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c h a r a c t e r s :
CLARK KENT
FRANK LANGDON
SCOTT MILLER (coming soon!)
MORE COMING SOON (subject to my hyperfixations)
I DO NOT give permission for my work to be copied, re-uploaded, or translated.
a slow, soft waking in clark's arms before the rest of the world rises and a hint of worshipping the man that deserves everything ❤︎ [clark kent x f!reader, wc: 2.2k]
warnings: 18+. blowjob. slight face-fucking.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
There is a sense of serenity in waking before the rest of the world does. When everything feels silent and suspended in time, the air just beginning to warm slowly, gently—turning golden as the sun crests higher among the clouds.
It's euphoric in a way that only deepens when your eyes flutter open to cool sheets slipping over your body and a warm arm luring you closer to the broad chest curving itself against your back. Kisses raining petal soft upon your shoulder.
Your smile is a light and unhurried thing, shamelessly content, when those same lips drag up your neck. When the hot fan of his breath falls over your ear before he cheekily grazes the lobe between his teeth and makes you jerk. Laughing even whilst you squirm in his arms, ticklish to a degree that he finds utterly adorable.
And hee's so beautiful when you finally manage to face him that you can't even pretend to be mad, not when the sight steals the breath from your lungs just as it always has.
Just as it undoubtedly always will, because Clark Kent is a startlingly kind of gorgeous.
It's like those few hours where you are torturously parted from him in sleep slip a haze over the vibrance of him in your memory, a flimzy covering that when ripped away as your conciousness floods in leaves you stunned and your pulse stuttering every time without fail.
Every time it happens it feels like you're truly seeing him for the first time—the man he is without the crushing weight of responsibility and its merciless nature slowly burning its way through the shine of him.
The man who is good and honest, ineffably kind, and is every inch as wonderful inside as he is out. Who simply wants a home in this world and to love and care for the people in it and is so fiercely loved by his family and his friends, by you, in return.
It feels like a privilege to see him this way, like it is something sacred.
The ruffled softness of his hair, the easy curve of his smile and the unguarded affection in his eyes makes your heart swell, your fingers reaching to trace the beginnings of stubble that shadows his jaw as you open your mouth only to find you're incapable of offering up more than a single word.
"Hi." You murmur a little dazedly, butterflies erupting wild in your belly when Clark grins, wide and delighted. His large hand slipping over your waist to smooth down your back and press you infinitely closer like you aren't almost permanently welded to him already.
"Hey, sweetheart." His voice is soft and fond, laced with a sleepy type of heat, and the rasp of it causes a mirroring warmth to bloom within you as he nudges your nose before dropping his mouth to yours in an achingly warm kiss.
You tangle together like vines after that, your fingers finding home in the mess of his curls and the thought of further conversation dissolving from your thoughts the moment his tongue teases past your lips to curl against yours.
There's no hurry in either of you. No rush to leave and start the day, to fan the heat between you to flame with clumsy desperation when you can take your time and feel the tension gather to an electrifying crescendo with every gentle touch.
And there is a livewire already buzzing under your skin as Clark lures you to drape over him, your body waking and coming alive beneath the proud brush of his fingers over sensitive marks he left the night before. The way he flushes a little at the feel of them and grins against your lips when you shiver.
He's already hard for you—a thick, heavy press between your thighs as he moans low and rocks his hips in time with the unhurried tilt of yours. It makes that soft flush of warmth in your belly become a molten thing. An impulsive need that you let guide your hand until you take him,pulsing hot, in your grip.
The noise he makes in response is exquisite.
A cracked, ruinious sound pulled from deep within his throat, the dark fan of his lashes fluttering when his eyes widen before growing hooded.
"Can I taste you?" You all but beg in a rush of breath, your thighs clenching whilst he shudders against the slide of your hand and snatches at your jaw to kiss you like he is trying to slake an unforgiving hunger.
"You never need to ask. You can have whatever you want from me, I'm yours." He murmurs, enamoured, offering himself wholeheartedly to your mercy just like he has from the very moment he first lay eyes on you.
You melt against him at his words, the glow of them unspooling all of that brewing desperation into something sweeter as his thumbs sweep tenderly over your cheeks. He kisses you soft as dream, once, twice, and catches at your hand to press another there at the heart of your palm before you extract yourself with a lovesick laugh from his hold to slip down, down , down.
Clark lets you go this time without further attempt at distraction but the way he watches you makes you dizzy.
His eyes dark, gaze undeniably focused on every little move from the flex of your muscles to the soft heave of your chest, the quiver of your stomach when he smiles slow and just that little bit devilish, because he can hear the way your heart picks up at the sight of him.
God, it makes you want to worship him—all these parts that you have collected with patient and careful hands over time. The precious pieces of him that he has allowed you to gather close when he lets the perfect version that the world knows slip. His passion and his silliness, his fury and his softness all unravelling beneath your tongue.
You reverently map every plane and ridge of his chest to his torso by taste, sucking marks that begin in the sensitive hollows of his hips before leading to his thighs that go taut beneath them and the relentlessness of your wandering hands.
He groans, low and quiet, when you lick slowly up the length of his cock—lips parting on a stuttering inhale when his blown out stare catches your own already watching. Relishing his reaction.
And then you do it again.
A slow faint trace of wet muscle along the throbbing vein before you take the tip of him into the heat of your mouth and swirl your tongue with just enough pressure to make his head spin.
"Oh, god—"
That whimper almost makes you lose your concentration and grin around him. Pride flaring in your chest when his head falls back against the pillows, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, the sharp cut of his jaw made starker by the way his muscles strain whilst his hands flex and wind tight into the already dishevelled sheets.
It's enough to make you finally dip your head and take him completely, your mouth suctioning tight as it slides wet along his cock, if only to hear the wrecked tremor in his voice again as you swallow him deeper. Then deeper still. To feel the way all that strenth coils tight beneath his skin as he fights to be good and shudders with the restrain—a trembling statue of a man made of nothing but iron-will and a delirious, sweltering want.
And then his hips cant up on their own accord, a helpless fracture in his typically flawless control that has him almost choking on air as the soft walls of your throat constrict tight around him.
He didn't mean to do it—there is already an apology gathering on his tongue, waiting only on his ability to remember how to breathe so he can speak it.
He raises his head to blink down at you, concern warring against the fog of need in his eyes because you haven't broken your rhythm but there's tears glittering at your lashline and his hand is lifting from the sheets too of its own volition, maybe to wipe them away, to touch your cheek in a silent 'are you okay?', to stop you entirely because if he's hurt you he'll die, he'll never forgive himself—
But then you're encouraging him to do it again.
Your hand catches at his own, fingers gentle but firm as you lead him to the back of your head so he can rid himself of the discipline he feels he must exhibit at all times and fuck himself into the welcoming give of your mouth if it pleases him.
And Clark is speechless, dazed. All blown-black pupils and scarlet ears peaking from the dark mess of his hair.
"Are you sure?" He whispers. Hesitant. Awed.
You smooth your hands over his thighs, his hips, the shallow rise of his stomach and allow your mouth to part slowly from his spit-slick skin. Pulling back just enough to tell him, "I want this Clark, I want you to let go, please don't make me stop."
He huffs a soft laugh at that, bewildered and yet a little cheeky in that way you adore. "Wouldn't dream of it, pretty girl."
He lets his hand fall to touch your face, to sweep his touch lovingly over your cheek and press it to the plush of your lower lip, grinning wide and utterly gone for you when you lay a gentle kiss to his fingers.
And then he's stroking your hair back before gathering it in hand. Baring your gorgeous face to him so he can drop his chin against his chest and witness every breathless second of you retaking him in your mouth, lips wrapping around the thick of him, praise pouring from his tongue like ragged silk as he thrusts slow and devastatingly deep, over and over.
Never once forcing the kind of pace that you were expecting but merely guiding a better one that makes you both burn.
"Look at you–so beautiful, taking me so well." He breathes. "God, you're perfect."
His praise hits you like it always does, bright and smoldering—a sudden lightening strike crackling through every aspect of your being as his thighs tense and quake beneath your hands. The sharp clench of his stomach when your nails burrow deep into his flesh and leave him bearing pretty little marks to match his ones on you.
There is the faint bloom of salt as he throbs that lets you know he's close, the weight of him thickening against your tongue, filling your mouth further whilst his thrusts grow jagged and sloppy. So you drag your palm across the solid expanse of thigh and between his legs to cup him there, squeezing, rolling, until his eyes go sightless and he's moaning beautifully, desperate and unrestrained.
“Baby–just like that–please, please don't stop–”
Clarks voice is shot now, his hips stuttering as you suck hard enough that his breath threatens to stop altogether. Cheeks hollowing before you drop your mouth right down to the very base of him—your nose pressed against his skin and everything is warm and wet and he is spiralling rapidly beyond the point of no return.
You make a sound, somewhere between a hum of encouragement and a soft moan, and that is what breaks him. The needy way you latch at his thighs to pull him closer as the wrecked groan of your name tears through his throat whilst he pulses and writhes, pleasure in his veins like a burning star. Flaring hot and so devastatingly bright until it slowly fizzles out and leaves him panting.
Obliterated.
Barely lucid.
It is a deeply satisfying thing to witness.
A divine event, watching the most beautiful man you've ever known fall apart in pleasure and turn boneless beneath you, his large frame dissolving to liquid against the rumpled sheets as he blinks at you with sweet eyes and a dazed, lopsided smile. Strong arms opening sluggishly in a bid for you to return to him and fuse yourself upon his chest.
"Good morning." You murmur, the words a doting and gentle tease against his lips as you beam into the lazy surge of his kiss.
The room is slowly becoming humid now as the morning sun climbs high and strong. The bed collects the heat of it upon what it has already trapped from you both, sweat beginning to grow slick between you from where you lie pressed together but there is no move to pull away, to escape to somewhere cooler, when instead Clark is intent on pulling you closer.
A tender, determined hand sweeping up your back to cradle the nape of your neck whilst his other ghosts over the slope of your shoulder and the curve of your waist. Down further past your hip and over to the space between your legs where he finds you wet and aching and presses his fingers just enough to make you gasp into his greedy mouth.
"It's a great morning." He rasps, eyes bright as jewels and gleaming with joy, devotion. A little mischief as he watches yours flutter closed when his fingers slip inside you and curl deep. "But if you give me a little longer, I think I have a few ideas to make it even better."
i love how you describe the initial stretch when clark puts his dick inside of herr especially when you said it hurt like it’s just emphasizing how fat his dick is 😫
Hiiiii LOVE your gem of a blog and that pretty little brain of yours, so i wanted to ask if you could do something -NO PRESSURE- about how reader and Clark are usually perceived, you know in fics sometimes Clark is very shy in day to day life but quite freaky behind closed doors, and the same goes for reader in some fics? I was wondering if you could do something like that except its BOTH of them seeming shy, reserved, vanilla, heavily against any type of risk, but in reality they are very much on the same FREAKquency, if you decide to write it you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, all am saying is that you do write that smut, me and my friends that follow your blog would very much be the target audience. Have a good day!
-You can call me Gal Gadot the way I don’t know how to act when it comes to this man.
The Daily Planet newsroom was winding down for the evening, the usual hum of activity fading into the gentle lull of end-of-day clean-up. Clark sat at his desk, methodically organizing his notes, his glasses perched low on his nose. Across from him, you were doing the same, your movements precise and careful, the way you did everything.
You'd been working side by side for months now, two quiet souls in a sea of loud personalities. Clark with his gentle smile and unassuming demeanor. You with your soft voice and tendency to blush at the slightest attention.
It came as no surprise to anyone when you two finally started dating. It seemed like a match made in heaven. The two quietest and most reserved people together? Makes total sense!
And they weren't entirely wrong. You were shy. You were reserved. You were, for the most part, vanilla.
At least in public.
"Hey! Lovebirds!"
The voice cut through the quiet, and you both looked up to see Jimmy Olsen bounding over, his camera swinging from his neck. Lois Lane followed at a more leisurely pace, a knowing smirk on her face.
"Jimmy," Clark said, his voice warm but cautious. "What's up?"
"Some of us are heading to that new bar downtown," Jimmy announced, gesturing vaguely. "The one with the rooftop? Lois is coming. You two should join."
You exchanged a glance with Clark, a silent conversation passing between you. The barest tilt of his head. The faintest curve of your lips. A shared understanding that required no words.
"Oh, we can't tonight," Clark said, his hand reaching across the space between your desks to find yours. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and familiar. "We have plans."
“Plans?" Jimmy's eyebrows shot up. "What kind of plans?"
"Dinner date," you said softly, your cheeks warming.
"Ooh, a date night!" Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows. "Getting a little wild tonight, are we? Maybe breaking out the good wine? Maybe—"
"Jimmy," Lois said rolling her eyes, smacking his arm. "Leave them alone."
"I'm just saying! They're always so... you know." Jimmy gestured vaguely. "Reserved. Proper. I bet their idea of a wild night is holding hands with the lights on."
Clark's grip on your hand tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Jimmy," Lois said, grabbing his ear.
"I'm not judging!" Jimmy held up his hands. "I'm just saying, it works for you two. Nothing wrong with that. Buttttt, you two never go out with us! You're always sneaking off together. What do you even do? Read books? Play Scrabble?"
You felt the heat creep up your neck, your cheeks flushing pink. Clark squeezed your hand, his face the picture of composed innocence.
"Scrabble is a great game," he said pointedly.
"What Jimmy means to say is, we'll miss you. But we understand." Lois smiled at you both, "Have fun tonight. Whatever it is you're doing."
"Thanks, Lois," you managed, your voice soft. "We will."
Jimmy was still rubbing his ear as Lois dragged him away. "I’m just trying to help them be a little less boring, you know, have some fun" you heard him mutter.
"Jimmy, if you don't shut up, I'm going to—"
Their voices faded as they disappeared into the elevator.
Clark turned to you, his eyes warm behind his glasses. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," you said, and you meant it. You were more than fine. You were thinking about tonight. About the plans you'd made. About the things you were going to do to each other the moment the penthouse door closed behind you.
Clark must have seen something in your expression, because his grip on your hand tightened again, just slightly. His thumb traced a slow circle on the inside of your wrist.
"Ready to go?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
You nodded, unable to speak. The word ready felt like an understatement.
The restaurant was beautiful. Candlelit, intimate, the kind of place where you could barely hear the other diners. Clark had reserved a table in the corner, away from the windows, away from prying eyes. He'd pulled out your chair, held your hand across the table, looked at you like you hung the moon.
It was perfect.
The cab ride home was calm, both of you curled up into each other's arms, Clark kissing the top of your head softly.
The penthouse was quiet when you stepped inside, the city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Clark locked the door behind you, the soft click echoing in the spacious room. You kicked off your heels, sighing in relief as your feet met the cool hardwood.
Clark hung up your coats, moving with that easy grace that always made your heart flutter. He was so big, so broad, yet so gentle in everything he did. The gentleness was what got you. It was what made you fall in love with him.
And it was what made the way he treated you in private so intoxicating.
"Wine?" he asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
"Yes, please."
You wandered out to the balcony while he poured, the cool night air brushing against your skin. The city sprawled beneath you, a sea of lights and sounds that felt so distant from this high up. You leaned against the railing, watching the cars move like streams of gold and red.
A moment later, Clark joined you, two glasses of your favorite wine in his hands. He handed you one, his fingers brushing yours, and you felt that familiar spark.
He raised his glass. You clinked yours against his.
You both took a sip, the rich taste of the wine warming you from the inside out. You stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the city breathe.
Then Clark's hand found your hip, and he turned you to face him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft. "After what Jimmy said—"
"I'm fine," you said again, and this time you stepped closer, your body pressing against his. "I'm better than fine. I'm exactly where I want to be."
Clark's eyes darkened. His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you closer. "Is that so?"
"Mmhmm." You reached up, your fingers finding the knot of his tie. Slowly, deliberately, you loosened it. "I've been thinking about tonight all week."
"Me too." His voice was a low rumble, his other hand coming up to cup your face. "I've been thinking about you. About what I want to do to you."
Your breath hitched. "Tell me."
Clark leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "I want to take you inside," he murmured, "and I want to take my time with you. I want to have you on the bed, spread out beneath me, and I want to watch you fall apart. I want to see those pretty eyes of yours go glassy and unfocused. I want to hear you beg."
You shivered, your fingers gripping his shoulders. "Clark—"
"But first," he continued, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, "I want to taste you. Right here. Where anyone could see."
Your heart stuttered. The balcony was high up, but it wasn't invisible. Other buildings surrounded the penthouse, their windows glowing with their own lights. The thought of being seen—of being watched—sent a thrill through you.
"Clark, people might—"
"There's no one close enough to see details," he said, his voice calm, assured. "But they'll see enough. They'll see a man on his knees for his beautiful girlfriend. They'll see you gripping the railing, your head thrown back. They'll know exactly what I'm doing to you."
Your cheeks burned, but the heat between your thighs was stronger. "That's—that's so—"
"Naughty?" Clark's lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. "I thought you might like it."
You bit your lip, your eyes searching his. There was no judgment in his gaze, only love and desire. And beneath that, a hunger that mirrored your own.
"Okay," you whispered. "Okay."
Clark's smile widened. "That's my girl."
He sank to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt up to your hips. Your fingers found the railing, gripping it tightly. The cold metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his touch.
"Hold on," he murmured, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. "Don't let go."
And then his mouth was on you, and the world narrowed to nothing but sensation.
Clark was thorough. He was meticulous. He was the kind of man who took his time with everything, and this was no exception. His tongue traced slow, lazy circles around your clit, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a moan slipped out anyway.
"More," you whispered. "Please—"
Clark hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. He slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. Your hips bucked, and he pressed his free hand against your stomach, holding you steady.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "So beautiful. So perfect."
You couldn't respond. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your head thrown back, your body trembling on the edge of release. The city lights blurred around you. The sounds of the city faded into white noise. There was only Clark, his mouth, his hands, his voice whispering praise against your sensitive flesh.
"Come for me," he said, and it wasn't a request. "Come for me, sweetheart. I want to taste you."
You did. You shattered, your body convulsing, your cries swallowed by the night. Clark drank you in, his tongue lapping at you until you were so sensitive you had to push him away.
When you finally opened your eyes, Clark was looking up at you, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with hunger.
"Inside," you gasped, pulling him to his feet. "Now."
The penthouse doors slid shut behind you, and Clark pinned you against them, his body pressing yours into the cool glass. His mouth found yours, hungry and demanding. You tasted yourself on his lips, and it made you moan.
"I need you," you breathed against his mouth. "Clark, I need—"
"I know." His hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head. "But we're doing this my way. Understand?"
You nodded, a shiver running through you. There it was. The Clark that only you got to see.
"I want to hear you say it," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," you gasped. "I belong to you."
"That's right." He released your wrists, stepping back just enough to look at you. "Go to the bedroom. Take off your clothes. I want you on the bed, waiting for me."
You obeyed without hesitation, your heart pounding. You shed your clothes in record time, your fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers. By the time you were naked, Clark was already in the doorway, watching you.
He'd removed his shirt and tie, and the sight of his broad chest, his muscled arms, made your mouth water. He was so beautiful, so powerful, and he was yours.
Clark approached the bed slowly, taking his time. He climbed onto it, settling between your legs, and just looked at you.
"Open your mouth," he said softly.
You complied, taking his fingers and sucking. He reached into his pocket with his other hand—where had he gotten that?—and pulled out a strip of black silk. He held it up, a question in his eyes.
"Yes," you breathed. "Yes."
Clark removed his fingers, tied the silk gently around your head, covering your eyes. The world went dark. Your other senses sharpened—the feel of the sheets beneath you, the scent of Clark's cologne, the sound of his breathing.
"Keep your hands above your head," he instructed, and you felt his fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding them to the headboard. "Don't move."
You felt the silk of his tie wrapping around your wrists, soft but firm. He tied it in a knot, and you tested it—just tight enough to hold you in place.
Clark pulled back, and you heard him rummaging in the nightstand drawer. Your heart raced with anticipation.
"I've been thinking about this all week," he said, his voice low. "About having you like this. Helpless. At my mercy."
You whimpered, your hips shifting restlessly. "Clark—"
His hand found your throat, his fingers pressing gently against your pulse point. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you who was in control.
"Be patient," he murmured. "I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to make you feel everything."
The first thing you felt was his mouth on your neck, teeth grazing your skin. He sucked a mark there, and you arched into him, a moan escaping your lips. His hand on your throat tightened just slightly, and you gasped.
"Good girl," he whispered. "So responsive for me."
His mouth traveled lower, lips trailing down your chest. He took one nipple into his mouth, and you cried out, your back arching. He bit down gently, soothing the sting with his tongue.
"Please," you begged. "Please, Clark—"
"Please what?"
"I need—I need more—"
"You'll get more when I say you do." His hand found your other breast, kneading it roughly. "But you've been so good for me tonight. I think you deserve a little reward."
You felt his fingers slide through your folds, and you nearly sobbed with relief. He teased your entrance, circling it, never quite pushing inside.
"So wet for me. So ready."
"Clark, please—"
"You want my fingers inside you?"
"Yes. Yes, please—"
"Then beg."
"Please, Clark, I need your fingers inside me, I need to feel you, please—"
He slid two fingers inside you, and you cried out, your hips bucking up to meet him. He pumped them slowly, deliberately, curving them just right.
"More," you gasped. "I need more—"
He added a third finger, stretching you, and you moaned, the slight burn sending pleasure through you. He worked you slowly, building you up, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
"Not yet," he said, pulling his fingers out just as you were about to fall.
You sobbed in frustration. "Clark—"
"I told you," he said, his voice stern. "We're doing this my way. And I'm not done with you yet."
He shifted, and then you felt the leather of his belt against your hip. You whimpered, understanding what was coming.
"Don't move," he said. "Don't make a sound."
The first crack of the belt against your ass sent a shock of pleasure-pain through you. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a whimper escaped anyway.
"That's one," Clark said. "I want to hear you count."
The second hit came harder. "Two," you gasped.
"Good girl. Three?"
The third hit made you cry out. "Three!"
He set the belt aside, his hands finding the red marks on your ass, soothing them with gentle circles. "You took that so well," he murmured. "My sweet girl."
You were trembling, aching, desperate. "Clark, please. I need you inside me. Please—"
He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against you. He pushed inside you, and you cried out, your body stretching to accommodate him. He was so big, so perfect, and you felt him fill you completely.
"Fuck," he breathed, his forehead dropping to yours. "You feel incredible."
"Move," you begged. "Please move—"
He did, setting a slow, punishing rhythm. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, designed to drive you crazy. His hand found your throat again, squeezing gently, and you moaned, your eyes rolling back behind the blindfold.
The knot in your belly tightened, coiled, ready to snap. "I'm close, I'm—"
"Not yet," he said, slowing down even more. "Not yet."
"Please—"
"You can take it." He pulled out completely, leaving you empty and aching. "You can take more. I know you can."
He flipped you over onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you up onto your knees. He entered you again from behind, and you cried out, the new angle sending him even deeper.
"Yes," you gasped, your fingers clutching the sheets. "Yes, Clark—"
His hand found your hair, gathering it in his fist and pulling just enough to arch your back. The position made you feel utterly exposed, utterly his. He ripped off the blindfold and hand ties, and his other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he set a faster rhythm.
"Oh, baby," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Taking me so well."
You were beyond words. All you could do was moan, your body moving with his, meeting each thrust. The feel of his skin against yours. The sound of his breathing, ragged and uneven. The scent of sex and sweat and him. It was exactly what you needed.
“What would they think, hmm?” Clark taunts, “You don’t look so shy for me now.”
Having enough of him being in charge, you pushed away from him smirking. Then you turned and pushed him down so that Clark's back was now flat against the bed, his hard cock twitching and dripping.
“Neither do you.” You say back, straddling atop him.
Clark's smirk falters as you sink down onto him, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. His hands fly to your hips, gripping them tightly as you take him inch by inch, before he can’t take it any longer and pulls you down all the way to the base.
"Gosh," he breathes, his head falling back against the pillows. "Baby—"
You don't let him finish. You start moving, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles, watching his face contort with pleasure. His jaw is slack, his eyes dark and hungry, and you feel a thrill of power course through you.
"Look at you," you murmur, echoing his earlier words. "Letting me use you. Oh, god, so big, I love it."
Clark's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh. "You're going to be the death of me," he groans.
You lean forward, your hands braced on his chest, and pick up the pace. Your hips rise and fall, taking him deep, and you watch as his composure crumbles piece by piece. The man who was so in control just moments ago is now a mess beneath you, his breath coming in harsh gasps, his eyes screwed shut.
"Look at me," you command, your voice soft but firm. "I want to see your eyes."
Clark obeys, his gaze meeting yours. There's something raw and vulnerable in his expression, a tenderness that makes your heart ache even as your body moves against his.
"I love you," you whisper, the words spilling out unbidden. "I love you so much."
Clark's hands slide up your body, one cupping your face, the other splaying across your back. "I love you too," he murmurs. "More than anything."
You lean down, capturing his lips in a kiss that's soft and sweet, a contrast to the way your bodies are moving together. His tongue slides against yours, and you moan into his mouth, your hips stuttering.
Clark takes over again when you start to falter, snapping his hips up rapidly to yours hitting deep into your cervix.
“Oh yes baby, right there,” you cry out, letting him do all the work for you.
Clark never takes his eyes off of you, “Yeah, that’s the spot?”
“Mhm,” you whine, “Yes, yes don’t stop.”
And gosh, Clark would never dream of it. So he continues to fuck up into you hard, ignoring your multiple shaking orgasms, pushing you past your limits.
You try to shove off of him, but Clark holds you down on top of him with his strength, abusing your cunt.
“Why are you running now, baby? You said don’t stop.”
“It’s too much, Clark,” you drool out.
Clark mocks your pout, his words dripping in faux sympathy, his hips never faltering. "Too much? But you were so eager just a moment ago. Riding me like you owned me." He thrusts up harder, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes. "What happened to my brave girl, hm?"
You can't form words. Your body is trembling, another orgasm already building despite the overstimulation. Every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, and Clark seems to know exactly how to push you further.
"Please," you manage, your voice broken. "Please, Clark, I can't—"
"You can," he says, his voice soft but firm. "You can take it. I know you can."
His hands find your waist, lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, controlling the rhythm now. The new angle has you crying out, your fingers digging into his chest.
Clark groans, his grip on your hips bruising as he fucks you through it. "That's right," he murmurs. "Yes, baby. Give me one more."
"I can't," you sob. "Clark, I really can't—"
"Yes, you can." He flips you both, pinning you beneath him. He's still inside you, still hard, and he starts moving again, slow and deep. "One more. Just one more, and then I'll let you rest. Can you do that for me?"
You nod weakly, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Okay," you whisper. "Okay."
Clark leans down, pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked face. "I love you," he murmurs against your skin. "I love you so much. You're doing so well for me."
His thrusts are gentle now, almost tender. He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, and you gasp toppling over the edge again.
Clark follows behind, spilling inside of you with a low, guttural groan. His body shudders above you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he rides out the last waves of his release.
Slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes are soft, hazy with spent desire, and he presses a tender kiss to your lips.
"Stay right here," he murmurs against your mouth. "Don't move."
You're too exhausted to argue. You simply nod, your eyes already fluttering closed. You hear him slip out of bed, his footsteps padding across the floor, and then the sound of water running in the bathroom.
A moment later, Clark returns with a warm, damp cloth. He climbs back onto the bed, settling between your legs with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.
"Spread your legs for me, sweetheart," he says softly.
You obey, too tired to feel any embarrassment. Clark's touch is feather-light as he cleans you, the warm cloth gliding over your sensitive skin. He's meticulous, careful, his movements unhurried. He wipes away the evidence of your passion, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your inner thigh.
"You were perfect," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knee.
You watch him through half-lidded eyes, your heart swelling with love. He's still hard, you notice, and a small smile curves your lips.
"Clark," you whisper.
He looks up, his eyes meeting yours. "Yes, baby?"
"Come here."
He sets the cloth aside and crawls up your body, hovering over you. His lips find yours in a soft, sweet kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it sends a pleasant shiver through you.
But then Clark pulls back, his gaze dropping to your still-flushed skin. His eyes darken with something familiar and hungry.
"Clark?" you murmur, your brow furrowing.
"Shh," he soothes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'm not done with you yet."
Before you can protest, he's sliding down your body, his lips trailing hot kisses down your stomach. You gasp when his tongue finds your clit, still sensitive from before.
"Clark—"
"Just one more," he murmurs against your skin. "I need to taste you. Just one more, and then I'll stop. I promise."
You're too weak to argue, and honestly, the thought of his mouth on you again is too tempting to resist. You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair.
Clark's tongue is slow, as he laps at your folds. He cleans up the mess he made, his mouth gentle but thorough. He savors you, moaning softly against your skin, and you feel the familiar warmth begin to build again.
"Clark," you gasp, your hips bucking against his face.
"Mhmhmm" he soothes, his tongue circling your clit.
Your orgasm washes over you, soft and sweet. Clark drinks you down, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors every drop. When it's over, he presses one last kiss to your inner thigh before crawling back up to you. His lips find yours, and you taste yourself on them.
everyone thinking clark and his girlfriend are the most vanilla, sweet, innocent couple because of how they act around each other and present as a team — never cursing or fighting, never drinking or getting belligerent, never lying or betraying anybody including and especially to each other. they were the golden couple. they only amp up that image to everybody even more when clark buys them promise rings. everyone thinks it’s sweet, cute as a button how virginal they both are and are waiting for marriage. they’ve only ever seen him give her a kiss on her cheek or her forehead, rub her arm, hug her in a warm embrace and whisper their adorable inside jokes.
but in the private space of their bedroom, they’ve done just about everything but.
even before clark got them the rings.
every night, he whimpers her name and ‘please’ on repeat right in her neck, wearing nothing but his glasses. grinding his cock up and down the front slit of her pretty, glistening pussy like he’s a horny little bunny that couldn’t ever be sated.
“it doesn’t count, right? if I don’t put it in, mmmmuhhh— oh, god — if I don’t put it in then we’re still virgins,” he pants. still humping her up and down, their parts rutting up against one another as they both implode from the friction. she grinds her clit back, bumping it up against his head and all his throbbing veins, and nods her head up and down, agreeing.
“of course baby, just keep going, we can cum like this as much as we want. it won’t count.”
“oh, oh my, yes, yes please! I have to keep going. I’m about to cum. it’s gonna get all over your pretty little pussy.”
he learns all his dirty talk from the dirty movies they’ve watched too. apart from his instincts and his imagination, and of course all his grunts and movements were purely primal.
“it looks so big when you press it up against me. I don’t know how it’s gonna fit when we get married,” she gasps, watching him rut like a dog and how it goes past her belly button. it’s sloppy, slippery, jutting around from all the blood that’s filled up. his sac is even heavy against her too. the way it bounces against her hole, gives her another part of him to clench onto too.
“shhh, we’ll make it fit. I won’t let it hurt you. we’ll be nice and wet together, just like this, then it’ll just… it’ll just slide right in,” he gulps. losing any other words that are left to say the more he thinks about it. “we’ll feel so good. and you’re gonna be my wife.”
“keep — keep going baby, don’t stop now,” she pleads. clark nods immediately, kissing on her neck while he humps her even faster. the slick is audible, gushing in between them as they whimper and slide.
“they think I don’t even touch you,” clark hums a laugh, slobbering on her throat through a wet, lazy kiss. “mmm. they think I haven’t even seen you naked. they don’t know I can still make this pussy feel good without even putting it in.”
she sprawls out her legs even wider, mouth open as she has her toes further up in the air, letting him take over their gyrating completely as they both leak all over each other.
“let’s cum together, honey. let me make you feel good. let go for me, cum on me. I wanna make this pussy feel nice and happy.”
clark ruts harder, faster. kisses her chin and swallows up his favorite noises that leave her mouth when they both feel the electric dip in their bellies. both of them clench, clark’s tip stills and presses up right against her clit while he lets out his long, gushing first spurt. she cums just as he’s creaming all over her clit, making a mess of her mound and even up to her stomach. they both roar and hum and whine as they rub out their highs, the splatter of all the evidence of their innocent fun coated all over her as they catch up to their wild heartbeats.
he kisses her and hums all his praises right into her mouth, some of it even nonsense as he slaps his filthy, heavy wet tip back on the lips of her pussy and the hood of her clit.
“you um, felt good? jeez, it’s so wet….”
clark is in awe at her shiny center, enthralled while he plays with the mess a little more. he gets shy and ducks his head back with a laugh and says he’s sorry if she’s too overstimulated. she laughs right back at him and shook her head, wrapping one leg around his hips to trap him back in.
“you can keep playing. it’s all yours.”
“it’s ours. our mess… and gosh is it pretty,” he breathes, rolling his head and tapping the sopping wet folds. “prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I can’t wait to be your wife.”
“well I can’t wait to be your husband,” clark retorts, pointedly looking at her and leaning in to give her a warm, selfish kiss.
“can’t wait to feel you inside me. all the way,” she whispers. holds onto his face.
“I’ll make you feel so good. I already can’t keep my hands off you.”
“and they’ll never know.”
“nope,” clark grins.
eventually, shortly after clark proposed they graduated to ‘just the tip’ making both of them cum after only a few shallow pumps of clark tearing her open with just his crowned head. and he grazes her g-spot with the most perfect angle to drive them both crazy. but in public, with their matching shiny engagement rings gracing their fingers, they still are perceived as modest as can be.
holy fucking shit?? I didn’t even realize I hit 500 followers. Thank you all so so so much. This community means the absolute world to me ❤️ I’d try to promise a 500 follower special post but I think yall know by now how horrible I am with time commitments lmao
isa should’ve 100% gotten a supporting actress emmy nom. how on earth did almost everyone else in the cast get one and not her!? she carried a huge part of s2 and had an actual storyline compared to some of these other people. ridiculous
HARD agree. Love Fiona and all but genuinely could not recall a single scene that warranted the nomination, let alone a potential win. And that's no fault of her own! Fiona is an excellent actress, but McKay was sidelined this season in my opinion. Santos, on the other hand, had so many great moments! Isa ABSOLUTELY deserved the nom.
your smut is out of this fucking worldddddddd i’m obsessed!! i screamed when i saw you posted 🤭
eee thank you sm babe!! I am absolutely someone who squeals and giggles and everything else when my favorite writers post, so to know that I invoke this reaction in others literally means the absolute world ❤️
your smut always reminds me that i’m not actually asexual and that i do in fact crave sex and intimacy 😭 like the way i always end up w*t after finishing your fics…. you’re insanely good at writing like wow
okay so this is actually a huge fucking compliment?? as a smut writer this is literally half of my goal LMAO
also to speak to the first half- I'm also someone who struggles very much with how I experience attraction, and fanfic is the one reassurance I have that I am in fact capable of feeling some level of sexual attraction, so I felt this comment on a spiritual level 😭 so so glad you enjoyed! 🫶🏻
