Clark Kent secretly loves when you stay up late for him, even when he (gently) tells you not to.
It’s always “Oh baby, I just really missed you, and it’s a Friday night, so it doesn’t really matter—.”
Or “Well, I just wanted to see you, and I really like this book—.”
Or something else along those lines. And even though you’re already up, he’ll always chastise you. “Cmon now baby, you need your eight hours. We’ve talked about this.”
Naturally, it never deters you.
To Clark’s credit, there’s something about seeing your sweet little self up at that hour, the little bags under your eyes; your soft, noodle-like arms trying to wave at him; and god, that little slur in your voice, where you almost sound drunk, but it’s something more sugary sweet, meek, innocent and gentle, and he loves it. He wishes he could just bottle up the sound.
He’ll go shower, clean himself up. Sometimes he takes his time with it, because a long day doesn’t always just take a minute to fade away. But he’ll always end up right next to you, under those lush covers, holding you so close to his chest. You always wait for him, so patient, snuggling into him.
The best nights, though, are the ones where you can’t seem to just turn your brain off and fall asleep. When you just need a little coaxing, and a little loving on.
You tend to get really aroused at night, some nights more than others. Sometimes he can smell it on you, because it’s so potent. He loves that smell. It’s like rain over jasmine. Maybe it’s out of routine, because you’ve come to expect him to come home late and give you some sugar, and he’s inadvertently got you trained like a little love bunny.
“Clark?” you’ll say meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t fall asleep, Clark.”
He’ll smirk into your back, knowing that was coming. “Oh yeah, sleepy girl? Why don’t you just try?”
“Oh, but Clark…” you’ll pout, shifting to face him. “I really can’t sleep.”
“Oh, honey,” he’ll tut, giving you a baby-blue eyed look drenched in mock-pity. “Do you need me to get you down?”
You’ll bite your lip, and that’s enough confirmation for him.
Soon enough he’ll be stretching you out on his fingers, cooing about what a sweet girl you are until your body succumbs to the stimulating sensation. It never takes much—usually your imagination’s gotten you to the precipice, and he merely has to take you over the edge.
He likes to tease you then. “That was a big one, huh. Maybe it’s time for bed..?”
“Nooo,” you’ll pout, and then register his stupid smirk. “Why are you so mean to me?”
“I know, I know. I’m so mean, sweetness. Just terrible, huh,” he’ll play along, lining up with your wet, welcoming entrance.
“Yeah—yeahhhhhhhh,” your protest’ll fade into a delicious moan, one he swallows with his lips because fuck. You’re just too cute.
“You like that, honey? Being so full of me? Bet you’re not even thinking straight, huh, sleepy girl. Just taking whatever I have to give. Good girl,” he’ll say, spurring you on, making you feel just so damn good—
Needless to say, the second orgasm usually gets you down, syrupy and dopey with a lovestruck “I love you Clark” as you drift off to the comfort of him cleaning you up and tucking in, whispering back “I love you.”
a/n: just started smallville… yk, the tom welling… let’s just say i started out picturing david when i was writing this… and times are changing… anyways, comments and shares mean the world!!
Description: Clark Kent was no longer a reporter, no longer a hero. But loneliness didn’t agree with him, and you were the best thing he’d had in a long time.
Pairing: dark!Clark Kent x Reader
Warnings: this is a dark!clark fic. please do not read if it’s not something you can comfortably handle. warnings are not comprehensive. dubcon/some noncon elements. stalking, coercion, drugging, alcohol, smut (p in v unprotected, oral (f!receiving), forced creampie, technically reader "consents" but also no she does not), kidnapping, violence
Word Count: 5.8k
a/n: trying my hand at something that isn't happy ending fluff and smut, please do not beat me with rocks. based on this post
add yourself to my taglist!
Clark stared out the window for hours at the trees gently swaying in the wind. Sunlight filtered through them, just barely kissing his skin. He leaned on the sill, hands braced against the old wood. It wasn’t the fortress, that was for sure. He didn’t get hard bursts of sunlight that warmed him from the inside out, but he also didn’t need intensive healing anymore.
He’d stepped away from the spotlight years ago. Every time he saved someone from a burning building, the building still burned. No matter how many people he helped, it was never enough. His existence invited conflict, and no amount of good deeds ever seemed to make up for it. He loved humanity. He loved people. He loved them so much that he stopped trying to save them.
He hung up the cape, left his boots at his parents’ farm, and stopped trying.
He left Lois, he left his job, he left Metropolis. He started over.
He found a little cabin out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere north. There were still pretty summers where he could head out to the swimming hole to cool off, just like he used to when he was a kid in Smallville. But winters were quiet. Secluded and cold and quiet. He didn’t mind it. It sort of reminded him of the fortress when snow covered the ground and light barely broke through the treetops. Just enough to keep him going, not enough to make him feel powerful.
It was spring now. The ice finally melted, and warm weather set in slowly each day. He made his way to town more often, friendly with the locals, but… normal. He grew out his hair a little, let it sit wild on his head, and for the first time in his life he grew a beard. It was different. But he realized quickly that with the cover of facial hair, he wasn’t recognized as Superman. No more glasses and ink-stained fingers. No, now he was all flannel and the smell of smoke and sawdust. He’d taken to being a freelance carpenter of sorts. A jack of all trades handyman for whoever needed help and could spare a few bucks to get it.
But his favorite customer was you.
He’d met you for the first time in a gas station, a little surprised to see you working all alone at night. But town was pretty safe. Not many people lived around those parts, and those who did often traveled from their own secluded homes just to get what they needed before leaving again. You were different. You lived in a cute little house on the edge of town, just past the white-steepled church. You smelled pretty and you had a sweet smile and you always looked at Clark when you thought he wouldn’t notice. He always noticed.
His eyes narrowed as he looked up out of the window, watching the clouds roll in. It looked like rain. By the time he stepped outside, he could smell it in the distance, but that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he promised. He showed up at the station, eyes immediately seeking you out.
“Clark! You came,” you greeted him with a smile, standing behind him in one of the short aisles.
He turned, his eyes a little wider. He smiled softly. “Hi.”
He watched your eyes trace his face, leading down to his neck, lower, lower, lower. Stopping just before they settled at his belt. He knew you thought he was attractive. He could tell in the way your heart always picked up a little bit when he stood too close, or the way your scent shifted when he’d let a hand rest on your back to walk past you. He liked it. He liked you.
He realized just how much the first time he’d followed you home. He floated far above you, watching you walk down the road. He told himself it was just to make sure you were safe, that you didn’t get caught up in anything. He’d seen it happen in Metropolis several times. A young woman walking alone, and some creep decides to go after her. He didn’t want some lunatic following you home and hurting you. So he just kept an eye out.
He watched until you were inside, then he lowered himself to the ground. He peeked into a back window from a distance, just to be sure you were okay. He smiled to himself a little as he watched you turn on the tv before you went to your room. He didn’t mean for his protective streak to go so far, but you were just so pretty. You were so kind. He was so lonely.
It became a habit.
He followed almost every night, making sure you got home safely. Five months passed before he allowed himself more than a little watching.
He helped that day at the gas station, following you around to fix everything you mentioned. Then, casually, he asked if you needed any help at home. You said yes.
“My sink has been kind of making a funny noise when the water gets hot,” you explained, Clark on your heels as you entered the bathroom. “I don’t know if that’s something you can fix, but–”
“I can. I can figure out just about anything.” He gave a small smile, mostly concealed by his beard, but you swore you could see the hint of a dimple underneath.
He brushed past you and got to work. He hoped that you’d invite him to have a drink or maybe stay a little longer, but as soon as he was done you were saying a polite thanks, handing off a generous payment, and that was about it. But still, you gave him another one of those looks. The kind that made something stir in his jeans and his heart pump a little harder. He left, promising to see you the next day when he made a trip to get his weekly groceries. But he didn’t really leave. He lingered outside, now knowing the layout of your home like a map in his head. He could imagine everything. He knew the best windows to head to when he wanted to see you. So he went.
He circled your home until he found the right angle, able to see directly to the closet in your bedroom. He waited.
He felt an excited thump in his chest when you opened the door of the closet, pulling out a cozy-looking nightgown. He knew he shouldn’t watch you like this, it was horrible. But he couldn’t help himself. His eyes zoned in as your clothes came off. First the t-shirt, a pretty white bra underneath. Then your jeans. Your soft blue panties dropped after the jeans did, bra flinging into the hamper with them. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe– saliva pooled in his mouth when you turned, bare just long enough for him to memorize before you pulled on the nightgown. He choked down a groan in his throat, the urge to touch himself overpowering any good sense he had left.
He spent his night with his hand down his pants until he was painting the inside of his underwear four times over.
That became a habit, too. Watching the pretty girl from the gas station make herself dinner. Or dry off her hair after a shower. Or touch herself under covers, sure that nobody could hear her muffled moans. He’d rub his cock raw thinking about you, watching you, smelling the remnants of you on his clothes after purposely standing far too close, just to feel your warmth.
It took him almost a full year to work up the nerve to ask you out. You agreed with a grin and a happy nod, telling him that you were hoping he’d ask. He was kind and courteous and made sure you felt special. He felt so normal again. Like he could just be himself when he was with you. Not Superman, not Clark Kent the reporter. Just Clark. He felt loved.
Your fourth date came before you knew it.
Clark showed up at the door of your home, knocking with a little grocery store bouquet in hand. He wore his nicest pair of jeans and a simple button up shirt. Tonight was the night that he made sure you knew how he really felt about you. His breath was taken when you opened the door.
“Gosh, you look beautiful,” he breathed out, gaze darting all over your body.
You gave him a soft, shy smile. You hoped he’d think so, having put on a nice dress and a little extra makeup. His eyes strayed to the lipstick you wore, the shade a little bit darker than anything he’d seen you in before.
“Thank you.” You took the flowers from him, inviting him to come inside as you found a vase for them. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“They’re flowers, not a diamond.” He chuckled softly.
“Still. This is really sweet, Clark. Thank you.”
His eyes stayed glued to you, his cheeks warming when you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheekbone, his hand bracing against your waist. He brought you a town over to a nicer restaurant. He got their finest bottle of wine for the table: a $30 sweet red. They didn’t exactly have anything high end all the way out there. But you were still gracious, happy to sip on it throughout dinner. His hand rested in a polite position on your knee on the drive back to town, but you blinked when he went down a road you hadn’t been on before.
“Clark?”
“Yeah?”
“Where are you going?”
He glanced at you, hand moving up by a centimeter. “I thought we could go home. My home. Just for a little bit, if that’s okay?”
You’d never been, but you liked the idea of that. You’d been pining after the man since he showed up in the gas station with those big, bright eyes and strong hands. Clark heard the way your pulse sped up, the smallest smirk sneaking onto his face. You wanted it. He knew it.
He sat you on his couch, handing you another drink.
“You have a nice place,” you said softly, looking around his living room. Clark was crouched by the fireplace, getting the fire started for the night. He hadn’t started one without laser vision in a long time, so starting it now took a little bit longer. “How long have you been living here?”
He shrugged once. “Few years, I guess.”
“You only started coming to the gas station last year, though.”
“Yeah. I went north before then, but the locals weren’t as sweet up there as you are,” he said with a wink. You hid a smile behind your glass. “Since I’m pretty far out here, getting to either town is a horse a piece as far as distance goes. Good hour’s drive either way.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Took a while to get out here.”
“And that’s with me speeding.” He chuckled.
You laughed right back. He sat next to you on the couch, close enough to press your legs together. You just talked for a while, Clark watching your every move as the hours passed. He liked you a little tipsy, he thought. You were a little friendlier, a little touchier. But he didn’t want you drunk, so he took your second glass when you were halfway through.
“Hey–”
“You’ve had enough for now. Don’t want you falling asleep on me,” he replied, his voice low. He sat the glass on the coffee table, then leaned back. He looked at you, his gaze intense and darker than you’d seen it before. His fingers brushed gently against your cheek. “You’re beautiful.”
“Clark…”
“Come on, don’t get shy,” he sighed, a small smile on his face. He propped his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”
You gulped, unsure how to respond. You felt warm and fluttery. His lips were on yours before you knew it, softer than you thought they’d be despite the hairs on his face scratching against your chin. He let out a heavy breath against your lips, deepening the kiss quickly. His tongue brushed against yours, groaning as he finally tasted you. He knew you’d be sweet, and the hint of wine on your tongue only heightened what he knew would already be there. His hands braced against your face to pull you in harder, ignoring the soft noise of discomfort you made as you tried adjusting to the intensity he kissed you with.
“I really like you,” he murmured against your skin, hand sneaking up your thigh.
You gasped softly, your dress getting pushed up your legs. “I– I like you, too, Clark.”
That was all it took for him. He picked you up, lips not leaving your skin for more than a second as he brought you to his bedroom. You were a bit surprised at how quickly he was moving, but soon you were both bare. His face was between your legs, devouring you from the inside out. You gasped and writhed under his touch, his arms tight around your legs to keep you spread open.
“Oh, god. Clark…” Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging when he shoved his tongue into your tight hole, fucking you with the muscle.
His eyes rolled back, your sweet cunt like honey on his lips. Sweeter than he ever imagined, and he’d imagined this often. He loved the way you moaned his name, his body responding with ease. He’d trained himself to get hard at the mere sight of you at this point, but getting you under him? He tried hard not to cum against the quilt on his bed while he ate you out. His tongue moved up, sucking and licking at your clit in a way you weren’t aware a human being could. Between his mouth and his fingers fucking you, you came three times before he finally pulled himself away.
He looked wild. His dark hair was a mess, your juices soaking his beard. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen, and the way he looked at you was borderline animalistic. Part of you actually felt a tinge of fear. But he was so sweet and attentive. You pushed that feeling down, letting your arousal take over again.
He gripped his cock, pulling down the bit of skin that still encased him. He brushed his leaking, swollen tip against your cunt, watching the way you glistened in the low lamp light of his bedroom. All you could hear was your combined breathing, the sound of crickets and toads in the woods, and Clark’s cock rutting against your soaked pussy.
“I’ve thought about this so many times, you have no idea,” he all but grunted. “Thought you’d be so pretty under me.”
You furrowed your brow a little, chest still heaving. “You have?”
He nodded, then pressed his tip against your entrance. You winced, his thick cock stretching you wide.
“Fuck,” you gasped, a delirious smile on your face. “Fuck, you’re like a fucking coke bottle.”
He made a sound that was like a laugh, but there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face. He watched you swallow him up. It was a hard fit, but he knew you could do it. You took him like you were made just for him and his cock. He thought for a moment that maybe you really were.
He fucked into you on his knees, watching his cock get drenched in your wetness and your tits bounce with each hard thrust he delivered. Every time you moaned, he encouraged you to be louder, ensuring you that nobody would ever hear you from where he lived. You could scream if you wanted to, and it wouldn’t bother anyone.
He watched you fall apart for a fourth time, your gorgeous pussy fluttering around him. You begged for him, calling out praises as he fucked you through your orgasm. He moaned, watching you closely.
“Shit, please.” You whined, eyes barely open as you stared at him.
“I-I’m gonna c-cum,” he stuttered out, his bare chest heaving. Your name was a praise on his lips. “You feel so good. So perfect, better than I imagined.”
You whined. “P-pull out when you do.”
He grunted, not responding. He sped up, hips slamming into you. You whimpered, the pleasure too intense as his speed turned almost uncomfortable.
“Clark–”
He moaned over your voice, hips stuttering. You gasped for any entirely new reason: he came inside of you. His body covered yours, his hips still grinding into you as he pumped you full of cum until it was leaking out between your bodies. His full weight was on you, his face in your neck.
“Geez.”
You were quiet for a moment. Maybe he just didn’t hear when you asked him to pull out. You couldn’t imagine that Clark would willfully ignore you. Your hands touched his back, rubbing the skin softly.
Clark breathed heavy against your neck and shoulder, settling himself down. He’d never felt so light in his entire life. You were like the sun that healed him when he was hurt. Warm and comforting, patching him up from the inside out. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. He needed to keep you around.
He wouldn’t let you go.
“Clark?”
He smiled, your voice soft and nervous. “Mhm?”
“You came in me.”
He lifted his head, looking down at you. He raised his brows. “Y-yeah?”
“I… did you hear me ask you not to?”
Your lips pulled into a frown. One he wanted to kiss right off your face. He leaned down, kissing you slowly until you pushed him away.
He shook his head. “What?”
“Did you hear me ask you not to cum in me?”
“No.” He lied. “No, but don’t worry about that. I’ll get you a Plan B if you need one?”
“Please don’t do that again,” you huffed, not pleased about his blasé attitude.
He hummed, murmuring soft apologies into your skin until you melted again. He didn’t want you to be mad at him. He just couldn’t imagine pulling out of such a perfect cunt when you felt that good around him. He put you into the shower, dressing you up in his clothes and tucking you into his bed. You looked so sweet curled up against his pillows. He couldn’t help but watch you in the deep of the night. He loved watching you, he already knew that. But getting to see you up close like this was so much better than seeing you through your windows. He could feel you, hold you, kiss you if he wanted to.
He was up early in the morning, starting a new fire to ward off the chill of the morning before you were up. He locked all the doors and started a pot of coffee and some waffles in his kitchen, wanting to make you happy when you came out of the bedroom. He wanted to soften the blow as much as possible. Maybe you’d even be happy, he thought.
He smiled, kissing you deeply when you finally emerged, following the scent of the coffee. You let him, despite your initial protest that you hadn’t yet brushed. He said he didn’t care, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind when his tongue was instantly down your throat. He fed you, dressed you up in a fresh pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt, and guided you into the living room.
“Do you think you could take me home soon?” you asked softly, curled into his side as the afternoon came, sunshine streaming through the windows.
He swallowed, only holding you tighter. “What?”
You looked up at him. He looked so sweet and peaceful. “Can you bring me home? I need to get back, I have work tonight.”
He smiled down at you, eyes tracing your eyes and lips. “No.”
You blinked. “You– what?”
“No,” he repeated simply, a soft kiss pressed to your forehead.
You froze, unsure about what exactly he meant by that. No? That didn’t make any sense. You straightened up, trying to put some distance between the two of you. He just frowned as you backed up.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
He sighed, as if he were answering a stupid question. “I’m not taking you home.”
“Why not?”
He just stared at you, not liking the tone you’d taken with him. He tried to brush a finger against your cheek, but you dodged him again. His jaw ticked.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Clark, that isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
You gaped, shock taking over along with anger. You stood suddenly, looking down at him. He looked back at you, unimpressed with your little outburst. He expected that you might be a little upset, but he didn’t understand why you were so angry. He had a nice home. Lots of natural light, pretty location, comfy bed, tons of good food to eat, and a man who was willing to love you the way you deserved.
“Take me home, Clark.”
He stood, towering over you. “No.”
You scoffed, turning to find your shoes and purse. He watched you with a sigh, letting you get it out of your system. You stalked to the front door, tugging at it before you looked at it quizzically when it didn’t budge. You tried the locks, but two of them required a key that you obviously didn’t have. He could hear your heart speed up again, but this time it wasn’t from arousal. He didn’t mean to frighten you, but he couldn’t just let you go. He needed you.
“Honey, come on. Come sit down and we can talk about this,” he softly said, reaching for you as he rounded the couch to get nearer to you.
You backed up, not wanting him near you. “Why aren’t you letting me leave?”
He frowned when he saw your lip quiver. “Don’t be upset.”
“Don’t be– are you kidding me? You locked me in!”
He caught you when you stumbled over the rug, hand around your arm to keep you close. You tried pulling away, but he wouldn’t allow it.
“I know you’re confused and you’re probably scared, but I don’t– I didn’t want to make you scared. I just can’t let you leave.”
“What?”
His shoulders dropped when your voice cracked, tears pricking your eyes. He said your name softly, pulling you closer despite your protest.
“I really care about you. I can’t let you go, I don’t…” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
You felt sick. Dizzy. Faint.
“I have something to tell you,” he said softly, pulling you to the couch again.
You followed against your will, forced to sit with him.
“What?”
He held your hand, too tight. “We’re going to be together. I know right now you’re upset, and that’s okay. But we’re going to make it work.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No!” You tried pushing him away, but he didn’t budge at all. He just blinked at you. “What is the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with you?” He shouted back, his usually soft, composed demeanor flickering. He let out a harsh breath. “You’re so ungrateful. I chose you, you should be happy.”
Your lip quivered. “You’re fucking delusional.”
“I deserve this.”
You just stared at him. Deserved it? Deserved what?
He shook his head, continuing, “I gave so many years of my life to everyone. I sacrificed so much for everyone else, and what do I have now? Nothing. I’m alone. I deserve to be happy again. I deserve something good and you’re good.”
“What are you talking about?”
He dropped your hand harshly, standing. “I can’t… I thought when I went away that I’d… I don’t know. But then I saw you, and you’re exactly what I need. You are, you know it.”
“I don’t understand. Clark—”
“I was Superman.”
You almost scoff. Right. Superman. The guy who up and left the world to figure itself out after being a symbol of hope for so long. Most people assumed he’d died, others believed he found a new planet. There was no way he snuck off into the woods and became a handyman.
“Superman?”
He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I gave it all up, and I just… I came here because I thought I would just be alone for the rest of my life. I was okay with that. I thought it was the right thing to do. But you showed me that isn’t true. I don’t have to be lonely. I have you.”
He watched your every move, irritation lacing his features when he saw your face twist. He didn’t get it. You liked him last night.
“I was worried this would happen,” he huffed under his breath. He shook his head, turning towards the kitchen.
The moment he turned, you scrambled to your feet. Your eyes shot around, looking for any way out. You shot towards the room. You knew there was a window in there, and hoped that the extra door between you would muffle the sounds of you trying to escape.
Your feet carried you to the door silently, looking over your shoulder to make sure he was still in the kitchen. The coast was clear. You snuck inside, closing the door as quietly as you could before you reached for the window to open it.
In the blink of an eye, you heard a slam and felt a gust of wind. Your head smashed into the hard glass as you groaned in pain, your brain twisting in your head.
“You physically cannot run from me.” His voice fumbled in your ear, his hand gripping the side of your head. “You know, the quickest way to build connection and trust is through intimacy. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but you’re not giving me any choices.”
“What?” You squeaked out, your voice weak as your ears rang.
He pulled you away from the window, dropping you down on the bed. He pulled something out of his back pocket that you couldn’t quite see.
“You’re being a brat. If you can’t drop the attitude, I’ll fuck it out of you.”
You jumped at his words. You’d never heard him say more than a ‘darn’ before now, and the implication of what he was saying made your stomach turn. You tried to move away, but every movement made your stomach twist and your head spin.
“No. No, please don’t do this, Clark. Please…”
He grabbed your jaw, squeezing until your lips popped open. He put two pills in your mouth, covering your airways until you swallowed. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest. You didn’t know what he’d given you, only that it left you in a coughing fit from taking them dry.
“I won’t do it unless you want it,” he stated, watching you.
“I don’t want it, Clark. I won’t want it. Ever.”
“Yes. You will.”
“No, I won’t.”
His eyes flashed red, and fear gripped you again. A single laser streamed from his eyes, burning a hole straight through the pillow inches from your hand. You screamed, falling onto the floor. You collapsed. Horror, pain, betrayal— every emotion swirled through your chest. You shook, curling in on yourself when he knelt down next to you. A hard breath was sucked into your chest when he reached out.
His hand touched your face softly.
Clark sighed, almost feeling pity for you. He hated that you were hurt. But he needed to make you learn. He needed you to know how it was going to be.
“You’ll understand soon. I mean what I say. I’m a man of my word. I am Superman. You will learn to be happy with me. You cannot find a way to get away from me. Do you understand me?”
You didn’t respond. He grabbed you, tossing you back onto the mattress.
“I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.”
Clark left the room. He could hear you if you dared move an inch, and he was happy to hear that you were staying put. He scratched at his beard. He wondered if you’d feel better if he got rid of it and looked more like the hero he used to be. But he’d have to start with the glasses again if he did that, and he hadn’t been to the Fortress in far too long. He didn’t want to go back now just to get his disguise. But you’d feel better soon. He made sure of that.
Slipping you a powerful aphrodisiac wasn’t plan A, but he didn’t expect you to have such an extreme reaction to all of this. He wandered to the kitchen to get you a glass of water and some ibuprofen for your head. He also hadn’t meant to shove you into the window that hard. You were just so stubborn, he didn’t know what else to do.
You laid in his bed, shaking and letting tears fall freely. Fucking Superman had trapped you. He made you believe he was so kind and sweet. He took you on dates, held your hand, opened your doors, talked about his parents… and now he locked you in his home with no way to leave. No chance to ever get away. How do you run from someone with superspeed?
You rubbed your legs together, feeling deeply uncomfortable in every possible way. Your head was killing you. Your arm hurt from landing on the ground. Your chest was tight and painful from the terror coursing through you. And… you felt a strange pressure between your legs?
Maybe it was from the night before. He did go pretty hard. You shifted again, feeling something slick between your thighs. Were you bleeding?
You looked down, separating your knees. No blood. Just… wetness.
“Mm…?” The soft, confused sound came out of your throat. You tried shifting to sit, but the change in pressure caused you to gasp. You were aroused. There was no doubt about it. You just couldn’t understand why.
You shifted again, your cunt pulsing with need. You were increasingly aware that you were empty. Your nipples brushed against the t-shirt you wore, your face feeling hot.
Clark came back into the room, giving you a small smile when he saw you, pouty and confused. You weren’t scowling at him now. You just looked shocked. Turned on. It worked.
“Hi, baby.”
His voice rumbled, and you swore you could feel it like a physical touch. Your body responded with a fresh gush wetting your thighs. You looked up at him with wide eyes as he neared you.
“What’d you do to me?”
He sat next to you, relishing in the fact that you leaned a little closer to his body heat despite the fact that your face was still twisted up. He tried handing you the water, but you wouldn’t take it.
“Come on. Don’t be like this, it’s medicine. For your head,” he said softly, putting the ibuprofen in your mouth the same way he did with the pills that you suspected made you feel like you’d explode if you didn’t get touched. He smirked when a soft moan left your throat when he opened your mouth, forcing you to drink the water. “Attagirl.”
“You drugged me.”
“It’s a drug to make you feel good. You’re not going to pass out or anything.”
You let out a shaky breath. “It’s… That doesn’t make it better. You made me… what was it?”
He reached for your hand, your skin hot and clammy already. “I won’t have sex with you unless you want it. The pills… they help you to want it. I was nervous you’d be hesitant, so I went off-planet and stocked up before you came over last night. They help.”
“You’re a fucking freak,” you said, voice weak.
“You’ll be begging for it soon enough.”
You didn’t believe him. You’d been horny before. It wouldn’t make you want your captor. That was fucking ridiculous. But you soon realized why he had to go to another planet for it: it wasn’t just making you horny. It was making you feral. You felt almost nothing but need, your body thrumming and buzzing. You hated the idea that you only felt it more when he spoke. Or when you smelled his body wash. He was so close, and you were so, so empty.
He spoke quietly about when he left. What life was like before that. Growing up on the farm. He spoke just to pass the time, knowing that you weren’t absorbing a single word anyways. It wasn’t until he looked over to see you practically writhing on the bed, brows pulled together. Your legs pressed hard together, clearly trying to relieve the pressure.
“Poor needy baby,” he whispered. His hand rested on your thigh. “You want me to help?”
You whimpered, shaking your head. He didn’t believe that for a second.
“You sure?” His hand moved up further. “I can make it better. If you let me. You just have to say yes. I want you to say yes.”
He watched your eyes well up, your body hot to the touch. You shuddered, his hand on your thigh felt like burning steel. You wanted to tell him to fuck off. You wanted to run, to hide, to kill him if you had to. But you couldn’t.
“I… I don’t…”
He leaned over, kissing your forehead. “You’ll say yes. Because you know you really like me. You’re just being difficult.”
You shook your head, but you let your legs open.
“Say yes.”
“I—”
He let out a soft breath. “Do you want me to make you feel better? Promise I can. You know I can.”
A broken sob left your throat as you nodded. Your voice was quiet and wrecked as the small ‘yes’ fell from your lips. He grinned, pulling you down onto the mattress.
The first time his lips met your aching cunt, a ruined moan was ripped from your throat. You were pulsing and gushing, only able to sit still because Clark had you pressed down to the bed.
You wanted to hate it and you wanted to push him away and tell him you didn’t want it. But you did. With everything, you wanted it. He fucking drugged you to get what he wanted, and it worked.
“Does that feel good, honey?” He asked with lips pressed against you.
You whined. “Y-yes.”
“See? I told you you’d like it.”
You shook your head but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him as he drew orgasm after orgasm out of you. He plunged into you once he thought you were ready, moaning into your ear as he fucked into you.
“We’re gonna be happy together, baby. I promise.” He kissed down your neck, beard rough against your overheated skin. You wished you would push him away, but you only held him tighter. “Maybe one day we won’t even need the pills anymore.”
I just wrote 8 pages when I haven't written in months and was beginning to think I'd never be able to again. Idk what it is, but I am sharing and manifesting this energy for every writer who sees this. May you write 8 quality pages effortlessly and find joy writing once more
