₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ – hii i'm k! twenty-two. she/her. entj-t. big fan of miffy and bunniez! dc comics reader (pls talk to me ab comics!). leftist polisci nerd. lois lane kinnie. i write when i feel like it (which is inconsistent lolz)!
i write sub character / dom f!reader fics . . . requests r welcome, but may be slow! 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯🥕 ༘⋆
who i'll write .ᐟ – clark kent. jason todd. bucky barnes. dc. marvel. resident evil. stardew valley.
masterlist | requests | my ao3
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ – inbox is always open; msgs about anything are welcome!
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, new relationship, coworkers, clark is a mess, you find a toy in clark's closet, no mention of reader's appearance (but implied they have a vagina), PATHETIC CLARK KENT !!!
notes: crossposted onto my ao3! this post was inspired from a request here :D my first request oh em gee tysmmm <3 as always reblogs and comments r most appreciated ily all!!! i hope u enjoy 🙂↕️
two months of stolen glances at work — of clark’s fingers lingering just a second too long when handing you files, of lunch dates where clark would blush whenever your knees brushed under the table. clark had been a picture-perfect gentleman, almost to a frustrating extent. it wasn’t the cute kind of frustration either, but the kind that made the air thick whenever clark cleared his throat around you, only for the tension to fizzle when he inevitably asked another annoyingly chivalrous question like if you wanted a refill on your coffee.
you half-expected him to ask permission to hold your hand by now.
it was during one of these painfully polite coffee breaks in the break room that clark managed to muster up some semblance of courage. his fingers drummed nervously against his mug as he leaned against the counter-top. “um,” he started, then stopped, adjusting his glasses with one hand while the other gripped the counter edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “i was wondering if — that is, if you weren’t busy tonight — maybe you’d like to come over? for dinner?” his voice pitched upward towards the end, turning his question into something more akin to a plea.
you arched a brow in response, stirring your coffee with deliberate slowness. “dinner, huh? you cooking, smallville?”
clark’s ears turned pink. “i — well, i can try? unless you’d rather have takeout? i have menus. too many menus, actually,” he rambled.
“i’d prefer you tell me what you want, clark.” you leaned just a fraction closer into clark’s personal space.
he swallowed hard in response. “i —”
before clark was able to get a coherent thought out, the break room door swung open and jimmy bounded in, whistling obliviously. “oh, hey guys! perry’s looking for those corruption notes by the way, clark.”
clark nodded nervously in jimmy’s direction. “oh —! i’ll, uh, i’ll get those to him. right now.” he fled without another word, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
two months of this. two months of clark kent — your boyfriend, guy you were dating, something — avoiding anything remotely close to intimacy. you were getting impatient.
your knock on clark’s door that evening had the force of someone who’d waited exactly two months and seventeen minutes too long for this moment. inside, the sound of something clattering to the floor was followed by a muffled “coming!” that sounded suspiciously like it was pitched three octaves higher than clark’s normal speaking voice.
when the door swung open, clark stood before you in a button-down shirt that had clearly been ironed within an inch of its life, the faintest scent of slightly-burned garlic bread wafting behind him. his glasses were fogged, presumably from condensation during the cooking process, and his hair stuck slightly to his forehead.
“you’re right on time,” he said, then immediately winced at how expectant he sounded. “i mean — good! that you’re here. on time. or early, or —” he swallowed the rest of his sentence down, fingers flexing against the doorframe like he was physically trying to center himself. “uh, come in!”
from the kitchen, you heard the distinct sound of something boiling over.
clark’s head whipped around and he bolted to the kitchen, leaving the front door swinging in his wake.
by the time you followed him, clark was already engaged in a losing battle with a pot of violently bubbling marinara. his attempts to lift the lid resulted in a spectacular eruption of red sauce that splattered across his pristine white shirt. you couldn’t help but giggle.
clark’s ears burned crimson. “gosh,” he muttered, staring down at the carnage with a sorry expression. “i — i can clean this up and change. just give me a minute —”
“relax,” you smiled, already moving towards the hallway. “i’ll grab you something from your closet. your rooms just down here, right?”
clark made a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but you were already pushing his bedroom door open before he could complain. the evening city light slanted through the blinds, causing visible dust particles to permeate the air as you rummaged through clark’s closet for a shirt. in the midst of your search, your fingers brushed against something that was decidedly not fabric. it was smooth, slightly yielding, and tucked behind a stack of neatly folded sweaters. maybe a camera lens? a bottle of something strong that clark didn’t want you to see? curious, you pulled it out, blinking at the object in your hands.
it was unmistakable; clear silicone wrapped in a plastic casing with a particularly lewd-shaped opening. you couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. clark kent, the boy who was often too scared to even touch you, owned a fleshlight.
from the kitchen, the frantic clatter of pots and pans had ceased. a beat of silence passed before clark’s voice, strained with panic, called out, “uh, did you find something? anything? because i, uh, really need to organize the closet. it’s probably hard to find anything in there at all —”
clark appeared in the doorway, sauce-stained shirt half-unbuttoned in his haste. his gaze locked to the item in your hands, and his entire body went rigid.
“that,” he squeaked, “is — that’s not — jimmy gave it to me! as a joke! a very unfunny, inappropriate joke that i was going to throw out, i swear —”
you tilted your head, running a thumb along the smooth silicone. “jimmy, huh?”
clark’s hands flapped uselessly at his sides. “yes! absolutely. one hundred percent jimmy. you know he has a terrible sense of humor. it’s awful. the worst.”
a drop of marinara slid from clark’s shirt and landed on the hardwood floor with a soft plop as you turned the toy over in your hands. the silence stretched.
“mhm.” you took a step closer, watching the way his breath hitched when you tapped the toy against your palm. “and you haven’t used it?”
clark hiccuped out a whimper, his adams apple bobbing violently. “i — i wouldn’t!”
“wouldn’t you?” your smile curled as you backed clark against the wall. “it’d be a shame to let a gift go to waste.”
clark’s knees nearly buckled, his eyes darting between your face and the fleshlight like a deer in headlights. “i — i should really check on the pasta,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. his attempt to sidestep was thwarted by your foot sliding between his, effectively caging him against the wall.
you clicked your tongue. “ah ah, i’m not done,” you hummed. “tell me something, smallville,” you pointed the toy at him, “you ever think about me when you use this?”
clark could only manage a strangled, “that’s — that’s not —!”
you waited patiently for a response. the silence echoed throughout the room until clark’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “… once,” he admitted in a quiet whisper, “maybe twice.”
“take your shirt off,” you spoke plainly, tapping the toy against your palm again. “and go turn off the stove before your apartment burns down.”
clark immediately began to fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. “look, i swear i was going to throw it away after the first time, it’s just —”
the distant hiss of boiling water interrupted his spiraling. with a yelp, clark threw his shirt off and ran to the kitchen. you followed behind him at a casual pace, marveling as clark stood stiffly upon turning the stove off, his bare shoulders tensed as he gripped the edge of the counter. his reflection warped in the stainless steel microwave door in an image of flushed cheeks and thoroughly mussed hair. you leaned against the fridge, rolling the silicone toy between your fingers as you waited for the pasta water to gurgle its last bubbles.
“can we —” his voice cracked. he refused to look at you. “can we pretend you never found that?”
“clark,” you sighed, you voice intentionally light. “you’ve had this,” you gave the toy a little shake, “for how long? a month? two?”
“um,” he couldn’t muster an answer.
“and yet,” you continued, standing straight in front of him now, “you haven’t even tried to kiss me properly, let alone get me in bed.”
“i didn’t want to… presume.” clark focused intently on a singular tile on the kitchen floor. he shifted his weight, his face and neck flushed.
“presume?” you stepped close enough to see the hairs on his neck sticking up. “clark kent, reporter extraordinaire, scared to make assumptions?”
he made a sound like a deflating balloon. “that’s completely unrelated —”
“you know what i think?” you mused, “i think you should show me exactly how this works.”
clark’s hands flew up; whether it was to touch you or to grab the toy from your hands, even he didn’t know. you traced the rim of the silicone opening, watching his pupils dilate behind smudged lenses.
“you liked thinking about me when you used this,” you murmured. “imagine how much better it’ll feel with me actually here.” you paused, holding the toy out for a moment as if to allow clark to grab it before you deliberately pulled it back. “unless… you’d rather i guess how it’s used?”
clark whined in response, pouting at your suggestion. “i —” his voice cracked spectacularly, “the — the instructions are pretty simple?” he voiced it as a question, clearly embarrassed.
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “oh, smallville,” you sighed, teasingly tapping the plastic sleeve of the toy against his bicep. “you’re funny.”
with a firm grip on clark’s wrist (as if he couldn’t easily free himself from your grasp), you tugged him toward the hallway. clark stumbled after you, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly to be casual. he shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, nearly tripping over a crack in the floorboards when you stopped abruptly at his bedroom.
fleshlight still gripped in one hand, you sat on the edge of clark’s bed. “sit,” you instructed, tone soft but leaving no room for argument.
clark sank gracelessly beside you, his hands fiddling awkwardly in his lap. the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting you just slightly toward him. you placed the toy onto the mattress between you. clark could do nothing but watch, transfixed.
“tell me how you like it,” you spoke in a tone so casual that you might as well have been asking clark about his sandwich preferences. “slow? fast?” there was a beat before you continued, quieter now, “lots of lube, i imagine.”
clark covered up a whine with a cough, his fingers digging into his palms. “it’s not —!”
“not what? not enjoyable? not good?” you clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “jimmy’s gonna be crushed.”
his head bowed. “no! i mean — it’s not — it works fine. it’s just…” his eyes screwed shut. “… embarrassing.”
with a hum, you picked the toy back up and placed it into clark’s hands, closing his fingers around it. “that’s it. good.”
a small tremor ran through clark’s form, his knuckles turning white around the plastic as his eyes slowly blinked open. then, with a shuddering exhale, he whispered a small “okay.”
the word was so soft that you almost missed it. you rewarded him with a slow smile, trailing two fingers along his bare forearm just to watch the goosebumps rise in their wake. there was something truly delicious about watching a man built like a brick wall melt like this. you leaned back slightly, giving him some semblance of space.
a long moment of silence passed between you as clark made no effort to move. “don’t mind me,” you cooed, your voice smooth with anticipation. you waited patiently, smirking as you watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“… lube…” clark muttered under his breath, his cheeks red.
you blinked. “hm?”
clark only ducked his head further, voice barely above a whisper. “i, uh, need lube.”
you giggled; clark was asking you for help because he couldn’t bring himself to move. cute.
you watched him with undisguised interest, the corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “where do you keep it?” your voice was low, amused. clark’s eyes darted toward the nightstand.
you reached over, pulling the drawer open with a deliberate sense of slowness. inside was a mess of pens, loose change, and there it was — a plastic bottle tucked discreetly beneath a folded receipt.
clark’s hand shot out, snatching the bottle from your fingers before you could fully grasp it. his eyes flickered in frantic embarrassment as he held the small bottle in his grip. now with the bottle clenched in one hand and the toy in the other, clark looked over at you, his eyes glassy as he seemingly waited for your instruction.
“looks like your hands are full, smallville. need some help?” you gestured, your hand landing on clark’s thigh. the contact made him jolt, his breath catching under your touch. “it’s a yes or no question, clark,” you teased, tracing idle circles on his skin.
clark’s hands, still clutching the lube and toy, moved slowly from their spot covering the bulge in his pants, causing clark to whine at the sudden exposure. his eyes darted to yours for the briefest second before skittering away again, but not fast enough to hide the spark of nervous anticipation.
your hand gravitated towards the waistband of clark’s trousers, his breath stuttering as you hooked an eager finger into the metal tab of his zipper; the quiet click of the zipper teeth separating seemed absurdly loud in the stillness of the room. clark’s chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as you eased the zipper down. when your knuckles brushed against his bulge through the fabric, clark made a choked noise that he attempted to play off as a cough.
after finally undoing the button of his pants, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “you’re doing so well,” you murmured, reveling in the way clark’s entire body shuddered at the praise. your fingers lingered at his waistband for a moment before withdrawing, your hands settling back against the mattress with an expectant tilt of your head. “your turn,” you nodded toward the objects clutched in his grip.
clark swallowed hard enough to make his throat click. he twisted the lube bottle open with trembling fingers, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch a thin stream of lube pour into the toy’s opening. the strain in his boxers began to ache as he swiped at the excess lube accumulating at the entrance of the fleshlight with his thumb, smearing it across the silicone pussy in a way that made his head fuzzy.
“is it — can i —” clark whined, his throat dry.
you gently plucked the lube bottle from his hand, placing it on the bedside table. “use your words, clark.”
he inhaled sharply through his nose, the flush of his cheeks deepening. “can i… can i take it out?” the question came out strangled, like he was confessing to a crime rather than asking for permission to pull his dick out of his underwear.
you gave him a slow nod, humming in approval. clark’s fingers quivered as they hooked under the waistband of his boxers, hesitating for a fraction of a second before finally tugging them down just enough to free himself. the moment his length sprang free, his breath hitched — partly from relief, but mostly from sheer mortification as your gaze dropped to take him in.
and oh, there was plenty to take in. thick, undoubtedly heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, you mused as a bead of precum glistened at his slit. his thighs tensed under your scrutiny, his hips twitching as if he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“oh, clark,” you let out a low, appreciative hum. “look at you, all worked up just from me looking at you.”
clark whimpered, high and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as he wordlessly begged for friction. his face burned hot as he choked out a stuttered “please.”
you let your fingertips brush against his outer thigh, your touch featherlight. “easy, big guy.” you soothed, though your voice was anything but gentle. he made another strangled sound, his length bouncing against his stomach in response. “aw, does that do something for you, clark? me praising your cock?”
“you — you know it does,” he managed, voice small.
your fingers trailed up his thigh before you pulled them away, causing clark to let out a small sound in protest. “hmm,” you tapped a finger against your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “you sure you can even fit in that thing?” you whispered, “looks like a tight squeeze.”
clark flushed a shade darker, his head snapping up. “i do —!” he blurted out indignantly.
you had to fight back a smirk. “prove it, then.”
he exhaled shakily in response, adjusting his grip on the toy as his other hand hovered uncertainly over his length. he hesitated, then let out a stuttered breath as he finally wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a tentative stroke. his hips jerked into his own touch, a quiet whine escaping him. with shaky hands, he guided the toy towards his tip, the slicked silicone dripping lube onto his cock. clark’s legs tensed, his brows knitting together as he pushed the toy down, the tight resistance making his breath come in short, uneven bursts.
you watched, rapt, as he worked himself slowly into the toy inch by inch, his entire body shuddering with the effort. the resistance built steadily as clark worked the toy down his cock, and once you saw through the clear plastic that he had reached the halfway point, his hips stuttered involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping his throat.
“it’s — it’s tighter than i — oh god — remember,” his biceps flexed as he tried to push deeper, the silicone stretching obscenely around him. the sight alone was absolutely pornographic. clark’s eyes glazed over.
“doing so well,” you hummed, scooting a bit closer to him on the edge of the bed. “you got it, baby.”
clark let out a shuddering exhale, his grip on the toy adjusting slightly. his thighs trembled as he tried angling himself differently, the tip of his cock catching against the tight interior.
“i can — haah — usually —” he cut himself off with another whine as he forced himself to sit still. “it fits. it does, i swear.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. his breathing slowed marginally, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to let the toy slide another fraction of an inch downward. a punched-out whimper left clark’s lips.
“that’s it,” you praised, watching the way his eyelashes fluttered at your words. “look at you, taking it so patiently.”
clark’s cock twitched visibly inside the toy, your praise urging clark to finally lower the toy the rest of the way so he was buried to the hilt inside it.
“s’too much,” he slurred, his voice thick with embarrassment and pleasure. “feels — nngh — so different with you watching.”
you hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward just enough to cover clark’s hand on the toy for a moment before pulling away. “different good or different bad?”
clark’s reply came out in a rush: “good. so good. please —” he cut himself off abruptly, biting his lower lip hard as the words threatened to fall out.
you smiled, watching him squirm for a second before speaking, “please what, clark? cmon, use your words.”
he whined high in his throat, his hips making abortive little thrusts into the toy. “want —” his voice cracked pathetically. “please keep talking. please.” the toy made a squelching noise as clark shifted slightly, the sound obscenely loud in the room. clark froze, humiliation flashing across his face before dissolving into a desperate whine.
“good boy,” you dragged the words out, slow and syrupy. “such a sweet boy, holding still for me… you wanna move, baby?”
clark made a choked sound, his hips twitching before stilling again, willing himself to wait for your permission. the toy gave another wet, sticky noise that caused clark’s breath to come in shallow puffs. “yes… please,” his voice was small and warbled.
“go ahead, baby. fuck your toy for me.”
clark’s movement was tentative at first, the slick drag of the silicone paired with desperate little thrusts causing his rhythm to be terribly clumsy. “that’s it, just like that,” you coaxed, delighting in the way he whimpered hopelessly at the praise.
he continued working himself for a few more moments before it happened — one particularly enthusiastic pull, a choked-off whine, and suddenly the toy popped free with a wet plop. clark let out a soft sob as the sudden loss of pressure left his cock twitching in the air, flushed and glistening.
for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the toy in his hand. he let out a soft, frustrated humph. “that doesn’t usually happen,” he tried to justify himself, the apple of his throat bobbing wildly.
you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and fond as you reached out to cup his knee. “aw, too excited to hold onto it properly?” the teasing lift of your voice made him whimper, his cock throbbing. “poor thing,” you mewled, shifting closer on the bed until your knee brushed against his thigh. “looks like you might need a little help, big guy.”
clark’s grip on the toy tightened reflexively, then loosened as he considered the idea. “i can — i can try again —"
you tsked softly, reaching out to take the toy from his trembling fingers. the plastic was warm from his grip, and you made a show of examining it, turning it over in your hands while clark watched, wide-eyed and breathless.
“mm, no,” you said finally, your voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “i think we both know you’re a little too worked up to manage it on your own right now.” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly down clark’s body before meeting his eyes again.
clark’s breath hitched audibly under your gaze. his cock leaked a small puddle of precum against his stomach, and he looked utterly wrecked; his hair slightly damp, his lips bitten pink. so desperate and pliant for you.
you continued fiddling with the toy in your hands as clark swallowed, forcing out another barely-there “please.”
clark let out a moan that could only be described as pathetic as your fingers finally curled around his weeping length with a purposeful slowness. his cock throbbed instinctively in your hand before his voice broke in apology.
“easy, clark,” you soothed, your thumb briefly brushing over the slick head of his cock. “i’ve got you.” you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke before you brought the toy back to his tip, sliding the slit against him to spread the lube along his cock.
clark’s fingers twisted into the sheets beside him as he struggled to figure out what else to do with his hands. he watched intently as you eased him back into the toy, applying gentle pressure.
“look at you,” you breathed, “so eager…” the resistance became tighter as you watched the toy swallow him back up.
a high, keening noise escaped clark’s throat as he bottomed out once more, the feeling increasingly dizzying due to you being the one controlling the fleshlight.
you gave the toy a slow glide upwards, watching clark’s entire body shudder as you pulled it nearly all the way off him before pressing down again, not quite as gently this time.
“you’re —” he whimpered as you stoked him again, “you’re moving it differently than i — gosh — than i do.”
with a giggle, you twisted the toy slightly on the next stroke to see him jolt. “yeah? you like it, baby?” clark made a strangled noise of protest that you took as answer enough, your free hand skating up his thigh just to feel the way his muscles jumped under your touch. the toy made loud, slick noises with every movement now, and clark’s mouth had fallen open without him realizing, little desperate whines escaping between ragged breaths. “tell me what you imagine when you use this, clark,” you ordered softly, slowing your movements a bit to watch his face scrunch.
clark fought to keep his eyes open, a high and desperate whine building in his throat. “you — you — riding me,” he keened once more.
you rewarded him with a faster pace. “yeah? and what do i say to you, baby?”
clark’s head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat. “that i’m good,” he whimpered, “that i fill you up so nice —”
you crooned, twisting the toy once more. “mm, you imagine me bouncing on your pretty cock?” you punctuated the words with a firm stroke, hearing his breath stutter audibly. “filling me up so much that you can see your cock bulging from my tummy?”
clark’s hips jerked violently up into the toy with a wet slap, his entire body tensed. his cock pulsed visibly inside the clear silicone, a strangled moan cascading from his lips. “gonna — nnh — can’t —” his words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as his stomach muscles clenched, his knuckles white as he willed his body to hold back.
“such a pretty boy, clark,” you rested your chin on his shoulder as you continued stroking, “all worked up just from my voice. you close already?”
clark sobbed as he attempted to fight the building pressure. “please, please,” he gasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “too much, too good.”
his hips arched slightly off the bed as you sped up. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” you teased, “gonna be a good boy and let me see you make a mess in your toy?”
clark panted raggedly as he frantically nodded, too far gone to form coherent sentences. his cock pulsed again, the flushed tip leaking against the slick interior of the toy. his toes curled, thighs trembling violently as he teetered on the edge of release.
you gave him one last slow, deliberate drag of the toy, your thumb pressing lightly against the base of his cock just to hear him whimper from the feeling of your skin on his. “go on,” you coaxed, your voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “let go for me. been such a good boy.”
clark came with a broken cry, his hips jerking helplessly as pleasure wracked through him. he canted his hips up to meet the toy halfway as you stroked him, his release spilling into the silicone in thick pulses. his lips parted around shallow, gasping breaths as he blinked up at the ceiling. he whispered soft ‘thank you’s when the aftershocks began to hit him.
when clark gasped in oversensitivity, you eased the toy off him with a soft, wet sound, setting it aside before pressing a soft kiss to his temple and nuzzling against his sweat-damp hair. “there you go,” you hummed, “did so good for me.”
clark let out a soft, contented noise as he caught his breath. “maybe next time i’ll let you feel the real thing,” you teased after a long moment of silence. he opened his mouth — probably to stammer out some flustered objection again — but you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could embarrass himself further. you patted his thigh sympathetically. “so, you said you have a bunch of takeout menus around here somewhere?”
clark blinked hazily, his post-orgasm haze clearly still clinging to him. he practically slumped against you, breathing you in for a moment before he mustered up the strength to gesture vaguely towards the kitchen. “mmph… i’ll get them in a minute.”
summary: you are trying to study, but clark can’t teach when you’re so pretty, and you can’t focus when he’s so pretty, so it ends up being an unproductive tutoring session…
word count: 2.1k
contains: smut & fluff. clark’s math brain + you = sex… LOL. slightly dumbified reader, clark’s got a bit of a mouth on him. *riding/piv, lots of praise, a bit more bunny kink than usual. *no use of y/n
a/n: a quick & freaky one... breaking from my sweetheart country clark for a minute bc of the feminine moon tides… yeeesssss….. mwahahhahahahahha… hope u like, my requesters !
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Clark could not keep his eyes off of you, and the worst part was that you didn’t even seem to care.
How was he supposed to? You were practically begging to be stared at. Your hair had that natural crimp in it from always being tucked behind your ear, and so when it fell loose, it made this gorgeous swoop over your cheek. Your eyebrows gathered up all pinchy when you got confused over the equation before you. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, the tips of your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You shifted in your seat every few moments, the soft pudge of your tummy and back twisting with your discomfort, the cute little fold of your chin rolling when you pulled back in confusion. You hummed under your breath to help you think, for gods sake. There was no focusing when you looked so beautiful. All he saw when you sat so prettily was your face, and then the memory of your face twisting and back arching and voice cracking, and he became a lost cause.
Clark took on the gargantuan task of tutoring you in calculus because you struggled so adorably in the seat next to him, and for a college girl who maintained A averages, he couldn’t let you sabotage yourself. That English-geared brain needed to survive calculus so it could keep reading books. Plus, you always seemed to be looking at him instead of the board, so maybe by combining the two, you would find some focus.
But the problem was that you were a good student. A smart girl who wanted to get things right. So, as cute as he was, you unfortunately took this very seriously– he sometimes ended up sitting with you for hours, practicing derivatives over and over until you finally got it. It was torture. College tutoring sessions were supposed to end in him bending you over a table, not in you crying over difficult questions and him coaxing your hair back and kissing your temples. Sure, he got a few smooches here and there, but you were very strict. Only kissing outside of tutoring hours. He had to go alllll the way to your dorm just to touch you. O, the inhumanity!
Tonight was like the others as you poured over a word problem that was entirely simple to him, but gibberish to you, and so he sat and stared while you tried to stubbornly work it out on your own. But Clark was withering away, and he needed you.
His probing finger traced the curve of your shoulder as he leaned in and nosed at your cheek. “Why bother? I could just take the test for you.”
You grumbled and pushed his face away like a puppy. “I’m trying to focus.”
“C’mooon. You’ve been at it for an hour. Pay attention to me.”
“Clark,”
“Bunny,” he pouted, pressing his forehead to your arm.
“Clarkie, I can’t focus with you interrupting me,” you whined, and you rubbed your eyes. “Great. Now I lost my train of thought.”
The boy huffed softly at your look of disdain, and he rolled his eyes. He was a total sucker. Clark smoothed the paper out and took your pencil, tipping your chin up with it. “Fine. I’ll be good. Listen, okay? I’ll explain it.”
You perked up as he put on his teacher's voice, and you rested your chin in the palm of your hand as Clark began to unpack some ridiculous collection of symbols that meant nothing to you. This, of course, was equally not useful. Clark had this way of talking that just… hypnotized you. His soft lips, the pretty dip of his cupid’s bow, the absolutely criminal flutter of his lashes over those baby blues when he flicked between one side of the equation and the other. How was anyone supposed to focus when their tutor-turned-boyfriend had a face like that? It was like if Patrick Swayze was trying to teach you how to dance. They made a whole movie about how that was impossible– look where it got Baby.
Clark smirked and stopped talking when he realized you weren’t listening. When he leaned in and kissed you, you weakly protested, “Mm.. but m’studying…”
“No you’re not,” he purred, “you were staring at my mouth.”
“S’a pretty mouth.”
“You’re a pretty mouth,” he blabbed, collecting your soft body and hoisting you from your chair into his lap.
You hummed in satisfaction as he wrapped his arms around you like a boa constrictor and squeezed, sinking into the strong warmth of his chest. You pushed and pulled at his hair, sticking it up on all sides, and he happily smeared your jaw and neck with sloppy kisses, breathing you in like a hungry puppy.
“M’gonna fail calc,” you frowned, gasping when he nibbled on your ear.
“You won’t fail a thing, baby, you’re a genius.”
“I suck at math, Clarkie.”
“You suck at nothing," he chuckled, pulling back to kiss your nose. “You just need a break.”
You nudged his nose. “A break…”
“Yeah, baby. You want a break? You did some good work today… you deserve a reward, honey, for being so smart.”
You blushed, smiling knowingly, falling for the age-old classic Clark trick. He loved to baby you, and you ate up the pampering like no other. “Mhm.”
“My good girl,” he cooed, nipping your lip. “What do you want, huh?”
“Right here, in your lap,” you mumbled, ducking your head to kiss his Adam's apple.
“Yeah? Wanna sit in my lap? My bed’s right there, honey,” Clark tipped his head back for you, glancing at his dorm mattress. His hands snuck under your shirt to smush the softness of your back between his fingers.
Your hands roamed the broad, tan expanse of his biceps, and you leaned down to teeth at one. “Mm… right here.”
Clark’s heart swelled at your bites, and he brushed your hair back. “You just wanna be in my arms, don’t you?”
You came back up for another kiss and smiled, grinding your hips down against his. Clark swallowed a broken grunt and yanked you close, hands smoothing up your back.
“Want me to take my time, or you just want me?”
“Just you,” you breathed, nipping at his cheek.
Clark couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. You got so needy when he collected you into his grasp. He let you busy yourself with his mouth, kissing and sucking dutifully on his bottom lip as he freed his cock from the fly of his jeans, shoving them down just enough. There was no use for decorum or fuss when you both were buzzing like this. Clark smiled sweetly as he smacked it lightly against your thigh, seeing how you squirmed and pouted for it.
“Say the words, honey,” he coaxed.
You cupped his jaw and planted lipstick prints across his chin. “Pretty please, Clarkie.”
“Mm… try a little harder, baby. I want you to mean it.”
You whimpered and ground against the hard muscle of his thigh. “Pretty, pretty please, baby…”
His cheeks tinted pink as you begged, and it was certainly enough. He never liked to string you out. Clark made good on his word– he tugged the hem of your dress up and simply snagged your panties to the slide, and he notched the head of his cock between your puffy folds, not yet sinking inside, but teasing you with it. Your frustrated face melted into desire as he caught your clit, and he whispered, “That’s my girl, yeah… my smart girl.”
“Clarkie,” you moaned.
“You gonna bounce for me, bunny, or do I have to do all the work?”
Your skin flushed red from your ears down to your neck, and you stiffened as he prodded your entrance. “Can hop, I can,” you swore.
Clark smirked at your eagerness, and he curled his long fingers over the handlebars of your hips to remind you to sit still and sink down. You drew in a deep breath as you carefully sheathed his cock inside of you, feeling the delicious stretch between your walls; an embarrassing whimper spilled out as you crumpled in his lap, hips rocking against the intrusion. Clark’s eyes fluttered shut at the tight, familiar heat of your cunt, vision fuzzing out. He watched you slowly rise and drop your hips, giving your best effort, but you never could follow through when you were this needy– you laid on him like a rag doll, moaning and suckling at his neck, and he had to pump you up and down for him. A low grunt escaped his chest as you obediently hopped with his help, watching his length disappear inside you. By the way your eyes rolled back and you soaked his hips, he knew you needed it, and he was obliged to give it to you. You were just so gorgeous when you finally focused on something you cared about.
Clark kneaded the pudgy flesh of your ass and murmured into your ear, “Feels so good, baby, you’re doing so well… such a smart girl, makin’ me feel so good…”
You whined and swallowed him whole, in and out over and over, laying all your weight on his shoulder as he used his big paws to fuck you. Heat burned low in your tummy, low and fast. As he began to meet your manufactured bounces with his own bucks, he groaned with pleasure against your cheek.
“Good girl… take it… Always such a high achiever, bunny– Jesus– sometimes you gotta let me take care of you.”
“I… oh, Clarkie… feels so…”
“I know, baby, I can feel you,” he crooned, licking your bottom lip before kissing you. “Cum whenever you want, bunny. Feel good. It’s your reward.”
“S’gonna be messy!” you warned as you dropped down on his cock another time, feeling the soft throbbing of the muscle against your constricting walls. Your hands fisted in his shirt for a tether.
Clark’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head at how tight you could grip him. Sometimes he was somewhat worried that your cunt would squeeze so hard he would never get out, like a chinese finger trap. He pressed a palm to your lower back hard enough that it stopped you rocking, and you whined petulantly. He praised, “Shh, be a good bunny, hm?” before he started drilling into you from below.
A squeak of surprise escaped you before you disassembled against his chest, grunting with the exertion of being jackrabbited like a toy. Clark moaned pathetically into your neck as he thrusted deep and fast, battering into the velveteen muscle that had you writhing and begging for just a little more, just a little faster. He gave you everything you asked for until you couldn’t even form the words.
“Gonna– gonna-!”
“I got ‘ya, honey, cum for me… c’mon, give me a good one, bunny,”
The coil snapped inside your gut as he shoved himself as far inside as it was possible to go, and you spasmed into a trembling orgasm, arms around his neck, clinging on for dear life. Clark bullied your cunt happily, refusing to stop until he came, too– which was barely seconds later. The way you cried into his shoulder from overstimulation made him dizzy, and before he knew it, he was flooding your womb with sticky spend, bucking erratically to give it all away. He grunted in breathless victory as pretty little rings of creams coated him, and he gently eased you back down, squeezing your hips as he let you sit on his cock and settle.
Your face was slack and pressed to his neck, hands scratching at the nape of his neck like a kitten; little puffs of exhausted air left you as your lashes fluttered and the feeling tamped down. Clark made little promises against your shoulders and neck.
“That’s it, bunny… so good, love, you took it like a champ… just like a good student should, right? At least you can pay attention to something…”
Your skin flushed brutally hot and you burrowed into the hiding spot of his collarbone. “Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not,” Clark chuckled, gently cradling the back of your skull and using our hair to tug your head back. “Just happy you finished a lesson.”
You gazed up at his sleepy eyes– that face that got him anything he wanted– and you chewed the inside of your cheek. “Think I might need another if I’m gonna finish that homework…”
Clark poked your cheek affectionately. “Baby, if I fuck you again, there won’t be any homework.”
You grinned, “Good.”
Clark’s heart fluttered as he lifted you in his lap and flung you down on the bed, cruelly discarding the calculus textbooks on his dorm room desk, leaving them to watch while their maker chose some more exciting thing to practice. You weren’t worried– you always passed. Clark was right. Sometimes you just need a break. He taught you that, at the very least.
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, new relationship, coworkers, clark is a mess, you find a toy in clark's closet, no mention of reader's appearance (but implied they have a vagina), PATHETIC CLARK KENT !!!
notes: crossposted onto my ao3! this post was inspired from a request here :D my first request oh em gee tysmmm <3 as always reblogs and comments r most appreciated ily all!!! i hope u enjoy 🙂↕️
two months of stolen glances at work — of clark’s fingers lingering just a second too long when handing you files, of lunch dates where clark would blush whenever your knees brushed under the table. clark had been a picture-perfect gentleman, almost to a frustrating extent. it wasn’t the cute kind of frustration either, but the kind that made the air thick whenever clark cleared his throat around you, only for the tension to fizzle when he inevitably asked another annoyingly chivalrous question like if you wanted a refill on your coffee.
you half-expected him to ask permission to hold your hand by now.
it was during one of these painfully polite coffee breaks in the break room that clark managed to muster up some semblance of courage. his fingers drummed nervously against his mug as he leaned against the counter-top. “um,” he started, then stopped, adjusting his glasses with one hand while the other gripped the counter edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “i was wondering if — that is, if you weren’t busy tonight — maybe you’d like to come over? for dinner?” his voice pitched upward towards the end, turning his question into something more akin to a plea.
you arched a brow in response, stirring your coffee with deliberate slowness. “dinner, huh? you cooking, smallville?”
clark’s ears turned pink. “i — well, i can try? unless you’d rather have takeout? i have menus. too many menus, actually,” he rambled.
“i’d prefer you tell me what you want, clark.” you leaned just a fraction closer into clark’s personal space.
he swallowed hard in response. “i —”
before clark was able to get a coherent thought out, the break room door swung open and jimmy bounded in, whistling obliviously. “oh, hey guys! perry’s looking for those corruption notes by the way, clark.”
clark nodded nervously in jimmy’s direction. “oh —! i’ll, uh, i’ll get those to him. right now.” he fled without another word, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
two months of this. two months of clark kent — your boyfriend, guy you were dating, something — avoiding anything remotely close to intimacy. you were getting impatient.
your knock on clark’s door that evening had the force of someone who’d waited exactly two months and seventeen minutes too long for this moment. inside, the sound of something clattering to the floor was followed by a muffled “coming!” that sounded suspiciously like it was pitched three octaves higher than clark’s normal speaking voice.
when the door swung open, clark stood before you in a button-down shirt that had clearly been ironed within an inch of its life, the faintest scent of slightly-burned garlic bread wafting behind him. his glasses were fogged, presumably from condensation during the cooking process, and his hair stuck slightly to his forehead.
“you’re right on time,” he said, then immediately winced at how expectant he sounded. “i mean — good! that you’re here. on time. or early, or —” he swallowed the rest of his sentence down, fingers flexing against the doorframe like he was physically trying to center himself. “uh, come in!”
from the kitchen, you heard the distinct sound of something boiling over.
clark’s head whipped around and he bolted to the kitchen, leaving the front door swinging in his wake.
by the time you followed him, clark was already engaged in a losing battle with a pot of violently bubbling marinara. his attempts to lift the lid resulted in a spectacular eruption of red sauce that splattered across his pristine white shirt. you couldn’t help but giggle.
clark’s ears burned crimson. “gosh,” he muttered, staring down at the carnage with a sorry expression. “i — i can clean this up and change. just give me a minute —”
“relax,” you smiled, already moving towards the hallway. “i’ll grab you something from your closet. your rooms just down here, right?”
clark made a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but you were already pushing his bedroom door open before he could complain. the evening city light slanted through the blinds, causing visible dust particles to permeate the air as you rummaged through clark’s closet for a shirt. in the midst of your search, your fingers brushed against something that was decidedly not fabric. it was smooth, slightly yielding, and tucked behind a stack of neatly folded sweaters. maybe a camera lens? a bottle of something strong that clark didn’t want you to see? curious, you pulled it out, blinking at the object in your hands.
it was unmistakable; clear silicone wrapped in a plastic casing with a particularly lewd-shaped opening. you couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. clark kent, the boy who was often too scared to even touch you, owned a fleshlight.
from the kitchen, the frantic clatter of pots and pans had ceased. a beat of silence passed before clark’s voice, strained with panic, called out, “uh, did you find something? anything? because i, uh, really need to organize the closet. it’s probably hard to find anything in there at all —”
clark appeared in the doorway, sauce-stained shirt half-unbuttoned in his haste. his gaze locked to the item in your hands, and his entire body went rigid.
“that,” he squeaked, “is — that’s not — jimmy gave it to me! as a joke! a very unfunny, inappropriate joke that i was going to throw out, i swear —”
you tilted your head, running a thumb along the smooth silicone. “jimmy, huh?”
clark’s hands flapped uselessly at his sides. “yes! absolutely. one hundred percent jimmy. you know he has a terrible sense of humor. it’s awful. the worst.”
a drop of marinara slid from clark’s shirt and landed on the hardwood floor with a soft plop as you turned the toy over in your hands. the silence stretched.
“mhm.” you took a step closer, watching the way his breath hitched when you tapped the toy against your palm. “and you haven’t used it?”
clark hiccuped out a whimper, his adams apple bobbing violently. “i — i wouldn’t!”
“wouldn’t you?” your smile curled as you backed clark against the wall. “it’d be a shame to let a gift go to waste.”
clark’s knees nearly buckled, his eyes darting between your face and the fleshlight like a deer in headlights. “i — i should really check on the pasta,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. his attempt to sidestep was thwarted by your foot sliding between his, effectively caging him against the wall.
you clicked your tongue. “ah ah, i’m not done,” you hummed. “tell me something, smallville,” you pointed the toy at him, “you ever think about me when you use this?”
clark could only manage a strangled, “that’s — that’s not —!”
you waited patiently for a response. the silence echoed throughout the room until clark’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “… once,” he admitted in a quiet whisper, “maybe twice.”
“take your shirt off,” you spoke plainly, tapping the toy against your palm again. “and go turn off the stove before your apartment burns down.”
clark immediately began to fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. “look, i swear i was going to throw it away after the first time, it’s just —”
the distant hiss of boiling water interrupted his spiraling. with a yelp, clark threw his shirt off and ran to the kitchen. you followed behind him at a casual pace, marveling as clark stood stiffly upon turning the stove off, his bare shoulders tensed as he gripped the edge of the counter. his reflection warped in the stainless steel microwave door in an image of flushed cheeks and thoroughly mussed hair. you leaned against the fridge, rolling the silicone toy between your fingers as you waited for the pasta water to gurgle its last bubbles.
“can we —” his voice cracked. he refused to look at you. “can we pretend you never found that?”
“clark,” you sighed, you voice intentionally light. “you’ve had this,” you gave the toy a little shake, “for how long? a month? two?”
“um,” he couldn’t muster an answer.
“and yet,” you continued, standing straight in front of him now, “you haven’t even tried to kiss me properly, let alone get me in bed.”
“i didn’t want to… presume.” clark focused intently on a singular tile on the kitchen floor. he shifted his weight, his face and neck flushed.
“presume?” you stepped close enough to see the hairs on his neck sticking up. “clark kent, reporter extraordinaire, scared to make assumptions?”
he made a sound like a deflating balloon. “that’s completely unrelated —”
“you know what i think?” you mused, “i think you should show me exactly how this works.”
clark’s hands flew up; whether it was to touch you or to grab the toy from your hands, even he didn’t know. you traced the rim of the silicone opening, watching his pupils dilate behind smudged lenses.
“you liked thinking about me when you used this,” you murmured. “imagine how much better it’ll feel with me actually here.” you paused, holding the toy out for a moment as if to allow clark to grab it before you deliberately pulled it back. “unless… you’d rather i guess how it’s used?”
clark whined in response, pouting at your suggestion. “i —” his voice cracked spectacularly, “the — the instructions are pretty simple?” he voiced it as a question, clearly embarrassed.
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “oh, smallville,” you sighed, teasingly tapping the plastic sleeve of the toy against his bicep. “you’re funny.”
with a firm grip on clark’s wrist (as if he couldn’t easily free himself from your grasp), you tugged him toward the hallway. clark stumbled after you, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly to be casual. he shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, nearly tripping over a crack in the floorboards when you stopped abruptly at his bedroom.
fleshlight still gripped in one hand, you sat on the edge of clark’s bed. “sit,” you instructed, tone soft but leaving no room for argument.
clark sank gracelessly beside you, his hands fiddling awkwardly in his lap. the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting you just slightly toward him. you placed the toy onto the mattress between you. clark could do nothing but watch, transfixed.
“tell me how you like it,” you spoke in a tone so casual that you might as well have been asking clark about his sandwich preferences. “slow? fast?” there was a beat before you continued, quieter now, “lots of lube, i imagine.”
clark covered up a whine with a cough, his fingers digging into his palms. “it’s not —!”
“not what? not enjoyable? not good?” you clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “jimmy’s gonna be crushed.”
his head bowed. “no! i mean — it’s not — it works fine. it’s just…” his eyes screwed shut. “… embarrassing.”
with a hum, you picked the toy back up and placed it into clark’s hands, closing his fingers around it. “that’s it. good.”
a small tremor ran through clark’s form, his knuckles turning white around the plastic as his eyes slowly blinked open. then, with a shuddering exhale, he whispered a small “okay.”
the word was so soft that you almost missed it. you rewarded him with a slow smile, trailing two fingers along his bare forearm just to watch the goosebumps rise in their wake. there was something truly delicious about watching a man built like a brick wall melt like this. you leaned back slightly, giving him some semblance of space.
a long moment of silence passed between you as clark made no effort to move. “don’t mind me,” you cooed, your voice smooth with anticipation. you waited patiently, smirking as you watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“… lube…” clark muttered under his breath, his cheeks red.
you blinked. “hm?”
clark only ducked his head further, voice barely above a whisper. “i, uh, need lube.”
you giggled; clark was asking you for help because he couldn’t bring himself to move. cute.
you watched him with undisguised interest, the corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “where do you keep it?” your voice was low, amused. clark’s eyes darted toward the nightstand.
you reached over, pulling the drawer open with a deliberate sense of slowness. inside was a mess of pens, loose change, and there it was — a plastic bottle tucked discreetly beneath a folded receipt.
clark’s hand shot out, snatching the bottle from your fingers before you could fully grasp it. his eyes flickered in frantic embarrassment as he held the small bottle in his grip. now with the bottle clenched in one hand and the toy in the other, clark looked over at you, his eyes glassy as he seemingly waited for your instruction.
“looks like your hands are full, smallville. need some help?” you gestured, your hand landing on clark’s thigh. the contact made him jolt, his breath catching under your touch. “it’s a yes or no question, clark,” you teased, tracing idle circles on his skin.
clark’s hands, still clutching the lube and toy, moved slowly from their spot covering the bulge in his pants, causing clark to whine at the sudden exposure. his eyes darted to yours for the briefest second before skittering away again, but not fast enough to hide the spark of nervous anticipation.
your hand gravitated towards the waistband of clark’s trousers, his breath stuttering as you hooked an eager finger into the metal tab of his zipper; the quiet click of the zipper teeth separating seemed absurdly loud in the stillness of the room. clark’s chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as you eased the zipper down. when your knuckles brushed against his bulge through the fabric, clark made a choked noise that he attempted to play off as a cough.
after finally undoing the button of his pants, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “you’re doing so well,” you murmured, reveling in the way clark’s entire body shuddered at the praise. your fingers lingered at his waistband for a moment before withdrawing, your hands settling back against the mattress with an expectant tilt of your head. “your turn,” you nodded toward the objects clutched in his grip.
clark swallowed hard enough to make his throat click. he twisted the lube bottle open with trembling fingers, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch a thin stream of lube pour into the toy’s opening. the strain in his boxers began to ache as he swiped at the excess lube accumulating at the entrance of the fleshlight with his thumb, smearing it across the silicone pussy in a way that made his head fuzzy.
“is it — can i —” clark whined, his throat dry.
you gently plucked the lube bottle from his hand, placing it on the bedside table. “use your words, clark.”
he inhaled sharply through his nose, the flush of his cheeks deepening. “can i… can i take it out?” the question came out strangled, like he was confessing to a crime rather than asking for permission to pull his dick out of his underwear.
you gave him a slow nod, humming in approval. clark’s fingers quivered as they hooked under the waistband of his boxers, hesitating for a fraction of a second before finally tugging them down just enough to free himself. the moment his length sprang free, his breath hitched — partly from relief, but mostly from sheer mortification as your gaze dropped to take him in.
and oh, there was plenty to take in. thick, undoubtedly heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, you mused as a bead of precum glistened at his slit. his thighs tensed under your scrutiny, his hips twitching as if he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“oh, clark,” you let out a low, appreciative hum. “look at you, all worked up just from me looking at you.”
clark whimpered, high and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as he wordlessly begged for friction. his face burned hot as he choked out a stuttered “please.”
you let your fingertips brush against his outer thigh, your touch featherlight. “easy, big guy.” you soothed, though your voice was anything but gentle. he made another strangled sound, his length bouncing against his stomach in response. “aw, does that do something for you, clark? me praising your cock?”
“you — you know it does,” he managed, voice small.
your fingers trailed up his thigh before you pulled them away, causing clark to let out a small sound in protest. “hmm,” you tapped a finger against your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “you sure you can even fit in that thing?” you whispered, “looks like a tight squeeze.”
clark flushed a shade darker, his head snapping up. “i do —!” he blurted out indignantly.
you had to fight back a smirk. “prove it, then.”
he exhaled shakily in response, adjusting his grip on the toy as his other hand hovered uncertainly over his length. he hesitated, then let out a stuttered breath as he finally wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a tentative stroke. his hips jerked into his own touch, a quiet whine escaping him. with shaky hands, he guided the toy towards his tip, the slicked silicone dripping lube onto his cock. clark’s legs tensed, his brows knitting together as he pushed the toy down, the tight resistance making his breath come in short, uneven bursts.
you watched, rapt, as he worked himself slowly into the toy inch by inch, his entire body shuddering with the effort. the resistance built steadily as clark worked the toy down his cock, and once you saw through the clear plastic that he had reached the halfway point, his hips stuttered involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping his throat.
“it’s — it’s tighter than i — oh god — remember,” his biceps flexed as he tried to push deeper, the silicone stretching obscenely around him. the sight alone was absolutely pornographic. clark’s eyes glazed over.
“doing so well,” you hummed, scooting a bit closer to him on the edge of the bed. “you got it, baby.”
clark let out a shuddering exhale, his grip on the toy adjusting slightly. his thighs trembled as he tried angling himself differently, the tip of his cock catching against the tight interior.
“i can — haah — usually —” he cut himself off with another whine as he forced himself to sit still. “it fits. it does, i swear.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. his breathing slowed marginally, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to let the toy slide another fraction of an inch downward. a punched-out whimper left clark’s lips.
“that’s it,” you praised, watching the way his eyelashes fluttered at your words. “look at you, taking it so patiently.”
clark’s cock twitched visibly inside the toy, your praise urging clark to finally lower the toy the rest of the way so he was buried to the hilt inside it.
“s’too much,” he slurred, his voice thick with embarrassment and pleasure. “feels — nngh — so different with you watching.”
you hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward just enough to cover clark’s hand on the toy for a moment before pulling away. “different good or different bad?”
clark’s reply came out in a rush: “good. so good. please —” he cut himself off abruptly, biting his lower lip hard as the words threatened to fall out.
you smiled, watching him squirm for a second before speaking, “please what, clark? cmon, use your words.”
he whined high in his throat, his hips making abortive little thrusts into the toy. “want —” his voice cracked pathetically. “please keep talking. please.” the toy made a squelching noise as clark shifted slightly, the sound obscenely loud in the room. clark froze, humiliation flashing across his face before dissolving into a desperate whine.
“good boy,” you dragged the words out, slow and syrupy. “such a sweet boy, holding still for me… you wanna move, baby?”
clark made a choked sound, his hips twitching before stilling again, willing himself to wait for your permission. the toy gave another wet, sticky noise that caused clark’s breath to come in shallow puffs. “yes… please,” his voice was small and warbled.
“go ahead, baby. fuck your toy for me.”
clark’s movement was tentative at first, the slick drag of the silicone paired with desperate little thrusts causing his rhythm to be terribly clumsy. “that’s it, just like that,” you coaxed, delighting in the way he whimpered hopelessly at the praise.
he continued working himself for a few more moments before it happened — one particularly enthusiastic pull, a choked-off whine, and suddenly the toy popped free with a wet plop. clark let out a soft sob as the sudden loss of pressure left his cock twitching in the air, flushed and glistening.
for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the toy in his hand. he let out a soft, frustrated humph. “that doesn’t usually happen,” he tried to justify himself, the apple of his throat bobbing wildly.
you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and fond as you reached out to cup his knee. “aw, too excited to hold onto it properly?” the teasing lift of your voice made him whimper, his cock throbbing. “poor thing,” you mewled, shifting closer on the bed until your knee brushed against his thigh. “looks like you might need a little help, big guy.”
clark’s grip on the toy tightened reflexively, then loosened as he considered the idea. “i can — i can try again —"
you tsked softly, reaching out to take the toy from his trembling fingers. the plastic was warm from his grip, and you made a show of examining it, turning it over in your hands while clark watched, wide-eyed and breathless.
“mm, no,” you said finally, your voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “i think we both know you’re a little too worked up to manage it on your own right now.” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly down clark’s body before meeting his eyes again.
clark’s breath hitched audibly under your gaze. his cock leaked a small puddle of precum against his stomach, and he looked utterly wrecked; his hair slightly damp, his lips bitten pink. so desperate and pliant for you.
you continued fiddling with the toy in your hands as clark swallowed, forcing out another barely-there “please.”
clark let out a moan that could only be described as pathetic as your fingers finally curled around his weeping length with a purposeful slowness. his cock throbbed instinctively in your hand before his voice broke in apology.
“easy, clark,” you soothed, your thumb briefly brushing over the slick head of his cock. “i’ve got you.” you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke before you brought the toy back to his tip, sliding the slit against him to spread the lube along his cock.
clark’s fingers twisted into the sheets beside him as he struggled to figure out what else to do with his hands. he watched intently as you eased him back into the toy, applying gentle pressure.
“look at you,” you breathed, “so eager…” the resistance became tighter as you watched the toy swallow him back up.
a high, keening noise escaped clark’s throat as he bottomed out once more, the feeling increasingly dizzying due to you being the one controlling the fleshlight.
you gave the toy a slow glide upwards, watching clark’s entire body shudder as you pulled it nearly all the way off him before pressing down again, not quite as gently this time.
“you’re —” he whimpered as you stoked him again, “you’re moving it differently than i — gosh — than i do.”
with a giggle, you twisted the toy slightly on the next stroke to see him jolt. “yeah? you like it, baby?” clark made a strangled noise of protest that you took as answer enough, your free hand skating up his thigh just to feel the way his muscles jumped under your touch. the toy made loud, slick noises with every movement now, and clark’s mouth had fallen open without him realizing, little desperate whines escaping between ragged breaths. “tell me what you imagine when you use this, clark,” you ordered softly, slowing your movements a bit to watch his face scrunch.
clark fought to keep his eyes open, a high and desperate whine building in his throat. “you — you — riding me,” he keened once more.
you rewarded him with a faster pace. “yeah? and what do i say to you, baby?”
clark’s head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat. “that i’m good,” he whimpered, = “that i fill you up so nice —”
you crooned, twisting the toy once more. “mm, you imagine me bouncing on your pretty cock?” you punctuated the words with a firm stroke, hearing his breath stutter audibly. “filling me up so much that you can see your cock bulging from my tummy?”
clark’s hips jerked violently up into the toy with a wet slap, his entire body tensed. his cock pulsed visibly inside the clear silicone, a strangled moan cascading from his lips. “gonna — nnh — can’t —” his words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as his stomach muscles clenched, his knuckles white as he willed his body to hold back.
“such a pretty boy, clark,” you rested your chin on his shoulder as you continued stroking, “all worked up just from my voice. you close already?”
clark sobbed as he attempted to fight the building pressure. “please, please,” he gasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “too much, too good.”
his hips arched slightly off the bed as you sped up. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” you teased, “gonna be a good boy and let me see you make a mess in your toy?”
clark panted raggedly as he frantically nodded, too far gone to form coherent sentences. his cock pulsed again, the flushed tip leaking against the slick interior of the toy. his toes curled, thighs trembling violently as he teetered on the edge of release.
you gave him one last slow, deliberate drag of the toy, your thumb pressing lightly against the base of his cock just to hear him whimper from the feeling of your skin on his. “go on,” you coaxed, your voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “let go for me. been such a good boy.”
clark came with a broken cry, his hips jerking helplessly as pleasure wracked through him. he canted his hips up to meet the toy halfway as you stroked him, his release spilling into the silicone in thick pulses. his lips parted around shallow, gasping breaths as he blinked up at the ceiling. he whispered soft ‘thank you’s when the aftershocks began to hit him.
when clark gasped in oversensitivity, you eased the toy off him with a soft, wet sound, setting it aside before pressing a soft kiss to his temple and nuzzling against his sweat-damp hair. “there you go,” you hummed, “did so good for me.”
clark let out a soft, contented noise as he caught his breath. “maybe next time i’ll let you feel the real thing,” you teased after a long moment of silence. he opened his mouth — probably to stammer out some flustered objection again — but you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could embarrass himself further. you patted his thigh sympathetically. “so, you said you have a bunch of takeout menus around here somewhere?”
clark blinked hazily, his post-orgasm haze clearly still clinging to him. he practically slumped against you, breathing you in for a moment before he mustered up the strength to gesture vaguely towards the kitchen. “mmph… i’ll get them in a minute.”
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, new relationship, coworkers, clark is a mess, you find a toy in clark's closet, no mention of reader's appearance (but implied they have a vagina), PATHETIC CLARK KENT !!!
notes: crossposted onto my ao3! this post was inspired from a request here :D my first request oh em gee tysmmm <3 as always reblogs and comments r most appreciated ily all!!! i hope u enjoy 🙂↕️
two months of stolen glances at work — of clark’s fingers lingering just a second too long when handing you files, of lunch dates where clark would blush whenever your knees brushed under the table. clark had been a picture-perfect gentleman, almost to a frustrating extent. it wasn’t the cute kind of frustration either, but the kind that made the air thick whenever clark cleared his throat around you, only for the tension to fizzle when he inevitably asked another annoyingly chivalrous question like if you wanted a refill on your coffee.
you half-expected him to ask permission to hold your hand by now.
it was during one of these painfully polite coffee breaks in the break room that clark managed to muster up some semblance of courage. his fingers drummed nervously against his mug as he leaned against the counter-top. “um,” he started, then stopped, adjusting his glasses with one hand while the other gripped the counter edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “i was wondering if — that is, if you weren’t busy tonight — maybe you’d like to come over? for dinner?” his voice pitched upward towards the end, turning his question into something more akin to a plea.
you arched a brow in response, stirring your coffee with deliberate slowness. “dinner, huh? you cooking, smallville?”
clark’s ears turned pink. “i — well, i can try? unless you’d rather have takeout? i have menus. too many menus, actually,” he rambled.
“i’d prefer you tell me what you want, clark.” you leaned just a fraction closer into clark’s personal space.
he swallowed hard in response. “i —”
before clark was able to get a coherent thought out, the break room door swung open and jimmy bounded in, whistling obliviously. “oh, hey guys! perry’s looking for those corruption notes by the way, clark.”
clark nodded nervously in jimmy’s direction. “oh —! i’ll, uh, i’ll get those to him. right now.” he fled without another word, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
two months of this. two months of clark kent — your boyfriend, guy you were dating, something — avoiding anything remotely close to intimacy. you were getting impatient.
your knock on clark’s door that evening had the force of someone who’d waited exactly two months and seventeen minutes too long for this moment. inside, the sound of something clattering to the floor was followed by a muffled “coming!” that sounded suspiciously like it was pitched three octaves higher than clark’s normal speaking voice.
when the door swung open, clark stood before you in a button-down shirt that had clearly been ironed within an inch of its life, the faintest scent of slightly-burned garlic bread wafting behind him. his glasses were fogged, presumably from condensation during the cooking process, and his hair stuck slightly to his forehead.
“you’re right on time,” he said, then immediately winced at how expectant he sounded. “i mean — good! that you’re here. on time. or early, or —” he swallowed the rest of his sentence down, fingers flexing against the doorframe like he was physically trying to center himself. “uh, come in!”
from the kitchen, you heard the distinct sound of something boiling over.
clark’s head whipped around and he bolted to the kitchen, leaving the front door swinging in his wake.
by the time you followed him, clark was already engaged in a losing battle with a pot of violently bubbling marinara. his attempts to lift the lid resulted in a spectacular eruption of red sauce that splattered across his pristine white shirt. you couldn’t help but giggle.
clark’s ears burned crimson. “gosh,” he muttered, staring down at the carnage with a sorry expression. “i — i can clean this up and change. just give me a minute —”
“relax,” you smiled, already moving towards the hallway. “i’ll grab you something from your closet. your rooms just down here, right?”
clark made a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but you were already pushing his bedroom door open before he could complain. the evening city light slanted through the blinds, causing visible dust particles to permeate the air as you rummaged through clark’s closet for a shirt. in the midst of your search, your fingers brushed against something that was decidedly not fabric. it was smooth, slightly yielding, and tucked behind a stack of neatly folded sweaters. maybe a camera lens? a bottle of something strong that clark didn’t want you to see? curious, you pulled it out, blinking at the object in your hands.
it was unmistakable; clear silicone wrapped in a plastic casing with a particularly lewd-shaped opening. you couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. clark kent, the boy who was often too scared to even touch you, owned a fleshlight.
from the kitchen, the frantic clatter of pots and pans had ceased. a beat of silence passed before clark’s voice, strained with panic, called out, “uh, did you find something? anything? because i, uh, really need to organize the closet. it’s probably hard to find anything in there at all —”
clark appeared in the doorway, sauce-stained shirt half-unbuttoned in his haste. his gaze locked to the item in your hands, and his entire body went rigid.
“that,” he squeaked, “is — that’s not — jimmy gave it to me! as a joke! a very unfunny, inappropriate joke that i was going to throw out, i swear —”
you tilted your head, running a thumb along the smooth silicone. “jimmy, huh?”
clark’s hands flapped uselessly at his sides. “yes! absolutely. one hundred percent jimmy. you know he has a terrible sense of humor. it’s awful. the worst.”
a drop of marinara slid from clark’s shirt and landed on the hardwood floor with a soft plop as you turned the toy over in your hands. the silence stretched.
“mhm.” you took a step closer, watching the way his breath hitched when you tapped the toy against your palm. “and you haven’t used it?”
clark hiccuped out a whimper, his adams apple bobbing violently. “i — i wouldn’t!”
“wouldn’t you?” your smile curled as you backed clark against the wall. “it’d be a shame to let a gift go to waste.”
clark’s knees nearly buckled, his eyes darting between your face and the fleshlight like a deer in headlights. “i — i should really check on the pasta,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. his attempt to sidestep was thwarted by your foot sliding between his, effectively caging him against the wall.
you clicked your tongue. “ah ah, i’m not done,” you hummed. “tell me something, smallville,” you pointed the toy at him, “you ever think about me when you use this?”
clark could only manage a strangled, “that’s — that’s not —!”
you waited patiently for a response. the silence echoed throughout the room until clark’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “… once,” he admitted in a quiet whisper, “maybe twice.”
“take your shirt off,” you spoke plainly, tapping the toy against your palm again. “and go turn off the stove before your apartment burns down.”
clark immediately began to fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. “look, i swear i was going to throw it away after the first time, it’s just —”
the distant hiss of boiling water interrupted his spiraling. with a yelp, clark threw his shirt off and ran to the kitchen. you followed behind him at a casual pace, marveling as clark stood stiffly upon turning the stove off, his bare shoulders tensed as he gripped the edge of the counter. his reflection warped in the stainless steel microwave door in an image of flushed cheeks and thoroughly mussed hair. you leaned against the fridge, rolling the silicone toy between your fingers as you waited for the pasta water to gurgle its last bubbles.
“can we —” his voice cracked. he refused to look at you. “can we pretend you never found that?”
“clark,” you sighed, you voice intentionally light. “you’ve had this,” you gave the toy a little shake, “for how long? a month? two?”
“um,” he couldn’t muster an answer.
“and yet,” you continued, standing straight in front of him now, “you haven’t even tried to kiss me properly, let alone get me in bed.”
“i didn’t want to… presume.” clark focused intently on a singular tile on the kitchen floor. he shifted his weight, his face and neck flushed.
“presume?” you stepped close enough to see the hairs on his neck sticking up. “clark kent, reporter extraordinaire, scared to make assumptions?”
he made a sound like a deflating balloon. “that’s completely unrelated —”
“you know what i think?” you mused, “i think you should show me exactly how this works.”
clark’s hands flew up; whether it was to touch you or to grab the toy from your hands, even he didn’t know. you traced the rim of the silicone opening, watching his pupils dilate behind smudged lenses.
“you liked thinking about me when you used this,” you murmured. “imagine how much better it’ll feel with me actually here.” you paused, holding the toy out for a moment as if to allow clark to grab it before you deliberately pulled it back. “unless… you’d rather i guess how it’s used?”
clark whined in response, pouting at your suggestion. “i —” his voice cracked spectacularly, “the — the instructions are pretty simple?” he voiced it as a question, clearly embarrassed.
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “oh, smallville,” you sighed, teasingly tapping the plastic sleeve of the toy against his bicep. “you’re funny.”
with a firm grip on clark’s wrist (as if he couldn’t easily free himself from your grasp), you tugged him toward the hallway. clark stumbled after you, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly to be casual. he shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, nearly tripping over a crack in the floorboards when you stopped abruptly at his bedroom.
fleshlight still gripped in one hand, you sat on the edge of clark’s bed. “sit,” you instructed, tone soft but leaving no room for argument.
clark sank gracelessly beside you, his hands fiddling awkwardly in his lap. the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting you just slightly toward him. you placed the toy onto the mattress between you. clark could do nothing but watch, transfixed.
“tell me how you like it,” you spoke in a tone so casual that you might as well have been asking clark about his sandwich preferences. “slow? fast?” there was a beat before you continued, quieter now, “lots of lube, i imagine.”
clark covered up a whine with a cough, his fingers digging into his palms. “it’s not —!”
“not what? not enjoyable? not good?” you clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “jimmy’s gonna be crushed.”
his head bowed. “no! i mean — it’s not — it works fine. it’s just…” his eyes screwed shut. “… embarrassing.”
with a hum, you picked the toy back up and placed it into clark’s hands, closing his fingers around it. “that’s it. good.”
a small tremor ran through clark’s form, his knuckles turning white around the plastic as his eyes slowly blinked open. then, with a shuddering exhale, he whispered a small “okay.”
the word was so soft that you almost missed it. you rewarded him with a slow smile, trailing two fingers along his bare forearm just to watch the goosebumps rise in their wake. there was something truly delicious about watching a man built like a brick wall melt like this. you leaned back slightly, giving him some semblance of space.
a long moment of silence passed between you as clark made no effort to move. “don’t mind me,” you cooed, your voice smooth with anticipation. you waited patiently, smirking as you watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“… lube…” clark muttered under his breath, his cheeks red.
you blinked. “hm?”
clark only ducked his head further, voice barely above a whisper. “i, uh, need lube.”
you giggled; clark was asking you for help because he couldn’t bring himself to move. cute.
you watched him with undisguised interest, the corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “where do you keep it?” your voice was low, amused. clark’s eyes darted toward the nightstand.
you reached over, pulling the drawer open with a deliberate sense of slowness. inside was a mess of pens, loose change, and there it was — a plastic bottle tucked discreetly beneath a folded receipt.
clark’s hand shot out, snatching the bottle from your fingers before you could fully grasp it. his eyes flickered in frantic embarrassment as he held the small bottle in his grip. now with the bottle clenched in one hand and the toy in the other, clark looked over at you, his eyes glassy as he seemingly waited for your instruction.
“looks like your hands are full, smallville. need some help?” you gestured, your hand landing on clark’s thigh. the contact made him jolt, his breath catching under your touch. “it’s a yes or no question, clark,” you teased, tracing idle circles on his skin.
clark’s hands, still clutching the lube and toy, moved slowly from their spot covering the bulge in his pants, causing clark to whine at the sudden exposure. his eyes darted to yours for the briefest second before skittering away again, but not fast enough to hide the spark of nervous anticipation.
your hand gravitated towards the waistband of clark’s trousers, his breath stuttering as you hooked an eager finger into the metal tab of his zipper; the quiet click of the zipper teeth separating seemed absurdly loud in the stillness of the room. clark’s chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as you eased the zipper down. when your knuckles brushed against his bulge through the fabric, clark made a choked noise that he attempted to play off as a cough.
after finally undoing the button of his pants, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “you’re doing so well,” you murmured, reveling in the way clark’s entire body shuddered at the praise. your fingers lingered at his waistband for a moment before withdrawing, your hands settling back against the mattress with an expectant tilt of your head. “your turn,” you nodded toward the objects clutched in his grip.
clark swallowed hard enough to make his throat click. he twisted the lube bottle open with trembling fingers, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch a thin stream of lube pour into the toy’s opening. the strain in his boxers began to ache as he swiped at the excess lube accumulating at the entrance of the fleshlight with his thumb, smearing it across the silicone pussy in a way that made his head fuzzy.
“is it — can i —” clark whined, his throat dry.
you gently plucked the lube bottle from his hand, placing it on the bedside table. “use your words, clark.”
he inhaled sharply through his nose, the flush of his cheeks deepening. “can i… can i take it out?” the question came out strangled, like he was confessing to a crime rather than asking for permission to pull his dick out of his underwear.
you gave him a slow nod, humming in approval. clark’s fingers quivered as they hooked under the waistband of his boxers, hesitating for a fraction of a second before finally tugging them down just enough to free himself. the moment his length sprang free, his breath hitched — partly from relief, but mostly from sheer mortification as your gaze dropped to take him in.
and oh, there was plenty to take in. thick, undoubtedly heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, you mused as a bead of precum glistened at his slit. his thighs tensed under your scrutiny, his hips twitching as if he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“oh, clark,” you let out a low, appreciative hum. “look at you, all worked up just from me looking at you.”
clark whimpered, high and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as he wordlessly begged for friction. his face burned hot as he choked out a stuttered “please.”
you let your fingertips brush against his outer thigh, your touch featherlight. “easy, big guy.” you soothed, though your voice was anything but gentle. he made another strangled sound, his length bouncing against his stomach in response. “aw, does that do something for you, clark? me praising your cock?”
“you — you know it does,” he managed, voice small.
your fingers trailed up his thigh before you pulled them away, causing clark to let out a small sound in protest. “hmm,” you tapped a finger against your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “you sure you can even fit in that thing?” you whispered, “looks like a tight squeeze.”
clark flushed a shade darker, his head snapping up. “i do —!” he blurted out indignantly.
you had to fight back a smirk. “prove it, then.”
he exhaled shakily in response, adjusting his grip on the toy as his other hand hovered uncertainly over his length. he hesitated, then let out a stuttered breath as he finally wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a tentative stroke. his hips jerked into his own touch, a quiet whine escaping him. with shaky hands, he guided the toy towards his tip, the slicked silicone dripping lube onto his cock. clark’s legs tensed, his brows knitting together as he pushed the toy down, the tight resistance making his breath come in short, uneven bursts.
you watched, rapt, as he worked himself slowly into the toy inch by inch, his entire body shuddering with the effort. the resistance built steadily as clark worked the toy down his cock, and once you saw through the clear plastic that he had reached the halfway point, his hips stuttered involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping his throat.
“it’s — it’s tighter than i — oh god — remember,” his biceps flexed as he tried to push deeper, the silicone stretching obscenely around him. the sight alone was absolutely pornographic. clark’s eyes glazed over.
“doing so well,” you hummed, scooting a bit closer to him on the edge of the bed. “you got it, baby.”
clark let out a shuddering exhale, his grip on the toy adjusting slightly. his thighs trembled as he tried angling himself differently, the tip of his cock catching against the tight interior.
“i can — haah — usually —” he cut himself off with another whine as he forced himself to sit still. “it fits. it does, i swear.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. his breathing slowed marginally, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to let the toy slide another fraction of an inch downward. a punched-out whimper left clark’s lips.
“that’s it,” you praised, watching the way his eyelashes fluttered at your words. “look at you, taking it so patiently.”
clark’s cock twitched visibly inside the toy, your praise urging clark to finally lower the toy the rest of the way so he was buried to the hilt inside it.
“s’too much,” he slurred, his voice thick with embarrassment and pleasure. “feels — nngh — so different with you watching.”
you hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward just enough to cover clark’s hand on the toy for a moment before pulling away. “different good or different bad?”
clark’s reply came out in a rush: “good. so good. please —” he cut himself off abruptly, biting his lower lip hard as the words threatened to fall out.
you smiled, watching him squirm for a second before speaking, “please what, clark? cmon, use your words.”
he whined high in his throat, his hips making abortive little thrusts into the toy. “want —” his voice cracked pathetically. “please keep talking. please.” the toy made a squelching noise as clark shifted slightly, the sound obscenely loud in the room. clark froze, humiliation flashing across his face before dissolving into a desperate whine.
“good boy,” you dragged the words out, slow and syrupy. “such a sweet boy, holding still for me… you wanna move, baby?”
clark made a choked sound, his hips twitching before stilling again, willing himself to wait for your permission. the toy gave another wet, sticky noise that caused clark’s breath to come in shallow puffs. “yes… please,” his voice was small and warbled.
“go ahead, baby. fuck your toy for me.”
clark’s movement was tentative at first, the slick drag of the silicone paired with desperate little thrusts causing his rhythm to be terribly clumsy. “that’s it, just like that,” you coaxed, delighting in the way he whimpered hopelessly at the praise.
he continued working himself for a few more moments before it happened — one particularly enthusiastic pull, a choked-off whine, and suddenly the toy popped free with a wet plop. clark let out a soft sob as the sudden loss of pressure left his cock twitching in the air, flushed and glistening.
for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the toy in his hand. he let out a soft, frustrated humph. “that doesn’t usually happen,” he tried to justify himself, the apple of his throat bobbing wildly.
you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and fond as you reached out to cup his knee. “aw, too excited to hold onto it properly?” the teasing lift of your voice made him whimper, his cock throbbing. “poor thing,” you mewled, shifting closer on the bed until your knee brushed against his thigh. “looks like you might need a little help, big guy.”
clark’s grip on the toy tightened reflexively, then loosened as he considered the idea. “i can — i can try again —"
you tsked softly, reaching out to take the toy from his trembling fingers. the plastic was warm from his grip, and you made a show of examining it, turning it over in your hands while clark watched, wide-eyed and breathless.
“mm, no,” you said finally, your voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “i think we both know you’re a little too worked up to manage it on your own right now.” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly down clark’s body before meeting his eyes again.
clark’s breath hitched audibly under your gaze. his cock leaked a small puddle of precum against his stomach, and he looked utterly wrecked; his hair slightly damp, his lips bitten pink. so desperate and pliant for you.
you continued fiddling with the toy in your hands as clark swallowed, forcing out another barely-there “please.”
clark let out a moan that could only be described as pathetic as your fingers finally curled around his weeping length with a purposeful slowness. his cock throbbed instinctively in your hand before his voice broke in apology.
“easy, clark,” you soothed, your thumb briefly brushing over the slick head of his cock. “i’ve got you.” you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke before you brought the toy back to his tip, sliding the slit against him to spread the lube along his cock.
clark’s fingers twisted into the sheets beside him as he struggled to figure out what else to do with his hands. he watched intently as you eased him back into the toy, applying gentle pressure.
“look at you,” you breathed, “so eager…” the resistance became tighter as you watched the toy swallow him back up.
a high, keening noise escaped clark’s throat as he bottomed out once more, the feeling increasingly dizzying due to you being the one controlling the fleshlight.
you gave the toy a slow glide upwards, watching clark’s entire body shudder as you pulled it nearly all the way off him before pressing down again, not quite as gently this time.
“you’re —” he whimpered as you stoked him again, “you’re moving it differently than i — gosh — than i do.”
with a giggle, you twisted the toy slightly on the next stroke to see him jolt. “yeah? you like it, baby?” clark made a strangled noise of protest that you took as answer enough, your free hand skating up his thigh just to feel the way his muscles jumped under your touch. the toy made loud, slick noises with every movement now, and clark’s mouth had fallen open without him realizing, little desperate whines escaping between ragged breaths. “tell me what you imagine when you use this, clark,” you ordered softly, slowing your movements a bit to watch his face scrunch.
clark fought to keep his eyes open, a high and desperate whine building in his throat. “you — you — riding me,” he keened once more.
you rewarded him with a faster pace. “yeah? and what do i say to you, baby?”
clark’s head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat. “that i’m good,” he whimpered, = “that i fill you up so nice —”
you crooned, twisting the toy once more. “mm, you imagine me bouncing on your pretty cock?” you punctuated the words with a firm stroke, hearing his breath stutter audibly. “filling me up so much that you can see your cock bulging from my tummy?”
clark’s hips jerked violently up into the toy with a wet slap, his entire body tensed. his cock pulsed visibly inside the clear silicone, a strangled moan cascading from his lips. “gonna — nnh — can’t —” his words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as his stomach muscles clenched, his knuckles white as he willed his body to hold back.
“such a pretty boy, clark,” you rested your chin on his shoulder as you continued stroking, “all worked up just from my voice. you close already?”
clark sobbed as he attempted to fight the building pressure. “please, please,” he gasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “too much, too good.”
his hips arched slightly off the bed as you sped up. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” you teased, “gonna be a good boy and let me see you make a mess in your toy?”
clark panted raggedly as he frantically nodded, too far gone to form coherent sentences. his cock pulsed again, the flushed tip leaking against the slick interior of the toy. his toes curled, thighs trembling violently as he teetered on the edge of release.
you gave him one last slow, deliberate drag of the toy, your thumb pressing lightly against the base of his cock just to hear him whimper from the feeling of your skin on his. “go on,” you coaxed, your voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “let go for me. been such a good boy.”
clark came with a broken cry, his hips jerking helplessly as pleasure wracked through him. he canted his hips up to meet the toy halfway as you stroked him, his release spilling into the silicone in thick pulses. his lips parted around shallow, gasping breaths as he blinked up at the ceiling. he whispered soft ‘thank you’s when the aftershocks began to hit him.
when clark gasped in oversensitivity, you eased the toy off him with a soft, wet sound, setting it aside before pressing a soft kiss to his temple and nuzzling against his sweat-damp hair. “there you go,” you hummed, “did so good for me.”
clark let out a soft, contented noise as he caught his breath. “maybe next time i’ll let you feel the real thing,” you teased after a long moment of silence. he opened his mouth — probably to stammer out some flustered objection again — but you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could embarrass himself further. you patted his thigh sympathetically. “so, you said you have a bunch of takeout menus around here somewhere?”
clark blinked hazily, his post-orgasm haze clearly still clinging to him. he practically slumped against you, breathing you in for a moment before he mustered up the strength to gesture vaguely towards the kitchen. “mmph… i’ll get them in a minute.”
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, new relationship, coworkers, clark is a mess, you find a toy in clark's closet, no mention of reader's appearance (but implied they have a vagina), PATHETIC CLARK KENT !!!
notes: crossposted onto my ao3! this post was inspired from a request here :D my first request oh em gee tysmmm <3 as always reblogs and comments r most appreciated ily all!!! i hope u enjoy 🙂↕️
two months of stolen glances at work — of clark’s fingers lingering just a second too long when handing you files, of lunch dates where clark would blush whenever your knees brushed under the table. clark had been a picture-perfect gentleman, almost to a frustrating extent. it wasn’t the cute kind of frustration either, but the kind that made the air thick whenever clark cleared his throat around you, only for the tension to fizzle when he inevitably asked another annoyingly chivalrous question like if you wanted a refill on your coffee.
you half-expected him to ask permission to hold your hand by now.
it was during one of these painfully polite coffee breaks in the break room that clark managed to muster up some semblance of courage. his fingers drummed nervously against his mug as he leaned against the counter-top. “um,” he started, then stopped, adjusting his glasses with one hand while the other gripped the counter edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “i was wondering if — that is, if you weren’t busy tonight — maybe you’d like to come over? for dinner?” his voice pitched upward towards the end, turning his question into something more akin to a plea.
you arched a brow in response, stirring your coffee with deliberate slowness. “dinner, huh? you cooking, smallville?”
clark’s ears turned pink. “i — well, i can try? unless you’d rather have takeout? i have menus. too many menus, actually,” he rambled.
“i’d prefer you tell me what you want, clark.” you leaned just a fraction closer into clark’s personal space.
he swallowed hard in response. “i —”
before clark was able to get a coherent thought out, the break room door swung open and jimmy bounded in, whistling obliviously. “oh, hey guys! perry’s looking for those corruption notes by the way, clark.”
clark nodded nervously in jimmy’s direction. “oh —! i’ll, uh, i’ll get those to him. right now.” he fled without another word, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
two months of this. two months of clark kent — your boyfriend, guy you were dating, something — avoiding anything remotely close to intimacy. you were getting impatient.
your knock on clark’s door that evening had the force of someone who’d waited exactly two months and seventeen minutes too long for this moment. inside, the sound of something clattering to the floor was followed by a muffled “coming!” that sounded suspiciously like it was pitched three octaves higher than clark’s normal speaking voice.
when the door swung open, clark stood before you in a button-down shirt that had clearly been ironed within an inch of its life, the faintest scent of slightly-burned garlic bread wafting behind him. his glasses were fogged, presumably from condensation during the cooking process, and his hair stuck slightly to his forehead.
“you’re right on time,” he said, then immediately winced at how expectant he sounded. “i mean — good! that you’re here. on time. or early, or —” he swallowed the rest of his sentence down, fingers flexing against the doorframe like he was physically trying to center himself. “uh, come in!”
from the kitchen, you heard the distinct sound of something boiling over.
clark’s head whipped around and he bolted to the kitchen, leaving the front door swinging in his wake.
by the time you followed him, clark was already engaged in a losing battle with a pot of violently bubbling marinara. his attempts to lift the lid resulted in a spectacular eruption of red sauce that splattered across his pristine white shirt. you couldn’t help but giggle.
clark’s ears burned crimson. “gosh,” he muttered, staring down at the carnage with a sorry expression. “i — i can clean this up and change. just give me a minute —”
“relax,” you smiled, already moving towards the hallway. “i’ll grab you something from your closet. your rooms just down here, right?”
clark made a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but you were already pushing his bedroom door open before he could complain. the evening city light slanted through the blinds, causing visible dust particles to permeate the air as you rummaged through clark’s closet for a shirt. in the midst of your search, your fingers brushed against something that was decidedly not fabric. it was smooth, slightly yielding, and tucked behind a stack of neatly folded sweaters. maybe a camera lens? a bottle of something strong that clark didn’t want you to see? curious, you pulled it out, blinking at the object in your hands.
it was unmistakable; clear silicone wrapped in a plastic casing with a particularly lewd-shaped opening. you couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. clark kent, the boy who was often too scared to even touch you, owned a fleshlight.
from the kitchen, the frantic clatter of pots and pans had ceased. a beat of silence passed before clark’s voice, strained with panic, called out, “uh, did you find something? anything? because i, uh, really need to organize the closet. it’s probably hard to find anything in there at all —”
clark appeared in the doorway, sauce-stained shirt half-unbuttoned in his haste. his gaze locked to the item in your hands, and his entire body went rigid.
“that,” he squeaked, “is — that’s not — jimmy gave it to me! as a joke! a very unfunny, inappropriate joke that i was going to throw out, i swear —”
you tilted your head, running a thumb along the smooth silicone. “jimmy, huh?”
clark’s hands flapped uselessly at his sides. “yes! absolutely. one hundred percent jimmy. you know he has a terrible sense of humor. it’s awful. the worst.”
a drop of marinara slid from clark’s shirt and landed on the hardwood floor with a soft plop as you turned the toy over in your hands. the silence stretched.
“mhm.” you took a step closer, watching the way his breath hitched when you tapped the toy against your palm. “and you haven’t used it?”
clark hiccuped out a whimper, his adams apple bobbing violently. “i — i wouldn’t!”
“wouldn’t you?” your smile curled as you backed clark against the wall. “it’d be a shame to let a gift go to waste.”
clark’s knees nearly buckled, his eyes darting between your face and the fleshlight like a deer in headlights. “i — i should really check on the pasta,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. his attempt to sidestep was thwarted by your foot sliding between his, effectively caging him against the wall.
you clicked your tongue. “ah ah, i’m not done,” you hummed. “tell me something, smallville,” you pointed the toy at him, “you ever think about me when you use this?”
clark could only manage a strangled, “that’s — that’s not —!”
you waited patiently for a response. the silence echoed throughout the room until clark’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “… once,” he admitted in a quiet whisper, “maybe twice.”
“take your shirt off,” you spoke plainly, tapping the toy against your palm again. “and go turn off the stove before your apartment burns down.”
clark immediately began to fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. “look, i swear i was going to throw it away after the first time, it’s just —”
the distant hiss of boiling water interrupted his spiraling. with a yelp, clark threw his shirt off and ran to the kitchen. you followed behind him at a casual pace, marveling as clark stood stiffly upon turning the stove off, his bare shoulders tensed as he gripped the edge of the counter. his reflection warped in the stainless steel microwave door in an image of flushed cheeks and thoroughly mussed hair. you leaned against the fridge, rolling the silicone toy between your fingers as you waited for the pasta water to gurgle its last bubbles.
“can we —” his voice cracked. he refused to look at you. “can we pretend you never found that?”
“clark,” you sighed, you voice intentionally light. “you’ve had this,” you gave the toy a little shake, “for how long? a month? two?”
“um,” he couldn’t muster an answer.
“and yet,” you continued, standing straight in front of him now, “you haven’t even tried to kiss me properly, let alone get me in bed.”
“i didn’t want to… presume.” clark focused intently on a singular tile on the kitchen floor. he shifted his weight, his face and neck flushed.
“presume?” you stepped close enough to see the hairs on his neck sticking up. “clark kent, reporter extraordinaire, scared to make assumptions?”
he made a sound like a deflating balloon. “that’s completely unrelated —”
“you know what i think?” you mused, “i think you should show me exactly how this works.”
clark’s hands flew up; whether it was to touch you or to grab the toy from your hands, even he didn’t know. you traced the rim of the silicone opening, watching his pupils dilate behind smudged lenses.
“you liked thinking about me when you used this,” you murmured. “imagine how much better it’ll feel with me actually here.” you paused, holding the toy out for a moment as if to allow clark to grab it before you deliberately pulled it back. “unless… you’d rather i guess how it’s used?”
clark whined in response, pouting at your suggestion. “i —” his voice cracked spectacularly, “the — the instructions are pretty simple?” he voiced it as a question, clearly embarrassed.
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “oh, smallville,” you sighed, teasingly tapping the plastic sleeve of the toy against his bicep. “you’re funny.”
with a firm grip on clark’s wrist (as if he couldn’t easily free himself from your grasp), you tugged him toward the hallway. clark stumbled after you, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly to be casual. he shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, nearly tripping over a crack in the floorboards when you stopped abruptly at his bedroom.
fleshlight still gripped in one hand, you sat on the edge of clark’s bed. “sit,” you instructed, tone soft but leaving no room for argument.
clark sank gracelessly beside you, his hands fiddling awkwardly in his lap. the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting you just slightly toward him. you placed the toy onto the mattress between you. clark could do nothing but watch, transfixed.
“tell me how you like it,” you spoke in a tone so casual that you might as well have been asking clark about his sandwich preferences. “slow? fast?” there was a beat before you continued, quieter now, “lots of lube, i imagine.”
clark covered up a whine with a cough, his fingers digging into his palms. “it’s not —!”
“not what? not enjoyable? not good?” you clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “jimmy’s gonna be crushed.”
his head bowed. “no! i mean — it’s not — it works fine. it’s just…” his eyes screwed shut. “… embarrassing.”
with a hum, you picked the toy back up and placed it into clark’s hands, closing his fingers around it. “that’s it. good.”
a small tremor ran through clark’s form, his knuckles turning white around the plastic as his eyes slowly blinked open. then, with a shuddering exhale, he whispered a small “okay.”
the word was so soft that you almost missed it. you rewarded him with a slow smile, trailing two fingers along his bare forearm just to watch the goosebumps rise in their wake. there was something truly delicious about watching a man built like a brick wall melt like this. you leaned back slightly, giving him some semblance of space.
a long moment of silence passed between you as clark made no effort to move. “don’t mind me,” you cooed, your voice smooth with anticipation. you waited patiently, smirking as you watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“… lube…” clark muttered under his breath, his cheeks red.
you blinked. “hm?”
clark only ducked his head further, voice barely above a whisper. “i, uh, need lube.”
you giggled; clark was asking you for help because he couldn’t bring himself to move. cute.
you watched him with undisguised interest, the corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “where do you keep it?” your voice was low, amused. clark’s eyes darted toward the nightstand.
you reached over, pulling the drawer open with a deliberate sense of slowness. inside was a mess of pens, loose change, and there it was — a plastic bottle tucked discreetly beneath a folded receipt.
clark’s hand shot out, snatching the bottle from your fingers before you could fully grasp it. his eyes flickered in frantic embarrassment as he held the small bottle in his grip. now with the bottle clenched in one hand and the toy in the other, clark looked over at you, his eyes glassy as he seemingly waited for your instruction.
“looks like your hands are full, smallville. need some help?” you gestured, your hand landing on clark’s thigh. the contact made him jolt, his breath catching under your touch. “it’s a yes or no question, clark,” you teased, tracing idle circles on his skin.
clark’s hands, still clutching the lube and toy, moved slowly from their spot covering the bulge in his pants, causing clark to whine at the sudden exposure. his eyes darted to yours for the briefest second before skittering away again, but not fast enough to hide the spark of nervous anticipation.
your hand gravitated towards the waistband of clark’s trousers, his breath stuttering as you hooked an eager finger into the metal tab of his zipper; the quiet click of the zipper teeth separating seemed absurdly loud in the stillness of the room. clark’s chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as you eased the zipper down. when your knuckles brushed against his bulge through the fabric, clark made a choked noise that he attempted to play off as a cough.
after finally undoing the button of his pants, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “you’re doing so well,” you murmured, reveling in the way clark’s entire body shuddered at the praise. your fingers lingered at his waistband for a moment before withdrawing, your hands settling back against the mattress with an expectant tilt of your head. “your turn,” you nodded toward the objects clutched in his grip.
clark swallowed hard enough to make his throat click. he twisted the lube bottle open with trembling fingers, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch a thin stream of lube pour into the toy’s opening. the strain in his boxers began to ache as he swiped at the excess lube accumulating at the entrance of the fleshlight with his thumb, smearing it across the silicone pussy in a way that made his head fuzzy.
“is it — can i —” clark whined, his throat dry.
you gently plucked the lube bottle from his hand, placing it on the bedside table. “use your words, clark.”
he inhaled sharply through his nose, the flush of his cheeks deepening. “can i… can i take it out?” the question came out strangled, like he was confessing to a crime rather than asking for permission to pull his dick out of his underwear.
you gave him a slow nod, humming in approval. clark’s fingers quivered as they hooked under the waistband of his boxers, hesitating for a fraction of a second before finally tugging them down just enough to free himself. the moment his length sprang free, his breath hitched — partly from relief, but mostly from sheer mortification as your gaze dropped to take him in.
and oh, there was plenty to take in. thick, undoubtedly heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, you mused as a bead of precum glistened at his slit. his thighs tensed under your scrutiny, his hips twitching as if he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“oh, clark,” you let out a low, appreciative hum. “look at you, all worked up just from me looking at you.”
clark whimpered, high and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as he wordlessly begged for friction. his face burned hot as he choked out a stuttered “please.”
you let your fingertips brush against his outer thigh, your touch featherlight. “easy, big guy.” you soothed, though your voice was anything but gentle. he made another strangled sound, his length bouncing against his stomach in response. “aw, does that do something for you, clark? me praising your cock?”
“you — you know it does,” he managed, voice small.
your fingers trailed up his thigh before you pulled them away, causing clark to let out a small sound in protest. “hmm,” you tapped a finger against your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “you sure you can even fit in that thing?” you whispered, “looks like a tight squeeze.”
clark flushed a shade darker, his head snapping up. “i do —!” he blurted out indignantly.
you had to fight back a smirk. “prove it, then.”
he exhaled shakily in response, adjusting his grip on the toy as his other hand hovered uncertainly over his length. he hesitated, then let out a stuttered breath as he finally wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a tentative stroke. his hips jerked into his own touch, a quiet whine escaping him. with shaky hands, he guided the toy towards his tip, the slicked silicone dripping lube onto his cock. clark’s legs tensed, his brows knitting together as he pushed the toy down, the tight resistance making his breath come in short, uneven bursts.
you watched, rapt, as he worked himself slowly into the toy inch by inch, his entire body shuddering with the effort. the resistance built steadily as clark worked the toy down his cock, and once you saw through the clear plastic that he had reached the halfway point, his hips stuttered involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping his throat.
“it’s — it’s tighter than i — oh god — remember,” his biceps flexed as he tried to push deeper, the silicone stretching obscenely around him. the sight alone was absolutely pornographic. clark’s eyes glazed over.
“doing so well,” you hummed, scooting a bit closer to him on the edge of the bed. “you got it, baby.”
clark let out a shuddering exhale, his grip on the toy adjusting slightly. his thighs trembled as he tried angling himself differently, the tip of his cock catching against the tight interior.
“i can — haah — usually —” he cut himself off with another whine as he forced himself to sit still. “it fits. it does, i swear.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. his breathing slowed marginally, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to let the toy slide another fraction of an inch downward. a punched-out whimper left clark’s lips.
“that’s it,” you praised, watching the way his eyelashes fluttered at your words. “look at you, taking it so patiently.”
clark’s cock twitched visibly inside the toy, your praise urging clark to finally lower the toy the rest of the way so he was buried to the hilt inside it.
“s’too much,” he slurred, his voice thick with embarrassment and pleasure. “feels — nngh — so different with you watching.”
you hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward just enough to cover clark’s hand on the toy for a moment before pulling away. “different good or different bad?”
clark’s reply came out in a rush: “good. so good. please —” he cut himself off abruptly, biting his lower lip hard as the words threatened to fall out.
you smiled, watching him squirm for a second before speaking, “please what, clark? cmon, use your words.”
he whined high in his throat, his hips making abortive little thrusts into the toy. “want —” his voice cracked pathetically. “please keep talking. please.” the toy made a squelching noise as clark shifted slightly, the sound obscenely loud in the room. clark froze, humiliation flashing across his face before dissolving into a desperate whine.
“good boy,” you dragged the words out, slow and syrupy. “such a sweet boy, holding still for me… you wanna move, baby?”
clark made a choked sound, his hips twitching before stilling again, willing himself to wait for your permission. the toy gave another wet, sticky noise that caused clark’s breath to come in shallow puffs. “yes… please,” his voice was small and warbled.
“go ahead, baby. fuck your toy for me.”
clark’s movement was tentative at first, the slick drag of the silicone paired with desperate little thrusts causing his rhythm to be terribly clumsy. “that’s it, just like that,” you coaxed, delighting in the way he whimpered hopelessly at the praise.
he continued working himself for a few more moments before it happened — one particularly enthusiastic pull, a choked-off whine, and suddenly the toy popped free with a wet plop. clark let out a soft sob as the sudden loss of pressure left his cock twitching in the air, flushed and glistening.
for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the toy in his hand. he let out a soft, frustrated humph. “that doesn’t usually happen,” he tried to justify himself, the apple of his throat bobbing wildly.
you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and fond as you reached out to cup his knee. “aw, too excited to hold onto it properly?” the teasing lift of your voice made him whimper, his cock throbbing. “poor thing,” you mewled, shifting closer on the bed until your knee brushed against his thigh. “looks like you might need a little help, big guy.”
clark’s grip on the toy tightened reflexively, then loosened as he considered the idea. “i can — i can try again —"
you tsked softly, reaching out to take the toy from his trembling fingers. the plastic was warm from his grip, and you made a show of examining it, turning it over in your hands while clark watched, wide-eyed and breathless.
“mm, no,” you said finally, your voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “i think we both know you’re a little too worked up to manage it on your own right now.” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly down clark’s body before meeting his eyes again.
clark’s breath hitched audibly under your gaze. his cock leaked a small puddle of precum against his stomach, and he looked utterly wrecked; his hair slightly damp, his lips bitten pink. so desperate and pliant for you.
you continued fiddling with the toy in your hands as clark swallowed, forcing out another barely-there “please.”
clark let out a moan that could only be described as pathetic as your fingers finally curled around his weeping length with a purposeful slowness. his cock throbbed instinctively in your hand before his voice broke in apology.
“easy, clark,” you soothed, your thumb briefly brushing over the slick head of his cock. “i’ve got you.” you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke before you brought the toy back to his tip, sliding the slit against him to spread the lube along his cock.
clark’s fingers twisted into the sheets beside him as he struggled to figure out what else to do with his hands. he watched intently as you eased him back into the toy, applying gentle pressure.
“look at you,” you breathed, “so eager…” the resistance became tighter as you watched the toy swallow him back up.
a high, keening noise escaped clark’s throat as he bottomed out once more, the feeling increasingly dizzying due to you being the one controlling the fleshlight.
you gave the toy a slow glide upwards, watching clark’s entire body shudder as you pulled it nearly all the way off him before pressing down again, not quite as gently this time.
“you’re —” he whimpered as you stoked him again, “you’re moving it differently than i — gosh — than i do.”
with a giggle, you twisted the toy slightly on the next stroke to see him jolt. “yeah? you like it, baby?” clark made a strangled noise of protest that you took as answer enough, your free hand skating up his thigh just to feel the way his muscles jumped under your touch. the toy made loud, slick noises with every movement now, and clark’s mouth had fallen open without him realizing, little desperate whines escaping between ragged breaths. “tell me what you imagine when you use this, clark,” you ordered softly, slowing your movements a bit to watch his face scrunch.
clark fought to keep his eyes open, a high and desperate whine building in his throat. “you — you — riding me,” he keened once more.
you rewarded him with a faster pace. “yeah? and what do i say to you, baby?”
clark’s head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat. “that i’m good,” he whimpered, “that i fill you up so nice —”
you crooned, twisting the toy once more. “mm, you imagine me bouncing on your pretty cock?” you punctuated the words with a firm stroke, hearing his breath stutter audibly. “filling me up so much that you can see your cock bulging from my tummy?”
clark’s hips jerked violently up into the toy with a wet slap, his entire body tensed. his cock pulsed visibly inside the clear silicone, a strangled moan cascading from his lips. “gonna — nnh — can’t —” his words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as his stomach muscles clenched, his knuckles white as he willed his body to hold back.
“such a pretty boy, clark,” you rested your chin on his shoulder as you continued stroking, “all worked up just from my voice. you close already?”
clark sobbed as he attempted to fight the building pressure. “please, please,” he gasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “too much, too good.”
his hips arched slightly off the bed as you sped up. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” you teased, “gonna be a good boy and let me see you make a mess in your toy?”
clark panted raggedly as he frantically nodded, too far gone to form coherent sentences. his cock pulsed again, the flushed tip leaking against the slick interior of the toy. his toes curled, thighs trembling violently as he teetered on the edge of release.
you gave him one last slow, deliberate drag of the toy, your thumb pressing lightly against the base of his cock just to hear him whimper from the feeling of your skin on his. “go on,” you coaxed, your voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “let go for me. been such a good boy.”
clark came with a broken cry, his hips jerking helplessly as pleasure wracked through him. he canted his hips up to meet the toy halfway as you stroked him, his release spilling into the silicone in thick pulses. his lips parted around shallow, gasping breaths as he blinked up at the ceiling. he whispered soft ‘thank you’s when the aftershocks began to hit him.
when clark gasped in oversensitivity, you eased the toy off him with a soft, wet sound, setting it aside before pressing a soft kiss to his temple and nuzzling against his sweat-damp hair. “there you go,” you hummed, “did so good for me.”
clark let out a soft, contented noise as he caught his breath. “maybe next time i’ll let you feel the real thing,” you teased after a long moment of silence. he opened his mouth — probably to stammer out some flustered objection again — but you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could embarrass himself further. you patted his thigh sympathetically. “so, you said you have a bunch of takeout menus around here somewhere?”
clark blinked hazily, his post-orgasm haze clearly still clinging to him. he practically slumped against you, breathing you in for a moment before he mustered up the strength to gesture vaguely towards the kitchen. “mmph… i’ll get them in a minute.”
Walk with me... Reader and Clark have been dating for a short time, no sex yet, reader finds a Fleshlight in his closet, he is full of shame swears it was a joke from Jimmy thinking she's gonna be mad. She ask him to use it in front of her, he's very shy, she takes matters into her own hands. Cherry on top? Clark discovers he has a prise kink.
Pd: there's very few fem!Dom accounts,love what you do
eek!!! i love this so much im posting my take on this idea now :D also thank you sm for the love, i'm so so so glad u like my work! 🫡 tysm!!!
ಇ . . . superboy-prime yaps while fucking you silly !
"no, oh my god, babe," he chuckles, hot mouth kissing the column of your neck so sweetly, letting his mumbled info-dump seep into your skin. "see, togruta and twi'lek appendages have completely different functions—"
you moan, soft and unsteady and all too susceptible to the way his cock sits so snugly in you. he rocks into your heat, seemingly unaffected by the way you gasp and flutter when he brushes the spot that makes your head spin and your pussy squelch like one of the eldritch monsters he loves.
and he just keeps talking.
he presses his flushed cheek to yours. sinks the thick fingers of his left hand into the plush of your thigh, plays with your slick, throbbing clit with his right thumb. casually lets a smirk play on his stupid, cute mouth—you can feel the impression of his dimple—as his voice dips into gravel against the shell of your ear:
"twi'lek lekku are prehensile and have some limbic cortex function, so physiological expression of emotion and language—"
sharp need coils tighter in your belly, making you whimper into the warmth of his neck. "mm, c—"
"shh, i know, baby," clark rasps, letting the hand on your thigh travel up and press firmly below your navel. you feel all of him, every ridge and vein, slipping out a pitched sound caught between a choked groan and a squeal.
he continues, though this time thrusting a little more urgently, thank god. "and togruta lekku are connected to their montrals, which—fuck, you just got so tight—ah, are used for echo-locative purposes because their species is carnivorous..."
"'m gonna cum, clark," you pant, eyes squeezing shut as the pads of your fingers press against his scarred, sculpted chest desperately. he hums, nosing your cheek and flicking your swollen bundle of nerves like a joystick.
"okay, okay, 'm sorry," is the hushed, completely unapologetic reply. clark's cock lets the filthy, wet sound of him plunging in and out of your cunt speak for his mouth, which is sucking a new hickey into your shoulder.
still, you can tell that he wants to talk—the tense line in his broad, muscular shoulders says so.
"that's it, that's it, c'mon sweetheart, give it to me..."
you cum on his cock with a choked cry, senses dimming as your system sharpens on the overwhelming pleasure spilling from your core, the rhythmic clench of your walls around him.
"shit, shit," he whimpers, syllables spilling out of his mouth as he starts to rut into you with renewed vigor, chasing his own orgasm and pushing you deeper into his batman-patterned sheets. "okay, lemme explain reverse cursed technique before i bust."
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, clark kent in heat, breeding kink, unprotected sex, petnames: "honey" "mate" and "sweetheart," everyone cums, pathetic clark kent, DESPERATE clark kent
notes: crossposted onto my ao3!!! clark kent in heat bro i need him BAD. 😵💫
when clark first told you he was superman, your first question was if he had any interesting alien physiology. at the time, he said it was fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your reaction) only the superpowers. the only ‘alien’ thing about him was the planet he was from and the lost language they spoke on it. clark was, for all intents and purposes, as human as anyone.
the door of your apartment creaked open with an unusual hesitation, the familiar ‘whoosh’ of cape fabric absent. clark stood frozen in the threshold, his usually impeccable posture slumped against the doorframe. he wasn’t in his super-suit, indicating he hadn’t been patrolling as he usually would be at this time. his glasses sat crooked on his nose, one lens cracked from what must have been a hasty landing, and his hair stuck up in every direction like he’d flown straight through a tornado to get here.
clark’s breaths came in short, uneven gasps, his fingers gripping the doorknob so tightly that the metal creaked in protest. the scent of something distinctly alien hung heavy around him. his normally calm blue eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated with intense panic and confusion.
“please,” he stammered, voice rough with emotion, “don’t come any closer.”
clark flinched when you took a step forward, his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. a bead of sweat trailed down his temple and he swiped at it clumsily, his usual grace abandoned. the apartment smelled like you — too much like you, the usual comforting notes of your perfume and shampoo now overwhelming, cloying at his senses.
“clark? clark, what’s happening?” unaware of how heightened his senses were, you attempted to reach out for him.
“i — golly — i don’t… i don’t know,” he admitted, voice cracking, “everything’s too loud, too bright,” his hands trembled at his sides, fingers flexing like he was fighting every urge to reach for you, “too hot.” the admission seemed to cost him, causing his shoulders to hunch inward like he expected to be scolded; the man who could lift buildings and turn back time stood before you, seemingly terrified of his own body betraying him.
the air conditioner chose at that moment to kick on with a small rattle, sending a gust of chilled air through the apartment. clark shuddered violently, his skin prickling with goosebumps despite the feverish heat rolling off of him in waves. he pressed the back of his hand against this mouth, breathing hard through his nose.
“oh, geez...” he mumbled against his knuckles, voice muffled and strained, “i cant… i think — i think i should leave.” his knees buckled. one of his hands shot out to catch himself on the wall, leaving behind five perfect indentations in the drywall.
you reached out in an attempt to catch clark, but the moment your fingers brushed against his forearm, he jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. a high, strangled whimper escaped his throat before he could stop it, his face flushing a deep red. his eyes flew wide with horror at the sound he’d just made and his free hand clapped over his mouth as if he could shove the noise back in.
“oh gosh, i — that wasn’t —” clark’s words tangled themselves into knots as he tried to back away, only to find himself trapped between the wall and your cornered advance. his pulse visibly hammered in his neck, knees giving another dangerous wobble as he tried to straighten up. when he spoke again, his voice came out strained and thready, like he was actively fighting against his own body to keep each word steady. “i don’t understand what’s… my brain is all jumbled…” his eyes squeezed shut, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
clark’s gaze darted to your lips for half a second before he wrenched it away, looking downright scandalized at his own thoughts. a fresh wave of that strange, intense heat rolled off him, his form trembling dramatically. “i think… i think i might be sick?” clark’s voice was barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and desperation; the question mark at the end of his sentence did all the heavy lifting. his tone suggested that he knew perfectly well this couldn’t have been any earthly illness. his fingers twitched towards you again before he balled them into fists, his knuckles going white with the effort of restraint.
“honey,” you kept your voice low, the way one might approach a scared animal, “tell me what’s wrong. what are you feeling?”
in response, clark’s shoulders hunched further, the tips of his ears burning scarlet. he attempted to steady himself by staring intently at the ceiling, his mouth clicking open and shut several times before any sound came out. “it’s not — i can’t…”
clark disguised a whine as a cough when you reached out for him again. his glasses slipped further down his nose, revealing eyes that appeared glassy with how wide they’d gone. the collar of his shirt was now damp with sweat, clinging to his neck in a way that made him squirm with discomfort.
“clark,” you said, firmer now, “i need to know what’s happening so i can help you. even if it’s embarrassing.”
clark made a small, distressed sound in the back of his throat, his hands fluttering uselessly at his sides before he finally blurted out, “everything smells — it smells like you! and it’s too much and not enough and my skin feels too tight and i keep thinking about —” he cut himself off with a strangled noise, looking mortified.
it was immediately clear: clark wasn’t sick. at least, not sick in any way either of you had anticipated. the way he was reacting to your proximity, the heat radiating off of his body, the desperate way he kept looking at you before forcing himself to look away —
“oh,” you breathed, the syllable heavy with realization. clark whimpered again, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes under his glasses in a futile attempt to push the heavy, overwhelming influx of thoughts away. “clark, is this… a kryptonian thing?”
clark’s breath hitched as he pressed himself harder against the wall. “i don’t — i don’t know,” he managed, his voice faltering, “my parents never mentioned — golly, they wouldn’t have known either, would they?”
you felt an overwhelming sense of pity. the uncharted territory alarmed him so much; you could see it in his eyes. “let me help you, hon,” you sighed, stepping closer despite his repeated warnings.
one of clark’s hands shot out in a desperate ‘stop’ gesture while the other clutched at his own shirt collar like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. the buttons on his shirt strained dangerously as they threatened to pop. “oh gosh, no, please don’t —” his voice cracked again, pitching upward. he squeezed his eyes shut. every word required significant effort when he spoke once more. “i — i’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life and that’s exactly why i need you to stay back.” the last words came out as a plea that wasn’t completely earnest.
clark’s entire body shivered when your fingers made contact with his forearm again. the fight seemed to drain out of him all at once, his knees giving way as he slid down the wall with a defeated whimper. his glasses slipped off entirely, clattering to the floor as he curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees like he was trying to make himself smaller. the normally invincible superhero now sat on your apartment floor, looking like a disheveled, overgrown puppy.
when you knelt in front of him, clark didn’t pull away this time, though his fingers dug into his own arms enough to leave pale marks on his skin. his breathing was still uneven, but slower now, like he’d exhausted himself fighting against his own mind.
“honey,” you comforted softly, reaching out to brush a sweaty curl from his forehead. clark made a small, wounded noise at the contact but didn’t resist, leaning ever so slightly into your touch.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken, “i don’t know what’s come over me. i feel like i’m not even in control of my own body anymore.” the apartment was quiet now. somewhere nearby, a car alarm went off. normally, clark would be out the window in a flash to help, but now he barely seemed to notice.
you rested your palm against his cheek and clark let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. his skin was fever-hot under your grasp, and you could feel his jaw tick. “this isn’t your fault, clark,” you spoke gently, watching as his eyelashes trembled against his flushed cheeks. “can i kiss you?”
for the first time since he’d stumbled through the door, he looked less like a man about to fly apart at the seams and more like clark — overwhelmed, embarrassed, needy, but no longer fighting so hard against his desperation.
“might… might not be able to stop,” clark swallowed, his adams apple bobbing.
“i know,” you murmured, and clark’s breath hitched when you leaned in closer.
for a man who could bench-press a train, he looked devastatingly fragile in that moment — like the slightest wrong move might shatter him completely. his body uncurled on itself, and his hands hovered uncertainly before settling on your elbows. the contact made him shudder visibly. “gosh,” he breathed, his voice cracking, “i don’t know what i’m doing.”
you could feel the overwhelming tension coiled in him, the way clark’s muscles trembled as he willed himself to hold back. when you finally closed the distance, clark whimpered, his hands moving from your elbows to your waist to pull you onto his lap. his fingers digged into your sides like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. the kiss was clumsy, the heat and desperation burning off of clark’s body evident. as soon as clark attempted to impossibly deepen the kiss, you could tell it wasn’t enough. he needed more.
clark’s hands moved with a sudden, desperate urgency, his fingers tangling in the fabric of your shirt as he pulled you closer. the kiss turned feverish; his usual careful restraint had shattered, leaving behind something raw and intensely desperate. clark’s teeth grazed your lower lip, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp, and the sound seemed to ignite something in him. a low, needy noise vibrated in his throat as he chased the high, his grip tightening further.
“gosh,” he panted against your mouth, the word trembling, “i — i don’t —” his voice broke off into a whine, his head lolling to the side as he shuddered. clark let out a sob when your fingers carded through his sweat-damp hair, his eyes squeezing shut. he looked wrecked — his cheeks flushed, his lips parted and swollen. his control unraveled by the second as his hands slid up your sides, trembling, before one settled at the small of your back, pressing you flush against him.
his hips jerked forward involuntarily in a sharp, aborted movement that made him yelp, his body going rigid with embarrassment. his breath hitched aggressively as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a shaky, open-mouthed kiss. “please. please, i don’t know what to do…” his voice was barely a whisper, completely broken and pleading.
clark’s breath was a mess of short, shallow bursts against your neck, each exhale hotter than the last. when he spoke again, his voice was barely recognizable — low, rough, stripped of all its usual gentle hesitation. “i need —” his throat worked hard, as if the words couldn’t come out, “i need to —” his hips jerked once more, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back. clark’s teeth scraped lightly over your collarbone. “breed… i — i need to breed you,” clark’s voice dripped with shame. his arms locked around you like steel. “tell me to stop,” he panted, though his hands were already sliding under your shirt, mapping the curve of your waist. “please, honey, you gotta tell me to stop, because i don’t think i can —” the sentence ended in a groan as you carded your fingers through his hair again.
“clark,” you started, but he cut you off with another desperate noise, his teeth catching the fabric of your shirt collar.
“say it again,” he begged, “say my name like that again, like you’re not — like you’re not scared of me right now.”
“clark,” you murmured again, softer this time, reveling in how the way you said his name caused his shoulders to ease slightly. his eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his entire frame vibrating. you cupped clark’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you, and he made a noise like a wounded animal, his lips parting against your palm in a shaky exhale. “i’m not scared of you, honey…” your words seemed to only unravel him further. “take what you need,” you attempted to soothe, your own need growing as you shifted in his lap.
clark’s hands trembled as his fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt with hesitant urgency. he moved his hands — slow at first, testing, as if still afraid he might hurt you — before the dam broke. his lips found yours again, desperate and searching. “gosh,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “i don’t deserve you.”
even like this, clark was still clark — achingly gentle beneath the frenzy of his need. his hands roamed your skin with careful reverence, though his movements were interrupted by shallow pants and trembling muscles. the contrast was dizzying: the way he kissed you like a man starved, yet touched you like you could crumble under his grasp. clark kent, even at his most desperate, could never let himself forget how to be careful with you.
clark’s hips pressed forward helplessly, and this time he didn’t pull away. the change was immediate; clark’s hands, usually so precise, fumbled with the waistband of your bottoms as his fingers flexed against the fabric. he let out a soft growl as the material resisted his frantic tugging. he could only manage broken syllables now — “please” and “now” and a particularly wrecked “golly” when you arched against him.
fabric ripped, and clark whined a wordless apology as your bottoms and panties both gave in at the seams. you gasped briefly at the shock of clark’s show of strength, but quickly regained some semblance of composure, leaning back slightly to allow clark the room to remove his own pants.
clark’s slacks proved even more problematic. his belt buckle popped as he wrestled with it one-handed, his other arm locked around your waist like a safety harness. for a brief moment, he looked like he was actually considering using his heat-vision to burn the garment away. “can’t — can’t think,” clark let out a long sigh as the button on his slacks finally gave way and his slacks loosened. the relieved noise he made was downright feral, his hips jerking forward instinctively as he freed himself. he whimpered, embarrassed at the sight — his cock was always big, but the heat was making it appear impossibly larger as it throbbed against his stomach.
you pressed closer with a slow roll of your hips that dragged a choked whine from clark’s throat. “wait,” his voice warbled, “i should — i gotta prep you first, i don’t wanna —.”
“‘s okay,” you soothed, brushing your lips against his neck. “want you like this.”
clark’s hips canted up once more, his hands flying to grip your thighs. “‘but — but i could hurt you,” his voice became smaller, “honey, i cant…”
you rocked down again, and this time his entire body locked up, a strangled groan tearing from his chest. his fingers spasmed against your skin once more.
“trust me,” you asserted, making eye contact with him now. “i can take it, clark.”
for a moment clark just stared at you, his eyes wild and desperate like he was trying to find any evidence against what was coming out of your mouth. then, with a broken noise, his hips stuttered forward, his cock hot and heavy against your inner thigh.
“gosh, i — i.. please, please, i need —” you didn’t let him finish, instead pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips before shifting to line him up with your warmth. clark went rigid, his fingers scrambling for purchase on your hips like he was trying to hold himself back even as you began to slowly sink down onto him.
the noise clark made was almost inhuman — a loud, groaning sob as his head snapped back and his hips arched off the floor, pushing into you.
“too much?” you gasped, pausing, but clark shook his head frantically in response.
“no, it’s —” he swallowed, his vision blurring as he fought to keep his eyes open. a low growl escaped from his throat, “please let me move you.” he was only halfway inside you, but he was already begging like he was close.
“go ahead,” you urged, your voice softer than the ache spreading through your body, “i can take it.”
immediately, clark’s grip tightened just enough to lift you effortlessly. for a fraction of a second, he held you suspended above him, trembling with weak restraint, before pulling you back further down onto him. the slide was slow at first; then, with a shuddering gasp, he eased you down to the base of his cock.
heat radiated off of clark once more as he bottomed out, his skin damp and feverish beneath you. his hips jutted up instinctively, chasing the sensation before he caught himself, freezing with a strangled noise. “f — sorry,” he choked out the apology upon hearing a soft, wounded noise escape your lips.
you shook your head, shifting experimentally, watching the breath punch out of him. his hands gripped your waist once more — slow this time, agonizingly so, like he was attempting to savor the drag of his cock against your walls. the muscles in his arms flexed when he lowered you back down with a broken groan.
clark’s next attempt at thrusting was significantly less controlled, his hips canting up to meet you halfway. the force of it knocked the air from your lungs, and his eyes snapped up to you at the sound. you cut his worries off with another roll of your hips, and whatever apology he’d been mustering dissolved into a strangled moan. his hands tightened reflexively as his brain slipped another notch. “doing so good, clark,” you huffed out, “you wanna breed me, don’t you?” you leaned closer to rest your hands on his shoulders. “breed me then.”
the words seemed to shatter what little restraint clark had left. his hands clamped around your hips with bruising force, fingers digging in as he pulled you down hard against him, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural moan that vibrated through his chest. the sudden stretch burned, but clark was beyond noticing, his pupils blown wide and unfocused as his hips pistoned upward in frantic, uneven movements.
his rhythm was erratic, hips stuttering as pleasure overwhelmed him, alternating between shallow, frantic snaps and deep, grinding rolls that forced choked moans from his throat. one hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back as he mouthed wet, open kisses along your throat. the wall behind him groaned under the force of his movements, causing drywall to crack as his shoulders pressed into it, but clark was simply too focused on you to care.
clark’s cock throbbed endlessly inside you, impossibly hard, each thrust dragging against oversensitive nerves. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room as clark babbled nonsense against you — half-formed pleas and apologies and your name, over and over like a prayer. his fingers ran against your skin, alternating between clutching too tight and smoothing over you.
“haah — s’you, only you, my — my mate — perfect mate,” he slurred, the syllables tangling together as his hips stuttered forward relentlessly. “gonna — gonna fill you up proper, gonna — nngh — breed you so good, sweetheart, promise, i promise —” his voice broke off into a high, keening noise when you ground against him, pulling him even deeper inside your walls.
“yeah? ‘m your mate?” you felt the way his cock twitched inside you at the words, his breath shallow. “taking care of your mate just right, clark. so good for me.” you hummed between a thread of moans that escaped your lips.
“mine, you’re mine,” the words spilled out of him now, raw and unvarnished, “gonna put a baby in you, gonna — haah — gonna get you so full of my seed and — oh gosh —” his voice cracked into a high-pitched whimper, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. “love you, love you, love you —” the chants were nearly swallowed by a broken moan as his thrusts grew erratic, his hands scrambling to press you even closer, as if he could fuse you with him through sheer force of want.
“gonna make sure you’re full of me,” he whined, “wanna feel you take it all — oh gosh — wanna make sure it takes,” clark’s lips parted around a silent plea before he managed to find his voice again, “close,” he managed, the word strained in his throat. his forehead fell to press against yours as he held you in place and bucked up into you with reckless abandon. “so close, honey, i — i can’t —” his breath was hot and uneven against your lips as he fought to hold on just a while longer.
your fingers moved to cover his hands around your hips in an effort to ground him. “look at you, sweetheart,” you cooed, looking down at him. “fucking me so perfectly, clark.”
clark’s forehead knocked against your shoulder as he whined into the praise. “can’t think — when you talk like that…” a full body shudder followed, causing you to clench around his length.
you’d barely realized how close you were becoming from the overstimulation of clark’s length pounding against your g-spot, and the pleasure was catching up to you now. “fuck, that’s it, let me hear you…” you moaned, “my big, strong superman, coming apart just for me.”
clark made a noise like a wounded animal, his hips snapping up erratically now. when you clenched harder around him, clark’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. “please, honey…”
“shh, i’ve got you,” you soothed, “so good for me, taking what you need. filling me up just right.”
tears welled up in clark’s wide pupils as his body responded before his brain could catch up. his cock pulsed inside you, leaking precum in hot, insistent waves that made your own breath stutter. “please,” he begged, the word dissolving into a breathy moan as you tightened around him. “wanna make you — make you feel good too.” you cut clark off with a slow, filthy grind against him. a strangled sob tore through his chest, his hips fucking up into you so hard that it felt like he was splitting you open. “please, sweetheart, please tell me you’re close,” he gasped once more as his cock twitched inside you, hot and heavy and aching.
the pressure built inside your stomach, each rough grind from clark sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “clark — i’m —” your voice broke, the words dissolving into a moan as he angled himself just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.
clark held his breath, his entire body trembling. “please cum on me, honey, i need it —”
the plea shattered the last of your composure. your walls clamped hard around him as you cried out, causing clark to groan and jerk his hips erratically. he held you through it, babbling praise between gasps. “so perfect, so good for me — you feel so… gosh,” he fought to keep still, letting you ride out the waves.
when the aftershocks finally ebbed, you slumped against him, breathless. clark’s chest heaved beneath you, his cock still buried deep and twitching with every uneasy breath. his eyes were glossed over with unshed tears, voice still gravelly. “can i — please, can i —?” he swallowed, his hips giving a helpless thrust, like he couldn’t stop himself. “need to — need to fill you up now, honey. wanna breed you so bad, please.” clark’s desperation was raw, his muscles achingly taut with the effort of holding back.
you cupped his face, thumb brushing over his feverishly hot cheek. “cum for me, clark.”
clark let out a raw sound, half-sob and half-relief. his grip tightened, and a series of frantic, uneven movements, each one deeper than the last, followed. “i — breed… breed mate —” clark babbled in choked-off whines, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting you slightly to change the angle so he could thrust deeper into you. “please, please, please,” clark chanted, tears falling from his eyes onto his cheeks as his eyes screwed shut.
he continued his relentless pace until the climax finally hit him with an excruciating force. a strangled growl erupted from clark’s throat as his grip on you went bruisingly tight for a moment; he pulled you close to his chest with a shattered moan, his entire body convulsing as he spilled inside you in hot, pulsing ropes. it felt like his orgasm never ended, the cum penetrating deep inside you until it began spilling out despite clark’s cock still remaining inside you.
clark’s body went slack against the wall, his breathing shallow and uneven as the last tremors of his climax faded. his grip on you loosened, fingers pulsing where they rested against your skin, damp with sweat. for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet evening out of clark’s breath, the occasional shudder running through him as the aftershocks rippled through his form.
his eyes, still glassy, blinked slowly as awareness crept back into his features. the feverish haze that was clouding his expression began to recede, and he swallowed hard. “honey,” he blinked before his words all tumbled out in a rush, “did i — did i hurt you? i didn’t mean to — please, are you okay?” the heat had stripped him raw, but for a moment, clark became incredibly lucid — every bit the gentle and painfully aware clark you knew.
you cut him off with a kiss, slow and deliberate, bringing him back down to earth even if only for a moment. when you pulled back, his eyes were wide, pupils still blown but slightly clearer now, more focused. “you’re okay?” he asked, his voice small.
you nodded before pressing a kiss to clark’s forehead. “more than okay,” you assured him, your thumb resting against his cheek. “you’re burning up, honey.”
you shifted slightly, and clark made a soft, whining noise in the back of his throat, his hips jerking reflexively before he stilled them with visible effort. for a second, his eyes darkened again, the heat flickering back to life beneath his skin. “‘m sorry,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “i think — i think it’s… the heat, it’s coming back.” clark opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “i — i didn’t even —” his ears turned pink, “didn’t even take my boots off.”
a small laugh burst out of you before you could stop it; clark’s wounded expression only making it worse. he sucked in a breath softly as the laughs sent vibrations through your body and core, his cock throbbing weakly inside you.
“it’s not funny!” clark protested, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “i track in enough debris as it is without — without this,” he gestured vaguely to himself.
you kissed his shoulder in apology, feeling him tense up incrementally. “how’re you feeling?” you cooed, your voice leveling out a bit.
he nodded, then hesitated. “don’t know how long i’ll be… in control.” the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache.
sensing the time ticking before clark lost himself again completely, you carefully lifted yourself off him, clark’s hands clenching into fists at his sides. his cum immediately began leaking out of you the moment you separated, and a quiet whine escaped his throat from the lack of contact.
“clark, baby,” you tapped his cheek after standing, stepping properly out of your ripped clothing. “bedroom, okay?” you spoke quietly, holding your hand out as if you had the strength to pull clark up onto his feet.
“we should — bedroom. right. that’s sensible.” clark shook his head in an effort to ground his mind, pulling himself most of the way onto his feet before finally taking your hand. now standing, clark’s slacks and boxers fell to his ankles. he reached down and lazily unlaced his boots, stepping out of the pool of fabric at his feet. he nearly tripped on his own feet trying to step forward, his coordination beginning to falter due to the returning haze in his eyes.
the short walk to the bedroom felt endless — clark kept pausing in his tracks, his breath stuttering every time he caught a glance at his own cum running down your inner thigh. by the time you reached the doorway, he was already practically vibrating with need, one hand bracing the doorway as he ducked his head, his shoulders slumped.
“sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick. “it’s just — every time you move, i can smell —” he cut himself off as he had done multiple times before, ears burning crimson as he squeezed his eyes shut.
the moment you guided him towards the bed, clark’s knees buckled instantaneously, sending him stumbling to sit on the edge of the mattress. his chest heaved as he tried to steady himself, but when your fingers brushed his waist to adjust how he was sitting, he let out a broken noise, hips canting up towards nothing.
“honey, i —” his voice dropped to a barely-there whisper and his skin began burning up once more. “need you. please.” clark’s fingers flexed against the sheets, looking down at the mattress before his hand curled around your waist, pulling you down to lay ungracefully on the bed beside him. the connection made clark pull his hand away like it stung. “please.”
oh.
he needed permission to touch you, and he needed it badly.
the conflict in clark’s expression was almost painful — the way his jaw trembled, how every inch of him was wound tight with want, shivering with the effort of holding himself back.
you nodded. “you gonna be a good boy and breed me again, clark?”
clark whimpered loudly, his breath shallow as he rolled over and caged you in underneath him, looking down at you with wide eyes before taking exactly what he needed.
imagine subby bucky with huge loads and then you think its a good idea to put a little bullet vibrator under his balls and he physically cannot stop cumming...
"Baby.. Fffuckkkk.. S-stop.." He whines, his hips thrusting up into your hand. Your fingers grip his length, thumb slipping over his tip and collecting precum on it. You giggle teasingly, beginning to move your hand up and down again. "You haven't got a clue, sugar.." You hum mockingly, "Got a surprise for you." His eyes flit open and squint slightly in confusion.
A surprise? What were you-?
His whole body jolts sharply and he releases the most whiny sound from his mouth when he feels the vibrations wrecking him. His hips jolt upwards and his eyes shoot open. His wrists pull tight against his restraints in his thrashing. The vibrations take over his whole body and he feels that dizzying tightening in his whole body, "Baby- Wait, please- FUCK-!" He cries, the sound raw and primal, coming from deep in his chest. His vision goes blindingly white and his whole body feels like a live wire. His cock twitches in your grip as it sprays cum all over his tensing abdomen. "Honey, PLEASE- Fuck, make it stop, make it stop-!" He cries again, making the most whiny sounds. He'd never let anyone hear him this destroyed.. except for you. His dick is still shooting ropes, your fingers covered in his cum and his abs covered in the sticky coating. He doesn't stop twitching until you pull the vibrator back.
He pants, whole body heavy with pleasure -- until your voice breaks the silence.
explicit 18+ clark having hyperspermia and his girl creaming all over his dick makes their sex a messy messy affair…. the first time they fuck he had to force himself to pull out and warn her it’s always too much coming out. ends up nutting on her mound instead of the inside, drowning her with it, covering her pussy and her inner thighs in stringy thick white that just wouldn’t stop coming out. it was embarrassing for poor clark, wanting to just. stop. cumming already but every load kept pouring out stronger than the next, almost electrocuting him. he’s so shy about his body cumming for nearly two whole minutes, cock just violently whipping around while it spurts like it’s got a mind and agenda of its own. ridiculously throbbing and spitting out ropes like a hose.
after the first time she sees how much her boy really cums, how he was not exaggerating or lying when he said he had a rare benign condition she’d start begging him to creampie her. give her pussy his all. at a certain point early in midst of their raw fuck he looks down and sees rings and rings of her pussy cream staining up and down his length. soaking his member with every thrust. audibly wet and sticky.
‘we’re making a mess.’
he’s cheeky while he’s laughing still pounding her pussy but she just demands he starts pumping faster, more cum sloshing between their bodies while he obeys and speeds himself up. the pouring coming out never seems to stop, drips landing on the couch in nasty stains, even splashing to the floor.
‘it’s… it’s getting everywhere baby.’
‘shut up and don’t stop, don’t stop until you’re cumming in me.’
‘y—yes ma’am, I promise I won’t stop,’ he swears. smile wiped off his face and replaced with concentration while he watches their shared cum stream down his balls and on her cute pair of pj’s. it would be disgusting if it weren’t so fucking delectable to stare at.
he’s so shaky when he tries to grab the blanket in preparation for when he cums inside her, flustered while spreading the blanket out beneath where their bodies join. it wasn’t much but it was something.
the blanket and her pussy get stupid soaked when clark starts cumming another long load nonstop and she adores it. doesn’t matter if she thinks his cum overflows so much it might start going out of her eyes and ears and her belly button, she’s just so happy to feel the thick gooey warmth he always provides 🥛🏹🥛
making pathetic bf! clark kent tell you all the reasons he loves you
myaa’s sticker — something to think on while you read :P
“hmm. .another.” you smile, running your soft, manicured hand along the base of clark’s cock, pressing a soft kiss against his tip.
you’ve been on this high for what feels like hours. after you heard clark over the phone talk about date plans and how he wants to marry you so bad in the future — you had to show how much appreciation you have for him. and that’s how you ended up in this situation — clark propped up onto the pillows, back bowing off of the bed every now and again as he mumbles on about all the reasons he utterly adores you.
“a-and i love you because - holyyy - because you listen - shoot, y/n slow down . . - to meee!” clark whined out pathetically, toes curling as you picked up the pace in your strokes. “one more baby and i’ll let you cum.” you giggle, pressing more kisses to his cock as he sucks in a sharp breath. “my goodness, baby you’re killing me!” clark mewed, such high pitched sounds coming from such a burly man is some sight to see.
“go ahead, clark. i know you wanna cum.” you say, syrup voice seeping into clark’s ears as he clutches the bedsheets harder. “and i l-ah-love you because you’re so fucking beautiful. holy, i’m socloseicant, sorry, bad language..” he mumbles as he cowers into himself, moans spilling from his lips. “good job, baby. 100 reasons before you even came!” you smiled, lips closing around his cock once again. you picked your pace up, your hand wrapping around the inches that didn’t fit. you pull off for a second, bringing your other hand to stroke in place of your mouth. “cum for me, clark.” you beam, spitting on his cock as you stroke faster.
“agh- holy, i can’t do it — im gonna cum so hard…” he groans, back arching high. clark cums hard with a loud moan, hands flying to yours to hold them as you stroke him through his high. “perfect.” you grin, standing up to take your panties off.
“i can’t go again..” clark whines, reaching out for you. “just try? i need 120 reasons now.”
mmmm yum I BEEN saying sometimes feet stuff is pretty hot cause it’s so unconventional and weird so that’s what makes it more naughty and funnn
foot rub (but not the normal kind) explicit 18+
it starts off like a teasing little gesture during one of your sleepovers, ending some joke’s punchline with a little pat on his crotch with your foot but it makes clark disgustingly flustered. you do it again without realizing it after another laugh during some movie you guys put on for basically background noise, and this time clark grabs your foot and keeps it there. doesn’t look at you at first, too shy and ashamed to, but then when he does you feel how he’s gotten hard in record timing. swelling up through his sweatpants right against your foot. so you grin and keep rubbing your foot there in repeated circles, soon getting stopped by clark who just yanks your foot by your ankle that much closer. starting to dry hump your heel, stray little muffled whimpers while he ruts.
“wow, look at you. enjoying yourself huh?”
clark’s nose, ears and cheeks turn red as he nods once, not stopping his hips from the heavenly friction that takes him to cloud nine. doesn’t need to even take any clothes off to feel this good. his dick is happy to press up against any part of you, your feet clearly no exception. he whines a little again and speeds up his hips, long forgotten your joke that got him here and the movie still playing on. he feels a wet spot grow on his crotch where his tip is and says a breathy half assed sorry baby when he notices your foot he’s been rutting up on got sticky from him too. saying sorry didn’t mean he wanted to stop though, clearly still basking in the soft surface of your heel and holding onto your ankle tight while his hips go, freely humping himself until completion.
you wonder why his sex drive’s been so high and his cock so sensitive lately, anything you do seemingly throwing him off and distracting him up until he’s busted a fat load. last night he even rut himself up against your leg in bed like a horny mutt then fell asleep with cum stains in his boxers. crusty and sticky white slop everywhere in his night clothes, yet still after a shower and some down time, here he was again now during the day trying to satisfy his rut by pressing up his hard on anywhere you’ll allow him. his eyes squeeze shut and he holds his breath like he’s never been more focused on anything else in his life.
“I’m gonna, I’m gonna….”
“shh, I know, I can tell. cum for me, cum on it baby, I know you really need it.”
“I… I do, I need it so much—“
you spread your toes and latch onto the thick outline through his sweatpants, catching him off guard with the intensity while he gasps and humps your foot hard about five more times, muttering words you wouldn’t even be able to comprehend as the little puddle grew bigger and bigger.
“c’mon dirty boy. cum on your girlfriend’s toes,” you egg on.
clark’s whine is so boyishly high pitched it’s like music to your ears every time when he finally rips his cock out to peak out of his waistband, shoving it in a wet slide against your heel. spurts shoot out one after another after another, landing on the bottom hem of his hoodie, his bunched up sweats, your toes. you wiggle them around and play with his tender cock when he winces as he lets out one last leak, his last runny drop of cum dripping down his length and spilling to his sticky balls.
“sticky boy needs another shower already,” you click your tongue, shaking your head while rubbing your toes together to feel the thick consistency of his cum stuck between them.
“I know,” he agrees. head down in light embarrassment at how easy he is to rile up. and how he’s already thinking about fucking your feet again, and wrapping both around his cock next time. you giggle at him once again and tell him there’s no need to be so embarrassed, trailing your sticky white toes back to his messy cock and smearing the mess together. his cock bobs up again like it already wants more attention, especially when you take a finger to gather up a stripe from some that had spilled down and giving it a lick. it turns clark on so fast like he’d gotten lit on fire and you were holding the match, once again snatching your foot to press up against his dick to slide his naked cock against it even more with the help of his creamy slick.
his eyes are filled with a meek desire like he’s ashamed still that he’s begging for your feet some more already but finds it pointless to try to resist — asking you a timid “can I? again?”
and well, with that voice and that hopeless pretty face, who are you to ever deny him another round when he needed it this bad?
. . . .
dirty boy,…, sticky boy,., I love to imagine messing his shit up just with your toes and he goes totally insane
summary: clark looks sinfully good in his work attire, and you're far too feral for your own well-being.
tags & cw: 18+ MINORS SEE YA, fem afab reader, established relationship (married), the sloppiest of sloppy toppy, deepthroating, slight power exchange, clark whimpering because....well yes, grinding, m and f orgasm
wc: 5.6k of PURE CLARK WORSHIP (you're welcome)
a/n: CLARK UPDATE IS HERE!! it should go without saying that I am a SLUT for men with tucked in shirts, especially when they look like clark fucking kent. y'all seriously can't grasp how fucking feral that look makes me...well, actually, this one shot was born from that horniness so maybe you can, but I digress. anyway, I hope you guys, uh, get as much out of reading this as I did writing it! ☺️
want some more clark content? Check out my clark masterlist!
The evening had started innocently enough.
Clark had gotten off early from the Planet, beating you home and surprising you with a clean apartment and dinner on the stove by the time you walked through the door. He greeted you as he always did, a kiss pressed to your lips, soft smile warm and welcoming as it moved against your mouth. Your eyes were glued to him instantly, like a moth to flame, as he helped you out of your jacket and pressed another sweet kiss to your temple.
While Clark was oblivious to the way your stare followed him around the kitchen, you could think of nothing but the size of his shirt—2XL, fuck—as it stretched across his chest.
Because he was still wearing it. The shirt. The godforsaken Oxford.
Surely there was some sort of scientific, biochemical explanation as to why your nervous system went haywire whenever Clark was in this getup (which he commonly was, it was his work attire for god’s sake)—white Oxford, black slacks with matching cap toes. Cuffs undone, rolled to reveal tantalizing wrists and forearms. Shirt tucked in, because for some unknown reason it was inexplicably more attractive than the unkempt, casual veneer that the untucked look gave off.
His behavior certainly didn’t help, either.
Seeing your husband in his element—his domestic element, that was—did irreparable damage to your insides. You were content to watch him putz in the kitchen, head resting in your chin as he talked to you about his day. Tonight it was something about Jimmy’s failed date last weekend…you think. You aren’t really paying attention. The sinful way his Oxford looks tucked into his work slacks has your undivided attention.
God, those thighs. They’re so massive it’s practically a sin—you want to suffocate between them. His broad shoulders and chest need their own zipcode. And something about his hair after a long shift at work…he didn’t have Superman duties tonight, but his curls are wind-mussed from his stroll home. You adore his glasses, but without them he just looks so…sophisticated. Mature. Good enough to eat.
The thought has you absently gnawing on your lower lip like some kind of sex-crazed fiend.
“—and I told him that’s a bit of a stretch, but what do you think?”
I can think of something else you can stretch.
“Honey?”
You blinked. “Huh?”
He’s turned over his shoulder to look at you, stirring the pot of soup on the stove. Totally oblivious to the way you were blatantly ogling his ass.
“Jimmy’s date, Stephanie? That she’s probably an ‘astrology’ witch, not an actual, like, ‘casting spells’ witch?”
“Oh, uh,” you struggled to recall what he’d been talking about. “Yeah, no. I agree. That’s a bit of a…stretch.”
Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t hear a thing I said, did you?”
You were quick to deny it. “No, no. I was listening.”
His mildly amused expression said he didn’t believe you. You watched as his eyes dropped to the poorly concealed grin on your face; you were still chewing on your lip, and there was no mistaking your intent as your gaze moved painstakingly slowly down his body.
Clark took a deep breath.
And turned back to the stove.
Hm. So he was playing coy tonight, then.
“So…your day was good?”
God, his back was truly glorious. You wanted to drag your nails down his shoulder blades as he fucked you into the mattress. Listen to the headboard shake. Grip the downy curls at the nape of his neck as he sucked bruises into your skin.
“I mean…I’ll, uh, I’ll take the silence as a yes?”
How sweet—his voice trembled a bit as he stirred the pot on the stove. Were you making him nervous? Yes, yes you were, you realized with a triumphant grin. You kept quiet, but the silence was deafening.
“You know, Lois was telling me about this cool new art exhibit that’s opening downtown—” the chair scraped across the hardwood as you stood up, “—and she thought you’d like it, since the paintings focus more on realism as it was portrayed in the Renaissance—”
Standing behind him, your forehead could rest just between his shoulder blades—Clark was massive. You looped your arms around his waist, hands finding the two front pockets of his dress pants and sliding into them casually. He didn’t turn to look at you, but you felt his acknowledgment of your presence in the way his spine straightened.
“—so I was thinking we could stop by, maybe next weekend? I know my folks wanted to come visit soon—”
“Mhm. Sure.”
“—but it would be a great little outing! Maybe Ma and Pa would want to go with us?”
You kissed the back of his neck. “Clark.”
“You think they would like it, right? I mean, maybe not Pa, you know how he gets with pretentious people. Not that all artists are pretentious! Just some of the more modern—”
“Clark.”
“Yeah?”
You stood on your tiptoes to nip playfully at his earlobe. “Turn around.”
He obeyed immediately, looking down at you with wide eyes that were anything but innocent. Oh, he absolutely knew what your intentions were. It was unfair—how perfect your Clark was. So beautiful, so big, so tempting that you couldn’t and didn’t want to hold back any longer.
So you didn’t.
The kiss was filthy. Apparently, way filthier than Clark had been expecting, as he let out an adorable squeak of surprise when your tongue immediately sought out his own. His large hands braced on your hips, squeezing tightly as yours slid up his chest before settling on the collar of his shirt. You allowed a moment of silent mourning for the absence of his tie—you loved to drag him around by it, yank him down to your mouth.
But god, the feel of his strong hands—hands you knew could effortlessly lift you onto the counter—made you voracious with need.
You broke away from his lips, leaving him breathless (despite knowing that, realistically, he didn’t need the air, which somehow turned you on even more). Your lips and teeth painted a path across his strong jaw, down the sides of his neck, up behind his ear. Clark melted under your touch, shifting you two slightly over so he could lean back against the countertop rather than the stove. His breath caught when you bit down particularly hard beneath his jaw, desperate to leave a mark that would only last for mere minutes.
“Jesus, sweetheart…” he breathed, hands still gripping your hips as you damn-near attempted to mount him against the kitchen counter.
You pulled back, hands cradling his jaw as you met his eyes, pleased to find them equally as feral as you knew yours looked. “Kiss me,” you said desperately, not giving him time to answer as you smashed your mouths together again.
“I’m…trying…to…hmph!”
He hadn’t been expecting your wandering hands, one of which was presently cupping him through the cotton of his slacks.
“I want to suck you off,” you stated, breathy and bold.
Clark, as you expected he might, made a desperate, whimper-like sound that rumbled from the back of his throat. It almost sounded pained, but you knew him better than that.
“Oh, gosh. You do?” were the half-surprised words that eventually stumbled out.
You almost laughed, barely concealing it behind a grin that you were certain he felt against his lips. You slid your hand lower, squeezing around his balls as you licked back into his mouth. This time he broke the kiss, head thunking against the cabinets as a tremor ran through his body, hips jerking against his will.
“Yes, Clark. I want it so bad.” You let your voice drop into a whisper against his neck as you squeezed him again, “I can feel how badly you need em’ emptied.”
“I—Geez Louise, okay.”
That one made you laugh, a teasing chuckle that you cut off by drawing him back down to your lips. Seeing him this caught off guard was giving you a strange power-trip; your husband was no blushing virgin, but he definitely wasn’t used to you being so vulgar with dirty talk. Usually, surprisingly, it was the other way around—Clark could get you flustered so easily, especially when that deep voice of his was in your ear whispering praises and showering you with affection. And if he used his Superman voice? You were a goner.
It seemed that tonight, however, you had turned the tables.
“Let me help you, baby,” you murmur, rubbing all over the hard length of him. “I can feel how much you need it. It’s making me so wet just thinking about it.”
His protest is weak at best. “Th-the soup…it’s…gonna burn…”
“Put it on simmer.”
You gave him no more time to argue, knees hitting the floor hard enough to bruise. You could tell as much based on Clark’s soft, rushed “baby, careful,” but you were too busy salivating thinking about getting his cock in your mouth to care.
His dress shirt was ripped from his pants, and the sight of his lower belly heaving under your attention was almost enough to make you actually start drooling.
Fuck, you could lick along his happy trail. No, wait, you could, so you did; messily licking and kissing and practically making out with that gorgeous Adonis belt of his, descending lower till you reached the line of his slacks.
Not expecting the heat of your tongue, Clark gasped above you. He was beautifully flushed, eyes saucer-wide and lust-blown. His hands hovered innocently above your shoulders, adorably unsure of where you wanted them as he let you take the lead.
“Golly, honey, what’s gotten into you?”
“This damn shirt, that’s what,” you panted, raking your eyes up his body before locking on his face. It was an effort to force yourself to slow down, wanting to take your time with him despite your ravenous desire to touch touch touch.
Clark looked somewhat mesmerized. “I w-wear these all the time—”
“Exactly.”
He had already tented his slacks, something that your eager cunt was quick to notice as it fluttered between your legs; you forced yourself to stay focused, sliding the black leather of his belt through his pantloops torturously slow.
“Hmm. This the Armani one I got you for Christmas?” you grinned slyly at him.
Clark nodded dumbly. Your eyes dropped to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat. “Mm…mhm.”
The belt thwipped free and instantly your mouth re-attached to his waistline.
“Open your shirt for me, baby,” you requested breathily. He immediately did as you asked, breath already coming in pants as you watched his fingers tremble to undo the buttons.
Holy shit. He looked too good, Oxford hanging open, glasses tucked into the breast pocket, hair a mess, eyes glazed over. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked tipsy at the sight of you.
You continued nipping along his scalding skin as your fingers hooked beneath the waistband of his slacks. You pulled them down so slow that they caught on the ridge of his cock, making his breath hitch before you tugged them just low enough to give you access.
He was desperate and swollen beneath his black boxer briefs, and honestly if you weren’t so turned on the sight might even be a little comical. But alas, you were fairly certain you were soaking through your own underwear, head empty save for thoughts of your husband and his perfect body and his sweet voice and the reverential look in his eyes.
Clark’s hands finally leapt to cradle your head when you leaned forward to nuzzle his clothed erection like you were in heat, mouthing along the fabric and feeling him twitch between the thin barrier of his boxers. Your hands moved to cup his heavy balls again, squeezing gently and earning you the first groan of the evening.
He shifted his weight, hips twitching with thinly-veiled restraint, and it sounded like his brain was short-circuiting. “I– you– hon, you…you don’t have to—”
You pulled back far enough to send him a quirked brow. “You want me to stop?”
Bless his soul, Clark hesitated for a millisecond, piercing blue eyes glued to your face, breathing hard; as if he was really considering it. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
No.
Your grin was wicked. “Didn’t think so.”
“But only if you really wan—”
“Clark Joseph Kent,” you cut him off. “I don’t want anything coming from those pretty lips except my name and the sounds of you feeling good. Got it?”
His head knocked against the cabinets again, eyelids fluttering. “Golly…yes ma’am.”
That shot between your legs faster than a lightning bolt. You sighed in satisfaction as you resumed your exploratory touches, fondling him over his boxers as he fought and failed to keep his breathing level.
You eventually pulled the elastic of his boxers halfway down his stupidly hard cock, exposing little more than the flushed-red tip. Mischief on your mind, you placed chaste little kisses along his sensitive frenulum, relishing in the way his breathing stuttered.
“H-honey,” he rasped.
You looked up at him with eyes of pure sin. “Hm?”
His voice broke around a whine, “please don’t tease.”
Arousal burned between your thighs, in your blood, in your ears.
It was tremendously rare that Clark let you go down on him—he was a giver at heart, both inside the bedroom and out of it. You’d lost count of how many times he’d come, totally untouched, humping the bed like a dog as he made you come over and over on his tongue or fingers.
It was all incredibly flattering, but what truly did it for you was knowing that he liked getting head; loved it in fact, but was entirely willing to shove aside his own pleasure for the sake of yours.
But, much like your adoring husband, sometimes the lines of your respective pleasure intersected; sometimes sucking him off was what you craved, and it was more than enough to satisfy you. No matter how many times he argued that “no, honey; it’s different—it’s easier for me to get there than you,” you aggressively denied it in a vehement desperation to make him feel even half as good as he made you feel.
Which was why you cherished every opportunity to get your mouth on him, and also the reason you didn’t tease him half as long as you probably should’ve as punishment for making you wait to do this again.
His fingers twitched atop your head when you finally dragged his boxers down, freeing his massive cock that flinched against his abdomen. You wrapped a fist around him, offering a few firm strokes as you sought out his eyes.
“You have such a beautiful cock, Clark.” He trembled. “It’s so pretty, and so, so hard for me.”
“Gosh, sweetheart. S’all yours,” he said, voice breathy and uneven. “Please, just—”
“Just what?”
“Just…touch me.”
You tightened your fist on the next upstroke. “I am touching you.”
Oh, how you loved to watch him squirm. “You…you know what I mean—”
“I’m not sure that I do.”
You watched the look on his face when he realized you were going to make him beg for exactly what he wanted.
Clark wasn’t one for profanities, but he sure made your name sound like a curse as he shifted above you, frantic and needy. “Please, I- just…don’t keep teasing me like that—”
You only hummed, letting spit dribble from your mouth onto his leaking slit to loosen the glide of your hand over his dick, which was actively throbbing in your hand. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”
His eyes rolled when you suckled gently on his tip. “B-baby…don’t make me beg you to—”
“Say it, Clark. Just tell me.” Your free hand returning to fondle his balls is what finally did it.
“Your mouth!” he blurted at last. “Pleasepleaseplease. Just put your mouth on me. N-need it so bad—”
“Okay. Was that so hard?”
You were true to your word, swallowing as much of him as was humanly possible in one go, a move Clark clearly had not anticipated given the groan that bellowed from his chest and the way his fingers curled in your hair. When you looked up at him, he was slack-jawed and breathing like he’d run a marathon, chest heaving beneath his open shirt.
Much like the rest of him, Clark’s cock was huge—not, like, disproportionately huge, but enough that it was a struggle to take him even on your best days. Clark knew this—hell, he’d spent years married to you and had long since learned how to prepare you for him—but it was a struggle no less to take him as far down your throat as you wanted to.
But given the heavy manner in which he was already breathing, you were determined to deepthroat him tonight, even if only for a few seconds.
You inhaled, forcing yourself to suppress the gag in your throat as you did your best to take him as far as your body would allow.
“Baby,” Clark was whining sharply, “oh gosh, baby. That…thatfeelssogood b-but please be careful—”
As if on cue, your throat unwillingly constricted around him as you gagged, effectively cutting Clark off with his own groan. You could sense the concern in him without even needing to see it on his face; in an attempt to distract him you suctioned your mouth, dragging his cock out halfway to lave your tongue along its sensitive underside, tracing the pulsing vein that wrapped around his shaft.
It worked like a treat as his hips jerked, lower pelvic muscles twitching directly in your line of sight as he shuddered.
He was so fucking perfect you could hardly believe he was real, that he was your husband who loved you and came home to you every night and cooked you dinner and helped with the laundry and wanted to take you to art museums because he knew you loved them.
“You’re so pretty,” he breathed down at you, incapable of not praising you when you were treating him like this. The praise washed over you, and if your underwear wasn’t soaked before it sure as hell was now. “Gosh, honey. D-don’t know what I did to deserve this, but…”
You pulled off of him to catch your breath, but kept your hand pumping him lazily. “Just being you,” you breathed. “It’s just you, Clark.”
For some reason this seemed to affect him more than you thought it would, his eyes swelling with a sudden surge of affection that one might not normally expect when giving a blowjob.
But your Clark was a teddy bear at heart, his innermost parts soft and gooey and sweet like melted chocolate. Even in the midst of lust he didn’t know how to turn that part of himself off, and you never wanted him to.
You let your saliva drip down onto the wet length of him, holding his gaze and watching it re-glaze with unbidden desire. His eyes fluttered when you squeezed just beneath the tip, letting your tongue do the rest of the work as it circled his frenulum.
“Yesss sweetheart,” he hissed, breath stuttering. “That’s…oh, honey. That’s so good. Gosh, you’re so perfect.”
His praise forced a low whine from the back of your throat, the sound vibrating over his length and making him shudder. He relaxed his hold on your hair, running his fingers through it in a gesture so frighteningly tender that you momentarily forgot you were actively sucking him off.
“Mmm…I know you like it when I talk to you like that. It’s all true, you know. You’re so perfect for me.”
Feeling encouraged and oddly heartwarmed, you slowly built the tempo back up, taking him down halfway and jerking off whatever didn’t fit with your fist. You got unapologetically messy with it, knowing the vulgarity of your actions would spark something feral in Clark because, yes, he is still a man, and the sight of his wife slobbering all over his dick with absolutely zero shame was definitely emptying his brain.
If you were honest, it was surprising both of you how obscene you were being; but if the wetness between your thighs and the state of his cock were anything to go by, there were certainly no objections.
One hand continued to grope his balls, swollen with need and begging for attention that made Clark whine deliciously when you massaged them. Your other hand finally moved to grip the wrist of the fist that was still ensnared in your hair, tugging on it so as to encourage him to guide your movements.
Clark took your wordless command in stride, leaving you to wonder when exactly the power dynamic had shifted, and also why you were completely content to let it happen.
Actually, you knew the answer to that.
Clark’s dominance had always been gentle; far sweeter than what you might’ve expected from the Man of Steel. He was so good to you that you were almost always willing—perhaps even subconsciously—to hand over the reins during sex. Even though this encounter had started with you in charge, it became obvious as his hand fisted gently in your hair, guiding your movements over his throbbing dick, that things had changed, even if he was content to let you believe otherwise.
Thankfully though, he didn’t stop whimpering for you, which you were eternally grateful for.
“S-so pretty. You’re so beautiful. Mmm. Takin’ me like this, makin’ me feel so good.”
On the next forward motion, you slid as deep as you could, attempting to deepthroat him yet again and this time succeeding. Your nails on his thigh were enough to reassure him of your comfort, so Clark held you there, his grip firm as he panted down at you.
“Gosh, honey. Look at you.”
You retracted for air, messily tonguing around his sensitive tip. “Use me,” you demanded, voice just this side of raw from the intrusion of his cock. “Please, Clark, please.”
“Honey,” there was worry in his tone, but also underlying need. His cock throbbed in your hands. “Are you…are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t, I promise,” you soothed, peppering kisses up and down those massive thighs of his. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”
“I know, but…” he trailed off, brows furrowed, hesitation tight across his face.
“Clark,” you said sternly. “I’m asking you to. Please?”
His breathless nod was all the answer you received before his fingers tightened in your hair. That alone was enough to have you moaning in preemptive bliss, letting your jaw go slack, tongue lolling out of your mouth. Clark teased your lips with his head, tapping it gently against your tongue as you shifted your weight around on your knees. Your poor pussy was desperate for attention, your entire body wrought with energy like a live wire.
When he finally pushed his cock into your mouth, it was with a low groan that sent what you would equate to an electrical current between your legs. Staying true to his word and your demand, Clark readily took control, moving your head back and forth, back and forth, nice and slow at first. But his need eventually won out, as it so often did with you, and soon thereafter he was panting as he guided your hot mouth over his cock, hips building a rhythm that matched the bobbing of your head.
“O-oh, honey. That’s- mm. So fu–” he broke off on a low moan when you hollowed your cheeks on the next stroke. “Yes baby, suck it like that. Gosh, y-you’re so pretty and perfect like this f’me…”
Your hands stroked up and down his powerful thighs, squeezing every so often just as a way to stimulate other parts of his body. Clark regarded you with an admiration only he was capable of, even with his cock shoved halfway down your throat.
“My beautiful wife. You love worshipping this cock, don’t you sweetheart?”
The unexpected filth of his words draws a moan from your chest. Clark hums, obviously satisfied at the sensation it provided around his dick. And then he fucking grins, something just shy of smug as he listens to your little mewls.
“Mhm. Yeah, I know you do, hon. Got yourself all worked up for me, desperate to use that pretty mouth.”
Clark’s pace began to pick up, his hips getting sharper in their movement as you made a conscious effort to keep your throat loose. Saliva was dripping down your chin, escaping from the sides of your mouth; the sounds his cock was making between your lips was lewd, succeeding in winding you up even more as Clark started to chase his pleasure.
You sucked around him a few more times, nails biting into his slacks as you silently urged him along. The noise that came out of him then was strangled. “Oh…sweetheart, I’m close,” he stammered, tugging on your hair in warning as his hips kept pumping. “I- honey, m’gonna come– gosh, can I– where do you wan’ me to—”
The simple fact that you ignored his warning was sufficient enough of an answer.
This realization is what seemed to push Clark over the edge, a beautiful shudder wracking his wide frame as he came with a whimper so sharp and so whiny that you almost orgasmed too, your pussy so swollen and aching with neglect that you involuntarily clenched your thighs. Clark’s grip on your hair tightened just a fraction, guiding your mouth over his pulsing dick. His eyes were blazing down at you, the frantic expansion of his lungs making his chest rise and fall beneath his open shirt. His signature Superman curl had fallen in front of his eye.
You swallowed everything he had eagerly—and there was a lot to be had—making pleased little noises as his come slid down your throat.
“Ohhh, gosh, yes,” Clark moaned in relief. “Mm. Mm, that’s so good. Oh, gosh. You’re too good to me baby.” His fist finally went lax in your hair, fingers soothing through it in reassuring caresses as his hips moved in tiny thrusts, seeking that last bit of sensation. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Then he was guiding you to stand, hands gentle yet insistent on your shoulders. You stood, unable to help the satisfied little grin on your face as you tucked him back into his boxers and readjusted his pants. You bit your lip as the zzzip of his pants being done up filled the space between you. You gave his crotch one last little tap, a smug grin of your own forming on your face.
Clark was still a little spaced out, lips parted as he watched you with hooded eyes. You gave him a peck on the nose, and it seemed to break whatever trance he was in. He fell forward, hands cradling your face, and kissed you deeply.
Knowing he could probably taste himself on your tongue reminded you of your own insistent arousal, and you moaned into the kiss, struggling to keep up.
“Thank you,” he said when he finally allowed you oxygen. He pressed his forehead into yours, “you’re incredible, sweetheart. If I had known my dress shirts affected you this much—”
“Oh, don’t act all innocent,” you said. “You absolutely know what they do to me.”
His mischievous little grin confirmed your suspicion. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I have somewhat of an idea.”
Clark kissed you again, his hands travelling down your sides to rest at the hem of your own work slacks. You couldn’t help the way your body arched against his; his question was clear.
“Let me…?”
“If you want to.” It was a stupid thing to say, really.
“Of course I want to, baby.”
You yelped in surprise when he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, backing you up until you were seated on the island counter. Now at eye level, you could more thoroughly enjoy his handsome dimples as he smiled softly before leaning in for a slow kiss.
“Least I could do is return the favor after that.” His voice dipped low in a way that made your gut tighten with need. He was dangerously close to using that voice. “Besides, you think I didn’t notice how tightly you were clenching your thighs, sweetheart? And even if I didn’t, you forget that I can smell how much you need me.”
“Fuck, Clark…” you whined when his fingers ghosted between your legs, rubbing along the seam of your slacks.
“Mmm, that’s it. Bet you could come just from this, huh?” He pulled back just enough to watch your expressions, blue eyes alight with desperation and something far deeper. You could feel his breath across your cheek. “Just some pressure, baby? Yeah? Does that feel good? You’re so worked up for me, honey.”
You couldn’t form a coherent thought. It was like a switch had gone on off in Clark in some lust-addled, post-orgasmic glow. Honestly, screw him for being this irresistable; for making you so goddamn easy for him. Didn’t this start with you seducing him? You were such an easy lay when it came to Clark that it would’ve been humiliating if you hadn’t been married for several years.
He added his whole palm now, giant hand pressing up and down the length of your searing center, palming the entire area of your sensitive clit. It was simple pressure—something firm and real to grind your pussy against, and it was making your head fuzzy with the pleasure of it. You were certain he could feel some of your wetness beginning to seep through the fabric, which was only slightly mortifying—your panties were definitely a lost cause if that were the case.
Perhaps more unbelievable was that yes, you were indeed about to come from simply grinding on his hand between two layers of clothing. Your fingers flew to the bicep of the arm that wasn’t currently flexing between your legs, nails digging into the white sleeve of his Oxford, making you remember just exactly what had gotten you into this predicament in the first place.
Your greedy eyes honed in on your husband, in such close proximity to you; his broad shoulders and strong chest, the soft suggestion of farm-built muscle peeking between that godforsaken shirt. Embarrassingly, seeing his uncuffed sleeves is what pushes you over. Something about the delicious blend of professional and unkempt; the implication of propriety that came with his pristine office attire contrasted against his unruly curls, perspirated face, and borderline slutty forearms.
“G-god, Clark, m’gonna co– I–” You try to warn him, but it’s pointless.
Clark leaned down, free hand caging you into his body as it rested on the countertop beside you. He nuzzled his face into your neck so that his words were a breath right against your ear. “Come for me, Mrs. Kent. Just like that, baby. Let it happen.”
You shook against him, a broken cry falling from your lips as your body finally found its peak. Clark worked you through it, lips pressing kisses against your neck between words.
So good, baby. There we go. You’re so perfect. I love you so much. That’s it, honey…breathe through it, let yourself feel good.
He continued to hold you, hand finally stilling when the twitch of your hips signaled the dip into oversensitivity. You withdrew him from your neck when your pulse had somewhat settled, cradling the back of his skull. Now, it was your turn to smile at him, sated and lazy, fingers scratching soothingly at his nape. Your kiss was finally slow, almost chaste, nothing more than a tired exchange of gratitude.
“The soup,” you halfheartedly mention when you part.
“It’s simmering, it should be fine.” Clark had already preoccupied himself with hugging you as close as physically possible. Almost subconsciously, your legs wrapped around his waist, inviting him closer as he sank into your embrace against the countertop. Your body bowed backwards slightly as he leaned into you, making you giggle at how cuddly he always got post-coitus.
One of his hands rose to your neck, absently stroking the front of your throat in a tender caress. Worry colored his next words. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
“No, baby,” you reassured him, hands running the length of his back. Your heart swelled with warmth at the concern in his voice. Clark, your gentle giant—capable of crushing planets and he was worried about a little deepthroating. “I would have told you. You know I would’ve.”
He hummed, and though you could tell he wasn’t totally satisfied with your answer he also trusted your word.
“I love you.” He rubbed his face against your neck affectionately and you squirmed at the feel of his five o’clock shadow.
“You better,” you teased, running your fingers through his inky hair. “Though, to be fair, you could probably get me to do just about anything as long as you’re wearing this shirt. Tucked in, of course. Cuffs undone, hair a mess. God, Clark. How are you so perfect?”
He smothered your neck and cheek with kisses, drawing another giggle from you. “Well. I don’t know, but I feel the same way about you, if it’s any comfort.” Clark inhaled sharply, “especially when you wear that one dress. The one with—”
“The open back?”
“Mm. Yes.”
You laugh, ruffling his curls before pecking him on the lips. “I love you so ridiculously much, Clark Kent.”
“That’s good,” he kissed your nose. “Because I was lying. The white bean and sausage soup is definitely burning.”
tags: smut MDNI, 18+, sub clark kent, dom reader, clark kent in heat, breeding kink, unprotected sex, petnames: "honey" "mate" and "sweetheart," everyone cums, pathetic clark kent, DESPERATE clark kent
notes: crossposted onto my ao3!!! clark kent in heat bro i need him BAD. 😵💫
when clark first told you he was superman, your first question was if he had any interesting alien physiology. at the time, he said it was fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your reaction) only the superpowers. the only ‘alien’ thing about him was the planet he was from and the lost language they spoke on it. clark was, for all intents and purposes, as human as anyone.
the door of your apartment creaked open with an unusual hesitation, the familiar ‘whoosh’ of cape fabric absent. clark stood frozen in the threshold, his usually impeccable posture slumped against the doorframe. he wasn’t in his super-suit, indicating he hadn’t been patrolling as he usually would be at this time. his glasses sat crooked on his nose, one lens cracked from what must have been a hasty landing, and his hair stuck up in every direction like he’d flown straight through a tornado to get here.
clark’s breaths came in short, uneven gasps, his fingers gripping the doorknob so tightly that the metal creaked in protest. the scent of something distinctly alien hung heavy around him. his normally calm blue eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated with intense panic and confusion.
“please,” he stammered, voice rough with emotion, “don’t come any closer.”
clark flinched when you took a step forward, his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. a bead of sweat trailed down his temple and he swiped at it clumsily, his usual grace abandoned. the apartment smelled like you — too much like you, the usual comforting notes of your perfume and shampoo now overwhelming, cloying at his senses.
“clark? clark, what’s happening?” unaware of how heightened his senses were, you attempted to reach out for him.
“i — golly — i don’t… i don’t know,” he admitted, voice cracking, “everything’s too loud, too bright,” his hands trembled at his sides, fingers flexing like he was fighting every urge to reach for you, “too hot.” the admission seemed to cost him, causing his shoulders to hunch inward like he expected to be scolded; the man who could lift buildings and turn back time stood before you, seemingly terrified of his own body betraying him.
the air conditioner chose at that moment to kick on with a small rattle, sending a gust of chilled air through the apartment. clark shuddered violently, his skin prickling with goosebumps despite the feverish heat rolling off of him in waves. he pressed the back of his hand against this mouth, breathing hard through his nose.
“oh, geez...” he mumbled against his knuckles, voice muffled and strained, “i cant… i think — i think i should leave.” his knees buckled. one of his hands shot out to catch himself on the wall, leaving behind five perfect indentations in the drywall.
you reached out in an attempt to catch clark, but the moment your fingers brushed against his forearm, he jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. a high, strangled whimper escaped his throat before he could stop it, his face flushing a deep red. his eyes flew wide with horror at the sound he’d just made and his free hand clapped over his mouth as if he could shove the noise back in.
“oh gosh, i — that wasn’t —” clark’s words tangled themselves into knots as he tried to back away, only to find himself trapped between the wall and your cornered advance. his pulse visibly hammered in his neck, knees giving another dangerous wobble as he tried to straighten up. when he spoke again, his voice came out strained and thready, like he was actively fighting against his own body to keep each word steady. “i don’t understand what’s… my brain is all jumbled…” his eyes squeezed shut, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
clark’s gaze darted to your lips for half a second before he wrenched it away, looking downright scandalized at his own thoughts. a fresh wave of that strange, intense heat rolled off him, his form trembling dramatically. “i think… i think i might be sick?” clark’s voice was barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and desperation; the question mark at the end of his sentence did all the heavy lifting. his tone suggested that he knew perfectly well this couldn’t have been any earthly illness. his fingers twitched towards you again before he balled them into fists, his knuckles going white with the effort of restraint.
“honey,” you kept your voice low, the way one might approach a scared animal, “tell me what’s wrong. what are you feeling?”
in response, clark’s shoulders hunched further, the tips of his ears burning scarlet. he attempted to steady himself by staring intently at the ceiling, his mouth clicking open and shut several times before any sound came out. “it’s not — i can’t…”
clark disguised a whine as a cough when you reached out for him again. his glasses slipped further down his nose, revealing eyes that appeared glassy with how wide they’d gone. the collar of his shirt was now damp with sweat, clinging to his neck in a way that made him squirm with discomfort.
“clark,” you said, firmer now, “i need to know what’s happening so i can help you. even if it’s embarrassing.”
clark made a small, distressed sound in the back of his throat, his hands fluttering uselessly at his sides before he finally blurted out, “everything smells — it smells like you! and it’s too much and not enough and my skin feels too tight and i keep thinking about —” he cut himself off with a strangled noise, looking mortified.
it was immediately clear: clark wasn’t sick. at least, not sick in any way either of you had anticipated. the way he was reacting to your proximity, the heat radiating off of his body, the desperate way he kept looking at you before forcing himself to look away —
“oh,” you breathed, the syllable heavy with realization. clark whimpered again, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes under his glasses in a futile attempt to push the heavy, overwhelming influx of thoughts away. “clark, is this… a kryptonian thing?”
clark’s breath hitched as he pressed himself harder against the wall. “i don’t — i don’t know,” he managed, his voice faltering, “my parents never mentioned — golly, they wouldn’t have known either, would they?”
you felt an overwhelming sense of pity. the uncharted territory alarmed him so much; you could see it in his eyes. “let me help you, hon,” you sighed, stepping closer despite his repeated warnings.
one of clark’s hands shot out in a desperate ‘stop’ gesture while the other clutched at his own shirt collar like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. the buttons on his shirt strained dangerously as they threatened to pop. “oh gosh, no, please don’t —” his voice cracked again, pitching upward. he squeezed his eyes shut. every word required significant effort when he spoke once more. “i — i’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life and that’s exactly why i need you to stay back.” the last words came out as a plea that wasn’t completely earnest.
clark’s entire body shivered when your fingers made contact with his forearm again. the fight seemed to drain out of him all at once, his knees giving way as he slid down the wall with a defeated whimper. his glasses slipped off entirely, clattering to the floor as he curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees like he was trying to make himself smaller. the normally invincible superhero now sat on your apartment floor, looking like a disheveled, overgrown puppy.
when you knelt in front of him, clark didn’t pull away this time, though his fingers dug into his own arms enough to leave pale marks on his skin. his breathing was still uneven, but slower now, like he’d exhausted himself fighting against his own mind.
“honey,” you comforted softly, reaching out to brush a sweaty curl from his forehead. clark made a small, wounded noise at the contact but didn’t resist, leaning ever so slightly into your touch.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken, “i don’t know what’s come over me. i feel like i’m not even in control of my own body anymore.” the apartment was quiet now. somewhere nearby, a car alarm went off. normally, clark would be out the window in a flash to help, but now he barely seemed to notice.
you rested your palm against his cheek and clark let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. his skin was fever-hot under your grasp, and you could feel his jaw tick. “this isn’t your fault, clark,” you spoke gently, watching as his eyelashes trembled against his flushed cheeks. “can i kiss you?”
for the first time since he’d stumbled through the door, he looked less like a man about to fly apart at the seams and more like clark — overwhelmed, embarrassed, needy, but no longer fighting so hard against his desperation.
“might… might not be able to stop,” clark swallowed, his adams apple bobbing.
“i know,” you murmured, and clark’s breath hitched when you leaned in closer.
for a man who could bench-press a train, he looked devastatingly fragile in that moment — like the slightest wrong move might shatter him completely. his body uncurled on itself, and his hands hovered uncertainly before settling on your elbows. the contact made him shudder visibly. “gosh,” he breathed, his voice cracking, “i don’t know what i’m doing.”
you could feel the overwhelming tension coiled in him, the way clark’s muscles trembled as he willed himself to hold back. when you finally closed the distance, clark whimpered, his hands moving from your elbows to your waist to pull you onto his lap. his fingers digged into your sides like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. the kiss was clumsy, the heat and desperation burning off of clark’s body evident. as soon as clark attempted to impossibly deepen the kiss, you could tell it wasn’t enough. he needed more.
clark’s hands moved with a sudden, desperate urgency, his fingers tangling in the fabric of your shirt as he pulled you closer. the kiss turned feverish; his usual careful restraint had shattered, leaving behind something raw and intensely desperate. clark’s teeth grazed your lower lip, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp, and the sound seemed to ignite something in him. a low, needy noise vibrated in his throat as he chased the high, his grip tightening further.
“gosh,” he panted against your mouth, the word trembling, “i — i don’t —” his voice broke off into a whine, his head lolling to the side as he shuddered. clark let out a sob when your fingers carded through his sweat-damp hair, his eyes squeezing shut. he looked wrecked — his cheeks flushed, his lips parted and swollen. his control unraveled by the second as his hands slid up your sides, trembling, before one settled at the small of your back, pressing you flush against him.
his hips jerked forward involuntarily in a sharp, aborted movement that made him yelp, his body going rigid with embarrassment. his breath hitched aggressively as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a shaky, open-mouthed kiss. “please. please, i don’t know what to do…” his voice was barely a whisper, completely broken and pleading.
clark’s breath was a mess of short, shallow bursts against your neck, each exhale hotter than the last. when he spoke again, his voice was barely recognizable — low, rough, stripped of all its usual gentle hesitation. “i need —” his throat worked hard, as if the words couldn’t come out, “i need to —” his hips jerked once more, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back. clark’s teeth scraped lightly over your collarbone. “breed… i — i need to breed you,” clark’s voice dripped with shame. his arms locked around you like steel. “tell me to stop,” he panted, though his hands were already sliding under your shirt, mapping the curve of your waist. “please, honey, you gotta tell me to stop, because i don’t think i can —” the sentence ended in a groan as you carded your fingers through his hair again.
“clark,” you started, but he cut you off with another desperate noise, his teeth catching the fabric of your shirt collar.
“say it again,” he begged, “say my name like that again, like you’re not — like you’re not scared of me right now.”
“clark,” you murmured again, softer this time, reveling in how the way you said his name caused his shoulders to ease slightly. his eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his entire frame vibrating. you cupped clark’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you, and he made a noise like a wounded animal, his lips parting against your palm in a shaky exhale. “i’m not scared of you, honey…” your words seemed to only unravel him further. “take what you need,” you attempted to soothe, your own need growing as you shifted in his lap.
clark’s hands trembled as his fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt with hesitant urgency. he moved his hands — slow at first, testing, as if still afraid he might hurt you — before the dam broke. his lips found yours again, desperate and searching. “gosh,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “i don’t deserve you.”
even like this, clark was still clark — achingly gentle beneath the frenzy of his need. his hands roamed your skin with careful reverence, though his movements were interrupted by shallow pants and trembling muscles. the contrast was dizzying: the way he kissed you like a man starved, yet touched you like you could crumble under his grasp. clark kent, even at his most desperate, could never let himself forget how to be careful with you.
clark’s hips pressed forward helplessly, and this time he didn’t pull away. the change was immediate; clark’s hands, usually so precise, fumbled with the waistband of your bottoms as his fingers flexed against the fabric. he let out a soft growl as the material resisted his frantic tugging. he could only manage broken syllables now — “please” and “now” and a particularly wrecked “golly” when you arched against him.
fabric ripped, and clark whined a wordless apology as your bottoms and panties both gave in at the seams. you gasped briefly at the shock of clark’s show of strength, but quickly regained some semblance of composure, leaning back slightly to allow clark the room to remove his own pants.
clark’s slacks proved even more problematic. his belt buckle popped as he wrestled with it one-handed, his other arm locked around your waist like a safety harness. for a brief moment, he looked like he was actually considering using his heat-vision to burn the garment away. “can’t — can’t think,” clark let out a long sigh as the button on his slacks finally gave way and his slacks loosened. the relieved noise he made was downright feral, his hips jerking forward instinctively as he freed himself. he whimpered, embarrassed at the sight — his cock was always big, but the heat was making it appear impossibly larger as it throbbed against his stomach.
you pressed closer with a slow roll of your hips that dragged a choked whine from clark’s throat. “wait,” his voice warbled, “i should — i gotta prep you first, i don’t wanna —.”
“‘s okay,” you soothed, brushing your lips against his neck. “want you like this.”
clark’s hips canted up once more, his hands flying to grip your thighs. “‘but — but i could hurt you,” his voice became smaller, “honey, i cant…”
you rocked down again, and this time his entire body locked up, a strangled groan tearing from his chest. his fingers spasmed against your skin once more.
“trust me,” you asserted, making eye contact with him now. “i can take it, clark.”
for a moment clark just stared at you, his eyes wild and desperate like he was trying to find any evidence against what was coming out of your mouth. then, with a broken noise, his hips stuttered forward, his cock hot and heavy against your inner thigh.
“gosh, i — i.. please, please, i need —” you didn’t let him finish, instead pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips before shifting to line him up with your warmth. clark went rigid, his fingers scrambling for purchase on your hips like he was trying to hold himself back even as you began to slowly sink down onto him.
the noise clark made was almost inhuman — a loud, groaning sob as his head snapped back and his hips arched off the floor, pushing into you.
“too much?” you gasped, pausing, but clark shook his head frantically in response.
“no, it’s —” he swallowed, his vision blurring as he fought to keep his eyes open. a low growl escaped from his throat, “please let me move you.” he was only halfway inside you, but he was already begging like he was close.
“go ahead,” you urged, your voice softer than the ache spreading through your body, “i can take it.”
immediately, clark’s grip tightened just enough to lift you effortlessly. for a fraction of a second, he held you suspended above him, trembling with weak restraint, before pulling you back further down onto him. the slide was slow at first; then, with a shuddering gasp, he eased you down to the base of his cock.
heat radiated off of clark once more as he bottomed out, his skin damp and feverish beneath you. his hips jutted up instinctively, chasing the sensation before he caught himself, freezing with a strangled noise. “f — sorry,” he choked out the apology upon hearing a soft, wounded noise escape your lips.
you shook your head, shifting experimentally, watching the breath punch out of him. his hands gripped your waist once more — slow this time, agonizingly so, like he was attempting to savor the drag of his cock against your walls. the muscles in his arms flexed when he lowered you back down with a broken groan.
clark’s next attempt at thrusting was significantly less controlled, his hips canting up to meet you halfway. the force of it knocked the air from your lungs, and his eyes snapped up to you at the sound. you cut his worries off with another roll of your hips, and whatever apology he’d been mustering dissolved into a strangled moan. his hands tightened reflexively as his brain slipped another notch. “doing so good, clark,” you huffed out, “you wanna breed me, don’t you?” you leaned closer to rest your hands on his shoulders. “breed me then.”
the words seemed to shatter what little restraint clark had left. his hands clamped around your hips with bruising force, fingers digging in as he pulled you down hard against him, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural moan that vibrated through his chest. the sudden stretch burned, but clark was beyond noticing, his pupils blown wide and unfocused as his hips pistoned upward in frantic, uneven movements.
his rhythm was erratic, hips stuttering as pleasure overwhelmed him, alternating between shallow, frantic snaps and deep, grinding rolls that forced choked moans from his throat. one hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back as he mouthed wet, open kisses along your throat. the wall behind him groaned under the force of his movements, causing drywall to crack as his shoulders pressed into it, but clark was simply too focused on you to care.
clark’s cock throbbed endlessly inside you, impossibly hard, each thrust dragging against oversensitive nerves. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room as clark babbled nonsense against you — half-formed pleas and apologies and your name, over and over like a prayer. his fingers ran against your skin, alternating between clutching too tight and smoothing over you.
“haah — s’you, only you, my — my mate — perfect mate,” he slurred, the syllables tangling together as his hips stuttered forward relentlessly. “gonna — gonna fill you up proper, gonna — nngh — breed you so good, sweetheart, promise, i promise —” his voice broke off into a high, keening noise when you ground against him, pulling him even deeper inside your walls.
“yeah? ‘m your mate?” you felt the way his cock twitched inside you at the words, his breath shallow. “taking care of your mate just right, clark. so good for me.” you hummed between a thread of moans that escaped your lips.
“mine, you’re mine,” the words spilled out of him now, raw and unvarnished, “gonna put a baby in you, gonna — haah — gonna get you so full of my seed and — oh gosh —” his voice cracked into a high-pitched whimper, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. “love you, love you, love you —” the chants were nearly swallowed by a broken moan as his thrusts grew erratic, his hands scrambling to press you even closer, as if he could fuse you with him through sheer force of want.
“gonna make sure you’re full of me,” he whined, “wanna feel you take it all — oh gosh — wanna make sure it takes,” clark’s lips parted around a silent plea before he managed to find his voice again, “close,” he managed, the word strained in his throat. his forehead fell to press against yours as he held you in place and bucked up into you with reckless abandon. “so close, honey, i — i can’t —” his breath was hot and uneven against your lips as he fought to hold on just a while longer.
your fingers moved to cover his hands around your hips in an effort to ground him. “look at you, sweetheart,” you cooed, looking down at him. “fucking me so perfectly, clark.”
clark’s forehead knocked against your shoulder as he whined into the praise. “can’t think — when you talk like that…” a full body shudder followed, causing you to clench around his length.
you’d barely realized how close you were becoming from the overstimulation of clark’s length pounding against your g-spot, and the pleasure was catching up to you now. “fuck, that’s it, let me hear you…” you moaned, “my big, strong superman, coming apart just for me.”
clark made a noise like a wounded animal, his hips snapping up erratically now. when you clenched harder around him, clark’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. “please, honey…”
“shh, i’ve got you,” you soothed, “so good for me, taking what you need. filling me up just right.”
tears welled up in clark’s wide pupils as his body responded before his brain could catch up. his cock pulsed inside you, leaking precum in hot, insistent waves that made your own breath stutter. “please,” he begged, the word dissolving into a breathy moan as you tightened around him. “wanna make you — make you feel good too.” you cut clark off with a slow, filthy grind against him. a strangled sob tore through his chest, his hips fucking up into you so hard that it felt like he was splitting you open. “please, sweetheart, please tell me you’re close,” he gasped once more as his cock twitched inside you, hot and heavy and aching.
the pressure built inside your stomach, each rough grind from clark sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “clark — i’m —” your voice broke, the words dissolving into a moan as he angled himself just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.
clark held his breath, his entire body trembling. “please cum on me, honey, i need it —”
the plea shattered the last of your composure. your walls clamped hard around him as you cried out, causing clark to groan and jerk his hips erratically. he held you through it, babbling praise between gasps. “so perfect, so good for me — you feel so… gosh,” he fought to keep still, letting you ride out the waves.
when the aftershocks finally ebbed, you slumped against him, breathless. clark’s chest heaved beneath you, his cock still buried deep and twitching with every uneasy breath. his eyes were glossed over with unshed tears, voice still gravelly. “can i — please, can i —?” he swallowed, his hips giving a helpless thrust, like he couldn’t stop himself. “need to — need to fill you up now, honey. wanna breed you so bad, please.” clark’s desperation was raw, his muscles achingly taut with the effort of holding back.
you cupped his face, thumb brushing over his feverishly hot cheek. “cum for me, clark.”
clark let out a raw sound, half-sob and half-relief. his grip tightened, and a series of frantic, uneven movements, each one deeper than the last, followed. “i — breed… breed mate —” clark babbled in choked-off whines, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting you slightly to change the angle so he could thrust deeper into you. “please, please, please,” clark chanted, tears falling from his eyes onto his cheeks as his eyes screwed shut.
he continued his relentless pace until the climax finally hit him with an excruciating force. a strangled growl erupted from clark’s throat as his grip on you went bruisingly tight for a moment; he pulled you close to his chest with a shattered moan, his entire body convulsing as he spilled inside you in hot, pulsing ropes. it felt like his orgasm never ended, the cum penetrating deep inside you until it began spilling out despite clark’s cock still remaining inside you.
clark’s body went slack against the wall, his breathing shallow and uneven as the last tremors of his climax faded. his grip on you loosened, fingers pulsing where they rested against your skin, damp with sweat. for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet evening out of clark’s breath, the occasional shudder running through him as the aftershocks rippled through his form.
his eyes, still glassy, blinked slowly as awareness crept back into his features. the feverish haze that was clouding his expression began to recede, and he swallowed hard. “honey,” he blinked before his words all tumbled out in a rush, “did i — did i hurt you? i didn’t mean to — please, are you okay?” the heat had stripped him raw, but for a moment, clark became incredibly lucid — every bit the gentle and painfully aware clark you knew.
you cut him off with a kiss, slow and deliberate, bringing him back down to earth even if only for a moment. when you pulled back, his eyes were wide, pupils still blown but slightly clearer now, more focused. “you’re okay?” he asked, his voice small.
you nodded before pressing a kiss to clark’s forehead. “more than okay,” you assured him, your thumb resting against his cheek. “you’re burning up, honey.”
you shifted slightly, and clark made a soft, whining noise in the back of his throat, his hips jerking reflexively before he stilled them with visible effort. for a second, his eyes darkened again, the heat flickering back to life beneath his skin. “‘m sorry,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “i think — i think it’s… the heat, it’s coming back.” clark opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “i — i didn’t even —” his ears turned pink, “didn’t even take my boots off.”
a small laugh burst out of you before you could stop it; clark’s wounded expression only making it worse. he sucked in a breath softly as the laughs sent vibrations through your body and core, his cock throbbing weakly inside you.
“it’s not funny!” clark protested, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “i track in enough debris as it is without — without this,” he gestured vaguely to himself.
you kissed his shoulder in apology, feeling him tense up incrementally. “how’re you feeling?” you cooed, your voice leveling out a bit.
he nodded, then hesitated. “don’t know how long i’ll be… in control.” the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache.
sensing the time ticking before clark lost himself again completely, you carefully lifted yourself off him, clark’s hands clenching into fists at his sides. his cum immediately began leaking out of you the moment you separated, and a quiet whine escaped his throat from the lack of contact.
“clark, baby,” you tapped his cheek after standing, stepping properly out of your ripped clothing. “bedroom, okay?” you spoke quietly, holding your hand out as if you had the strength to pull clark up onto his feet.
“we should — bedroom. right. that’s sensible.” clark shook his head in an effort to ground his mind, pulling himself most of the way onto his feet before finally taking your hand. now standing, clark’s slacks and boxers fell to his ankles. he reached down and lazily unlaced his boots, stepping out of the pool of fabric at his feet. he nearly tripped on his own feet trying to step forward, his coordination beginning to falter due to the returning haze in his eyes.
the short walk to the bedroom felt endless — clark kept pausing in his tracks, his breath stuttering every time he caught a glance at his own cum running down your inner thigh. by the time you reached the doorway, he was already practically vibrating with need, one hand bracing the doorway as he ducked his head, his shoulders slumped.
“sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick. “it’s just — every time you move, i can smell —” he cut himself off as he had done multiple times before, ears burning crimson as he squeezed his eyes shut.
the moment you guided him towards the bed, clark’s knees buckled instantaneously, sending him stumbling to sit on the edge of the mattress. his chest heaved as he tried to steady himself, but when your fingers brushed his waist to adjust how he was sitting, he let out a broken noise, hips canting up towards nothing.
“honey, i —” his voice dropped to a barely-there whisper and his skin began burning up once more. “need you. please.” clark’s fingers flexed against the sheets, looking down at the mattress before his hand curled around your waist, pulling you down to lay ungracefully on the bed beside him. the connection made clark pull his hand away like it stung. “please.”
oh.
he needed permission to touch you, and he needed it badly.
the conflict in clark’s expression was almost painful — the way his jaw trembled, how every inch of him was wound tight with want, shivering with the effort of holding himself back.
you nodded. “you gonna be a good boy and breed me again, clark?”
clark whimpered loudly, his breath shallow as he rolled over and caged you in underneath him, looking down at you with wide eyes before taking exactly what he needed.
