosening around you as he trembles, breaths uneven as he comes down.
He's so fucked out, eyes glossy and mouth swollen. Too bad the tremulous sight turns you on all over again.
thinking about horny john constantine who also refuses to appear needy because that would hurt his ego and boost yours, especially when he tries so hard to be nonchalant.
for some reason he woke up with a morning wood, which happens every now and then, but this time he had it far worse. he wasn’t able to push his perverted thoughts away no matter what he occupied himself with. his dirty mind kept his pants tight the whole day.
and it certainly wasn’t helping that you chose to wear your most comfy shorts, which happen to cover absolutely nothing, you ass cheeks on full display with your black panties peering out as you walked around the apartment, your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your top.
he was pouring himself coffee, doing anything just to distract his dick from you, but then your nipple brushed against his arm and your hips pressed to his as you joined him in the kitchen to make your own drink.
you half-stood on your tip toes, your body stretching to take your favorite mug from the cabinet as his eyes landed on your exposed torso, the material of your top riding up and baring the swell of your tits before you put the mug down, oblivious to his torture.
you were so close. it would take him just five seconds to bend you over the kitchen counter and pound into your tight hole. but he wanted to think he had more self-control than that.
he sighed heavily while grabbing his coffee, rubbing at his temples before muttering “jesus christ” and storming out from the room towards his couch.
constantine thought burying himself in the book about occultism would distract him, except his eyes were glued on the same spot, reading the same line over and over again while in reality, he couldn’t stay focused with your form blurred in the background as you were going from room to room.
eventually you plopped right beside him, on the couch that was meant to accommodate one person at a time. your one arm wrapped itself around his bicep, resting you head on his shoulder to see what he was reading, while your other hand naturally rested on his thigh, close enough to his aching cock to make his breathing quicken. your sweet scent filled his nostrils, your bare legs on full display, and he was sure he was going to die from sexual frustration.
with a loud thud he shut the book closed and tossed it on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose at how pathetic he actually was and closing his eyes, trying to pretend you weren’t there and his dick wasn’t begging to be touched and already leaking precum.
he only half-opened his eyes when he heard you asking “you alright, john?” keeping them straight ahead and reaching for his cigarettes. he was able to answer only after inhaling the first puff of toxin, dismissing you with a simple “i’m fine,” even though he was far from it.
he didn’t know what would be more embarrassing: to lock inside the bathroom and jerk himself off like a hormonal teenager, or cum in his pants from your slightest touch.
maybe, just maybe, when his horniness wins over his pride, he can finally give in and ask for your help.
# john constantine masterlist | main m.list | join the taglist
Warnings: NSFW content (Minors Do Not Interact), Extremely dubious consent, fingering, near drowning, Constantine is bad with emotions. Brief scenes with smoking (it's Constantine). Angst. This is fanfiction, please DO NOT try this at home!
Summary: Constantine needs a backdoor into Heaven. That task involves you, a bathtub, and his very skilled fingers.
AO3 Link
A/N: This fic is dedicated to Ginny aka opheliainlove42. She has long since deactivated but she wrote amazing fics for the Keanuverse fandom. She is one of the people that encouraged me to start writing for this fandom and I cannot thank her enough. This is for you, Ginny, wherever you are 💜
I consider this fic in the same Constantine universe as Little Favors so yet another mess he puts the poor reader through.
Also thank you to @pointbreakvhs for beta reading this fic. 🤍
Thank you to @atomic-groupie for being my writing accountability partner. 💚
Divider credits to @jjaksclayton 🖤
Gif credits to @scamarcio
Oh the places a simple crush can land you. Going along with John Constantine frequently has you questioning your own sanity. It shouldn't surprise you. When someone deals with demons for a living, they must have experimental hobbies—you just didn't expect to be included in this next one.
Constantine first introduced this hobby to you one drizzly evening while eating your favorite takeout together. The comfort food paired nicely with the casual atmosphere and smooth blanket of rainwater cascading down your apartment windows. You took another bite while watching two wayward water droplets race along the pane. A soft prickle traveled from the back of your neck and up to the tips of your ears.
Each of your senses flared when you came in close proximity to Constantine, especially when his eyes were on you. You were hopeless. You weren't sure what stage of infatuation you were in when every millimeter of your body heated up when any amount of his attention was on you. It didn't matter what emotion: he could be melancholic, cranky, irate, or amused—you've never seen Constantine fully happy—they all brought about the same reaction.
You try, and fail, to ignore the obvious heat budding in your face. Turning, you see the umber shades of his irises dimmed by exhaustion and bad habits.
"I need a back door into Heaven." It was concerning how nonchalant he could be when discussing matters of the divine.
"Oh really?" You've learned to always hear him out no matter how impossible it sounds.
With a lazy draw of his freshly lit cigarette, he continues. "I need to get into Heaven for work purposes. However I can't simply fly through the pearly gates, that would bring too much attention."
Seems simple enough. "How do you plan on getting there?"
"Whenever I say 'I'll try anything once,' this is not what I mean!"
Constantine twists one of the squeaky knobs on the porcelain bathtub. Steam curls around his unnaturally pallid face. He was sickly looking like a Victorian child but with the constitution of a 70s rock star. His brow furrowed in concentration while testing the water's temperature.
"Can't give away all my plans. You would back out every time if I did." A smirk ghosts across his lips when looking at your apprehensive expression.
"I love—" you caught yourself. "I'm happy to help you, but I've never put my life in danger for you…"
"Don't trust me?" His eyebrow raise would be enough to end you.
"It's not that," you sigh, sitting on the edge of the tub next to him. "What if I crossover and don't come back? Or at worst I end up going to Hell instead—"
Constantine grabbed your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. His fingers are warm and still wet from the bathwater, their touch lighting up your nervous system like electricity. His demeanor was deadly serious, burning you as if you were one of those wretched demons he fights.
"I've got you." His other hand trailed from your shoulder to your elbow, holding you firmly. "I'm going to be with you the whole time. If anything happens, I'll pull you out."
If Constantine is anything, he is persuasive with you. If his hands weren't already on you, you'd be jumping in the water immediately.
Instead you stand up and unzip your jacket, revealing your tank top. You internally preened when his eyes trailed your torso and locked onto the button of your pants.
"I'm already drowning myself for you. You don't get a show." You tease, earning a soft exhale—the closest you've ever gotten to a laugh—from him.
"Understood." He whispers, taking your hand and guiding you into the bathtub like an uncommonly gentleman.
The tepid water envelopes you in a rolling embrace. Constantine keeps a hand to your back while you sat with your legs out. "I understand water is a common method of going between worlds but how long exactly will I be submerged?"
"As long as it takes." There he goes again with the edgy vagueness you simultaneously love and loathe. "Remember—"
"Heaven and Hell are closer to us than you realize." You complete his saying.
"Good girl."
Oh that bastard.
"W-well, I—" you stammer.
"Lie back." He commands softly.
He'd rolled up his sleeves, exposing his pale forearms and the split Red King alchemy tattoos. The same hand on your back lowers you below the surface. It was a strange parody of a baptism—with Constantine as your unorthodox priest and you being his ever so faithful follower. This dangerous exercise would prove to you just how far you're willing to go for your faith in him.
The reality of your situation pressed down on you like Constantine's hand currently resting against your sternum. He plays fast and loose with his own mortality, you are all too aware he held your own quite literally in his hands. There's nothing else for you to do but close your eyes and wait for your life to inch recklessly towards the edge with only John's word that he'll save you from oblivion.
Moments passed like grains of sand in an hourglass. It was far too late to give up now; even if you wanted to get out, Constantine was far to strong. In fact, his hand on your chest pinned you with even more force while his other hand—was unbuttoning your pants.
Wait…this wasn't part of the deal…
You open your eyes and see through the surface of the water Constantine looming over you like an angel of death. His gaze leers at you. Gone was the teasing and his sardonic attitude; dark eyes like voids threatening to overtake you in their abyss.
He pulls down on your pants zipper. Panic floods your mind and you try pushing or kicking him away. It's no use, he deflects every one of your feeble attempts at fighting him off. Exhaustion from being underwater slowed your struggling. Before he continued touching you, he held both your wrists while his other hand rested firmly on your thigh, squeezing it tightly.
He expression didn't waver but through the panic of your body in fight or flight, you barely captured a glimpse into his eyes yet again. Heat flickered in the darkness, looking at you with longing: raw and unable to be hidden.
Trust me, he seemed to tell you. Let me take you to Heaven.
Loving Constantine is hazardous but he was going to make it all worth it. His hand moved from your thigh and plunged under your waistband, thumb circling your clit through your underwear in torturous circles before pulling them to the side. It took every ounce of your willpower not to moan and release your precious air when he breached your entrance with two long fingers.
With the risk of your life, he had to work fast. His skilled fingers set a fast rhythm making your back arch and your hands grip the sides of the tub. He must use some of his divine magic to give you this much intense pleasure. How else would he make you feel this good?
He adds a third finger and the world around you goes blurry. Your arm shoots out of the water and you grab onto his bicep. His muscles flexed with every thrust and curl inside you, making you tighten and melt beneath him.
This must be Heaven. Goes your final thought before your vision goes white, your brain shuts off, and you scream…
There is brightness all around you gradually fading back into nothingness before you finally register Constantine's lips on yours giving you the kiss of life. Once conscious, he gently rotates you on your side to get the rest of the water out of your lungs.
"There you are, sweetheart," he rubs your back. "Welcome back."
Pushing yourself off the floor, you take in your surroundings. John had pulled you out of the bathtub, his white shirt was soaked through. You knew you were alert and cognizant when your attention pinpointed the material clinging to his lean torso and emphasizing the muscles there.
"I hope you got into Heaven because I am not doing that ever again," your tone was exasperated as he draped a fluffy towel around your shoulders.
"I did," he helped you stand up and steered you towards his bed. "It was only a second for us but to angels that is how long eternity is."
John gets you another towel while you dry off. Looking down at yourself, you notice your pants had been zipped up again. Butterflies violently swarmed in your stomach while he was carrying himself as if what he did to you never happened.
You couldn't bear ignoring what just happened to you. He will not evade this explanation. "John…"
This gives him pause, coming back to your side and assisted toweling your arms and shoulders. "Yes sweetheart?"
"I was not expecting your hands—" you bite your lip. "And everything else that happened…"
"I know." He says, wrapping a protective arm around you.
"I liked it," you laugh despite the situation. "But maybe give a little warning next time…"
"I'll remember that." He smirks.
"Why?" So much was loaded behind your one-word question.
"Euphoria is what guarantees Heaven. Death alone is only a fifty-fifty shot." He states matter-of-factly.
"Of course," you comment sarcastically. "The saying is 'at least buy me dinner first' but in this case, will you take me to dinner now?"
"Let's go." He helps put your jacket back on before doing the same to himself and you two leave his apartment for your favorite fancy restaurant.
Solace was too simple a word to describe how Constantine felt when Heaven gave you back to him. He may work with celestial beings, but no angel in Heaven compares to the light you bring to his life. If he was honest with himself, he knew you deserved so much better than someone as damaged as he is. But despite knowing this, he was still selfish and wanted to have you in any way he could.
It was just unfortunate the only way he could rationalize being with you physically was when Heaven or Hell was involved. Maybe one day he will be able to tell you how he really feels about you, but for now he was formulating the next mission he will need your "help" with.
A/N: I wanted to make a NSFW version of the bathtub scene from the movie and this was the result.
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