𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: clark kent jogs every morning to keep up his physique — except that itself is a lie he can't unrun.
𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆/𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘: Explicit/F!Reader
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: pwp, roommate!reader, reader is jimmy olsen's cousin, yearning, hyperspermia, p-in-v, confessions, creampies, softdom!clark, aftercare, 'superman' reveal, drama, sexual tension
𝐖/𝐂: 2k+
clark kent hasn't had sex in a really long time.
a package deal with his kryptonian physiology, he supposes. enhanced tolerance, an insanely levelled libido — it's the same way he didn't have to lift a finger to maintain the hulking muscle mass of his body.
but really, it was a simple concept. he hasn't had sex because he hasn't wanted anyone in that nature.
until…he met you.
you, who had him sputtering a ridiculous lie about running every morning when your perceptive eye pointed out the dust patterns on the untouched weights next to the sofa.
you, who'd come knocking on his door at eight-thirty in the morning for the apparent running route he now takes.
you, who despite all his warnings to leave well enough alone, broke down the door to his bedroom to now finding him slumped at the foot of his bed — coughing, with his shirt covered in soot and grime, minutes after news broke out of an explosion midtown metropolis.
the acrid scent of residual smoke. his breathing was far too torn and ragged for a man who'd claimed to be okay. when he moves, his legs buckle, slumping into the side of his dresser with a pained inhale in a jerky motion. your worry tears from you at the soft clatter of his glasses hitting the floor. without them, his eyes were clear. undeniably blue.
it doesn't take long for the pieces to click into place — the secrecy, the unusual occurrences. bested by a thick, rectangular frame that exposed him to reveal the face of a man you'd seen on television screens, newsstands, billboards —
"you have to believe me, i wanted to tell you. i was going to tell you," he tries, voice hoarse and pleading.
"you're injured." clark winces at the sudden tug you give at the hem of his shirt. gaze searching for wherever he pressed his palms into like a wounded animal minutes ago. "you're injured," you repeat, "take this off."
clark doesn't hesitate, pulling his dirtied shirt over his head in a fluid movement. the fabric flutters aside, leaving you with sight of his bare body, lighted by the soft mood lighting from his lamp. his physique was a testament to the revelation. sculpted and sturdy, but so impossibly soft. an angry bruise blooms on his right abdomen, stark against his pale skin. you watch it in real time, in the manner the yellow-purple softens to a pale yellow, and eventually, to the usual flush of his skin.
"it's…a lot to take in. i know."
he waits for your judgment, or your anger, self-conscious of the alien-like abilities that would frighten most.
"are you kidding me?" you rasp in a half-laugh. your palms come up to rest over the warm spot on his abdomen, brazenly dragging your fingers over the healed-bruise.
"jesus…clark." the disbelief is palpable, but amusement and awe creeps past it, "'i run everyday'," you mock in his drawl, "you're so full of shit."
he welcomes your curious exploration, offering you a rueful smile, "started running after you moved in. just…not at a 'human'…pace."
you snort with an annoyed shake of your head, "human pace. of course," your nails rake over his ribs thoughtfully. as though you're deciding which sensation in your belly should take precedence. anger, confusion, want. "you watched me struggle! running up the hill. all while you didn't even break a sweat."
his body visibly ripples at your touch. clark feels it too — the accusatory tone of yours, mixed in with hints of desire.
"i…was watching you, yes," he admits, lowering his voice in reverence, "but not to see you struggle. i was watching because i couldn't bring myself to look away."
when you shoot him a confused look, he continues, "every time you pushed yourself further. it was the most beautiful thing i'd ever seen. the determination that makes you so human —"
you let out a derisive sigh, wanting to write off his too poetic take on your unglamorous out-of-breath struggle in your runs with him. "that's —"
"i was jealous," he presses, voice pitching louder for you to really hear him, "how your body pushed you, the burn, exhaustion…satisfaction of getting up there." clark's palm cases yours where it remained idle over his abdomen. guiding you higher up his chest so you could feel the pathetically quickening thrum of his heartbeat.
"it made me feel things." he says, quieter.
you ponder over his confession for a beat, your free hand connecting with his waist. "there's other ways you know."
clark lowers head, tilting in question.
"to feel the burn…" you hum, sliding it to his front, lowering to brush past the waistband of his sweats, "or satisfaction."
if there was ever a time you'd seen clark look absolutely wrecked, it was now, "yes, god yes. show me."
his warm palm slide down your lower back, pulling you as close as humanly possible. you melt into him, head tilted to the side as his lips trail down your pulse.
surprises crosses your features as the pads of his fingers graze your lower lips. demanding entry. clark watches you mesmerised when you take him in, the pink of your tongue tracing a path down his fingers.
"good gosh…" clark's barely able to contain his rasp, watching you intently. At the manner your lips wrapped around the girth of his digits. a groan rumbles deeply in his throat, forehead slumping to your shoulder. "gonna be the death of me."
his breathing remains bated, guiding his damp fingers downward, past your waistband.
"need you to tell me what you want," he mutters, warm into your skin, "please. need to know i'm doin' this right."
the reverence in its delivery sent chills down your spine, gentle touches trailing past your belly in a gentle exploration. a test of the waters. but really, it was the need in his eyes that gave you the courage.
"…stretch me open. on your fingers," you whisper, squeezing around his clothed erection, "and then give me this."
your words forced a pained groan from him. elicited, raw and desperate. curious grazes turn decisive, digits sliding past the warmth of your puffy cunt. already slick and hot to touch, clark whimpers. "feels…incredible. soft."
you twitch around his fingers, jerking into him.
"sh, shh," he urges, curling his fingers past your folds, into the right and warm entrance that pulsed for him, "i've got you."
your head tilts at the dizzying pleasure the insistent probe elicits, "ah —…shit. clar—hhrk..fuck. it's t-thick!"
clark nods to your raw praise, sending a rush of blood down south. he doesn't think he can get any harder than he was now. the pace of his ministrations intensifies.
"takin' it so well. so perfect."
his mindless rambles echoed in your mind. and you couldn't help the strained rebuttal from your throat.
"i-i am?"
"y'are. more than perfect," he chokes, panting harder into your mouth. unrestrained sounds of your whimpers, mixing with the squelches sourced from your growing arousal.
a soft and content hum leaves you, but you opt to bite down on your lips to stop the airy, relieved laughter from his praise. clark frowns at the reddened tension pulled taut on your features. he lowers his head to replace your bitten lip with the his own. tenderly parting them with his tongue to deepen it. it's only a bare moment later he pulls away, breathing carefully.
he doesn't stop the deep, stuttered flick of his wrists, stretching his fingers deep in your cunt.
"can i? he tries.
"yes, yeah. o-okay." you nod, frantically, wetting your reddened lips after he pulls away from you.
in a rather ungraceful, clumsy manner, his hand works to shove the sweats and boxers down his hips to reveal his fully erect cock. thick and daunting, soaked with his pre-cum. clark doesn't wait for another confirmation as he presses the blunt tip of his length against your entrance, guiding himself into you slowly. clark's gaze remains fixed on yours, on every flicker of your features through the intense initial stretch.
"oh gosh — oh, good…gosh," he manages, steadying your hip as you steady yourself on the edge of his dresser. as expected, a sharp, breathy whine spills from your lips loudly.
"m-my fucking god," your head tilts back, hold tightening around his forearms, "you're big. so — ugh."
"too much? i can stop —"
"don't you dare." your plea shatters his hesitation, nodding in slight relief.
he starts with slow and deep thrusts, just to get you used to his size. though his grip around the splintering dresser says otherwise, to the sheer willpower he's exerting.
"i won't. ah — …you're…feels, amazing…" clark's breath hitches, taking in the flutter of your eyelids when he grinds into a particularly pleasurable spot.
"c-can't help it. haven't been fucked in…so…so long." your confessions spills from you, fingers flexing around the sturdiness of his forearms as he steadily fucks his cock into you. the fullness of his length coats your belly all around.
"it's been a while for me too," he admits, slumping his face into your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your skin deeply.
"r…really?"
"mhm…" clark lifts his head, mouthing up the column of your throat, "few years…since…before metropolis."
"nnh! hard to believe — ah, you're lasting…long."
clark's jaw twitches at your backhanded compliment; it only ignites something much more petty in him. he abandons the careful pace he's kept up, thrusts turning meaner, frenzied. your body arches into him, with broken moans unsuppressed from the weight of his hips snapping into you. each press of his thick cock rubbing right against the spot that made you see stars.
"believe me. i could do this…all…night…"
his promise rings true, in the manner he squeezes around the fat of your thighs, tugging it higher around his strong calves, fucking you in an angle that much the burning want in your belly much more potent.
"of course," you groan, tired, at the reminder of his superhuman strength, "fuck. i can't."
a triumphant grin curls at the corner of his lips, this time, his dimples feel mocking. "already?" he breathes, mouthing down your jaw, "thought you'd last long."
his tease to your confident words earlier shatters you.
"e-enough, clark — nn…gonna get me…hooked on this." you emphasize it with a lazy, intentional pulse. the flutter of your cunt around his length catches clark entirely off guard. just as he thinks it stopped, the feeling massages every cranny of him, coating him in a wave of pleasure.
he doesn't realise how quickly it catches up to him either, back turning taut, shuddering at the weight of his own orgasm. clark's full weight rests on you only for mere seconds before he catches himself, bracing his palms around the dresser to keep from crushing you.
his pupils, now dilated, meets your fucked out gaze as he cums deep in you. the thick and warm release that seemed to go on and on, clark remained in you. breathing harsh, holding himself still.
"y-you're still…cumming," you rasp, thighs quivering in the wake of your own release, and the dull, sticky coating of his release still spurting deep.
clark lets out a shaky breath, eyes shut tightly at the embarrassment actively reddening the tip of his ears. he couldn't bring himself to point out how you'd been subconsciously pulsing around his softening length, willing him to empty every last drop into you. a shaky breath rumbles his throat, body finally stilling.
he carefully pulls out of you, "i…i'm sorry. didn't mean to. was that…okay?"
you swallow thickly, a palm coming to case your belly, the warmth swirling and leaking out of your cunt. "…wow."
clark can only cringe at himself, abashed at your whispered awe. but before you get to probe further at the apparent physiological hazard of his, the efficient speed that lifts you off your feet. he plops you into the bed in a whisk. your legs are gently lifted, and you register the change of scenery at the touch of a cold towel to your thighs. he's on his knees before you, wringing the towel in a small washtub you hadn't noticed was there.
you suppose you could settle for superhuman aftercare.
thinking david corenswet is hot is the most embarrassing reputation ruining annoying thing I could have done tbh like ohhh my god really? tall big muscles dark hair and blue eyes kind man is hot? god fucking really. are you fucking stupid I hate myself. oh you think superman is hot? fucking superman? groundbreaking type shit going on here oh my god he’s tall should we tell everyone he’s tall and his jaw is nice wow she thinks the attractive man is attractive. you and everyone else. is pizza your favorite food too. fuck you. everyone look at her she thinks SUPERMAN is hot boundaries are really being pushed over here should we get her a medal because she thinks Mr Smile is easy on the eyes. “hear me out” and it’s a fucking marching band. should we call people magazine. vanilla. I DISGUST myself. summer blockbuster. I should be killed
“Scored a rare 100 in test screenings with women over 35” tells me that I’m EXACTLY the audience for this, as if you weren’t already catching me with that tight 80s denim and that excellent stache.
Notes: Wrote this so quick please don’t judge… Check out my masterlist and Kent Fam of 3 masterlist!!
Summary: You thought it was embarrassing how easily you blushed, but Clark ought to find it adorable.
Warnings: Clark showering you with acts of love and through words, including in the bedroom... Soft! Clark all around, loves and LOVES to compliment you, him talking you through it, creampies, passionate sex!
Clark always finds you blushing to be one of his favorite little traits of yours whenever he acts on anything towards you.
The first time he asked you out at your doorstep, your favorite pink lilies in one hand, asking you to be his, as your cheeks rose into a pink hue that made you in awe as you’d never felt before. “How did you know these were my favorite?” you stammered out of a quiet shock, the kindness you never knew that was deserved for you.
And he took notice right away. Your cheeks that heat up, your soft smile from your lips that makes him fall more into you every time.
“Of course, I remember you mentioning them to me not long ago, Is–Is that okay?” as he pushed his glasses towards his face, the wary question as he met your gaze for an answer.
“More than okay, Clark.”
---------------
Or the time he knew your order by heart at the Deli down the street from the Daily Planet.
No hesitation in his voice to the Deli man. “Can I get a toasted ham and cheese on wheat, easy mayo, extra pickles?” he said smoothly before, “Make that two, thank you.”
And by the time he arrived at your desk, bag in hand, your cheeks heated with the same pink tint that he loved. “How did you know what I get?” as you softly smiled before taking the sandwich out of his hands.
“Hmm I just know,” shrugging off like it was nothing much to think about, but in reality, his heart fluttered from the joy of your reaction.
Where the two of you quietly enjoyed lunch together at your desk, talking about the day ahead of you in peace.
---------------
Even compliments you couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating.
And Clark couldn’t help it, you were beautiful and did everything so well. The compliments that roll off his tongue with ease, showering you with love.
“Your top is nice today, sweetheart.”
“The meal you made tonight was delicious.”
“You look beautiful always.”
Dare to say your face was beaming pink—caught off guard by it in the best way possible. Yet Clark always loved it, as it sometimes felt embarrassing to you at times.
“This is so embarrassing Clark-I don’t know why I get pink all the time!” you huffed before covering your face in a slight embarrassment, feeling the need to cover your face from the rest of the world.
“It’s not embarrassing, it’s cute sweetheart—it's what makes you, you,” as he pulled you into his arms and you gladly accepted, letting him kiss the crown of your head out of reassurance. “I love it about you, never be embarrassed.”
---------------
In bed was different.
Clark, who loved to bring it out of you, every single expression formed on your face, the fluster you get in the moment, within the thick air that consumes both of you, bodies that were nearly conjoined together.
His cock that drags in and out of you, pulling every sound from your lips, a beautiful sound that he only gets to hear. The way your face contorts in pleasure, where the veins from his shaft are felt in your insides.
“Mmmph C—Clark!” you meweled out, your legs that were brought higher around his waist, the classic missionary position where he can see all of you, especially the faces you make just from him, where he gets to compliment you all he wants while watching you.
“I know, I know, sweetheart. Doing good just for me,” he groaned in your ear before nibbling a part of your ear, as you felt his head hitting the sweet spot over and over. “You're so beautiful for me, everything about you, honey. Thank you for letting me praise you like this.”
And the most intimate compliment, where your cheeks rose in a pink hue, where your moans filled the air as you were slowly coming to a release.
“Ngh— Clark I-I’m close!” you stammered before hiding into the crook of his neck the ecstasy that was leaving you a moaning mess.
“Honey let me see, don’t hide, let me see that beautiful face when you come, hmm?” he reassured with a soft huff, swiftly tapping the side of your head to bring your attention back to him, where he can watch you.
Hips snapping with every thrust, his eyes connecting with yours, feeling the way you squeeze around him from a release that makes his breath hitch every time.
And all came crashing down on you. The moan from the feeling that left you shaking from the orgasm that was drawn from you, your eyes that fell closed as you felt his white sticky load in you right after his release.
His cock that stilled in you for a moment, where the heavy breaths from both of you were slowly settling down, where Clark reached to connect his lips to your face, kissing all over, before reaching your lips. “I love you,” he whispered before taking note of your daze, your cheeks pink, the smile that was left across your face that was just for him.
And he would definitely show how much he loved you every night if he could.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Staying at work late to impress the new editor-in-chief proves to be something Clark Kent isn't equipped to handle — KENT: Furniture-Breaking Collab
𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆/𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘: Explicit/F!Reader
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: pwp, editor-in-chief!reader, public indecency, sexual tension, push & pull dynamics, comedy, pathetic!clark
𝐖/𝐂: 2.3k
The Daily Planet had a problem.
A 'copy' room that sat in a converted storage closet. One that had barely enough space for a single machine, lovingly known as Joseph, which Perry White graciously funded. (Stole, from the unoccupied offices on the fifteenth floor.) He quickly became a hot commodity around the office, as the only printer that could cough up a hundred pages a minute. One that would never jam, and actually senses your fear to work faster.
By the end of the evening, Joseph's whines could be felt through the drywalls of the quiet office. The poor guy was on his very last breath, being put to use every waking minute. Thankfully, the bullpen had cleared out by the time the second work hours had come to an end, all except one, Clark Kent.
He stuck around when everyone else had left — wanting to spend their Friday nights anywhere but the pit of doom and despair. On a work ethic level, Clark didn't think it was nice to leave the office with the boss still around.
At least that was the reason that remained much more appropriate than 'he had a big fat crush on the editor that everyone hated the guts of.'
Clark would never admit how much he liked being needed. Being the one person you relied on, and showed sides you hadn't shown to other people. He thrived on that feeling.
And it's also what had him stuffing himself into the sorry space of a closet at eight-thirty in the evening on a little errand you sent him on. Crouched down, eye level with Joseph, his dying breath that came in the form of a little red light had been blinking right at its perpetrator.
"That means…it's all out of juice. Okay."
He lifts the panels. Huh.
There was a sad little stack of paper, more than enough to not have caused the loud noise it had made earlier. Clark remained awkwardly stuffed in the little corner after refilling the tray with more paper as an added measure. "Okay…okay…" The rooms echoed with his borderline maniacal mumbles to himself, panic coursing right to his belly.
His jacket came off soon after, left abandoned behind him. Sleeves rolled up and forearms oiled up with printer lube, which he did not know was a thing.
"….Not the rollers, not paper…" Clark then peeks over to the Reddit thread he had opened, listing off the potential reasons why Joseph was messing with him now, of all times. The machine whines as he carefully peels off the side panels, in an attempt to peek into the insides.
"Clark?"
He stiffens. The sound of your voice pairs with his rather unglamorous bonk against Joseph.
"Y-yes, miss —… yes ma'am."
Clark remains on his knees on the tile, submissively poised as you take a drag over his state at present. His stark, white shirt had a darkened, greasy smear across the chest, levelled with an open paper tray.
"I was wondering what was taking so long with the printing." Your heels mockingly click louder on the tiles, stopping short of the printer. Then, with a tilt of your head, "is there a problem?"
"No!" He blurts, rising too quickly, damn near snagging his tie wedged in the shims of the printer.
The ill-timed stumble he takes forces him closer in the already cramped space. You don't flinch, holding your ground instinctively. And you soon regret it.
Clark unfurls to his full height. Your gaze, which once rested on his crooked glasses, is faced with a wide stretch of white. Slowly, you pull it higher, settling right around his collarbone when you feel the strain in your neck just from looking up. His warmth is immediate, stifling the narrow sliver of air you had between him and his chest — that rose and dipped heavily in your eyeline.
Your breath hitches.
"Not to worry! I've got it handled." You note that his voice extends a pitch higher, one that is too quick and obvious, "just uh — … this ol' thing is giving me a little bit of…trouble."
"Mm." You turn on a heel in seconds, which helps ease the thumping in your heart, rolling your sleeves up to your elbows as you attempt to lift the cartridge door with both hands. Clark flounders behind you to hold it steady as you lift it, his forearms coming to bracket your own.
Your body involuntarily stills at his sudden proximity, a much sturdier chest grazes past your back.
He had to be doing this on purpose.
"…Rollers?"
"Done. Lubed him up, no dice." He exhales roughly through his nose. Jaw ticking at the stark betrayal from his own namesake. You notice the way Clark trails off, staring hard at the printer as though he could see through the contraption.
"…Him? " You mouth, at the apparent pronoun use for the printer.
"Uh …" he clears his throat, gesturing weakly to the printer. "…Joseph." He says simply.
"Right." You murmur, biting the insides of your cheeks in an attempt to squash the smirk that threatens to make its way out. "Let me have a look."
Clark backs away, with both palms raised. "I mean…you can. But I've looked at it pretty…thoroughly."
"Yeah, it's probably the outlet."
"I doubt it's the outlet." He insists, with that too-eager Superman ego that spilt over sometimes.
You look up at him, stubborn, your fingers squeezing by the hem to inch them higher in a decisive motion. "Wouldn't be an issue if I double-checked, then."
The ID Card attached to your lanyard swings over your shoulder as you get down to your knees, lowering yourself until your forearms lie flush to the ground.
"Uh…maybe I should help —"
You don't acknowledge the thick, pained swallow that followed his words.
Defiantly, you stretch further in, hips tilted back in a deeper arch. Your softer, whispered grunts of effort, genuine despite your intentions.
"Anything back there?"
Clark sounded absolutely wrecked behind you.
He had no choice but to remain so very still, to focus his sights on that loose thread by the hem of your skirt, that was straining…and tightening around the fat of your thighs —
"Little to your left."
You look over your shoulder for a second, catching sight of Clark's oxfords tapping on the tiles incessantly after he blurts out his gratuitous commentary. "Thanks." Your arms stretch out further, forcing an arch.
Clark gulps audibly, his breath catching when the hem of your button-down rides up. The thicker waistband of your skirt dips just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of your lower back. You make no effort to adjust it back down.
"Chief…"
"Ah!" You rasp, feeling one of the Ethernet cables disconnected, right where he pointed it out. "Told you. Let me try to get this thing in."
Clark exhales in a short-lived relief.
"C'mon…Joseph."
His grip tightens as it finds itself on the sides of the machine, plastic creaking beneath his grip. The sound that escapes your throat is a low and satisfied hum, a sound that heads straight to his core.
Your own palm pats the machine in victory when it whirrrs in approval. When you glance up, Clark's hand was held out for you, with an eerie calmness washing his features, a picture of perfect composure.
You frown, pulling yourself up with his help.
"Give it a try again, it should work this time."
Expected that he hadn't taken the bait, you suppose. That move was cheugy, even for you.
It takes you a quick adjustment to your skirt to snap back into your usual persona. "Right. So, bring the copies to me when you're…— done?!"
Your palms smack down onto Joseph's lid. A surprised gasp at the rough tug toward Clark's chest.
"Whoa! Hey."
His forehead slumps to the back of your shoulders. "You can't be…doing that."
You don't try to argue, not immediately at least. Offering nothing but a stifled laugh when you feel the hard line pressed to your back, "looks like Joseph's up."
"I — that's because you were deliberately egging me!" He tries. Only to be cut off by the actual printers starting screen flashing at him.
Clark pulls back from you. Dragging a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. None of this is you. I misread it."
You turn to face Clark, leaned back against the printer. Before he wallows more in self-pity, your finger curls by the loop of his belt, forcing him a step closer.
"No…" you hum, thoughtfully, dragging a finger to the metallic buckle, "…read it pretty accurately."
Clark lets out a soft whimper, his palms coming to brace beside your hips, "I-I did?"
"Yeah." You breathe, wetting your lips instinctively. "You did."
His eyes shakily shuts, the loud click of his belt being undone resounding loud in the smaller space, his arousal rigid against his slacks. The zipper comes next, and only then does Clark grab your wrist, not to stop you, but to level you.
"This…I'm not letting you do this because…you're Chief. Or anything."
You huff out a laugh at his shaky words, "that's what you're thinking about?"
His lips press taut, gripping harder around the printer tray. Tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. Your knuckles drag past his zipper, nudging where his tip would be through his boxers.
You watch as his head slumps low while you tug the navy fabric past his length. Clark shudders softly at the cooled air hitting him. "Not…anymore." He manages, his hand tangling itself at the back of your head.
"What are you thinking about now?" You whisper. Squeezing him, teasingly.
The gentle pressure tightens, and in a quick decision, he turns you over swiftly. A steady palm nudges you to bend at the hips, your forearms presses on Joseph.
His idle palm on your lower back slides down to your thighs, pulling your skirt up to your hips. "This…" He mumbles, strained. You squeeze your legs together, ankles crossing over one another expectantly at his move.
"Shit…Clark," your voice drops to a whisper, appreciatively lifting your hips higher for him. He gets the memo, muttering incoherently to himself at the sight you offered.
Oh gosh. This is coconuts. Absolutely coconuts.
Clark thumbs at the fat of your stocking-covered thighs. Gulping. "Can I..?"
"M—hm." You hum, gasping sharply at the fresh rip. He wets his fingers, gently easing them up your inner thighs, groaning low.
"Gosh…you're — warm." He croaks, bringing his digits up to your growing slick. You pulse at his touch, melting into it quickly with the gentle rub parting your folds.
"You don't have to be…so — ah…soft. With it."
Clark grits at your words with a hesitant nod, his palm relaxing, cupping the width of your pussy before his strokes turn much more deliberate. Quicker.
The approval to his ministrations come in the form of the loud, satisfied squelches your cunt makes, coating his fingers as he nudges them into your gummy walls, stretching you out generously. He doesn't stop easing you open for him until you're weakly pawing at his wrists.
He exhales, aligning the blunt tip of his cock by the entrance of your worked cunt. "Okay…okay. Talk to me. If it's too much."
You nod quickly. Resting your forehead against cool plastic. A stuttered whine rumbles out of your throat as he pushes, his own grunts audible as he eases his cock into you, inch by inch.
"A-Ah. Gosh. That's — yeah. G-Gosh." Clark looks to the ceiling, a full-bodied shudder felt even through you as he bottoms out, holding himself there.
"Clark," you plead, voice coming hoarse. His hot, thick cock grew harder in you as you pulsed pathetically, fingers clinging onto the leather of his undone buckle. Pulling at it.
"In a minute, okay? Don't wanna hurt you, I-If I go too fast it'll —"
"Fucking, move."
His jaw clenches at your rebuttal, grabbing your hand, gently pinning them behind your back.
"Fine." He murmurs. Flexing at your wrist, briefly tightening.
The next thrust rocks you into Joseph. Hard. You gasp in surprise and a flicker of pain. The cooled printer you were resting your forehead on is replaced by the warmth of his palm before Clark's thrusts steadily turns rougher. Meaner.
His forehead drops to the back of your neck. Panting into the sensitive skin of your neck. "Fuck." The curse slips out of him, whispered, his hips snapping into you relentlessly. "This is — what I mean — I-I can't…"
Every broken word was punctuated with a frenzied thrust, you start to feel him nudge a spot in you that made your toes curl.
"There, yeah — mhm!" You squeak, head tilted. Clark's palm shifts, casing your eyes. "It's good — so — so so good."
Your praise spurts him on further, "yeah?"
"Yes, god — yes."
Clark nods hastily to himself at your assurance. Dragging his palm down to your front, rubbing at your clit just enough for you to clench faintly around him.
The pleasure is heavy and insistent, tipping you right over the edge as you come. This time, your pussy grip his cock. In hard, pulsating waves. Nothing like the slight flutter from earlier.
"Good golly," he chokes, head tipped up, grinding into you shakily, taking in the feeling of the suction you provide. His palm slips from you, fisted as they rest on thick plastic.
"I'm close, oh gosh I'm close, I'm —" His words are futile, somewhere in his throat, and with a loud, deafening crack, he spills in you, pained gasps bathing the sides of your cheeks.
You don't get to bask in the quiet bliss of your combined orgasms when the contraption beneath you both crackles. Electricity sending sparks flying where Clark's fist had gone through. Layers and layers of thick plastic and shattered glass.
He pulls you back in a panic-induced move, the both of you staring at the remnants.
"Oh…Joseph."
couldn't help but also include my original banner in this fic, which i so adored, but the one on top made by @sparklingsin truly is a show stopper. thank you @tw1sters for this lovely and silly collab. love you freaks loads <3
snowghoul
gamechangershow
titsay
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
